Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

October 25, 2014. Samana Cay Facility

At 7:05 a.m. precisely, the song ‘Michi’ by Keiko Abe began to play in the Fox's darkened quarters.

For the part of him that was once a teenage boy, mornings had been difficult. Stiles had never managed to get to sleep at a regular time, and once he had managed to get to bed, the results turned out to be mostly random. Some nights he went out like a light when his head touched the pillow, but other nights he would lay awake for hours staring at the ceiling. Sometimes the thoughts he had gathered during the day would burn like dry wood, and he would have to wait until the flames died down to even close his nights. Sometimes dark memories would sit on his chest like a night hag stealing his breath.

None of that happened anymore. He could regulate his mind and body much more easily than that gangling sixteen-year-old could ever have imagined doing, and he had enough emotional distance from the boy’s past that he could wrangle dark memories back to his subconscious where they belonged.

So now when Fox woke up after a night’s rest, his eyes opened like a switchblade, his mind totally ready to start each day. It was one of the many improvements to his life which he appreciated.

“Open blinds.”

Hydra’s technology tended to be more advanced than what was commercially available, but it was seldom groundbreaking, either. The Fox had found that one of the organization’s strengths was its ability to take normal technology and push it just far enough to reach the next level of development. In this case, the room responded to Fox’s voice (and would respond to his voice alone), allowing him hands-free control of temperature, lighting, security, and communications. The overall effect was impressive, even if it was, in reality, simply an upgraded Alexa. Outside, the ocean glowed slightly, the light of the dawn barely filtering this deep. A Nassau grouper approached the window to investigate what had to be a bright light.

Fox studied the fish until it swam away, then he stretched and headed toward the bathroom. “Give me today's schedule.”

A female voice began to recite the day's activities. -"You have a staff meeting at 9:00 a.m. You have an evaluation of the newest Project Vargulf candidates at 1:30 p.m. You have a briefing on the PRIDE at 4:00 p.m."

Fox paused, surprised, and squinted into the bathroom mirror. “The what?” He took his toothbrush out of his mouth so he could be heard more clearly by the computer. “Remind me what the Pride is and why I asked for a briefing on it.”

-"The PRIDE is a charity organization based in Los Angeles. Known agent of the Master of the Mystic Arts Tina Minoru serves on its board of directors."

Remembering the report that had crossed his desk, Fox nodded to himself. It was a useless gesture; the room's virtual assistant couldn't see it and wouldn't have cared even if it could. Ayla had explained to him, once when he mentioned it to her at lunch, that the gesture was a harmless ingrained social reflex. It was only polite to acknowledge information given to you by a voice, no matter how that voice had been produced. People always reacted in certain ways to even an approximation of humanity, even if the ultimatum source wasn’t remotely human.

Much like the personnel of his station reacted to him, even though he was no longer remotely human.

This PRIDE organization seemed harmless enough, but it bore looking into simply for the possibility that it might have sorcerous resources. Ever since Fox had taken over as the head of the Department of Occult Armaments, he had tried to expand the department's knowledge of any organization with a supernatural connection. His deceased predecessor had been completely uninterested in keeping tabs on potential rivals, and it was one of the reasons Belial had failed so miserably and thus been so easy to replace.

Finishing up in the bathroom, Fox began his morning workout by spreading a mat on the floor. While he had benefited immensely from the training that he had received from Brock Rumlow at the Triskelion, he hadn’t kept up with it. Lifting weights didn't fit in with either side of his personality. The nogitsune had never cared much about the physical condition of its hosts, as it could use its powers to compensate. Stiles had never gotten into the no-pain-no-gain mindset of his fellow athletes. Instead, Fox had turned to yoga, something that appealed to both his natures, for his physical conditioning.

It had the added benefit of allowing him to order his thoughts as he went through his daily exercise routine, something he found made the day go much smoother even after he had grown accustomed to his new state. The appetite of the nogitsune had to be harnessed, not suppressed, and that took practice and resolve. The flash-fire emotions of a traumatized young man had to be brought to heel as well. The process couldn’t be done in a single event, no matter how cathartic. Mental hygiene had become as important to him as keeping his body in good physical condition.

After a shower and a quick breakfast of natto and rice, he headed toward the conference room closest to the control center. On the way, he checked in to make sure that there was nothing that required his immediate attention.

As head of the department, there was a lot to keep him on his toes. The Avengers were taking out a Hydra complex on the average of once a month, even though Von Strucker had so far been successful at his clever stratagem. The other Hydra leader continued to plant information in each conquered facility that would lead the superheroes to another base of Von Strucker's choice; this allowed the Prussian to successfully steer Stark and the others away from the more important Hydra facilities. While Von Strucker would ultimately send the Avengers against the DOA’s facilities as much as he swore he wouldn’t, Fox's own analysis indicated that his department would most likely have a few months before that happened.

If everything went according to Fox's plans, all vital personnel and material would be elsewhere when the inevitable occurred, and the other leaders of Hydra knew nothing about his new facilities.

The alert board was clear, but he hesitated, staring at California on the holographic map. He had placed an agent in Beacon Hills, and he was tempted to ask for a report from them, but he pushed the thought to the side. He was no longer someone who constantly worried about his old friends and family; he was someone else now. He had to be. Instead, he went to his staff meeting.

Dr. Ranefer, Theo Raeken, and the druid Kyllian Boddicker were all waiting for him in the conference room, just as they should be. Boddicker had once again brought his oak staff with him, and it irritated Fox. Keeping the potent weapon with him at all times meant that the druid was still suspicious. While caution was a useful trait to have in this business, Stiles needed Kyllian to get over his distrust, or at least to be less obvious about it.

On the other hand, Ayla and Theo greeted him casually, the same as they would on any other day or at any other staff meeting. He had earned their trust, and he trusted them, as much as a Hydra scientist, a chimera, and a void kitsune could fully trust anyone. What was more important to Stiles was that he had managed to earn their loyalty. It turned out to be a powerful and satisfying feeling. The nogitsune had never sought out loyalty or even valued it; its flies could command obedience when required. Stiles, for his part, had only ever received loyalty from Scott, and it was frankly empowering to receive it from other people.

It had not cost him much. He had earned Dr. Ranefer’s by freeing her from the duties she found uninteresting and distracting — such as dealing with inter-branch politics — and allowing her to pursue her own research as long as it benefited the DOA’s ends. He had increased its strength exponentially by recruiting the Dread Doctors' unorthodox treatments to help correct her infestation problems.

He had purchased Theo’s loyalty — such as it was — by enabling him to escape his creators. The Doctors hadn’t put up much of a fight because Fox had provided them with alternative and superior resources instead of the First Chimera. Theo still didn’t really want to be connected to Hydra, but it was better than being anywhere else, and Stiles hadn’t punished him too harshly when he had run away earlier that year.

“Okay, let's get our good doctor on the line.”

Ayla leaned forward and made the connection. The Surgeon appeared on the monitor in a live broadcast from the base in New Mexico. When Stiles had recruited the Doctors, he had given them the old SHIELD base where Thor’s hammer had fell to earth as part of support for their great experiment. Even though they were by definition contractors, he had had to cajole the lead mad scientist into attending staff meetings remotely. The Surgeon never appreciated their usefulness.

This morning seemed to be no exception, though no one could really tell what was going on behind his mask.

“Good morning. Let’s get started.” He tapped his own tablet to life. “Dr. Ranefer, summarize the status of our current projects.”

Ayla turned to her data. “Project Vargulf has four subjects in Stage Three and five subjects in Stage Two.”

Project Vargulf was the Department of Occult Armaments’ program to develop omega werewolves into supernatural shock troops. Stiles had taken the lessons he had learned from Deucalion’s manipulation of Boyd and Cora and applied them to unsuspecting omegas attracted to the safety and power that Hydra could provide. Stage Three meant that the subjects had gone completely feral and would only be useful in the same way a grenade was useful — pull the pin and toss it at your enemies. Stage Two meant that the omegas were violently unstable, yet they could still be pointed at the correct targets. Stage One was the initial training phase, but they presently had no subjects in it, which was why he was reviewing candidates that afternoon.

“Keep me updated. We might need to deploy the Stage Three subjects soon. Next?”

“Dr. Whitehall has requested we search our memory banks for historical references to a peculiar obelisk. SHIELD took it from him during WWII and he is quite focused on getting it back.”

“Well, isn’t that darling? Dr. Whitehall can be pushy all he wants; we certainly have better things to do than investigate his lost toy. On the other hand, in the spirit of cooperation or what-the-fuck-ever, have someone incompetent look into it.” Stiles had met Dr. Whitehall once and had been so forcibly reminded of Adrian Harris that he had to restrain himself from breaking the man’s neck right there and then. “Enough about his alien interests, what about our alien interests?”

“The cataloging of Asgardian arcane technology and related events is ongoing. We have the beginnings of a database, but it will take time before it’s complete.”

“All good tricks require preparation. Keep me updated. Theo? Your intelligence report.”

Theo leafed through his own tablet. He had tasked the chimera with gathering and collating information from established contacts and other Hydra branches. “The Avengers have been seen in Estonia by our agents. Tony Stark was spotted going to a club in Parnű, and Hydra operatives in the Estonian military have at noted at least two different Quinjet landings at Amari Air Base in the north of the country. As predicted by Von Strucker, their next target is most likely Nootamäa.”

“At least they’re going to be miserable. The Baltic is nasty this time of year. Any indication that any of our facilities have shown up on the Avenger’s radar?”

“No. But Hydra has lost track of the Black Widow again.”

“So much for her effectiveness being impaired once she revealed her identity to the world. I want the evacuation drills kept up, and that includes Puente Antiguo. Do you understand, Doctor?”

“Inconvenient.” The Surgeon was never one for many words.

“It’s going to be even more inconvenient if you have to fight the Hulk,” Fox pointed out. “You don’t want to lose all the work you’ve put into whatever it is you’re doing, do you?”

The Surgeon vibrated. “No.”

“Evacuation drills. Do 'em.” He turned back to Theo, who was trying to hide his smile at his former surrogate parent’s discomfiture. “Continue.”

“I have a full report on the Witch’s battle against the Master of the Mystic Arts.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Let me get this straight. Of all the different possible magic-related code names she could use, she called herself The Witch.”

Theo eyed him with a smirk. “It’s almost as ridiculous as calling yourself Fox, Stiles.”

“Okay, chimera’s got sass this morning.” He had made everyone call him Fox, because that was who he was now. Only Theo and Ayla had permission to use his old name. “Make sure I get a copy of the report. It’ll give me a good laugh when I’m feeling down. Anything else?”

“Not this week.”

“Keep working, Theo.” Stiles turned to the Surgeon. “I’m going to ask again, though you’ve given me the same response for the last six months. Do you have a progress report?”

“Success imminent.”

That caused a subtle stir throughout the entire room. Over that period of time, the Doctors had given two-word status reports on how close their own project was to reaching its conclusion. Stiles still didn’t know what exactly what it was, though he had spied on the Doctors enough to know it had to do with the creation of a suitable host for an entity from the past. Part of the deal that he had made with the Surgeon was that he wouldn’t demand to know any details.

“Oh, excellent.” Stiles’s smile was as sincere as he could manage. “You’ll let me know immediately?”

“Affirmative.”

“Anything else to report?”

“No.”

Stiles stared at the monitor for a second. This was important news, but he had learned from experience that the Doctors could not be bullied. He turned to Boddicker, instead. He was a druid like Deaton, but he was far more radical than Deaton had ever imagined in the veterinarian’s worst nightmare. Stiles had brought him on for his own project: controlling one of the most powerful supernatural sources of energy on Earth.

The Nemetons.

“The facilities at Brasilia and Zhengzhou are almost complete. We have broken ground in Toulouse and Egypt. Greenland and Logashkino will have to wait until spring.”

Stiles frowned, but Kyllian seemed to have anticipated his disappointment.

“The average high temperature in Logashkino right now is negative eight degrees Celsius. We won’t be able to start building until next summer. Greenland is even worse.”

“We need to have those bases operational as soon as possible. While Von Strucker's been very good at getting the Avengers to play whack-a-mole, the situation cannot continue for much longer. If we have to scramble when Earth's Mightiest Heroes show up on our front porch, someone's going to wonder where we're keeping all our toys. You have followed all the protocols I designed to make sure that these new facilities can’t be tied to Hydra?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Find a way to start construction earlier than March. If we all have to share Zhengzhou and Brasilia, it's going to be tight quarters.” He rapped on the table caught the attention of everyone at the meeting. “We’ve had nearly a year of relative peace and quiet, but I wouldn’t count on that lasting one day longer. Neither should any of you.”

Fox paused to let the words sink in. “Okay. Same time, next week.”

October 30th, 2014. Mischief Night. Beacon County.

When Scott McCall crossed over the city limit of Beacon Hills on California State Road 191, he was tearing down the road so fast and the rain was coming down in such thick sheets that it created the illusion that he was driving his motorcycle underwater. It took all his strength and all his reflexes to keep his bike going in the right direction while making sure he didn’t rear-end any cars or drift into the oncoming lane of traffic.

The storm had started soon after he had passed through Yuba City. At first, it had been simply a nuisance, somewhere between a drizzle and a light rain, but the farther he traveled north the heavier — and colder — the rain grew. Any human would have had to pull over an hour ago, but he was an alpha werewolf able to shrug off multiple gunshot wounds, electrocution, and being stabbed through the stomach with a sword. He could handle a little rain.

Even so, his fingers were numb. His toes were numb. He was beginning to lose feeling in his knees.

He could pull over until the rain stopped, but he was less than five minutes from home, and he felt pretty sure he could make it. With conditions as bad as they were he couldn’t even spare his attention long enough to check his watch, but it had to be close to seven. There would have been no reason for him to come home if he didn't have some time in the evening to spend with his family.

Beacon Hills rolled by, shining wetly in the chilly autumn night. On the sidewalks, people hurried on their errands, wrapped in heavy jackets and guarding their umbrellas against the gusts. It seemed so normal, but life tended to go on even in the face of terrible things, like bad weather and the irresistible passage of time. October was nearly gone; Halloween decorations filled store windows and front yards, though the rain had put the candles of the jack o’ lanterns out.

No new supernatural creatures had arrived since the beginning of September according to the pack, and there had been no supernatural crisis since July when Emily Walcott had been caught by a deputy with a corpse in her trunk. Scott hadn't even needed to come home; Derek and the sheriff had handled it. All it had taken this time was bringing Deputy Strauss into the know.

Scott had been surprised when he first learned about the Walcotts' situation. It horrified him a little, even if they couldn't help what they were. The Walcotts didn’t even know how their family had become wendigoag, yet it still didn’t change the fact that they could only draw sustenance from human flesh. He couldn’t imagine how they were able to live with that.

Scott constantly worried that one day the pack would have to deal with a human being who wasn't content to be part of what amounted to an enormous conspiracy of silence. He still didn’t know what he would be willing to do on that day.

He shook his head to clear away the negative thoughts. Worrying about what he couldn’t change was exactly why he had driven home from U.C. Davis on a Thursday evening. After all, he still had a class on Friday.

Isaac’s Subaru and his mother’s Dodge sat in the driveway, meaning they were both home. When Isaac had started community college, Derek had bought him a new car as a congratulatory gift. Derek had also tried to give Scott a car as a graduation present, but Scott had demurred. He was touched by the offer, but he felt he had to turn it down. It would have been weird to accept a gift from someone over which he had only recently claimed authority. Instead, he had asked Derek to make sure his mother’s old car always ran, so Scott wouldn’t have to worry about it breaking down if some new trouble arose.

Derek hadn’t seemed to be offended; he had only smiled and nodded.

He pulled his bike up next to the back porch, and then he grabbed the tarp out of his saddlebag. The motorcycle, he had budgeted, would have to last his entire undergraduate career, so he kept as good a care of it as he knew how. He may have driven a little bit quicker than usual, especially considering the conditions, but even if he was beginning to shiver a little, he needed to protect to get it covered. Before going in through the kitchen door, he grabbed his backpack out of the other saddlebag. He had some homework to do.

His mother was standing over the sink looking at the door drying a glass as he came in, but her eyes were on the back door. She must have heard him drive up. “Scott, what are you doing here?”

“Hi, Mom. Don’t worry; there’s nothing bad happening.”

“I don’t want to sound like I’m not happy to see you, but it’s the middle of the week. You just decided to come home? If I had known, I would have saved some dinner for you.”

“It’s no big deal. I only had one class tomorrow, and it’s a lecture I can watch online. I …”

He trailed off as Melissa face screwed up angrily as she got a good look at him.

“You’re soaked to the bone! You’re pale. Did you drive all through that storm all the way home?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m—”

“Scott!” She stormed over to where he was and put her hands on his face. “You’re freezing!”

“I’ll be fine in a little bit.”

His mother’s mouth tightened with disapproval. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. You’ll be hypothermic, mister, that is what! You won’t do that again. You get upstairs right now; you get out of those clothes and you take a warm — not hot! — shower.”

“Mom—”

“Go! I know you’re in college now and all grown up, but that doesn’t mean you get to do stupid, reckless things. Driving through a rainstorm in the freezing cold! Go.” She took a menacing step towards him. “Go!”

Scott fled from the kitchen. This hadn’t been the reception he had expected. In the living room, Isaac sprawled on the couch reading what looked like a biography of Michelangelo. One of his classes at Beacon County Community College was art history, after all. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Scott lifted his hand in greeting.

“Someone’s in trouble.”

The alpha shrugged, noticing that it sent a show of water everywhere. “I don’t know why she’s so—”

“I don’t hear any water running!”

Both boys looked back at the kitchen.

“After I get out of trouble, wanna do something?”

“Sure, I’m up for it. It’s too early for me to fall asleep reading about Renaissance Italians.”

Glancing one last time behind him, Scott finally reached his room and started shedding his clothes as fast as he could. He didn’t want his mother to get even angrier with him, though he didn’t understand why she was so upset. Surely, after so many years, she understood that it would take a lot more than a rainstorm to hurt him.

On the other hand, it did feel good to get out of those water-logged clothes. He dropped them on the tile floor of the bathroom, so they wouldn’t get the carpet in his room wet. He’d do some laundry before he went back to school on Monday. Making sure he followed his mother's directions, he turned on the warm water. A hot shower sounded really good, but he knew as well as she did that if he was on the borderline of hypothermia, warming himself up slowly was better.

A smile crossed his face. He was in trouble with Mom, but it was … normal trouble. It might have been stupid of him to drive in the rain, but it was something that any person his age might have done. He’d make it up to her. Then he’d do his homework and hang with Isaac and be normal.

There had been times when he hadn’t believed he’d ever make it to college. He had wanted to go ever since he realized that one day high school would have to end and there would be something after it. But to be truthful, he had always imagined going to college with …

“Not going to go there,” he said out loud to himself as he stepped into the shower.

At first, he had thought he would skip college altogether, but his mother had insisted he go with the same type of ferocious intensity she had displayed when he had arrived home this evening. Then he had thought he would go to the community college and get his general education requirements first, but his mother had also insisted he would go directly to U.C. Davis. Finally, he had thought with college being so expensive, he’d commute from home. It was only a two-hour drive, after all, and he did have supernatural stamina. That had also been a no go with Mom. Scott had slowly chugged his way around to the conclusion that his mother meant for him to have a life away from Beacon Hills, from the pack, and from the Nemeton. From the past and all the bullshit that came with it.

Finally, as a compromise, he had told her that he would come back on the weekends when his schoolwork permitted. And he would come back on breaks. He couldn’t take a year-long hiatus from his responsibilities as protector and leader. Being someone normal simply wasn’t possible. Not anymore. Not for him.

He couldn’t go back to pretending that the supernatural side of him wasn’t as important as the mundane side.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he rubbed at his head with a towel. He did feel so much better; now that he was warm, he realized how dull he had felt beforehand. Shaking off the remains of his lethargy, he expanded his senses and in doing so he caught the end of a conversation.

“You don’t remember what day it is, do you?” Isaac asked his mother. If he had to guess, they would have to be in the kitchen.

“Of course, I do. It’s Mischief Night. If they weren’t making me work Halloween, I’d be at the hospital.”

“Yeah, but … maybe he never told you. This night, two years ago, Scott and Stiles broke into Coach’s office and pranked him. They removed all the screws from his furniture.”

“Gee, you think that maybe there could have been a reason Scott didn’t tell me? I would have grounded him.”

“You don’t understand …” Isaac hesitated. Scott wished he’d just let it drop. “It’s the last thing he did with Stiles before things got bad. So, in a way …”

“It’s the anniversary of when he lost him. Why don’t people tell me these things? We could have gone down there and surprised him, instead of him driving up here like a madman.”

“I guess he doesn't want to think about it, so he doesn’t want to make a big deal.”

Scott’s head sagged as he stopped listening, because what Isaac had said was true. He hadn’t wanted to make a big deal of this night, though it turned out he may have done exactly that. He knew it had been stupid to drive over a hundred miles in a downpour, but the idea of spending all night in a dorm room by himself thinking about that night had been … intolerable. He opened the door to his bathroom and shut it real hard, hard enough that Isaac would have to hear it, and they would have an impulse to change the topic.

He pulled on a set of sweats from his dresser and a pair of fuzzy slippers that Malia had bought for him last Christmas before going downstairs.

“Have a seat.” Melissa pointed at one of the chairs at the table the moment he entered the kitchen. She put a large bowl of pozole in front of him, steam rising off the top. Isaac smirked across from him, holding his own spoon.

“You guys haven’t eaten already?” Scott asked, confused.

“We ate.” Melissa put another bowl in front of Isaac and set a plate of cornbread in the middle of the table.

“You made this for me?”

“It’s called a microwave, honey. These are leftovers from dinner, which we would have waited to eat with you if you had used this thing called a phone and let us know you were coming.”

Scott turned to look at Isaac who smirked at him before he started in on his own meal. “So, you’ve …”

“I’m a growing werewolf.”

As good as he felt after the shower, he felt even better with his mother’s cooking in his belly. He had two whole bowls and some cornbread before he told his mother he couldn’t eat anymore. Isaac finished his own bowl off before pushing it away.

“What did you want to do tonight?”

Scott shrugged. He really didn’t have any plans other than not feeling bad. “We could play some Xbox. I have a lot of homework, but none of it’s due until Monday.”

“Me, too. For some reason that I don’t quite get, there’s still a ten-page paper due in Art History on Wednesday no matter how hard I try to ignore it. I chose to talk about the development of Mannerism because apparently, I'm a masochist.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“So that makes two of us,” Isaac snickered. “Honestly, I actually do understand it. It’s an art style that categorized the Late Renaissance that employed standard departures from realism designed to ennoble and elevate the subject. The artist creates an image of a person that’s better than they actually were. I’m half done with the paper already. I just need to get a few more citations for the second half of the paper, so it’s not completely my own bullshit.”

“It sounds like you have a little more than bullshit, Isaac.”

“Welcome to the liberal arts.”

“I wish. I have to study for an anatomy test. There’s so much memorization.”

Isaac smiled. “Learning all the bones in the human body?”

Scott blinked; Isaac’s joke sounded like a reference to something. He couldn’t remember exactly what it could be. “I have to finish some lab reports, too. I thought you liked to study with Allison.”

“I do.”

“You mean he likes to pretend he’s studying with Allison,” Melissa said from over by the sink. “I know what people your age are like.”

Isaac protested. “We actually study! Allison’s really serious about her criminology degree. Like so serious, she gets mad if I distract her. But she’s on a trip this week; her and her dad left yesterday. She told me she’d be back by Tuesday.”

“A trip?”

“Hunter stuff. They’ve got some big meeting to go to in Dallas. People are coming from all over the world to meet the new Argent Matriarch. I really doubt they want her werewolf boyfriend sitting next to her when they do.”

“You’re probably right. I’ll guess I’ll just see her next week.”

Chapter Text

November 2, 2014 – Dallas, Texas

While Allison was convincing the other families to meet, her father had rented a day spa in Preston Hollow. Chris Argent had not only reserved the whole facility, but he had also insisted that the normal staff simply not come to work on that day. When the owner had complained about the strange request, her father had simply doubled the payment. The owner had relented with no further objections.

Advanced teams had arrived before dawn to set everything up, while the actual dignitaries arrived at staggered intervals throughout the morning. The perimeter established around the ground was so tight the President's security detail would be envious. After all, this was an unprecedented event; never had so many family heads been in one place at one time.

When they all finally gathered in the central banquet hall for a pleasant lunch, it had been the first time that Allison had ever met most of them. After the meal, the leaders of all eight families retired to a conference room. Altogether, these two-dozen people represented five continents and spoke twenty different languages between them.

The Orocura had the smallest contingent, hailing from the Amazonas state in Brazil. There was only their leader and his eldest son; there weren’t many of the Orocura left, because the family had not only had to face supernatural threats but also decades of hostility to their indigenous traditions. On a moral level, Allison felt something had to be done to help this family who had stuck by the Code even as their world was destroyed. While her family had nearly been destroyed by selfishness and hatred, they had stood strong while fighting a war on multiple fronts. On a practical level, she knew something had to be done before all the knowledge they possessed disappeared from the world.

The Khishchnik from Krasnoyarsk Krai had the largest contingent, eager to travel from the depths of their vast territory in Siberia. They matched the stereotype one would expect from Russian hunters: burly, rough, and jovial while simultaneously extraordinarily violent. At the lunch, they had acted as if they already knew everyone present even though Allison was sure they had never met anyone else in the room before. Their leader, Maxim Shoelevich, looked like he could wrestle an alpha werewolf by himself. His laughter boomed like cannon fire, but he never seemed to miss a single thing that was happening around him.

The Morgan family from the state of Georgia had almost declined to come. They had always resented the Argents for being an older and more respected family, and the urbanization of the southern region of the United States had slowly chipped away at their dedication to the Code. Even as their leader Evelyn proudly wore the eagle symbol of their family on a pendant, every other person in the room must have heard the rumors that they had begun to accept missions for money.

As a consequence, the middle-aged married couple that jointly led the Holzfäller from Baden-Wurttemberg made a point of staying across the room from Ms. Morgan. They were extraordinarily proud of the purity of their heritage; even after so many centuries, the Black Forest still had its fair share of dangerous werewolf packs, especially after the Second World War.

The matron of the Waliyyi family from northern Benin, on the other hand, made a special effort to talk to Evelyn Morgan, but then again, her family had always been known for resolving situations with diplomacy rather than violence, though it was said that no one ever had the audacity to call them weak or cowardly to their face. Twice.

Araya Calavera had taken control of the security for the meeting without consulting anyone else. The Calaveras were the self-appointed enforcers of the Code, though different families resented their presumption to differing degrees. Araya Calavera didn’t care if they resented her or not. She would do what was necessary to keep all hunters within the bounds of proper behavior.

Yet even Araya would never dare to question the integrity of the last family. The Lan Clan of China were wrapped in mystery and reserve, and it made them very intimidating. Dressed all in white, the clan head carried himself with a reserved aura of clear superiority. There had been many questions about his family over the years, and all of them had gone unanswered.

Still, Allison sat as the Matriarch of the Argent family from Lozère. While she could have claimed prominence, she had insisted that they used a circular table to indicate that no one family had authority over any of the others. It hadn’t been that way in the past. The Argents had, after all, set the Code which all but the Chinese followed. The Lan were far older and far more established than the Argents or any other family. If they had been interested in leaving China for any reason, their strict traditions of behavior could have dominated the families the way the Argent’s traditions did. On the other hand, they had been instrumental in encouraging the formation of families rather than allowing individual, untrained hunters to tear around in the shadows, hurting the innocent and the guilty alike.

“Thank you all for coming,” Allison began. She was at least two decades younger than any other family head at the table, with the possible exception of the mysterious Lan Clan Leader, whose public name she didn’t know. She couldn’t even tell how old he was. “I know you have all traveled great distances, and I appreciate the effort and cost it took to meet.”

“Your reasoning was persuasive.” The elder Orocura spoke excellent English for someone rumored to avoid those of European descent as much as humanly possible. His family had kept to their duties, even as their very way of life was constantly imperiled by the authorities of their own country. The Amazon rain forest hid dangers which didn’t even have names in any of the bestiaries that Allison had read.

“We can see the potential value in changing the Code,” said Madame Waliyyi, the oldest person at the table as she had passed seventy some years ago. “Your family’s words were coined when those we must hunt menaced isolated communities with little resources of their own. Times have changed, and even a family of shapeshifters may be as much a victim of others as those on which they used to prey.”

Araya looked sour, but then again, she always looked sour.

“It’s more than just that. When the Code was first written, it was in response to the actions of La Bête du Gévaudan, a monster who killed over five hundred people on two continents. When set down by my family and when adopted by your families, the Code was formed with the best of intentions, but it was incomplete. And being incomplete, it is immoral.”

Allison’s statement created exactly the type of reaction she expected: surprise, anger, and disdain. Calling the Code immoral was calling into question the very purpose of their families. Even the Lan Clan Leader frowned slightly.

She raised her voice. “We know more now. We know that supernatural creatures do not have to be merciless killers. We know that not all supernatural creatures chose to become what they are. We know that their very culture has changed as our culture has changed. And, as my father taught me, what we know makes us responsible.”

Herr Holzfäller’s scowl was prodigious. “I think you have spent too much time with that True Alpha. I can guarantee you most alphas will not be like him.”

“I’m aware of that. He’s an individual, just like every alpha is an individual. That is among one of the many things I’ve learned; another thing is the importance of intention versus impact. The intention of the Code was to govern our actions, with the goal of preventing supernatural creatures from using their gifts to terrorize and murder humans who couldn’t defend themselves. But the impact has been to too often give cover to genocide.”

Madame Waliyyi clucked her tongue. “Harsh words, but true. Your grandfather and aunt certainly used it in that way.”

“Changing the words of the Code is worthless if we don’t change the meaning behind them. Every one of our families made the determination to keep the secret of the supernatural to ourselves in order to limit interference in what we felt we had to do, but we have to understand that humans can be corrupted by greed, by hate, and by fear as completely as any supernatural creature. My family has demonstrated that beyond all doubt.” Allison nodded to the elderly Hausa woman. “As far as I can tell, we have never critically re-examined our role in this world. It is now more important than ever that we do so.”

“And you think, child, that we are wise enough to change traditions that have served our families and those we protect for centuries.” The Khishchnik patriarch couldn’t quite hide his condescension behind a smile.

“The Chitauri Invasion changed everything. We took this duty onto ourselves because we believed that the world would not believe nor would it be able to cope with the knowledge that supernatural creatures existing among us. But now, their world no longer consists of only humans. They know about the Chitauri, the Asgardians, and the Dark Elves. The idea that there are other races sharing this planet with them is no longer beyond belief.”

“No one can argue with that,” admitted Lafayette Morgan. “But what do you propose to do about it?”

“I have no idea,” Allison answered, “but after my experiences of the last few years, I doubt that changing the wording of the Code will be enough. We need to have a real discussion about how we should move forward. Nothing should be off the table. We need to discuss if we are even necessary anymore.”

That admission caused another stir in the room. People began talking at once, and Allison let them continue on until it died down. “I happen to know that SHIELD is reorganizing under another name, we all know the Avengers exist, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that individual governments are beginning to take steps to deal with the concept of enhanced individuals. A possible course of action — which I am not advocating but simply bringing up — is for our families to offer our knowledge and services to them.”

“No!” objected the elder Orocura. “Our government cannot be trusted. No government can be trusted.”

Allison swallowed her immediate retort. “I understand where you are coming from. I don’t have the answer right now, but I do know that any decision that any of us makes will affect every other family. We should talk about it at least.”

The Lan Clan Leader leaned forward. “I agree.” It had been the first words he had said at the table.

Silence reigned in the room as they considered the possibility. Allison kept her face calm; she was asking them to change centuries of tradition.

“There is an alternative.”

A stranger, who had not been in the room a moment ago, stepped forward, holing both palms up in a gesture of peace, even though he bore a sheathed sword on his back and wore strange clothes. He radiated calm, and surprisingly no one leapt to violence even though they were instantly alert. They were hunters, after all.

“Who are you?” Allison demanded. “It’s not wise to walk into a meeting to which you were not invited.”

“I meant no offense, Allison Argent. I simply needed to make sure I would not be kept away. I have been sent here on behalf of the Ancient One, the Sorcerer Supreme of this dimension.” He smiled. “I am Karl Mordo.”

November 4, 2014 – Nootamaa, Estonia

Steve could always see it in their eyes. The absolute desperation to cling to something in the face of defeat. The worst type of soldier was the one who didn’t know how to lose. Who couldn’t conceive of losing. They were always the ones willing to do anything to win. “Do your worst! Hydra is eternal! Cut off one head and—”

Captain America punched the commander hard enough that he flew halfway across the room. “Give it a rest. I swear, if I have to hear that one more time …”

“You’ll do what?” Hawkeye dodged into the room from around a corner, narrowly evading the automatic weapons fire.

“I’ll probably swear.” Cap stepped up to the other side of the entrance and peeked around it. With a series of hand gestures, he informed his teammate of a plan. “One. Two. Three!” He threw his shield bouncing it off each of the three CMCRs and the wall. Between the impact of his shield and their weapons’ own significant recoil, the Hydra soldiers were knocked completely off balance.

Hawkeye spun around and fired three arrows in rapid succession. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. See any other hot spots on your way in here?”

“Nope.” The archer checked the room’s corners out of habit. “All I saw were die-hard fanatics looking for glory and stragglers looking for the nearest exit.”

This command center was composed of concentric circles of workstations beneath a dome open to the sky. It didn’t seem particular secure, which was why Hydra had captured it so easily from the remains of SHIELD after the Battle of Washington D.C. It had taken precious weeks of careful diplomacy to get the Estonian government’s permission to launch a covert assault and more time to get all their forces together. They couldn’t ignore the base; Tony had found intelligence at the last Hydra location they had hit that the scepter and the enhanced individuals created by it could possibly be here. During the operation, Steve had seen no sign of their presence. In fact, while there had been plenty of scientific equipment, none of it looked remotely like something designed to create super soldiers.

“Hawkeye, what was this place’s original purpose?”

“Meteorological Research. That’s why they called it the Finger.”

“Huh?” Captain looked over at the other man.

Hawkeye put his pointer finger in his mouth then raised it into the sky. “I think it’s going to rain.”

Captain rolled his eyes in frustration and activated his communication unit. “Come in, Banner.”

“Yeah, this … this is Banner.” Bruce would never be truly comfortable in combat situations or with military protocol. “Is everything okay?”

“We’ve secured the command center. Have Iron Man and Thor handled those weapons batteries? Over.”

“Uh … uh, let me see.” Banner held the button down on the mike. Suddenly, there was an explosion that rocked the entire place. “Looks like Thor just took care of it. Yeah. Yeah, he did.” Pause. “Oh, yes, over.”

Steve killed the connection before he sighed. He didn’t want Bruce to think he was frustrated with him.

“What’s got your flag bunched, Cap?”

“We’ve been at this for ten months and we haven’t made any progress in finding Loki’s Scepter or any of the enhanced operatives we’ve know about.”

Hawkeye smiled at him and turned to keep an eye on the hallway.

“What’s so funny?”

“I didn’t think impatience would be one of your flaws. To be quite honest,” Hawkeye remarked sardonically, “I didn’t think you had any flaws.”

“You’ve been reading too many comic books, but I’m not impatient, I’m worried. Hydra was never going to make it easy on us, but every moment that passes and we don't stop them, they’ll be that much closer to the super soldiers they need.”

Hawkeye shrugged. “There’s always going to be enemies, Cap.”

Steve grunted. “You’re talking like a spy, but this is war, and the scope of trouble never stays steady; unless they’re stopped, small wars cascade into larger wars. If Hydra manages to create viable enhanced operatives, how long will it be before other countries do the same? The Soviets have already tried.”

“Did I hear someone talking about me?” Black Widow entered the room, moving directly to a control station and hit a button which opened a hatch in the roof. “They’re talking about me again, Tony.”

“So rude.” Iron Man descended from the sky, landing with a dull thump on the ground. Without even waiting to explain, he walked over to another console and inserted one of his data-mining devices.

“When you two are done auditioning for vaudeville, can I get a sitrep?”

“The show must go on, Cap, but clean-up is forty percent done,” Natasha reported. “I don’t think we’re going to find what we’re looking for here.”

Steve moved so he could look over her shoulder at the tactical tablet she was checking out. “I agree with you. The defenses were too light, and the troops weren’t led with any sense of urgency. If this was where the Scepter was, we’d have had a lot worse time of it.”

Tony snapped his head from where he was waiting for the download. “The intelligence I found was solid. I checked it out with Maria and Natasha and everything.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, Star-spangled Man, but you were thinking it.”

Steve left Natasha to do her thing while he went over to talk to Tony. The genius playboy philanthropist could be prickly on his best days, but he often wore his insecurities on his sleeve. For Tony, nothing stung worse than failure; nothing rattled his cage like being fooled. His friend simply wasn’t used to not being the one to come up with the solution.

On the other hand, he felt like a little bit of a hypocrite. Hadn’t he just been frustrated with the lack of progress? That simply meant that he understood Tony on a level that the other members of the team didn’t. Clint was a professional, keeping a firm line between what he did and who he was. Thor was a demigod and had been a prince since birth. Natasha had been shaped into who she was by someone else's intention, while Bruce had been transformed by an accident. Of all the Avengers, only he and Tony had voluntarily chosen to transform themselves into what they were now. Steve had been a lower-class asthmatic orphan. He had chosen to serve his country by risking Erskine’s process. Tony had been an upper-class yet emotionally stunted orphan. He had chosen to deny himself the comfortable life he could have lived by embracing danger to help others.

Sometimes doing the right thing was rewarding. Sometimes it wasn’t.

“Tony, I wasn’t criticizing you.”

“Hmph. I was criticizing me. I should have realized that this place wasn’t suitable for the type of research they would need to do. They would have had to remodel this place completely and that would have been impossible with how closely the Estonians were watching it.

“We had to check.”

“I know, I know.” Tony grimaced at him. “Can’t you let me have my daily pity party in peace?”

“No,” Steve replied but he softened it with a smile. “Because it’s getting in the way of my obsessive need to smash Hydra. You’re the only one who can help me do it.”

Tony’s face screwed up. “Were you just trying to butter me up?”

“Yes, I was. Is it working?”

The man wearing a multi-billion-dollar suit of armor thought about it for about ten seconds. “Yep.”

Suddenly, the armor started speaking aloud. -"Sir, we may have found something."

“That’s what you said last time, JARVIS.”

-"Would you like to hear what I have discovered, or would you prefer to criticize my inability to predict the actions of homicidal fascists?"

Tony smiled. “Looks like some A.I. didn’t get his coffee this morning. So, what did you find?”

-"Personnel transfers, sir, from this facility to one in Puente Antiguo, New Mexico."

“Bring them up, exterior holographic display.”

All four of the Avengers in the room came over to examine the information. While Steve had been the most frustrated, all of them were dedicated to putting down Hydra, especially if it meant getting rid of their enhanced program. Using the Iron Man suit’s emitters, JARVIS projected the digital documents where everyone could see them.

Clint's brow creased. “Did you say Puente Antiguo? I’ve been there; that place should have been closed down years ago.”

JARVIS recited his findings. - "The base was declared inactive by Director Nicholas Fury on January 1st, 2011. It was designated to be fully decommissioned by January 1st of this year. However, these transfer forms indicate that personnel were still being moved there as of December of 2013."

“Why was the base there in the first place?” Natasha asked.

“It’s where Big Daddy Odin grounded Thor for his own good,” Tony quipped. “Which makes it an excellent place to study his stepbrother’s glow stick. This wasn't in Nat’s Hydra dump.”

- "That is correct, sir. These records were excluded from the central storage files in the Triskelion.”

“Now, that’s interesting,” Steve said. They had always suspected that Hydra might not have stored every bit of data at SHIELD headquarters. “Clint, can you raise Thor? I want his opinion on this, too.”

“Will do.”

“Oh.” Tony had been studying the documents. “Oh. Gotcha. Gotcha right there.”

“What did you find?”

“The routing list.”

At that, Natasha leaned forward. “You wanted a lead on an enhanced, Steve? I think we’ve got one. This transfer was approved by Mieczysław Stilinski, head of the Department of Occult Armaments. He’s the one who claimed Puente Antiguo.”

Steve nodded. “Now, we’ve got a trail for the Fox.”

November 5, 2014 – Key Largo, Florida

Peter watched the rented house from the road. Even in the very early hours of the morning, he could tell that it had been painted a delicate shade of egg-shell blue. Like most of the homes on the south side of Key Largo, it was raised on pylons so a storm surge wouldn’t destroy everything in the home. Other than that, it was small for what his quarry would be used to.

There was a single vehicle in the driveway: a black SUV with California license plates. Such predictability would have been hilarious if it didn’t make so much sense.

Glancing down at his watch, Peter Hale smiled to himself; the old man was about to have a very bad day, even at four in the morning.

His feet crunched on the gravel surrounding the house. There were no lawns on this part of the island. The terrain wouldn’t support them. He leapt the chain-link fence easily. It would have barely kept out a normal human. Against a predator like him, there was no chance.

However, he was determined not to be overconfident, so he noted the location of the security cameras. He doubted that Gerard would have his security alert the local police. Instead, there would be a room in the house where the cameras could be observed and recorded. He would simply have to make sure that he destroyed the footage before he left. It would be that easy.

Peter drew his lock picks out of his pocket. He had learned how to break-and-enter when he was young. It had been one of the ways he had kept himself from being bored. He hadn’t needed to work. He hadn’t needed to study that much; he was very clever, and he absorbed knowledge simply by being around it. So there has been plenty of time to waste, when it was expected that nothing he ever did would be … significant.

He had certainly confounded those expectations, hadn’t he?

The front door to the house was unlocked, and Peter was instantly suspicious. Gerard Argent knew that he was hunted. The bastard had few friends and only limited resources now. He would never leave the front door of his house open. While a werewolf could burst through the door of a rented bungalow, the act would give the wily hunter a chance to be prepared. For someone like Gerard, that would be all the warning the old man would need.

It had to be a trap.

Peter was never a Boy Scout, but “Be Prepared” was a good motto to follow. Though honestly, while he preferred for his enemies to never see him coming, he could always make sure that he had a way to even the odds if they did, like the flash grenade he had in his pocket. No hunter would ever expect a werewolf to be carrying one of them. He moved it to his hand before he opened the door.

“Good evening, Peter.”

Of all the voices that he expected to hear in a rented home in Southern Florida, that had not been one of them. Perhaps he should have.

“You.”

“Yes, me. Unfortunately, you’ve arrived too late. Gerard must have been informed of your impending visit and has relocated.” Deucalion had a glass of wine in his hand and was sitting on the couch.

“Or he caught wind of you.”

“I doubt that.” Deucalion smiled. “Wine?”

Peter put the grenade back in his pocket and flipped on the light. “Isn’t it a little late? Or a little early?”

“A human consideration. I appreciate the vintage, and I’m quite sure you will as well. We are nocturnal creatures.”

“You were sitting in the dark.”

“It doesn’t bother me, as you can quite imagine. While I have regained the use of my eyes, I haven’t forgotten the ease with which I used to get around without them.” Deucalion poured Peter a glass even though the Hale hadn’t said he would drink it.

“What are you doing here?”

The former Demon Wolf held up a glass to Peter. He was being insistent. Peter shrugged went over and took it. It was very good and very expensive. It mollified him somewhat to be drinking on Gerard’s tab.

“What do you think I’m doing here?”

“I would say you were here to gouge out Gerard’s eyes, but I really think that you have somehow become a convert to the Scott McCall School of Wishful Thinking and wouldn’t do that now. So I’m not quite sure.”

“Always the cynic, Peter. You are partially right. I’m not here to get revenge on an old man. I’m also not here to forgive him or anything maudlin like that. I was here to get information to which he had access. Information that I don’t think I could easily retrieve anywhere else. Information that might be important to the Hale Pack.”

“Now you have my full attention.” Peter sat down on a chair across from his surprise guest. “What information is this?”

“Information about the Dread Doctors. Information about Stiles Stilinski. Information about La Bête du Gévaudan.”

“That monster is dead; the Argents never shut up about that. It’s been dead for centuries.”

“Yes. It is dead. But not for very much longer.”

November 6, 2014 – Puente Antiguo, Arizona – The Full Moon

“Sirs.” The technician down on the floor looked up at the balcony. “The subject is ready.”

“Prepare,” intoned the Surgeon. “Start countdown.”

To the Surgeon’s left, the Pathologist leaned forward over the edge of the railing and then turned his whole body to face the Surgeon. The implication was clear. He wanted to be down there on the floor of the laboratory with the subject now that they were so close.

“Remain here,” ordered the Surgeon. He was in charge. He had always been in charge. He didn’t need to explain himself to his colleague, and the Pathologist did not need to be instructed twice.

On his other side, the Geneticist studied the monitoring technology provided by Hydra. It was more modern looking than the equipment they had previously used, but this had been constructed in a clean room by human-guided robots and not by hand as they had carefully created their previous Operating Theaters.

“Status of subject?” He asked her.

“His condition is promising.”

The Surgeon did not acknowledge the Geneticist’s words verbally. They had worked together for so long they could send information to and from each other with fluctuations of their electromagnetic field.

The door to the Operating Theater opened and the subject was rolled in. As instructed, he had been tied down. The Surgeon had once been told the name of the individual and their identity but he had quite frankly forgotten that information once he determined that this was the success he was waiting for. The only thing he cared to know was how many more treatments it would take before completion.

“Stop.” The subject began pleading. “Please, stop. What do you want? I don’t know what you want.”

None of the six Hydra technicians on the floor of the Operating Theater answered him. They had been instructed not to do so, though the technicians didn’t know why.

They didn’t realize that the emotional responses of the subject were key to manifestation. Success had been achieved, tentatively, but continued dehumanization was absolutely vital. This teenager had been kind to others and respectful to his parents. He had moved to the head of the list of candidates when he had appeared in the local newspapers as a hero after saving an old woman from a fire in her apartment. After much experimentation, the Doctors had come across the key to success. To create something truly evil required the corruption of something truly good.

It was a sacrifice.

“Please. Please don’t do this.”

The Geneticist gestured to the screen and both the Surgeon and the Pathologist followed her motion. Could it be?

“Please!”

The subject started to struggle in his restraints, but to no avail. He was getting more desperate. Angrier.

One of the technicians checked a feed. “Two minutes to induction.”

The Surgeon moved to the screen, and in his haste, he gave the Geneticist a mild shove. She didn’t protest. They only had eyes for the results. The Pathologist raised a hand and pointed at the subject. The dark energy had begun to pool around the subject, taking its wispy ephemeral form.

“Transformation.” The Surgeon breathed.

The technicians stepped back. They had seen the transformation before, but it had only happened after they had started the high-frequency induction. The lead technician looked up to the Doctors on a platform above for instruction. “Sirs?”

“Transformation without frequency.”

His fellow Doctors crowded to the rail to witness their ultimate success.

La Bête du Gévaudan transformed fully on the table. With a gesture, the Surgeon released the restraints, allowing the Beast to spring free. The Pathologist, for his part, sealed the room.

“What are you doing?” cried the Chief Technician.

It should have been obvious. The Beast, free and fully transformed, tore into them. Two of the technicians had stun batons. They were useless. Two of them, against protocol, had carried guns. Equally useless. The Pathologist marked that their deaths had taken a minute and 23 seconds.

The rage engendered by the Beast’s rebirth subsided. The Surgeon speculated that the Beast would have been strong enough to kill even him and his fellow Doctors if they had been close enough. It would have been acceptable to him, to die for this resurrection. But now, thanks to Hydra, he would be able to see the results of his work.

The Beast subsided, changing back into human form, returning to a face he once knew so well.

“So tell me, Marcel,” Sebastian Valet said, covered in blood and looking up from the slaughtered technicians to the Doctors high above. “What have I missed?”

Chapter Text

November 7, 2014 – Beacon Hills

Scott looked down at his hands as they crossed the city limits of Beacon Hills. Patches of sunlight struggled their way between obscuring trees and through the car’s windows and tried to warm them. He had so much he wanted to say to Allison, but he wasn’t sure if he had the right to say any of it anymore. He thought that as time passed after they had broken up, it would become easier to talk to her. For some strange reason, the opposite seemed to be true.

Allison had picked Scott up in front of his dormitory and drove him home to Beacon Hills. He would have usually ridden his bike back after classes on a Friday afternoon, but she had called the night before and asked if she could drive him home. She wanted to talk to him alone about what had happened in Dallas, and then she wanted to go straight to Dr. Deaton’s to get his impression afterward. Scott had listened over the last two hours as she talked about meeting the family heads and the surprising appearance of Mordo.

He had tried to be supportive, but it was harder than he thought it would be. He didn’t know to whom she was speaking. Was she talking to him as a friend? To an alpha? To her alpha? To all three at once? He longed — not for the first time — for the days when he could talk to her without being afraid of saying the wrong thing. When he had talked to her simply to make sure he was on her mind. Now everything had become so complex that he found he couldn’t even answer her questions without working out what he wanted to say ahead of time.

In the end, he had to say something. He didn’t want her to think that he hadn’t been paying attention or found her problems uninteresting. “He just appeared in the middle of the room? Wow.”

It was so lame that he wanted to crawl under his seat. He wasn’t a high-school freshman who didn’t know how to talk to girls; he was someone who had fought by her side and risked death or worse to save her.

“I think it was necessary. We had way too much security, and it wouldn’t take a tactical genius to figure out that we would never allow a stranger to crash our meeting. I also think that the families, including Dad, were making a point with the extra security.” Allison shrugged. “In any event, I’m glad he did what was necessary to get into the room. It gave us an option right away, when I didn’t think we had many.”

“What do you think of Mordo?”

“He’s powerful, but we’ve met powerful people before. Beyond that, I’m in the dark. I didn’t know anything about sorcerers. Some of the families knew about the Masters of the Mystic Arts, but what they were able to share sounded more like fairy tales to me. I mean, seriously, their leader is only referred to as the Ancient One.” Allison grimaced at him in disbelief. “On the other hand, his proposal could be exactly what we need.”

“So why do you want to talk to Deaton? He’s not a sorcerer.”

“I need an outside perspective, and I’ve always admired Alan’s ability to take himself out of a situation in order to make objective observations. He also makes it very clear when he’s basing something on speculation. It also might be good to learn what the druids know of these Masters.”

“Okay.” Scott turned to look out the window, where they had just passed the turn-off to the high school. Cross-country practice would be ending.

“I want your opinion, too.”

“Why?” Scott winced at the bitterness in his tone. He should be happy that she wanted to hear his thoughts.

Allison didn’t reply verbally; she glanced at him with a what was that? look on her face.

He winced once more and opened his mouth to apologize, but he couldn’t make himself do it. The words stuck in his throat, so he snapped his jaws shut with an audible click. He had asked a question, and he wanted an answer. It was only fair.

“Are you serious right now?”

“I don’t see why you would want my opinion on something so big. I’m a college freshman.” He shrugged at her continued glare. “And if you say I’m a True Alpha, I’m going to throw myself out of this moving car.”

“But you are.”

“What does that mean exactly? No one has ever told me!” Scott felt like he had lost control of himself. He didn’t know why he was saying these things, but he couldn’t stop. “Peter and Gerard still pushed me around for weeks. Being a True Alpha didn’t help me stop Deucalion! All it did was endanger every single person I love. Oh yeah, I broke a mountain ash line when Jennifer was going to kill our parents, but do you know what? Any human could have done that. Coach could have done that. It didn’t help me—”

Allison rolled her eyes.

Scott snarled at her, fangs and eyes and everything. He was breathing so heavily he was afraid he might hyperventilate. For her part, Allison didn’t flinch or go for a weapon. Eventually, he mastered himself before answering in a calmer voice. “I’m not qualified to help you decide on the future of your family. I was barely qualified to graduate high school.”

“Is this about SHIELD? Is this about Stiles?”

“No.” He said sharply. Then, more softly. “Yes. Maybe. It’s about …”

She drove right past the road to the animal clinic.

“It was blind chance that Peter picked me in the woods that night. The truth is I’m not like you or Derek or Peter or even Alan. I wasn’t born into this. I wasn’t raised to be this. I certainly didn’t plan to become this or even choose it to become it. For a little while there, I believed …” He licked his lips. “Derek talked to me about my legacy, and Mom talks to me about caring enough to do something, and Alan talks to me about responsibility, and I listened to them for a long time, but even then I knew what had really happened. I was just a naive idiot who got bit by a monster and was just too damn stubborn to die.”

“Is that what you think? Well, fuck you.”

Scott felt his stomach drop at her response. Allison was angry and hurt. He hadn’t seen her like this since she had challenged him in her bedroom after he had tried to warn her about the Alpha Pack. In an effort to make his point, he had overpowered her, and afterward he had had to listen to her heartbeat spike like a startled deer's.

It hadn’t been her bruised wrist which had angered her back then. It hadn’t been the idea that he was worried about her, though she frequently grew exasperated with his need to protect her. His concern hadn’t the problem; it was his doubt in her ability to affect the outcome, which he had proceeded to demonstrate by using his greater strength.

Back when they had been able to talk freely, she had confessed that she could never handle people doubting her. Ultimately, it was why she had been so angry when Scott had hidden him being a werewolf from her, which, in turn, had pushed her to work with Kate. Her father had doubted her ability to handle the truth behind her mother’s suicide, and that doubt had left her vulnerable to Gerard’s manipulations.

Her whole reaction now confused Scott. He wasn’t doubting her abilities, but his own.

Yet, Allison drove the car around the corners at a rate of speed which would have guaranteed her being pulled over by Sheriff Stilinski again until she parked the car in front of the clinic so hard that the brakes squealed.

“Allison …”

She whirled on him. “I don’t follow naive idiots. I’m better than that.” She threw open the car door, got out, and then slammed it in his face.

Stunned, Scott sat in the car. He could walk home from here, but Allison and Alan would no doubt be waiting for him, and they would be disappointed he wasn’t man enough to come in and brave Allison's anger. To tell the truth, so would he. He slowly dragged himself inside.

They were waiting for him in the examination room, and the atmosphere was tense. Alan had the same look on his face that he had when explaining to a pet owner for the second time that it was absolutely important not to allow your dog to each chocolate. On the other hand, at least Alan met his eyes. Allison didn’t seem like she was going to do that anytime soon.

“Thanks.” Scott began, paused, and then started again. “Thanks for meeting us.”

“My last appointment was concluded about fifteen minutes ago. All I have left to do is feed the animals and clean up.”

“I can help.”

“I’d appreciate it. How are classes going?”

Alan always asked him a version of that question every time he came home from school. Scott smiled.

“Chemistry is harder than it was under Harris, and I had trouble in that class. Otherwise, I’m doing okay.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He glanced between the two of them. “So, what did you two need to speak to me about?”

Allison began her story without waiting for Scott to say anything, which he guessed was the right thing to do, given that she had actually been present.

Mordo’s offer had been intriguing to Allison for many reasons. With hunting families trying to figure out where they belonged in this new world, the sorcerer had proposed that while agencies like the Avengers and SHIELD could reasonably be expected to deal with the dangers proposed by alien invasions and super-secret human terrorist organizations, the practiced secrecy of supernatural threats and the utter unpredictability of extra-dimensional incursions would be beyond them, or at least stretch their resources dangerously thin.

After all, the concept of needing an organization that transcended national borders in order to combat violent non-state actors with the ability to threaten the world was publicly less than five decades old. The hunting families had been around for centuries longer, and the Masters for millennia before them. Mundane agencies would be woefully ignorant of the complexities with which these two groups were familiar. Protection had always been more than simply defeating the enemy; truly protecting humanity required empathy and discretion.

That would take time and focus which existing governments wouldn’t see the need for immediately. Everyone in that conference room understood that the supernatural and the extra-dimensional didn’t conform to the science with which these people would be comfortable. Maybe that was the fault of the sorcerers and the hunters for deciding to keep secrets, but pointing fingers now didn’t fix the problem. Humanity had evolved to the point where it would begin to play a bigger role in the affairs of the entire universe and the universes beyond that. Conflict was going to happen, and it was going to happen soon.

As Allison had been taught and had tried to teach others: what they knew made them responsible.

Mordo had proposed that the Masters of the Mystic Arts and the Hunting Families form an alliance, where they were able to coordinate their efforts to protect all the peoples of the earth from the things that fell within their expertise. This included not only demons, the names of which made Scott wince as she pronounced them, but also by individuals who would seek to abuse the potential power of the supernatural.

“I can only think that it would have been very helpful if my mother could have called upon the resources of the Masters when we didn’t know anything about the kanima. If we had someone who could have helped us with Jennifer or …” She trailed off and looked guiltily at Scott.

“Or a nogitsune,” Scott finished for her. Allison and he locked eyes but then dropped their gazes simultaneously.

Deaton put his palms together after she had finished, considering all she had told me. He remained silent for several minutes, obviously weight what he wanted to say. Finally, he sighed. “I think that I’m going to need you to tell me exactly what you want my opinion on.”

It was a very characteristic thing for him to say.

“Everything, Alan,” she replied sharply. “The Masters of the Mystic Arts. Their philosophy. Their plan. My plan. I want to hear everything you think.”

“I don’t have a clear answer for you. I have reactions, and I don’t like passing my personal reactions off as effective advice.”

“I’m not looking for a clear answer. I’m simply asking for any input you can give.”

“Very well. The first thing you have to know is that this is not my first contact with Kamar-Taj. To borrow a phrase from the world of sports, I was ‘scouted’ by them when I was younger.”

Scott felt his eyebrows rise. “They asked you to join them?”

“It never got that far, Scott. I was unaware of their interest. I learned later that one of them had investigated me, but they decided that I would be much better suited for the path of the druid.”

“Well, that’s kind of presumptuous,” Allison grinned at her joke.

“I prefer to think of it as a kindness. Both traditions seldom accept those who seek them out, rather choosing to recruit those who they believe would fit in. They don’t have time to waste on weekend wizards.”

“What do you mean?” Scott scrunched up his face.

“Neither the path of sorcery nor the path of Druid and Emissary are easy. Too many people see creeds based on philosophy or religion as something they can indulge in periodically yet not be bound by when it becomes inconvenient. They see them as tools in or accessories for their life and not … transformations.”

Scott nodded in agreement. “So, you’re happy they didn’t choose you?”

“I would have to say that I am. From what I have been able to piece together, and it hasn’t been very much since I didn’t even have a name for them until Allison told me, the Masters recuse themselves from everyday life, studying for years in their remote sanctums, and engaging with the outside world only when defending earth from threats from beyond this reality. It certainly wasn’t for someone like me.”

“I think you would have made a good sorcerer.”

Deaton walked over to the counter and put up an x-ray of an animal on the light board. “I am a veterinarian. It may not be as important as slaying a marauding dragon or defeating amorphous invaders from a hell dimension, but I see the value in taking care of people’s pets.” He tapped the x—ray. “This is from Noodles. He’s a mutt that the Breckinridge family took home from the pound. He’s a pretty average dog all around, but the three Breckinridge children love him without measure. Their mother told me that they fight over taking care of him. There’s something wrong with Noodles, but it’s something I can fix with a little medicine and some special care. Noodles will bring joy and happiness to that family for some time to come.”

“But you’re not just a veterinarian,” Allison pointed out.

“I am an Emissary as well, but Emissaries are tied to a single pack. We know the people we’re supposed to help. Most of the Hale family may not have known who I was, but through Talia I knew all about Peter, and Derek, and Cora. I knew about the disaster of Corrinne’s pregnancy and the reason Talia acted as she did.” He sighed. “I cared about them, and I helped them. One of my only regrets is that I couldn’t protect them enough.”

Alan couldn’t know this, but his words were making Scott feel a little better.

“Your family has a different calling, Allison, and that’s important, too. It’s even more rewarding for me to hear you questioning your own traditions. One of the things that attracted me to the path of the druid was their acknowledgment that all things change. What worked in the past may not work now. That’s a healthy attitude.”

Deaton thought about it for a few more minutes. “I would only caution you that when it comes to the Masters, you must remember that alliances go both ways. Yes, working with them will enable you to transform the hunting families into something closer to your vision, but it will also mean that you will have to share in their responsibilities. They have great power, but their enemies also possess great power.”

“So, in the end, it’s a gamble.”

Deaton smirked and shook his head. “I would rather say that it’s a tradeoff — greater power and renewed purpose in return for broader responsibilities. I have never resented not being asked to join the Masters because that would have, by necessity and not sinister intent, drew me away from the things I think are important. Whichever decision you make, I think you have to ask yourself in the end: what might you regret?”

November 10, 2014 – Miami, Florida

Leaning over the carafe, Peter Hale sniffed its contents and then frowned. Given the supposed quality of the hotel at which he was staying, he had expected a certain standard, and the establishment had failed to deliver upon it. He was sure that the coffee was the same off-the-shelf brand you could buy at any corner convenience store, no matter how fancy the cup it was served in. The bagel had not been baked on site; he could have picked it up, plastic wrapper and all, at any Trader Joe’s. The cream cheese was plain, and he suspected that the scrambled eggs had been made from a mix and not with fresh eggs. All in all, it was a pathetic waste of money.

Peter could tolerate many things in life — including, apparently, a teenage white knight for an alpha and living Argents — but he simply could not tolerate shoddy room service. He pondered his next step; it would depend on how vindictive he felt like being.

The world had denied him the things for which he shouldn’t have had to ask, and now he had paid good money for the promise of proper service, and they had failed to deliver. He had done everything in his power to take back what had been denied to him, and he wouldn’t stop now.

He picked up the phone, but before he could call the front desk and find someone to humiliate for his inconvenience, there was a knock on the door. Excellent, if it was an employee of the hotel, perhaps some bones would be broken.

It turned out to be Deucalion, and while he’d love to break some of his bones, it would probably not be wise. More’s the pity.

“Good morning, Peter.”

The line was delivered with a truly disgusting amount of bonhomie, as if they were enjoying a vacation together.

“If you’re expecting me to be polite, you should turn around and leave. Since I have to eat this tragedy passing for breakfast and then spend time with you, this morning cannot be, in any possible interpretation, good.”

“I’m quite sure that I’ll manage to live with your disappointment.” Deucalion crossed to the cart and poured himself a cup of coffee without even asking. Peter silently wished he would choke on the cheap grounds. “Since it is entirely possible that we will be leaving here today, you should be ready.”

“I’ve spent the last three months tracking Gerard. I can be ready at a moment’s notice.”

Deucalion raised the cup in a salute and sat down on the room’s couch. The gesture was done with such insouciant privilege that it immediately sets Peter’s teeth on edge.

“Why are you here?”

“I may have told the person for which we are waiting your room number. I hope you don’t mind.”

Peter had no doubt that whomever they were waiting for would be someone dangerous, and so Deucalion had given him Peter’s room just in case this person decided to become violent. He’d be angrier at it, but he would have done the same thing.

“Charming, but that’s not what I meant. Why are you here?”

“I thought we had gone over this. You’re going to help me find Gerard.”

“That’s a what, not a why.”

“Does the why truly matter to you?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t.” Peter picked up one of the bagels and a knife. He smeared the cream cheese across it like he was issuing a formal challenge. “I like to know the motivations of the people with whom I’m working.”

“I can imagine. You see your ignorance of my motive as a vulnerability I could exploit, in much the same way you conceal your true motives from Derek and Scott so you can exploit their vulnerability.”

“Oh?” Peter took a bite and chewed with precise deliberation. “You think you know my motives?”

“I know you’re a monster.”

“So says the Demon Wolf.”

“I never said I wasn’t a monster, too, Peter. After all, we share certain similarities that I recognize.”

“Oh, do we?”

“It’s obvious. We both decided to take injuries done to our person and make the world at large pay for them.”

“I feel honored to be included in the same category as someone with your body count.”

Deucalion’s lip wrinkled in distaste. Peter enjoyed the effect of his jib on the man’s unflappable British calm until he responded with a tilt of his head. “It isn’t much of a sacrifice, given how small your ambitions were, to fold your crimes into mine.”

To any human observer, it would would have seemed as if the two men were merely staring at each other. Peter stood with his arms akimbo, body loosed but eyes fixed on the other man. Deucalion sipped inferior coffee out of hotel china as if nothing was happening. To anyone gifted with lycanthropic senses, the two men were poised on the edge of violence.

Deucalion raised his eyebrows over the rim of his cup, daring his opponent to make the first move.

Peter turned away. It infuriated him, but the calculus was clear. Even with his membership in a large and powerful Hale Pack, as a beta he couldn’t match the power of the Demon Wolf, not with all the sparks which Deucalion had absorbed from other werewolves.

Instead, he returned to his original topic. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“I haven’t, have I?”

“Come now, you’re smart enough to realize that it would be easier to have my cooperation rather than spend the effort to drag my unwilling ass all over the known world. I’m not helpless, even if I might be weak after my resurrection—”

“Spare me the fairy story, Peter. I’m well aware that you have reclaimed your potency and then some, and I know how you did it.”

Peter’s eyes glowed with beta blue as he figured it out. “Of course, you followed her.”

“Given Miss Baccari’s ability to survive the original attack by Kali, who was one of the deadliest fighters I had ever met, I returned after Derek and Scott left the distillery to make sure she was well and truly dead. I tracked her as you must have tracked her directly to the Nemeton. While you have no doubt hidden her body well, you didn’t have the means to erase all the evidence.”

“Kudos.” Peter sneered. “Yes, sacrificing her there renewed my vigor. You knowing that tells me why you’re willing to employ me, but it doesn’t tell me why you would want my help to find Gerard and force him to tell you about the Dread Doctors. You know I must be looking to regain what I once lost; my nephew might believe I’ve given up dreams of being an alpha, but you wouldn’t believe that.”

“Not in the slightest.” The alpha of alphas put down his coffee cup. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

Peter shook his head slowly.

“Do you understand what I mean when I tell you that by every account I’ve read, the Beast of Gévaudan was an immanent werewolf.”

“A few years ago, I would probably have mocked you for believing in such things, but recently I’ve encountered a kanima, a True Alpha, and a nogitsune. I’m open to anything at this point. On the other hand, I have to ask, with all the sarcasm I can possibly muster … so?”

“I was contacted anonymously and received compelling information. It leads me to believe that the Doctors, working under the guidance and protection of Hydra, are attempting to resurrect the Beast.”

Peter blinked at the possibility. He had no illusions of Deucalion being gullible, so he didn’t doubt the source. “Why on earth would they do that?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I have several very unpleasant suspicions. Why do you think that Hydra might want access to La Bête du Gévaudan?”

“Oh.” Peter stood up straighter. “An immanent werewolf is spontaneously created when an appropriate human is exposed to a supernatural force, such as drinking water from a werewolf’s print. The individual, by nature or nurture, is predisposed to no longer remain human and the slightest exposure triggers the change. If Hydra — or any unscrupulous organization — understood how the processed worked, they could circumvent the necessity for either breeding or the Bite.”

“Exactly. There wouldn’t be any need for alphas at all. Before my defeat in Beacon Hills, I desired to reform werewolf culture to break the stranglehold of pack structure. I gave it up.”

“Because of Scott.”

“Yes. But I still possess an ego. If I don’t get to change the nature of our people, I will be damned if I’ll let some human organization do it.” Deucalion watched Peter’s response carefully. “I need Gerard because no one knows more about the Beast and his connection to the Doctors. I choose you because you have had experience fighting the Doctors.”

“And because I’m expendable.”

“Was there any doubt?”

Peter clucked his tongue. “Why not summon McCall to your aid. He’d help you if you asked him.”

“Yes.” Deucalion nodded. “He would, even though I was his enemy. Something you may scorn, but only because you lack understanding. However, I would spare him what else I have discovered.”

“Stiles is involved.”

Deucalion’s phone beep as he received a text. “Our third is downstairs. Try not to antagonize Braeden too much?”

As he had promised, Peter was ready within five minutes. He walked beside Deucalion as they descended to the lobby and checked out of the hotel. He did take the time to speak to the manager about the abysmal quality of the breakfast, as Deucalion waited a little impatiently beside him. As the manager offered him inadequate compensation, Peter’s eyes wandered up to the security cameras. He smiled at them, mockingly.

Deucalion wanted his help, and while the Demon Wolf would no doubt force him if he demurred, he was still a good judge of character. Peter Hale was considered dangerous, and that meant he had power. Hopefully, he could get a little more.

November 11, 2014 – Samana Cay, Bahamas

Theo watched the hacked security feed. Peter Hale, looking smug and satisfied, smirked at the hotel’s camera. He closed that window as Stiles entered the room. Dr. Ranefer shifted her attention up from her own tablet.

“You two wanted to see me?” Stiles stood inside the doorway. “Privately?”

“Close the door,” Dr. Ranefer answered.

Theo watched Stiles’s face wince in irritation. It could have been either side of his personality. Neither of them liked to be given orders. Dr. Ranefer didn’t mean anything by it, of course, which is why Stiles didn’t bother to react.

“Both of you look distinctly unhappy.” Stiles pulled up a chair after securing the room. “And I have a feeling that I’m going to be unhappy, if you’re so unhappy.”

Theo nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He knew what Dr. Ranefer was about to say, but he had to pretend like he didn’t.

“We’ve lost contact with Puente Antiguo.”

Theo kept his face calm.

“When you say lost contact, what do you mean exactly? That could mean a great many things.”

“We have had no reports from the Doctors or from the support staff. We’re still getting telemetry from the computer system there, but that only tells me that it hasn’t been destroyed. All communication attempts, even standard check-ins, have gone unanswered for the last fifty-seven hours.”

Stiles randomly tapped his fingers on the table. Theo recognized the significance of the gesture by now. The void kitsune was tamping down his initial reaction to think about the angles. Stiles was getting better at commanding himself. He would need to do so.

“Do we think that something happened?”

Dr. Ranefer shook her head sharply once. “We don’t have enough information. If they achieved success with whatever it was they were doing, it could possibly cause a disruption in communications, but since I don’t know what their experiment was, it’s mere speculation.”

Theo was ready for what came next.

“What do you think?” Stiles turned his eyes on him.

“I think that the Doctors never saw fit to tell me what they were doing.” It was a lie of omission. They had trained him to be an infiltrator too well for him not to put things together. “But I knew they were trying to create something powerful. Perhaps something went wrong? Or perhaps …”

Stiles gestured impatiently at Theo.

“Perhaps, now that they have what they wanted, their next step no longer needs to include us.”

“They’ll be disappointed if they try to sever our relationship without so much as an explanation. Could it be SHIELD? The Avengers? Another enemy?”

“I have no evidence, but the Avengers are on their way back stateside after taking The Finger.” Theo reported. “There’s another alternative.”

“Von Strucker.” Dr. Ranefer confirmed.

“You think he might have figured out my plan to separate the DOA from Hydra?”

“He’s not stupid,” Theo suggested.

“Okay.” Stiles kept tapping and then stopped. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You have a treatment coming up, Ayla?”

“Yes.” She nodded. The Geneticist had made good progress with her infestation problem. “In fact—”

“It’s tomorrow. Send them a message that you’re coming in early and get the quinjet ready.”

“You want me to lead the investigative team?”

“Oh, no.” Stiles shook his head. “I’m leading it.”

“No.” Theo said way too loudly and way too quickly. Both Dr. Ranefer and Stiles turned to look at him. “It’s just … it’s too dangerous.”

“You’re not coming, Theo. I know how much you fear the Doctors. But I don’t. I will want you monitoring everything while we’re gone.”

Theo nodded, swallowing. “Okay.” Hopefully, they’d get there and back before Deucalion and Peter Hale reached New Mexico. He didn’t want all the information he had fed the Demon Wolf to go to waste.

Chapter Text

November 11, 2014. Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Lydia wasn’t sure why she had agreed to study with other people tonight. She certainly wasn’t in a good mood, and the enormous amount of not-studying going on around her wasn’t helping that mood at all. The half-dozen students had been gathered for over an hour, and she didn’t think that, aside from her, any of them had actually gotten any studying done. The others had arranged themselves throughout the dormitory’s lounge, and most were talking animatedly with each other. They had supplied themselves with drinks -- some of them surreptitiously alcoholic -- and snacks of many different varieties. There was even a television going on in the background, blaring a documentary about the Avengers.

In other words, everything was happening but the stated purpose of the gathering.

Lydia had been trying to block the background noise out, to no avail. Every time one of them laughed or every time one of the talking heads on the television raised their voice to make a point, it felt like a personal attempt to distract her. Maybe it was her own inexperience with the need to study so hard that made her cross. She was easily the youngest person in the room, but she was equal to them when it came to the sophistication of her course work and the size of her class load. Her first semester, quite simply, had been harder than she had expected.

She hadn’t overestimated her talent; she was still more than capable of being at MIT and doing well. But the extracurricular activities which had plagued the last two-and-a-half years of her life in Beacon Hills had not come without a price. She found herself more anxious than she once was; every shadow could contain something unknown to the rest of the world. She found herself more aware than the people around her; every sound could be a clue or a warning. She found herself more easily distracted; her life no longer remained completely within her control.

Distancing herself from the stress of those nights had been one of the reasons she agreed to this study group at all.

Her mother had made her promise she would attempt to develop a social life. Natalie had insisted that when Lydia went to college and away from Beacon Hills that she should strive for the full experience everyone else had, though Lydia had balked at rushing a sorority. At the time, Lydia had been shocked at the urgency in her mother’s argument. At first, she thought it had been her mother meddling as she frequently tried to do, but upon reflection, there had been something in the way that her mother had spoken to her that made her suspicious.

The idea that her mother had an inkling about the supernatural disturbed her on many levels, but she couldn’t dismiss it as a possibility. The history of her grandmother and her death in Eichen House made it very possible that she might. Lydia intended to confront her over the Winter Recess, but she wouldn’t do it alone. She’d have Scott alongside her at least.

“So, what do you think, Lydia?”

“I’m sorry?” She smiled her best disarming smile. “I drifted off into topology.”

Gerald leaned forward into her personal space; at least he was blocking the television with his enormous head. A junior specializing in discrete mathematics, Lydia had met him on her second day at school. He had seemed interesting enough those first few weeks, but, as the days had passed, his flaws had become more obvious to her. He reminded Lydia of nothing less than her sophomore self: confident and outgoing, but every social interaction was treated like a skirmish in an ongoing conflict.

“We were talking about the need to hold billionaires responsible for their participation in the military-industrial complex.”

“Oh.” Lydia turned her head to the side and tried her best to keep the disinterest off her face. “That’s interesting.”

The boy returned her smile, but he subtly looked around him for support. He was trying to get confirmation that she was sincere from his friends. “You sound like you don’t agree?”

“I think that the military-industrial complex is everything that President Eisenhower warned us against, and I think it needs to be dismantled, because it frequently leads the United States into neo-imperialism and a borderline-criminal misappropriation of resources. I also think that holding individuals responsible for a system that has evolved over four generations is not very productive, and it completely neglects the advantages having a powerful military gives us. That same complex that promoted the CIA’s bombing of Laos also helped create Iron Man.”

“Tony Stark,” Gerald said with a slight sneer, “is a war criminal. He made his billions through weapon sales and his come-to-Jesus moments don’t make up for that.”

Lydia nodded sagely. “I think your judgment reeks of oversimplification. What you just said might get a lot of likes on Tumblr, but it’s not a very effective analysis of the history of Tony Stark and Stark Industries.”

Gerald’s face turned brittle. Lydia raised an eyebrow in response, but inwardly she sighed. If she hadn’t promised herself that she wouldn’t hide her intelligence any longer, she might have simply agreed with him and went back to studying. But that Lydia had been vanquished by necessity.

“I’m afraid I’m going to ask you to explain that.”

The rest of the room had turned to look at them both. Gerald’s tone had been sharp and angry.

“When did you want Stark Industries to stop making weapons?”

“I don’t want them to ever have started!”

“In 1939, with Hitler marching over Europe? In 1942, when the HYDRA-Abteilung secured an extra-dimensional power source and began their plan to conquer the world? In 1956 when Nikita Khrushchev promised to bury us and solidified the Iron Curtain? In 1971, when full-scale operations in Vietnam hit their peak? When the Chitauri wormhole opened? All of those incidents could have been solved by diplomacy, but they weren’t. It’s absolutely necessary to talk about alternatives after the conflict is over, to analyze situations in order to prevent them from every happening again, but you can do that without pretending it was never necessary to fight, and war requires weapons.”

“But none of it requires profit.”

“I fully understand you would prefer to live in a socialist society and so would I,” Lydia soothed insincerely, “but we don’t. In the system we have, companies need to make a profit in order to fund research and development. Do you know, off the top of your head, the number of American casualties in the Vietnam Conflict?”

“45,000.”

“According to some estimates, without the advantage of Stark weapons technology, that number could have been increased by a third. What do you think the casualty count would have been in Manhattan if we didn’t have Iron Man weapon system on our side? By all means, let’s talk about the exploitation of government contracts and the lives of the poor who see the military as their only way to advance. Let’s talk about illegal lobbying and pork-barrel projects unlikely to produce any result but very rich white men. But those are discrete problems that can be addressed without calling every single person who owns stock in a weapons company a war profiteer.”

Gerald had withered under her assault. It was predictable, since he had been arguing to look cool in the first place. If he remained predictable, as Lydia expected, he would go on the attack, probably ad hominem.

“I didn’t take you for an Avenger fangirl.”

“I’m not a fangirl of anyone, thank you very much, but I’ve grown out of trying to solve complex problems by pretending that they aren’t complex.”

Stacia was an engineering student, and brilliant in her own right when she wasn’t busy sabotaging herself because her parents pushed her too hard. “The Avengers themselves are a problem. What do they think they’re doing?”

“Fighting Hydra.” Paranayan put down his drink in response.

“Without the authority to do so.”

Paranayan flipped Gerald off. “You’re absolutely right. We should use an international agency well-equipped to fight stateless Nazi super-scientists. I know, something like SHIELD.”

Gerald scoffed. “Because privately funded vigilante super soldiers are so much better.”

“Probably not,” Lydia agreed. “But right now, it’s the best we have. According to everything I’ve ever read, Hydra came within three hours of taking over the world. You see, sometimes when hostile forces are on the move, you have to make use of what you have, and what we have right now are the Avengers. Trust me, nothing is worse than being the target of monsters while having no ability to defend yourself.”

Everyone in the room looked at her. In her passionate reply, she may have revealed something she didn’t want to. She had to deflect, so she gestured at the screen where Iron Man was killing a Chitauri leviathan. “If you dislike the Avengers so much, why do you have that documentary running in the background?”

“Lydia?” Stacia looked at her oddly. “The television’s not on.”

Lydia’s head snapped once more in that direction. She could see the Avengers on the screen, clear as day. She opened her mouth and screamed.

November 12, 2014. Puente Antiguo, New Mexico

“I wish we had one of the newer quinjets,” Stiles murmured to Ayla as they crossed over the New Mexican desert. Anxious to get to Puente Antiguo and maybe a little bored, he entertained himself with daydreaming about what he could do with one of them.

“This one is more than adequate for our current needs.” Dr. Ranefer pointed out from where she was bent over her tablet. “It’s equipped with the latest in ECM, it is fully armed with the latest weapon systems, and it is protected by a virus which I introduced into air-traffic controls systems and government radar installations. The virus creates both a false registration and a temporary authorization.”

“But it can’t go invisible.”

Dr. Ranefer looked up at his words, which he had to admit had sounded petulant. She studied him for a moment. “You’re upset that it doesn’t have the latest camouflage technology.”

“I’m not upset …”

She stared at him blankly, while pushing her glasses up with her thumb. Ayla didn’t actually need them to see, but she grew motion sick if she tried to read in a moving vehicle, and the glasses compensated for that. She couldn’t stand not being able to work on long trips.

“I’m not. Really.” Stiles grimaced in regret at both not having one and about sounding the way he did. “But they’re fucking cool.”

“Every time I forget that a component of your psyche is the mind of a teenage boy, you find a way to remind me.” She teased dryly. “As a solution perhaps you could put your mind to stealing the appropriate technology?”

“That’s … that’s a pretty good idea, actually.”

She smiled and turned back to her tablet. “I get them from time to time.”

Stiles settled down in his seat to figure out a way to do exactly that. He had been informed as a department head that the fledging reincarnation of SHIELD, led by a resurrected Phil Coulson, had managed to adapt the helicarrier’s cloaking technology to work with smaller vehicles. What he had to do was figure out a way to get that technology from Coulson’s organization without alerting them to his involvement and the DOA’s continuing operations.

During last year’s adventure in Beacon Hills, he had come very close to encountering Coulson’s team. He had managed to avoid being seen, but he had witnessed them and Scott’s pack tangling with the Dread Doctors. While he had scooped up the mad scientists due to their interference, he wouldn’t put it past someone like Coulson to suspect his hand behind events. He wouldn’t go after the technology until he was absolutely sure he could get it without even leaving a hint as to his identity.

He didn’t want Scott to be drawn back into this mess. Ordering the end of surveillance of Beacon Hills had been one of the hardest things he had ever done, but Stiles couldn’t move forward very well if he kept looking back.

“Sir.” The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “We’re approaching the Operating Theater. Still no contact.”

Stiles weighed his options. It was better to be safe than sorry. “Do a fly over at maximum altitude.”

After getting an affirmative response from the pilot, Stiles brought up the feed from the cameras mounted on the bottom of the plane. Ayla saved her work and turned off her tablet and shifted her chair. They had grown used to this; while he wasn’t technologically ignorant, she was more widely read and had a finer eye for detail.

“No obvious damage,” was her only conclusion concluded, after they completed the first fly over.

Stiles frowned as he ordered another one. “Can you interface with the base’s security system?”

She turned to the on-board computer, while Stiles addressed the four-man squad with them, making sure both pilots heard his orders over the intercom. “We’re going to treat this as hostile territory. Lock and load, but remember — no one fires until I give the order. Three minutes until touchdown.”

As they scrambled to get ready, Stiles went over to the weapons rack, immediately selecting a phased-plasma pistol as well as a collapsible jō. The pistol was an expensive ace-in-the-hole. Only a few of the weapons using the tesseract’s energy remained in service, as Hydra was no longer able to recharge them.

“Their security system is offline, and the uplink is disabled,” Ayla reported precisely. “It will take time to change that. I can’t imagine what’s going on down there.”

“I can imagine plenty.” Stiles wondered what the Doctors had let loose. “You four will disembark with me, and then this plane will lift off immediately after touch down. Dr. Ranefer, I want you to start data cleaning protocols remotely.”

“I should be down there with you!”

Stiles shook his head. “The two most likely explanations for the situation are as follows. Something got the Doctors, and considering how powerful they are, I don’t want to imagine what it could be. Or, the Doctors have decided to terminate their employment, which implies they won’t be friendly to us. Either way, you’re not a trained combatant, and I need you to make sure that our data is secure.”

Ayla stood up in the moving plane and moved so she was standing right in front of him to make her point. “I could do that more efficiently on the ground. There’s nothing we’ve learned in the last few minutes that leads me to believe that I’m going to have any more luck accessing the servers from up here than I had from Samana Cay.”

Stiles thought that one of the merits of melding with a thousand-year-old Japanese fox was that people would do what he said once in a while. Apparently not. He locked eyes with her, but he didn’t have an effective counter to her argument.

“Mattaku! You!” He pointed at one of men. “You are to not let Dr. Ranefer out of your sight. Anything shows up that you can’t shoot dead, your primary objective becomes getting her on this plane and in the air.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s the best you’re going to get from me, Dr. Ranefer.” He turned his attention to the pilot. “Put us down outside the perimeter fence.”

Luckily, Odin Borson decided to drop kick Mjolnir onto a relatively flat part of the New Mexican desert. The six of them had no trouble leaving the plane, the four security personnel spreading out around the two VIPS and into a cordon. The day was overcast and gloomy.

“Strange,” Ayla paused, tilting her head.

“Don’t be stingy with the words right now doctor.”

“No birds. No insects. They were always present when I came here.”

Stiles didn’t shudder involuntarily. He didn’t! After all, he was a thing that made people shudder now, and it would be embarrassing to react like that. He reached out with his own senses only to feel vast potential for chaos, a trembling knot in the void, coming from the base.

“Look sharp, everyone.”

The perimeter fence still hummed with electricity; they had upgraded it to keep nosy locals away. But it didn’t offer much of a defense against him, as he began to cut it open with a pair of cutters his men gave him. Immunity to electricity had its advantages. He had already decided against going through the front gate. If the base had been taken from the Doctors, their opposition would be moronic not to keep an eye on it. If the Doctors had gone rogue, they would definitely keep an eye on it.

Making his way through the hole in the fence, he took a moment to crane his neck at the cars in the parking lot. “It’s a full house today.” He didn’t feel the need to mention to anyone who looked at the cars closely could tell that they hadn’t moved for days.

The squad approached a side entrance. This one had been installed on Stiles’s order because it would be the most concealed exit from the base. Hostiles would have to position someone deliberately there in order to restrict its use. Stiles had been quite serious in his insistence about escape routes, but he had also placed an override in the secure door so he could get in when he needed to.

The Dread Doctors had been extraordinarily useful. They had not only expanded the Department of Occult Armament’s knowledge base, not only shared with them several key principles of arcane technology that the division hadn’t even been close to developing on their own, not only helped Ayla handle her infestation problem, but they had shared their protocols for the capture and restraint of supernatural entities. Ayla was becoming swamped with the backlog. They had been an incredible asset, but Stiles never, ever trusted them.

That wasn’t exactly true. Stiles did trust the Doctors: to do what they wanted when they wanted no matter whom it hurt.

When the door opened up at his command, the squad lowered their guns. The Geneticist was waiting for them. She barely moved let alone indicated she would attack.

“Hey there, Good Lookin’,” Stiles greeted her with his best sarcasm. “Something the matter? You guys don’t write. You don’t call.”

“Follow.” Without anything else, she turned and headed back into the complex.

“I swear, they’re so chatty.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes and then pointed two fingers at Ayla and her bodyguard and then down another hallway. The scientist nodded. That duo would go to the server room while Stiles and the other three grunts would head directly into whatever the Doctors had waiting for them.

November 12, 2014. Santa Fe, New Mexico.

“Good shot!” Tony clapped the junior senator from New Mexico on the shoulder. Steve, for his part, looked away so the politician wouldn’t see him grimacing. It wasn’t that the senator hadn’t made a good shot, it was in Tony’s attitude. It was almost as if Tony became a different person when he was schmoozing. He wouldn’t call it grossly fake, but Steve had spent so much time with Tony during the last ten months that change was unsettling.

Instead, Steve looked up into the sky. It wasn’t the best day for golf; the sky was heavy and overcast but both Tony and the local weatherman had assured him that it wasn’t going to a rain.

Smiling at the praise, the senator handed his club to his caddy and headed toward the green. He wasn’t a terrific golfer, but he was also the chair of the Senate Subcommittee on Transnational Crime, which meant that the Avengers needed his support.

Tony went over to his bag and put his own club away. Because he was an incredible showoff, Tony had brought a robot golf bag that followed him around by itself on the links. “Steve, is there something the matter?”

“I am not moping,” Steve defended himself preemptively, lifting up one foot and shaking the tassels of his golf shoes. “I feel ridiculous today.”

“You usually wear a red, white, and blue costume, one version of which had wings on your head, and golf clothes make you feel ridiculous?” Tony smirked while fluttering his hands near his temples. “Well, I can see that a side effect of Erskine’s process was a removal of all fashion sense.”

“It’s not the clothing. It’s … look, I’m fully aware of the necessity of public relations. I spent four months with the USO.”

“This is just …” Tony made parallel chopping motions with his hands to empathize his words. “Narrowly focused public relations.”

Steve shrugged. “I know. If I didn’t think this was worth doing, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t enjoy it either, Steve, but it has to be done.”

“You seem to enjoy it enough.”

“You think? I don’t like touching people, let alone asking people for things. I don’t like compromising.” Tony smiled wryly. “After all, I grew up very rich, so stupidly rich that I’m not used to not getting exactly what I want, when I want it. Why do you think I handed most of the reins over to Obadiah Stane so I could tinker in a lab and terrorize the nightclubs of the world? Because I hated what it took for me to negotiate with people just like him.” He waved at the senator.

Steve nodded, but he couldn’t really empathize. He hadn’t been as bad off as other people he had known, but his entire childhood had been about cutting corners and accepting that some things were simply going to be beyond his and his mother’s reach.

“Having money, having power, isn’t enough if you want to accomplish real things, the things that last. To do that, you have to get other people on your side. If that means learning how to speak effectively so you can convince people, learning how to tolerate shaking hands and kissing babies in order to be able to schmooze, learning how to threaten creatively in order to get recalcitrant jackasses to move a single inch, then that’s what you have to do. That’s what I’ve done. I didn’t just want to stop selling weapons; I want to create a world where no one can get rich selling weapons. If I want that, money and technology isn’t enough; I need social skills. The only other way to do it would be to Red Skull it up all over the place.”

“Please don’t.”

Tony winked. “Just for you, Steve. Just for you.”

They completed the first nine holes, and Steve made a good-faith attempt to enjoy himself. He turned out to be okay at it, even though he had never played the game before. After all sport had been for rich people before he underwent Project Rebirth, and after, there had always been an important fight that needed fought.

They were discussing whether to stop for lunch or to head straight on to the back nine when they were interrupted by … Tony’s golf bag.

“-Sir," JARVIS's voice emerged from it. “-There is a situation.”

“Excuse me, Senator,” Tony turned away immediately while Steve joined him. The man and his entourage moved away to give them privacy.

“What is it, JARVIS?” Steve asked, trying to conceal his relief at the possible end of this day’s activity.

“-The surveillance drones Mr. Stark placed in a cordon around Puente Antiguo have detected the approach of a quinjet.”

Steve shot Tony a questioning glance.

“I noticed your frustration in Estonia, so I took some extra steps to get the jump on them, while we were waiting for permission from the local authorities. JARVIS, do we have its transponder signal?”

“-That’s why I signaled the alert, sir. When I checked its registration, I detected an attempt by an advanced computer virus to provide false information on the inquiry.”

“Interesting.”

“-The virus is sophisticated enough to deceive most government systems, but not mine.”

Steve turned to Tony. “We need to move quickly.”

“Agreed. JARVIS, can you get the others in the air?”

“-I’ve taken the liberty of informing the others at Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport. They are already airborne, and Ms. Romanov is attempting to inform the appropriate authorities. Their ETA here is five minutes.”

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

Tony left to give their regrets to the senator, while Steve rushed to return his rented clubs. He could have left them on the grounds, but it was the principle of the thing. By the time he got back, Clint had their transport hovering over the ninth fairway. They scrambled aboard, Steve giving Tony a hand up.

“What’s our status?”

Clint punched it. “Now that we’ve got a cleared flight plan, I can punch it up. We’ll be there in six minutes.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I have grudging permission for the operation from the governor. No word from Washington. No support units closer than an hour away.”

“So, we’re on our own.” Steve nodded. “Anyone with an objection to doing this with just us?”

“No!” Thor stated in his usual manner. “We have more than enough power here to take this stronghold. Stark’s eyes have seen few enemies entering.”

“Let’s … let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Bruce Banner raised both hands to placate them even as Clint hit the engines. “There’s something weird going on there. While we’ve spotted that new jet, the surveillance drones haven’t clocked anyone entering or leaving the base for three days. Twenty vehicles in the lot, and no one’s gone home, or gone to the store, or even stretched their legs.”

“-Dr. Banner is correct.” JARVIS displayed several points of view. A team was disembarking from a quinjet. “-Unless there is another exit to the base that does not show up on old SHIELD schematics, no one has left or entered since surveillance began.”

Steve moved to the tactical displays, thinking. While the Avengers were pretty powerful, they weren’t invincible. Moving in without sufficient support could be dangerous. On the other hand, the very strangeness of the report made him think it could be worthwhile.

“Show it to me. Do we have any lock on the people from the quinjet? Anything on facial recognition?”

JARVIS and Bruce brought up the schematic of the base and the live video feed. The base itself wasn’t large. Maybe eighty personnel in total could operate comfortably in it.

“They’ve expanded,” Thor pointed at the holographic representation of the base. “That is new. Is it not, Clint?”

Clint hit the autopilot and turned around to double check. “Yeah. They’ve added a little extra space, but not as much as I expected.”

With Thor and Hawkeye having spent time at the base, it made Steve a little more comfortable with ordering an assault.

“The goons with guns are probably one of the renegade STRIKE squads,” Banner flapped his hands, putting the images up. “We don’t have a match yet on the woman, but … yeah. Yeah. We have a positive match. It’s Stiles Stilinski.” With a gesture he blew up the image.

“He looks like he should be pledging a frat,” Natasha shook her head.

Captain America straightened his spine with the realization that Fox was present. He hadn’t been lying when he believed that they had to stop Hydra from creating its own answer to the Avengers. Today’s prize had just gotten bigger. “Evaluations?”

“From what I have read in Ms. Hill’s excellent chronicles, he is host for a nogitsune.” Thor’s jaw set into a firm line. “They are very dangerous.”

“I sort of skipped that briefing paper,” Tony offered with embarrassment. “What can we expect?”

“Like all kitsune hailing from their otherworldly forest, they are not anything human, though they all require a host to operate on your world. For most kitsune, it is symbiotic, but the nogitsune take their host forcibly. Few Asgardians ever journey to their land, for to do so would most often result in becoming their plaything, yet we have all heard the stories. Kitsune are faster and stronger than humans, and they can teach themselves to heal more quickly. They can generate and control lightning with their tails. It is called foxfire. A kitsune’s primary danger, however, is in its array of tricks. A nogitsune’s tricks are often dangerous and malicious, for it feeds upon the unpleasantness left by each disaster it causes and grows stronger as it does so. The only possible advantage is that it prefers to keep its prey alive in order to generate as much sustenance as it can.”

“The Yellow Claw. It was a trick and I fell for it like an idiot.” Tony snorted in self-directed derision. “JARVIS, make sure the new EMP bafflers on the suit are operational.”

“- Yes, sir.”

“Is there a way to separate it from its host?” Cap asked. If there was a kid trapped in that body, he wanted to see if he could be saved. He’d want someone to at least try.

“No technology on Earth can do it. Perhaps we have the means on Asgard, but according to what Ms. Hill has learned, Von Strucker used the Scepter to permanently bind the nogitsune to its host. Fox has become something new. How this ultimately changes the creature and its abilities, I cannot tell you, Captain.”

“What is he doing here?” Banner asked, studying the screen. “Once you reclaimed Mjolnir, Thor, what could possibly be the importance of this site? It was just a basic research station. Wasn’t it?”

“A station that was scheduled to be dismantled,” Natasha hummed. “In the aftermath of Hydra’s exposure, that task would become much less important to complete. A good place for hiding something you don’t want anyone to find.”

“Well, we’re going to find out what’s there.” Cap decided. “Anyone have any critical objections to handling this right now?”

Steve locked eyes with Tony over the tactical table, who nodded agreement.

“There’s no time like the present,” Natasha said and started suiting up. Clint grunted his affirmation and went back to the pilot’s chair.

“Aye.” Thor nodded, lightly banging his fist on the table in his eagerness. “Let’s see what sort of hunt this Fox brings us.”

Chapter Text

November 12, 2014. Puente Antiguo, New Mexico

It was a symphony of carnage. The Fox had many memories of brutal tableaux similar to the one that opened up before him. Several times over the centuries, he had even been the one to create such displays. This one hit differently, because of course it would. He wasn’t the same creature any longer.

As much as the Fox would have liked to pretend otherwise, as much as it was necessary for him to strive to be otherwise, merging with Stiles Stilinski had resulted in him gaining a degree of empathy to which he was unaccustomed. Before, he had learned to perceive how people related to each other in an objective way, in a practical way, because nothing fed him better than severing the bonds between loved ones in the most vicious way possible. He had been able to utilize the emotional context of his hosts as a tool to achieve it. Unfortunately, he had lost the ability to discard that context when it became inconvenient. He could no longer escape remembering a mother’s gentleness and madness, a father’s fierce protectiveness and alcohol-soaked grief, a banshee’s flirty smiles or a best friend’s reassuring grip on his shoulder. He had to keep pushing those feelings away as much as possible, for they rose up out of his unconscious in unexpected and unwelcome times.

Like now, for instance.

More than two-dozen corpses were arrayed about the edges of the central chamber, posed like an audience of the damned. The artist responsible had made sure that every pair of dead eyes were fixed on the make-shift dais dominating the center of the room. The victims had been dead for long enough that the stench was unbearable. He could hear one of the STRIKE members gag on it, even as hardened to death and battle as they were.

As dispassionately as he could, Fox noted that the final count of twenty-five bodies meant he could finally account for every single member of the Department of Occult Armaments assigned to the base, including twelve guards meant to protect the facility, four scientists meant to assist and learn from the Dread Doctors, two administrators meant to keep projects running smoothly, three engineers meant to keep the technology operational, five covert operatives meant to snatch experimental subjects for the doctors, and the minor telepath Pohlmann.

The central chair would have been disturbing enough on its own, being cobbled together from other furniture, but it also had been set up directly above the Mjolnir impact site, which had become a confluence of Telluric currents outmatched in intensity only by actual Nemetons. Fox hoped it was a coincidence or, at the worst, a matter of subconscious choice rather than a deliberate plan to channel the power of the currents into the man who sat there currently.

Fox took in a deep breath and pushed the revulsion away. He wasn’t going to show whoever this was how effective his display had been. “Did you have to kill Josef, too? Do you know how hard it is to find psychics who don’t faint constantly?”

“I have been warned about your humor. You will seek to distract me with it.” The man in the throne-like chair replied casually, as if they were meeting for coffee. “What exactly would you be trying to avoid?”

“Oh, boy. You’re French. Magnifique.” Stiles gestured around him, outwardly matching the man’s nonchalance. “I suspect it’s my disappointment with finding … this.”

“Not my best work, I’ll admit, but sometimes you have to use the materials you find at hand. Though even with acknowledging its limitations, I think it is a fitting way to celebrate my return to the world.”

“You’re forgetting one very important thing: they weren’t your materials with which to throw a party. They were mine.”

The French man twirled his hand in derisive dismissal.

The Fox had had enough. While he usually kept his aura tightly concealed, he released it violently. The crackling black energy of the void fox surrounded him; his tails lashed the air. It had to be impressive, for even his own men stepped back, while the Doctors left the equipment they had been monitoring and turned to him, prepared to intervene.

“So, you show your teeth, no? I am not impressed.”

“Come closer, you arrogant toad, and I’ll try harder to impress you. Who do you think you are?”

The man leaned forward. “I? I am the famous and feared La Bête du Gévaudan!” His eyes glowed so intensely blue that they were almost white, the blood of hundreds of innocents intensifying his power. “From now on, petit renard, you — along with the rest of the world — will always remember the name of Sebastien Valet!”

Fox was startled. This hadn’t been what he expected, so he let his aura fade away. Instead, he turned and mugged his confusion at the Surgeon. “All this to resurrect an eighteenth-century monster?”

“Perfect Killer.” The Surgeon intoned.

“Marcel exaggerates my accomplishments, but then what are best friends for?” Valet chuckled as he lounged back on the dais. “I’m not the perfect killer … yet.”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m trying to find a way forward here. You’ve killed my personnel, commandeered my facility, and your very presence might draw unwanted attention to my own activities. Can we possibly find a way to move forward before things get even worse?”

A smirk settled on The Beast’s lips, but he didn’t immediately reject the idea. If it wouldn’t have given too much away, Fox would have sighed in relief. While arrogant, the French werewolf didn’t seem to be stupid; he had to have realized that this world wasn’t like early modern France.

Fox gathered himself to make a pitch when he was interrupted by a klaxon. It was the aerial proximity alarm, and everyone except Valet looked toward the security station. The Pathologist, who had been closest, stepped over to investigate; it was so strange to see him be delicate with his clunky metal fingers. He brought up an external camera on the monitor. An aircraft was approaching the base. It was a quinjet, and even at this distance everyone in the room could see the stylized “A” on the side.

“I was being rhetorical!” Stiles shouted in frustration. In a blur of movement, he rushed up to the platform and tried to hip check the Doctor out of the way. It didn’t work, but he still could manipulate the cameras. Hovering in mid-air, the quinjet’s rear loading hatch opened, allowing Thor and Iron Man to deploy. Then it dropped to ground level, and Captain America, Hawkeye and Black Widow leapt to the ground.

Fox kept his eyes fixed on the plane as it began landing procedures. It hovered for a moment and then moved slightly father away; an autopilot sequence wouldn’t do that, so that meant that someone else was flying the ship. If it was Banner, they were well and truly fucked.

Valet had risen from his throne and moved so he could see the monitors.

“What has you so aggravated?”

Stiles pointed at the screen. “Those are the Avengers. They are the most powerful group of people in the world right now.”

“I’m aware of them on a certain level. They seem like garish clowns.”

“Well, be sure to tell them that when they start kicking your ass. We’re all in trouble.” Fox shot a glare at the Surgeon. “You have the escape plans ready like I asked you to?”

Instead of the Doctor answering, The Beast wrinkled his nose. “You would have us flee?”

“Yes!” The Fox licked his lips. “I know you and I aren’t in the minor leagues, monsieur, but approximately five hundred feet above our heads is the most sophisticated weapons systems ever created by man. I would say it’s the most powerful weapon on the planet but flying right next to it is Mjolnir, a weapon of legend forged in the flames of a dying star. I honestly have crafted several plans for dealing with the Avengers, but not a single one of them was designed for right this minute!”

“Thor is here?”

Stiles recreated the Will-Smith-meme at the security screens. He turned to his men, who were waiting for his orders. “We are leaving, now. Alert Ranefer.” He turned back to see Valet still looking up at the screen. “Less pondering, Pinky, and more moving.”

“I don’t think so.” Sebastien Valet nodded to himself, as if he had come to a decision.

“What?”

“I think …” The Beast smiled, widely. “I think I want to kill a god.”

Once in a tavern on Alfheim, Fandral had come out and asked him if he preferred the company of humans more than he did Asgardians. Thor had brushed him off by saying that he enjoyed each for their own merits. Never would Thor say to any Asgardian by whose side he fought, but in moments like this, while their jet hurtled through the desert sky above New Mexico and towards the lair of evil, he loved Midgard and its peoples more. Thor only had to glance at his companions to remember why.

Captain America stood before the holographic display of the facility, arms akimbo, possibly memorizing the layout of the base. Ever since JARVIS had found a clue in the computer systems of Nootamaa, Steve had been quizzing both him and Clint about their time at Puente Antiguo. Where Thor felt anticipation and eagerness for the coming battle and for the chance to retrieve Loki’s Scepter, the captain exhibited only determination to see it through.

In the technical bay, Iron Man argued with JARVIS over the final calibrations to his most recent suit of armor. The artificial intelligence patiently ran the same check over and over again, while explaining to his creator, with only the faintest hint of synthetic pique, that they did not have time to reroute the armor’s back-up power systems into an even more secure configuration. Tony’s chagrined reaction to the possibility that he had been fooled by the nogitsune in Long Island ten months ago had generated a flurry of focused activity and irritated mumbling.

Black Widow and Hawkeye were completing a much more sedate weapons check by the armory, though they brought the same level of deliberation and care as the engineer. This was their ritual, the way they prepared themselves for every battle and all the consequences battle may bring with it. They balanced Steve’s conviction and Tony’s hope with a more practical and – though Thor would never say it aloud — world-weary approach to the fight. But they would always be there.

Dr. Banner, having switched out with Clint in the pilot’s seat, kept casting anxious looks back at everyone when he looked up from his tablet even as he monitored the autopilot. Of them all, the man loathed every battle because the thing that they might need the most was what he hated to release. He frequently sought over ways to help, such as pouring over the official report on Puente Antiguo’s purpose to find out why Hydra might be interested in the place. Yet he would call upon the Hulk if they needed him, without complaint.

Each one different in nature, forged by their past while burdened by it, and yet each a comrade with whom he would be proud to stand.

And as for him?

Perhaps it was because he was far older than anyone else on the plane could possibly imagine and thus had experienced many battles, but he did not share their anxiety about what approached. He couldn’t blame the others if they did not understand his joy at the danger, for he was as different from them as they were different from each other. He relished testing his power and his skill against enemies while standing shoulder-to-shoulder with these comrades — with these friends. Even better, the team was doing it for the right reasons. The Scepter had to be recovered; in the hands of the wicked like Hydra it could wreak untold danger.

Steve had kept an eye on their position even as he plotted his next move, so his timing was precise. “Right. Dr. Banner, please open the rear doors. You’re up, guys. Alpha Plan.”

Over the last months, the team had worked out several standard attack scenarios when crashing Hydra bases. Alpha was direct assault. It certainly made the most sense at a base as small as this one, and it was Thor’s favorite.

He and Tony would be the first wave. They could fly, they were hard to hurt, they packed a punch, and they could be very, very flashy when they needed to be. They deployed in the air above the target, drawing the enemy’s attention and the majority of their firepower. Steve, Clint and Natasha would deploy on the ground, moving quickly enough to take advantage of the distraction. Bruce would land the quinjet and then handle communications and tactical analysis until and unless a Code Green became necessary.

Thor hoped it wouldn’t become necessary. He didn’t like the burden the transformation left on Bruce, and it would mean less fighting for him, when it came down to it.

Twirling his hammer to keep himself steady in the air, Thor watched as Tony launched a barrage of mini-rockets. They would do minimal damage, but they would definitely the base’s attention. Strangely, there was no immediate reaction. Thor glanced over at the parking lot — a new addition since he had been here — and saw it was filled with cars.

“Friends, this is odd.”

“You got that right.” Tony’s voice carried notes of consternation, though his armor hid his expressions. “I’m not even showing a pick-up in radio transmissions. I’m a little offended about being ignored.”

“Could they have fled this place?”

“I’m starting a full scan. Steve, are you copying this?”

“Roger that.” Steve sounded liked he was running. “We crashed front door and the place looks deserted. Try to find out where the hell everyone is. Thor, we know that Fox and his team are here. Can you make sure their ride doesn’t go anywhere?”

“Aye, Captain!”

Turning in mid-air, Thor shot towards the location where Tony’s drones had spotted a landed Hydra quinjet. When he came over the rise, the quinjet’s pilot spotted him and burst into activity, trying to mount some sort of response.

The human could not react fast enough. Landing directly in front of the airplane, Thor brandished his hammer and drew every ounce of electricity from every system in the vehicle into Mjolnir. Like most quinjets it was shielded from a direct lightning strike, but no designer had thought to protect it from the reverse. Thor shook his head at the pilot through the glass to show the futility of resisting him. The plane wasn’t destroyed, but it would not be going anywhere for a long while. The guns could not be fired, and not even the radio could be used.

Thor twirled his hammer and return to the sky with a smirk. “Their plane is neutralized. Have you found anyone?”

“Maybe?” Tony’s frustration sounded loud over the radio. “Would your nutcracker’s impact have screwed with the e-m spectrum? I’m getting the strangest damn readings I’ve ever seen, both in and directly below the base.”

“JARVIS, can you send me that data?” Bruce asked in that far-away tone he had when he was close to figuring it out. The team had learned to wait patiently; he would tell them as soon as he could.

Thor flew up to where Tony was coordinating satellite imagery.

“There’s something down there, Goldilocks,” Tony said to him. “But if it’s the Scepter, they’re hiding it pretty effectively. I’ve never seen magnetic patterns like this.”

“Guys,” Banner began to speak excitedly. “We have a knot of geomagnetic currents directly underneath what seemed to be your hammer’s impact site, Thor. Whatever else is down there is in the clean room.”

“Shall we, Mr. Stark?”

“You guys have fun with the big stuff!” Clint shouted over the link, coupled with the sound of automatic gun fire. “We finally found Fox’s team!”

“I’m not learning anything more up here.” Iron Man turned reversed his thrusters and descended. They tore through the roof at full speed, landing together in the ground. It had always been very impressive.

Thor did not think on it this time, given the slaughter they found around them. He gripped Mjolnir’s handle tightly. If the four figures in the room — three men and one woman, at least he thought one of masked perpetrators was a woman — were responsible for this mayhem, they would pay.

“I thought Halloween was over a week ago,” Tony quipped feebly. As much as he tried to act like he didn’t care, Tony couldn’t stand the idea of human suffering and violent death.

“Where is the Scepter?” Thor demanded. “Surrender or it shall go hard on you!”

“I am Sebastien Valet.” The sole enemy in the room who wore no mask introduced himself. “I know nothing of any scepter, but you, with you I am familiar. You are Thor, son of Odin.”

“And Prince of Asgard, so if you understand what’s good for you, you will stand down ere I smite thee.”

“You do not disappoint.”

Recovering from his shock at the piles of corpses, Tony looked around. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

“An annoyance.” Valet nodded his head to the masked people.

Thor felt the flux in the magnetic fields around him. Lightning was the full destructive power of electromagnetism, and it was part of his portfolio. The two masked men raised their hands at Tony, and Thor imagined even a normal human could feel the shift in power.

The commlink burst into static as Tony fell to one knee under the relentless magnetic assault. Thor heard a scraping whine, and he realized that the masked men were planning to crush Tony inside his armor, while the woman approached Iron Man with a hypodermic. He lifted his hammer to scatter his enemies when someone grabbed his arm.

Valet was faster, far faster than any human should be. Thor turned to shake him off, but as he did, enormous claws grew out of the man’s fingers, sharp enough to pierce even his skin! It’d been a long time since he had seen his own blood.

“Leave them be, god.” Valet’s eyes glow an actinic blueish white; black smoke began to gather around him somewhere. “Your fight is with the Beast.”

The STRIKE team members hurried to keep up as Fox stormed down the passageway toward the exit closest to his quinjet. All he knew is that he had to get him and his team out of this place as quickly as superhumanly possible. The Beast’s arrogance and bloodthirst had not only cost the Department of Occult Armaments irreplaceable resources, but it had also brought about one of the few confrontations for which he was not yet prepared. If he managed to get away from New Mexico without losing anything else, it would be a bona fide miracle. Fox made a mental note to think of some suitable punishment to inflict on Valet and his accomplices.

He pushed the buzzing fury filling his head down savagely; he had to keep his mind clear. It wouldn’t be the first time in a thousand years he had been overthrown by egotism and grandiosity, but it had almost always been his own that had tripped him up. To be at the mercy of someone else’s flaws irritated him, and he had to admit that he couldn’t afford to take things for granted anymore. When his hosts have been killed in the past, he had always escaped or returned to the kitsune’s domain, but he no longer knew what would happen if he died after the alterations done to him by the scepter. He was pretty sure that the part of him that was Stiles would die, and he reluctantly admitted to himself that he didn’t want that.

He stopped and whirled on his team. “Has anyone answered you?”

“No response from the transport.”

“I can’t raise Dr. Ranefer, either.”

Fox snarled. “Dumbass punks.” He noticed the startled reactions and shook his head. “Not you, our pissant subcontractors. You three get to the jet and get it airborne. I’ll get Ranefer and Paitson.”

“But sir, that will leave you alone against …”

“I’m touched by the concern, but if we don’t get that plane in the air, it won’t matter if I’m alone or not because there’s no way we we’re getting out of this. So … shoo.”

His teams had learned that while he would accept criticism, it was best not to argue with the boss when he was in a mood and sprinted toward the exit. Fox himself found the nearest staircase to the lower level. Ayla most likely would still be in the server room, completing her assigned task. As a new addition, the room was underground to shield it from electromagnetic surges, something that was more likely given the Doctors’ proclivities, but it was entirely possible the very same shielding prevented her from answering her radio.

Splitting up may have seemed dangerous to the STRIKE team, but he had his reasons. He hadn’t been lying when he told them that their first priority was to get the quinjet secured. No one should look forward to hiking across the New Mexican desert, especially if there was a chance of doing it while being chased by an enormous green rage monster.

But the truth was, without a solid plan in play, the STRIKE Team would only function as a hindrance to him. His thousand years of experience had been mostly working alone. Command wasn’t his strength; manipulation wasn’t the same as leadership. If he had to make his way through an abandoned facility dodging superheroes, he’d be better off if he did it solo. If things went completely belly-up, he would be a lot more likely to escape if he didn’t have to babysit people who hadn’t even reached the half-century mark yet.

Still, he wasn’t ready to bolt yet. He wanted Ayla free and all possible connections to the Department severed. He could only hope that the Doctors and the arrogant Beast would serve as a sufficient distraction for the Avengers. They might even win the fight, though he imagined Valet’s head figuratively exploding with the boost to his already sizable.

“Look at me, look at me, I’m La Bête du Gévaudan,” Fox muttered sarcastically to himself as he hit the bottom of the stairs. As he walked by a work bench, he snatched up an open-end wrench. The hardened server room should be just on the other side of this laboratory, but he had to make another stop first. “I was the largest pompous dickweed in the entire Lozére Department.”

The Doctors had filled this level with all sorts of equipment from their Operating Theaters, but there was one more thing that only a few knew about. About ten feet from the glowing-green pickled lowenmensch which the Doctors used to keep themselves alive, there was an isolated corner. Fox knelt down and placed his hand there. “Voice identification code: Radium, Iodine, Potassium.”

The system recognized him and the floor slid open to reveal the self-destruct device he had had installed. “You deserve this, baka,” he snarled at his erstwhile allies and triggered it, giving himself and the rest of his team ten minutes to get out.

As he closed the panel, locking it up tight, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head just to see the blue energy of the Black Widow’s personal weaponry hit him. Its electrical charged surged through him to no effect.

“I would have thought that a master spy would have been properly briefed.” He whirled to smirk at her only to get a kick to the chest that threw him back against the wall.

“I was,” she snarked as she deployed her baton and rapped him on the side of the head of it. “They told me to expect an overconfident opponent.”

Fox struck back with a few open palm jabs at her. “Takes one to know one.” She dodged it, easily, and then tried to punish him with another baton strike to his jaw, but this time he caught it. She rotated her body in order to get the leverage to yank it out of his grip, but he was simply too strong for her.

He’d fought skilled opponents before, and Natasha Romanov had to be among the best. Her acrobatic style swung her around dynamically, launching herself on and over equipment and even his own the body, but in the end, he recognized her styles as a deceptive technique. She wasn’t looking to wear her opponent down. Her motions were designed to confuse and distract him until she could strike a vulnerable point. An excellent strategy, especially when fighting against opponents who trusted in their greater strength to win.

But you should never trust a fox.

He started lashing out seemingly at random, calling upon his aura and displaying his tails but not using them and smashing a few machines here and there with a few badly thrown punches. He mimed frustration as the fight continued, waiting for her to notice the pattern he was employing in his assault. He so enjoyed turning tactics of dangerous opponents against him.

When she finally struck at a supposed weak point, he changed direction, giving himself a burst of speed that ended with her pinned against the wall, one of his hands on her throat and the other holding her right arm. “Tricked.”

“I see that.” She gritted her teeth against the pain.

“Tell me, Nat. I can call you that, right?” He leaned in closer. “When they shattered your psyche in the Red Room and then put it back together, are you sure they got all the pieces?”

“How …” The Black Widow had been trained to be a cold assassin, but even she had emotions; she certainly hadn’t expected him to bring her past up. It wouldn’t have given any normal opponent an advantage, but it certainly gave him something — the spike of shame and self-loathing was exquisite. It only lasted a moment; her control snapped back into place. “Are you getting hungry?”

“I’m always hungry, Nat. You shouldn’t have tried to take me on all by yourself. As cool as you are, you’re still only human.”

“True. Which is why I brought back-up.”

Stiles had wondered while watching the invasion of New York on television how getting hit by a vibranium shield would feel. He didn’t have to wonder any longer as he felt the very weapon bounce off the back of his head.

Even with his aura protecting him, the room spun. Before he could call upon enough energy to recover, the Black Widow had reversed his position and slammed him down on the ground, flat on his back, with a throw.

Immediately, Natasha drew her pistol and pointed it at him. Captain America stepped into his view.

“I know you’re powerful, but if you try to get up, she’ll put one in each kneecap. You’re done.”

Fox laughed in their face, but he didn’t move. “I think I’ve just started. More specifically, I’ve just started the self-destruct protocol for this base. I suspect that usually Tony would be able come in and disable it before it went off, but I’m guessing that he and Thor are most likely getting their asses kicked by three deranged para-scientists and an 18th-century lycanthropic serial killer, so you’re going to have to handle it yourself.”

“If it goes off, you’ll die too.”

“We all have to go sometime.”

Captain America and the Black Widow looked at each other; they weren’t going to be easily bluffed so he had to up his game.

“Let me guess,” Fox hissed. “You’ve lost contact with the Asgardian and the billionaire. You can try to catch me, or you can save the lives of your teammates. Tick-tock. To be fair, I’m sure you’ll get another crack at me eventually.”

Captain America set his jaw. “I have faith that Thor and Iron Man can handle anything that comes their way.”

Natasha holstered her gun and went to where Fox had been kneeling. “There is an access panel here.”

“Which you will still be trying to open when it goes off.” Fox grinned. “But let me make the decision easier for you.”

He had worked the open-ended wrench out of his pocket and whirled it with all his might through the air. If he had been throwing it at Rogers, his shield would have easily blocked it, but he hadn’t been the target. He put enough strength to shatter the tube containing Douglas and the green liquid spilled out over the ground.

Japanese tales abounded with instances of fox spirits vanishing in one place only to appear in another. It might have seemed like teleportation, but it really wasn’t. Powerful kitsune could expend energy to momentarily freeze the minds of observers if they were sufficiently distracted and use those few precious seconds to get away. Freezing these two minds would take a lot of energy, so he had to make it count.

In the handful of seconds where Black Widow and Captain America were incapacitated, he rushed to the server room, only to find it empty. He kept moving. Hopefully, Ayla and Paitson were back on the plane, which was where he should go as quickly as he could. He ran; he could move pretty fast when he needed to do so, but it cost even more power.

He paused at the top of the stairs. Why was he running? He hadn’t been spending his power liberally, so he still had plenty left. The pair of Avengers hadn’t seemed to be willing to simply put him down, and that was a weakness he could certainly exploit. When he had frozen them, he could have removed Steve Roger’s head from his shoulders like he had done to Merrick in 1943. It would have been ironic.

And yet, the thought hadn’t even occurred to him.

He started moving again, heading for the escape door. He could tell himself that he needed to make sure that everything was secure, but part of him knew it was a lie. If Captain America was murdered, it would send shock waves across the nation. Such an admired, heroic figure being decapitated in a darkened basement could feed him for … decades.

Bursting out through the same door he had entered, Fox hit the ground running, but he couldn’t outrun Stiles’ admiration for the Avengers. These emotional holdovers from his previous life were still causing him trouble. He had tried and tried to rid himself of them, but he hadn’t been successful.

Glancing over his shoulder, he could hear the crack of thunder and the stench of ozone. The Avengers weren’t having an easy time of it. Good on the doctors and their bloodthirsty creation. If they could stall just the superheroes a little longer, there would be nothing left but a crater in the ground.

He reached the quinjet. “Why aren’t the engines running?” He demanded of the crew.

“Thor drained the entire system, sir. We’re a hunk of metal.”

“Where’s Ranefer?”

The STRIKE sergeant shook his head.

Fox chewed the inside of his cheek. She could have gotten away, but without the sensors of the quinjet, he couldn’t be sure. He might get back in time to turn off the auto-destruct, but if he ran into an Avenger or two, he could still be fighting them when the base got blown up.

Again, weakness hampered him. It should have been an easy decision to make, but his friendship with Ayla interfered. What type of nogitsune was he?

“I’m going to charge the plane. Get us in the air, and get on those scanners. If they’re captured, we’ll get Ranefer and Paitson later.” He pushed foxfire into the plane; this would have been much easier if he had been a thunder kitsune. “I will get them later.”

Chapter Text

November 12, 2014. Puente Antiguo, New Mexico

Tony Stark had never been an average person. He had the benefit of vast wealth, incredible social status, and a brilliant mind, and he had never been ashamed of any of it. What good would that do? He did, however, have to develop the ability to prioritize among the things he wanted, especially in the face of opposition. Even now, when the fight was so rough that he had started to sweat inside his armor, Tony Stark wasn’t going to let that stand in his way. Even though the failing structural integrity of his suit had triggered warnings a minute ago and was steadily dropping, there was something he had to accomplish first.

“JARVIS, I’m waiting.”

The A.I. stated in a slightly aggrieved tone. “-Yes, sir. I admit your intuition to enhance the baffling capacitors of the Mark XLIII armor turned out to be correct.”

Tony smiled. “Thank you, JARVIS. I usually don’t like saying I told you so — wait, I do like saying I told you so.” He paused and grunted as he used a rocket-assisted kick to punt the masked female across the room. She seemed obsessed with trying to stick him with that strange-looking hypodermic. He didn’t want to know what it was intended to do to him.

“-Now that needs of your ego have been satisfied, Mr. Stark, I feel I have to point out that your energy reserves have reached thirty percent and are still being depleted.”

“I noticed.” Tony brought up an arm to block the masked man who tried to clock him in the head with what looked like a cane, of all things. As much as Steve’s training had improved his hand-to-hand skills, Tony still preferred dealing with enemies at range. The Iron Man armor seemed to be more powerful than any one of these masked guys, but there were three of them and they were at close range in a confined space.

He also couldn’t use his biggest ordnance at such close quarters. Across the room, Thor grappled with this clawed, jawed thing that would have looked like some really bad CGI on television only up close and in three-dimensions. The way its flesh moved gave Tony’s finely-honed perception of scientific reality a shock to the system. Thor had been wounded, taking several deep scratches that had soaked him in his own blood. The over-sized jaws of the creature had closed over his hammer arm.

The confined space also kept him from outmaneuvering his opponents. While the masked people didn't seem able to move that quickly, their constant electromagnetic attacks were relentless.

“Any insight on how they are doing this or how I can counter it?”

“-I’ve accessed files sent to me by Maria Hill. The three masked individuals are called the Dread Doctors—”

“Seriously?”

JARVIS continued on, unruffled and unhurried. “-They are para-scientists specializing in melding science and the supernatural. Information on them is limited and mostly couched in arcane terminology.”

“Fantastic. Anything useful? At all?” Tony jammed his elbow into the tallest Doctors’ gut. It was like punching a leather sack filled with sand.

“-There is speculation in the report that their masks are what allow them to generate energy by altering the frequency of their molecular vibrations.”

“Sounds neat.” Tony’s mind raced as he watched his reserves trickle down another two percentage points. “That definitely might help explain their physical capabilities and their control over electromagnetism.” Triggering his thrusters, he leapt over the advancing Doctor — the one with the cane — and landed on the ground behind him.

Across the room, the monstrous abomination roared as it tried to get a claw into Thor’s throat, but Thor picked it up bodily and slammed it into the ground.

“You’re quite quick, demon, but you’ll have to do better than that!” Thor cried and yanked his arm out of the Beast’s jaws. Asgardian blood sprayed across the room. The Prince of Asgard raised Mjolnir over his head and brought it down to smash the monster’s skull while he had it pinned, but the creature suddenly shifted back into its human form in order to avoid it. The hammer struck the ground, shaking the entire building like a localized earthquake. The ripples of power reached both Tony and his enemies, though it did give him an idea.

“They’re disrupting the armor’s power supply by shifting the vibrational frequency of the surrounding area. JARVIS, recalibrate the sensors to read that frequency and oscillate the ARC reactor’s output to match their shifts. That should stop the power drain.”

“-I concur in your assessment. However, doing so would require approximately 500 teraflops of computational power.”

“That’s definitely within your capabilities.”

“-Of course it is, sir. I am pointing out that it will require most of my concentration.”

Tony smirked while he punched the female Doctor once again. “You get on that; I’ll handle the rest. Hey, Men’s Health and Fitness!”

Thor had staggered back, narrowly avoiding a slash across the eyes from the creature, who had shifted back into his monstrous form. “I’m a little busy here, Stark!”

“Just a head’s up. I’ve got an idea, but it might jar your fillings!”

“Jar my what?”

“-I am ready to begin, sir.” JARVIS stated. Suddenly, the power drain on his suit stopped, allowing the reactor to immediately begin recharging. The cane-wielding Doctor switched out his eye piece and stepped back, obviously reassessing the situation.

“Oh, you feel that, do you?” Tony stood up and began overcharging his repulsors. “It’s a good thing you guys are medical professionals. You’re going to need some first aid really soon.”

“Unlikely.” The Doctor with the cane glanced at his two compatriots who backed off. They surrounded him and raised their hands, but nothing obvious happened.

“He speaks!” Tony joked, but he kept one eye on the energy outputs. The Doctors had changed tactics, but he couldn’t perceive what they were doing. He would soon … what was he trying to do?

Beyond them, a tall blond man grabbed a monster by the throat and threw him up in the air. Grabbing up a big hammer, the blond man flew up after the monster. How could he fly without a propulsion system?

Tony shook his head. It was Thor, and Tony had worked out how he could fly months ago. How had he forgotten?

“-Sir, the onboard electroencephalogram indicates unusual anomalies in your brain activity. Are you experiencing difficulty?”

“Who are you?”

“-I am JARVIS, your personal assistant. Sir, I believe that the Doctors are attempting to suppress your ability to access long-term memory, rendering you unable to operate the Iron Man armor effectively. I cannot compensate for it while also matching the ARC reactor output to their frequency manipulations. I am alerting the rest of the team, but you will have to find some way to overcome this by yourself.”

Tony was finding it hard to think clearly. He couldn’t be sure where he was or what he was doing. This was a SHIELD facility, but he didn’t really know what type of organization SHIELD was. He didn’t know who these people were in front of him, though he certainly didn’t feel like they were friends. He couldn’t be sure what the voice inside this suit was telling him the right thing.

There were no real answers, no concrete solutions, and no resources he could reach to check. He clenched his jaw. He couldn’t even call his mom and dad for advice; he didn’t know where they were. He couldn’t call Obadiah. He had friends, of course, but he couldn’t even remember their names.

It was just him and this armor. The system was so complicated.

“I don’t know what your beef is with me, or my beef is with you, but I’ve been solving harder puzzles since I was six.” He activated something promising, called gauntlet repulsors and threw his hands out. It caught a very strange-looking man with an automatic monocle and a cane and tossed him all the way across the room. “Oh, that looked like it worked.”

He rounded on another as it tried to grapple with him and threw her across the room into the first one, but he wasn’t moving fast enough. The tallest enemy raised its metal hand and brought it down on his shoulder hard enough that he felt it. Warning lights flashed; the armor was warning him that he might suffer serious damage if he took another hit. Tony staggered back, trying to regain his footing.

The tall man with frightening helmet raised his first to strike him again, but before the blow fell, the wall behind him exploded. The Doctor started to turn to the face, but a giant green hand reached out and grabbed him by the head. The helmet-like mask crumpled under the strength of the Hulk, even as Banner shook the man like a toy. The Doctor went down, and he didn’t move again.

Memories flooded back to Tony. “Nice to see you, big guy. Welcome to Halloweentown.”

The Hulk snorted grabbed the female doctor as she tried to retreat and threw her like a baseball out through the wall of the facility.

Braeden munched on her breakfast taco as they came out of Isabel’s Diner. Peter eyed her speculatively; it was her fourth one. He thought the diner’s food was pretty good for a Podunk town in the middle of the New Mexican desert, but she had also eaten a waffle, two pieces of toast, and three cups of coffee. Out of the corner of her eye, the mercenary caught his face as she devoured the last bit of her breakfast.

“What? They’re very good.”

“I’m a werewolf, and I didn’t eat that much. I don’t think I could’ve eaten that much.”

The mercenary glanced at him with one raised eyebrow. “If I were any less a disciplined professional, I’d say something like: ‘Do I look like I need to watch what I eat?’ Instead I’ll simply concentrate on not kneecapping you for your unsolicited yet profoundly masculine concern for my figure.”

Deucalion chuckled as he walked down the street, serene yet alert. “I appreciate your restraint, Braeden. We’ll need him mobile, and most likely soon.”

Braden’s SUV had been parked two blocks down the street from the diner. It was standard practice for those involved in the world of the supernatural. You had to take extra precautions to avoid enemies with preternaturally sharp senses. For example, a werewolf could learn your scent by sniffing the seat of your vehicle; they could learn how many people they had with you, what sort of weapons, and even if you had special ammunition. What’s worse, some creatures were able to pick up psychic impressions. Those deep in the shadow world took every precaution to keep the vehicles they used from being identified as theirs. It’s why the Argents always possessed a fleet of different vehicles and had them professionally detailed on a regular schedule.

Braeden started the engine remotely with her fob. Having finished her food, she wadded up the napkin and deposited it in a trash can. “Base isn’t far from here, is it?”

“Ten minutes at most.” Deucalion said amiably.

“Okay, so now is a good time to go over exactly what you’re paying me for. I find it keeps complaints to a minimum.”

Peter snorted as he opened the passenger-side front door of the SUV.

“Hold it,” Braeden stopped him with a glare. “The man who’s paying gets shotgun.”

“It’s fine if Peter wants to sit up front. I prefer to have him not sitting behind me in any event.”

Peter raised his hands in mock offense. “I’m serious, when did I get this reputation?”

“Since you demonstrated yourself capable of murdering your own kin. Braeden, our mission is one of sabotage. We must find the means by which the Dread Doctors intend to bring back the Beast, prevent them from doing so, and make sure they cannot do it again.”

“Fair enough. One of you two will be able to point out what we’re looking for?”

“Ah.” Peter glanced over his shoulder as the vehicle pulled away from the curb. “That’s another reason that you chose to involve me, isn’t it?”

“If you’re going to thwart a resurrection, it would do well to have someone intimately familiar with the process. So, be a good chap — as much as you can be — and tell Braeden and me all about it.”

“There are three parts to any living entity: body, mind, and spirit. When it comes to reversing death, all three propose particular problems to the aspiriing necromancer. Raise the body without a mind or a spirit, and you get The Walking Dead, and I hate that show. Raise the body and the spirit without the mind, and you’re left with nothing but a rotting prison for some poor, unfortunate soul. Worst of all, raise the body and the mind, and you get an abomination.”

Braeden pulled out onto the highway. “From what I’ve heard, that might not be too big of a problem for the Doctors.”

“I suspect if they’ve gone to this much trouble, dear girl, they’ll be angling for completeness.” Deucalion observed from the back seat. “The Beast is a specific creature with specific needs. They don’t want an imitation; they want the original.”

“Anyway,” Peter was nettled by the digression, “I managed to resurrect myself because I took steps to have all three component parts on hand. My body, while buried, had only been dead for a few weeks, and I had taken precautions to minimize decay.” At his companion’s interested looks, Peter shrugged. “Trust me, you don’t want to know. My mind was present within the lovely Lydia Martin, and part of my soul …”

“The alpha spark.”

“In a matter of momentous irony, it was the very reason I couldn’t come back as an alpha. Part of the process had to separate my soul from those of all the Hale Alpha that came before me and the one that came after me. If I took the entire spark in this particular manner rather than normal means of transference, I may have had to share my body with the souls of my sister, my niece, and my nephew among others. Carrying them around for the rest of my life wouldn’t have been very fun.”

“You poor man,” Braeden snarked. “The alpha spark contains the whole soul?”

“Only part of it, but enough.”

At Braeden’s confused noise, Deucalion chuckled. “The smallest fragment of infinity is still infinite.”

“What the Doctors are attempting is an incredible fear, even when compared to what I accomplished. They must have spent decades finding a way to reclaim the mind and the soul, and I couldn’t possibly tell you how they could do that or even where they would start. But even so, they would have to have a body capable of holding both the mind and the spirit, and as you can imagine, not just any body will do. While it’s easier to arrange than retrieving a lost mind and soul, it would also be easiest for us to locate and destroy it. It would be hard to replace, as the original body of the Beast must be dust. We can all be thankful that none of them is a Scarlet Witch.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s a myth I heard: a magic user so powerful they are capable of spontaneous creation.” Peter looked out the window. Oh, what he could do with such power! “So, the easiest and quickest way to stop the resurrection is to destroy the body they’ve found—”

“Or modified.” Deucalion added.

“That’s also a possibility. But the less of a match the body is for the original entity, the more dangerous it is for them to attempt a resurrection. Given what we know now, the easiest approach is to go for the body.”

“Fair enough. I’m much better at destroying things I can touch,” Braeden commented.

“Take a right here,” Deucalion instructed from the back seat. “Pull up behind those rocks. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”

Braeden parked the car and armed herself with two shotguns, two pistols, a combat knife, and a grenade. “Could you grab that bag, Peter?”

“Is that where you keep the bazooka?”

“Not all of us have claws, but, for your information, that’s my infiltration toolkit. Sometimes you have to pick a few locks.”

Deucalion had marched up the hill. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary, after all.”

At the sound of the disappointment in his voice, Peter and Braeden joined him at the top of the rise.

“Is that …?” Peter trailed off.

“Yes, that would be an Avengers quinjet. We’re too late.” Deucalion sounded regretful.

“Price goes up, if we’re fighting them.”

“No, Braeden. Nothing good would come of that. However, we will be waiting until the battle is over. The Avenger’s success is not guaranteed, and we still need to make sure the Doctors’ experiment fails.”

They watched the Hulk emerge from the parked quinjet and leap toward the base, even as they saw a monstrously deformed werewolf thrown up through the roof, followed by the God of Thunder.

“We are definitely too late.” Peter quipped.

“Why don’t you seem happy about this?” Braeden was watching Deucalion, who was growing more and more sour at each revelation.

“We used to be the apex predators, and now it is become quite apparent that the Age of the Hidden Masters is over. The world is changing, and I, like all living things, dislike the feeling of time’s hand gripping my throat.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Very Tolkienesque of you, but then again, you named yourself after a titan. What you’re missing in your disquiet is the opportunity that presents itself.”

Deucalion turned to him, inquiringly.

“We may no longer be the big dogs on the block, but every time Captain America crashes a flying aircraft carrier into the nation’s capital, we draw one step closer to losing the shackles we placed on ourselves. When the Age of Miracles comes upon us, we will … finally … be able to act freely.”

“Okay, someone’s been holding onto their crazy a bit too long.” Braeden pulled her shotgun. “While I love listening to you two mourn the loss of your specialness, I have practical concerns. Do we still need to wait here if they’ve successfully conjured the Beast?”

“If it survives this encounter, it must still deal with me. I will not let my species be turned into the shock troops of a new world order. If exposing ourselves to the Avengers bothers you, I’ll double your price, Braeden.”

“Deal.”

“On the other hand, Peter,” the British werewolf said severely, “I did not envision this outcome. You’re free to leave.”

“If you think I’m going to leave with this much power in play, you don’t know me very well.”

“Then,” Deucalion decided, “We must simply wait until the dust clears.”

In the underground laboratory of the Dread Doctors, Steve strained as he put his full strength behind his shield. He had worked the edge under the same floor section which contained the sliding panel who Natasha had discovered. He’d gambled that prying up the floor would save them time by circumventing whatever defenses the panel had.

He was vaguely aware that to his left, Natasha was performing triage on the poor soul who had been in that tube the Fox had shattered. Somehow, the man — if it was a man — was still alive; he might be human under all that skin. Whoever he was, he was having serious trouble breathing even after the Black Widow had removed the aqualung. How long could those sadistic Doctors have kept him in the tank?

He gritted his teeth as he strained to jimmy open the floor. He might have been tempted to dismiss Fox’s boast as a lie, but he’d been encountering Hydra auto-destruct mechanisms since the Second World War. He had to set aside his frustration that Fox had somehow been able to teleport away from their location. He didn’t have time to hunt the Hydra leader down, especially if his team was in danger from some type of bomb.

On the other hand, they seemed to be in danger from other sources. Over the commlink, he could hear snatches of the battle going on a mere one hundred feet away from his present position. He had planned for determined Hydra resistance, but he hadn’t dreamed that the Department of Occult Armaments could field an entire team of enhanced individuals. When JARVIS had informed him of these so-called Doctors’ attack on Tony’s memory, he had called a Code Green.

As much as he regretted it, he had had to involve Bruce. Because he was stuck here, screwing with this damned floor.

With a shout of anger, he finally ripped the floor panel up and tossed it to the side. Natasha bent over immediately to study the mechanism revealed by doing that. The digital timer sent out its warning of three minutes and 14 seconds.

“Not a chance I can disarm this before then,” Natasha stood up. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Steve was moving before she finished the sentence, and he had grabbed the incapacitated prisoner. He didn’t know who the individual was, but he was unwilling to leave a possible innocent person to die in an explosion. “We can’t stop it. Abort the mission. I repeat, abort!”

He didn’t need to check to see if the Black Widow was following. His mind was totally fixed on those who might not be able to disengage. If Tony’s mind was being messed with, he might not even be thinking clearly enough to listen. Coming to a stop, he kicked the door blocking his progress to the outside open with his foot. It gave way and he sprinted out.

“Hawkeye, are you clear?”

“Yes, Cap. Not only do I have the jet in the air, but I got you a present.”

He didn’t need to look behind him to sense the smirk on Natasha’s face.

“Thor? Status?”

“I almost have this creature beaten!”

“Leave it! We don’t know how powerful the bomb is. Get yourself clear.”

The quinjet appeared before them, rotating in mid-air while its rear hatch opened. With a spring, he leapt on the ramp and brought the freed prisoner to the medical bay. He still was yelling into the intercom.

“Tony? Tony! JARVIS, is Tony capable —”

“I’m here. It’s nice you care.” Tony flew into the quinjet himself. “When Bruce took out Bucket-head #3, things came back pretty quickly, though I still don’t remember what Moby Dick is about.”

Natasha scanned the area for the Hulk.

“Get some distance, Clint. Now!” Steve grabbed hold of something as the engines roared away. As he did that, he saw that Hawkeye hadn’t returned by himself. There was an unconscious woman handcuffed to a seat.

As the gate finally shut, Steve caught a flash of green and the clap of thunder which told him Thor and the Hulk were leaving the area as well.

“That should be it, we’ve got maybe—”

The base exploded in a blast of white light.

The Surgeon could feel the echo of what might have once been regret as he looked at what remained of the Pathologist. He had done too much in his long existence to feel anything more than a slight sadness for his colleague. The Pathologist at least had had the satisfaction of seeing their Great Work completed.

The nogitsune’s warning about the Avengers had been accurate. They were a formidable group. Though the countermeasures he had designed for the Iron Man armor would have been sufficient to defeat the war machine and its pilot, he had been unable to even inconvenience the Hulk.

He had no idea where the Geneticist was, but that was not something he could waste any more time upon. The only thing that mattered, to his mind, was Sebastien. The only thing that had ever mattered was Sebastien.

La Bête du Gévaudan shrank back down to his human form. Every time he could look upon Sebastien’s face, it warmed what was left of his withered heart. Even when he was like this, bruised and bloody from the blows of the Asgardian’s hammer. Marcel clenched his fist around the handle of the cane so hard it hurt, full of rage that anyone would dare to harm the Beast.

Yet, Sebastien was smiling, triumphant and pleased with his performance. “Did you see that? He fled from me! Ha!”

As much as he wanted to allow his friend his moment of happiness, Marcel put his safety first. “They believe there is a bomb.”

“I have learned from my host the vernacular common to this era, Marcel, so don’t harsh my buzz.” He smirked even as his eyes fell upon the non-moving body of the Pathologist. “My … condolences.”

“Inconsequential.” The Surgeon drew the prepared vial from an inner pocket of his coat.

“What is that?”

Contrary to what Fox might think, he had respect for the nogitsune. When the kistune had stressed the necessity of having a plan for retreat, Marcel had not disregarded its warnings. He had begun working on something immediately.

“Escape drill.” The Surgeon smashed the vial on the ground between him and his beloved Beast.

Fox watched the Puente Antiguo base go up in a brilliant explosion. Nothing would remain of it after that detonation. There would be no evidence of Hydra’s or the Department of Occult Armament’s presence there. Nothing the enemy could use to trace him to his lair or to the new facilities he was building near the Nemetons. He was safe; his plans were safe.

If he were lucky, the blast had killed a few Avengers as well. He didn’t even think that Iron Man could survive a blast of that intensity, though he was less sure about the Hulk and Thor. If the other three had been caught in the radius of the explosion, they would certainly be quite dead. If he had managed to finish off Captain America, he would derive a great deal of enjoyment in rubbing that fact in Von Strucker’s and Malick’s faces. And any other Hydra leader who cared.

If they were lucky, the blast had killed the Dread Doctors and La Bête du Gévaudan as well. Pompous, treacherous ingrates had cost him irreplaceable personnel and resources. If they somehow had made it out of the blast radius intact, they would find eventually find being the focus of his wrath far less than pleasant. It wasn’t that the Doctors had lied to him about their ultimate goal; Fox hadn’t cared. He didn’t care about Valet’s homicidal megalomania, though there could had been lots of people who didn’t work for the Department that Valet could have butchered instead of Fox's men. The problem was that they had treated him with disrespect. They hadn’t bothered to announce that they were finished with Hydra and with him. They hadn’t bothered to speak to him at all. As if he weren’t important.

It offended him. He had well established courses of action when individuals such as this … offended him.

If the part of him that was once nogitsune was insulted, the part of him that was once Stiles Stilinski was saddened and enraged, because the blast had most assuredly killed Ayla Ranefer. She had been a brilliant researcher, and while she had no talent for politics and her empathy could use a lot of work on a good day, she had been his friend. He would never tell her this, as it could be seen as both a weakness and an embarrassment, but he had grown to care about her, and the human part of him did not allow anyone — anyone — to hurt those he cared about.

He glowered at the screen in contemplation of someone getting to taste his full wrath. He would make it a God-damned seven-course meal of pain and suffering.

“Sir?”

“Are you aware of my nature, Cantor? And the fact that I am likely in no mood to be disturbed?”

“Yes, sir, but I have news.”

“It better be good news, or you’ll soon realize you made the worst mistake in your entire soon-to-be shortened life.”

“It’s not, sir, but it is important. I found Dr. Ranefer’s transponder.”

Fox looked up. “She’s alive. That’s … okay, what’s the bad news?”

“She’s on the other quinjet.”

“The Avengers have her. Thank you, Cantor. You not only get to live, but you get a bonus. Which you should spend quickly.”

“Uh … why?”

A slow smile spread across the Fox’s face. “Because we’re going to steal her back.”

“That was some explosion,” Braeden commented. “I think it’s only a matter of time before the feds and the state police get here.”

“Which is why we’re moving now. I don’t know why the Avengers didn’t stick around to do cleanup, but I’m grateful they did not. We can verify what we need to verify and then we can leave before anyone is the wiser.”

Peter laughed; the sound of it always got on Braeden’s nerves. “There’s nothing to clean up but dust and smoke and a crater the size of a lacrosse pitch.”

“You will forgive me, Peter, if I make sure of that.”

Braeden hoped that there would be nothing left. It would be among the easiest quarter million she had ever made. The key to being a successful mercenary was, strangely enough, not how hard you hit nor how ruthless you could be. It was setting boundaries and getting the details. If a fight between Hydra and the Avengers had finished off the Doctors’ plans, Deucalion would still pay her without her having to ever squeeze a trigger.

She remained quiet as she could. The sun was setting quickly, but she didn’t turn on her flashlight. It would simply signal to any observers that she was there, and she still had enough light to move. With Deucalion’s and Peter’s senses, they’d be able to spot anything human long before it could spot them. As well as things non-human.

“I think we’re not going to find anything. The Beast has been atomized, and your concern is answered. Which means …” Peter stretched. “I can go back to my hunt for Gerard Argent.”

Deucalion didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up speed, though he changed direction. He wasn’t heading toward the former base, but away from it.

“Did you find something?” Braeden hurried up after him. When she saw where the Demon Wolf was looking, she made a face. “Who the hell is that?”

“I believe, my dear girl, that she is called the Geneticist.” His eyes glowed their baleful red. “But I prefer to call her my prisoner.”

Chapter Text

November 15, 2014 — Phoenix, Arizona

Natasha would have liked to be able to say that she didn’t mind doing this type of work for the Avengers. Following up was an important part of any mission, but it usually involved some amount of paperwork and possibly politics. She had mastered both of them. She simply didn’t enjoy it.

At the base of her dissatisfaction was simply she didn’t trust governments. She wasn’t an anarchist, but she believed any attempt at governing would eventually hurt someone, because every government was made of up of people. People could be blind and selfish and cruel and quite stupid. This was true even of people who she considered mostly benevolent. She had had trainers in the Red Room who were good family folk and patriots. They still ran the program.

No one was immune to making terrible mistakes. Not even the man standing next to her.

“I wish I had that baseball cap again,” Steve complained. They were out of uniform and in civilian clothes, though they weren’t disguised.

“No, you don’t.” Natasha smiled at a nurse. “Hospital employees are overworked and underpaid, and so they tend to be obstructionist by reflex. If we want this to go smoothly, we want them star struck.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Being a celebrity has its uses.”

They got off the elevator on the fourth floor of the Good Samaritan Medical Center. While mostly known for its pediatric care, it also happened to be a Level 1 Trauma Center, the closest to Puente Antiguo.

Steve waved at one of the nurses. She did a double take when she realized who he was and then smiled bashfully. Natasha hoped they would ignore her and focus on Steve, but they didn’t. There was a cost to coming out into the open.

“Tell me what they’ve learned about him.” Steve asked after they had mingled with the staff for a moment.

“Very little. He doesn’t match anyone in any missing-person’s database to, and thanks to Fury and Tony, there isn’t one we don’t have access to. Physically, our John Doe is remarkably healthy except for significantly damaged lungs. They have him on heliox treatment. He only regained consciousness this morning.”

“So, we don’t have any idea who he is or what they were doing to him.” Steve frowned. “Is it wrong if I’m glad that the Doctors are dead?”

Natasha, shocked, glanced over at him. He wasn’t joking. Steve had very seldom shown this type of emotion.

“Abraham Erskine wasn’t anything like those mad scientists, and yet I was so scared during Project Rebirth. I can’t imagine being those … “

Steve couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence. They walked into the room to find the subject still awake but covered in an oxygen tent. He was alert, and he looked very healthy and very human compared to the last time they had seen him.

Natasha leaned over and whispered. “I read the report. His excess skin sloughed off.”

Steve nodded and approached the bed. “Good afternoon, sir.”

The man was instantly awake. He peered through the tent at Steve, squinting in disbelief. “You are … Captain America.”

Natasha detected a faint accent, most likely Alemannic German.

“I am. You recognize me?”

“I saw your movie.” The man hesitated. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a hospital in Phoenix, Arizona. You’re safe now.”

“Arizona.” The man breathed heavily. “What is the date?”

“It’s November 15, 2014. Could we have your name?”

The man glanced sharply at both of them. “My name is … Garrett Douglas. You must forgive me, everything … it is hard to take in.”

“Take your time, sir. When did those men abduct you?”

The man had a coughing fit at that point. Natasha couldn’t be quite sure if it was a natural reaction to the conversation or a means of avoiding the question.

Finally, Douglas brought his eyes back up to meet them. “1943. It’s been seventy years.”

Steve and Natasha exchanged glances. This had suddenly got a lot more complicated. Natasha put her hand reassuringly on Steve’s arm. It must have been like looking at a nightmare version of himself.

November 22, 2014 — Beacon Hills, California

With looks of concentration etched on their faces, the combatants circled each on the cement floor of the loft. Scott and Derek watched each other’s hands and feet, looking for an opening to take the other down. Derek lunged forward. The blow grazed Scott’s temple but only because he ducked out of the way at the last moment.

“I don’t get it,” Cora complained from the couch.

Scott ducked under another of Derek’s punches and danced backward. Derek, distracted by his sister’s question, didn’t follow up the way he should have.

“What?”

“You’re werewolves.” She said exasperatedly while she turned a page in her textbook. She was lying down on her stomach, the book opened before and her legs kicking up in the air. “Why are you boxing?”

Scott stepped forward and threw a few jabs at Derek’s midsection. They weren’t designed to do much damage but to keep him unfocused so Scott could land something more devastating. Derek put his arms up to block and sidestepped. They sparred for a few more minutes before Scott decided to stop, tapping Derek’s gloves with his own.

Derek nodded to him in thanks and then went over to the table, taking off his boxing gloves and dropping them onto it. “There are times, Cora, when you have to fight and you can’t be seen fighting like a werewolf. What if a hunter comes at you with a knife in a crowded mall? Are you going to drop claws and fangs in front of the Orange Julius?”

Cora snorted.

“It’s also a way, for me at least, to practice control,” Scott added, as he picked up a towel and started to wipe himself down. “I find when I’m sparring, it’s a lot more tempting to let go in order to win. Focusing on not letting that happen while still fighting takes practice.”

“You’re still stronger than Derek, even if you don’t go full alpha.”

“I don’t know about that—”

“You are,” Derek put in as he disappeared towards the bathroom.

“That just means I have to be more conscious on how I use that strength. Our instincts are to grab and tear, not duck and weave.”

Cora archly turned the page in her book. “I’ll stick to claws, thank you. I need something easy in my life.”

Scott squinted at something in the tone of her voice. He could hear the undercurrent of dissatisfaction in a comment which was supposed to be witty. He walked over behind the couch and craned his neck to read the book she was studying. “Having trouble with political science?”

“Not really.” Cora tried to shrug her way out.

“What’s bothering you instead?” Putting the towel down so not to get sweat all over Derek’s furniture, Scott sat down on the arm.

Cora sighed and closed the book. “Oh, man, this is an alpha thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess. Comes with the eyes.”

Cora closed the book purposefully. Biting her lip she sat up, swinging her legs up under her. “School’s harder than I thought it would be. I mean, I’m doing okay in the classwork, but it … it’s hard to focus on this stuff compared to what I’ve gone through. What we’ve gone through. How can I worry about a ten-page paper due in a few weeks when I can remember being locked in a bank vault for three months? It’s hard to tell yourself you shouldn’t go to the movies and instead do the reading in psychology when Derek can barely make himself laugh at a sitcom.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Scott nodded wryly. He hesitated. “I should be able to say something wise about this.”

She raised one eyebrow and grimaced at him.

“I can’t. I guess we just have to … work at being happy.”

“Not what I expected you to say.”

“I’ll be sitting in anatomy, and I’ll think about that time I saw Gerard cut an omega in half. There’s no way to make this stuff go away, and I’m not always in a place where I can … indulge in that feeling. What would I tell the professor?” Scott stared at the floor. “I think that’s why I was tempted to join SHIELD for a while.”

He could feel Cora’s eyes on him, expectantly.

“I mean, at least there I’d have something in common with people.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you would made have a good agent.”

“Water under the bridge. I’m focusing on being an alpha. Do you not want to go to school anymore?”

Cora shook her head. “Oh, no. I want to be a lawyer. I want to sue the pants off of big-time polluters. But seven years seems like a very long time right now.”

“Six-and-a-half. You’re already basically finished the first semester. Except for finals.”

She stood up and headed toward the kitchen. “Was that supposed to cheer me up?”

Scott winced. “Yeah?”

“You’d better work on that.” Cora disappeared into the kitchen.

Scott smiled after her. Derek’s little sister was composed of an unholy mixture of her brother’s dour attitude and her uncle’s cutting snark, minus Peter’s innate selfishness and homicidal murder sprees.

He turned to look out the window. Beacon Hills was covered by a heavy gray cloud cover and soaked by a chilly rain. He had driven up from Davis in order to make plans for Thanksgiving, which was next week. For the first time, it was going to be a pack affair. In previous years, the McCalls had driven down to San Diego for a strained feast with the Delgados, but Scott had simply wanted something different this year. As he told Cora, sometimes a person had to work at being happy. Mom had agreed quite easily; she never enjoyed spending time with her family. Even twenty-two years later, they were upset about her marrying a non-Catholic and even less pleased by the divorce.

Luckily, they had the remnants of a lot of families which could be mixed together. The Sheriff would be alone if they didn’t invite him. If they wanted to be with the parts of their extended family that were still talking to them, Chris and Allison would have had to fly to France. Isaac hadn’t spoken to a member of his extended family in over a decade. Ethan and Aiden had nowhere else they could be. Derek and Cora would only be able to share the memories of their family. Compared to that, crowding the McCall house would be a minor inconvenience at most.

Scott smiled again at the thought. It was a good thing he could do. It was an important thing.

Not everyone would be able to make it. Danny would happily be with his family; Lydia would unhappily be with her family, trying to maintain the peace between Natalie and her father. Peter was off hunting after something, and while Scott wouldn’t miss him, he was sure the other Hales would.

Derek emerged from the bathroom with clean clothes. “Your turn.”

“I can just drive home.”

“Or you could take a shower here. It’s not a big deal, Scott.” Derek lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Okay.”

Scott went into the shower, taking his bag with him. Derek was always like this, and it shouldn’t have surprised him. They were pack, but Derek wanted — in fact, he wheedled and schemed in a way that reminded the alpha that Derek and Peter were part of the same family — for Scott to feel comfortable in his home. Even with their tumultuous history, Derek seemed to still want what he had said that first night in the woods, and now Scott found himself willing to give him what he wanted. They were brothers.

Werewolves had to live in secret. Werewolves had to control their rage. They would fight hidden wars beneath the moon. But in return, in addition to the strength, the healing, and the thrill of power, they also seemed to be able to create families where there had only been broken ones before. It was perhaps their greatest ability.

Was it worth the price? Scott was beginning to think so.

November 26, 2014 — Avenger’s Tower

“Nothing. We’ve had her in custody for two weeks and nothing.”

Maria Hill took a sip of her coffee. “Technically, she’s not in custody.”

Clint rolled his eyes as he continued to leaf through the folder. “She’s in our cell, so she’s in our custody. It’s a very unclear legal situation.”

“No, it’s not. The Avengers are pretty much guilty of abduction and unlawful imprisonment.”

“Whose side are you on, Maria?”

Nick Fury’s former right-hand woman looked over the rim of the coffee cup. “I’m on the side of the people who want to shut Hydra down before they use a stolen Asgardian super weapon to destabilize an already fragile geopolitical status quo. Which is why I’m simply pointing out that we are running out of time. If we can’t get her to talk, we’re either going to have to release her or we’re going to have to turn her over to the federal authorities and see if they can make a case against her.”

“She’s been working for Hydra for nearly a decade; there has to be something they can get her for.”

“Freedom of Association is a bitch,” Maria commented. “The problems are ones of evidence and jurisdiction. I worked for Hydra for over a decade, but I can't prove I didn’t know about it — which happens not to look good on my resume — but, in her case, we can’t prove that she did know about it. Unless the feds can tie her to a crime that they aren’t forbidden to pursue by international treaty or drop her in a black site, she would walk.”

Clint studied the woman who was reading a book in her customized cell. “Well, there’s a reason we have black sites.”

“Yep. Unfortunately, our fearless leader would never tolerate us using them.”

“Hmph.” Clint had prepared himself to accept the trade-offs that came with having Captain America as team leader. It took all his discipline, especially during times like this.

Personally, he had always been more interested in what he accomplished more than how he accomplished it. Before the appearance of Thor in New Mexico more than four years ago, he had been working against hostile foreign governments and stateless actors. They were enemies he could wrap his head around for the most part, but he never found himself having to justify his actions against them, no matter how brutal. He had witnessed what their activities did to innocent people, and it really didn’t matter that much to him if he cut corners to make sure those innocent people would be able to go to work the next day, to see their children’s plays, or even to survive.

On the other hand, he didn’t mind Steve’s single-minded dedication to making sure his team acted ethically as it could. It must have been a kick in the teeth to give your life to stop Hydra, an organization so evil it had turned on the Nazis, and then wake up to find that it had, by compromise and infiltration, taken over the world’s largest peacekeeping organization while you were incapacitated.

Well, he did mind it a little. Clint simply wasn’t going to raise a fuss.

It did create difficulties, like what to do with their prisoner. If Cap would freak about using a black site, the ninety-six-year-old poster boy for American values would definitely have a stroke over the concept of enhanced interrogation.

“So got any idea on how to get her talk?”

Maria Hill shook her head.

“I … I think I do.”

Both of them spun around to see Bruce Banner lurking in the doorway. It was a surprise; he rarely came to this part of the tower, staying mostly in the laboratories. Banner, quite wisely, kept his exposure to stress to a minimum.

“Uh, no offense, Doc, but she’s a Hydra bigwig and we’ve been working on her for weeks with no success.”

“You see, you see, that’s the point,” Bruce fluttered his hand to get him to wait. “That’s how you’re treating her. I think she’s more like … she’s a scientist. I think if we approach her like a scientist, if I approach her as a fellow scientist, she might talk to me.”

Maria frowned but turned to Clint, who pursed his lips.

“Couldn’t hurt.”

It didn’t take long for them to set it up. The cell was hermetically sealed and biologically quarantined, though it had all the comforts of a regular apartment. There was even a television in there, though the prisoner rarely used it. Maria and Clint watched through the closed-circuit camera; she was always under surveillance, even if, by necessity, it was often JARVIS.

The door open and she looked up from her perusal of the New York Times. They kept track of any article that she seemed interested in. Anything, no matter how small, could give them a clue.

“May I come in?” Dr. Banner asked from the doorway.

She put her glasses on. “I don’t think I could stop you.”

“Uhm. I haven’t had many social conversations, but I think they don’t tend to go very well if only one side wants to talk.”

“Hmmm.” She studied him. “Please come in.”

They sat down at the table in the room, one on each side. Banner put a book and a folder down on the table in front of him.

“You’re rather brave.”

“Uh, not really.”

“You must know about my infestation.”

“I do. I do. I’m sorry.” Banner licked his lips. “I don’t think that your insects could do me any permanent damage or even infest me.”

Clint suppressed an involuntary shudder. One of the reasons that they kept her in an environmentally controlled space was to make sure none of the parasitic beetles that lived inside of her escaped and caused an infestation in New York City. They had also managed to locate every weird thing she required to treat her condition. Some of the herbs she needed hadn’t been easy to find.

“Probably not. What do you want to talk about?”

“I read your dissertation: Evidence of Prehistoric Biological Engineering in the Amazon Basin.”

He slid the book across to her. She opened it up. “Hmm. This takes me back.”

“I’ve found that much of our best work comes from things that are personal to us. The scholarship of others often helps us understand the world, but few things are more enlightening than personal experience.”

“Us?” The prisoner didn’t smirk. “Are you trying to say we’re similar, Dr. Banner?”

“You’re Ayla Ranefer. Born in 1979 of Egyptian descent.”

The doctor laughed. “I was born in Montana.”

“Your father, Emad Ranefer and your mother, Sally Jessup Ranefer, were anthropologists. In 1993, they took you with them to contact uncharted areas in the Amazonas State. All three of you were infested by an unknown type of insect.”

“I already know all this. I was there.”

“Xenos Raneferii is unique in the Strepsiptera order in that almost its entire life cycle takes place within the bodies of mammals rather than other insects. Yet you argued that it didn’t evolve naturally. That its evolution was modified.”

“If you read my dissertation, you already know my arguments. You can probably suspect how they were received by the scientific community.”

“I do and your treatment was inexcusable. I’m more interested if their rejection is why you were willing to join Hydra. Or why Hydra was willing to have you join.”

“What are you implying, Dr. Banner?”

Bruce leaned forward over the table. “I may not be a soldier or a spy or an arms manufacturer like some of my teammates, but even I can appreciate the usefulness of a biological agent which is almost instantly incapacitating, uniformly lethal, and impossible for existing medical procedures to treat, yet can be neutralized with an herbal solution whose composition is a closely guarded secret. You wouldn’t be the first scientist whose accidental discovery someone else tried to weaponize.”

Clint grimaced at Maria who gestured as if to say what can you do? He’d read the reports of General Ross’s Hulkbuster squad and their unending pursuit of Banner. Unending, of course, until the Hulk helped win the Battle of New York.

“You would, wouldn’t you? But I can put your mind at ease. There is no secret stockpile of Xenos Raneferii ready to be unleashed on the unsuspecting world.”

“That does put my mind at ease, but … but not my natural curiosity.” Bruce offered his most sincere smile. “Given that Hydra was willing to kill ten million people just a few months ago makes me wonder why they wouldn’t try.”

“Ah, but they did try.” Ayla finally smirked. “The problem with heroes is that they fail to separate means and ends. Hydra doesn’t want to destroy humanity; they want to rule it. When I first joined, they tried but they couldn’t figure out how to keep viable colonies alive outside of a living host. That rendered the insects ineffective as a terror weapon.”

“Uh, I don’t get it.”

Clint certainly did. To be effective, like Project Insight would have been effective, Hydra would have had to be able to strike with the bioweapon anywhere at any time. The complexity of keeping hosts viable and mobile would make the whole operation far too fragile. One disastrous operation and they could lose control of the insects.

“The United States military would never put the Hulk in the field unless they could control it, would they?”

“No.” Banner’s face flickered with remembering. “I guess they wouldn’t.”

“They lost interest in the problem when they got a chance to closely study my insects. As to why I’m still with them, I’m sure you can figure that out. I’ve been infested for two decades, and I don’t want to spend a third one this way. I want to live like any human being does. You understand that, don’t you, Doctor Banner?”

Bruce nodded silently, the look on his face more than eloquent.

“I don’t have to time for peer review of my experiments. I don’t have time for FDA approval for new treatments. Hydra doesn’t care about things like that. It was a simple choice.”

“And the people they hurt?”

Dr. Ranefer tapped her fingers on the table. “You’ve been the Hulk for nine years. How many people have you hurt? What would you do to have your life back? What would you do to be able to live your life like everyone else does?”

Bruce didn’t react to the Hydra scientist’s needling. Clint watched him through the monitor. It seemed Bruce had grappled with these questions before.

“He’s done it,” Maria announced with a start. “Screw me, he’s done it.”

Clint glanced over at her and then realized what was happening. Dr. Banner had managed to get the prisoner to talk by establishing rapport with her.

“I’ve asked myself that question. A lot.” Bruce nodded. “But I never considered joining something called the Department of Occult Armaments. If you had to be part of Hydra, why that department? We’ve learned they have plenty of less … exotic laboratories.”

“Now, that’s a story.”

Bruce took his glasses off and wiped them. “Do you have an appointment you can’t miss?”

Ayla smiled at the joke. “Well, the D.O.A. answered one of the questions from my dissertation, when no one else could. The specific genetic sequence for the beetles would have taken thousands of years of selective breeding lacking advanced gene-splicing equipment, but one of the sorcerers employed there discovered that while Xenos Raneferii was engineered from a terrestrial species, it had been modified in another dimension. That knowledge helped narrow down my own research.”

“Another dimension?”

“Not a particularly pleasant one but given the result that’s understandable.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Hell, Dr. Banner. The insects inside of me were modified in Hell. One of the Hells, at least. You’d be surprised how many punishment realm pocket dimensions you can find once you know how to look.”

Banner rubbed his forehead. He was a rational man, and he would never handle the existence of magic or gods particularly well. Clint, on the other hand, had no problem believing in multiple hells.

“I don’t see … see how that can help.”

“You’ve noticed it, right? How Thor manipulates electricity?” Dr. Ranefer pushed back. “Part of that is due to his hammer but another part of it is due to his unique biology, which could only develop in a dimension not ours. Any hope of a cure would require knowledge beyond mundane science. The Department turned out to be the best place for me. I wouldn’t be this close to a cure without it.”

“How close are you?”

“I could be free of them in six months. The Dread Doctors’ methods may be unorthodox and unethical, but when they work, they work. I’ve memorized enough to be able to reproduce the Geneticist’s treatments.”

Bruce looked uncomfortable at the mention of the Doctors. Clint sighed. According to everything they had found, those three scientists had been soulless monsters, performing horrific experiments to create more monsters. The Avengers with help from federal agencies had connected them to more than five dozen disappearances and deaths across a handful of states. The mutilations had been grotesque. Bruce was only smarting because Tony had reported that the Hulk had killed one of them. Dr. Banner would never be comfortable with an event like that, even though they had been trying to kill Tony and Thor at the time.

“Do you really call them that?”

“That’s the name they earned, through decades of experimentation and horror. They discarded humanity along with ethics and restraint, but they accomplished wonders. I’m going to use their work to be healthy once more, so there’s no need to ask me again why I joined Hydra.”

“Fair enough. But Hydra has something very dangerous, and we’re determined to get it back. It has nothing to do with your cure or even your department.”

“Loki’s Scepter. You’re wrong, however, it has something to do with my department, which is why I won’t help you find it.”

Clint pointed at the screen. “She knows where it is.”

Maria nodded.

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you will.” Ayla Ranefer looked him straight in the eyes. “There is only one person in two decades who was willing to take risks and break rules to help me get better. Only one person who helped me without preconditions, without wanting to profit by it. One of his names is Stiles Stilinski, and that is why I will tell you and the rest of the Avengers … absolutely nothing.”

December 11, 2014 — Samana Cay

Avengers Tower hovered before him. At least, a holographic version of it did. Fox rotated it in as many directions as he could.

“This is all you have?”

Theo made a noise of protest. “I searched everywhere online. I read hundreds of eyewitness accounts and located every single photograph. There is absolutely nothing out there about the security system or even the floor plan of Avengers Tower.”

“There has to be something.”

“I went to the city’s Department of Buildings. The blueprints are useless.”

“How can Stark get away with that?”

“You’re only required to submit copies of the blueprints once. On-site alterations during construction aren’t required to be submitted as long as the footprint, power, and height specifications of building don’t change. Stark essentially redesigned the building as it was being built.”

Fox shook his head. “There has to be a way to do this.”

“No,” Theo said firmly, “there doesn’t.”

“I’ve been doing this …”

“You’ve been doing this for a thousand years, I know. You never let me forget it. But that’s the problem. This is new. No one’s ever seen security like this.”

Frustration coursed through his veins. “It’s been a month.”

“I know. I may not be as experienced as you, but I was trained for infiltration and sabotage. You could say I was made for it.” Theo continued, sighing. “When trying to defeat automated security, you find the system’s blind spots. Motion detectors have a certain sensitivity. Cameras can have their field of vision obscured. Its greatest flaw is that automated security doesn’t have intuition; if you don’t trigger its established thresholds, you might as well not exist for it.”

“I know this, Theo.”

“Human security — well, nowadays, I should say security by living things — can compensate for that. They have intuition. They’re flexible enough to fill in the blanks. But it’s that flexibility which is their weakness. You can play to their biases; you can distract them.”

“Again, this is nothing I don’t already know.”

“I’m getting to my point.” Theo clenched his fist in frustration. “Well, now I’ve reached it: the problem is JARVIS.”

“The artificial intelligence.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “It has all of the strengths of an automated security system and all of the strengths of a live-actor security system. But it can employ both inductive and deductive reasoning, it’s virtually omnipresent, and, as far as I can tell, impossible to distract. We learned that on Long Island.”

Fox closed his eyes. As much as this was pissing him off, Theo had a point. After all, underestimating JARVIS and Tony Stark had nearly cost Theo his life during their raid on a Stark Industries think tank.

“We can probably get into Avengers Tower.”

He raised an eyebrow at Theo’s ‘we.’

“We will have a much harder time when we try to leave. And without knowing where they’re keeping Ayla, we have no chance at all of getting in and out without a fight. We can’t do it.”

Fox worked his jaw. He wanted to lash out, to smash Theo against the wall for disappointing him, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. The chimera had done his best, and Fox wanted him to keep doing his best. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Theo said, surprised.

“I may not like it, but you’re right. And I’m too smart an animal to keep digging the same hole when it doesn’t get me what I want.” The Fox randomly tapped his fingers on the table. “By the way, what do you mean by we could probably get into the Tower?”

Theo tried to shrug it off. “I just assumed that you’d take me.”

“You know I prefer to work alone on things like this.”

“Do you? Or did you?”

Stiles licked his lips. “I’ve never met someone so afraid of acknowledging his own emotions that he’d provoke a demon rather than admit to them. Other than myself, of course. You want to rescue Ayla, too.”

“Whatever.”

Fox smirked at him. Theo shifted uncomfortably, taking down the holographic display and storing the information somewhere safe.

“You’re not artificial.”

The chimera looked up. “Hmm?”

“You said you were made for this, but you weren’t, were you? You were altered, true, but that alteration took advantage of your talents.”

Theo studied him, parsing what he had said, and then he scowled. “I was a child.”

“Uh-huh. Doesn’t contradict what I said.”

“Then what was the point of saying it?” Theo demanded. “Are you hungry?”

“Not particularly. I simply want …” A thought occurred to him: an echo from a past life. “I simply want to help you reach your full potential.”

“By reminding me that I was twisted before they even found me. That’s supposed to help me?”

Fox may have been lying a little. The pain he felt coming from Theo was delicious. But most of it was true.

“If you want to look at it that way, you can. Or you can look at it this way. The Doctors may have enhanced you physically and trained you mentally, but the talent — what you displayed with all of this, while working with me — that’s all yours. I think it’s pretty safe to say they’re dead. I think if you stop treating yourself like a victim, which you are no longer — not even my victim — you might be able to want something for yourself.”

Theo snapped the table off in a rage. He looked like he was ready to storm out. Looking away, he finally whispered, though it was loud enough for Fox to barely hear it. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

“Theo!”

The chimera stopped as he was about to exit. “What?”

“Theo, you’re a genius!”

Theo turned around. “I am?”

“That’s how we’re going to rescue Ayla.” Fox grinned like he had once grinned at Jared. “We’re going to give the Avengers what they want … in the worst possible way.”

Chapter Text

December 15, 2014 — New York City

Feigning boredom, James Rhodes stared through the tinted window of the 2013 McLaren P1. “Tell me one more time why we are watching Steve help someone I don’t know move into an apartment we just bugged.”

Leaning down, Tony put the coffee he had bought for his friend in the central cup holder before taking his own position in the driver’s seat of the sports car. “There you go, a venti Frappuccino with two shots of expresso. And bugged? Seriously?”

“What else would you call it?”

“I would call it installing a new cutting-edge, ultra-sophisticated surveillance system prototype, designed by yours truly, which should be well-nigh undetectable to anything but the most advanced technology on the planet.” To illustrate his point, Tony brought the control application up on his custom tablet and handed it to his friend.

Rhodey squinted at it. “This will let us listen to him while he’s in his apartment.”

Over the years, Tony had learned to recognize his best friend’s playful moods, so he accepted the oncoming mockery. “As well as monitor his vital signs and all communication into and out of the apartment, both wireless and land line. Including what he watches on television.”

“So we bugged him.”

“Shut up and drink your coffee.”

Grinning at him, Rhodey put the drink to his lips. One taste and then he put it back down.

“What?”

“Did you forget I’m allergic to soy?”

“Uhh.” Tony had indeed placed the order without remembering Rhodey’s allergy. He winced in embarrassment. “I’ll go get you another one.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“I said don’t worry about it, Tony. It’s the thought that counts.”

“I thought it was the caffeine.”

That brought a laugh to Rhodey’s lips. “You do realize that every other time we’ve gotten coffee, Pepper or another of your employees took our orders. This is the first time you have done it yourself. I appreciate it.”

“Okay, please stop making a production out of it.”

“I will if I want to. So why are we bugging this guy?”

Tony looked out the driver’s side window to hide his discomfort. He disagreed with this elaborate plan of Steve’s. He looked back at Rhodey who used his eyebrows as a form of enhanced interrogation. On the tablet, Tony brought up the dossier that the Avengers had prepared on the subject and handed it across in exasperation.

“Garrett Douglas claims he was born in Dresden, Germany in 1914. He also claims he was taken by the Dread Doctors—”

“Are you really calling them that?”

“Yes, we’re really calling them that, because apparently they have or had quite a reputation among the Addams-Family set.” Tony hadn’t gotten the full briefing, though Maria had been able to catch him up afterward. He walked out when it was half-way done when he realized that apparently his father had known that Atlantis was real and didn’t tell him. Thanks, Dad. “So he claims he was taken by the Dread Doctors in 1943 outside Gutach in the Black Forest, which would mean that he spent the next seventy years in one of their life-support tubes.”

“Just when I thought I’ve heard everything. Doesn’t tell me the reason for the surveillance.”

“We can’t verify his identity or much of his story at all. Not yet, anyway.”

Rhodey leafed through the mostly empty dossier. “There’s no record of him? That’s certainly suspicious. Why let him out of custody?” He glanced at Tony and then the realization appeared on his face. “Dresden.”

“Forty-three civil administration buildings were obliterated in the middle of February 1945 by the firebombing. It’s entirely possible that most records of his existence were turned to ash then.”

“What about military records?”

“Trying to dig through MIA records of the Wehrmacht after seven decades is going to take some time.”

“He hasn’t done anything suspicious.”

“Since he woke up? Not a thing.” Tony didn’t mention that his gut told him Douglas was hiding something, and that Natasha and Clint agreed.

“So why put it on him at all?”

“Honestly? We don’t know what the hell the Doctors were doing to him. Medical examinations are inconclusive, but that’s not surprising. Every bit of technology they possessed at that lab was obliterated in the self-destruct, including any records they kept as well as their entire computer system. Even I can’t reassemble dust into a working memory file. And he claims not to have any memory of it.”

“We know they could manipulate memories.” Rhodey shook his head. “Doesn’t it make more sense to keep him at the Tower? Give him a cell next to that super-creepy bug chick?”

“I agree, but the boy-scout doesn’t. Speak of the devil.” Tony flicked the headlights, even though it was the middle of the day, and it was enough for Steve to see them. “Need a ride, soldier?”

“I was going to take the subway.”

“What are you?” Tony joked. “A hobo?”

Rhodey got out of the car so Steve could climb into the back seat. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable fit for the post-serum Steve.

“Gee, Tony, didn’t you have a car that was more conspicuous?”

“I do, actually, but this one was the only one available!” Tony grinned at Cap. “Let’s roll.”

The million-dollar sports car rolled out into traffic effortlessly. There were few things Tony loved more than a well-built automobile. He headed back towards Avenger’s Tower, which wasn’t that far away.

“So, how’d it go?”

“He’s settled in.” Steve sighed. “Is the system online?”

Tony reached for the table while driving but Rhodey yanked it out of the way. Both Steve and his friend glared at him.

“Sheesh. Unkink your hoses, Safety Patrol.”

Rhodey checked the application briefly. He didn’t turn the audio on, but he located Douglas’s vital signs and handed the tablet back to Steve. Cap studied it, the corners of his mouth slowly drifting down as he did so.

“Okay.”

“You don’t look too happy about it.”

Tony might have jabbed that would have been the easiest read in the history of easy reads, but he didn’t want to have this discussion with Steve again, so he kept his mouth shut.

“I’m not. We don’t have any evidence that he’s anything more than an innocent victim. I don’t like treating victims like they’ve done something wrong.”

“That’s a narrow way of looking at it, Cap.” Rhodey turned in his seat to look behind him. “While all the unanswered questions aren’t conclusive, the answers we do have obviously merit caution. Those mad scientists may have shoved him in that tube for seventy years out of sadism, but how likely do you think that really is? Until you know for sure he’s not a threat to other people, watching him is a necessary evil.”

“I don’t like that term, but it’s been pointed out to me that I’m unrealistically optimistic. I’d rather call it a compromise, and part of that is he’s going to have as much freedom as we can risk him having. It helps that he’s already assumed he’s under surveillance.”

“Well, that’s a good thing,” Tony observed.

“No, it’s not. I can only imagine he must feel as I did when I first woke up and saw through SHIELD’s ruse. Trying to make me feel at ease in the modern world while still controlling me. I’m not saying Fury was wrong to do it, but sometimes things that make sense, thing that are necessary, still end up being damaging. Are you sure he can’t detect the surveillance prototype?”

“You meant the bugs,” Rhodey insisted.

“They system is completely invisible to human senses,” promised Tony, shooting an amused grimace at his friend in the passenger seat, “and if he somehow gets access to the technology necessary to detect it, he pretty much proves he’s the threat we thought he might be.”

Cap minimized the screen. “Good.”

“So what do you think of him?” Tony asked, softly.

“Think of him?”

“I think everyone in the tower has realized that you have certain things in common with Mr. Douglas.”

Steve tried to shrug it off, but his eyes drifted to the rear view mirror.

December 19, 2014 – Beacon County, California

A barn owl hooted somewhere in the shrouding darkness of the olive grove. Peter paused in his stride and sharpened his eyes and ears in order to locate the other nocturnal predator. This was a game that his family had played in the times before the Doctors and the Argents. It hadn’t been just a game, of course. Werewolves were violent creatures in a violent world, and no one could predict when the tension in their lives would suddenly become dangerous.

It had still been fun to run through the woods, trying to beat Talia at who could track down the most animals. He loved it when he won, even when she let him win. After all, she was eight years older than he was; she should have let him win from time to time.

He smiled at his own nostalgia. It was safe to do that here and now, in the dark where no one else could see.

Turning back, Peter headed toward the only electric light on the property. The farmhouse stood in the center of the orchard at the end of a long driveway. His first reaction when he had learned that the Deucalion had bought an olive orchard was disbelief. Of all the things he imagined the Demon Wolf doing after Scott and Derek “let” him go from the distillery, he had not imagined agriculture.

All bravado aside, no one with an ounce of sense would think that Scott and Derek had had much choice in the matter when it came to the aftermath of the fight with the Darach. While Deucalion had been soundly thrashed by Jennifer, so had the other two, and she had not exerted any power to heal them. The leader of the enemy pack was still an alpha with over three decades of experience, plus all the heightened abilities of having devoured the life forces of his own. Outnumbering him two-to-one wouldn’t have made any difference; Derek hadn’t been fully recovered from giving up his alpha spark to save Cora and Scott had been an alpha for all of five minutes. Deucalion had chosen to accept their offer and walk away only because he had wanted to walk away.

The Demon Wolf hadn’t abandoned his plan to create a perfect pack out of fear of whatever lukewarm threat Scott must have issued. Peter imagined that the change of heart came from his nephew’s and his beta-now-alpha’s stand against the same violence that had transformed Deucalion from an idealist to a psychopath in the first place. No doubt Scott’s ascension had stirred the dying embers of Deucalion’s faith in the perfectibility of the world.

The thought made Peter feel a little nauseated.

Peter had never been an idealist. He had never even been close, and that had been true since the day of Laura’s birth. When he had heard the news, standing in their family home, it had struck him, hard. She would be alpha after his sister, and he would always be … extraneous.

The very idea poisoned him like wolfsbane: to know your own strength, to see your own talent, and to understand that neither were necessary. Who could blame him for becoming a little mischievous as he contemplated a life without struggle but also without meaning?

Apparently, quite a few people could blame him.

On the other hand, this night he felt nothing but content walking this orchard, because there were big things afoot in the world and he was close to the center of them. They had failed to stop the Doctors from resurrecting the Beast, but only because the Avengers had beaten them to it. He also still had Gerard to track down, and now he would do it at his leisure, confident he had the forbearance of the Calaveras and the Argent Matriarchs.

Yet, that still left the problem of the Fox. Who would have imagined that Stiles Stilinski could be so much of a threat to virtually everything?

Aside from him, of course. “Because you’re the clever one, aren’t you?” he said to the night air.

He had the seen potential in the boy, but he had never foreseen Stiles gaining anything like the power Fox now possessed. The universe frequently had its fun confounding the expectations of mere mortals, and in the case of Stiles Stilinski, Peter now could see that the thing that had kept him from being a common delinquent had been his best friend, who had inspired him to push and to dig and to survive until Stiles had become something perilous. And because this same universe loved balance, Scott McCall had been kept from being a tedious boy scout by a best friend who had dragged him into an arena where his will and virtue had spawned the True Alpha of this century.

They were Dioscuri, the sons of Zeus, the Blessed of the Gods.

Peter felt not one whit of remorse that he had been the one who had set them on their path. In fact, he felt pride in his handiwork.

Deucalion was waiting for him in the living room. He had pretty much insisted that Peter remain his guest while his interrogation of the Geneticist continued. Peter hadn’t been irritated. It was only common sense not to be alone with a malevolent scientists who could manipulate memories. Braeden had left to work her contacts, trying to find a lead on Gerard for Peter.

“Enjoy your stroll?”

“I did.” As much as he lusted after the alpha of alphas’ power, Peter could appreciate his dedication to politeness. “As I’ve said before, you have a lovely home.”

“Yes, you have.”

“Something wrong?”

On the couch, Deucalion took a deep breath. “She has passed.”

“Got tired of her at last?”

Red eyes glowed, accompanied by a menacing growl.

“You can’t blame me—”

“My days of wanton slaughter are passed. I will kill, but not without cause and not without considering the alternatives. Since I have enough cause to end you, you should do well to remember that.”

“So, what happened?”

“She was a one-hundred-and-twenty-five-year-old woman, suffering from being tossed through the air by a giant green rage monster and deprived of the source of the Doctors’ physical resiliency and rejuvenation. It was only a matter of time.”

Peter smirked. He never wanted to get manhandled by the Hulk. “So, you kept her talking for a little over five weeks. I hope you got something important out of it. I’m actually quite surprised you didn’t have to take the knowledge from her mind.”

“She knew her time was coming. People don’t push the limits of existence and accept being forgotten. She wanted to talk. I have learned a great deal about their methods and their experiences. It might have done you well to listen … more than you did.”

With a sly smile, Peter shrugged. Of course, he had listened as much as he could without becoming suspicious. “Fair. So, what are your conclusions?”

“Eager to be gone?”

“It’s almost the holidays. I’d like to rejoin my pack for some family time.”

“I’m going to ask you not to speak of our adventures together with them.”

Peter paused. “Why?”

“I roped you into this for your skills and knowledge, but also because I didn’t care if I disturbed your peace of mind or interfered in your hunt for Gerard. I don’t want to disrupt their lives any more than is necessary. Haven’t I don’t that enough?”

“I understand.” Peter rolled his eyes. “I understand that your pretty speech is bullshit. You’re going after Stiles.”

Deucalion stared at him.

“You tried to stop the Doctors because you didn’t want Hydra to learn how to artificially create werewolves without an alpha. The new head of the Department of Occult Armaments has an amazing amount of knowledge from the Doctors and from his own experiences. He’s insightful, creative, and completely without boundaries. You know what he’s been doing to the omegas he recruits, don’t you?”

“I do. I read the project reports.”

“So let’s not pretend that you’re not concerned at what he might do with the knowledge he’s no doubt learned from the Doctors, especially since he received his first serious check as a leader.”

Nodding, the other man considered his words. “Right now, all I simply want to know more. Are you interested in assisting me?”

“Not in the slightest. I’ll be eager to see what trickery he can get up to, when he decides to make his move. Since Coach Finstock could have divined that Stiles wants nothing to do with Beacon Hills, there is very little motivation for me to cross him.”

“Unsurprising of you.” Deucalion looked down at his hand and extended his claws.

Peter tensed. He wasn’t convinced about the strength of the man’s newly claimed restraint.

The Demon Wolf pulled his claws back in. “I don’t have to demand your silence, because for those same reasons, I believe you won’t tell your pack anything about anything we’ve done.”

“I won’t. The True Puppy Dog needs only the slightest of reasons to pursue the Fox, and that would mean nothing good for me. As far as they know, I’ve been hunting Gerard all this time. If you don’t tattle, I won’t.”

“Safe travels, Peter, and … Happy Christmas.”

December 21, 2014 — Kathmandu, Nepal

“This isn’t what I expected,” Isaac said, looking up at the city skyline.

“What did you expect?” Chris Argent placed his bags in the back of the rented vehicle. He had arranged it before the plane had left. “A little help with this?”

Isaac shrugged. “I’ve never been outside of the United States. I’ve never been outside California.” He went over and picked up all the remaining bags and put them into it. “So I guess I didn’t know what to expect. It’s different, but … not that different? Oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“I get what you mean,” Allison said to Isaac, shooting a low-wattage glare at her father. “There’s a lot of things you could see in Fresno, and a lot of things you wouldn’t see.”

Chris rolled his eyes at the conversation. “Where are we supposed to meet our guide?”

“Right here,” Mordo announced, walking up to them. It was like he had been waiting for his cue. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

Allison hadn’t seen him approach. From the look on her father’s face, he hadn’t either. Mordo didn’t seem interesting in making a big production out of it, so she wouldn’t either. “Thank you. We’re glad to be here. You’ve met my father. This is Isaac Lahey.”

“Hey. So, you’re some kind of witch?” Isaac seemed really unsettled as well by the man’s presence.

“Sorcerer.” Mordo smiled. “A witch is born with their powers. Anyone with sufficient talent and dedication can become a sorcerer. If you’re ready, I will lead you to Kamar-Taj and get you settled. I’m sure you’ve had a long flight.”

They loaded into the rental and Allison got into the back seat with Isaac. She caught Mordo glancing over his shoulder. It made her pause for a moment, but she figured it out.

The streets of Kathmandu at this time of the day were fairly busy. While Isaac craned his neck to study the new world around him, Allison honestly struggled to keep her eyes open, lulled by the hum of the tires on the pavement. It would be three in the morning in Beacon Hills. She hadn’t slept well on the flight over, even though she was quite used to international travel. The importance of this meeting wasn’t lost on her. She would be representing not only her own family but all the hunting families in this meeting.

Under the sorcerer’s direction, they pulled into a garage which was probably older than Gerard. Mordo got out with the rest of them and waited patiently while they got the luggage.

“It would be best, don’t you think, if you rested a bit?” Mordo suggested. He went to a door against the wall. “We’ve had rooms prepared for you.”

They entered, but Isaac stopped as if he had brushed an invisible wall.

“Is there a problem?”

“Is … um … is the doorway mountain ash?”

Mordo glanced between the door and Isaac before it clicked into place. “Oh, I’m sorry. Kamar-Taj is protected against certain kinds of entities entering without permission. I didn’t realize that one of you would qualify. Give me a moment to suspend the wards.”

“We really don’t think about those things from day to day.” Allison took ahold of Isaac’s arm. “I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

“The Masters defend against otherworldly threats to Earth,” Mordo explained, patiently. “Thus, this place would be a possible target for any extra-dimensional invader. While it might be possible to weave spells based on intent or specific allegiances, the more complicated the spell, the more loopholes clever enemies could use to circumvent it. You should be able enter now.”

Allison nodded as Isaac followed them in. When she stepped within the walls of the fortress, she felt the world shift. The air seemed charged with power. She had only felt anything remotely similar to it during the night of Jennifer’s storm.

Other than that, however, it simply seemed like a rather old, well-kept Nepalese building. The rooms they were shown to, one for each of them, overlooked a flag-stoned courtyard.

“Take all the time you need,” Mordo explained. “We’ll be ready than you are.”

The sorcerer walked off down the hall. The three of them stood in the hallway, until Chris turned to Isaac with a questioning look on his face.

“I don’t know. I can’t hear or smell him if he’s not in my line of sight.” Isaac looked pretty put out by the ability.

“Nice trick.”

“Dad, you don’t think—”

“From what I can tell bringing Isaac actually impressed him.” Chris sighed. “We should all get some sleep.”

“You think it’s safe?”

“I think that if they wanted to lure us into a trap, they wouldn’t have allowed us to fly first class.” Chris said ruefully and then caught Allison’s eye. “Are you sure about this?”

“No.” Allison shrugged. “They seem so … I thought learning about werewolves was a big change in my point of view.”

Isaac grimaced at her. “Imagine how it was for me.”

“But this. This is so beyond my experience.”

“We don’t have to do this, Allison. We can go home.”

“The reasons I had for proposing a change are just as valid today as they were before I knew about all … this.” She waved her hand. She gave her father a kiss on the cheek. “Being a leader requires taking risks.”

She turned and headed into her room, and she could hear Isaac falling in behind her.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Chris cautioned and then disappeared into his own room.

Her room was simple: a bed, a table, two chairs, and a mirror. There was a small washroom to the side. Isaac put the bags on the table while she went to the window. The courtyard had a fountain in the middle and raised flower beds.

“This isn’t your room,” she teased.

“This is a creepy wizard castle on the other side of the world.”

Allison turned away from the window and back toward Isaac. “You’re going to protect me?”

“Oh, hell no. I want you to protect me.” She saw his anxiety; he was only half joking. “There are things they’re not telling us.”

“Mordo said there are things they wouldn’t be telling us until we agreed to work with them.”

Isaac stared at his feet. Allison realized he was really upset.

“Hey. Look at me. What’s really wrong?”

“Why did you bring me?”

Allison took his hand in hers. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you bring me? Your father is a better fighter than I am. Heck, you’re a better fighter than I am. I’m not good with diplomacy. I’m not an expert in the occult. I’m not a tactician. I’m werewolf who had a shitty dad and an attitude problem. You should have brought Scott or Deaton or even Derek.”

“Not a single one of those people would agree with what you just said.”

Isaac flexed his shoulders in exasperation.

“Do you know why I brought you? It wasn’t just because we’re dating.” She grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to face her. “I brought you because I know that you’ll be in my corner. Even if you disagree with my decisions, even if you think I’m wrong, you’ll support me. I love my father, but he’s still training me, and that requires a certain critical eye to my decision. I love Scott, but he’d try to influence my decisions to help as many people as possible while making sure I’m safe, and that’s not my goal here. Deaton and Derek have philosophies which differ from mine, and they wouldn’t hesitate to tell me I’m wrong. Do you understand how important it is to know that someone will support you, no matter what?”

“I do.”

She kissed him. “Never doubt your value to me. Or to anyone, really.”

He smiled at her after she did so. He always smiled as if he was surprised by her wanting to kiss him. “I guess I’ll just have to try not to mess up too much.”

“Feel free to mess up a little. I know I will.”

December 22, 2014 – The Sanctum of Kamar-Taj

Allison completed a set of exercises with her Chinese ring daggers. They took a lot of practice to use correctly, and while she had mastered them a year ago, she kept up her practice as a necessity. Truth be told, she also found it relaxing.

The courtyard just outside her quarters was barely large enough, but it seemed to magnify the peace and confidence that her exercises usually gave her. She had up since slightly before dawn and now the sky beginning to blush. The peak of Mt. Ganesh shone in the early morning light.

She sheathed her knives and went over to the stone bench to grab her towel. The bench had been carved from granite but had been smoothed by exposure to the wind and sun. Allison ran her hands over it. How many centuries had it seen?

Someone cleared their throat on the other side of the courtyard.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I disturb you? I thought that I could practice in this place.”

The person — Allison though it might be a woman but wasn’t sure — shook their head. They wore simple but voluminous yellow robes that concealed their body, and they were completely bald. “There is no need to apologize. The students here are used to people practicing at all times of the day and night. I brought some tea.”

“Thank you.”

“The Nepali don’t actually have breakfast the way your culture or my culture understands it. They have a larger meal later in the morning. Yet they don’t mind having some tea when they wake up.” They poured two cups. “I will let you sweeten it to your tastes.”

As Allison did indeed pour a little honey into the tea, the newcomer sat down on the bench next to the fountain. Allison joined them.

“It must be strange for you to have so much responsibility when you are so young.”

Allison took a moment to sip her drink and parse the sentence. It didn’t seem to be a challenge, but a general observation. “I’m nineteen.”

“Which, while considered an adult in almost every culture, is still a little fresh to be handling international alliances.”

“So this is a test.”

The person gave her an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps.”

“It was my idea to change the Code. It was my idea to change the way hunter families have conducted business for centuries. While several of the families supported the idea, it was my voice that became the primary proponent of hearing the Masters’ offer.” Allison put her hands on the side of the bench and gripped them. “I thought that maybe the Lan Clan Leader might have been a better choice to come here, but taking the lead means you take the responsibility as well. That’s what my mother taught me.”

“Did you ever consider that it was your destiny to do this?”

“There’s no such thing as fate.”

They tilted their head to the side, slowly. “Are you sure about that? Destiny, or fate, might simply serve as a way by which we take into account universal forces of which we may not be aware of or, if we are aware of them, we may not be able to comprehend. I am told that you specialize in archery.”

“I … yeah.”

“Does atmospheric pressure not play a role in the flight of an arrow?”

“Yes, of course.” Allison paused as she saw the person’s point. “I see what you’re getting at. I don’t consciously sense the affect such a thing would have on my shot.”

“Yet it affects it just the same. Some people reject the idea of destiny because they think it means they have no control, but the arm that draws the string is still yours, and the decision to loose the bolt is still yours.”

“What … universal force do you think might be influencing me?”

“Do you know much about the author of your old Code: Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent?”

“I’ve heard her story, yes.”

“Would you believe that you look exactly like her? That your voice sounds the same? That you move the same? That your aura has the same strength, the same vibrancy?”

Allison peered at the person for a second before it struck her. They were talking as if they had met her ancestor in the flesh. “You are the Ancient One.”

“I am. I believe that you are the reincarnation of Marie-Jeanne Argent, née Valet. The homeostasis she helped establish at the dawn of the Modern Age between the natural and the supernatural is about to disappear due to the advent of the Age of Heroes. She — you — are needed.”

With a start, Allison leapt up from her seat and moved away from them. She couldn’t help but remember Peter saying to Kate moments before he killed her: She looks like you. Probably not as damaged.

“This concerns you.”

“I want to be me, not the echo of someone else.”

“I inherited my mother’s eyes and my father’s height, but I am still my own person. Every decision you make, even informed by her spirit, will still be yours. And the situations you face will be different, though something tells me it will not be as different as you expect. Yet I have to ask, as we are talking about facing difficulties, where did the shadow upon you come from?”

Allison hesitated.

“You seem to have it well in hand, but I could not help but notice it in your aura. Such burdens upon the soul do not occur naturally.”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

The Ancient One shook their head slightly. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

It made sense, after a fashion. The Ancient One would have to be able to trust her, so Allison told her about the Alpha Pact, about the Darach, about the sacrifices, and about how they became surrogate sacrifices in order to save their parents.

“Sixteen hours?” They expressed surprise.

“Alan Deaton was shocked as well. He had expected only a few minutes, but he felt it would dangerous to interfere.”

“He was correct in that feeling. As I have mentioned before, it tells me that there were forces at work that a druid could not sense nor comprehend. I mean no disrespect to them; within the bounds they have set for themselves, they are quite admirable and talented. But limitations are limitations, even if you place them on yourself.”

“Have you placed any limitations on yourself?”

The Ancient One stared blankly for a moment, before moving on. “It does increase my conviction that destiny moves. Think of it, you and your friends endured that sacrifice, and, as a result, look at what has become of you. One of you has become a symbol of the best of what the supernatural can be, and one of you has become a symbol of the worst of what the supernatural can be. And then there is you, standing between them.”

Allison gasped; she didn’t like it at all. She didn’t like imagining herself as changed as Scott or Stiles. She had considered herself the most … comfortable with what had happened. “To what end?”

“Your friend Deaton would call it Balance.” The Ancient One smiled that strange enigmatic smile once again. “I don’t know what I would call it, or what that end would look like. I hope it will be for the best.”

Allison didn’t manage to keep the look of surprise off her face.

“While it benefits me to appear to be all-knowing and all-wise, I am, in fact, neither. I do know that I’m glad to have met you, Allison, Matriarch of the Argents. Let us retire to my study, where we can summon Master Mordo, Master Wong, your father and your paramour. It’s time we work out the details of our alliance.”

Chapter Text

December 24, 2014. Christmas Eve. Samana Cay.

The storm surge rushed up over the sand to lap at the edge of the bunker’s walls. The wind howled through the palm trees as the storm bullied its way onto the beach. Most storms which hit the cay approach from the southeast. This one had charged down from the North Atlantic, eager to do violence.

Theo watched the trees bend at nearly a forty-five-degree angle and had to remind himself that they were safe. The base had been built to withstand a direct hit by a category-five hurricane. As far as he had been able to tell, no contractor had slouched on the construction either. Still, he was stuck on this island for the remainder of the blast and thus the remainder of the holiday. He hadn’t yet been fully cleared to pilot one of their two quinjets, and he certainly wasn’t ready to take off in these conditions.

It’s not that he had anywhere to go, anyway.

Touching the control panel, he sealed the bunker. Even if the storm pushed the waves high enough to drown the bunker, it would remain watertight. He could still hear the storm through the walls in a way no human could, venting its pointless fury. It grew softer the farther he descended into the base. By the time he reached the main floor, some five meters below the surface of the ocean, he wasn’t able to tell that there was a storm at all.

This was true even as he noted that the facility was quieter than usual, working with a skeleton crew. If he excluded himself and Stiles, there were only a half-dozen agents present. He hadn’t worked with any of them, as his work was focused on intelligence gathering when he wasn’t acting as Stiles’s friend-slash-bodyguard. Two of the remaining crew belonged to cultures that didn’t celebrate holidays at this time, one crew had no family left alive, two had severed all ties to their families, and one — an occultist with a penchant for blood magic — wasn’t welcome in polite society anymore.

None of them were very sociable.

Theo paused at an intersection of corridors. If he turned left, he would be on his way to his quarters. He wasn’t sure what he would do there; maybe he’d watch a little television even though that sounded thoroughly unappealing. If he turned right, he would be on his way to the command center. He could check the intelligent feeds, which he doubted would have anything worthwhile on them.

He sighed in indecision; it echoed through the silent halls.

“Merry Christmas to me.”

At the last moment, right before he was going to force himself to make a decision, he caught a scent. It drifted out from the center corridor, which quickly descended to the service areas. Theo followed the aroma of vanilla and sugar.

The base’s kitchen was run by a committee, composed of former military men who had signed up with Hydra. While the facility had every modern convenience, it had been built on an uninhabited island. There weren’t many professional cooks who would come to serve food to Hydra’s supernatural division. As a consequence, while the meals were definitely edible, no one would write up the entrees in a magazine. Most of the staff didn’t mind; they hadn’t joined the department for the menu.

As he got closer, the powerful scent made his stomach rumble in response. He hadn’t thought he was that hungry, but apparently, he had been.

“Ah.” Stiles was putting a baking sheet into the oven. He turned, closing it with his foot. “I gotcha.”

“You left the door open on purpose.”

“I did.” The other man grinned at him. “I tried to figure out how long before your super sniffer would pick up on what I was doing. Come on, I have a batch ready for sampling.”

Theo looked around the kitchen. Stiles had put on an entire production, baking from scratch.

“I didn’t know you could bake.”

Stiles grabbed a plate and presented it to him. “Sugar cookies. These are still warm. Have one.”

He picked it up with his fingers, feeling the lingering heat. He nibbled at one, and found it tasted as fantastic as it smelled. He had intended to eat it slowly, but he just couldn’t. He polished it off in seconds.

“Good, right?”

Theo nodded in agreement. He didn’t ask out loud but glanced at the plate.

“Go for it. I would have loved to have some of those little cookie cutters in the shape of Santa Claus or a Christmas tree, but it seems our galley is very no nonsense. I have made some frosting, which I intend to use. You can have as many as you like if you help me do it.”

“Sounds like a good deal.”

Stiles gestured to the table while he went back to working on more cookie dough. Theo pulled up a chair, waiting for Stiles to finish.

“Strangely enough, I didn’t know I could bake either.”

“Huh?”

“This recipe for the sugar cookies belonged to my mother. Well, I guess it’s more accurate to say my most recent mother, Claudia Stilinski. I memorized it during Christmas vacation of 2008. I had been feeling particularly low, and I thought about trying to make it, but my father gently intervened. He rightly suspected that if I tried to make them and failed, it would do the opposite of making me feel better. I was a terror in the kitchen, and what I made was seldom edible. I only realized yesterday that I still remembered the recipe.”

Theo took a knife and started spreading green frosting on one of the cookies. Stiles took the red frosting for himself.

“Well, that’s changed.”

“Has it? The nogitsune did have several hosts who were excellent cooks. Several tricks I’ve played required maintaining a facade of normalcy, so I had long ago learned how to get around in front of a stove.”

“So, you put those two experiences together.” Theo shrugged.

“That’s just the point. I didn’t.” Stiles turned away to check on the batch in the oven. “I intended to, but when I started this morning, I found that I had already … integrated both sets of memories.”

“Still don’t see the big deal. You’ve been one entity for two years.”

Stiles smirked at him. “I thought you were smarter than this. Yes, for the past two years, I’ve been scheming and plotting and feeding. Sometimes I’ve been felt homesick, but I believed before that was only when I had the luxury of downtime. When I let the Stiles part of me take control. In a way, I visualized that there were two personalities occupying one body, with different motivations. The Fox wanted to feed, and Stiles wanted family, friendship and affirmation, and both of them were in agreement on how to reach it.”

Theo studied him. “But now you don’t think that’s the case.”

“No.” Stiles shook his head. “Whatever that scepter is, the one that Von Strucker used on us, it didn’t take two different entities and smush us together like a toddler using Play-Doh. It unraveled both personalities and wove all the individual parts into a single cohesive whole. There isn’t just a part of me that loves my dad; all of me loves Noah Stilinski. There’s not a part of me that wants to rip Tony Stark’s heart out of his chest and hand it to him for offending us. All of me wants to do that.”

“Isn’t that good?”

Stiles stared off through the walls for a few moments. “Oh, it is, practically speaking. But I’ve learned about the man, and Von Strucker isn’t capable of such thorough manipulation. I need to know what’s in that scepter. I need to know what did this to me.” He turned back to his friend. “On the other hand, one benefit of this discovery is that it will force me to no longer dismiss certain parts of me as vestigial. Everything … is me. So, in the spirit of that discovery, your present is on the counter behind you.”

“My … present?” Theo squinted.

“I was saving it as leverage, but I realize that I really do want you as a friend. All of me. So …” He waved in that direction.

Theo picked up the manila folder slowly and opened it. “What is this?”

“Your parents. Standard background report.”

“My parents are dead. The Doctors … they …”

“Apparently, they lied, or did you just assume? Turns out that they never stopped looking for you.”

Theo studied the pictures and the information. It was all there. He put his finger on the photographs. Suddenly his heart clenched. He couldn’t breathe. It was both wonderful and terrible. He looked up at Stiles and dashed something from his eyes. “I … I don’t know whether to thank you or hit you.”

“Exactly.” The Fox smiled. “I can taste your pain from here.”

Theo tried to stop himself from tearing up. It was an excellent gift, but it hurt like hell.

“Merry Christmas.”

December 25, 2014 — Christmas Day — Beacon Hills, California

The sky was perfectly clear, and the sliver of a waxing crescent moon raked the stars like a shop keep sweeping up broken glass. The lights above were matched by multi-colored lights of the neighborhood around them. Pulling into the driveway of their home, Melissa yawned. “I’m glad I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

“Are you going to sleep in?"

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Scott smirked. “I’m going to wake you up at dawn by jumping on your bed like I did when I was six. It’s going to be a little different now that I’m so much bigger.”

Melissa stared at him. “I will literally murder you. I will find a way.”

“Kidding. You don’t nearly get to sleep in often enough.”

“I know! It’s the best present ever. Except, maybe, for my wonderful son who will not be waking me up early.”

Scott leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “Are you sure?”

“Not completely. Ask me again at about eleven.”

Laughing, they got out of the car. Though chilly, the night hovered above freezing. Beacon Hills rarely felt the full thrust of winter like most of Northern California below the mountain ranges.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Melissa said as she dug out the house keys.

“I’ve always gone with you to Midnight Mass.”

“I know, but I always thought you might want to stop.”

They went inside, hanging their jackets on the coat rack. Scott studied his mother as she headed toward the kitchen. “Why would I want to stop?”

Melissa paused at the doorway and glanced back at him. “You know.” Then she disappeared. He heard her opening cabinets. They always had a snack after they come back, no matter how early it was.

“Actually, Mom, I don’t know.” Scott followed after her. “You think … do you think I don’t believe anymore?”

This year’s snack was a pecan pie; she was busy cutting it. “I wouldn’t be upset if you had doubts. After everything that’s happened? Not just to you, but to the whole world. I can see how faith might be a little hard to hang onto.”

“We still go to church.”

Melissa smiled warmly. “Let me tell you something, my lovely son, a lot of people go to church without having the slightest bit of faith. They go to Mass because their families expect them to or the community expects them to, but they’d laugh in your face if you insisted that religion should have any influence on their lives.”

While she made hot chocolate to go with the pie, Scott thought about what she had said. In a way, he’d seen that type of behavior in action with Gerard. The old man had pretended that his family’s Code mattered, but he had only used it to make sure that Victoria had killed herself so she couldn’t oppose him. He had discarded as soon as he could in his quest for a cure for his cancer.

“What about you?”

“Baby, I …” Melissa thought about it for a moment. “Does it seem like it’s just a habit for me?”

Scott shrugged.

“I can tell you it isn’t. Sure, part of it is habit; it’s how I was raised. The Church was always a big part of my family’s life. Our priest was as close to me as some of my uncles. But there were times when I doubted, and I’m sure there will be times to come. But don’t let anybody tell you that doubt and belief can’t live in the same heart. For me, the older I got the more it felt right. I believe because …” She touched her chest. “I believe it in here. It’s like breathing. It’s part of how the world works.”

“But you think I might not?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t blame you if you didn’t. So much has happened to you over the last two years. You’ve lost so much. That’s got to shake your belief in a benevolent god. And I know it’s not just you. We’ve seen alien invasions, Nazis try to take over the world, and Norse demigods with magic hammers. Who wouldn’t have their faith shaken by such things?”

“Huh.”

She poured to hot cups of cocoa and put two large pieces of pie on the table. She gestured to the table.

“Where’s yours, Mom?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”

They ate in silence for a few moments but then Scott paused with his fork half-way between his mouth and his plate.

“I guess it doesn’t.”

Melissa looked up at him.

“What’s happened to me … what’s happened everywhere. It doesn’t make me believe any less. I’ve had moments where I’ve asked … you know.”

“Why me?” Melissa finished for him.

“Yeah. But in the end, I guess that’s why I actually find myself believing more. I think a lot of people had this idea that while they may not know the details, they knew how things were supposed to work, because while each of us individually might not know everything, all of us together should know. But we didn’t! Werewolves exist. I’m one of them. Kanimas exist. Kitsune exist. Aliens exist. Secret organizations who operate in the shadows for decades. It turns out that none of us really know what could be out there.”

Nodding around a bite of pie, Melissa encouraged him to continue.

“I’m a True Alpha. Whether there’s something out there that decided I was worthy to be one or whether it’s how my … soul reacted to the Bite, I became something that everyone seems to think was special. But I was just being me. When it comes to whom I am now, there are a lot of people who helped with that. Including you. Especially you.”

She blushed. “Well, I’m not one to discourage a compliment.”

“You’ve taken me to church since I was young, but you also let me make that decision when I got old enough to make my own choices. I didn’t ignore the lessons the priest taught; they helped shape me as well. I guess I don’t look to Jesus and the Church to tell me how the universe works. I don’t think any priest really knows. But they helped teach me how to be the best me I could be, and while I think I’ve got a lot of room for improvement, none of you have done that bad a job.”

“I guess not.”

Scott shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I’ve never said anything like that to anyone else.”

“It’s Christmas. You’re entitled.”

“I still get presents though, right?”

His mother rolled her eyes. “I might have something stashed around the tree.”

Scott grinned at her.

She pointed at him. “One of them is definitely a flea collar.”

Scott volunteered to clean up the dishes, since she had made the pie and the cocoa. He pointed out that he still wasn’t tired. She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek and head up to bed. He listened to her get ready for bed as he did the dishes.

By the time he had finished putting everything away and ate another piece of pie, she was asleep. He could tell by her breathing, her heart beating slowly and steadily. He still wasn’t tired. Something about Christmas, about the service, and about his discussion with his mother kept him from being tired. He wished Isaac was here. While they were still in high school, Isaac had always been willing to listen to him when something was bothering him. But he had accompanied Allison and her father on a trip to Nepal to go see … sorcerers.

He snorted. Their lives, as his mother had pointed out, had indeed changed so much. But the last months — ever since his return from Washington D.C. — had been so very normal that he had managed to reach a good place. He didn’t question where he belonged any more than he questioned his faith.

Pulling on his jacket as a habit he left the house. It was very late, but there was a place he suddenly felt he had to see. It did not take him long to get there. He could feel it, calling to him in the back of his skull; all he had to do was search for it, and he’d find it.

The Nemeton.

Even in the first weeks of winter, even though many of the trees in the Preserve had been stripped of leaves for weeks, the grove of the Nemeton always now always felt to be filled with power. The roots connected to this stump should have rotted away by now, food for insects and fungus, yet it had tapped into unseen power that moved through everywhere. Scott put his hand on the trunk and stayed very still.

There were things out there that a normal human could go through their entire life and never be able sense. If Scott had never been Bitten, this tree would still be here in this forest and if he discoverer it, it would seem like any other tree.

But he had been Bitten, so he could feel the power moving under the earth, great flows of energy twining about each other like snakes. He was connected to it, and it to him. He gave a great howl into the night.

December 31, 2014 — New Year’s Eve — New York City

Jane Foster couldn’t be absolutely sure, but she thought that Steve Aoki was the deejay for the one hundred or so people.

“You certainly party quite a bit,” Jane turned to remark to Thor as they walked across the penthouse lounge of Avenger’s Tower. There was at least an hour before the ball would drop in Time’s Square, yet the celebration here was already in full swing.

Thor smiled at her over the top of his beer. “I am well known among the Nine Worlds for my skills at revelry. To develop such a prodigious talent requires much practice.”

Jane laughed and patted him on the arm. “I’m sure you’re quite impressive, but I was thinking more about the Avengers as a whole. I meant, I’ve been here a dozen times and at least ten of those times was for a party.”

“Does the frequency of our merriment disturb you?”

“I guess it does a little, considering the amount of personal power you guys have at your command.” She picked up a drink from the bar. “I’m not criticizing. I’m just surprised. Though considering what I knew of Tony’s pre-Iron Man lifestyle, maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“Ah.” Thor seemed puzzled as he reached for his own beer. “I have no concerns, but my culture is quite different. The United States is not a warrior culture, so I can see how such might seem odd to you.”

“Most of the rest of the world would argue that we’re very militaristic.”

Thor tilted his head. “Those aren’t really the same thing. The culture of this nation maintains a clear line between the military and the civilian, I’ve noticed, and that’s different from a warrior culture. Your society isolates your warriors, isolating but exalting them as defenders of your way of life until they are no longer of use, after which they pretend they are no different than anyone else.”

Jane turned to look at him. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“As Prince of Asgard, the care of soldiers under my command was a paramount task. My father taught me that centuries ago. If you’re going to ask men to fight and die for your cause, you are responsible for their wellbeing before and after. War leaves marks, both visible and invisible, on any man or woman who picks up a sword. In a warrior culture such as Asgard’s, the price warriors must pay to do what they do is respected, not shunned.”

“Ouch.”

“Forgive me, Jane, if I grew too passionate.”

“It’s the first time I’ve heard you be critical of one of our institutions. Don’t be sorry. I like it.” She smiled at him. “I think that many of us have a problem with war as a concept. Some of us glorify it too much and some of us despise it too deeply.”

“You should despise it. You despise illness and death, while still offering great respect to the doctors who do battle with them.”

Jane took a drink from a passing waiter. “Then parties like this are part of a warrior culture?”

“Without a doubt. It is important to remind warriors that their lives cannot be only darkness and death. Celebrations like this one also build up a sense of togetherness with your fellow soldiers. On the battlefield, things will go wrong. Commanders will have to make difficult decisions. Friends will make mistakes. Sharing the joy of victory helps make those moments palatable. Trust me in this.”

“Which victory are we celebrating tonight?”

“Survival, which ‘tis victory enough. It is also the turn of your year.” He extended his hand to hear. “The music has changed to one more conducive to dancing. Would you consent to do so with me?”

“I didn’t think you knew how to dance to swing.”

“In preparation for this, I had one of my teammates teach me.”

They headed out onto the dance floor.

“Glen Miller?”

“It’s one of Steve’s favorite performers.”

Thor turned out to be a good dancer, though still awkward, due to both from the newest of this particular dance and his own prodigious strength. He could have tossed Jane around the room if he had wanted to do so.

“How is he holding up?” Jane asked after the song was over and they went back for their drinks.

“Who?”

“Captain Rogers.”

Thor glanced over to where Steve was in a casual discussion with Clint and Rhodey. “Better, I believe. Our recent defeat of those twisted scientists will no doubt tide him over until we locate the Scepter.”

“Sometimes I think we wants to find it more than you do.”

“Oh, verily.” Thor answered and then winced when he realized what he had said. Jane moved his head until he looked into her eyes. “I have much to do in Asgard, Jane, but I cannot allow what my brother unleashed here to remain in the wrong hands. If this means I must stay on Midgard until that task is done, I do not find it … tedious.”

Jane leaned in and kissed him. “I like having you around as well.”

“My stay here on Midgard brings me many pleasurable things: new experiences, new friends, you. But I do have a home, a place where I belong. I cannot imagine being nearly so happy here or anywhere if I did not know that the golden halls of my father do not hold a place of honor for me. Steve’s home is forever out of his reach, for there exists no force of which I know that can break the veil of time.”

“How worried about him are you?”

“I am not worried,” Thor stated before a frown crept over his features. “He is not a child, and he needs no comfort from me, but I cannot help but think him sad. I am perhaps a little worried.”

“What do you think might happen?”

“Ever since he uncovered Hydra hiding like a serpent within SHIELD, he has been looking for something. Or someone.” Thor glanced around to make sure no one might hear him. “I fear that his eagerness to find what he is looking for may influence his actions. And now, with the discovery of this other soldier displaced out of time, he may become … distracted.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Nay.” Thor shook his head. “What would I say about this? It would be at best meddling in something of which I have no frame of reference. At worst, it would come across as condescending.”

“I can see that.” Jane hugged him to soften the blow. “A little self-awareness never did anyone any harm. Perhaps, though, he might talk to you about it on his own?”

“I should be glad of that,” answered Thor. “And even more glad when we get a chance to smite the would-be world conquerors once more. But for now, let us dance again before the old year perishes.”

January 1, 2015 — New Year’s Day — The Sanctum of Kamar-Taj

The students sparred with each other in the central courtyard. Unlike the one outside of Isaac’s quarters, this one was paved with granite blocks the size of dining-room tables and the whole thing was three times the size of the lacrosse field back home. The sky above was a delicate shade of blue and it was warm for the first day of the year. Isaac had read on his phone that Kathmandu occupied a unique climate zone. He had imagined that being in the mountains, it would have been colder.

There was also the strangeness of its scent. Admittedly, he had spent most of his time in this retreat, but he and Allison had gone on sightseeing tours of the capital. The atmosphere within the walls of Kamar-Taj seemed so very different, and it had taken him a few trips to finally put his finger on it. Car exhaust. It was as if an enormous invisible filter kept the atmospheric pollutants of the surrounding city out of this place. It had to be magic; it wasn’t a very extraordinary guess.

If he hadn’t believed in magic — not the supernatural, of course, he had seen plenty of it but in magic he would have read about in fantasy books — he would have to believe in it now. The students weren’t just fighting with weapons or martial arts. They were leaping around as if gravity was a quaint fairy-story told to them when they were young. They conjured steel weapons out of thin air or shaped fire and lightning into missiles to hurl ineffectively against the mystic shields of their dueling partners.

Isaac felt a little small in the face of it all.

There was one student who was simply phenomenal. The muscular Vietnamese man moved like someone out of wuxia, and none of the other students were able to stand against him. He had this signature move — it had to be a spell — where he conjured a dragon composed of emerald and blue fire which incapacitated his opponent long enough for him to defeat them. The other students all seemed to look up to him, and he could see why.

As he watched them spar, he became aware of someone standing behind him. He whirled around to find Mordo.

“Would you like a chance, Isaac?”

It took him a moment to figure out what the sorcerer was offering. “Me? Against one of them?”

“Against Student Duong.” Mordo gestured to the exceptional student.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I recall Miss Argent speaking about how she’s watched your pack train. I’d like to see what you can do.”

Isaac bit his lip. His first instinct was to laugh in the man’s face, but he didn’t think that it would be a diplomatic or a particularly wise thing to do. His second instinct was to politely demur and explain that he didn’t think he would be able to do anything against someone like Duong. Before he could, something hot surged through his spine. He may not believe he had any chance against the student, but he could feel his fangs poke at his lip at the challenge.

“Sure.” He shrugged his most delinquent shrug. “I won’t use my claws.”

“Oh, by all means, use them.” Mordo encouraged. “Though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill or permanently maim him.”

Isaac deployed his claws and let the beta shift take over him. Mordo called Duong and the other students over. It took only a few minutes to set up and Isaac and Duong started approximately thirty feet apart.

The student dropped into a stance as Isaac felt the aggression of the wolf flowing through him. He did enjoy training. As he watched the sorcerous student, he thought that the best approach would be to get as close as quickly as possible to stop the student from casting any of the flashier spells, which often took a little time as well as gestures or changes in body position.

The match began and as he suspected, Duong cast a bolt of fire at him, though Isaac was able to dodge over it with a leap. He landed and continued forward, only for the student to have cast a defensive barrier up immediately afterward. Isaac crashed into it, but to his own surprise the shield shattered almost immediately. It surprised the student as well, so Isaac grabbed him, his claws digging into his skin just enough to draw little beads of blood and threw Duong up into the air. The student twisted around in order to land on his feet, but Isaac was there before him and swept his legs out from under him.

Isaac had been training with a pack since Derek had bitten him, so he knew how to press his advantage. Yet he didn’t understand how he was being so successful. Duong managed to get to his feet, pedaling backwards and evading Isaac’s claws with mundane blocks long enough to form a strategy. With an augmented leap, Duong got some distance and conjured the blue-green dragon as quickly as he could to avoid Isaac’s charge. He managed to get it off, and while it slowed Isaac for a moment, he still could move enough to knock the student to the ground.

“Hold!” Mordo called out. The look on his face was … pleased.

Isaac extended a now clawless hand to Duong, who gracefully accepted it.

“You are quite good,” the student told him.

He didn’t know what to make of it. “I thought you would whup my ass, honestly. You sure you weren’t holding back?”

“Student Duong would never hold back in a duel I arranged,” Mordo interrupted. “I must admit I did take advantage of your presence here to expand the students’ knowledge of magic. This is the first time, I believe, that most of them have ever seen an inherently magical human being fight.”

The students all looked very interested, but Isaac felt a little confused.

“Here in Kamar-Taj, we teach students to channel the energies of the universe through study and practice. The limitations placed upon them are still human, though like every human being they have different talents. On the other hand, as a werewolf, your ability to channel the energies of the universe has been made an inherent part of your own body. There are advantages and disadvantages to both methods.”

“Oh.”

“Student Duong, you are very skilled at sparring. I have noted that you have a good eye for analyzing the spells chosen by your opponent and compensating for them. You successfully turn their own conscious choice against them.”

The student’s face opened up. “I could not do this as the way he channels that energy is not a conscious decision. I see, Master Mordo.”

“Isaac here does not have to consciously select which spell would be most advantageous any more than you, students, have to remember to breathe during a fight. While he can only use his power in limited ways, he can employ that power more quickly and more reliably than we can. Thank you, Isaac, for your cooperation.”

The students bowed to Isaac in gratitude.

“Uh. It was an honor? Yeah.”

The others returned to their sparring and Isaac approached Mordo, who was supervising.

“Something I can help you with, Isaac?”

“You set him up.”

The sorcerer chuckled. “That I did. Student Duong is our best fighter, but sometimes being the best can blind you to your own weaknesses. Reminding him that the sparring we do here cannot encompass all forms of combat is my duty as a teacher. Also, a little humility does no one any harm.”

“I never … more knowledgeable werewolves than me have talked about the spark but … what you said.”

“It’s true. The Bite, as I understand it, transforms your body into one capable of harnessing the universal forces the manipulation of which we study here. From one perspective, you are a living spell. Your improvement as a werewolf comes from how you interact with your own nature.”

“The shape you take reflects the person that you are.”

“Precisely. You were watching the students closely.”

“I was. Honestly, I was getting envious. They’re amazing.”

“They are amazing, Isaac, but then again, so are you.” Mordo clapped him on the shoulder. “Never forget that.”

Chapter Text

January 7, 2015 — The Bronx, New York

Maurizio’s Pizza seemed far too dingy for its prominent position on the corner of Beaumont and Cambreleng. Maybe the ancient light fixtures were responsible, their multi-colored shades dimmed by decades of cigarette and cigar smoke as they had to have been hung in the 50s. Maybe the ancient beige linoleum was responsible, discolored with the grime of countless feet and sealed by thousands of applications of floor wax. Maybe it was the varnished wooden tabletops, gouged and cracked and yellowed with endless meals.

Looking up from the chintzy place mat with its hokey scrollwork set before him, Phil Coulson made eye contact with the dour man working behind the counter, but all he got in return was a slight scowl. It had taken him little less than a minute after sitting down to figure out that this restaurant wasn’t exactly what it seemed. Or rather, it was exactly what it seemed if it was supposed to be a set on The Godfather. The cook and the waitress had been completely surprised by a customer walking in through the front doors, though they had quickly replaced their shock with a somehow polite hostility once they realized it hadn’t been a mistake. The only other customers in the place, a pair of men who looked like they had just come from The Soprano’s casting office, had left moments later, and Phil had noticed that they left without paying.

He wondered for which Mafia family this placed served as a front.

The menu turned out to be nothing more than laminated sheets of type-written paper, but all the liquor was top shelf, including the beer. He had ordered his favorite local brew, and it was served at the perfect temperature. Regardless of the frosty reception, he suspected he’d enjoy the meal.

Maria had told him she’d meet him at six, and, characteristically, she made her appearance not five minutes after the clock struck the same. From within the depths of the heavy parka, she looked like she had just returned from an expedition above the Arctic Circle rather than having rode the subway from downtown Manhattan.

She shivered as she pulled out a chair, before shouting across the restaurant at the waitress. “Could I have a cup of coffee?”

“That’s sort of rude.”

“We’re the only people here. Given their usual clientele, they should be used to it by now,” she remarked philosophically. “Why is it so frickin’ cold?”

“Because it’s January in New York.”

“Someone should look into that.” She stretched her hands over the candle on the table and winked at him. When the waitress arrived with her cup of coffee, Maria launched immediately into their order. “Yeah, we’d like the lasagna and some of those bread sticks which you just took out of the oven. Oh, and bring some of your mozzarella dip.”

“So, you’ve been here before?” Phil asked.

After the waitress was out of earshot, Maria shrugged. “Not technically. About five years ago, we put this place under surveillance. The local family was thinking of getting into bed with an international conspiracy seeking to fund illegal high-tech research through heroin smuggling.”

“Oh. I guess you didn’t bring me here for the food.”

“Well, I kind of did!” She smiled brightly. “The food’s great, though that’s not exactly why I chose this place for tonight. It also happens to be one of the few places in the boroughs that’s completely off the grid. They don’t accept credit cards, they don’t have surveillance cameras, they don’t have Wi-Fi, and their people don’t talk to anyone who looks like a Fed.”

Phil chuffed. “We look like Feds.”

“Precisely. It’s the most private place I can think of right now.”

“Whatever happening is that bad?”

“It’s a delicate situation. The longer I’m off the grid, the more chance that JARVIS will grow curious about where I’ve actually disappeared to. I can’t really complain most of the time; with my profile, the team wants to make sure I don’t get snatched by the bad guys, but it can be quite a pain when I’m trying to compartmentalize information. For example, do you know how bleeding hard it’s been to keep your undead status from the team?”

“I’m not undead.” He would have pursed his lips, but he felt it probably would make him look petulant.

“Well, then after dinner we can drop by the tower and say hello to Tony …”

They glared at each other, waiting to see who broke first. They burst into laughter almost at the same time, and then the waitress appeared with their appetizer.

Phil took a long sip from his own glass. He had been so engrossed in forming his own team after his return to service that he had put off letting the Avengers know he was alive. After the revelation of Hydra’s continued existence and Fury making it his task to rebuild SHIELD, he couldn’t afford to let them know. From what Nick and Maria had both told him about Cap’s insistence that SHIELD be shut down completely, Rogers might be opposed to what he was doing. He didn’t like to think about that.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I thought you might see it my way.” Maria snatched up a bread stick. “Mm. Still warm. So good.”

“You do like your bread sticks.”

She grinned at him. “Let’s get down to business. The Avengers have a lead on the scepter.”

“Oh, wonderful.” He ignored the twinge in his torso. “But I’m hardly an expert on it unless you want me to tell you how it feels when you get stabbed by the sharp end.”

His wit did not land well. For all her battle-earned hardness, Maria had never been able to laugh at defeat … or people she cared about getting hurt.

“Sorry,” he muttered, apparently having reached a point where he apologized for being the target of an attempted murder.

“You should be. The good news, though, is that we have a good chance to locate it. We have someone in custody who either knows where it is or has a pretty good idea about how we could find out. Unfortunately, we can’t get her to talk.”

“Okay. I guess the new subversion techniques aren’t working?” After the revelation of Hydra’s continued existence, Fury had had his own personal contacts in the field of psychological conditioning work up a protocol for turning Hydra’s cult-like fascist indoctrination against them.

“While she wears the uniform, metaphorically, she’s not drank the Hydra Kool-Aid, so it’s no joy. What’s even worse, she has developed quite the personal loyalty to the head of her branch.”

They fell silent as two enormous plates of lasagna were put before them. He eyed the mass of cheese, meat, and tomato sauce speculatively. “I’m not going to be able to eat all that. So, you’ve reached an impasse; have you thought about … enhanced interrogation?”

“You know Rogers would shit his red, white, and blue pants at the very mention of it.” Maria shrugged. She never had a problem doing what she believed necessary, but she was flexible enough to work under any conditions. “On the other hand, given the physical condition under which she’s lived for the last decades, I’m not sure that it would even work.”

Quickly, Maria gave him a run down on the history and unique abilities of Ayla Ranefer, between bites of lasagna. While it didn’t seem very appropriate for dinner conversation, in this line of work, people quickly developed a strong stomach.

“Well, that’s not creepy or anything. So, I guess this isn’t really about Ranefer. It’s about her boss.”

“The Fox. If she doesn’t know where the scepter is, she’s confident that he does. I’m here for anything you can tell me about him.”

Phil thought about his 2013 mission in Beacon Hills over while chewing over a bite of lasagna, which was as good as Maria said it would be. “You’ve read the same reports I have.”

“The reports focus on what we know. I want to hear what you feel. I need your intuition on this. You’ve been on the ground in his hometown. You’ve interacted with the people who made Fox’s host who he is … or was, however that works. How do we get to him?”

He leaned back in his chair. From what he had read in Thor’s briefing on the nogitsune, they were monstrous creatures who fed on chaos, strife and pain. That didn’t sound like the type of thing to inspire loyalty from anyone, let alone a woman seeking a cure for her horrific condition. A nogitsune would most likely feed from her instead, so whatever had inspired that loyalty had to come from the host.

“I think you’re on the right track, but if you want to get inside the Fox’s head, you need to speak to Scott McCall.” Phil took out his phone. “I can set up a meeting.”

January 9, 2015 – Manhattan, New York

Theo pulled the collar of the military surplus jacket he had bought in a second-hand store up as far as he could to protect his ears. The temperature was already well below freezing and was likely to get even colder as the night wore on. While his constitution was sturdier than a normal human’s, the gusts whistling through the alleyways still caused him to shiver. After so much time in the Bahamas, he certainly wasn’t used to it.

On the other hand, he had experience with this type of weather, he had spent a little less than a year in Logashkino while the Doctors had been studying the Siberian Nemeton. He remembered the cold there being so deep and sharp that it felt like it hollowed out his bones. He never complained; the Doctors were decidedly uninterested in comfort if it interfered with their progress. While the winter in New York wasn’t remotely comparable, it was still uncomfortable. At least here he could grab a coffee from a bodega.

Furthermore, considering the delicate nature of his mission on this blustery night in Manhattan, the chill wasn’t helping his concentration.

While he was more than capable of lying to the Fox and getting away with it — he had done so successfully on several occasions — he hadn’t been lying or even exaggerating a little bit when he said that Avengers Tower might be the most secure place on the planet outside of certain black government sites or nuclear command and control facilities. His normal techniques would be practically useless.

Usually when conducting surveillance, he would have watched the target from a relatively safe location and perhaps walked by it once a night around twilight, when it was too dark to be seen clearly but wasn’t dark enough for people to wonder what he was doing. For the Tower, he would have to work twice as hard and settle for less than half the result. Any observation post which could give him anything valuable would eventually be spotted, and even a casual stroll by the building was infinitely harder. He had to pay heightened attention to his appearance, making sure there were literally no telltale signs that could be used to establish him as not belonging in the vicinity. He had to make sure he never gave the close-circuit cameras, which were most certainly establishing a perimeter, a clear look at his face just in case he had made it into any of the numerous criminal facial recognition databases. He had to make sure that his passes by the building didn’t fall into a definable pattern while also not seeming too desperate, and thus suspiciously, random.

In the end, the problem with Stark’s facility was his artificial intelligence. Theo could count on JARVIS not to miss any mistake he might make, so everything had to be done perfectly the first time.

Luckily for the mission, he had grown up being trained by perfectionists.

He had cajoled Stiles into letting him take a trip to New York, even as the Fox began putting together his own plan to free Dr. Ranefer. It had required only a little bit of finesse. Theo had extrapolated from Stiles’s recent explanation of his state that while Fox was now a homogenous entity and not two personalities sharing the same body, there would still have to be aspects of Fox’s personality dominated by one of his former selves. The nogitsune would never care if people were wowed by his acumen, so the Fox’s interest in showing off had to have come from Stiles. The once-human part’s need to prove his worth had left him open to Theo’s suggestion that the more data they had the better any plan would be.

It hadn’t exactly been a lie, but it hadn’t exactly been the truth, either. Theo was gathering data, but he intended to use it to convince the Fox not to pursue any plan at all. Theo liked Dr. Ranefer, but she wasn’t worth a confrontation with the Avengers.

He finished his final pass of the evening and started mentally analyzing what he had heard and smelled and seen. Even as he turned his back to the high rise, he had to fight down the urge to rush to his car and record things before he forgot even a little bit. Through force of will, he walked slowly and deliberately on his planned circuitous route back.

Turning a corner two blocks away, he started to relax just a little. While he could still see the Tower, he was no longer in direct line of sight of the street-level cameras. It was his first mistake. He nearly made a second when he was accosted from the shadows of an alleyway.

“Good evening, Theo.”

“Christ on a crutch!” Theo turned, dropping his claws involuntarily. He barely managed to keep himself from attacking. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Deucalion emerged from the darkness; Theo wasn’t sure how he had missed the alpha. The man was dressed in a heavy leather long coat, complete with a thick fuzzy scarf and earmuffs, but he was also wearing his sunglasses and carrying his white cane. Theo obviously wasn’t the only person in disguise. “Greeting a friend. One I thought claimed to be an atheist.”

“There are no atheists in ambushes, and since when were we friends?”

“Acquaintances, unless you prefer conspirators.”

Theo forced his claws to retreat back into his hand. “What do you want?”

“Right now? I’m curious to find out why you’re casing Avenger’s Tower like a very brave burglar.”

Hissing, Theo forced himself to move closer to the man. Deucalion could probably kill him without much of an effort, but if that had been his goal, he wouldn’t have drawn attention to himself. “Could you speak a little louder? I don’t think Black Widow heard you.”

“Why should I care if she hears me or not? I’m merely a citizen enjoying the brisk night air. It’s not like I’m a Hydra operative.” The alpha’s lips quirked up in amusement.

“What can I do to get you shut the hell up before you put me in a jail cell?”

The amusement was gone in a moment. “It’s simple. Tell me where I can find Stiles Stilinski.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s not going to happen, but you should put it in your next Christmas letter to Santa.” Theo turned away, hoping his sass had concealed his terror.

In a flash, as fast as a Demon Wolf could move, Deucalion was at his side and had a steel grip on Theo’s elbow. “I think you might want to reconsider your hasty refusal.”

Theo tried to jerk his arm out of the alpha’s grip but failed. “And I think that you don’t want to get in a fight this close to the world’s greatest heroes’ front door.”

“It would be a risk, I’ll admit, but the risk would be far greater for you.”

The chimera took a breath and then turned so he could look right into the sunglasses. “I’ll take my chances.”

The man turned his head slowly to the side. “What’s this? Loyalty?” He didn’t let go.

Theo didn’t give that the dignity of an answer.

“A little more than two months ago, you were feeding me information that might have allowed me to undermine his operations.”

“If you really want to have this particular conversation here, okay. I was feeding you information which would undermine the Doctors, because while I didn’t know exactly what they were trying to do, I knew it couldn’t mean anything good for anyone but themselves.” Theo whispered fiercely. “Turns out I had both bad luck and good luck with that. Bad luck because I chose to leak that information to an incompetent like you since you did fuck-all with it. But I also had good luck because the people in that building over there managed to stop them before they could do any real damage.”

A smile spread across the other man’s face. “Hmmm. What if I told you I might just kill you right here and right now if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

Theo gritted his teeth. “I guess I have lines I won’t cross.”

“Fascinating. You do realize that your new master is just as dangerous and just as ruthless as your old ones, don’t you?” The alpha hummed. “You’re not stupid; you do know that. What’s different about him, I wonder?”

“He’s got good taste in music.”

With a sudden yank, Demon Wolf casually pulled Theo’s shoulder out of its socket. Theo bit his own tongue to keep from crying out.

“I’m sincerely not interested in hurting you, Theo, but I won’t ask a third time. Don’t make me resort to harsher measures. What’s different?”

“I know what the Fox is and what he might do, but you don’t know much of anything. You know I’m the First Chimera, and I murdered my sister for that opportunity. I’m never …” He licked his lips. “I’m never going to be anything else, as much as I might want to be. Yet for the first time in my life, I’m working for someone who treats me as a person and not a tool.”

“Is that enough for you to refuse to answer the simplest question?”

“You really believe I didn’t figure out why you would want to stop the Doctors? Give me some credit.”

Deucalion let go of his arm; Theo immediately rotated it back into its socket. “If I can’t convince you to share, I am willing to purchase the information.”

“What could you possibly have that I would want?”

“Access.” The alpha smiled and looked in the direction of the tower. “I can give you a means to safely get in and out of that building over there.”

Theo scoffed. “How?”

“Listen to my heartbeat, Theo. I can do it. When we have a deal, Mr. Raeken, then I’ll tell you the exact means I possess. You know how to contact me. Have a good night.”

With that, Deucalion swept the white cane out in front of him and headed down the sidewalk. Theo watched him for maybe fifteen seconds before heading toward his car as quickly as he could. Screw the deliberate pace. He didn’t want the Demon Wolf to change his mind.

He started the car and drove toward the first busy road. He needed to get lost and quickly.

Once on the interstate, he took a few deep breaths to relax. While he had mocked Deucalion’s effectiveness, he knew it had been a useless gibe. The man had somehow tracked him down in New York City. But why, if he thought Theo had information he wanted, didn't he simply take it from Theo’s mind? He certainly was capable of extracting memories.

The answer hit him as he headed toward the airport. Deucalion needed to find the Fox, but his purpose would be spoiled if Stiles had knowledge that he was coming. For the memory alteration to remain undetected, it would have to be flawless, and even the alpha of alphas would have a difficult time doing it in an ally in the middle of winter with Theo trying to fight him off.

Theo had a sinking feeling that the DOA had a new enemy. He drove faster.

Deucalion smirked at his own indulgence in nostalgia. He could see perfectly well now, thanks to Jennifer’s coerced gift, but it pleased him that he could find his way without sight just as well as he had before that healing.

As he reached the curb on the main boulevard, a silver Toyota Sequoia pulled up to meet him, its windows tinted dark. Opening the door, he slid into the passenger seat. “I’m curious. How many times did you circle Central Park?”

“I didn’t draw any attention to myself, if that’s what you’re worried about. Were you successful?”

“Only partly. It appears that Theo Raeken, contrary to his reputation, has developed a sense of loyalty to the Fox.”

The driver frowned at the news. “You were unable to discover the nogitsune’s location.”

“I have narrowed it down somewhat. While the chimera was busy with his own task, I found his car and examined it quite thoroughly. It was faint, but I detected the distinct odor of Pinus Caribaea.”

This did not seem to impress the driver.

“Caribbean Pine, as its name might suggest, grows in the Caribbean.”

“That does not narrow his location down by much.”

“Any lead is better than having none at all. My interaction with the boy also allows me to recalculate my strategies. I have to take into account the Fox’s ability to form bonds, which I did not expect.”

“Creatures like the one we are hunting cannot inspire loyalty.”

Taking in a deep breath, Deucalion let it out slowly. “While I am more than respectful of your superior knowledge when it comes to nogitsune, you are doing yourself a disservice when you do not recognize that whatever techniques Hydra employed on it and its host, it has now become something decidedly unique. If you cannot move past your established prejudices, you simply won’t be very helpful in resolving the matter to anyone’s satisfaction.”

Noshiko Yukimura glared at him from the driver’s seat. “It is still my demon to bury.”

“I acknowledge that.” He glanced out the window, thinking for a few moments. “Will you be able to tell me when and how Raeken leaves New York?”

“Perhaps. The individual who sensed his arrival has been asked to pay specific attention to his comings and goings, but it is not an exact science.”

“One day, I would like to know how it was accomplished.”

The kitsune turned the vehicle back onto a road. “That is unlikely.”

“Again, keeping secrets from a partner is not helpful.”

“The supernatural community of New York had to quickly relearn the advantages of cooperation after the Chitauri Invasion. For the first time in a very long time, our established customs almost failed to keep us safe. Adapting to the change is a work in progress, and there are centuries of ingrained mistrust to overcome. While parts of the task are easier than others, trusting a self-proclaimed Demon Wolf, no matter how reformed he claims to be, is going to be among the most difficult.”

Deucalion chuckled wryly. “Ah, sometimes I miss the days when I was the biggest monster hiding in the dark.”

“You paid me a compliment, allow me to pay you one in return. Your actions against the threat of the Fox are doing quite a bit to reform your reputation. If they hadn’t been, I would not have invited you to come here.”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I?”

Noshiko glanced over at him. “You always have a choice.”

“Permit me to make a singular observation. As you have learned, the world is changing, fundamentally, from the one in which I grew up. You, of all people, should understand the challenges that this presents to someone like me. If it comes down to being a passive observer or an active participant, is there any choice of all?”

Noshiko turned north up 9th avenue. She had put Deucalion up in a bed-and-breakfast near Columbia University. “There never is. The Renaissance, the kurofune, the Industrial Revolution, World Wars, they change the human world, but they cannot leave the world of the supernatural untouched. I only wish my daughter could have learned about herself in a time of peace, but there is no use worrying about what cannot be changed.”

The lights of the city sped by, leaving the occupants to ponder their words.

“Does it feel different to you this time? I have my own thoughts …”

“Different?” Noshiko hummed. “It is too soon to tell. Momentous, certainly. Hidden powers may soon no longer be able to remain hidden. Humanity may turn upon those it fears, as it has so many times in the past. Change is always difficult.”

“A new Age of Legends.”

“Perhaps, but I think both of us will sleep better if the Fox is not one of those legends.” She glanced over at him. “Let us talk about next steps.”

Deucalion explained about the offer he made to Theo.

“I see. Whose overconfidence are you banking on? Raeken’s or the Fox’s?”

“Either would be just as good. They don’t know that I am working with you, and I will do everything in my power to make sure that continues to be the case.”

“Neither will agree to reveal the location without proof that you can do what you claim.”

“Whatever they want from Avengers Tower has to be significant. Once I secure it for them, they’ll have to pay my price.” Deucalion shrugged in confidence. “And while they mull it over, I will take steps to prepare.”

“What do you think they want?”

“The Avengers must have retrieved something from the Doctors’ base in New Mexico before it was obliterated. Something other than the individual they rescued.” Deucalion frowns. “Something that Raeken, at least, needs desperately.”

“Far too many variables.”

“We are in the early stages of the game, Noshiko. If it doesn’t work out, I have other avenues I might pursue.”

“Could this survivor know more?”

The alpha of alphas shook his head. “It’s too risky. We don’t know anything about him or his present relationship with the Avengers. In matters such as this, we will have only one chance of success. Are you worried about the unknowns?”

“I’m a trickster. I’m comfortable with not having all the details of a situation available. It’s the unforeseen consequences about which I’m worried.” Noshiko frowned ruefully. “I learned that lesson in 1943.”

The rest of the car ride remained silent until they parked in front of the bed and breakfast. Noshiko walked him to the front door.

“It is best that we don’t meet unless it’s absolutely necessary, Noshiko. I don’t want the Fox’s Hydra minions tipping our hand.”

She nodded. “I’ll be ready if we have to go.”

“You don’t even know the full plan yet. I don’t even know the full plan yet.”

“I may not have your reputation for strategic genius, Deucalion, but it doesn’t take genius to figure out how you plan to get into Avengers Tower.”

Two oni appeared next to her, in a flanking position. It was both a demonstration of her understanding and a warning that he shouldn’t consider crossing her.

The Demon Wolf tipped an imaginary hat. “I guess it doesn’t take genius, does it?”

Steve tried to decide whether he liked his quarters in the Tower or not. This Christmas season had been the first time he had spent more than a night or two here in a row. He hadn’t actually tried to live in a place since he had vacated his D.C. apartment. Fury’s attempted assassination and the revelation that his next-door neighbor had been his secret minder had kind of ruined the appeal.

While he had been on the road trying to track down Bucky, Tony had taken on it himself to have all his things packed up and moved to the Tower. Steve had only been a little nettled at the presumption, but he recognized the intent behind the gesture.

The last year had been consumed by the team’s pursuit of Hydra, he and Tony working the halls of power to keep the Avengers’ activities viable, and he and Sam squeezing in search missions for Bucky. Even though he’d been here since Christmas Eve, it simply didn’t feel like home.

“JARVIS?”

“-Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“Could you bring up the Garrett Douglas surveillance files?”

“-Absolutely, sir. They are on your monitor now. Is there a particular way you would like them displayed?”

Steve snorted. “If it’s possible, in a way that doesn’t make me feel like a voyeur.”

The AI paused. “-If I may suggest, Captain, I could summarize Mr. Douglas’s activities for you and if something catches your interest after I did so, I can play that particular moment.”

“Yes, thank you.” He did feel relieved. “That would be good.”

It took only a few minutes for the AI to arrange a pretty thorough list of the activities that the survivor of the Doctors’ experiments had been up to in the nearly four weeks since they had moved into the place.

Apparently, Douglas had spent a lot of time watching television, specifically historical documentaries on Netflix. Steve understood that instinct. His notebook had been his way of reorienting himself to the new world he found himself.

Douglas had also spent a lot of time reading, apparently having gotten a card for the New York Public Library. JARVIS displayed a list of the titles. He seemed to be concentrating on the history of battles and massacres since the end of the Second World War, and not just those in Germany.

Steve wondered if Garrett Douglas was as disappointed with the world as Steve had sometimes found himself to be. He hadn’t been naive enough to think that defeating the Nazis and Hydra would have solved all the problems, but it seemed to have solved virtually none of them. Berlin hadn’t been fallen for even a year before the Cold War began, ruining lives and killing innocents, and not just in their proxy battles in Korea and Vietnam.

“-Captain, Mr. Wilson is here to see you.”

He turned away from the screen and asked JARVIS to let him in. Steve stood up and gave his friend a hug.

“How was the family? Have a good Christmas?”

“Sarah nagged me for not visiting as much, but when I got back here, I find I kind of agree with her.” Sam winked at him. “It’s damn cold. What’ve you been up to?”

“Apparently, projecting,” Steve said sourly.

Sam side-eyed him. Steve gestured to one of the chairs in the apartment and then showed Sam the read-out the artificial intelligence had prepared for him.

“Honestly, Steve, I would’ve been more surprised if you hadn’t been at least a little interested in this guy, on a personal and a professional level?”

“I’m borderline stalking him.”

“Nah, man, you’re not. You’ve visited him what, twice in a month? You just feel like you’re too invested.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Why am I even spending time with him at all? He could be a Nazi, Sam.”

“Maybe. And if he is, we’ll deal with that, but he also fits right into all the things going on in your life right now — he’s you, he’s Bucky, he’s a victim you saved, and he could be the enemy you don’t know about. Give yourself a break.”

“So, you’re saying that I should relax.”

“Well, don’t pick out china patterns, but yeah …” Sam shrugged. “Sometimes people find themselves coping in ways they never expected. But let’s put that to the side. I’m actually here because Maria called me back.”

“Why?”

“We have a lead on the scepter, and she thought that I might be able to help you with it.”

Steve shut down the list he was reading.

Chapter Text

January 12, 2015 — Beacon Hills, California

Steve Rogers wondered, and not for the first time, if people in the twenty-first century simply didn’t have enough perspective to appreciate what they had, at least when compared to the world of his youth. Back before he went into the ice, if he had been driving in a storm like the one raging outside, he would have been at least a little bit scared of a terrible crash, super-soldier serum or not. When Bucky had first taught him to drive, there had been no seat belts or air bags or crumple zones or anti-lock brakes. Not pulling over in weather like this was simply asking for a wreck and a serious injury at the very least. Yet when he compared the Chevy Tahoe they had rented in San Francisco to the 1935 Ford in which he had learned to drive, there was little cause now for fear. With all these technological advances, he could drive warm and safe while almost completely ignoring the tempest.

His passengers hadn’t seemed to notice — probably would never be able to notice — the amazing nature of what had to be, to them, a relatively mundane vehicle. In a way, Steve enjoyed the privilege of being able to see exactly how far things had changed.

Nat and Sam were talking about the most recent episode of Game of Thrones in the back seat, while Clint was involved in a very intense conversation with someone over texts while in the passenger seat. None of them paid attention to the wind howling outside.

The rain was so intense, Steve nearly missed a sign on the highway telling him they were but five miles from their destination. “We’re almost there.” Clint grunted without looking up, while Sam and Natasha had the courtesy to look up from their conversation. “I was thinking we should go over the plan again.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Has something changed?”

“Not really.” Steve muttered while signaling a lane change. They were the only car on the road as far as he could see, but it still wouldn’t hurt to follow the rules. In the distance, he could see the faint glow of downtown lights. “I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Interesting.” Natasha stuck her head between the seats. “You usually don’t act like we’re amateurs.”

“She’s got a point there,” Sam added from the back seat. “This is supposed to be a recruitment, not an ambush, right?”

“Considering this is the first wolf man I will have ever talked to,” Steve replied a little more sharply than he intended, “I want to be prepared, especially since I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that monsters are real.”

Sam chuckled. “I had the same problem when I met Thor!”

“Just a hunch, Cap.” Clint looked back down at his phone’s screen. “I doubt he’ll appreciate being called a monster.”

“I don’t know what the appropriate term is.”

“Shapeshifter. Lycan. Werewolf.” Natasha recited them as if she were recalling a particularly boring lesson, even though she had learned about them at the same time he had. “Why do you think that you'll need all of us? After all, I recruited Bruce by myself.”

“With a full assault squad on back up,” Clint snickered.

She stuck her tongue at her old partner before leaning forward to tease Steve. “You’re not afraid of werewolves, are you?”

“Apparently so.” He was only partially joking. One of the last movies Steve had seen before he went though Project Rebirth had been Lon Chaney’s The Wolf Man. The night before the procedure, he had had a nightmare: the process would turn him into that movie's monster instead. “But it’s not a werewolf that concerns me. It’s the plural of werewolf.”

“His pack.” Clint shook his head in partial disbelief at the topic. “I get that! We know nothing about them; not even how many there are. The SHIELD investigative team identified that he had one, but that’s it.”

Sam puffed out his cheeks as he mulled it over. “I guess that’s a good reason to be nervous.”

“Not nervous, Sam, just wanting to be prepared.”

“I wish we could have gotten a look at his test results.” Natasha had stopped teasing and turned serious.

“Tests?” Sam asked, because he wouldn’t know about the school. Of the people in the car, he had never been an official part of SHIELD.

“Scott McCall impressed the team sent to Beacon Hills so much that they tried to recruit him. He visited the Academy, where he underwent a full battery of psychological and physical tests. That data would have helped a lot.”

“Why can’t we look at them?”

“The Academy’s director …” Steve gritted his teeth. “When Hydra made its move, she didn’t want them getting their hands on any personal information that they could use as leverage against agents. She had managed to purge all the current and potential student files before they killed her.”

“Did you know her?” Sam asked softly.

“I knew her grandfather.” Steve still hadn’t completely come to terms with Hydra’s infiltration of SHIELD. He could only imagine what Dum-Dum would have said about how badly SHIELD had failed his granddaughter. “It would have been nice to see those results, but that's not going to happen. We only have the vaguest idea about his enhanced abilities, and that he has a group of similar … people loyal to him. Probably close by. Someone very close to him became Hydra’s sole enhanced operative—”

“That we know of,” Clint interjected. “As I said, I get it. We don’t know enough to treat this lightly.”

“Could there be someone else who knows Fox who would be less dangerous?”

“Maria and I went over everything available, Sam.” Natasha shook her head. “We scoured the report from the SHIELD team, the downloaded Hydra files, and everything we could dig up from social media and local newspapers. We even looked at copies of their high school yearbooks. Everything points to McCall and Stilinski being remarkably close.”

“Friends are important,” Sam offered, “but wouldn’t family be more effective in this instance?”

“Stiles Stilinski’s only living close relative is his father, Noah Stilinski. His mother passed away in 2004, and he was only an only child. Noah is the Sheriff of Beacon County.” Natasha shrugged. “But from what we can tell, while their relationship was close, it was also … unstable.”

“What does that mean?” Clint asked, crinkling his brow.

“Between information from eyewitnesses, reports from the school guidance counselor, transcription of an impeachment proceeding, and his medical records? Let’s just say it’s a miracle the elder Stilinski has managed to hold it together for as long as he has.”

“There’s also a more practical reason,” Steve admitted. “We can't assume that Hydra has left Beacon Hills alone. If we make contact with the sheriff he might become a target. I’m betting an alpha werewolf could defend himself far better than a county sheriff.”

“Fair enough, but if you’re worried about getting jumped — and not to disparage anyone in this vehicle — why didn’t you bring one of the bigger guns?” Sam gestured around. “I think Thor’s presence might be enough to discourage any unnecessary violence.”

“While Thor is far nicer than I ever expected an alien demigod to be, his very power level is intimidating,” Natasha remarked. “We want to secure McCall’s cooperation, not bully him into working with us. Tony can be diplomatic when he needs to be, but his natural …”

She trailed off and Steve finished for her. “Enthusiasm.”

“Looks like Tony isn’t the only one who can be diplomatic when necessary. Enthusiasm is a good word for it. And Bruce doesn’t really do well in tense situations where avoiding violence might not be possible.”

“So,” Clint smirked. “You chose us for our winning smiles.”

Turning his attention back to the GPS, Steve followed it down the road as they reached downtown Beacon Hills. He had chosen Natasha for this mission because, as a spy, she had the most training in gathering information. Hopefully, she could compensate for their present intelligence deficit. He had chosen Clint for his situational awareness; Hawkeye would be the most likely to sense an ambush. As luck would have it, archery had also been suggested as being more effective against werewolves than firearms. Finally, while Steve would do most of the talking, he had asked Sam to come for a very important reason.

McCall might be a werewolf, but he was still human, barely out of high school. Sam might have been a soldier as much as Steve was, but Steve had quickly come to rely on Sam’s ability to relate to people at a mundane level.

He didn’t like using the word ‘mundane.’ It sounded like he was demeaning the lives of normal people, yet that was not what he intended at all. Going to work, getting married, raising kids, painting the house, mowing the lawn, attending parties with your slightly neurotic neighbors from down the road might not sound glamorous, but they were the working parts of a life worth living. Steve sometimes — hell, he shouldn’t lie to himself, constantly — worried that he would never get a chance to participate in the least of them. Or if he did get that chance ...

“Here we are.” He’d put the rest of that thought to the side to deal with later.

The lights were still on at the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic.

Scott McCall had had to come to grips with the reality that his life would never be how he had once imagined it. When he had walked into Beacon Hills High School that first time as a freshman, it was his first step toward being an adult who would be able to make his own choices and shape his own destiny. He hadn’t, of course, used those exact words in his own mind, but the feeling had been real enough to him. But now, on the fourth anniversary of the night the Bite had changed the course of his life forever, he wondered if there was a limit to how weird his life could get.

If becoming a werewolf hadn’t been strange enough, there was presently a ninety-six-year-old super soldier, two professional spies, and a man who could fly wanting to talk with him in the back room of the clinic where he worked.

The Avengers looked different when they were standing in front of him than when Scott saw them on a television or on his computer screen. At least, Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers certainly did. While he recognized Hawkeye from news reports, Clint Barton had never given an interview nor testified in front of Congress, so most of the pictures of him were taken in the middle of battle. Sam Wilson wasn’t even an official Avenger yet according to the websites, but Scott now had a name and a face to put to the person who had helped Captain America take down the Hydra helicarriers.

He could understand exactly how impressive that was. After all, Scott had been at SHIELD headquarters during that battle.

On the other hand, he shouldn't be that intimidated; Scott had faced dangerous people before. But tonight, his hands were sweating, and they weren’t even wearing their costumes. If they had been, he might have just frozen up.

Alan Deaton cleared his throat, standing behind him and to his left, casually reminding Scott that he wasn’t alone. Scott didn’t think he could have done this by himself. Twenty-four hours earlier, he had received a phone call from Agent Coulson explaining that the Avengers wanted to meet with him about a very important situation. After Scott had hung up, he had had the fight the urge to make a run for the border.

Instead, he had called his pack together immediately. After all the effort he had made in the past to conceal their identities to others — though Scott couldn’t be sure if they had been effective at all — he had thought they would try to talk him out of the meeting with the superheroes. None of them did so, though they didn't want their Alpha to meet with the Avengers alone. In the end though, Scott had had to make the final decision on how it would go.

Peter was right out, and for the same reasons Derek, Cora, and Malia were out as well. He had to assume that anyone who met the Avengers with him would be tagged as connected to the supernatural and become a person of interest. After that, the probability that someone in their organization would start digging into the Hale fire was too great. If that happened, there were too many links to Peter’s coma, his miraculous recovery, and his revenge spree with its eight-person body count. Or maybe they would find Derek’s connection to the kanima’s rampage. Scott somehow doubted that Captain America could be persuaded to allow lycanthropic serial killers or those that created them to remain free and unsupervised.

It bothered Scott more than he could express that he had been persuaded to allow just that.

For a very similar reason, the twins couldn’t be a part of this meeting, either. Ethan was in Los Angeles with Danny at UCLA and thus too far away for it to matter, but Aiden was still in town, his motorcycle repair shop doing quite well. As much as the Hale crimes would be dangerous if discovered, they had been confined to Beacon Hills, where the pack had enough resources to influence the outcome. The twins, in contrast, had killed across the country and even across international boundaries, first in the service of their brutal alpha and then while helping Deucalion form the Alpha Pack.

Scott found himself bothered by this as well.

Even though Allison hadn’t been party to any of the excesses of her family, given her role as Matriarch and her efforts to reform the hunting families under the sponsorship of the Masters of the Mystic Arts, she didn’t really need to come to the Avenger’s attention either. They didn’t even know if those two powerful outside groups were aware of each other. It would add an entirely unnecessary layer of complexity to a conversation that Scott wasn’t looking forward to in any event.

The only other pack member left who was in town had been Isaac. Scott wanted Isaac here; he wanted someone who would make things simpler, who would be in his corner without making demands. He loved his mother, but she had a tendency to push him in a certain direction, and with stakes like these, he wanted the option of not doing that. And while he trusted Alan implicitly, the druid saw it as his duty to give useful advice and that always meant complexity.

In the end, though, Scott had told Isaac to stay away for the most part because of how much Scott had wanted Isaac there. It’d been a gut call, and he’d talk to Alan after the meeting to see if it made more sense to his Emissary than it did to him.

“I gotta say that after the phone call, I didn’t think there would be so many of you.” Scott tried for humor to make everyone comfortable, but he winced as he felt it came out squeaky, like a child trying to talk at the adult's table.

“Well, Mr. McCall,” Captain America said in an extraordinarily polite way, “this is new ground for us, too. From what I was told, I was expecting you to have more of your own people present.”

“Oh.” Scott took a deep breath. “I hope that’s not a problem, but I wanted to limit our exposure. I was led to believe you wanted to speak to me. Specifically.”

Hawkeye’s eyes slid over, pointedly, to Deaton.

Alan stepped forward, smoothly and completely unruffled in the presence of Earth’s mightiest heroes. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alan Deaton, and this is my clinic, but I am also Scott’s Emissary.”

To all but the most perceptive individuals, the four visitors maintained a professional demeanor, but Scott had practiced very hard to increase his ability to perceive with his senses. None of them had any idea what Deaton had meant by that. Perversely, it made Scott feel a little better that they didn’t know everything.

“Werewolf packs often have human advisers, called Emissaries. Given the way we must conceal ourselves from the rest of the world and given that we have instincts normal humans don’t, werewolves tend to isolate themselves from their communities and that can lead to problems. Emissaries help anchor the pack to the rest of humanity.”

“I can see that.” Sam nodded in Deaton’s direction. “It’s a pretty good idea, when you think about it, but it does make me curious.”

“About?” Deaton’s voice remained pleasant and steady.

His question defused the situation as people turned their attention to him. “I’ll avoid the obvious joke about you being a veterinarian. What are the credentials needed for the position?”

“It’s a long story,” Scott interrupted, “but I’ve known him since I worked part-time here while I was in high school. I trust him.”

“Fair enough.” Captain America turned away from the Emissary, accepting his presence. “We’re not here to disrespect your customs. We’re here to talk about the Fox.”

Coulson had warned him it could be about exactly this subject, and Scott couldn’t imagine that anything was going to be said that he wanted to hear. “That’s not his name.” Scott couldn’t let them get the wrong idea. “His name is Stiles Stilinski; he’s my best friend.”

The woman known as the Black Widow chuffed. “We didn’t come here to argue over nomenclature, but let’s be honest, Mr. McCall, is he still really your best friend?”

Part of Scott wanted to immediately answer -- shout even -- that yes, Stiles was his best friend. But he that would be a lie. He had talked to Stiles in Washington D.C., and Stiles had explained to him the changes that he had gone through. Yet, even now, even years after Stiles first disappeared, kidnapped from Eichen House, even a year after Stiles had ditched Scott while the Insight helicarriers had crashed into the Potomac around them, Scott’s first reaction was denial.

“We know this is difficult, but we need your help.” Captain America took control of the conversation again. “We have convincing evidence that not only is the Fox — Stiles Stilinski — still working with the remnants of Hydra, but he has also become one of their leaders.”

With that Scott’s head snapped up. “What?”

“There is a branch of Hydra that specializes in the supernatural. It’s called the Department of Occult Armaments.”

“I … I know about them. A pack member brought the Project Vargulf reports to me.” Scott said finally. “But I thought … I believed they were the people who had kidnapped Stiles.”

“Apparently, the Fox staged a coup and seized control of the Department from its previous leader.”

“Scott,” said Deaton, softly, “that is a good sign.”

Scott turned to his Emissary in disbelief; the Avengers followed suit. Deaton spread his hands on top of the metal examination table before he started his explanation.

“A creature such as the nogitsune wouldn’t be interested in leading a human organization, no matter how powerful that organization was. It exists to feed, and while it might play games to amuse itself, it would have little motivation to develop the patience required for such a task. While it may not seem that beneficial right now, we can assume that it means there is still part of Stiles that remains within the Fox. I know that can’t be of much comfort, but it is still a good thing.”

The alpha bit his lip. It wasn’t any comfort at all.

“Our experts,” Captain America glanced over at Natasha Romanoff, “such as they are, came to same conclusion. However, all of this has acquired new importance since recent events have shifted the Avenger’s priorities into confronting the D.O.A.”

“What events?”

The Black Widow hesitated before bringing out a rolled-up screen she had hidden under her jacket. At Cap’s encouraging nod, she spread out the screen on the table and brought it to life. “This is a scepter wielded by the Asgardian Loki during his invasion of the planet. We believe that this is what Hydra used to merge your friend and the nogitsune together permanently.”

“I’ve heard about it.”

“From whom?” Clint Barton snapped. “No. Never mind. Not the point. I’m just a little touchy when it comes to that thing.”

Scott caught the strong scent of revulsion and fear from the archer. He didn’t think it was his place to ask, so he let it go. Instead, he turned to Alan who caught his eye and shook his head, slightly. Scott had hoped that the druid might know something about it.

“The Avenger’s top priority since the Battle of Washington D.C. has been the recovery of that scepter,” Cap moved them along. “It might simply be the most dangerous object on earth at the present time. We’ve learned they’re trying to make more enhanced operatives, such as the Fox.”

“They’re going to do something like that to others,” Scott whispered.

“We have every reason to believe so. If Hydra discovers a way to reliably produce more enhanced, it will endanger global stability. We can’t let that happen.”

“Supernatural creatures haven’t concealed their existence only for their own protection,” Deaton suddenly added from where he was standing. “The wisest of them foresaw that the appearance of extraordinary individuals would have far-reaching consequences for the rest of humanity as well.”

The Emissary’s words couldn’t be denied. The world had learned of the existence of aliens, of super soldiers, of individuals who could ignore the bonds of society if they wanted to do so. Everything had changed.

“What has this to do with Stiles?”

“We captured one of Fox’s lieutenants and while interrogating her we figured out that Fox most likely knows where the scepter is. All the other leads we have followed have not been productive.”

“If they haven’t been deliberately designed to mislead us,” Black Widow added.

“Are you sure that Stiles knows where it is?”

“We cannot be 100% sure, but we are sure enough that we’re standing in the room right now. Mr. McCall, the Avengers are asking for your help.”

Scott looked at Deaton. The Emissary gathered himself up before speaking. “It’s possible, Scott, that if the scepter truly was used to merge him with the nogitsune, he could have a connection to it. He might even be able to sense its location unconsciously. As I’ve explained before, energy is neither created nor destroyed, and this has always creates consequences for those with greater power. For example, supernatural creatures tend to form bonds between themselves and other supernatural creatures, such as your pack. They might even form bonds to significant sources of power if the interactions are strong enough.” Their eyes met. Scott’s hand moved unconsciously to the tattoos around his left arm.

He gripped the flesh so hard he winced before letting his hand fall. “You want me to help you catch him. You want me to help you get him to tell you where this scepter is.”

Captain America nodded. “Essentially, yes. We have reason to believe that you’re the person who knows him best.”

“And what happens after you catch him?” Scott demanded.

The Avengers glanced at each other. Captain America opened his mouth. “With the scepter, we would try to undo what Hydra did to him.”

“And if it can’t be undone?” Scott had the weirdest sense of deja vu. It felt like he was digging Laura up again.

“He’s going to be taken down, one way or the other,” Hawkeye spoke after a glance at the rest of his team. “How that happens depends on him. And maybe on you.”

Scott’s eyes flashed brilliant red and he growled. “I’m not going to let you hurt him.”

Barton's hand barely moved, but a collapsible bow deployed from underneath his jacket. “Settle down, chief. He’s killed people. He’s been responsible for a lot of other people dying.”

“He was made to do that.” Scott could smell his own desperation.

Captain American stepped forward and put a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “I know how hard this is for you … believe me, I understand what you’re feeling more than you can imagine. But whether he was coerced or not doesn’t matter. He’s done things, including trying to kill this team in New Mexico, that require us to stop him. Show him the rest, Natasha.”

Without a word, the Black Widow scrolled through reports, complete with photographs. A taxi driver in Hong Kong. A Kansas State Highway Patrol Officer. Reinforcing the Insight Helicarriers with wards against the supernatural. An attack on Iron Man in Long Island. A pile of artistically arranged corpses around a makeshift throne. It was Stiles who had drawn the Dread Doctors away from Beacon Hills, which meant he was responsible for killing Dr. Valack and the Eichen House orderlies.

“Scott,” Deaton’s voice was firm. “You need to anchor yourself.”

As he had watched the evidence of Stiles’s wrongdoing on the screen, Scott had transformed. He was fully transformed. The three human members of the Avengers had given a little space, but Cap had not stepped back. He was looking at Scott and Scott couldn’t see condemnation or condescension, but … understanding.

It enraged him. “No.”

Hawkeye knocked a bow, but Deaton held up a hand. “There’s no danger.”

But there was a danger, though it wasn’t to the Avengers or Deaton. Or maybe even Stiles. The danger was to him. Scott had tried so hard to be simply survive what had been done to him. He had done his best to save lives. He had done his best to be the best alpha or to be best college student or the best son he could be. And he had failed. This was too much.

“I won’t,” he growled around his fangs, “I won’t hunt him. I won’t help you hunt him. Leave me alone! Get away from me!”

With as much speed as he could muster, he dodged past them and out the back door. He ran off into the night, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, hopefully so they couldn’t follow him.

The transformation and the speed of the werewolf’s exit caught Sam and, by the looks of it, the others off guard. Then again, his first reaction would be that McCall would attack them after his hands grew wicked looking claws, his mouth became full of fangs, and the bones of his face rearranged. But he hadn’t.

Sam turned to the veterinarian who seemed concerned, but not by the transformation. Dr. Deaton was looking after the boy as a father would look after his son who was obviously suffering. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I don’t think all of you quite understand how much Scott blames himself for what happened to Stiles.”

Sam’s question brought the others out of the combat-readiness, though Hawkeye still had a tight on his bow. “I think I’d be more worried about anyone he might run into out there.”

Steve took a step toward the doorway, emotions playing across his face. Natasha moved to roll up the screen; her pragmatism far more accepting of such a reaction from someone else.

“I’ve known Scott for many years, and I can say with perfect faith that’s the one thing you don’t have to worry about.”

“I should go after him,” Steve decided.

“Nuh-uh.” Sam moved to block him. “You’re too close. I should go. After all, that’s the reason you brought me, isn’t it?”

Steve looked like he was going to argue, but after studying Sam’s face for a moment, he nodded sharply once.

“Tracking him may be difficult,” the veterinarian said. “Scott knows the city very well.”

“I’ll have a birds-eye view, and some pretty good tech.”

“Werewolves have a higher body temperature than most humans. Perhaps you can use that.”

Sam hurried out of the clinic and to their vehicle. His wings were in the back, and he had become quite adept at suiting up quickly. The hint about a werewolf's body heat turned out to be more than a help; the visor that Tony had designed spotted McCall’s trail. To be fair, the boy also had a distinctive gait, like he was running on all fours.

From his vantage point above, Sam tracked the werewolf to a house, but McCall didn’t go in. He climbed up on the roof. Sam maintained his altitude while still keeping an eye on him, giving the younger man time to settle down.

When he finally descended, McCall didn’t react, but he didn’t run away either.

“Thanks for giving me a moment.”

“You knew I was up there?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t see you very well, but I heard you. Your wings are quiet, but not completely.”

Sam grunted and perched on the roof, but far enough away not to crowd him. “This your house?”

“No. Stiles’s. Don’t worry, his dad’s not home. Probably a late shift.”

From the way he tore out of the clinic, Scott McCall was at odds with himself. He didn’t seem one to run from a fight, so if he were truly opposed to what Steve was asking from him, he would have remained there. Sam had learned that one of the best methods of getting someone to confront their own feelings was to simply be present and listen. So that’s what he did. He sat and listened.

“When do I get to stop?” The werewolf asked out loud. He turned his glowing eyes to Sam.

“Any time you want to.”

The answer shocked the man. Sam could see if in his face. “I … I was turned into a werewolf against my will. While I was trying to cope with that, the werewolf who did it was … he was doing some very bad things. Stiles told me that it didn’t matter that I didn’t want to be a werewolf, I had the ability to do something about it, so I didn’t have a choice anymore. I had to do it. Ironic, huh?”

Sam thought that this explained his hesitation pretty well.

“Almost everyone who matters to me has encouraged me to do the right thing for everyone, and so I did. And everyone cheered, but every time I choose to do the right thing, I’ve had to pay a price. There’s a darkness …” Scott shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have any regrets, but it seems that after every choice there’s just another choice. When do I get to stop choosing what’s right for everyone and get to choose what’s right for me? I know what Stiles … you’ve shown me what the Fox has done. Who he has hurt. The right choice … the right choice is to help you stop him. But I don’t want to. Because if he survives the Avengers taking him down, you’re not going to let him come home, are you?”

“I don’t see how we could. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I’m glad you were honest.” Scott admitted. “I don’t want to do this. Not again. I don’t want to put everyone else in front of my best friend. I did it before, you know, and more than once. There was a time that Stiles was kidnapped but I put stopping the bad guy first. There was another time when I left him alone on a rooftop to do the right thing to save our parents. I don’t want to do it again, because this time I know I will never get him back.”

“Then don’t.” Sam said simply. “Tell Cap no.”

Scott gawped at him like a landed fish.

“We’re asking you to help because what we’re doing is important, but, ultimately, we have to respect your choice, or we’re no better than Hydra. I don’t know much about you, and I certainly don’t know much about what you can do, but I do know you’re a person and that means you have a right to determine your own actions.”

The werewolf looked at him before studying the shingles between his feet. “But …”

“But,” Sam smiled, “it wouldn’t be fair of me not to ask you to make sure you can live with that decision. I lost a friend, too. It’s not the same circumstances, but there isn’t a week that goes by when I don’t question whether I could have done more to save him. I’ll wrestle with that for the rest of my life. If you don’t help us, are you going to be okay with what happens? If Stiles doesn’t survive what’s coming — and we can’t let him run around free — are you going to be able to live with the fact that you could have done something, but you chose not to?”

Swallowing, Scott turned to stare Sam right in the face. Sam got the idea that he was being examined.

“If I help you, there’s a chance that I would see Stiles die no matter what, isn’t there? Or I would watch you lock Stiles away forever?”

Sam took a deep breath. “Yes.”

The werewolf covered his face in his hands. Sam waited, though the roof was getting really chilly in the middle of January.

After a few moments, Scott looked up at the half-moon hanging in the sky. “Yeah. I’ll help you catch him.”

Chapter Text

January 20, 2015 – Hydra Stronghold, Sokovia

In Stiles Stilinski’s eighth grade social studies class, he had once turned in a ten-page paper on Sokovia. He hadn’t wanted to write it in the first place; that weekend, he had planned to go over to Scott’s and hang out. It didn’t sound like much, but that semester had been difficult for Stiles. For the first time since they had met in that sandbox, he hadn’t had many classes with Scott; they didn’t even have lunch at the same time.

He had stared at the window at the morning light for a half hour, plotting ways to get out of the task, before it occurred to him that the easiest answer would be to simply finish the paper. Blowing air through his lips, he had opened the book and started reading.

Besides the text, there had been a picture of the capital city nestled in the valley with a snow-mountain looming over it. The view caught his imagination, and suddenly he no longer had had to focus on the paper. In fact, he focused on it so heavily that he never did get over to Scott’s house that day.

In the end, he produced, in his opinion, a pretty cohesive summary of the country’s recent history. Of course, he had received a C- on the paper. The assignment had asked for a one-page summary, and as the teacher had carefully and only a little condescendingly explained part of any grade was determined by how Stiles used his research. In other words, writing too much was as bad as writing too little.

Stiles couldn’t relate to the concept very well.

In any event, during that experience, he had learned that Sokovia shared one important trait of many small countries which found themselves wedged between larger ones: it had been a pawn on the world stage since the European Dark Ages. For nine centuries, it had been a principality or a duchy of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire before enjoying a brief time of independence after the First World War. The Second World War had gifted it a five-decade stint as a Communist satellite of the Soviet Union before finally coming to rest in the post-Soviet era as a punching bag for the United States military, eager to cultivate the newly free Easter Europe by demonstrating all the advantages of NATO membership. Somehow, during this subjugation, Sokovia had managed to maintain its own distinctive culture, but that was about it.

Stiles studied the landscape from his helicopter transport, seeing both the ancient decaying buildings and the half-assed attempts at interweaving a modern infrastructure through them. It would take decades of steady effort to turn this place into a working, independent country after socialist mismanagement and American bombing runs. He could feel the possibilities for strife and chaos on every dilapidated avenue.

Suddenly, the helicopter made a sharp turn and before Stiles was the same picture that had caught the middle-school Stiles’s imagination. To be honest, he had never thought he would see it in the flesh, but there it was. He drank the sight in, but he didn’t have much time before he arrived at Von Strucker’s base, a nineteenth-century fortress built by the order of Austrian Emperor Francis I.

The Baron himself was waiting in the courtyard for him. To the casual observer, the baron was alone, but it didn’t take the Fox much effort to pick out the sniper emplacements.

“Welcome to Sokovia.”

“Yeah,” Stiles smirked at him. “Sure.”

They locked eyes. Von Strucker was not a fool, which is why he had insisted that if Fox were coming to visit his most important base, he would come alone without Theo or any Hydra agent loyal to him.

“Shall we go inside?”

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time. As heads of different departments, we should coordinate our efforts for the greater glory of …” Stiles paused. “Of something. I forget whose glory we’re working towards this week.”

“We’re working towards securing humanity’s future, even as the world enters a new stage of existence.” Von Strucker corrected with little enthusiasm as he turned and headed for the main building, expecting Stiles to follow. “We have come to the attention of powers from beyond our terrestrial sphere, while humanity is still fractured. It needs leadership to survive, and Hydra can bring it.”

“Your leadership, you mean.”

Von Strucker smiled. “What do the Americans say? It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it.”

Stiles decided to let that one slide past him.

Ostensibly to satisfy his interest in the facility, the baron took him on a tour of the facility and the surrounding grounds. Stiles didn’t appreciate the drafty nature of the castle or the bitter winds on the grounds any more than he appreciated the message that he’s being sent. Von Strucker possessed the cream of what remained of Hydra here, both in men and material. The elite solders field advanced weaponry including tanks, gun emplacements, phased energy rounds, and even a force shield around the central building itself. This place could easily withstand an assault by any military force field by the world’s nations short of an all-out invasion.

But those weren’t the people that Von Strucker was worried about.

Samana Cay turned out to be hilariously inadequate compared to the defenses here. Lacking any serious advanced defensive technology and lacking any truly powerful sorcerers in its roster, the D.O.A.’s base relied on its isolation and its secrecy for its primary protection. Those things weren’t going to last forever, especially with the Avengers tearing up Hydra bases as rapidly as they were.

On the other hand, the insinuation had been delivered; this was Hydra’s true heart.

“So, what do you think?” Von Strucker’s insincerity literally dripped off his tongue as they entered the operations room. Fox took only a moment to identify the location of the baron’s elite guards; to the untrained eye, it might seem on the surface that they had been alone on their walk but that had been an illusion.

“I think that if I have to play pretend any more, I’m going to, as someone I knew once said, stab myself in the face with a fork. You know why I’m here.”

“I know that Puente Antiguo was destroyed, and you’ve lost most of your top-level scientific research capability with the death of the Dread Doctors and the capture Dr. Ranefer. A terrible tragedy, but we have all suffered setbacks in our ongoing conflict. I’m not sure why that merited a visit.”

“I’m curious to know how the Avengers discovered that my deactivated SHIELD base was active again. Do you have any ideas?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. Perhaps they found something at one of the other bases. Perhaps Nootamaa.”

Stiles grasped the bridge of his nose and then released it in the most dramatic way possible. “Let’s forget for a moment that I don’t have a thousand years of experience with manipulation and deception. Let’s also forget, for the same moment, that I don’t feed from the emotional energies produced by aggressive conflict and thus have a preternatural sense of the potential for strife in this room. Even if we take those two things away and focus on the insecure, ADHD-riddled twenty-year-old part of me that remains, I could still tell that you’re lying.”

Von Strucker cocked his head to the side, but the guards he had in place put their hands on their weapons.

“You have to understand, Wolfgang — I can call you Wolfgang, right? — that while your guards are no doubt among the very best, they still aren’t fast enough to stop me from twisting your head off your neck like a bottle cap. Maybe they could kill me in the aftermath, maybe they couldn’t, but you would still be quite fucking dead, so let’s cut the bullshit, shall we?”

The other head of Hydra, to his credit, didn’t panic. He pursed his lips. “It sounds like you already have an answer you want confirmed. Though I suspect something like you doesn’t need confirmation to act upon such an idea, which tells me you’re not here for revenge.”

“Not today.”

“Then what do you want?”

The trick he was playing on Von Strucker at the present time was simple: he didn’t want anything from the Baron. In a little over two months, Samana Cay would be ready to be abandoned, and the Department of Occult Armaments could sever itself from Hydra at that point. What he truly needed was whatever data they had on Stark’s tower and a chance to look at the scepter once used to merge his two halves together before he could feed this puffed-up little world-ruler wannabe to the Avengers as a distraction.

Shine your monocle with that, you pompous toad.

Fox shrugged; it wouldn’t be a very good trick if he said any of that out loud. “I’ve taken a significant hit in personnel, it’s true, but the Doctors were always subcontractors, and I don’t have any crucial projects that require their continued participation. Dr. Ranefer is a far greater loss, and I would be happy if you could give me anything that might help me retrieve her.”

“As far as my sources can tell, she’s still in Stark’s ugly tower and thus out of your reach. On the other hand, you must be very pleased that she hasn’t give you up.”

“I never expected any less from her, Wolfgang. She may be out of my reach, but how about out of yours?”

“You want me to help you attack the Avenger’s headquarters?” Von Strucker laughed in his face.

The Fox imagined for a second pulling the tongue from the man’s throat in order to satisfy his temper. Self-control was such dreary work. “I guess you wouldn’t let me borrow a few of your enhanced operatives so I could do it, would you?”

That sobered the other man. “They’re not ready for in-the-field operations. Unlike in your particular case, the scepter gave them their powers, and they certainly don’t have as much experience as you have.”

“That’s a pity. You’re not going to help me get Ranefer back, are you?” Stiles asked the question as a matter of form. He already knew the answer.

“While you’re a department head, ultimately you answer to Hydra as a whole. We have always allowed the strongest departments to take the lead, and that means, especially since you’ve been weakened by recent defeats, that you answer to me. When our forces are ready, when the twins are ready, you will help us defeat the Avengers. I’m sure that Dr. Ranefer will still be in their custody at that time; her freedom will be part of our victory. Until then, you’ll make do with what you have and be ready when I need you. Is that understood?”

If Stiles didn’t have a very good plan in the works, he’d have ended this farce immediately, but patience was another trick he had learned long ago. “Fair enough. Do we have a timetable? Would it be possible for me to at least meet with the twins?”

“As I said, I’m not risking our enhanced unless I’m absolutely sure they’re ready. As for meeting them, Dr. List is testing them right now, I believe.” Von Strucker turned to look at one of his agents for confirmation, which he received.

It was a mistake on his part.

Expending energy with the same technique he had used on Captain America and the Black Widow in New Mexico, Fox froze the minds of everyone there before he moved out of the room. It would seem like he had just vanished before their eyes when the Baron was distracted.

“Serves him right.” Stiles chuckled. “Now, let’s go meet the competition.”

Contrary to expectations, Pietro didn’t have any trouble with the physical aspect of his powers. He had adapted to the increased speed almost instantaneously. He had learned to ratchet down his perceptions and his thought processes within the first week, at least enough to hold a conversation with a normal person. He had trained himself to be aware of his calorie intake and to recognize the first signs that he was running out of energy. Two weeks from the moment he manifested his power, it was like he had had it all his life.

The power, it seemed, matched him perfectly, and that, in the end, was the problem.

As a child, Pietro had been very loud, very boisterous and very demanding. Everyone, including Wanda and his parents, had told him that many times. His parents didn’t mind – at least they told him they didn’t mind – but one day his father had taken him on a hike. They had gone far up into the hills overlooking the capital before finding a fallen log on which to sit. His father had been so quiet for so long that Pietro thought he must have been in trouble. The day before he had been sent to the office for being disruptive in school; it hadn’t been the first time.

“It’s fine to be loud,” his father had said at last. “It is fine to make people pay attention to you, to let them know without a doubt what you want. Too many people in this world will want you to be quiet. They think if you don’t make noise, you won’t get in their way. I want you to know that you don’t have to obey them.”

Pietro had nodded vigorously, mostly because it seemed that his father wasn’t actually mad at him.

“But — and this is very important — in going after what you want, you must never step on those weaker than yourself. There are people who don’t like having to talk loudly to be heard, and they may also not know how to say what they want, but they have just as much right as you to those things. You need to make sure you don’t talk over them, and if necessary, you must even speak up for them if they can’t. Especially your sister. Will you do that for me, Pietro?”

“I will, Papa.” Then they had hugged.

His new speed, however, had started to make keeping his word to his father difficult. He still had things he wanted, and his patience, like everyone else’s, was limited by his perception of events. Only his awareness of the passage of time had been accelerated as much as his body. In comparison, all the people around him were so … slow. It made him want to yell all the time.

Luckily, he had his sister to him. In a way, she always had, but now he truly felt the bond, like a warm glowing spot just behind his eyeballs. If things ever got too frustrating, he’d look for her there. If she needed him, he would always know.

For example, he could tell she was having trouble with the present exercise. Three fragile China saucers levitated in the air, circling her. The exercise was meant to increase her fine control; in this last stage of the training, she had had to rotate them around her at same height but at different distances and different speeds. She had managed two out of the three requirements, but whenever she tried to vary the orbital speed, their paths became unstable.

“I don’t think I can do it,” she complained.

“Sure, you can.” He picked up a soda and popped it open.

Dr. List did not comment from the observation booth above.

Wanda tried again, starting with the outermost plate. It began to move faster and faster, but his sister’s face screwed up, almost like she was in pain. With a little gasp, she lost control of it, and it went off like a slingshot.

Pietro caught it out of the air about half-a-foot before it became fine shards against the wall. Then he snatched the other two out of the air for good measure.

“I told you I couldn’t do it.”

“You’ll do it tomorrow then.” He smirked and looked up at the observation booth. Dr. List had left.

Wanda sighed and went over to get her own drink. “You have more faith in me than I do.”

“Well, that’s what brothers are for, isn’t it?”

From the other side of the room, a voice he didn’t recognize startled both of them. “I’ve always found that to be true.”

The voice belonged to a dark-haired young man, younger than Pietro or his sister, with pale skin dotted by moles and brown eyes that looked amber when the light caught them in the right way. He was dressed like an American celebrity, with an unconstructed blazer of black wool over a collarless white crew and tapered, distressed jeans. He was leaning up against the wall like he had been watching them for a while, but he hadn’t been there a few moments ago. The training room was sealed while a session was ongoing, and there had been no indication that any of that had changed.

“How did you get in here?”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Door. Don’t worry if you didn’t notice. I can be pretty sneaky when I want to be, and I just had to take this opportunity to meet you guys. You’re Pietro, right? You look like a Pietro.”

Pietro worked his jaw. “And who would you be?” He glanced over at Wanda, who was staring at the man as if trying to look past his skin. A frown formed at the corners of her mouth.

“Well, surprisingly, there are a few different answers to that question.” He winked at them.

Pietro had just been thinking how his powers seemed to conform too perfectly to his nature, and the stranger’s smug answer did nothing but prove it. He crossed the room in less than one-tenth of a second, grabbed the man by the shoulders, and slammed him into the far wall. Pietro returned to his original position before the man hit the floor.

The blow would have sent any other person into unconsciousness, but the youth only shook his head, cursed in a language that Pietro hadn’t learned yet — probably Japanese —and rolled to his feet. “Let’s not do that again.”

“No?” Again, Pietro immediately had him up against the wall once again, cracking the plaster covering the ancient stone of the fortress’s walls. “Why not?”

The answering blow of the man’s fist nearly clipped him. It was less the stranger lashing out than a perfectly timed counterassault, though Pietro was still fast enough to get out of the way. “Because I’m asking nicely. We really don’t want to get to the point where I decide not to be nice.”

Wanda still had not said anything, but she was pushing with her mind so strongly that Pietro could feel her curiosity.

“I don’t know,” Pietro guessed that the man was totally focused on him, so he probably wasn’t aware of what his sister was doing. “A strange man interrupts me, I tend to want to see that point.”

He moved again and, as Pietro suspected, the man was prepared for him this time, which is why Pietro didn’t try the same maneuver. Instead, he snatched up the three saucers that Wanda had been using for training and hurled them at the man a little faster than the ninety miles an hour major league pitchers could reach, but not as fast as he could. Pietro didn’t want to kill the guy just for being rude.

The man managed to knock away two of the saucers, but the third one cracked him right in the right femur. Pietro hear the bone snap from across the room.

The stranger glanced down at his broken leg and then when he looked up his eyes had transformed into shining white and his teeth had become silver fangs. “Baka!” he hissed.

Pietro smirked at him, but when he went to go again, he found himself floating.

“Enough,” Wanda had thrown out her hands and lifted them both off the ground. Her red energy filled the room momentarily. “I’m not going to let either of you down until you both promise me you’re done with that shit.”

She knew that Pietro would do what she told him, but he waited to see what the stranger did. First, the man’s face resumed its normal human appearance, and then a moment later, he shrugged easily. “Sure. I haven’t been manhandled like that for a very long time, so I’ll take it as a good reminder not to underestimate people.”

Wanda lowered her hands, setting them both on the ground. “You’re the Fox.”

“That’s what they call me.”

“Was that so hard?” Pietro demanded.

“As a matter of fact, it was. I have different names used by different people. The Fox is the name that Hydra, the Avengers and the world’s governments call me. My friends call me Stiles. My ancient enemies call me nogitsune or Void. I’m curious to see which name you will end up calling me.”

“Do you need a doctor?”

Fox glanced down as his leg. “It’ll heal up soon. I have to admit, you and your sister are pretty impressive.”

Pietro smirks but he could sense the discomfort from Wanda.

“Do you think so?” she asked softly.

“You were human before you were exposed to the scepter; I wasn’t. Well, not entirely, yet it still tore me up plenty.” The Fox moved forward, slightly. When Pietro tensed, he held up his hands as a gesture of non-violence. “All the other human experimental subjects died, didn’t they? I don’t mean to bring up bad memories—”

“Oh, but you do.” Wanda said with a touch of resentment but also confusion. “Why?”

“Huh. That’s a strange question. I take it you weren’t briefed on me.”

“They don’t tell us as much as we want to know.”

Wanda shrugged. “I could find out what I wanted if I read deeper. It’s more difficult with you than with others, but I think I could manage if I put my mind to it, but that’s not really the way to, as you say, make friends.”

“Good point.” The Fox glanced up at the booth. They were still alone. “You might not like what you find if you did. Since we’re going to do this the easy way, I do have a few sensitive questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Be careful. All of this is recorded.”

“Not at the moment,” Fox promised. “I’ve disabled the cameras and microphones. I just had to come and meet the people who volunteered to be subjected to that thing.”

Pietro immediately looked over at Wanda, startled, because it certainly sounded like an accusation.

“Oh. Oh-oh. I guess you were under the impression that I was the same? Sorry, but no.”

“We were told,” Wanda said carefully, “that you were a young man who had been possessed by an alien entity, and the staff had been used to improve your condition.”

“That is a very nice lie. While the young man whose body this is was certainly possessed by an ‘alien entity.’” The Fox blew a raspberry. “I simply hate it when they use that term. Kitsune have been on Earth as long as humans have been. But, anyway, I wasn’t asked — I was kidnapped from an admittedly sub-par mental facility where I was being treated. The scepter was used to blend the different parts of me together, like a smoothie honestly, but not for my benefit. It was an improvement from a certain point of view — from Hydra’s point of view. It made me a more effective slave.”

“You don’t seem to be much a slave now,” Pietro challenged. Hydra was very efficient at keeping the lowest level of its agents from having too much information, but the Maximoffs had risen far enough to know the big names in the organization.

“It took planning, a lot of effort, and not a little bit of violence to get where I am today. They had me in an obedience collar for over a year; now, I tell them what to do.” The Fox smiled in self-satisfaction. “I’ve made my peace with how I got to this point. How did you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, come now. I’ve read the reports of your tragic back story. I have experience with the products of similar tragic back stories. It makes me want to ask exactly on whom are you trying to gain revenge?”

“It’s not revenge,” Wanda protested.

“It’s always revenge.”

“It’s not just revenge. Do we hate Tony Stark? Yes. We hate him because he runs around like he’s the great American superhero but the technology he wields and the money to pay for it comes from decades of weapons development and sales. Weapons that blew our country and our parents to hell.” This is the type of loudness that his father wanted Pietro to embrace. “But you couldn’t tell that from the dancing girls and the magazine covers, could you?”

The Fox waggled his fingers, not in disdain but what might have been pleasure. “One could argue that at least part of what makes Iron Man possible is Mr. Stark’s genius.”

“How many geniuses are buried in the rubble of the buildings his bombs blew up?” Pietro cracked his neck. His muscles always clenched uncomfortably when he thought about it. “But it’s not just Tony Stark. He could only exist because of a system that wanted him to exist.”

“Your answer to the overwhelming power of the United States military-industrial complex is to join up with a fascist paramilitary organization with historic connections to the Nazi war machine.” Fox grimaced exaggeratedly. “I’m sensing a bit of motivational drift.”

“Changing the world takes power.” Wanda answered, not put off by the Nazi reference. “If Pietro and I want to help change it, we need power, too. We were never going to be wealthy, and we can’t vote in American elections. Hydra was, as you might put it, the only game in town. We fully understand the compromises we’re making. We’re not children.”

“Oh, I think I’m beginning to like you two. Even Speedy over here.” The American grinned. “Call me Stiles for the time being.”

“I don’t know if I like you.” Pietro answered.

“Give it a shot. I might grow on you, like a fungus.”

“And you, Stiles the Fox,” Wanda’s voice got hard. “What do you want?”

From his casual, relaxed slouch, the Fox straightened up. Immediately, Pietro was aware that he was more than just a person; there was something here dark and old. He wondered if the Fox played up the human aspects of his personality because it made others more comfortable. Or if it made others underestimate him.

He took a single menacing step towards Wanda. Pietro thought about intervening, but he got the feeling that she didn’t want him to. She lifted her chin and the other man, before answering, stepped into her personal space.

“More.”

His voice had changed for that word, deeper and more intimidating. Less human.

“Nogitsune are tricksters. If you’ve heard the stories, you know that tricksters are all about food. They’re hungry. I’m hungry. There was a time when the fox inside of me had a bottomless appetite for just three things: chaos, strife, and pain. For a thousand years, that’s all it did; it fed. But now I’ve been changed. I’m something new, but both of the individuals that I once was had that in common. They were both hungry, though for different things. So now, I want more than just to laugh while the village burns. Now I want family and friends and love and meaning, just as much. Above all, I want more.”

They stared at each other. Pietro flexed the muscles in his legs.

“I can’t help but wonder if you’re more dangerous than Tony Stark.”

One corner of Stiles’s mouth curled up and suddenly he was back to seeming younger than they were. “That may be the nicest thing you’ve said to me so far, Ms. Maximoff. On the other hand, I’m not standing in the way of what you want, am I?”

“No.”

“Then there’s no reason we can’t work together, is there? You’re not going to act like Von Strucker and try to play me, and I can most certainly help you get what you’re after. As a reputedly wise man once said, you can’t build a new world without destroying the old.”

“I think that is their plan,” Pietro said. “They’ve talked about fielding a team against Stark’s.”

“I know.” Stiles walks over to the table. “Ever wonder what comes next?”

“What do you mean?”

“Any attempt to reshape the world is going to have to deal with the Avengers as defenders of the status quo, but that’s a purely a reactionary strategy. How does Hydra — by which I mean Von Strucker — intend to act after he has a way to neutralize them?”

Pietro went up and put his hand on Wanda’s soldier. “I’m not sure we care that much.” He had had discussions with Wanda about this before, and he had convinced her that they had to take things one step at a time.

“I do. Whatever Von Strucker’s planning, I think that it focuses on one thing: the scepter. You know the thing responsible for us being what we are? Do you know where it is?”

“It’s here.” Wanda said shortly. She was always a little brusque when people ask her a question about it directly.

“We don’t know where it is in the castle.” Pietro added.

“A pity. I would have liked to get a chance to examine it when I wasn’t tied down to a chair.” Fox looked around the room. “Well, this was a lovely visit, but if I don’t get back to your fearless leader soon, he’s going to do something stupid such as try to kill me. But I’m sure you can figure out how to contact me if you want to.”

“Maybe we will,” Pietro promised, while Wanda remained quiet, still thinking over what Stiles the Fox had said. “Maybe we won’t.”

“I guess we’ll see.” Without touching it, the man activated the door out of the practice room. Pietro waited until the door was closed completely, and then he looked at her, asking a question with only a look.

“I think …” Wanda said slowly. “That I want to think some more about it.”

Pietro frowned. He was too fast for something like that.

Chapter Text

January 23, 2015 – New York City

Big cities can turn out to be another form of wilderness.

Smaller towns created vulnerability through familiarity. If a complete stranger hung around for more than a few days in a small town, eventually someone would notice. If a teenage boy down the street started to exhibit strange behavior, like running around at all hours of the night, eventually someone would notice. People were simply able to pay more attention to their neighbors when they had less of them.

Like it or not, Scott had earned a reputation in Beacon Hills, and it wasn’t a good one. He was so intricately connected with Peter’s murders, with Matt’s murders, with Jennifer’s murders, and the nogitsune’s murders that it was inevitable he’d get one. While the residents of his hometown had long ago learned the skill of pretending not to know what was too dangerous to know, he couldn’t help but become aware of the caution his neighbors exhibited around him.

He eventually figured out that this attitude was one of the reasons his mother had insisted he go live on campus when he had started at Davis. Now, fresh off a cross-country flight, he stood in the heart of New York City beneath one of the most recognizable skyscrapers in the world, yet people walked by him without even giving him a second glance. He was as unseen as if he had been in the depths of the Preserve. Admittedly, the anonymity relaxed him.

On the other hand, Scott doubted he would be able to hide from anyone for much longer.

Sam Wilson had assured him that the Avengers would do everything they could to keep him out of the spotlight, but the Falcon wouldn’t promise him they could succeed. Scott would have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

For now, he juggled all three of his suitcases to work the door into the lobby. He didn’t think he would need everything he had brought, but his mother had insisted he pack to live, not just to visit. This was after her rage at his withdrawal from school had cooled.

His hearing picked up five heartbeats on the first floor, and as he had come to do reflexively, he located them visually. They all looked like professional adults. The closest sat at a receptionist’s desk but the man didn’t look up when he came in. Scott falsely concluded that he had remained anonymous.

- Good afternoon, Mr. McCall, welcome to Avenger’s Tower.

Scott would never admit it to any of his friends, but he almost dropped his suitcases in surprise. He jerked his heard around trying to find the source of the voice to which there was no heartbeat or scent.

“Uhm, thank you?”

- I am JARVIS, Mr. Stark’s personal assistant. I hope to make your stay at the Tower as comfortable as possible.

When he had complained to Stiles that night four years ago that his whole life was sitting on the sidelines, his wildest fantasies wouldn’t have been able to compete with the idea that he’d be a werewolf talking with the most advanced computer program on the planet. Or -- as would happen a moment later when the elevator doors opened -- he would be meeting one of the most powerful people on the planet.

Dr. Bruce Banner greeted him, his gait some weird amalgamation of drifting and striding. The scientist radiated constant low-grade anxiety, something Stiles had often concealed behinds his mask of bravado. Mixed in with those familiar chemo signals was something that Scott had never encountered before. Underlying Dr. Banner’s base scent was a powerful difference; the only thing Scott could compare it too was a chemical fire he and Stiles had accidentally started in Harris’ class, only a thousand times stronger. “You … you must be Mr. McCall.”

“Call me Scott.”

“Only if you call me Bruce.” The man smiled, happy at the accomplished social exchange. “We need to stand here for a moment so JARVIS can add you to the buildings security protocols.”

- It will take me only thirty-five seconds, Mr. McCall. the computer program added. - While you are waiting, would you mind if I inquired about whether you have any unique dietary requirements?

“I eat normal people food.”

Bruce looked at him sharply when he used the term ‘normal’, but he didn’t say anything else.

- Is there anything to which you are allergic of which support personnel should be aware?

“Uhm. You don’t have any wolf’s bane here, do you?”

- I will have the botanical lab review their holdings for species of aconite. Thank you for your cooperation. You have been added to security protocols with appropriate clearance.

“Thank you, JARVIS.” Dr. Banner held out his arm toward the elevator. “Your suite is on the forty-first floor. I find them a little bigger than necessary, but I didn’t design the building.”

“Oh. Okay. You don’t have to walk me up.”

“Yeah, but I know how intimidating this place can be.” Dr. Banner shrugged. “And I wanted … I think it would be better to have someone here to greet you personally. In the flesh. No offense, JARVIS.”

- None taken, Dr. Banner.

“Is he … everywhere?”

“You’ll get used to it. JARVIS monitors the tower and most of Tony’s other holdings. He’s very efficient.” Dr. Banner winked as if he was making a joke. “Anyway, the rest of the team was busy, so I thought I’d come down and say hello.”

Scott looked sideways as they rode up the elevator. Dr. Banner — he meant Bruce — wasn’t at all like Scott thought he would be.

January 26, 2015 – Beacon Hills California

All things considered, Noah Stilinski felt he was handling the discussion pretty well. He was attentive; he asked pertinent questions; he remained patient and didn’t interrupt. He might have even been proud of himself if the woman sitting across from him hadn’t been explaining to him how the most powerful people on the planet were planning to take down his only son.

“I have to …” He coughed to cover the fact that his voice almost broke. “I have to thank you from coming down here and giving me this presentation, Ms. Hill.”

“You can call me Maria,” the woman replied. “While Mr. McCall made this a condition for his cooperation, I really didn’t need much persuasion to come down and talk to you. I’m a friend of Agent Coulson’s, and he told me nothing but good things about you and your department. You deserve to know everything we know about Stiles.”

He really didn’t want to call her Maria. He didn’t want to be her friend. He wanted his son back. If he couldn’t have that, he wanted a drink.

“I’m sure that’s not everything you know. There are probably things that are top secret.”

“I assure you we don’t know anything else. The Avengers are not part of the government, so nothing we know falls under any government secrets act. In fact, we are an International Non-Governmental Organizations, incorporated as a charity under international law.”

The Sheriff raised both eyebrows. “A charity with fighter planes.”

“I can’t deny we do have armed aircraft. We are an operational NGO, not an advocacy NGO. Our charity provides security services free of charge to local governments.”

Despite the bitter reality that her presentation had painted, Noah had to laugh. “You’re not a lawyer by any chance?”

Maria Hill pursed her lips in mock dudgeon. “I won’t take offense to that. The truth is that the Avengers are something new, a response to the way recent events have changed the way the world works. While non-state actors have been a threat for a long time, recent years have seen two alien invasions and the revelation of an ancient conspiracy. That particular event effectively disabled the only organization in existence capable of responding to such thins. While we’re making it up as we go along, someone has to be ready to face global threats.”

“Threats which now include my son.” Noah didn’t know why he said that. Both he and Maria Hill knew it already, so it sounded like he was fishing for sympathy.

“Yes.” She replied without pity but without irritation. “Your son is something new, and we have to consider him a major threat, especially in light of the way his behavior deviates from the norm.”

“Deviates?” The word drew his brows together.

“We have little information on nogitsune, yet one of the things we have learned is that while very powerful they historically have had very narrow agendas.”

“They want to feed.”

“Whatever Hydra did to your son, he no longer conforms to that expectation. He’s been showing ambition beyond immediate gratification and the repeated ability to work effectively with others.”

Noah rubbed at his eyes. He recognized the technique she was using. He had employed it himself when trying to get difficult truths across to the families of victims … and criminals. He didn’t appreciate being on the opposite side.

“I am being as honest as I can be, Sheriff. If I were in your place, I would want to know the truth.”

“What I want is to hear right now is how you plan to help my son, because all you’ve told me is why you want to take him down.”

“That is the plan.” Hill shrugged. “Anything else would be speculation and will probably have to remain that until we have him in custody, we have the scepter used to change him in custody, and we have the man who changed him in custody. Those are the first steps.”

“This Wolfgang Von Strucker.” He wrote it down simply because that’s how he dealt with uncertainty. “How likely will you be able to complete all three of them?”

“Sheriff Stilinski, that’s the Avengers’ primary goal at the present time. I have to be frank: no one can promise that your son is going to be saved. No one can promise that your son is going to survive. If I tried to imply otherwise, I’d be lying. What I can guarantee is that no one on the team will forget that your son is a victim. I’m sure that doesn’t help, but it’s all I can offer right now.”

The Sheriff nodded, but he didn’t think it was necessary to tell her that he didn’t think it was helpful at all.

January 27 – Novi Grad, Sokovia

Sokovia might be tenaciously grasping onto the remnants of its economy and its dignity, but it certainly possessed some breathtaking scenery. Walking down this rural road, he gazed at beautiful snow-capped mountains towering over the dark pine forest. He had memories of vistas like this from all over the world — and another world — just as breathtaking, but this was the first time he had seen it with these new eyes.

He found himself very glad that his scheme had required him to stay in Novi Grad for a week. He’d be leaving later that evening to return to Samana Cay, and he wanted to take one last look at the beauty he had found her.

Yes, Sokovia had suffered for centuries at the hands of remote and uncaring governments, but it wasn’t dead yet. Besides the breathtaking beauty of the peaks comprising its share of the Carpathians and the forested valleys between them, the country had a rich heritage in architecture, both sacred and civic. He found the food pretty bland (save for a simply delightful dish of dumplings with sheep cheese) but there were still plenty of attractions in the county. It had several fantastic museums, and the nightlife was sporadic yet spirited.

All in all, the week had been pretty relaxing. He should take more working vacations, for working he was. He had spotted the Hydra tails that Von Strucker had put on him after he had left his fortress. The man had been so angry at Stiles’s unauthorized tour of his facility and became even angrier when Stiles had refused to tell him where he had gone in the building, that Stiles wouldn’t have been surprised to see his monocle fog up. The Fox had been very careful to make sure that he had performed enough suspicious acts to inflame Von Strucker's paranoia..

The trick, of course, was to make his opposite number think that the Fox hadn’t succeeded at his mission, that there was still something he wanted to learn about the fortress or the secrets within it. There wasn’t. He had learned from the twins that the scepter was still there. He had also learned when he was close and he was calm, he could feel it's presence in his mind. Apparently, there was still a connection between him and whatever it really was.

Almost every piece was in place for his plan to rescue Ayla from Avengers’ custody. He simply had to wait.

When the time was right, he would let the Avengers know exactly where the scepter was being kept, which would lead to an all-out assault on the Sokovian fortress. Von Strucker’s defenses were formidable enough to hold their full attention.

And the moment he had confirmation that their assault had begun, Fox would launch his own assault on Avengers Tower — or wherever they were holding Ayla — and rescue her. He already had the assault team picked out: himself, Theo, and their best assault team, with two Project Vargulf subjects on stand-by if things got messy.

Fox understood that the Department of Occult Armaments would never be able to match, when it came to sorcerers, the sheer power of the Masters of the Mystic Arts, but he did have a few highly competent minor sorcerers, and one of the easiest spells for them to do would be a location spell. There were different styles, but they all worked better when they had a sympathetic link to the subject. In Dr. Ranefer’s case, they had the best link — a living sample of the infernal beetles infesting her.

He wished he could go the moment he got back to his island base; he had no loyalty to Hydra. He’d regret endangering the twins he had just met, because they seemed like nice kids, yet Von Strucker had written his own doom when he had used that scepter on him years ago.

But he had to wait until the new facilities were completed and Samana Cay vacated. There would be no way to keep his old base’s location out of the Avengers’ hands once they raided this place. He decided that when he got back, he would light a bigger fire under Boddiker’s ass.

Yet, that was for tomorrow. Today, he would take another long leisurely circuitous hike in the mountains and stop for another meal of dumplings before getting on his chartered flight.

He would enjoy the rest of the afternoon, even if it couldn’t be perfect. Alone, Stiles could admit the truth to himself in a way he never could when surrounded by people he had to manipulate. He could acknowledge that it would have been better if there was someone with which he could have shared it.

He had new friends, but they weren’t who he wanted. Ayla would have been uncomfortably reminded of her parents’ expeditions, and she wouldn’t have seen the point anyway. Theo could have come, but Theo did really know how to enjoy himself. Even now, the chimera was probably not even aware of how much even his casual emotions were performative.

Meeting the twins, seeing their closeness, reminded him of who he really wanted to be here. He had only had something approaching the sibling bond with one person, who was probably still asleep in Davis at the moment.

Stiles sighed and continued on down the road.

January 28, 2015 – Beacon Hills California

“So, what do you think?”

Derek had spread out the blueprints on the table. He had even turned on the lights in the loft, though there was plenty of light coming in from the windows. Deaton did not share their superior eyesight.

The veterinarian studied the blueprints carefully. Then he looked at the architect’s rendering of the finished home. He hummed in a non-committal way he had before glancing across the table at Peter.

His uncle held up both hands. “Don’t look at me.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Derek looked between them, confused.

“Derek, have you considered that you might not be emotionally ready to build a new home?” Deaton said carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“He means, nephew, that those plans are almost a perfect reconstruction of our old home.”

“They’re nothing alike!”

Deaton winced. “I have to agree that they seem very similar to the old house.”

“Look again,” Derek physically tapped the blueprints. “This has a detached garage and a bigger driveway. It has a pool!”

Deaton and Peter exchanged another glance.

“I think it’s admirable that you want to move out this dark industrial castle, Derek, but I guess Alan is concerned that attempting to recapture the past might be a step in the wrong direction.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Perhaps it would be clearer to us, Derek, if you explained to us what exactly it is.”

“It’s a home,” Derek stated clearly. “A home for our pack and our family.”

“As generous as that is, Derek,” Peter observed, “isn’t that usually the alpha’s responsibility.”

Deaton didn’t react to Peter’s catty remark, but Derek frowned at him. “Well, Scott’s not going to be able to afford a multi-bedroom home for perhaps a decade, considering he graduated high school last year and had to drop out of college again.”

“Why do you say that like it’s my fault?”

Derek frowned at him. “Because it is your fault.”

Peter winked. “Well, who am I to argue?”

Clearing his throat, Deaton turned to address Derek. “I think wanting to create a home for the pack is a very generous idea. I would ask why you would do this at the present time.”

“We’re stable. It’s time for the next step.”

“Stable?” Peter scoffed. “You have a remarkable idea of what is entailed by stability.”

Derek simply raised two eyebrows in an invitation to continue.

“Our alpha is on the other side of the continent working with the government, one beta and his mate are in Los Angeles, and one beta is probably feeding a reclining Argent Matriarch grapes as we speak. One beta is working at his ridiculous motorcycle shop, and I don’t know where my niece and my daughter are at this time, probably flirting with stupid human boys … or girls.”

Deaton, on the other hand, was nodding in agreement, and it probably wasn’t in agreement with Peter. “I see your point.”

“I don’t!”

“Peter,” Derek said gently. “Everything you said is correct. Scott’s in New York. Lydia’s in Boston. Ethan and Danny are in Los Angeles. Isaac’s probably over at Allison’s, and Aiden’s probably at his shop. I happen to know that Cora and Malia went with a bunch of friends from school to the movies. You know why they’re at the movies? Because there’s nothing else going on.”

“For now.”

“The worst trouble we’ve had since the nogitsune was the Dread Doctors, and they didn’t manage actually hurt any members of the pack. They did manage to get killed by the Avengers, and good riddance to them. But no one’s coming for us.”

Peter’s frown decreased. “You’re forgetting someone.”

“I’m not forgetting Gerard, but we haven’t heard one word from him since he was run out of town. With Allison’s attempt at reforming the hunter families going well, he has few allies.”

“In addition, with the New York and London invasions, the effectiveness of the propaganda that the Argent family used to recruit followers and influence authorities has been significantly diminished,” Deaton observed. “This is not just my opinion but the opinion of the other emissaries with which I am in contact.”

Peter’s eyes glowed blue. “I’ve heard this before.”

“You still have the resources, Peter, and the permission to hunt Gerard wherever he is, but while we’re protecting ourselves, we still need to plan for the future.” Derek met him with his own eyes. “We can’t live in fear, though you know I will help you if you need it.”

“Fine.” Peter rolled his shoulders. “I will find Gerard and I will put an end to the threat. But I’m also going to suggest that if you feel we can’t afford to live in fear, then we also can’t afford to live in the past. I have a few suggestions for a different approach to a pack house.”

January 29th, 2015

Allison closed the front door after giving Isaac one more kiss goodbye. She then waited, resting her back up against the wood, until she heard his car start and pull out of the driveway. Pulling herself fully upright, she went to join her father.

“He didn’t have to leave,” her father told her when she reached the dining room.

“He understands.”

Chris Argent looked at the dinner set on the table. “I wasn’t necessarily talking about what he wanted.”

She studied his face. “I’m fine.”

Her father scoffed.

“Well, as fine as I can be. I don’t need a boyfriend to hold my hand all the time.” She interrupted him before he could continue. “Even tonight.”

“I’m not questioning your strength, Allison. If anything, I’m suggesting that maybe you’re being too strong. You’ve taken on a lot of responsibility and you’re … succeeding in every way I could imagine.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down before reaching for the wine and pulling the already-loosened cork out of it. Allison followed suit, sitting to his right.

“I sense a but coming …”

“Life can’t just be about being strong. Focusing too much on self-reliance can lead to … mistakes. More than a few in my case. In our family’s case.”

“What do you want me to do?” She said, slightly irritated.

“Have a glass of wine.” He poured her a glass. “And, in the future, consider having whichever werewolf you’re dating at the time around to comfort for you on occasions like this.”

“That joke was completely inappropriate.” Allison tried to act offended, but she had to admit she did enjoy when her father revealed his playful side. “I have had human boyfriends.”

“Not since you learned that werewolves exist.”

“Dad!” She glanced over at the empty plate setting. “Wait. You’re doing this on purpose.”

Chris nodded and took a sip of his wine. “Sometimes I like to think that if things had gone the way Victoria and I had imagined, you could have dated Scott, and it wouldn’t have ended up in the terrible, horrible mess that it did.”

“She tried to kill him.”

“Yes, she did. We’ve never really talked about why she did it.”

Allison picked up her fork and took a bit of her salad. It gave her a few seconds to decide whether she actually wanted to talk about it. “I know why she did it.”

“Do you?” He looked at her wine, expectantly.

She took a sip to humor him. “She was afraid that Scott would hurt me. Physically. Emotionally. Politically.”

Chris looked over at a family portrait on the wall. “Did you ever think that maybe she was upset about our decision to keep so much from you?” Allison didn’t answer him, so he went on. “She was, and so was I. We grew up hunters. We were taught from the moment we could understand what werewolves could do, what the supernatural could do. What we knew made us responsible.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“And I meant it. When we found out that you were seeing Scott, a beta — an omega really — we thought back to all the things we had seen and learned. You remember what I did? I pulled a sixteen-year-old boy through a car window. We had realized our mistake too late. We had kept things from you in order to give you a chance to make your own choices, but it was only a matter of time before our lives exposed you to that world.”

Allison felt old pain stirring in her stomach. “So she felt she had to kill him because I was unprepared to make good decisions about him.”

“No. She felt she had to kill him because she had made you unprepared to make good decisions. She broke the Code because she wanted you to be safe, and she was trying to make up for behavior she thought had made you unsafe. A person can do the wrong thing out of love. Trust me on that; I should know. I helped her die, and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret that.”

Allison got up and got a box of matches. “Thanks for telling me all this, but I don’t think it’s going to make me feel any better.”

“It wasn’t supposed to. It was supposed to help you remember her.”

Allison lit the candles on the birthday cake. “Happy Birthday, Mom.”

January 30, 2015 – Cambridge, Massachusetts

Walking down the hallway of Maseeh Hall, Jackson noted several students checking him out. He allowed himself to smirk, because he never felt any shame when people appreciated him for his physical appearance. It turned out that Derek Hale’s attempt at projection was dead wrong. People did care if someone had nice hair. People did care if someone had a fancy car.

Jackson might have inherited his cheekbones and his eyes, but the rest he had earned. No one got a body like his without working at it, and if someone argued that he hadn’t paid for the supernatural upgrade he would punch them in the face. Well, he wouldn’t attack them as he had sworn off violence, but he would give them a well-cultivated side-eye and several cutting remarks.

So yes, he liked it when people were attracted to him. He just didn’t need it anymore. Or at least, he hoped he didn’t need it.

Speaking of attractive people, he accosted a couple walking down the hallway. The guy was tall and quiet with curly dark hair and pale skin, just skinny enough to be chic, while the woman was dark skinned, lithe, and energetic with an easy smile. He had thought everyone here at Cambridge would be complete nerds, but then that would make these the sexiest nerds he had ever seen. If he hadn’t been on a mission … but he was.

“Could you help me?” He gave them his friendliest smile. “I’m trying to find room 302?”

“Sure. Are you a friend of his?” The woman asked, seemingly innocent, but Jackson recognized a test when he heard one.

“Uh, no. I thought that was Lydia Martin’s room. I’m a friend of hers from back home in California.”

At this, their expressions and their scents changed. That didn’t seem like a very good sign.

“Her family hasn’t heard from her in a bit, and since I was in the city, I thought I’d stop by and see how she’s doing.”

The man grimaced. “That’s not surprising.”

The woman elbowed her colleague and then gave Jackson directions. “I think she’ll be glad to see you.”

Jackson hurried down the hallway. The couple’s warnings didn’t sound too dire, but it didn’t sound like Lydia either. He found the door; inside he could hear a single heartbeat, slow and steady.

He knocked on the door. There was no answer, but he could hear movement, and the heartbeat sped up a little bit. So, he knocked again.

“Go away.” Lydia’s voice did not sound as he remembered it would be if she was irritated by an interruption. She sounded tired and a little desperate.

“Lydia, it’s me. Open up.”

“Jackson?”

He heard her get up and move to the door, but she didn’t open it.

“Yeah, it’s me. May I come in?”

Lydia hesitated and then unlocked the door before moving away from it. When he finally got into the roomit was all he could to keep from exclaiming in distress. The room was a mess, and Lydia’s rooms were never a mess. It wasn’t dirty, but it was disorganized; cosmetics and clothes were scattered about, and her bed was unmade.

Her appearance was just as disturbing, her hair hanging limply around her face as if she hadn’t been taking much care of it. She was dressed in sweats, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Of course, Jackson was a modern man who understood that women didn’t have to look perfect twenty-four/seven, but the Lydia he knew would never have made it to this late in the afternoon without making sure she looked put together.

“What are you doing here?”

Jackson gave her his best smile, but his eyes drifted to the calculations that were on her desk, on her end table, and taped up to the wall. “Can’t a guy visit his ex-girlfriend?”

“I didn’t know you were back in the United States.” She tried to sound brisk, but she didn’t manage to pull it off. “Got tired of London?”

“No. Mom and Dad freaked out about the city being a battleground for the dramatis personae of the Prose Edda, so I’m at Cornell pre-law.”

She snorted, a tiny spark of the real Lydia showing through. “You, a lawyer? I’m shocked. Almost as shocked as your out-of-the-blue visit.”

Jackson shrugged but he couldn’t help but smile a little bit. “Your mom hasn’t heard from you for since Christmas, and she mentioned it to my mom … and here we are. What’s wrong, Lydia?”

“Why would I possibly want to confide in you even if something was wrong?”

“Because when I was at my worst, I treated you terribly, you never turned your back on me. I’d like to return the favor, if I could.” Jackson bit his lip. “Yeah, I’ve grown a little bit. It’s terrible. But not as terrible as this room. Look around, Lydia. Would anyone who knows you well not think something’s wrong.”

Lydia helplessly glanced at the pile of what might have been unfolded laundry. “I’ve been busy. Classes are hard here.”

“Even if Stilinski hadn’t told me exactly how much I’d underestimated your intelligence, I can hear you lying right now. Are you really behind in schoolwork?”

“No.” She turned away. “Not really.”

“What’s on these papers?” He looked at the pieces of paper she had written very complex notes on and taped up on the walls. “Is this your number theory?”

“No. As far as I can tell, it’s advanced computer coding.”

“As far as you can tell? Is this a banshee thing?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he threw up his hands. “People tell me shit whether I want them to or not.”

“I’ve had some people from the computer sciences department look at it, and apparently, it’s a super sophisticated computer code. I’ve been puzzling it out. Well, I’ve been obsessing over it.”

“Do you know what it does?”

She licked her lips. “The best guess, between me and the professor I stumped with it, is that it’s some form of advanced artificial intelligence coding. I keep writing it, and I can’t stop. I think it’s a warning, and I … I’m trying to figure it out. Before it happens; before it’s too late.”

Lydia was trembling. Very carefully, Jackson took her in his arms, not romantically, but to reassure. “I’m here, Lydia. We’ll figure this out. Too late for what to happen?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but …” She sounded frantic for a moment, but her next words were clear if not a little cold. “When the dust settles, the only things living in this world will be metal.”

Chapter Text

January 31, 2015 – The border between Massachusetts and Connecticut

Driving on an interstate at night was among one of Jackson’s favorite things to do. The road didn’t have to be an interstate, of course, for his enjoyment: any sufficiently deserted highway would do. The lack of stop signs and lights and traffic meant the he could really let the throttle out. His favorite speed was a tiny bit over ninety miles per hour. At that point, the purring torque of the engine coupled with the necessity of paying attention to the act of driving made the rest of the world vanish. For a little while, he could be free.

Of course, this meant he had been pulled over a few times by the police, but he had either managed to charm his way out of a ticket or he had gritted his teeth and paid it. After all, it was only money, of which he had plenty, especially since the settlement for his biological parents’ death had come to him when he turned eighteen. He hoped that they would have understood how valuable that momentary peace was to him and not begrudged the fine. His adopted parents eventually had come to understand it, and he was -- finally -- grateful for them.

It was also the reason he still drove the same car he had driven in high school. He could have replaced the 2009 Porsche 911 Carrera-S at any time. There were hundreds of similar sports cars on the market. He had actually test drove some of them, yet none of them felt the same. None of them gave him the same feeling when he passed ninety. So instead of replacing it, he had poured his money and time into keeping his older car in peak condition. Ironically, he had slowly learned to take care of the vehicle himself. He should drop Chris Argent an ironic apology note.

Lost in his memories, he almost missed it when they crossed the border. There were no vast stretches of empty land on the East Coast like he could find in California, but there were places where nature still held sway. They were passing through Union, and he could already see with his better than normal vision the massed trees of Nipmuck State Forest on the horizon.

Lydia had her face turned toward the window. He hoped she would get some sleep as they still had a few hours before they reached New York. The beating of her heart told him she was still awake.

“This is ridiculous,” she suddenly said, sitting up straight. “I’m fine, so you can stop looking at me like I'm going to break.”

“Yeah,” Jackson replied sarcastically. “I can tell you’re absolutely peachy.”

Her reflection in the car window scowled at him, but he didn't mind. If he did say so himself, he felt his presence had brought her out of the strange funk he had found her in. With effort, he had managed to cajole her into taking a shower. While she was in the bathroom, he had straightened up her dorm room. She had been quite cross with him until he revealed that he hadn’t trashed her coding notes. Even now, they were carefully packed into a portfolio in the trunk.

Lydia turned to face him. “How do you know that Scott is in New York?”

“I was told.”

“I thought you had cut everyone off during your great escape to Europe.”

Jackson heard the meaning beneath the sarcasm: You cut me off. There was no help for it. “Well, someone didn’t take the hint.”

“Oh, really?” She playfully smirked at him as she would have long ago, and he was even more sure that this had been a good idea. “I wonder who it could have been.”

Jackson shrugged. Checking the road, he decelerated to match the speed limit since they apparently were going to have a conversation. She hadn’t said three words to him since he had bundled her into the car.

“It was Derek, wasn’t it?”

“How did you guess?”

“Scott would have cared enough to track you down, but he doesn't know you well enough and he doesn't have the resources. Danny has both, but he was even angrier with you than I was … am.”

Eventually, he was going to have to decide if he wanted to fix that; both Danny and Lydia had deserved more from him. “Derek wanted to make up for abandoning me.”

“Unsurprising. He’s become a much better person.”

Jackson shrugged. “I can tell.”

“So why aren’t we flying to California?” Lydia queried. “Scott’s not your alpha.”

“Neither is Derek. But Scott's yours, isn’t he?”

“Does that bother you?” Lydia asked coyly. “Does it make you jealous?”

“I’m not that petty anymore. Though I am curious about why you didn’t tell him about your latest prediction.”

Lydia tossed her head and turned to look back out the window, but she couldn’t fool him the way she used to. She wasn't uninterested in the conversation; she was upset. Instead of pushing, he kept his eyes on the road until she figured out what she wanted to say.

“What would I tell him? Hey, Scott, it’s your useless banshee back with a premonition that could be very important or it could be absolutely meaningless.” She sighed. “Before you say it, I’m not scared of my power anymore. I am concerned about the consequences of using it poorly, especially how I can hurt my friends with it.”

“Hurt your friends … what are you talking about?”

“Predictions can be more than just warnings, Jackson, they can be burdens. I know what Scott is like. I know what Allison is like. They believe in me, and if I warn them about something, they’re going to act on it, even if my warning ends up not being helpful at all. I’ve decided that I have to get better at figuring out what they mean before I involve others.”

“This is about Stiles.”

Her heart beat so hard that it might have burst from her chest.

“Derek told me about how you feel you botched things when it came to his problem with the demon.”

“Botching …” She covered her true feelings with imitation. “I didn’t botch anything. I gave up. Yes, I led the Sheriff to Eichen House when Stiles wasn’t there, but that happened because I assumed a meaning to a vision without having confirmation. That part of the vision was most likely warning me about Hydra’s incipient kidnapping and not where the nogitsune had taken him.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that. Back then, I was so new to even the idea of having powers that it wasn’t my fault that I misinterpreted them. What was my fault is that I rejected those powers in shame at having been wrong, when I could have prevented Stiles’s kidnapping if I had kept trying to understand what the premonition really meant. I let my own fear defeat me. That’s not going to happen again.”

“Well, that’s good, but that’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Do you?”

“You’re saying that even if I had figured out what the premonition actually meant, there wasn’t much I could do about it. Hydra is a terrorist organization dating back to the Second World War — and I’ve read some theories that it goes back even earlier — and that I was a seventeen-year-old girl, so I shouldn’t blame myself for not being able to stop the kidnapping.”

“Uhh.” Jackson grimaced. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

Lydia reached out and patted him on the arm. “You know you're much nicer than you were before.”

“You say that as if it that was some great accomplishment. Not to sound grateful for extreme mental trauma but working my way back from my own possession allowed me to confront a few other things about myself, as well. Which also means I need to apologize.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she whispered. “None of us were the best people we could be.”

“One thing I’ve learned is that apologies have nothing to do with making us better. Even if I was the best person in the world — which I was not and am not — it’s still good to apologize to the people I hurt. Tonight, part of that is getting you to your alpha, so you can let him help you.”

She flashed a brief smile at him. “I wish we could have called him and warned him we were coming.”

“Unfortunately, you can’t Google the phone number for the Avengers. You should try to get some sleep. We won’t get there until around three.”

“I'll try. Sometimes I wish banshees got supernatural stamina as well.”

The conversation had reached its natural end, so Jackson let it die. The dash clock had just turned over to one thirty, and he began to put on more speed. Perhaps he would be able to hit his zone before they reached the Hartford suburbs.

That turned out to be a bad idea, because right as he broke eighty-five, red and blue flashers appeared in his rear-view mirror.

“Where the fuck did he come from?” Jackson asked out loud as he pulled over. He had only been going ten miles over the speed limit, so the ticket wouldn’t be that bad. As he had learned in one of his classes on modern reinterpretations of justice: for the very rich, fines were more like fees.

“Probably a speed trap.” Lydia said sleepily.

Jackson reached over and dug his registration and insurance card out of the glove department. “On the bright side, now we’ll probably have a chance to stop for breakfast before we reach New York.”

“We could have waited.”

“We both have classes on Monday, and I wanted to give us plenty of time for delays just like this one.” He turned and rolled down the window to greet the officer. “Sorry, I guess I lost track …”

His excuse was lost in a blinding haze of pain as someone slammed a stun baton into the side of his face. He felt his muscles lock as Lydia shouted in dismay from the passenger seat. The door swung open, and he was pulled out and onto the ground. He was so disoriented that all he could think of was how did they manage to get his seatbelt off.

The man standing over him wasn’t even wearing a cop uniform. Lydia was shouting, but his assailant threatened to use the stun baton on her if she reached for her phone. Jackson was in the middle of deciding how deep to pound the him into the pavement when he caught a scent and heard a voice that made his blood run cold.

“You see, patience is often rewarded.” Gerard Argent approached the vehicle. “Miss Martin, you don’t need to look so worried; I have no intention of killing either of you … tonight.”

Jackson tried to say something, but his tongue felt like it was too big for his mouth.

“Of course not,” Lydia snapped, but even while stunned Jackson could hear the terror in her voice. “You know I would have felt it.”

“My granddaughter certainly didn’t overstate your intelligence. You'll accompany me to my vehicle willingly or I’ll have you carried. You’re going to be my guest for the foreseeable future, as will your former boyfriend.”

“Why would I cooperate with someone like you?”

“People will do all sorts of things with the proper motivation.” Gerard squatted to look Jackson in the face, grinning nastily. “I'm counting on that, especially since I’ve reclaimed my fairly impressive means to motivate them. Isn’t that right, my friend?”

February 1, 2015 – New York City

Bruce Banner considered himself a rather intelligent person. He had several terminal degrees, including one from Harvard University. He had taught courses in biochemistry and nuclear radiation. He was considered a leading expert in many fields, and he might have been nominated for a Nobel by now if he didn’t sometimes, as Tony had charmingly put it when they had first met, “lose control and turn into a giant green rage monster.”

By any measure, his life wouldn’t be envied by many people. Even if he was miraculously cured of the Hulk that very night, he would still have several therapists’ worth of angst – including his abusive family history, his years as a fugitive from the United States military, and the burnt remains of his relationship with Betty Ross – with which to come to grips.

On the other hand, he had found opportunities in this building that he wouldn’t have anywhere else. The United States military knew his location but would think twice about trying to capture him here. He had the chance to contribute meaningfully to the world, which is all he had ever wanted to do. He had a social life with actual friends, something he thought he would never have again. While some of these friends could still be intimidated by the raw and barely controlled power his alter ego possessed, they understood it in a way few other human beings could, as they all possessed physical powers, skills, or technology that could be just as destructive and alienating.

His life wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was a damn sight better than it had been for a long time.

And all those benefits didn’t even include the thrill of discovering phenomena that he hadn’t even imagined existing before. For example, at this very instant Bruce was monitoring the biometrics of a werewolf lifting half a ton in an overhead press.

“You can stop if you want. I think I have enough.”

Scott McCall slowly put the weight down, showing good workout discipline, though in this case he didn’t have to. He wasn’t using free weights. The resistance in this equipment was generated by electromagnetic fields. Tony had designed it so Thor could exercise without having to pick up compact cars.

The young man turned to him, scratching his neck with one hand. “So … did I pass?”

“It’s not that kind of test.” Bruce smiled as he made some notations. “We wanted to get an idea of your abilities.”

McCall’s hand froze where it was wiping off his face. “Why?”

Bruce turned to him, confused by the suspicion in the young man’s demeanor before the answer occurred to him. “Oh. Oh, come over here.” He waited until the young werewolf come over. “This is all I’ve recorded. I’ll go through all this data with you, if you’d like. We’re not trying to pry your species’ secrets out of you.”

“I … I didn’t think that.”

McCall was a terrible liar. “Are you sure about that? After all, that’s what I thought when they were trying to recruit me. Right now, we’re gathering this data for your safety — and for ours.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know why you’re here, and I don’t think I have to explain that our lives can get pretty dangerous. There’s a possibility that you’ll see some fighting.”

McCall mouth thinned out; it didn’t seem to be a surprise to him at all.

“Having an idea of your capabilities will allow the field commander to integrate you into team tactics more effectively. We’ll also be able to judge how much danger you’d be in under certain situations. When someone like Thor fights alongside someone like Clint, we have to be able to compensate for physical differences. We also know that the D.O.A. has access to werewolves, too, so we have to be ready for them. I can promise you that Tony has some of the best computer security in the world, so there is an infinitesimal chance of someone getting ahold of it.”

For a moment, it looked like the young man was going to continue his protest, but then he nodded. “Okay. Thanks. You’re just trying to get an idea of how strong I am.”

“Yes. You seem to be stronger than Cap, though you’re not as strong as Tony in the suit, or Thor, or … me, I guess. Is your strength near the norm for your species?”

“There are a lot of factors to take into consideration. I’ve got a big pack,” McCall explained. “Each beta makes an alpha stronger, faster, better in every way and vice versa, though Alphas are almost always stronger than betas. I would also be stronger if it were the full moon, if I was angry, or if I was fully shifted.”

Bruce took off his glasses and cleaned them, which he often did when puzzled. “I have to wonder how that works, to be honest.”

“There’s a saying important to us: the shape you take reflects the person that you are. My mentor explained that all those things I listed have an effect on the way I think, and thus on the way I can express my power. On the other hand, those same things also increase my aggressive instincts to varying degrees, so it's not all good.”

“There’s certainly been enough papers talking about how psychological states can enhance or diminish athletic performance, but I don’t know how that synergizes with the size of your … uh … pack.”

“I’m not alone.” Scott said seriously. “That makes all the difference.”

Bruce couldn’t argue with that. “So, you’re the one who transformed — the word is bit, isn’t it — all of them?”

“What? No!”

“But I thought I read that only an alpha’s bite can create more werewolves?”

The implication seemed to disturb McCall a great deal, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. “No. I haven’t bitten anyone. Half the wolves in my pack are born wolves. The other half were bitten by other alphas. While the bond is usually stronger between a beta and the alpha who bit them, it doesn’t have to be.”

Bruce thought about letting the conversation end there, but he was very curious. He was, after all, a scientist first and foremost. “If you don’t mind me pushing a little bit, my question seemed to upset you.”

“I’m sorry about that.” McCall turned away. “I’ve never thought about biting anyone. I guess it’s because how I was changed, and I don’t want to do that to anyone else.”

“It didn’t go well?”

“You could say that.” His laugh was bitter. “I was bitten against my will. The alpha who bit me wanted to use me for revenge. He wasn’t interested in helping me adjust to my new state or even teaching me how to do it myself. He used the bond between alpha and beta to mind control me … a lot. He once tried to make me kill my friends, including Stiles.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was, and even though I know it’s not supposed to be like that, I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. Whenever I think about making a Beta, I remember what it was like for someone to try to use me like that. And that’s not even taking into account the chance I could kill any person I bit.”

“Kill?”

“The initial transformation isn’t gentle. You either turn or you die, unless there’s something already inside you that’s more powerful than the bite. I’m guessing that I wouldn’t be able to turn you if I tried.”

Grimacing, Bruce shook his head. “Let’s not find out.”

The young man smiled grimly. “It’s why alphas usually transform teenagers or young adults. They have the best chance of surviving. It’s also why it’s no good to use it as emergency first aid. Anyone who couldn’t survive a trip to the hospital definitely wouldn’t survive the transformation. So, no, I’m not going to bite anyone if I can help it.”

Seeking to change the topic, Bruce ushered the younger man over to a table. “Please place your arm here.” He explained that the device would be measuring his blood chemistry and nerve activity. “It’s based on the same technology that allows Tony’s armor to monitor his own physical condition.”

The machine hummed to life and Bruce carefully explained what each measurement indicated. According to the readouts, the alpha’s healing capacities were superlative. Of all the people Bruce had measured, only the Hulk would heal faster. This matched the folklore which held that werewolves were very tough to kill. He purposefully did not ask about the silver bullet myth.

“This is quite remarkable.”

“I guess.”

“Scott, I can’t help but think you don’t particularly enjoy being a werewolf.”

“Oh, sure, the physical abilities, the healing, and the enhanced senses can be really cool. On the other hand, the increased aggression; the horror when people you care about, like your mother or your girlfriend, see you transform for the first time; the seemingly endless of villains trying to use or to kill you; that’s not so cool. Then there’s the unending responsibility, like having to help track down your best friend, who would never have been transformed into a half-demon terrorist if you had never been bit.”

“I get it, it was a stupid question considering you told me of your experiences.”

Scott blinked. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just – I was thinking of the past. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that, it’s just …”

Bruce went and adjusted one of the monitors. “Go on.”

“I’m the leader now. When I’m back home, I can’t really talk like that anymore. I learned that part of being alpha is managing the expectations of the people who have chosen to follow you. It’s difficult to ask them to do the things I have to ask them to do, if they don’t have faith that I believe we’re making things better. So, when I’m at home, I have to keep it all inside. But here …”

“Here you’re not the leader. I get it, I really do. Between you and me, I can understand having problems with aggression and people trying to use you.”

Scott colored when he remembered to whom he was talking. “I guess you would.”

“Let me give a little perspective. In April, I’ll have been the Hulk for ten years. I’ve spent some of those years trying to cure the Hulk, some of them trying to control the Hulk, and some of them even learning to use the Hulk. I’ve had successes but not more than a few failures, but during that time I also learned something else very important.”

Scott looked away from the monitoring equipment and answered hopefully. “It gets easier?”

“Oh, no.” Bruce shook his head ruefully. “No, it doesn’t. I might not ever be able to come to grips with what the Hulk is, what he’s done, and what was done to both of us, but he’s not my entire life. It has seemed like that so many times, and some days I couldn’t help but dwell about the life I should have had. I guess, from what you’re telling me, you’ve done it to.”

Scott nodded vigorously.

“Those days are going to happen. They may happen for as long as you live, but they’re not the only thing that’s going to happen. So, give yourself those days when you’re mad at the world. You deserve them. We deserve them. We don’t do ourselves or the people who care about us any favors by pretending those emotions don’t exist. We only have to remember that there are days that aren’t like that, and they deserve attention as well.”

“Now you sound like my Emissary.”

“It sounds like he’s an intelligent guy.”

Scott burst out laughing. “Yeah, he is.”

After another few minutes, Bruce wrapped up the scans. “So much for the easy part.”

“This was the easy part?”

Bruce smiled. “Cap’s going to want you to spar with him.”

February 2, 2015 – Humboldt Redwoods State Park, California

He drove slowly down the Avenue of the Giants. The famous trail weaved between coastal redwood groves for thirty-two miles, with the trees on either side dwarfing the road, the car, and the driver. Finally, he pulled off onto a clearing where a picnic table overlooked a gully with a stream running through it. The shade created a darkness-at-noon effect that was only found in redwood forests.

Alan Deaton took a moment to text his location to his sister before getting out of the car.

Spring was still weeks away but there was no chill in the air. At the rate it was warming, it might even reach the sixties by the end of the afternoon. Birds called to each other in the pools of shadow beneath the giant trees, and the brook at the bottom of the nearby ravine burbled merrily. In the soil between the trunks, he caught glimpses of small animal tracks.

While the table itself was close to the main road, there wasn’t much traffic on this winter’s day. Tourists would wait until later in the year, when the weather wouldn’t change on a dime, and locals would still be at work or at school. The biggest interruption that he could expect was perhaps a park ranger, and he and Marin wouldn’t be doing anything that would attract a ranger’s attention.

He sat on the bench and simply listened. It wasn’t exactly meditation, but it served the same purpose for him. Nature had its own rhythms and its own pace, and they were not to be stopped by any contrivance of the modern world. Slowing himself down, once in a while, to match its pace had never done anything but aid him.

His sister’s Subaru pulling in next to his car did bring him out of his reverie.

“Alan, you do know we live in the same city.”

“I’m aware.”

“So, is there a particular reason that you had me drive four hours to meet you?”

Alan smiled at her. “Perspective.”

Marin rolled her eyes. “I have an imagination, Alan, so I could have gained that perspective somewhere closer to home, such as the Preserve?” She glanced at the vehicle next to hers. “You have a new car. Is that part of your perspective?”

“No, it’s a new car.”

“You hate buying new things. You think it’s crass materialism to want the latest version of anything.”

“I dislike buying things for the sole purpose of having something new. In this case, I felt it was time to replace my old gas guzzler with a hybrid.”

“But a Toyota, Alan?”

He stood up. “They’re a very popular car in Beacon Hills. Are you going to snipe at me all day?”

“I’m your sister. Who else is going to do it?” She walked over to where he sat. “Tell me why you think I need perspective.”

“Things are changing, Marin.”

“Things are always changing. That's what Mom and Dad taught us. Have you heard from them recently?”

“At the present, they are enjoying their so-called retirement among the Black Mountains of Wales, by which they mean they are as busy as ever teaching novitiates. And you’re changing the subject.”

Marin sat down on the side of the picnic table away from him. “Very well. What perspective do you believe I should draw from this place?”

“I’d estimate that the tree right over there is between a 1000 and 1200 years old. That was before the Vikings reached North America, yet it did not react to that event any more than it reacted to the Chitauri invasion.”

“And yet,” Marin countered, “the tree might very well be killed by climate change caused by the Industrial Revolution. Even the greatest, most stable institutions can be undermined.”

They sat there for a moment contemplating the redwoods.

“How are we reacting, Marin?”

“We’re doing what we’ve always done: maintain balance. Emissaries are still needed; there is no reason to think that werewolves no longer need to be tethered to human communities simply because there’s a Norse demigod wandering across the planet. I don’t need to remind you that druids served the same function the last time Thor walked the earth.”

“I hate to correct you—”

“Alan, we both know that you love to correct me.”

Deaton smirked. “We both love to correct each other. Occupational hazard of being siblings. Yet as the older brother, I feel it necessary to at least pretend that I hate to do it. You and I were not here when this tree blossomed. Our ancestors were. We can learn from their patience.”

“Is this about Scott McCall? Are you feeling lonely now that he’s run off to play superhero?”

Deaton took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out as a long sigh.

Morrell drew concentric circles on the top of the picnic table. “That was unfair of me. He’s trying to do the best thing he knows, but I wonder why, if you’re dissatisfied, you didn’t attempt to dissuade him. I know you could have, just as I know you believe that the fate of Stiles Stilinski is not his responsibility.”

“He would disagree.”

“We were taught to believe that everyone, even those we love, are eventually responsible for their own lives, and I wonder why you’ve neglected to teach him that. You could have done that by reminding him that there are any number of organizations that could handle a creature of a nogitsune’s magnitude, both occult and mundane.”

He felt a frown forming on his face.

“Yet you didn’t even try. Is that why you needed perspective? You failed to give him the best advice that even our parents would have given him, I suspect, and you did it for a reason. Was that reason because you understood he would never be personally happy if he didn’t do all he could for his friend? His happiness is not his duty; his focus should be on his pack. Was it because you felt guilty because Stiles was possessed after the ritual you used? You did not cause the possession; it was a result of a series of unfortunate coincidences. Was it because you hoped to protect the world of the supernatural from whatever this hybrid of Stiles Stilinski and the nogitsune turns out to be, and you seek to use the Avengers to do that the same way they seek to use Scott? Our teachers would call any of those reasons hubris.”

Deaton’s head snapped around. “Hubris? Perhaps I’m maintaining balance.”

His sister’s mouth dropped open as she caught on. “I see. This isn’t about you; this is about me. This is about Deucalion. How did you find out?”

“The last thing we need right now is for the Demon Wolf to enter into an open war with Hydra. Deucalion’s powerful, but he doesn’t have the resources to keep such a battle both secret and under control. SHIELD and the Avengers wouldn’t want the supernatural to become public knowledge any more than we do, but they have the resources to make sure it doesn’t.”

Marin tapped her lip. “I don’t think Peter would have told you. I know that Braeden wouldn’t have told you.”

He wasn’t going to tell her how he found out. “Are you or are you not still his Emissary?”

Morrell stared at him as if calculating how much she could get away with, but then she nodded.

“What is he doing right now?”

“Alan, his vision has always been focused on reforming the norms of werewolf culture in order to ensure his species’ survival in the modern world; my only concern has ever been how he chose to go about it. Even without his pack, he has the skills and the personal power to do work that is in the supernatural world’s best interests. We can’t rely on the Masters of the Mystic Arts; their eyes have always focused on the worlds beyond ours even as this one crumbles. While their alliance with the hunting families is a step in the right direction, we need immediate action.”

He looked her straight in the eye and let anger creep into his voice. “What is he doing right now?”

“He’s doing what has to be done. If this frightens you, you should have made sure that Hale and McCall put him down.”

“I would never do that, because there is a line between advice and control. But you more than know about his efforts than you’re saying.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You support his efforts. You’re working with him!”

“As long as the Department of Occult Armaments has access to real supernatural power, everything we care about is in danger. It was obvious they could not be permitted to harness the Doctors’ abilities more than they already had. This new hybrid is no different, Alan, you have to see that! The world has changed, irrevocably.”

The angry voices echoed through the forest.

“We have boundaries,” Deaton said finally.

“We had boundaries, Alan,” Marin said sadly. “Now we only have obligations.”

Chapter Text

February 3, 2015 – Samana Cay, Bahamas

Kyllian Boddiker fumbled with the controls on the display screen. Not all druids had trouble with modern technology, but it never seemed to work smoothly for him. Finally, he got the images to display. “As you can see, the Brasilia, Zhengzhou, and Toulouse bases are now fully operational. The Dhakla Oasis base will reach full operational capacity by the full moon in April. We can reach minimum operational capability in Greenland and Logashkino by the full moon in May.”

“Minimum operational capacity?” Stiles queried but not kindly.

“We can place personnel there, but it won’t be pleasant for them, and they won’t be able to mount anything like a proper defense should they be attacked.” Kyllian raised a hand when Stiles began to protest once more. “Given the weather conditions and the protocols necessary to keep this construction a secret from the other parts of Hydra as well as everyone else, it’s the best I can do.”

The Fox blew a raspberry at him. The druid accepted it without much of a reaction.

“Do you guys have courses in being unflappable? No? Fair enough. Anything else on the table?”

“Yeah.” Theo prodded from his spot at the table. “You haven’t said anything about my report. It’s an opportunity we have to consider.”

Stiles leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He had once thought that the worst part of being in charge would be endless meetings and fun-choking paperwork, but it turned out that those were easy compared to what he had to do now.

“Boddiker, leave us.”

The druid stared at him in surprise, but he left the conference room without saying anything. At least the druid had some ability to read social cues.

Theo didn’t even fidget in the following silence but waited patiently for Stiles to speak.

“It’s not often you get played, is it, Theo?”

“Played?”

Stiles lowered his head in order to give the chimera a pitying look. “You heard me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Oh, yeah you were. Tell me, how did Deucalion know you were going to be in New York? He may not be tied to a pack anymore, but the chance that he happened to be watching Avenger’s Tower at the same time you were has to be pretty slim.”

Theo stared at the tips of his fingers. “You think he was tracking me.”

“How would he do that?” Stiles demanded, because he knew that wasn’t what happened, but he needed Theo to understand his own limitations.

“I don’t know. If I knew, I would have made sure he couldn’t. But however he did it, it doesn’t mean he was lying. Even if he had been able to mask his heartbeat and his chemo signals from me completely, he wouldn’t have said what he did if the offer to meet wasn’t sincere. There’s no other reason to make it.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, Theo.” Stiles chuckled. The chimera was a good lieutenant and well trained, but he was still young. So very young. “He didn’t have to lie to play you. From what I remember, he often used the truth to get what he wanted. I may not have spent much time face-to-face with the Demon Wolf in Beacon Hills — though certainly more than you — but I did witness enough of his plans to understand how he likes to operate. He gets you do what he wants by presenting it as an opportunity to get what you want.”

Theo frowned slightly; he did have an ego after all. “And what do you think he wants?”

“Oh, that’s easy. He wants to kill me. Deucalion is a visionary, and visionaries frequently have a common weakness: egotism. He failed in his attempt to revolutionize werewolf culture and, by doing so, end the stalemate between werewolves and hunters. It must rankle him, so he’s not going to sit idly by while I succeed where he failed.”

“I didn’t think revolutionizing werewolf culture is what you’re doing.”

“Oh, it definitely is. Under my leadership, the Department of Occult Armaments is the first non-werewolf organization to weaponize lycanthropy with Project Vargulf. Eventually, other organizations will learn of what we’ve done and seek to emulate it. Packs will no longer have to worry about the Argents or the Calaveras coming to kill them; they’ll have to worry about the Ten Rings, A.I.M., or the military of any nation in the world coming to harvest them. Their entire way they life will have to change and quickly.”

The chimera’s eyes drifted as he worked through the scenario. Again, Theo wasn’t stupid, he was just inexperienced when compared to the nogitsune. “I … I didn’t realize … you’re right. How do we prevent that?”

“We’re not going to. Once that happens, I won't have to be careful when I unleash my shock troopers. That makes them more useful.”

“But—”

Stiles pointed at him. “Remember, I don’t care about werewolves, as a whole or as individuals. Fuck ‘em. They’re the ones who got me into this mess.”

“I don’t think that what you just said is completely true.”

Wincing, Stiles nodded. “No, it’s not completely true. There are a few werewolves I’d prefer not to see hurt. Very few.”

Theo glanced down, thinking. Finally, he swallowed and looked the Fox in the eye. “I guess he did play me. With that perspective, he clearly wanted to use me to get close to you.”

“Right. And he’s not the only one who would like to do that. I have a pretty strong guess who told him you were in New York. Noshiko has allies of her own, which is why she skedaddled all the way back to the Big Apple as soon as she could.” He felt a smirk form across his lips. “Lucky for her, I have bigger fish to fry at the moment. We’ll rescue Ayla, Theo, but we’ll use my plan to do it.”

“Deucalion will still be expecting an answer.”

Stiles gave it some thought while rubbing his palms together, up and down, up and down. There were many reasons for him to try to fuck with the alpha of alphas. He was annoyed by the man, by his accent, and by his grandiosity. He was also wary of his tactical brilliance and his leadership capabilities; if anyone could rouse the supernatural world against the D.O.A. it would be Deucalion. In the end though, even someone like Fox had to bow to reality.

“Simply tell him no and leave it at that.”

The chimera’s eyes widened.

“People are doomed to repeat history’s mistakes if they don’t learn from them. I’m not Adolf Hitler; I don’t have a funny moustache for one thing, but for another thing I’m not going to open up a second front if I don’t absolutely have to. We avoid him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Something in Theo’s tone made Stiles turn his attention to him. Theo was staring at the tabletop, sitting rigid in his chair. Stiles had noted that posture several times before, usually immediately after moments where Stiles showed his displeasure at his behavior. After Theo had come to accept his position, they hadn’t been often. The chimera was eager to please.

Oh.

He had seen something like this before over the centuries. “You’re not waiting for me to punish you for this, are you?”

“I …” Theo stuttered.

“You’ll know when I’m angry enough to punish you. You don’t have to sit and wait for it. I’m not the Doctors. It might have been very efficient for them to divide all possible outcomes into ‘success’ or ‘failure’ but it’s a narrow and limiting view of the world. I am not narrow. And I’m not Von Strucker, either. I’m not going to execute you because we lost a battle.”

Theo was still very interested in the tabletop.

“Don’t get me wrong; I could kill some nameless extras if I were angry enough, since I’m not even remotely a good person. But you aren’t a goon with a rifle, are you? You’re a chimera. You’re the only chimera in the whole wide world. I’d have to be the dumbest fox in the history of foxes to waste an asset like that. Besides, you’re my buddy.”

“Well, if I am your buddy, I could—”

“Nope. I’m going to stop you right there. I’m ordering you to leave Deucalion alone. We’ll deal with him in time, but our first task is to rescue Ayla and take Von Strucker off the board. Do you understand?”

Theo nodded.

“Say you understand.”

The chimera met his eyes. “I understand.”

February 5, 2015 – Los Angeles, California

The dawn crept under the blinds, but the stealthy beams could not avoid waking Ethan up. His eyes fluttered open to the morning. He wished the sun just would stop rising, for he was wrapped in a cocoon of Danny’s warmth and scent and heartbeat. Finally, without giving himself the luxury of a sigh, Ethan disentangled himself from the human’s still-sleeping form, slowly and carefully, so he wouldn’t wake him up.

His bare feet on the carpet made little sound as he did a full circuit of the apartment. As a habit, he checked every room and stuck his head out both onto the balcony and through the front door, making sure there were no unfamiliar scents. Ethan had always been very careful to do this so Danny wouldn’t be aware of it. He realized that it could seem a little paranoid, and while he could take a little ribbing from his lover, he didn’t want to give Danny any reason to truly object. Ethan kept this habit up mostly for himself, anyway; it settled something in him to make sure they were both safe.

They were lucky to have gotten this apartment in Westwood, as it lay less than a quarter mile from UCLA’s campus. Though the rent was ridiculously high, between Danny’s family and Deucalion’s generous support, living here wasn’t beyond their means. For Ethan, the best part was that the neighborhood was one of the quietest in the entire metropolitan area.

Still, Ethan continued his habit every morning. Perhaps someone could describe it as a form of PTSD, but to him, it was the benefits of lessons learned. There were monsters out there, and they had to be guarded against. He knew this, for he had been one of them.

By the time Danny entered the kitchen, he had poured two glasses of orange juice and started the coffee pot. Danny may still have had bed head, but Danny always slept well and never seemed to be groggy.

“Morning.” Ethan handed him a glass with a smile. Danny accepted it with a fond shake of the head.

After breakfast, they went for a run. Danny got benefited more from it than he would, as Ethan was careful never to outpace his boyfriend during their morning jog. Between classes, he would sneak in a second workout. After they got back, they’d shower; this morning Danny had gone first because his class was earlier, but when Ethan was finished, he was surprised to find Danny still in the apartment. As he pulled on his shirt, he realized that Danny was on a call.

Danny flashed the front of phone toward him: David Whittemore. He put the phone back to his ear in order to answer the man. “Yeah, that is weird.”

Ethan was sorely tempted to listen to the other side of the conversation, but he had promised Danny he wouldn’t unless he was asked.

“No, we talked last week; he didn’t say anything about it.”

Ethan had never met Jackson Whittemore, but he had heard a lot about him. As the Alpha Pack had been preparing to go to Beacon Hills years ago, Deucalion had told them about the presence of the kanima and what it meant. The Demon Wolf had made sure that Ethan memorized the information, since Danny had been his intended target.

While they had dated, Danny had also talked about Jackson; he couldn’t help it, since their childhoods had been so firmly linked together. Ethan didn't mind, as he wanted to know everything about his boyfriend. It had seemed a little creepy even to Ethan, a way of experiencing something like normalcy through vicarious interrogation.

On the phone, Danny seemed to be getting upset. “What do you mean she’s missing too?”

That perked his ears up. He moved to stand in front of Danny, whose lips thinned out as he pointed to his ear with his free hand.

“— told me she’d been emotionally withdrawn, so her mother asked Jackson to go down to Cambridge and check up on her. That was like six days ago.”

“Six days?”

“Jackson and Lydia are adults, Danny, and Jackson’s never been the most sharing person. We … I guess we didn’t want to press him too hard, since everything has been going so much better.”

Danny’s face drew taut. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Whittemore. I’ll try to call them, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll talk to some of our mutual friends. If I find out where he is, I’ll either make sure he calls you or I’ll let you know.”

“We wouldn’t be worried, because we always hoped that they would get back together, but … with what happened …”

“I understand, Mr. Whittemore. I have class in a bit, so I’ll have to call you back later.”

“Thank you, Danny, for doing this. We hope it’s nothing.”

Danny bade Jackson’s father farewell and hung up. He sighed and then turned to Ethan, seeming to ask a question with his eyes.

“I don’t know anything.”

“Wow,” Danny smiled. “You read that wrong. I was trying to ask if you think we should call the pack.”

Ethan felt himself blushing. “Sorry.”

Danny crossed over and put his hand on Ethan’s face. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it as many times as I have to: you don’t have to prove you’ve changed to me. You don’t have to be afraid that I’m going to find something in your past that’s going to make me change the way I feel about you, either.”

Ethan took the hand and squeezed it. “And I’ll reply again, you don’t know everything Aiden and I have done, so I’m still going to get anxious from time to time. But, if you can get ahold of one of Jackson’s and Lydia’s friends, you should call them right now. I’m going to call Aiden.”

The time for them to go to class came and went while they were still on the phone. Ethan filled Aiden in with what little he knew, and then told them that Ethan, at least, would be in Beacon Hills by dinnertime.

“I’m going to throw a few things in a bag.”

“I’ll get the stuff from the bathroom.” Danny took a few steps in that direction before Ethan stopped him.

“Danny—”

“What?”

“You don’t have to come.” Ethan said, sincerely. “You can just tell me what I need to know by phone.”

“Seriously?” Danny said, irritated, and went into the bathroom.

“You said—” Ethan tried to follow him up.

“When I said I don’t want to be involved in every Nemeton-inspired fiasco in Beacon Hills, I meant it. But this is Jackson and Lydia. It may not even involve the supernatural.”

Ethan went up and grabbed Danny’s hands, pulling them toward him. “If — and I say if — they haven't gone off on an unscheduled vacation in the middle of the semester without telling anyone, especially you, then it has to be something supernatural. We’ll find them.”

“And I’ll be right there when you do. Wanting to minimize my exposure doesn’t mean I won’t be there when people need me.”

“I know.” Ethan kissed him on the forehead. “Everyone knows that. I’ll pack some stuff for you.”

They had suitcases in the bedroom ready for incidents like this. It wouldn’t take very long before they were ready to go. Ethan watched the clock move past nine, which mean that Danny was at least going to miss one class, and probably a whole lot more.

“Do you think …” Danny said from the bedroom door.

Ethan turned without even shutting the suitcase.

“Do you think there’s a chance that they’re dead? Jackson and Lydia.”

“Probably not,” Ethan said as confidently as he could, then turned around and shut both suitcases. “The one thing I’ve learned about banshees is that the greater the certainty of death, the stronger their reaction to it, and everything you guys have told me points to Jackson being hard to kill. I think they have to be still alive.”

“I hope you’re right.”

February 6th, 2015 – Avengers Tower, New York City

Steve barely managed to duck under the swing. It was close enough that he felt the displacement from the blow ruffle his hair. The werewolf’s strikes had come closer and closer as they sparred, but Steve still wasn’t satisfied with what he was seeing.

“Let’s take a break.”

“Okay.” Scott relaxed out of his fighting stance. “Is this what you guys do between missions?”

“Sometimes we spar, though not as much as we’ve done the last few weeks.”

“I see.” Scott shrugged. “I won’t hold you guys back if it comes to something like that.”

“I don’t think you will.” Steve smiled as he picked up a towel. “I’ll be right back.”

Steve head into to the observation room, where he found Natasha, Thor, and Bruce had been watching the sparring session. Bruce had taken quite an interest in the young man ever since he had arrived at the tower.

The scientist pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Things seem to be going well, aren’t they?”

“I guess.” Steve turned to look at McCall, who had sat down on the bench in the sparring arena.

“You guess?” Natasha turned on her chair. “He seems fine from here. He’s been well-trained and he’s obviously seen actual combat.”

“You can tell?” Bruce interrupted.

“Aye.” Thor nodded. “A life-or-death battle leaves traces no amount of training can match.”

“As he said, it’s pretty obvious when you know how to look.” Natasha winked at Bruce. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry too much about him, Steve, any more than you worry about anyone of us.”

“Probably less, considering his ability to heal.”

“His skills aren’t the problem, Bruce.” Steve crossed his arms. “He’s holding back.”

“He’s been able to put up a good fight while keeping things under control. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Thor grimaced. “Discipline in battle is a talent every warrior must learn, but there is a difference between wielding your power and being afraid of it. Is that your concern, Steve?”

“Partly. I don’t know his full history. Even if he didn’t have good reasons for not sharing it, we don’t have the right to demand he tell us everything. But I’m going to be leading this kid into battle—”

“Cap, he’s twenty years old,” Natasha pointed out. “It’s not like you’re trying to snatch a teenager out of third-period algebra.”

Steve shook his head and smiled at her. “Fair enough. And while I do want to see what he can do when he pulls out all the stops, there’s another aspect to this: Project Vargulf.”

It took a moment for his implication to dawn in the other three Avengers.

“We know that the Fox has been turning omega werewolves into shock troops. If they fight like McCall is fighting now, they won’t be much of a problem, but what if they fight like the werewolf you tangled with in New Mexico, Thor?”

They had showed the alpha the footage from Tony’s suit for the fight at Puente Antiguo. McCall had identified the Beast as a werewolf, though a particularly powerful and nasty one.

“Would you like me to spar with him? I could draw out his full power.”

“That might not answer Cap’s question, big guy,” Bruce turned to look through the glass. “He told me that a werewolf’s physical abilities are influenced by both internal and external factors, most of which he had trouble with while adapting to his new state. If you want to see what he’s like with all the brakes off, then we either need to wait until the next full moon or we need to find some way to heighten his aggression.”

“You mean, get him angry?” Natasha asked. “I’ve got this.”

“Nat …” Steve began.

“Cap, you already feel sorry for dragging him into this, so you’re not going to be able to deliberately push his buttons, and Thor, I love you, but you’re not the most skilled when it comes to emotional manipulation.”

The Asgardian shrugged. “’Tis true.”

Steve gave it some thought before he sighed. “You’re probably right. Don’t make it too rough on him, okay?”

Natasha fake scowled at him. “When have I ever been too rough?” She left to go change.

Steve returned to watching McCall. Natasha had been right; he did feel a little too guilty to attempt what she was going to do. On the other hand, he needed to know. Every time he led anyone into battle, he had to keep in mind that the outcome was never written in stone. The Avengers might be more powerful and less vulnerable than say the Howling Commandos, but what they didn’t know could still kill them all the same. The battle in New Mexico had taught them that.

A train in the Austrian Alps had taught him that.

Natasha entered the training room, so Steve focused back on her. She had put on her full Black Widow costume.

McCall looked up from where he had been sitting. “Oh. Hello.”

“Cap had something come up, so I’ll continue the session.” Natasha walked over to the middle of the practice area. “Unless you have problems fighting a girl?”

“No.” The werewolf grimaced. “I learned my lesson about that a long time ago.”

“Do tell.”

“Can’t say much — won’t say much — but the werewolf with the best hand-to-hand fighting skills I’ve ever seen was a woman.”

Natasha smirked as she came closer, and Steve winced because she had put McCall exactly where she wanted him: within reach but unaware. When the werewolf glanced in a different direction, she lashed out with her baton and struck him on the leg with enough force to pop his kneecap out. McCall staggered back, hopping on one leg.

“How’s that for fighting skill?”

“I wasn’t—” McCall bit off his reply and then reached down with one hand and popped the bone back into place.

Natasha feinted low with one baton but then delivered a jumping spinning crescent kick to the side of his head; it knocked him around and down on one knee.

“Were you going to say that you weren’t ready?” she teased.

He turned around, and his eyes were blazing red. He lunged forward grabbing Natasha and seeking to pin her with his admittedly greater strength. Steve winced; this was going to hurt.

“Hands off, puppy.” Natasha shocked McCall with the emergency stun gun concealed in her gloves and hit again in the gut with her stun baton when he released her.

Next to Steve, Bruce wrung his hands. “At least she’s not using full power.”

“The young wolf would probably prefer it if she did,” Thor commented.

In the training room, McCall got back on his feet, recovering quickly. “I get what you’re trying to do, but I don’t get why?”

“I’m not like the others. I don’t have the patience for children.” Natasha circled him at a distance. “I’m not going to go into battle with someone who can’t cut it.”

“Can’t cut it?” McCall took a breath. “You guys asked me to come here!”

The Black Widow tagged him with one of her Taser disks. It would have put a normal human down for the count, but McCall forced himself to push through the spasms and yank it off.

“When you’re on a team, you have to be able to compromise.” Natasha replied coldly. “No matter what they believe, I don’t think you’re going to be that useful. I suspect that back home you’re a big fish in a little pond and you like it that way.”

Steve always marveled at how convincing Natasha was when she needed to be. Her voice had been the loudest in insisting they needed to bring in McCall.

The alpha crushed the disk in one hand, and when he opened it, his claws had fully extended. “Like it … I don’t like any of this. I didn’t ask for this!”

The Black Widow rushed at him but when he grabbed her wrist, she slid, letting her momentum throw him into the air. The werewolf twisted his own body to be able to land on his feet, while Natasha kipped up.

“I wonder,” she drawled, “how many times you’ve used that in your speeches? How much mileage do you get out of it? If you don’t like it, you should give it up.”

“I can’t stop being a werewolf!” He snarled through a mouth full of fangs.

Natasha tossed another stun disk at him, but he dodged this one. “You can stop being in charge. You can stop trying to save the day.”

In the observation room, Bruce turned to him. “What’s she doing?”

Steve sighed. “What she has to.”

McCall shook his head. “No. I don’t have a choice. I’ve got this power, so I have to do something.”

“Then fight me.” Natasha spat.

“I am fighting you.”

Dodging in low, she launched a fury of blows with her batons at his weak points. He blocked some of them and absorbed others. He tried to sweep her legs out from under her, but she saw it coming from a mile away and reward him with a crack across the face.

“No, you’re not.” She laughed at him. “I’m not a slouch, but I’ve never faced something like you. You should be able wipe the floor with me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Oh,” Steve shook his head again. “Wrong thing to say.”

Natasha rushed him again but this time, she used his own leg as a vault so she could wrap her legs around his head. Twisting her body, she threw him to the ground. As he tried to rise, she kicked him in the head.

“That’s what White Knights like you don’t get,” she once more stood up. “You think that conflict has rules, that there’s a way to use power in the middle of chaos and make sure no one gets hurt.”

“I’m … not … a White Knight. I’ve hurt people.” He pushed himself into a squat.

“On purpose? Violence can’t be controlled; it can only be ended.” She knocked him down again. “And you are a White Knight if you’ll only go as far as you’re comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” McCall growled in response. Lifting his head with his face had fully transformed into a werewolf, he roared at her. The sound was so loud that the window between the observation chamber and the training room rattled.

“Whoa.” Bruce looked around.

“Thor, be ready.”

“I am.” The Asgardian was already moving toward the door.

Natasha was visibly shaken by the roar. They hadn’t known he could do that. “That’s impressive. Still doesn’t make what I said wrong. How many people have died so you could remain pure?”

McCall rose from where he was, his claws digging furrows in the floor. Steve noted that Scott's skin had darkened, and the whites of his eyes had gone completely black.

“Did you really do everything you could to keep your friend safe?”

A ripple of transformation passed over McCall’s face, robbing any humanity from it as he sprung at the Black Widow.

Steve went to order Thor to intervene, but he was already out the door.

McCall was across the room, moving faster than he ever had before, slightly bigger than he was before, and far more savage. In a flash, the werewolf had the Black Widow up against the wall, slamming her into it hard enough to knock the air out of her lungs. Steve noted that while his claws were actually starting to rip through Natasha’s armor, the alpha wasn’t using them to inflict damage.

“Enough!” Thor grabbed McCall around the chest and pulled him back bodily. The boy flailed and twisted but as strong as he was, Thor had a good grip and was significantly stronger. “Enough, I say!”

Steve bolted into the practice room, followed closely by Bruce. He walked straight up to the angry werewolf, whose transformation was already receding. “Get it together.”

“You …” The color faded from his eyes. “She did that on purpose.”

Over against the wall, Bruce was checking over Natasha who protested that she was fine.

“She did, at my request.”

McCall tapped Thor’s arm, and the Asgardian let him go.

“Why?”

Steve certainly wasn’t going to tell McCall that he wanted to see how dangerous werewolves could be. “I needed to know how you would react when you were emotionally compromised.”

“Oh.” McCall dropped his eyes to the ground.

“Look at me, Scott.” Steve ordered and waited for the young man to raise his head again. “Every single person in this room has been emotionally compromised on a mission. My goal isn’t to shame you; my goal is to be able to compensate for such things when it happens to you in the field.”

“The captain is correct. I let my brother stab me on this very building.” Thor was trying to be helpful.

Bruce chuckled. “You could say that I have to be emotionally compromised to be useful.”

McCall returned to full human shape but turned to Natasha. “But you weren’t lying when you said those things.”

“No.” Natasha shook her head. “The most effective manipulations aren’t based on lies. They’re based on the truth. From what I know, nothing I said was false, but I twisted them to play into your own fears and resentments.”

“So I’m a child?”

“You’re not a soldier,” Natasha responded with a shrug. “There’s a difference. I’ve done things that have made me harder than you, but I wouldn’t wish that upon my worse enemy. Cap here has spent years at war; Thor has spent centuries. It changes you, and not in a good way.”

“And if you think you didn’t do enough to protect your friend,” Cap replied, “I won’t tell you that you’re wrong, but I will give you a chance to make up for it.”

“If we’re all done exploring violence for today,” Bruce interrupted testily, “I think we should eat. We’ll all feel better on a full stomach.”

Chapter Text

February 7, 2015 – Beacon Hills, California

The members of the pack had agreed to meet at Derek’s loft at noon. Usually, a pack meeting would have been held at the McCall house, but Scott had insisted that no more business be done there as long as he was in New York.

“I don’t see why,” Cora complained. “It’s not like he doesn’t trust us.”

“Scott believed that it was very possible the Avengers might have someone watch his home in case Hydra noticed what he was doing and choose to counterattack,” Allison explained.

“By which he meant, Stiles counterattacking.”

Derek frowned at Peter. “Saying things like that is what makes you unpopular.”

“Almost everyone in this room, my dear nephew, has done things that could be considered damaging to one’s reputation.” Peter’s eyes drifted first to Chris Argent, then to his daughter, then to Isaac Lahey, then to the twins, and finally even to Malia, before returning to Derek. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“The difference, Peter,” snapped Melissa McCall, “is that everyone else feels bad about what they did, and you don’t.”

“Everyone makes excuses for what they feel they had to do. I simply can’t be bothered to pretend to be sincere about mine. But as your darling son would no doubt point out if he were here, it’s not what we’ve done that matters now, it’s what we’re going to do.”

Quoting Scott did not mollify Melissa. From the look on her face, she would have stabbed Peter if she had something sharp at hand.

“Peter, can you stop being a drama queen for a moment?” Malia fretted from her position on the couch. “Something important is going on, but I still don’t understand what it is.”

“What don’t you understand?” Aiden snapped from his position near the window. “One of our pack may be missing.”

Cora snarled at him; it was still a reflex when either of the twins spoke in her presence.

“You know Lydia, Malia,” Allison said helpfully. “And while you never met Jackson, he used to go to school here.”

“Oh, I remember her,” Malia shrugged. “I’m just thinking that she would have contacted us if she was in trouble. I heard they used to date. Maybe they eloped?”

Everyone slowly turned to face the werecoyote.

“What? It happened on one of the shows me and Dad watch.”

“While I find it highly unlikely that Lydia and Jackson would elope without telling any of their closest friends,” Chris Argent put in, glancing at Danny, “we can’t rule out that they aren’t simply taking an unprompted vacation. They’ve endured a lot of trauma.”

Isaac frowned. “We aren’t children.”

“I’m not saying you are. Even adults can have delayed reactions to unbearable stress.”

Everyone avoided looking at the elder Hales. The awkwardness was alleviated when all the supernatural creatures turned to the open loft door, responding to footfalls coming up the stairs.

“So, it’s possible that there’s nothing to worry about.” Melissa sounded hopeful.

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid not.” Sheriff Stilinski walked through the door, carrying a manila folder. “About an hour ago, I received a call from the Connecticut State Police. Jackson Whittemore’s car was found parked in someone’s barn near Willington, Connecticut. Both Lydia’s and Jackson’s cell phones were found inside, and their luggage was found in the trunk.”

“That’s strange,” Peter observed wryly. “Porsches don’t have much trunk space.”

“Shut up,” Derek snapped.

“They’re treating this as an abduction.” The sheriff went on, ignoring the exchange. “And I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t either.”

Chris was frowning. “Can you describe the barn?”

Noah wrinkled up his nose. “Describe the …?” He waved the folder in his hands. “It’s a barn, for cows. There’s a picture in here.”

Both Argents got up at the same time. Chris came over and took the folder, but Allison turned to the rest of the pack. “So, who should go? Not all of us, obviously.”

“I definitely am,” Aiden announced, turning from the window.

“Before we get too excited,” Danny broke in, “and I hope I don’t sound callous here, but how do we know this isn’t a mundane abduction, which sort of means that we should let the police handle it?”

“It’s not mundane.” Derek sighed as he moved to come face-to-face with Allison.

“How do you know for sure?”

“It’s the only logical conclusion,” Deaton finally spoke up from his position near the hole in the wall. “No human kidnappers would be able to overpower Jackson, even as an omega, unless they had come with the knowledge of the supernatural or decided to use lethal force. It would take heavy firepower for amateurs to disable him. Lydia would probably have sensed any chance of death, so while it is within the realm of possibility that mundane criminals managed to kidnap them, it is highly unlikely. To do so without anyone witnessing it is even more unlikely. I feel it is only common sense that we operate under the assumption that their abductors are people who realized what they were.”

“Who would want to take them?” Malia shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

“An enemy of the Hale Pack,” Cora muttered bitterly. “Pick one.”

“As much as it might be easier to think in those terms,” Ethan said from his spot next to his Danny, “we should keep an open mind. There are others who might want to capture a powerful banshee and an ex-kanima.”

Allison finally cleared her throat. “We need to investigate this ourselves, so I ask again, who wants to go?”

Everyone who possibly could leave at this time – which left out Deaton, Melissa, and the Sheriff – signaled that they would.

“We can’t all go.” Derek cautioned; he licked his lips with a glance at the sheriff. “This could be a trick to leave Beacon Hills undefended.”

“You can say it out loud, Derek,” Noah said heavily. “Everyone’s thinking it, anyway, and they’re right. We can’t ignore the possibility that this could be Stiles.”

Without a word, Melissa came over and put her hand on Noah’s arm. No one else seemed willing to continue on that line of thought. Well, almost nobody.

“That actually makes a great deal of sense,” Peter nodded, musing. “He knows both their abilities and as people, and he has at his command trained agents of a clandestine organization.”

“Why would he want to take Lydia?” Cora wondered out loud.

“Banshees are rare, and Lydia is a particular powerful one. Their ability to perceive future events is almost unheard of in the supernatural world, and as far as I’ve been able to glean, unknown among what they’re calling enhanced individuals.” Deaton frowned. “The Avengers are now focusing their attention on him, and if he has discovered this, he’ll need to go after any advantage he can.”

“Which is why the first thing we need to do is tell Scott about this.” Isaac had remained silent through most of the conversation. “We need tell him right now. He’d want to know.”

“He would,” agreed Derek, “but he also went to great lengths to conceal our identities from the authorities, and he’s done it more than once. I agreed with his reasoning both times.”

“I didn’t say tell them.” Isaac surged to his feet. “I said tell him.”

“How do we suggest we do that, Isaac?” Derek shot back. “Call him on the phone? Send him an e-mail? Do you think that Tony Stark doesn’t have the ability to monitor every single communication that goes into and out of that building? Do you really think they’re not going to be keeping an eye on him? They’ve discovered a part of the world they knew nothing about — our part of the world. Hydra nearly took the planet right under their feet, because no one knew it was there. They won’t trust him. They can’t trust him. And so, we can’t trust them.”

“Derek …” Isaac voice broke.

“I know I sound like I did when I first came back to Beacon Hills, but this isn’t the same.”

“I have to agree with Derek.” Deaton said suddenly.

“That’s a change of tune,” Peter snarked. “How did you rate his performance before?”

“Derek’s errors when he was alpha came not from being cautious but from his inability to separate his emotions from his responsibilities as leader. Trusting no one on principle is as dangerous as trusting everyone on principle.” The veterinarian replied calmly. “His caution is not unwise in this situation. While I agree, Isaac, that Scott would no doubt wish to know, there is little he could do even if he did know. Especially if he wishes, as he so clearly does, to conceal as much of the supernatural from the Avengers as possible.”

Melissa pursed her lips. “I may have a way to tell him that might not be intercepted. The kidnappers crossed state lines, didn’t they?”

Noah narrowed his eyes for a moment, then he nodded with understanding. “That they did. Sounds like we need to talk to the FBI.”

“Be that as it may, Scott’s not going to be able to do much, so we still have to send people to investigate.” Chris Argent drew everyone’s attention. “And the earlier point still stands that we can’t all go. I propose that Allison, myself, Aiden and Peter head to Connecticut immediately. Allison, you’re Matriarch; Derek, you’re Scott’s second; and Deaton, you’re his Emissary. Do you agree?”

Deaton and Derek nodded, while Allison caught her father’s eye. She was probably wondering why Chris would voluntarily work with Peter. She stared at him for a minute before nodding. “It’s settled. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.” She turned to Danny. “Can you see what else you can find out without being discovered?”

Danny saluted and patted his computer. “Yeah, already on it.”

The meeting broke up after that. Melissa went with Isaac and the Sheriff to work on their plan to contact Scott, while Ethan, Aiden, and Danny went back to Aiden’s house so Aiden could pack, and Danny could get to work. Cora and Malia went into the kitchen to get lunch started. With a silent gesture at her father, Allison led her father, Derek, and Peter out onto the balcony. Unsurprisingly, Deaton was already out there.

“Want to tell me what didn’t want to talk about in front of the others, Dad?”

Chris Argent’s eyes flashed at the veterinarian.

“You need not worry about me. I may have already divined the reason behind the secrecy.”

“It may be nothing,” Chris admitted.

“Why don’t you let us be the judge of that?” Derek gritted out.

“Using remote barns to stash vehicles is a trick my father taught me when you didn’t want a pack alerted immediately that you had taken one their allies for interrogation. Even when a car had been found, the pack would spend time investigating the farm for more clues, and there wouldn’t be any.”

“Ah.” Peter nodded. “Thank you, Christopher. You’re a man of your word.”

Allison looked upset; her eyes shifted between the pair of them. “What word?”

Derek frowned, Peter smirked, and Chris’s face went neutral, but none of them answered her.

“What word, Dad?”

“I’d guess that they’re trying to figure out how to tell you that your father gave Peter permission to hunt Gerard down,” Deaton suggested.

“Is that true?” Allison’s voice became hard.

Chris told her the entire story. In the aftermath of Gerard trying to set SHIELD agents on Scott, the three of them had traded a cure for the crippling condition Scott’s mountain-ash poisoning had left him in exchange for the entirety of Argent Arms without a promise of safe passage and a warning that Peter would hunt him down outside of Beacon Hills.

“I am the Matriarch of the Argent family, Dad, and not just while we’re in Beacon Hills. Sanctioning kills is my responsibility; you taught me that. Did you think I wouldn’t be able to handle giving Gerard over? Or did you think I would say no?”

“We thought you might tell Scott.” Derek interrupted before Chris could defend himself. “Scott would never sanction an execution, and that’s what this was. You may have the final say for the Argent family, but when it comes to the Hale Pack, that’s Scott.”

“You’re damn right I would tell him if you were going behind his back.”

“Scott’s still too young and naive to realize that a little pre-emptive murder is good for everyone,” Peter sneered. “And rather than endure dreary weeks of internal dissension, we took it out of his hands.”

Allison sneered right back. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Allison, we were trying to keep Gerard from hurting people.”

“Well, you failed.” She shook her head. “Instead of a man who could barely attempt to cross his room without his wheelchair, we have one of the most experienced hunters in the world on the loose without any benefit of the Code. Amazing strategy, Dad, really top notch.”

Derek licked his lips. “He was still dangerous in that chair.”

“And he’s less dangerous now?” Allison’s voice rose. “Here he was contained. I guarantee you that if he is behind this, he is the absolute opposite of contained.”

“So, you going to try to stop us, princess?”

Derek and Chris attempted to murder Peter with their eyes.

“No. I authorize the execution of my grandfather for complicity in the death of the innocent members of the Hale family and the death of my mother. That gives you a little bit of cover, you idiots, but it also gives you a deadline because I’m telling Scott the moment he comes back.”

February 7th, 2015 – Harlem, New York City

“I’m sorry! I’m late! I’ll be back tomorrow!” Kira had never really understood how she could possess the ability to control electricity, the ability to heal, enhanced reflexes, and a selection of inherited skills, yet she could never seem to keep track of time. She would literally have to run to get to the subway in order to get to Tanya’s house on time.

Her father said something, but she couldn’t make it out from his upstairs study.

“What?” She called.

He shouted something again, and it was still unintelligible.

“What? I can’t hear you!”

“Kira,” her mother scolded, emerging from the kitchen. “Don’t yell in the house. You’re not a child anymore.”

Kira could have made a great show of stomping up the staircase, but her mother was right. She took the stairs one at a time, even as she was aware of precious time passing. Her father was working in his upstairs study on a new book about rationing during the Second World War. “Dad, I didn’t hear what you said.”

“I asked if you were taking a warm enough coat.”

“Dad.” She loved him but sometimes he forgot that she was twenty and not fifteen. “We’re not going skiing, we’re going shopping.”

“And after you’re done shopping, you’re going clubbing, and there’s a chance of blizzard conditions after midnight.”

Kira put both hands on her chest. “Dad, I have classes in the morning—”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I was your age, too, once. Make sure you have a warm coat with you, and if you can’t get a taxi when you’re done, call me. You may be an adult now, but I’m still your father.”

She couldn’t bring herself to laugh at him or even be exasperated. All he wanted to do was protect her for as long as he was able. “Sure. I’ll take a heavier coat, but I’m absolutely sure we aren’t going out.”

“Of course, Kira, but don’t be afraid to call anyway.”

Rolling her eyes, she hurried out of the house with a quick wave to her mother. Glancing at her phone as she rushed down the street toward the subway, she figured that if she was really lucky and she ran real fast, she would only be a little bit late, rather than a lot late.

While she sat on the subway filled with people hurrying home from work, she had time to think. Her father had always been more involved with her life when compared to her friends’ fathers, and after their three-month stay in Beacon Hills, he had become far more open about it. Part of his motivation, of course, was that he loved her very much. She would never doubt that. But now she realized that he had, at some time in the past, decided to make sure that she would have enough memories of him to last her entire life — even if that life turned out to be centuries long.

It was only in quiet moments like this one that she felt a spike of fear.

Kira stared at the advertisements on the wall of the subway across from her. The world — this whole world — had been built to operate for humans who had a certain expectation of years: two decades for childhood, one decade to be wild and free, three decades to be hard-working parents, and two decades to come to terms with the end. Eighty years would be a good lifespan for almost everyone she had ever met or ever would meet.

Yet, if she was careful, if she was wise, she would live that span at least ten times over. And for most of those centuries, she would be alone. In a twisted bit of irony, it made time as precious to her as it was to the mayfly. She had vowed she would never get angry at her father for his dopey attempts to make her life better. She would cherish them. She would never allow her frustration with her mother’s reticent nature to drive them apart. She would accept both the good and the bad.

In the end, though she had contemplated not doing so, she had picked up again with her friend Tanya the moment she had moved back to New York, acting as if she had been gone a weekend and not three months. Her mother had quizzed her carefully about Tanya until Kira had put together that Noshiko was probably worried that Kira would give something away. Kira, already very angry with her mother for making them leave, had been even angrier with the subterfuge until the first time Tanya had asked her about California and Kira had had no idea what to say.

She had had no choice but to go to her mother, because Noshiko must have had experience in keeping friends through the centuries. The older fox had simply nodded and decided to make it a training exercise. They worked together on how to tell Tanya as much of the truth as she could, while still protecting what must be protected. Her mother had promised that it would be a skill she would need many times over the years.

Tanya and she had some rough spots because of it, but she had finally convinced her friend that it wasn’t because she didn’t trust her that she didn’t want to talk about Beacon Hills. It hadn’t been hard; she didn’t want to talk about what could have been and now would probably never be.

Tanya was waiting for her outside her apartment. Kira was only half-an-hour late.

“Do I want to know why you made me stand out in the cold?”

“My parents.”

Tanya smiled. She liked Ken and Noshiko. “For this, you’ll buy dinner.”

Tanya had several birthdays to shop for and she had drafted Kira for help. Kira found she seemed to have a talent for matching people with styles that contemplated their own sense of aesthetics. All her friends had so often complimented her on it that Kira was seriously thinking about making it a career.

Her first career, she corrected herself, internally.

The night turned out to be fun and lucky. Tanya found what she needed within the first hour, and even Kira had picked up something for her father’s study: a mug that read “Teachers Do It With Class.”

They had dinner at a trendy restaurant, which Kira found both terribly loud and uncomfortable. The menu was so expensive that Tanya apologized for making her pay before making another suggestion.

“Let’s go to a club.”

Kira sighed.

“We got done shopping early. Come on, please? It’ll be fun.”

It did sound like fun. “Okay, though my dad is never going to let me live it down if he finds out. Let’s not go somewhere trendy, okay? The restaurant was a bit too much.”

“I’ve got an idea, if you’re feeling a little adventurous.” Tanya winked at her. “There’s a club in the Meatpacking District that’s so brand new, it hasn’t even been advertised yet.”

Kira gracefully surrendered, since Tanya had obviously planned this from before they left the house. That was how Kira and Tanya found themselves waiting in line when the first snowflakes started to fall from the sky. While Tanya had been correct about the place being terribly new — its Grand Opening was still ten days away — enough word of mouth had gotten around that they had already been waiting for five minutes as the line slowly moved forward.

They weren’t bored, as Tanya and Kira started talking about Tanya’s new boyfriend, who might actually be working at the club. It made Kira a little sad, but she was happy enough for her friend that she didn’t let it show up on her face or in her voice.

Suddenly, Tanya trailed off, her eyes drifting over Kira’s shoulder. “Hey, isn’t that your mother?”

Kira turned sharply in alarm, even though she was an adult. She had endured enough of her mother’s scolds over the years to be afraid of their sharp sting. But her mother wasn’t coming to lecture her; instead, Kira caught someone who could have been her mother disappearing into an alley between a closed fashion boutique and an abandoned restaurant. “Maybe.”

“I could have sworn it was her.”

“Save my place, okay? I’ll be right back.” Kira left without waiting for Tanya to agree. She moved quickly down the street, snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes. She moved the way that her mother had shown her, reinforced by memories of other lives. As she had learned more and more about how to call upon skills learned in another world, she had begun to relish what she could do.

Stopping just before the corner of the alley, she listened.

“Thank you for meeting me here.” It was a male voice, strong and deep, with an English accent.

“You said it was important.”

Someone rapped on what had to be a metal door.

“Our quarry rejected the initial trap.”

“I could have told you that it would,” Noshiko said shortly. “It’s far too old to expose itself like that.”

“It was worth the try. I was hoping the introduction of Stiles Stilinski’s personality might have dulled its cleverness.”

Kira froze, successfully fighting off the urge to gasp.

Someone knocked again on the door. “We are obviously not so lucky. We must move to Plan B.”

“An unfortunate necessity. Are you still willing to participate?”

Before her mother could answer, the door opened, and someone greeted them. “Good evening, Mrs. Yukimura. Good evening, Master Deucalion. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Thank you,” her mother answered. “Of course, I’m still willing. My resolve has not wavered.”

Kira didn’t move. Deucalion! In the brief time she was with Scott’s pack in Beacon Hills, she had heard about him. How did her mother know him? Why did she know him?

For a moment, she was afraid that Deucalion had sensed her, but it would probably have been difficult for even an alpha like him to pick out what little sound she had made against the background noise of Manhattan. She was lucky that she was downwind of him, and that he could be confused by the traces of scent that were no doubt on her mother.

There would have been a lot of awkward explanations if she’d been caught, but the fact she hadn’t been gave her a new set of difficulties. How much did she want to know? If she did find out the truth, what would she do with it?

February 8, 2015 – Avengers Tower, Manhattan

The best thing about owning a skyscraper, Tony Stark decided, was that when the need to walk out a problem became overwhelming, he had both a lot of space available in which to do it and one hell of a view. Outside the windows, he could see the snowflakes coming down over the shining expanse of Manhattan. He took a moment to appreciate the beauty of it before getting back to work, which tonight meant turning things over in his head.

His father had once proclaimed that there was no problem that could not be solved with the appropriate application of thought and technology. Tony may have liked to pretend publicly that he had never listened to Howard, but he had, and he had come to believe the same thing as well. Unfortunately, ‘could be solved’ did not necessarily mean — in fact, it very seldom meant — ‘easily solved,’ and the problem that bothered him this evening was one of those which would be very, very not easily solved.

The United States had been transformed during the first half of twentieth century from a nation of railroads to a nation of automobiles, and anyone with an eye to the future would recognize that with the benefit of hindsight this had been a mistake. The reign of the automobile had given Americans what seemed to be more freedom, but it had also become becoming a weight on the necks of the poor, a blight on urban areas, and an unrelenting scourge on the environment.

The obvious solution would be to increase the use of mass transit; Tony had already sketched out three different new systems which could resolve most of the dangers of continued dependence on individual vehicles. It wasn’t difficult.

The difficult problem would be getting the nation to adopt these systems. Automobile manufacturing was a major industry, and there were many, many people who valued the wealth that it generated. Tony was pretty sure he could take them in a fair fight, but they wouldn’t play fair. They’d strike at the political process, preventing necessary infrastructure reforms. In addition, whatever went for the car manufacturers would go double for the oil companies.

Then there was an even more intractable problem. Advertising had created a cultural belief in the United States that owning a car was equal with being independent, as if automobiles didn’t make an individual consumer dependent on the price of gas, the cost of insurance, or even the availability of car mechanics. Any attempt to promote mass transit would have to grapple with that belief; Tony was at a loss as to what to do there.

Individual people he could persuade, even if it meant wearing them down with his irritating charm, but Tony had yet to master the intricacies of mass appeal. He wasn’t without resources; he had already drafted a memo declaring that the next Stark Expo would be about new ideas in transportation.

On the other hand, while politics wasn’t like thermonuclear astrophysics, Tony had never met a topic he wouldn’t eventually master.

Lost in thought, he walked right into the room where their new guest, Scott McCall, was having what sounded like an unpleasant conversation on the phone.

“I’m not here for sightseeing.” The werewolf sounded both irritated and tired at the same time.

Tony almost asked JARVIS who the young man was talking to on the phone until he realized that McCall would probably hear him snooping. Instead, he pulled out his own phone and texted the A.I.

“Why do you want to do this now? I haven’t heard from you since last year.”

JARVIS responded with quick efficiency: -Special Agent Rafael McCall of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and Scott McCall’s father.

“I just can’t drop everything because you …” Scott listened to the other side of the call and then closed his eyes and sighed. “I’ll see if I can do it. Lunch tomorrow. No. No, don’t come here. There’s a coffee shop down the street. I’ll text you. No, I said I’ll text you. Okay? Alright.”

McCall looked at the phone in exasperation before hanging up. Tony felt that now would be a good time to speak; the werewolf would have to know he was there. Bruce’s workup on the werewolf’s senses had been quite thorough.

“We’re not military, you know. If you want to take an afternoon off, no one is going to freak. Not even Steve.”

“I figured as much. I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I just ... I’m not sure why he feels the need to do this now.”

“Only my employees call me Mr. Stark.” Tony burned with curiosity about the clearly complex relationship between the werewolf and his father, but it wasn’t really his place to pry. “If you wanted to invite him into the tower that wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I don’t want him here.” Scott said too quickly before scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. “It’s going to be difficult enough selling him the cover story about why I’m here in the first place. I may not like him very much, but he’s not stupid.”

Tony felt one eyebrow come up. “He doesn’t know?”

“He doesn’t even know I’m a werewolf. My dad … he kind of has this habit of making everything about him, and he’s in law enforcement, so I didn’t want him involved in my life much at all.” Scott grimaced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dump my family problems on you, but I guess you should know.”

“I might be more sympathetic than you think. If something comes up, I’ll let everyone know where you are.”

“Thanks.”

“Now, I was heading toward the cafeteria in order to raid the kitchen for the possibility of some peanut butter pie. Actually, I know it has peanut butter pie because I specifically requested JARVIS make sure it was stocked. Want a piece?”

“Sure.” Scott smiled. “I like pie.”

There were actually three different types of peanut butter pies, which confused Tony for only a moment until he burst into a big smile. Three different people on staff must have known that he liked them, and so three different people had made sure they were there.

“Making hot chocolate with water and instant mix should be a major felony,” Tony held forth, after declaring that they couldn’t have pie without cocoa. “True hot chocolate is made with shaved chocolate mixed with heavy cream. Here you go.”

“That’s pretty good.”

They had small talk while they ate. It turned out that McCall was studying to be a veterinarian when he had time, and Tony refrained from going for any of the obvious jokes.

"-Sir. We have a situation."

“What is it?”

"-There is a discrepancy between data on the visual cameras in the building and data from my biometric scans. I can visually track the intruders, but they do not seem to exist to most other sensors."

“Well, that’s not good.” Tony stood up and went over to the nearest utility alcove. “Can you send me the video images to this monitor?”

JARVIS complied. From what little he could see, the intruders were dressed all in black, a version of the traditional Japanese shozoku. They had appeared sporadically on the cameras in different parts of the building for the last five minutes. According to the other sensors, they made no sound, had no heartbeat, and possessed no temperature. For all intents and purposes, they didn’t exist.

“It doesn’t make any sense. If they have the technology to avoid all the other sensors, why use physical techniques to avoid the cameras? And what’s with the Halloween masks?”

"-I have identified them as representing demons from traditional Japanese folklore."

“Wait? What?” Scott hurried over to where he was standing. “Oh. Oh! You need to sound the alarm or something. Those are oni!”

Tony grimaces. “That doesn’t sound good. Where are they now, JARVIS?”

"-I can no longer track them."

“Kitsune can summon oni,” Scott exclaimed. “Is there anything here beside me that Stiles might want?”

Tony blinked as he did a quick inventory. The intruders weren’t trying to hurt anyone. That would have been noticed immediately. Then the truth occurred to him. “JARVIS, tell anyone available to get to the detention level. This is a prison break!”

Chapter Text

February 8, 2015 – New York City

In the days immediately after the Avengers beat back the Chitauri invasion, Tony had expected to be able to take a few days off, but that ended up not being the case. One of the first problems the team had been forced to confront had been how to hold Loki Laufeyson securely. Bruce and Tony had frantically jury-rigged security protocols onto a spare laboratory on the fifteenth floor, while Thor racked his brain to remember how Asgardian prisons functioned.

As much as Tony loved to pat himself on the back, he never shook the feeling that if the God of Mischief had really put his mind to it, Loki could have escaped. Luckily for everyone, the failure of his conquest and his humiliation at the hands of the Hulk seemed to have temporarily drained his desire to make trouble. Still, Thor had arranged transport back to Asgard as quickly as he could before Loki managed to get his groove back.

A few nights after the brothers’ departure, Clint, Natasha, and Steve had shown up at the penthouse with an array of pizza from one of those Mom-and-Pop Italian restaurants in Brooklyn. It hadn’t taken long for Tony to be suspicious of the timing. By sheer coincidence, Tony and Pepper had spent the entire day going over cost estimates for repairs to the city’s infrastructure. He had wanted to do as much as he could to help the people hurt by the invasion, but as rich as he was, there was simply too much damage spread over too wide an area for him to fix entirely on his own. Discovering another example of his incapability had stung Tony hard.

Pepper pretended that she wasn’t behind the surprise visit, for she could be sneaky like that. The ruse was a success, for instead of Tony obsessing over what he couldn’t do, the five of them had instead spent hours simply talking, peer to peer, about the future for the Avengers. Eventually, their discussion had turned to his plan to make Stark Tower into Avengers Tower.

“Detention cells,” Natasha had suddenly said, causing Clint to nod in strong agreement. “We’re going to have to have detention cells.”

“Really?” Pepper had asked, aghast at the implication.

“I think they’re right,” Steve had added, grimacing like a child forced to eat his broccoli. “Thor said that what was done with the Tesseract at Project Pegasus has sent a signal that Earth is ready to interact with the rest of the universe. I think that means we’re going to face situations that transcend national boundaries, if not most settled law.”

“I’ll admit that prison cells are not my favorite thing to think about. I’ve skirted legal gray areas more than once,” Tony had joked, “but I agree: we should be ready for anything.”

Apparently ‘anything’ should have included Japanese demons. Scott McCall, shifting into his creepy werewolf form, had identified the intruders as such. It should have given Tony more pause, but it was obvious that whatever they were, they were trying to break a Hydra scientist out of custody. Since he had no idea how long they would need to accomplish their mission, Tony didn’t think it was the best time to argue with him about the existence of demons.

While running down several flights of stairs had left him a little winded, Tony had insisted they not use the elevators. There would be no way to tell if the oni had sabotaged them, and they could have, since they seemed to be able to partly conceal themselves from the building’s internal sensors.

On the bright side, Scott McCall didn’t seem to be slowing down at all after sprinting down fifteen flights of stars. On the other hand, the young man was twenty-five years younger than him and not to mention a creature of the night.

“JARVIS, where’s the rest of the team?”

“-Dr. Banner and Agent Romanov were asleep in their respective quarters; they have been notified. Thor is presently over the North Atlantic, seventy-four miles north-northwest of Reykjavik. Agent Barton is out of contact. Captain Rogers and Mr. Wilson were at the Bulgarian Consulate and are now on their way back.”

“What the hell were they doing at the embassy?”

Before JARVIS could begin to explain, Scott and he reached the security substation for the detention level. Both of on-duty contractors who were on duty were unconscious on the floor. The werewolf rushed to check on them, but Tony blew right past the substation. After all, the younger man’s senses and medical training would be better at determining their status than Tony would. Right now, the best thing he could for them is make sure they hadn’t been hurt for nothing.

Unfortunately, the door to the Hydra’s scientist’s cell had been forced open from the outside. More specifically, slashed open.

“Damn it! JARVIS, lock the building down. Can you locate Dr. Ranefer?” The oni may have been invisible to most of his advanced sensors, but Tony was betting that she wasn’t.

“-I have already taken the liberty of initializing all intrusion protocols. Ayla Ranefer is on the same floor as you are in the southwest exterior corridor.”

“Deploy the Mark 42.”

“-Deploying.”

Tony returned to where Scott had moved the guards into a more comfortable position.

“They’re unconscious, but their heartbeats are strong. I don’t think they’re in any immediate danger.”

Smoothly, Tony scooped up a sidearm from where one of the guards had dropped it. “Come on. They’re not far, and they won’t find leaving as easy as getting in apparently was.” He rushed down the hallway, but he could hear the werewolf following him.

It didn’t take them long to catch up to Dr. Ranefer and her rescuer. While Scott froze at the sight of the strange figure with her, he didn’t seem much to Tony: just a man dressed in a less-than-traditional shozoku wearing a monster’s mask and carrying a sword. While Tony still didn’t have a clue about how they got past his building’s sensor array, it really didn’t matter in the end. He wasn’t going to let the Hydra scientist escape; she was their only real lead on the location of the scepter.

“Going somewhere, doctor?” Tony pointed his borrowed gun at her. “You and your new friend need to stop right where you are.”

The oni spun on its heel with ridiculous precision, but the Hydra scientists turned to face them more slowly, resting one hand on the window over 45th Street. “To be honest, I don’t know what the hell these things are, but I think I’ll take my chances with them. They seem competent enough. On the other hand, Mr. Stark, a pistol? That’s a bit of a downgrade.”

“I don’t need my armor to stop you. Turns out I’m a pretty good shot with this, and I’m not alone.”

Scott growled, and Tony glanced down to see the younger man’s eyes glowing a baleful red. It was the first time he had seen the phenomenon up close, and he momentarily began to wonder how his body produced light like that before Tony remembered he was in a standoff.

Dr. Ranefer hummed and step closer to her rescuer. “Oh, I didn’t realize the True Alpha was here. Fascinating. Whoever you are, please hold still.” She reached up and slid her forearm down the oni’s blade. The weapon had to be sharp because it easily cut through clothing and into flesh.

“Ouch.” Tony would look back on this later and wonder why it took him so long to figure out what she was up to. If he had to be honest with himself, he was distracted by the blood, dealing with which had never been his strong suit. “Oh … shit.”

Half a dozen beetles emerged from her wound, spread their wings, and flew at them.

“What—?” Scott said, his transformed face scrunching up in confusion.

“Back, back, back, must get back.” Grabbing the werewolf by the collar he pulled him down their call around the corner. “Those bugs are lethal.”

“But they could get away!” Scott let himself be dragged even though he should easily have been able to shake off the hand. “Maybe they won’t be able to hurt me.”

“I think we're not going to take that chance, if you don’t mind, not when we have other options.” Tony shook his head as he kept them moving, keeping an eye on where the beetles could come from. “JARVIS has shut down the building.”

Scott cocked his head, listening. “Those beetles are coming this way. I can hear their wings.”

“We just have to keep away from those bugs until my armor arrives, so unless oni can fly—” Even if he didn’t have enhanced hearing, he could hear the heavy glass of an outside window shatter. “They can’t fly, can they?”

“I don’t know.” The werewolf questioned under a mouth full of fangs. “How do we stop them?”

“You give me three seconds.” As if on cue the elevator doors at the end of the hall opened, and the Mark 42 Iron Man armor emerged. Tony took a step out into the hallway so the suit could wrap itself around him. Systems powered up. “And here we go.”

It was amazing what wearing a multi-billion-dollar weapons system could do for one’s confidence. He started down the hallway while letting his tactical scanners identify and highlight all six beetles. Without pausing, he delivered pinpoint anti-personnel rockets to take all of them out. Perhaps it was overkill, but they were super creepy.

The February wind whistled through the southwest exterior corridor. The window had been shattered outward, and it made Tony wonder what those swords were made of that they had so easily shattered high-grade polycarbonate. Even though it hadn’t been carrying something like that before, the oni had produced a grappling hook and rope and must have started to try to scale down the building.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He strode toward the opening only for something to grab his ankle and trip him. Tony’s first thought was to wonder how something was strong enough to trip the Mark 42 with what to be very little leverage. His second thought was to wonder where it had come from and why his proximity sensors hadn’t noticed it. When he checked his rear-view cameras, his third thought was why Scott hadn’t told him that oni could render themselves intangible.

The second oni finished pulling itself up out of the floor. Scott jumped on its back in order to give Tony time to get up. The werewolf clawed at it, so Tony believed he would probably become a little squeamish until he got a look at what was under the oni’s armor and clothing.

“Wow.” He got to his feet and pointed his hand at them. “JARVIS, I think I know why you couldn’t perceive them. Scott, you got this one?”

“No!” The werewolf paused before finishing his answer as he got elbowed in the face. “It’s not human, and I don’t think I can really hurt it. I’m told no weapon forged by man can.”

“Get clear, and we’ll find out.”

“-Mr. Stark, sensor readings are as inconclusive as before.”

“Refocus data gathering on pressure and gravitational fields. I think they’re composed of dark matter.” With the werewolf scrambling clear, Iron Man hit the oni with a repulsor blast. As expected, it knocked the oni back a few feet back but didn’t seem to harm it otherwise. “I think they’re dark matter androids.”

“-That would indeed explain their ability to evade detection as dark matter does not interact with electromagnetic fields.”

Iron Man hit the oni with another repulsor blast, while the werewolf ducked behind him.

“Can you stop it?”

“Maybe.” Tony said. “If they operate the way I think they do, a sufficiently large explosive payload should disperse them. Though I suspect that they have to have a command interface somewhere.”

Scott looked back over a shoulder toward the window and then the narrow hallway probably wandering how big ‘sufficiently large’ was. “I should go after the others.”

“No! She’s got more of those creepy bugs. If you can slow this one down, I’ll get them.”

“I can try,” Scott charged the oni and tackled it once again.

Tony hesitated for a moment; if he was right, the kid was at a disadvantage, though backup was coming. He turned and kicked in his flight jets, heading out the broken window. The oni might be impossible to detect outside as the suit wasn’t equipped with the same type of sophisticated gravity sensors that the building had and measuring pressure fluctuations in the middle of one of the largest cities on earth was out of the question.

But Ayla Ranefer should be easy to find.

The Iron Man armor landed on the sidewalk on 45th street, startling drivers in a few cars, and immediately began a full sensor sweep. He had noted with surprise that they weren’t on the side of the building during his descent with surprise; without more climbing gear than a rope, they shouldn’t have been able to descend so quickly, but he was quickly learning not to be surprised at anything.

While Ranefer had been in custody, Tony had taken the liberty to record her heat signature which varied from any normal human because of her tiny little passengers. He spotted her in an SUV pulling down the road. Of course, it made sense that whoever was behind this would have a car waiting.

“Nice try, but no—”

He didn’t get to finish his quip because he got the edge of a ninja-to up across the side of his head. It didn’t even dent the armor but there had to be something more behind the blow than just strength. His entire heads-up display fritzed.

“-Sir, unidentifiable foreign material is infiltrating your armor.”

“Thanks for the confirmation.” Tony brought his arms up as he had been taught, as the oni hit him with an array of blows. The damage to the suit’s systems was minimal but accumulating, and the suspected android was skilled enough to keep him occupied.

“Let’s see if you like this.” Tony rerouted his systems. “Full spread concussive blast. Max power!”

It caused lights to flicker in a nine-block radius and put a three-foot-wide depression in the concrete, but the assault on him stopped. When he regained vision, the sword, the mask, and the clothing were lying on the sidewalk where they had dropped.

“I love being right. Wait … what the hell is that?”

“-It appears to be Photuris Lucicrescens, sir. A firefly.”

“In New York in February? Was that inside it?” Tony reached out to touch the insect when a dark matter shape reformed around it. “I see. The command interface.”

Before he could laser a firefly into atomic dust, the oni vanished in a puff of dark matter.

Tony took to the skies. If it was leaving, that must have meant they thought they had successfully escaped him. “What’s the status inside?”

“-Mr. McCall had managed to stall the assailant but when Dr. Banner and Ms. Romanov arrived moments ago it vanished.”

Inside the armor, Tony cursed. “I hate getting outwitted, JARVIS. Hate it. I’m going to get some height and do a sweep.” He blasted to get a view from above the skyscrapers, but he had a feeling it was too late. Ranefer was gone.

February 9th, 2015 — Winsted, Connecticut

Above the clouds, the sun had risen on a new day. Below the clouds, the sky merged with the ground in a muddled collage of white and gray.

“What is this place?” Aiden asked in a low voice as the four of them moved through the woods. While the heavy flakes stuck to his eyelashes and coated his hair, the weather was also covering their approach effectively. The falling snow and the cold temperature would have the added benefit of discouraging both sentries and innocent bystanders.

“It’s a nursery,” Chris Argent replied just as softly, one gloved hand covering his pistol.

In the distance, Aiden could pick out a sizable greenhouse among the group of buildings. “Do I want to know what your family grows there?”

“I would guess it ain’t petunias,” Peter snarked from behind both of them.

Allison, dressed all in white down to the wood of her bow, shot them a frustrated glance from her position in the front. “Less talking, more stealth,” she hissed.

Aiden fell silent with a wince. While he doubted that any guards here would have supernatural hearing, that didn’t mean they were deaf. Instead of asking any more questions, he let his other senses expand to get a fuller picture of his surroundings, the way that Deucalion had taught him. Sight alone wasn’t going to be enough in the low visibility of an early morning snowstorm.

While few places in this part of the country could be considered remote, the Argent’s nursery had been set on a large plot of land to give it the benefit of privacy. Aiden tried to pick out sounds that could tell him about what they might encounter. While he could hear the occasional vehicle pass by on the distant road, he could detect no music, no media dialogue, and no conversations. It didn’t mean the place was empty, however. It was early in the morning, and the muffled blanket of the storm kept him from detecting any heartbeats.

His sense of smell was similarly reduced, but even with the heavy fall, he could detect traces of wolf’s bane. This nursery had to be one of the Argent family’s primary sources for the poison. Chris had brought them here because he imagined it to be the perfect staging area. Few werewolves would be brave enough to approach it and there would be plenty of supplies to keep Jackson Whittemore pacified.

Aiden hadn’t come for the ex-kanima, though.

The group reached the back door of one of the outermost buildings. Allison knelt in the snow, checking the door for security.

“We’re too vulnerable standing around out here,” Aiden whispered. “Let me break it down.”

Allison shook head and pulled out her lockpicks.

Chris Argent grabbed him by the arm and gently pulled him back. “I guarantee you that you’d get a face full of some species of wolf’s bane,” the older hunter whispered, “and knowing my father, it’d be a particularly painful one. This place has been modified to withstand assaults by packs.”

Peter hummed in agreement.

Suddenly and quietly, Allison stepped up and away, sliding her tools into her pocket before nodding to her father. He gestured for the two werewolves to move away from the front of the door before putting his back to the wall next to the handle. Obviously neither father nor daughter were confident that Gerard hadn’t left some surprises for them as well.

Even after the door opened without an explosion, they entered carefully, checking each corner. Chris Argent caught their attention and pointed out the bomb that probably would have gone off if Aiden had kicked open the door. The scent of the wolf’s bane was strong enough for Aiden to be very grateful for the hunters’ caution.

“It’s cold in here,” Peter broke the silence, startling the rest of them.

It took only a moment for Aiden to confirm it, and only a few moments more for Allison and Chris. Allison sought out her father’s face to find Chris looking even more disgruntled.

“What does that mean?”

“Humans get distracted when they’re cold,” Peter advised. “We can channel our power to keep us warmer for longer. Letting it get this cold in here gives a werewolf an edge over a human that we really don’t need.”

“They’re not here,” Allison decided. “Shit.”

“That doesn’t mean this was a wasted trip,” her father responded quickly. “Even if they chose not to come here after the abduction, they had to have somewhere to stage it, and this is the most logical location.”

Aiden barely paid attention to the argument, because he had caught the scent of something a lot more important to him. “Lydia.”

Peter looked over and sniffed the air. “You’re right. If she’s not here now, she was here very recently.”

Allison shot both of them a glance. “Track her. Now.”

Peter took a moment to give her a sarcastic salute, but Aiden was already on his way. Unfortunately, it didn’t take him long to verify that Lydia was no longer here; the scent was too old. He estimated perhaps she had been in the building within the last eight hours. He growled out loud. Gerard had obviously been warned. It made sense that he’d have an eye out for Lydia’s pack.

He punched the wall. “They stayed here for days. Days!”

“Then that gives us an opportunity to look for clues.” Allison said from behind him. She wasn’t comforting; she was trying to refocus him. “There’s a reason my grandfather took Jackson and Lydia, and there’s also a reason he brought them back here. Stop getting angry, and start getting things done.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Peter and my father are securing the perimeter. Find wherever they kept Jackson.”

“I’d rather—”

“The quicker we find it the quicker we can search both places and find a real clue.” She moved to inspect the small cot in the room. “It’ll also give you time to calm down.”

Aiden frowned at her back, but she wasn’t wrong. He left the room and stalked along the corridors. Once he put his mind to it, it didn’t take him long to locate the cell in which they had held the former kanima. He’d been manacled to the wall and didn’t even have the comfort of a cot. The gratuitous sexism of Code-less hunters was pervasive but unsurprising.

What did surprise him a little bit was that other than the dungeon-like nature of the surroundings, there was no sign of violence or torture. Jackson could have been in the cell for as long a week, but there wasn’t the faintest whiff of blood.

That meant something. He spent a bit longer examining the room — including the very unpleasant bucket that Jackson had had to use — before returning to Lydia’s room. Peter and Chris had rejoined, and Peter was being as bitingly insulting as possible while giving his report. The Argents had grown pretty much immune to his wit. Aiden gave his report afterward.

“The delay is what puzzles me,” Allison said at last.

Aiden raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

“Gerard might be viciously clever, but this wasn’t something he pulled off at the last moment. He took advantage of Jackson and Lydia being together, but he had obviously been planning it for a long time.”

“I have to agree. You don’t do something like this with only two henchthugs unless you have no other choice,” Peter remarked. “I could only identify two other human scents, faint or not.”

“So, he had plans,” Aiden argued out, “and he moved quickly when he saw they were together. And then he sat here for an entire week? What does he want? If he wanted revenge he didn’t need to go anywhere.”

“If he was trying to use them as leverage, he would have contacted someone,” Peter pointed out.

“Okay, okay. What does Gerard want?” Allison asked, not because she didn’t have any ideas but to get them thinking about it.

“He knows Peter is hunting him,” Chris said. “His safety would be paramount. Lydia would give him the edge over Peter. He could have taken Jackson as a lever against her.”

Peter rankled at the idea.

“There are easier levers,” Aiden finally felt like adding. “Her mother, for one.”

“No,” Allison shook her head. “He didn’t take Jackson for leverage, or rather not entirely for leverage. And he is concerned about his safety, but there’s no reason he would sit here for so long only to leave unless he was waiting for something. Gerard wants what we took from him: power.”

Peter sighed. “He wants the kanima.”

“Ex-kanima.” Aiden pointed out. “He is an ex-kanima, right?”

“The conditions that create a kanima are so obscenely rare that they’ve never been properly cataloged,” Chris admitted. “Our experience with them is probably the most anyone has ever been exposed to one and probably the only time we’ve witnessed a reversion. It was mostly a result of Jackson’s psychological state, so theoretically …”

“Theoretically, Jackson might still retain aspects of being a kanima,” Peter finished. “Gerard might seek a way to cause a full reversion which would make him Jacksons’ master.”

“That has to be it. Let’s say, once he captured them, he made contact with someone who could do that to Jackson. And I’m willing to bet that whoever it is, is not in North America.”

Aiden looked at her. “He was making arrangements for transport. You can’t take kidnap victims on an intercontinental flight either coach or first-class.”

Chris already had his phone out. “I’ll get a list of international charters in Boston, Hartford, and New York.”

“We’ll split into two groups. I’ll take Aiden, and Dad, you take Peter.”

Aiden just managed to avoid chuckling. “You want at least werewolf in one location so we can pick up their scent at the airports.”

“Exactly. While this is looking worse and worse, we’re not out of the game yet.”

February 9, 2015 – New York City

Scott couldn’t bring himself to concentrate on the person across from him, even if that person was his father.

Rafael had noticed it as well, and he wasn’t happy. Of course, he wasn’t unhappy enough to ask why Scott was distracted. Instead, he seemed to respond to it by passive-aggressively clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

“I wonder why.”

Scott sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. The aftermath of the last night’s escape attempt had kept him busy until dawn had appeared over the New York skyline. He had been debriefed by Ms. Romanov about the Oni and then by Captain Rogers and then by Maria Hill. They had all grilled him with the same questions, rephrased to different ends. The Black Widow combed through his knowledge for clues about who had sent them; Captain America considered that as potential future opponents, and Ms. Hill wanted to upgrade the Tower’s defense to compensate for them.

What had weirded Scott out the most was how personally Tony Stark had taken the whole thing. He seemed to be beating himself up over something he couldn’t possibly have predicted. He hadn’t even known the supernatural had existed a year ago.

“I’ve told you I can’t talk about what I’m doing with the Avengers.” It was not a lie. He couldn’t, but not because the Avenger had warned him not to. There was no way to reveal what he was doing here without telling his father about the fact that he was an alpha werewolf

“Scott, I’m your—”

“I’m not a minor anymore, you don’t have any custodial rights.”

Rafael scowled at him. “I wasn’t trying to invoke them. Maybe I’m simply concerned about my son.”

“Well, it had to happen at some point, you remembering I existed.”

“That’s not fair.”

It would be at this point that Scott would usually let the conversation drop and try to smooth things out. He didn’t like yelling at people. He didn’t like getting angry even before he was a werewolf and there hadn’t been potentially bloody consequences for indulging in that emotion. But giving vent to his anger this time might serve to distract his father from trying to dig deeper into the truth.

“How do you figure that? I was six when you moved out, seven when you got a divorce, and eight when I lived with you for three months. You know I don’t have a single memory of those three months? They were a blur, and the next time I saw you in the flesh was in Mr. Argent’s apartment.”

“There are reasons I left, Scott.”

“I don’t care about why you left. I only care that you weren’t around. Birthday cards and Christmas presents didn’t cut it when I needed a father.” Scott felt a little sick to his stomach. “I was lucky enough to find people willing to fill in.”

Rafael worked his jaw. “I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I really want to be part of your life.”

“Okay.” Scott nodded. “That’s fine. That’s good. I’ll give you a hint: it will help if you stop taking it for granted that you will be. If I was ten, I wouldn’t have any input, but I’m twenty. This only happens if I want it to.”

“Fair enough.” His father looked down at his plate. “Is there anything you can tell me about why you’re in New York?”

“Remember when those SHIELD agents tried to interview me the last time you tried to be involved in my life?”

Scott almost winced. He guessed he had inherited a little passive-aggression from his father as well. His father nodded.

“Turns out that the people who were really behind it were … important to the Avengers.”

Rafael McCall was many things but slow was not one of them. “You’re involved with Hydra?”

“And that’s exactly the reaction I was hoping to avoid, though maybe you could shout it a little louder, I don’t think the New York Times heard you.”

“This is serious! Does your mother know?”

“Of course she knows. I can trust her.”

This made his father fall silent. He studied Scott’s face, which made Scott uncomfortable. His father seemed to have this way of talking at someone rather than to someone, but he wasn’t doing that now. After a minute, he bent down slightly to pick up his briefcase. Scott had wondered why Rafael had brought it with him but in the end had just assumed it was a work thing. His father set it on the table, opened it, and handed him a large, sealed manila envelope.

“You can trust me, too.”

“What’s this?”

“Your mother wanted me to give that to you. It was the reason she told me where you were, but she wanted to make sure only you saw this.”

Scott took it. It did smell of his mother but also of the Sheriff, Allison, and Chris, so it had to be pack business. It was clever to use his father to get it to him while still respecting his desire to minimize the pack’s exposure to the Avengers.

“Thanks.” He ran his fingers over it. “Did … did they send anything else? Do you know anything else?”

“I’m pretty sure it has to do with a kidnapping case in Connecticut.” He thinned out his lips. “Two people who went to your high school are missing.”

“Who?” Scott felt the floor of his stomach drop out and land between his feet.

“Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin.”

Scott stared at his father. Why would this happen now? He couldn’t just tell the Avengers he had supernatural business to take care of and he’d be back as soon as he could. They wouldn’t accept that.

Or maybe that was exactly why the abduction had happened now.

“Are you involved in the case?”

“I could be. It’s not my division in the Bureau, but I have some leeway. Is this connected to what you’re doing here?”

Scott looked down at his plate and bit his lip. “Yes and no?”

“Not a very good answer.”

“They’re my friends, Dad, but I don’t know if what happened has anything to do with what’s going on here. If it doesn’t, I don’t want to draw attention to what’s going on here to them or any of my other friends.”

“Why would you even think that was a possibility?”

“Because … Hydra was behind Stiles’s disappearance.”

“What?” Rafael’s disbelieving guffaw was grating, but his father sobered up when he saw the scowl on Scott’s face. “Okay. I did not see that coming.”

“No one did.” Especially Scott.

“I get it. If it doesn’t have anything to do with Hydra, getting the Avengers involved might complicate things. I’ll look into it.”

Scott quelled a little surge of irritation that his father was just going to insert himself, but Rafael was not only his father but also an FBI agent. There was no reason to pick a fight. He’d finish his lunch and then read the envelope when he got back to the Tower. What else could he possibly do?

Chapter Text

February 13, 2015 — Harlem, New York City

Kira had intended to be asleep hours ago. It had been a long week, she had a paper she had to write this weekend for her composition class, and Tanya wanted her to go with her to some sort of singles party on Valentine’s Day. Instead, she lay in her darkened bedroom staring up at the ceiling.

In one corner, little green glow-in-the-dark stars shone, the remnants of how she had once decorated her during middle school. Now her room was filled with tasteful art and concert posters; she had banished all the childish decorations, but it seemed she had missed a few.

Part of her felt that she should be embarrassed sleeping in the same room. Her college friends had moved out of their parents' homes at the earliest opportunity. Those who couldn’t afford it constantly expressed the wish that they could. They wanted to stretch their wings and be free.

She had chosen to stay, even though she hadn’t needed to. Her family could easily afford to pay for an apartment of her very own. It turned out that her mother was fantastically wealthy, since she had treasures gathered over the last nine centuries cached in different parts of the world. Even if that hadn’t been true, her father still taught at Columbia, so Kira would have been able to stay in the dorms there free of charge.

And while she still a had a lot to learn — as her mother never, ever let her forget — it wasn’t as if living in another part of the city would have hampered that training very much at all.

No, she had chosen to stay at home simply because she wanted to spend as much time as she could with her father. The way that they had moved to and then back from California so quickly had taught her that no matter how intense the emotions she felt for someone could be, their relationship could end without warning.

It wasn’t memories of somebody left behind that kept her awake. She had spent the last five days alternately trying to forget what she had learned when she had spied on her mother doing or trying to figure out exactly what her mother had been doing. It hadn’t helped that her mother had never come home at all during that time, and her father had remained tight-lipped about why, even though he was obviously upset about it.

He might have been more willing to share if Kira had told him what she had seen, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It wasn’t fear, but instead the instincts of the fox within her. At first, she had been upset that her fox spirit seemed like it didn’t trust her father, but finally, after giving it some thought, she realized it was urging her not to accidentally place her father between her and her mother.

It was a good call, and Kira had to admit that her mother had been right: she needed to get better at listening to her own instincts.

So, instead of confronting him, Kira had waited. Her mother would have to come home sooner or later, or so she hoped. However, her patience did not eliminate her anxiety, and the nights had been long.

She didn’t hear the front door open. Maybe she had drifted off to sleep for a few moments, but it hadn’t been deep enough that she missed her mother complain.

“Can we not do this tonight?”

“When do you want to do this, Noshiko? I’m available all weekend. In fact, I don’t have a class until Tuesday.” Her father’s tone implied his point. “Or do you want to do this after you’re finished whatever you are doing wherever you have gone?”

Getting out of bed, she reached for her robe but decided to leave her slippers behind. Her mother had taught her that when being stealthy, bare feet were best.

She knew so much more now. Her parents were speaking in Japanese and while two years ago she wouldn’t have been able to understand a word, one day, she had suddenly woken up fluent.

“Ken, I know dealing with this matter has been difficult for you.”

“Actually, it’s never been difficult until right now. I didn’t have a problem moving to California with little notice. I didn’t have a problem moving back with just as little. I have supported your efforts because I understand better than anyone else what happened at Oak Creek and why it’s important to you, and I understand that because you took the time to talk to me. My problem is you’re not talking to me anymore.”

“Thing have changed …” Her mother sounded tired and unsure, and that was not a usual thing for her. Kira moved down the hallway as quietly as she could.

“Tell me about it. You’re working with a madman that other people call the Demon Wolf.”

Her mother sighed. “He has … reformed.”

“Oh, that’s good to know.”

“You didn’t used to use sarcasm so frequently, Ken.”

“True, but back then I had a wife who shared important parts of her life with me.”

Kira winced. Her father almost never got angry. Even now, his voice hadn’t risen in tone or pitch, but she could tell he was furious.

“I’m sorry.”

“Now, I’m really worried.” The sarcasm vanished from her father’s voice. “You never apologize when you think you’re in the right, yeobo.”

Putting her back to the wall at the top of the stairs, Kira was close enough to hear them sit down on the couch in the front room, to see her father toss her mother’s coat over the back of it.

“I would love to say that you shouldn’t be worried but while the plan worked, there were complications.”

“Kidnapping people usually creates those. What were they?”

“Scott McCall was at the tower.”

“Oh, Noshiko!”

Kira felt her heart leap into her throat.

“There is no way he would not have recognized the oni. I dared not come back here until I could ascertain if he had told the Avengers about us. It seems he hasn’t, because at least one of their agents would have visited.”

“He probably doesn’t want to involve Kira. After all, he cared about her a lot.”

Wishing she had stayed in bed, Kira put her hand over her mouth.

“Now is not the time to have that particular argument again. You’ve only learned about the nogitsune’s rampage second hand, I experienced it. Bringing her back here was the safest possible choice.”

“I trusted you on that, only to watch while you went and got involved yourself with it again.”

“Because it’s more dangerous than ever! It’s a leader within Hydra, and they came close to taking over the world. It had to be stopped!”

“I agree, but I wonder if it has to be stopped by you.”

“Who better?”

“Well, the Avengers perhaps?”

Kira had watched the Battle of New York from the front yard with her parents. It had been simultaneously exciting and terrifying, but she had also spent days afterward learning all she could about the people who led the battle.

“As if they could possibly understand with what they would be dealing,” her mother scoffed.

“I think Thor might have an idea, but even if that’s not true, do you think you understand Hydra better than Captain America?”

“It’s my demon to bury!”

Silence descended on the house. Kira was momentarily inspired to make a dramatic sweeping entrance, but she told herself and her fox firmly that she wasn’t going to do it.

“You say that so often, Noshiko, but I don’t know if that’s true anymore. You say you trust Deucalion, so that means you believe in his report Hydra’s altered it. You don’t really know what that thing is anymore. Things are beyond your control.”

“Yet what happened in Oak Creek was completely within my control, and that makes whatever it does my responsibility.”

“Oak Creek was seventy-two years ago. The only people who remember what really happened there are you, me, and Satomi. When it comes down to it, I don’t think this is about your responsibility anymore, I think this is about your pride.”

“Pride?” Light filled the house, as her mother’s aura manifested, complete with her four remaining tails.

“I may be human, but even I understand that sometimes no matter how much power you have or how many years you can spend on it, some mistakes can’t be fixed.”

The light faded as quickly as it had come. “I don’t think I can live with that, Ken, not when I have a chance to end it.”

“I just don’t want you to be so intent on fixing something from last century that you make another mistake in this one. Our daughter needs you. I need you.”

Kira couldn’t see them, but she knew her father. He would comfort her mother as best he could. She moved quietly back to her room to give them what remained of their privacy. After all, she had just as much to think about.

February 13, 2015 — Michurinskoye, Leningrad Oblast

The only thing worse than being terrified was allowing those responsible for it to know you were terrified.

Lydia Martin studied her reflection in the cloudy mirror of the beat-up vanity in the dingy bedroom where she had been stowed. When she felt confident her hands wouldn’t shake, she began to brush her hair. The days when she played the ditzy ingénue may have come to an end when she had entered the orbit of what would become the McCall Pack, but she hadn’t forgotten the steps to that particular dance. She could conceal her true feelings when it was necessary.

When it came to a person like Gerard Argent, it was definitely necessary. She understood him for what he was, a brutal man possessing a strong strategic mind, tactical acumen, and sufficient ruthlessness to overthrow a small country. He had more than once displayed a talent for emotionally manipulating the vulnerable. Yet, like most men who had held onto too much power for too long, he had a blind spot the size of a tractor trailer.

At the end of the day, he believed that everyone saw the world exactly the same way he did.

If he had been in the same position as Lydia found herself, he would already be plotting three to four different gambits in order to turn the tables on his captors. He might even have had set a plan in motion to profit from his own kidnapping. It would never occur to him to be patient, to wait as Lydia was waiting, because he believed himself capable of acting decisively in any situation. He was unaccustomed to being helpless.

She had yet to even start devising a plan to escape, because she wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Gerard and his two minions had demonstrated both determination and care toward her and Jackson, so whatever this scheme was, it had to be more than simple revenge. They had been especially scrupulous about both keeping Jackson securely chained and thoroughly drugged, while making sure she knew about it.

While they didn’t keep her restrained, they did keep her confined. Gerard had rightly assumed that she wouldn’t try to flee without bringing Jackson along. On the other hand, their attitude towards her passive compliance indicated they thought she had given up. Nothing could be further from the truth. Even afraid, she explored her surroundings with every tool at her disposal.

Lydia may have had doubts in the past about her power’s usefulness, but she had never turned her back on it. She had to have faith that if there was something she needed to hear, she would hear it. She had only to pay attention and not let anxiety distract her.

Her other talents had not deserted her either. She had already figured out that Gerard had taken them to the Karelian Isthmus. While she hadn’t been permitted to talk to anyone other than Gerard and his minions, she had recognized the Cyrillic alphabet on the road signs and the construction site of the Lakhta Center skyscraper as they had driven north. She had once read an article about how it was going to be the tallest skyscraper in Russia when it was completed, and it had a distinct shape.

They hadn’t driven longer than two hours after that, away from St. Petersburg, so they had to still be in Russia.

She wasn’t sure why her captors had chosen this place. Her bedroom possessed actual furniture, out of style and worn with use but none of it ready to be set out in the trash. On the other hand, there were bars on the single window and the door could be locked from the outside. She had examined every square foot as thoroughly as she dared; she didn’t want to draw attention to herself as she waited.

After all, Gerard never knocked when he entered, as he did right then. “Miss Martin, if you will join us in the parlor?”

“Do I actually have a choice?”

“Of course you have a choice,” the old bastard laughed. “You can walk to the parlor on your own or you can be carried there, bound and gagged.”

“I’ll walk.” She stood up, putting the brush down without, to her satisfaction, displaying any tremor in her hands.

“A wise decision.” He paused, like a cat about to pounce. “My granddaughter seems to have had good taste in friends.”

Lydia stumbled at his use of the past tense, but Gerard caught her by the arm.

“Oh, I misspoke. She has good taste in friends.”

If the smile Lydia showed him could have reached his flesh, it would have drawn blood.

His two minions had already positioned themselves in the parlor, flanking Jackson, tied by heavy chains to a steel chair. From the look on her ex-boyfriend’s face, he was almost completely free of his drug-induced haze. Lydia tried to not to let any concern show on her face. That they had stopped drugging him didn’t mean anything good.

“Are you alright?” Jackson’s words slurred only slightly. He was alert enough to recognize her.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Without waiting to be directed, she took a seat on a garish couch where Jackson could see her but not close enough that it would make Gerard and his minions nervous. “I hope this means you’ve decided to let us go.”

Gerard raised one eyebrow at her.

“You’ve kept me captive for over a week, Mr. Argent. You can’t expect a girl not to try to have a little fun.”

Jackson growled softly in reply, but it was directed at the hunter.

“I supposed even an intelligent girl like you might feel the need to test the boundaries of her freedom. It’s good to understand your place in the world. I’m not going to let you go back to whatever mundane lives you had before. In fact, I’m going to help expand the realm of your experiences.”

“Don’t you touch her!” Jackson demanded angrily. Lydia thought it was sweet, but a little too masculine to be smart. One of the minions, a rabbity fellow who attempted to wear his stubble fashionably but had failed, threatened Jackson with a stun baton.

Shaking his head, Gerard stopped the man before turning away and looking out the large front window, framed by faded curtains. His minions seemed nervous.

Jackson snarled once more at the old man’s back. Lydia looked over in his direction, but she couldn’t say anything to help him. She didn’t have anything to say; all she had to share was the growing knot of anxiety in her stomach.

Outside the window, a blue sedan with tinted windows parked on the driveway, halfway between the street and the house.

“Excellent. They’re here.”

“It could be the Khishchnik.” The henchman with the bad facial hair said. “Are you sure it’s them?”

“The Khishchnik traditionally spend February in the south,” Gerard answered without turning around, “avoiding the worst weather by checking on the packs in the Sayan Mountains. They only send people this far north or west if there’s an incident, and there hasn’t been. If you had listened to me at all, you would have known that.”

So, this was a hunter base, just not one of the Argent’s. Allison had told Lydia a little bit about the Russian Hunter family. Given the minion’s concern, they had no doubt heard of Gerard’s crimes by now and wouldn’t look too kindly on him or the people following him being in their jurisdiction. If Gerard had been looking for some place to lie low, why come here at all?

The three women who entered the building might hold the answer. Lydia turned to face them, only to hear a sound almost too soft to perceive, like bells ringing from far away. It wasn’t a prediction of death to come, but an echo of many events that had happened before.

Gerard Argent spoke to them in Russian. It wasn’t a language Lydia had picked up yet.

“Let’s speak in English,” the oldest woman, obviously the leader, finally said. “Your accent makes it hard to understand you.”

“Fair enough,” Gerard looked over at her and Jackson. “It’s not like they’re going to be in a position to use anything they might learn. The money transfer went through without a problem?”

“We would not be here if it did not.” The older woman walked directly over towards Jackson. “This is the subject?”

“You shouldn’t get too close,” Gerard’s scrubby minion warned.

The woman glanced at minion and nodded politely in acknowledgement but didn’t stop her approach. She looked into Jacksons eyes the way a physician would, before glancing back at Gerard. “He is drugged?”

“Aconite infusion. He’ll metabolize through it soon enough.”

Jackson clenched his jaw at the woman’s touch. “Who are you, lady?”

The woman didn’t answer right way, completing her examination. “Your name is Jackson, yes? I am Melina. We will be getting to know each other soon enough.” She glanced at Lydia, with clinical detachment.

There was no sign of any outward threat, but Lydia knew this woman meant trouble. “What do you want?”

“Dr. Vostokoff is going to get me what I want, Lydia,” Gerard said pleasantly. “You understand the assignment?”

“Of course.” The woman walked away. “Have your men get my equipment from the car. I have to ask, what will be the use of him when I’m finished? Reprogramming a person usually requires an end goal.”

“Can you do it?”

“It is possible to obliterate a personality and not replace it with anything, though it seems … cruel.”

The horror dawned on both Lydia and Jackson. He struggled futilely against the chains, while Lydia stood up angrily. “You can’t do this!”

Gerard smiled nastily. “These women are Red Room assassins, Miss Martin. If I paid their organization enough money, they’d slit the throats of every person in your pack. I considered it, but some things are only truly rewarding if you get to do them personally. Dr. Vostokoff here is an expert in physiological psychology and biochemistry. When she’s finished, I will have the alpha kanima I’ve always wanted. And you, my dear, will have a front row seat for what comes next.”

February 14, 2015 — St. Petersburg, Russia

Allison awoke when someone touched her arm. Her father, sitting in the seat next to her, smiled at her. “We’re landing.”

She shook her head. Intercontinental flights always left feeling groggy. She turned to the window to see the airport spread out beneath the sun. “Ugh. I feel terrible.”

“We can get a motel room so you can take a shower once we’re on the ground.”

“No.” Allison shook her head. “We pick up the cache and then we had to Michurinskoye right away.”

Her father didn’t openly frown at her, but the part of his forehead just above the bridge of his nose wrinkled, which was just as good.

“What?”

“Nothing is ever solved by running headfirst into things.”

“We’re not rushing, Dad. We’re late.” She scoffed. “He’s had them for two weeks. Do you think that Gerard is going to take his time getting what he wants especially since he knows that we’ll be coming for him?”

“I think that you’re looking at it in terms of the worst possible scenario.”

“Perhaps. But it is a possible scenario.”

Peter turned around from the first-class seat in front of them. “She has you there, Chris.”

“When I want your opinion, Hale, I’ll ask you for it.”

The werewolf smiled widely. “Don’t worry, princess, even if we’re too late, it only means that our mission changes from being a rescue to being a punishment.”

“And that’s all you care about, isn’t it?”

“Mostly, yes.” Peter nodded with pursed lips. “I’ll admit that losing Lydia would be a detriment to my pack, but crying about it isn’t going to get what needs to be done, done.”

Aiden, awake himself, pulled Peter back. “Shut up.”

“Allison, listen to me; we’ve accomplished a lot already. We tracked them to Russia because of your insight. We got their exact location because of your work with the other families. The Khishchnik were able to determine that someone was using that particular dacha. We have enough time to do this right.”

“It took us two days to find the airport and another day to determine where they went. Days that Jackson and Lydia might not have.”

Her father grabbed her hand. “Haste gets people killed, and that’s a lesson that Gerard taught me personally. You need to remind yourself that your grandfather is just as human as you are. He’s talented, but he doesn’t have infinite resources. If he did, he wouldn’t be squatting in someone else’s safe house, and we’d never be able to find him in time.”

Allison huffed out an angry breath. “I don’t need a shower. I need a weapon and a car. That’s it. I’ll slow down if you can tell me why he went through all the trouble to transport them to another country.”

Her father frowned then, truly frowned. “I don’t know.”

They had flown first class on a regular Aeroflot from Boston. While they could have chartered a flight, there was a chance that Gerard would be looking for pursuers. He had to know they would come, so the more they could conceal their movements from him, the better.

Walking down the concourse at Pulkovo International Airport, they tried their best not to stand out, but people avoided them none-the-less. Her father went to get a rental vehicle.

“Do they have Toyota SUVs in Russia?” Peter remarked.

“What is wrong with you?” Aiden snapped.

“Many things. The burned family, the six-year horror coma, the numerous murders, and my actual death and resurrection are the primary things wrong with me.” Peter remarked as if he were discussing his resume. “I think I have the ability to comfortably claim outlier status when it comes to conforming to emotional standards.”

“Clearly.”

“I’m glad you agree, Allison. Mostly though, I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“To killing my grandfather.”

“Absolutely.” Peter grinned at both of them. “You could say that everything I’ve ever done to anyone you’ve known was to achieve what is about to happen. What’s more interesting is why you seem to be so … okay with it.”

Allison didn’t see the point of answering him.

“Gerard has Jackson and Lydia,” Aiden replied for her. “She wants to save them.”

“That’s not it, or rather, that’s not completely it. The nose knows.” Peter tapped his. “You want him dead almost as much as I do.”

“I want him neutralized,” Allison corrected, sharply. “I’m angry with my father and Derek because he was neutralized and they let him out of his cage. Of course, my most important goal is to save Jackson and Lydia, but the more I act as Argent Matriarch the more I understand how much damage someone like Gerard can do.”

Peter opened his mouth about to say something that Allison didn’t want to hear, so she cut him off. “Or you could do. Or Aiden.”

Aiden stopped and turned to her.

“Both of you are capable of terrible things; I’ve seen you. But right now, Aiden, you’re running a motorcycle shop”

“Yeah.”

“And Peter … well, you might be as screwed up as you’ve indicated, but you’re still working with us, aren’t you?”

The werewolf turned to face her in the middle of the concourse. They locked eyes, and she remembered exactly what he looked like when he tore out her aunt’s throat. He might not be as strong, what with the loss of the alpha power and the soothing presence of some of his family, but the monster was still there.

“For the present.”

“Exactly. Gerard has no reason to hold back. He can do anything he wants; he has done anything he wants. He can’t be allowed to continue.”

Peter smirked but there was no joviality in it. “Are you planning to capture him? You authorized—”

“I’m planning on stopping him, whatever form that takes depends on what he’s done to my best friend, how he reacts when we kick his door in, and which one of us gets to him first. That should be enough motivation for both of you to be ready to go when I need you.”

“It is, princess.”

Her father returned with the keys to a UAZ Patriot. “We’ll be there in about two hours. The weapons cache is on the way.”

The wind was cold out in the parking lot as they loaded into the SUV. It was below freezing.

“What can you tell us about this place?”

“It’s a triage station,” Allison began. “During the last days of the Soviet Union, things were very chaotic. Three alphas got together and decided to take advantage of the chaos to wipe out the Khishchnick.”

“Interesting plan.”

Chris shot Peter a glare.

“One of their tactics was randomly biting individuals in different locations.”

Peter chuckled. “Oh. That could backfire.”

“What would that accomplish?” Aiden asked sincerely.

“They were trying to turn the Code against those who followed it,” explained Chris. “The Khishchnik couldn’t just execute werewolves who hadn’t spilled innocent blood, yet they couldn’t simply ignore the omegas. Watching them not only stretched their resources but also made the watchers vulnerable to attack. Instead of ignoring the Code, they set up triage stations near hot spots, where they could manage newly bitten werewolves in a safe environment.”

“It makes sense that Gerard would try to use one of them if he had to come to Russia,” Aiden agreed. “Such stations would be far away from any neighbors and have means of restraint.”

Allison pulled up a map of the place on her tablet. “We’ll enter as a group through this path. Stealthily until we reach the house and then switch to a full-frontal assault intended to keep them focused on us. Aiden, your job is to locate Lydia and get her out of harm’s way.”

Aiden looked surprised but nodded.

“Dad and I will keep people pinned down while Peter goes for my grandfather.”

“What about Jackson?”

No one spoke but they all glanced at her.

“We’ll get Jackson after we secure Lydia.”

Peter tilted his head to the side. “That’s particularly ruthless of you.”

“It’s not ruthless,” answered Allison when she could speak. “It’s about priorities. Lydia was how we saved Jackson before. She might be what we need again.”

February 14th, 2015 — Samana Cay, Bahamas

“Is that all on the recording?”

The Fox wondered at the fact that he hadn’t exploded in rage yet. He guessed he really had changed, after all. Stiles Stilinski would have lashed out at the nearest person he could blame in his fury. The nogitsune would have murdered the nearest bystander in the most gruesome way imaginable to soothe the sting. He, The Fox, seethed, but he kept his control. He had too much to lose now.

“No,” Bodikker replied impassively. “That’s the entire message.”

“Oh-kay.”

“It’s a trap,” Theo said urgently.

“Since I’m not in kindergarten anymore, Raeken, I know it’s a trap.” He turned to the chimera and flailed at him sarcastically, an echo of something he once thought lost. “That’s not the question.”

“Look, I know I messed up—”

“This isn’t about you. It’s about getting Dr. Ranefer back and teaching two people who should know better …” His voice got louder and louder. “That. You. Don’t. Mess. With. Me.”

The druid turned away without a comment.

“Problem, Kyllian?”

“Your personal grudges don’t interest me in the slightest.”

The Fox strode across the room and grabbed the druid by the shoulder. “You think this is just personal? Do you know what an alpha werewolf like Deucalion can do with his claws if they have access to the necks of someone who knows lots of juicy secrets?”

By the way Bodikker’s face paled, he did understand. Theo’s hand went to rub the back of his neck reflexively.

“Their trap is the best kind. If I do walk into it, they’ll be ready for me. They’ll have the advantage of terrain and the threat to a hostage I want to recover. If I don’t walk into it, they have innumerable ways to screw me over, including dragging all of my secrets out of Ayla.”

“Which might include our plans to secure the Nemetons.”

The Fox nodded his head violently.

“I hate to say this,” Theo suggested, “but why wouldn’t Deucalion have already done that by now?”

“He could have, but I think we have a window, provided by Ayla’s little friends. He breaks her skin, and he’s going to get to see if his healing abilities can handle her hell beetles. He’s not stupid; he’s not going to risk something like that until he absolutely has to. Ultimately, the threat of him doing so should be enough to draw me in.”

Turning from the pair of them, Fox went to the command structure and brought up the status reports. He examined all the personnel he had available.

“What are you planning?” Theo came up behind him.

“I’m planning to win, Theo, what do you think I’d be doing?” He turned to the druid. “We have three operational quinjets here. Get them ready to transport our vargulfs.”

“How many?”

“All of them.” The Fox turned around. “When facing opponents who know you well and have every advantage the only thing to do is to change the rules of the encounter. Strategically, I shouldn’t come at them with everything I have — it’s too big a risk for too small a reward. Noshiko will assume that I won’t go all-in for Ayla because she is absolutely sure she knows with whom she’s dealing. She doesn’t.”

“How much are you willing to risk?”

“Everything, Theo. We are going to hit those two with everything we’ve got, and we are going to grind them into the dirt. I want all strike team operatives ready to go by three a.m. Dawn raids are best, even against shapeshifters.”

“I’m on it.”

Nodding, he scrolled back the last part of the video message Theo had received. In it, Deucalion stood behind Dr. Ranefer one hand resting gently on her head. Dangling her like bait for him. The Fox was tired of both of them, his betrayer and this would-be chess master.

“You two wanna play games? Fine.” He felt a nasty smile spread across his face. “Now it’s my turn.”

Chapter Text

February 15, 2015 — North Brother Island, New York

Dawn was a hard sliver of cold light on the horizon; normal human eyes could barely detect their light. Bitter winds gusted across the East River, cutting into his skin like an invisible knife.

“It won’t be long now,” Deucalion pronounced with an air of satisfaction.

“You seem very sure of yourself.” Noshiko watched him from several yards within the hospital’s entrance. “I am not as confident.”

“I would not presume to dismiss your feelings, Mrs. Yukimura, as I have the utmost respect for your centuries of experience.” The Alpha of Alphas stepped through the entranceway and pulled the rusted doors closed behind him. He wouldn’t have a problem operating in sub-zero temperatures, but some of his allies might. “On the other hand, I pride myself on possessing a certain level of tactical acumen. The best time for Hydra to strike will be as close to the break of dawn as possible, and he will want every advantage in his attempt to secure Dr. Ranefer.”

The woman in question presently sat, tied to her chair, in the very center of Riverside Hospital’s dilapidated lobby. Deucalion had ordered a portable kerosene heater set up to warm her, as the building had no power and hadn’t had any for decades. The oni flanked Dr. Ranefer. It might have seemed that it was a waste of their potential, but they were completely immune to her parasitic insects as much as they were immune to most mundane weaponry. The oni never grew tired and existed only to fulfill the orders Mrs. Yukimura gave them.

“That makes sense.” Noshiko switched to French. They had taken care to discover a mutual language their prisoner did not understand. “A nogitsune would know my oni cannot maintain physical form in the daylight.”

“Something that he will definitely be counting on. Do not worry; they only need to keep our bait secure until the enemy arrives.” Deucalion sauntered toward the prisoner and her guards, switching back to English. “After all, I doubt Dr. Ranefer will release her little friends indiscriminately during a rescue attempt.”

“I might, you never know.” Dr. Ranefer had remained defiant through their short time together, but it seemed to have grown a little feeble. “It will depend on who is doing the rescuing. You don’t really think that Avengers will be content to let you take me?”

“Of course not,” agreed the Demon Wolf amicably. “I’m sure they’re searching for you even now, but the truth is, unlike the World’s Mightiest Heroes, Mr. Stilinski has already received our exact coordinates, since I gave them to him. It’s easy to assume he’ll comprehend how important it is to get here before they do.”

“What makes you think he’s not going to point a missile at this building and blow us all to hell?” Dr. Ranefer shot back, seemingly unconcerned. “He has no love for either of you, and the longer I’m in enemy hands, the more vulnerable the D.O.A. becomes.”

“She has a point.” Noshiko said grimly.

In response, Deucalion laughed at both of them. Slightly offended, the celestial kitsune rested her hand on the hilt of her katana.

“Forgive me, Noshiko, but your blind spot when it comes to our mutual opponent remains remarkably stubborn. I’ve cautioned you before about the danger in thinking of him as only the nogitsune. He is also Stiles Stilinski, a human boy who took on my alphas with nothing more than a baseball bat a few days before drowning himself in a horse trough all in order to save his father. Between the void kitsune’s pride and that young man’s devotion, I’m betting that this new creature won’t sacrifice someone he values – someone like the good doctor – unless he has no other choice.”

Noshiko signaled her acceptance by lifting her hand from the hilt of her weapon, but she didn’t seem convinced. He was content to let her be. He could only imagine that the weight of all those years tended to make a person set in their opinion, trickster or not.

“Do you really think he’ll give you a chance to kill him?” Dr. Ranefer challenged from her chair.

“Why so concerned with my thinking, doctor?”

“Call it scientific curiosity.”

Deucalion smirked at that. “Your leader should have explained to you that it’s very difficult to lie to werewolves, so I doubt that. Obviously, I must believe that we will have a chance to kill him. Would I exert all this effort, risk all I am risking, if it would most likely be a colossal waste of time? He will come.”

“He’s not going to come alone. Your pet demons may be formidable, but the D.O.A. has access to far more resources than a mundane police department.”

“You’ll be surprised what a good team Noshiko and I make.”

Noshiko turned away and resumed speaking in French. “She hasn’t detected the others.”

“No.” Deucalion walked over to where the woman stood. He, too, relapsed into that language. The precaution was necessary; there may be some sort of psychic connection that they didn’t understand between the D.O.A. scientist and her colleagues. He expanded his other senses without using his eyes, and he placed each of the half-dozen operatives waiting patiently in their designated locations. “Mr. Kincade made sure that mercenaries he hired for us understood that this is not going to be an easy fight.”

“You say that, but you don’t seem to be very nervous,” Noshiko remarked after a moment.

“I have no reason to be.”

“Perhaps you should reconsider. No matter what form it takes, it must never be underestimated, and I shudder to think what tactics it might be able to employ with all of Hydra’s resources behind it. That is the only reason, after all, why I entered into this alliance with the likes of you.”

“No offence intended?” Deucalion quipped.

Noshiko did not answer.

“I’m not nervous because I’m committed. I’ve done terrible things, Noshiko, in a relatively short life compared to yours. While I have many reasons to protect my species from the consequences of the Department of Occult Armaments becoming a power in the shadow world, the least of them is the chance to begin paying restitution for my own madness.”

“My Ken told me that there are some mistakes that can’t be fixed, no matter how much we wish we could. Do you really think that you can make up for your actions?”

“You have good taste in men, and I say that because I am fully aware I will never have enough years to make up for the blood I spilled, yet the only thing worse than that would be not to try … wait.”

He tilted his head to the east. Noshiko drew her sword. “You hear them?”

“Yes. They are coming.” His skin began to darken, and his eyes began to glow.

A Few Hours Earlier — Avengers Tower

“I don’t know what you expect us to do about it,” complained the police detective. “We’re not equipped for things like this.”

Maria Hill gave the man her best professional I’m-not-going-to-call-you-incompetent-to-your-face smile. “We’re not asking you to apprehend them for us. All we’re asking for you is to issue an APB.”

“An APB for freaks wearing ninja costumes and a woman wrapped in bandages? This ain’t October.” The man took a sip of the coffee he had brought with him. It had obviously grown cold in the chilly night so he threw it in the trash. “Why you’d wait to call me until the middle of the night?”

“Even though we’re not having much success tracking them down on our own, we wanted to make sure that we didn’t involve local authorities in this unless we absolutely had to. These individuals are very dangerous in ways most law enforcement agents aren’t equipped to handle. Yet every hour they’re free … well, let’s just say that it’s not going to be good for anyone.”

“Why don’t you have your boss whip up one of his fancy gizmos?”

Maria understood how their operation could intimidate regular police. She’s relied on the effect the avengers had on local law enforcement in the past. “He’s working on several fancy gizmos as we speak, but they were obviously prepared to evade everything we have so well, we’ve been asking for help even at a little before four in the morning.”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt, but if I were you, I wouldn’t expect a lot of results. Everyone in the department’s a little …”

“Distracted?”

“Yeah.” The man seemed generally disgruntled.

“I know what that feels like, detective: finding out about the corruption in your own ranks.”

A shade or rage passed over the detective’s face until he must have remembered that she used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. “Yeah. It sucks, but we’ll handle it. We’ll do our best to help you guys as well.”

“That’s all we can ask, detective. Thanks for stopping by.”

Maria Hill waited until they had left the lobby before she spoke to whomever was listening on the intercom. “I can’t decide whether I’m more grateful or annoyed that the F.B.I. took Wilson Fisk and his mob down this particular weekend.”

“I don’t know,” Captain Rogers responded from where he was plotting the next search vectors with Romanov in the command center, “we could have really used more assistance. New York’s a pretty big place, even with this view.”

“We’ll cope, Cap. To be honest, this would be so much more difficult if the media was bored enough to look deeper into our cover story. If they figured out that the ‘mishap with an armor prototype’ was in face yet another battle with enhanced individuals, we’d be swarmed.”

“I don’t like lying to anyone, let alone the newspapers.”

“Well, that’s what you pay me for,” Maria joked, though she meant every word. The last thing the present situation needed was lots of press coverage. The presence of the Avengers had served to calm the city (and the world) down after both the Chitauri and the Svartálfar invasion. It would do no one any good for the public to realize that team had been successfully attacked in their own headquarters.

“So, what else can we do?” Rogers pushed her.

“Unless something else opens up, the only thing I have left to do is interview a few captured Hydra agents to see if they can give me more insight into the D.O.A. That’s been stalled, because I have to wait on permission from the relevant authorities.”

“You mean Ross.”

“I mean Ross.”

Rogers sounded disgruntled. “I can’t believe a man like that would be named Secretary of State. I’m not a lawyer, but I can’t imagine the number of laws, both national and international, his pursuit of Bruce must have broken.”

“Yeah, I don’t like him either, but he’s the only game in town.” Cap may have seemed naïve to outsiders, but it wasn’t even remotely true. He understood realpolitik; he just didn’t like it. “And it’s not like the solution is going to walk right up to me.”

She felt a gust of cold air as the exterior doors to the lobby open. She might have simply ignored it, but while the security of the tower was among the best in the world, it had been beaten not two days before.

Tensing, Maria turned to the visitor. “May I help you?”

“Uh. Yeah. I’m looking for Scott McCall?”

Maria kept any suspicion off her face, but her hand drifted inches closer to her sidearm. No one was supposed to know he was present at the tower, and if this was about the werewolf, she could be dealing with other shapeshifters. “And you would be?”

“I’m Kira.” The young woman gave her an awkward smile. “He knows me.”

“Okay. You do realize it’s 4:00 a.m.? I’m not even sure he’s awake.”

“Oh, yeah, I know, but I … I kind of had to talk myself into this and it took me all night … okay, I know it’s late, but this is very important.”

Either the young woman was a professional operative with perfect infiltration techniques, Maria decided, or she was being painfully sincere. Either way, there was no harm in finding out the truth. “JARVIS, we have a visitor for Mr. McCall. Could you let him know?”

“-Yes, Ms. Hill.”

She gestured over toward a seat. “Would you like to wait over here?”

“Sure.” The young woman seemed to hesitate.

“I’m Maria Hill.”

“Oh. Okay.” The young girl flashed a bashful smile again. They sat down on some chairs in the waiting room.

In her earpiece, on quiet mode, Rogers spoke softly, “We’re ready if there’s trouble.”

None of her instincts screamed danger, but she waited patiently, nonetheless. Finally, the elevator opened up and Scott McCall rushed out, still barefoot in a t-shirt and sweats. He obviously hadn’t spent time putting on clothes.

“Kira!”

The young woman stood up and her face did a complex dance of fear and delight. Scott rushed over to her, but he pulled to a stop before he got close enough to hug her.

Oh, Maria thought, so that’s how it is.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

February 15, 2015 — Above Long Island, New York

Theo kept sneaking looks at Fox surreptitiously while the chimera put on his own body armor. Part of the plan was for the pair of them to look identical to the other members of the assault squads, so they could have as much freedom of movement as possible.

“What?” Fox demanded as he pulled the balaclava over his head.

“I didn’t know that you could do that.”

The pilot interrupted them with a message over the intercom. “Five minutes to target coordinates.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.” Fox continued to check over his gear. “I can do a lot of things.”

“The flies you used on the werewolves. I didn’t know you could control minds.”

“It’s not actually mind control, if you want to get technical. With them, I can only magnify pre-existing flaws existing within a person’s psychology. It gives me the opportunity to nudge in directions I want them to go. It’s very effective in this case, because phase-three participants don’t have much of a personality left. They’re far more susceptible.”

Theo hummed while yanking on his rappelling harness in order to test it. “From what I remember reading, that didn’t make it into your proposal for Project Vargulf.”

“I must have forgotten to include it.” Fox waggled his eyebrows. “Whoops.”

“You were always planning to break from Hydra, weren’t you?”

“I’ve never liked being caged, Theo, in either of my previous existences. You should be sympathetic.”

“I … never mind.”

“Hey,” Fox reached out and grabbed Theo’s shoulder. “If there’s a problem, you only have about two minutes.”

“There’s no problem. Not really.” Theo fixed his eyes on the middle of the Fox’s chest. “It’s just that if you could do that …”

He sensed the turmoil within Theo. “Oh, you’re surprised I never used them on you. Am I wearing a mask? Do I look like a Doctor? I’ve never lied to you, Theo, about how I see this relationship.”

“No, you haven’t, but they kept secrets from me, too.” The chimera bit his lip. “I can also sense that it takes effort to keep them on your leash, which mean you won’t be at full strength when we go in.”

“Hold that thought.” Fox leaned over and hit the intercom. “Pilot, are we over the island?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All planes, this is Fox. Deploy Vargulf agents.”

The jet temporarily slowed to hover mode, before shuddering as the drop pods separated from it and plummeted the ground. The Fox smiled at the irony. Deucalion was about to be on the receiving end of the same trick he had pulled with Boyd and Cora. New York City would awaken this morning to the sound of howls.

“Back on topic. While it does take some of my attention and a little power to guide them, it’s not a significant amount.”

“Maybe you should stay on the plane?”

The Fox grimaced at the chimera in sarcastic rejection.

Theo shrugged it off. “You’re their target. Common sense would seem to indicate that keeping you out of the line of fire would be the best tactic.”

“It’s sweet of you to think that way, but tell me, what aspect of my psychological make-up would indicate that I’d even consider staying up here where it’s safe when something I desire is on the line?”

With a sigh, Theo pulled a machine gun from the weapons rack and slung it over his back. “None.”

“That’s right, none. In addition, I’m not going to underestimate either Noshiko or Deucalion, and you shouldn’t do the so either. The primary reason I’ve committed the bulk of our forces to this is because half-measures would only insure our defeat. My staying behind to be ‘safe’ is a half-measure.”

The lights in the back of the plane turned red, signaling that they were in position.

“Okay, here we go.” Fox turned to the two troopers with him and Theo. “The roof of that hospital hasn’t had a lick of maintenance done on it for over forty years. Follow Raeken’s and my lead: between my ability to detect potential chaos and his super-senses, we should all be safe. After we secure Dr. Ranefer, your job is to get her on this plane as fast as humanly possible. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The rear of the plane opened up to allow all four of them to descend on zip lines. Theo carried a spare fifth line with an attached harness for Ayla’s evacuation.

On a certain level, Fox hated his own plan but only because it would give him the least amount of short-term satisfaction. His werewolves going in first as shock troops would draw the enemy’s attention. It would be great if they managed to take down the entire opposing force, but he doubted it would. He did expect that vargulf’s brute-force approach would disrupt any traps an opponent like Deucalion would lay.

Two six-man assault teams deployed from the other jets would remain in support positions outside the hospital, backed up by their transports. These teams would act as containment to make sure that the fight stayed exactly where Fox wanted it.

As impressive as those two forces were, they weren’t the point. His personal team two would grab Ayla and secure her freedom before all the teams would evacuate. As much as Fox wanted to punish those who had offended him, this morning saw retreat as the best play.

They dropped through the air in the cold morning light, landing on the sloped roof of the hospital. As expected, the surface was treacherous; one of the stone shingles slipped out from under his feet, though he managed to keep his balance. Fox ground his teeth against the urge to crush his enemies in battle, but drawing on all of his past experience, he had come to an unavoidable conclusion: the Alpha of Alphas would assume that an amalgam of Stiles Stilinski and a nogitsune wouldn’t choose or even be able to contain his rage. He aimed to confound that expectation.

“Charges.”

Theo moved quickly to place the specially prepared charges, while the Fox checked on his vargulfs. Below, even the humans could hear the sounds of gunfire matched by roaring. His feral werewolves had breached the hospital walls and were doing what they did best: unrestrained violence.

“Set.” The chimera stood up. “Go in ten, nine, eight …”

Deucalion’s message had included specific coordinates and a photograph of the restrained Dr. Ranefer flanked by two oni. The invitation had given his people enough information to pinpoint her exact location among the layout for the hospital. The shaped charges would give them clear egress through the roof, and they would be able to drop right down to where she had sat.

It was ten minutes after dawn, so the oni would no longer be able to be present. If the doctor had been moved, they would still have the advantage of surprise. Of course, Deucalion might have some surprises of his own in store for them, but that couldn’t be helped. Fox felt confident he had the ability to adjust with the best of them.

The countdown ended with an explosion. Theo had been on point with the charges, which blew the debris down and out. A rush of strife surged up through the newly made hole.

“Keep her steady,” he ordered the pilot as they leapt through the roof. The emotional energy surrounding him was invigorating, but he clenched his fist in order to keep his focus.

Rescue Ayla first; eat and get revenge later.

At the bottom of the drop, an unattended Ayla sat tied to a chair, covered with dust but none the worse for wear. The ferocity of the vargulf assault most likely had drawn any guards away, while no human guard wouldn’t have wanted to stand too close anyway.

“What are you doing here?” Ayla snapped.

Theo detached himself from his harness to be able to maneuver more freely and knelt down to check her bonds.

“You’re too valuable to lose,” Fox replied simply.

The chimera snapped her bonds with a burst of strength while she stood up, while one of the other agents secured her in a spare harness. Dr. Ranefer looked like she wanted to say something else, but this wasn’t the time.

“Go,” Fox ordered. “We’ll be right behind you.”

At his signal, Ayla and the two soldiers ascended with aid from the powered winch on the plane hovering above. From one of the side hallways, he heard a terrible roar. Turning, he caught a glimpse of Deucalion, in full alpha form, tangling with two of the phase-three participants. Deucalion wasn’t having an easy time, but Fox had to assume the alpha would eventually win that fight.

“Get your harness on, Theo. We’re getting—”

His rappelling line suddenly fell down around him, cut in two, even as Theo cried out and sprawled on the ground as a rifle shot tore into his chest. Noshiko Yukimura landed right in front Fox, in a three-point stance, the katana she had used to cut the line already in position to attack again. With that flourish, there was no way he would forget that the celestial kitsune only looked like a middle-aged Japanese woman.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” she hissed at him.

It took Fox but a moment to locate the shooter. Kincade, Katashi’s old bodyguard, had perched on one of the upper-level balconies and equipped with a high-powered rifle. It took him another moment to make sure Theo wasn’t dead. He pretended to ignore his lieutenant’s situation.

“That’s a nice sword you got there,” Fox said as he reached to his back and pulled out the telescoping tetsubo he had chosen to carry. “Not many blades can cut through steel-reinforced lines like these when they’re not taut, but the blade isn’t one I recognize.”

She didn’t answer but lunged at him and he barely managed to sidestep the blow. He leaped backwards, admiring the trap. Fighting her all out would require him to take his eyes off the sniper above, which could be fatal.

The Fox chuckled as he snapped out the studded club to its full length, hefting it like a bat. Theo tried to push himself up, blood pooling beneath him from the wound, but Fox used the tip to push him down so he could heal more. “Take it easy, Theo. She’s here for me, and it would be rude to deny her petty vengeance.”

“You think that’s what this is?”

Fox switched to Japanese to answer her. “I can’t possibly see what else it could be.”

“It’s duty, something you wouldn’t understand.”

“Fool, you keep talking as if you know me.”

“I know you, demon.” Noshiko punctuated with that statement with a barrage of fast slashes, which he deflected with his weapon. Sparks flew as the blade clashed with the tetsubo’s metal studs.

“Are you sure about that? When you summoned part of me at Oak Creek, you thought you knew what you were doing, but things didn’t go according to plan.” He brought down his weapon down toward her head, and this time it was Noshiko who had to take a step back. “Then you supposedly imprisoned me forever, yet here I am!”

Instead of launching another attack, she began to circle him, not bothering to confirm or deny what they both knew to be true.

“Even with all those failures, you still seek to challenge me even now, when I am so different than I have ever been before.”

“I do not believe you. Things like you cannot change.”

Fox smiled. “I imagine that must make things easier for you.”

They clashed once again before Fox was forced back before, nimbly stepping over the detritus from the ceiling. This wasn’t going to be an easy fight, even though she had lost so many of her tails. He had to keep his mind on the sniper above, keep maneuvering so it would be hard for the Yakuza werewolf to take the shot.

“What do you mean by that?” Her voice sounded firm, and Fox doubted that anyone else would have been able to detect the note of doubt in it. He wondered if someone else had already made the same point.

“Both of us have seen this sort of behavior in humans. In the face of the unknown, in the face of uncertainty, they cling stubbornly to what they can understand because it gives them the illusion of control over what they cannot.”

He lunged forward, shattering the floor beneath feet, and forcing her to leap acrobatically into the air. When she landed, she slashed at his legs, but the counterblow had no spirit in it; it took little effort to block it.

“For my part, I’ve changed into something new, just as the world’s changed into something we’ve never seen before. I guess that frightens you, Noshiko!”

She brought her sword up, into a stance designed to resettle her focus. She locked eyes with him and her hesitation vanished. “I think it frightens you as well.”

“Oh, yes.” He chuckled. “But I’m willing to adapt; you seem to be having some trouble with it. You insist on playing the same game by the same rules, and I’ve outgrown you.”

Her stance shifted and her eyes turned to ice. He could taste the emotional pain radiating from her; in her heart she was afraid what he said was true.

They circled each other and the Fox found himself more than a little strained. It shouldn’t be happening; he’d been in tougher scraps than this, but that was when the nogitsune had only cared about itself, and losing a host meant very little. Now he had to worry about Noshiko’s blade, Kincaid’s rifle, Theo slowly healing on the floor, and evacuating the ruined hospital in time. In some way, this battle – when he cared about anyone else – was new territory for him, and that was a novel sensation for someone who had a thousand years of experience.

He told himself he would contemplate that later after he had won. Those hopes were dashed when a crash of thunder rattled the old hospital so strongly that parts of the wall fell to the floor. He and Noshiko sprang apart, both looking at the sky.

“No,” Fox tried to deny it. “No, no, no! Not now!”

The skies had been clear and cold. There was no way this could be a natural storm. Above them, through the hole in the roof, he watched as his quinjet opened fire on unseen aerial opponents. He grabbed for his radio. “Don’t engage! Don’t—”

The D.O.A. jet exploded into a ball of flame, forcing both him and the celestial kitsune to shield themselves. When he turned back, blinking, he saw Iron Man fly through the remains of the explosion, looking like an advertisement for an action movie.

With a roar of articulated rage, he produced his full aura. Nine black tails, manifestations of his own darkness, lashed out, striking the ground and the walls. Ayla Ranefer might have possessed an extraordinarily high pain tolerance and a brilliant mind, but she couldn’t have survived that.

He whirled to face Noshiko who was looking at him, stunned and incredulous.

“You have changed,” she uttered in horror. “You actually care.”

“I do care,” he snarled, “I care enough to slaughter every single one of you!”

The Fox didn’t care about tactics at this moment. He didn’t care about anything but delivering as much pain as he possibly could before he snuffed them all out. He raised the tetsubo over his head. He’d start by breaking the other fox’s skull like an eggshell.

He probably would have as his tails had kept her off balance, except for the impact of high-caliber shell grazing his skull. If it hadn’t been partially deflected by one of his tails, things would have gone quite differently. Blood ran into his eyes, but he dashed it away and tracked where it came from to find Kincade, only to find himself looking down the barrel of the rifle. Beyond it, the glowing-blue eyes of the omega shone with determination, and for the first time, Fox felt the smallest sliver of fear. Especially when he saw the man’s finger begin to tighten on the trigger.

The shot never came close, because Scott McCall hit Kincade with a flying tackle, knocking the rifle wide, and carrying them both to the ground.

Fox was only shocked that somehow Scott had managed to be in this abandoned hospital at this precise moment in time. Nothing else about the alpha’s behavior shocked him. He smiled and then brought up the tetsubo as an afterthought to block Noshiko’s swing.

“You don’t get to kill me today, Noshiko.” He rushed to her, bringing his greater strength to bear on her form. “I was thinking of letting you live with the knowledge that you never will, but even I’m not that arrogant.”

“I’m not dead yet!” she said defiantly.

“But you are done.” Theo, having healed enough to move, hamstrung her with his claws. As she fell back, the chimera grabbed him by the shoulder. “This way.”

“Oh, no.” Fox tried to shake off the hand. “I’m not leaving yet. She’s dead. They killed her.”

“I know, but everything you ever did with her will be wasted if you get caught by the Avengers. Come on.”

Reluctantly, he followed Theo down a hospital corridor. “Where are we going?”

“Away from everyone,” Theo said, rushing down the hallway. “Do you still have control of the Vargulf?”

“I can sense the ones that are still alive.”

“We need a diversion. Have them attack anything in a costume.”

Given his own barely constrained rage, it was easy for him to transfer that into the remaining werewolves under his control. He reached for his radio, but Theo snatched it away from him.

“I already gave the order to retreat if the Avengers showed up. This way.”

“Again, where are we going?”

“Escape route.”

“My plan didn’t have an escape route, Theo.” Fox had memorize this part of the hospital and tried to think ahead.

“I know. You can scold me later for lacking faith in your plans, but I was worried that someone unexpected might show up.”

“There is no way they should have gotten here this quickly! I took that into account!”

“Overconfidence isn’t the worst crime for someone of your stature, but I had it beaten out of me.” Theo went over to the door and kicked it open. They were 75 feet from the East River. “You can resist cold temperatures for a while, right?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re going to swim for it. I have a car waiting on Oak Avenue.”

The Fox turned around. Behind him, the sounds of battle were quickly dying down. If he could take any comfort from this, Noshiko and Deucalion — if he still lived — would have an awful lot of explaining to do. But he could not find that comfort.

She was his friend, and he had risked so much to save her only to have her snatched away forever. He’d feast on the souls of everyone responsible for this. One by one.

Chapter Text

February 15, 2015 – Outside St. Petersburg, Russia

If there is one feeling that Lydia hated, it was being ignorant. She stood there watching Jackson’s chest rise and fall, breathing slowly and steadily, and she couldn’t estimate how long it would take her to free from his restraints. Her eyes shifted to the I.V. which dripped yellowish liquid into his veins in order to render him unconscious. She had so little data with which to work, she couldn’t draw any useful conclusions about the situation. As she had once criticized Stiles, she couldn’t draw conclusions with inadequate information, and she shouldn’t try.

She hadn’t been present in the converted bedroom when Gerard and his hunters had held Jackson down and first administered the wolf’s bane. She had been brought in afterward and forced to sit on a chair in the corner, next to the barred window with the dingy curtains.

Since then, Gerard had moved in and out of the room, trying to look busy but failing to conceal his unease. He would pin her with a gaze whenever he entered the room, and it took her several times before she figured out why. She was his canary in the coal mine, a warning about whether things were about to turn dangerous. She caught her tongue between her teeth.

“Does she need to be here?” the Russian scientist asked as Gerard when he entered the room once again. The mercenary doctor hadn’t even looked in her direction.

“Very much so, Dr. Vostokoff.” Gerard seemed irritated. “She may not look it, but she can be extraordinarily useful. The closer she is to what’s happening the more useful she will be. I want her here, especially since it seems that haste is not in your vocabulary.”

“Mr. Argent.” The woman’s words were polite enough, but there was an undercurrent that clearly implied he was being foolish. “What you have hired me to do is not like reformatting a disk drive on a personal computer. The human brain is a much more delicate instrument. The haste you desire might leave you with someone unable to work a door handle or tie their own shoes. Especially since I have never seen metabolic processes like his outside the scant data I’ve received on various super-solider programs. All previously successful applications of my methods have taken at least a month to execute, and most times considerably longer. If I move any faster, I risk complete failure.”

“My window of opportunity isn’t particularly large,” Gerard replied sourly as he turned to leave once again. “Take the risk.”

A look of cold disapproval crossed the doctor’s face as she watched his retreating back.

“What does this treatment do?” Lydia asked. She had to give herself something else to focus on.

“The process is rather complicated.”

“Do I look like I have something else occupying my cognitive faculties?”

Dr. Vostokoff looked sharply at her, examining with a calculating eye. “Maybe I will tell you, if you explain why Mr. Argent wants you in the room first.”

Lydia hesitated. While she had chosen to remain silent while Gerard and the woman talked, she hadn’t been ignoring their conversation. Gerard had described Jackson’s abilities as superhuman but had refrained from using any terms that would lead towards the supernatural. This scientist might not be fully aware of everything in which she was involved.

“I’m psychic.”

The woman raised both eyebrows.

“Believe me or don’t but make no mistake: Gerard does. I have in the past predicted events of a particular nature. These predictions tend to be more reliable if I am both physically close and emotionally involved.”

“Certain events.” Wheels began to spin behind the other woman’s eyes. “What type of events?”

“I can sense if someone is going to die.” Lydia answered, forgoing evasion for the time being. She hoped her bluntness would discourage Dr. Vostokoff from prying any deeper. It was unlikely, because it wouldn’t have discouraged Lydia herself, but she took the risk because she wanted to know more about the process Jackson was being subjected to.

“I suppose that would make your presence a sensible precaution. If I had spent as much money as he did on my services, I would make sure that the subject survived as well. What do you know about the neurobiological bases of memory formation?”

Lydia had in fact read quite a bit about it. Peter’s unauthorized occupation of her subconscious had been sufficient motivation. She rattled off a brief summary, only to be pleased to see a glimpse of admiration in the Russians scientist’s eyes.

“Memories are most often invoked as a result of sensory input, by another occurrence of a similar events, or by conscious effort. This invocation is accompanied by an emotional reaction, even if that reaction is indifference. Remembering the death of a friend, for example, can cause the subject to experience grief. Remembering the location of car keys can cause a subject experience relief.

Lydia gritted her teeth and swallowed, forcing something back down her throat. As soon as she could, she commented hoarsely. “Yes. I can see that.”

“In my lifetime, I have been involved with mental conditioning. During that time, I noted that the process changes how a subject experiences memories. Through sustained cognitive retraining, a memory which previously caused the subject negative emotions can be recoded to create positive emotions. For example, resentment for the individuals conditioning is often replaced with appreciation, perhaps even devotion.”

“He had come to love Big Brother.”

“Ah.” Vostokoff snorted. “You’ve read your Orwell. My work attempts to do duplicate the effects of long-term mental conditioning on the biochemical level. When successful, my conditioning happens far more quickly and seamlessly integrates with the subject's psyche. There have been no behavioral anomalies or instances of resistance.”

“That’s … that’s horrifying. Why would you want to do that?”

The scientist held up a finger even while checking on the experiment she was presently running in an autoclave. “While I do feel a certain sense of satisfaction when I make progress, the desire to develop this process was not mine.”

Lydia opened her mouth to send a sharp retort, but she closed her mouth so hard her teeth clicked. In the machine’s hum, she heard the sound of people shouting in Russian, the same command over and over. There was every possibility that when Dr. Vostokoff told her that she had been involved in conditioning in the past, she was referring to being the subject of it.

Intuitively, she understood this to be true. Her palms grew sweaty, and her heart moved up into her throat. She knew what being used felt like. “You’re going to condition him?”

“Not exactly. Mr. Argent requested that we eliminate the subject’s—”

“Jackson. His name is Jackson Whittemore.”

“Not for very much longer. Mr. Argent requested that we eliminate the subject’s sense of identity. I shall do this by stripping the emotional context from all of his memories. He will remember everything he’s ever experienced, but it will be as if it happened to someone else. I believe emotional resonance is the core of an individual’s identity. Do you know him?”

“We were together … he still loves me, I think.”

“Oh.” The slightest frown appeared on the doctor’s face. “Again, not for very much longer. I’m not sure what use he will be afterward, but we are not being paid to worry about that.”

On the other hand, Lydia was sure. Without an identity, Jackson would most likely revert to being a kanima, and by this point he would most likely be an alpha kanima. Gerard would possess a terrifying creature that would serve his every whim. The old hunter would understand how to use it to his best advantage to gain revenge on everyone she cared about. She clenched her fists.

“I have to warn you,” Dr. Vostokoff continued as she did her work; she must have spotted something in Lydia’s stance that made her think Lydia might try something. “I am proficient in many forms of hand-to-hand combat. Most probably, I can disable you without killing you. I would prefer to have to do either. You aren’t part of the mission.”

Lydia nodded, because she wasn’t thinking of trying anything yet. All her concentration was focused on the thing she couldn’t afford to do. Not yet, anyway.

Allison considered it a personal triumph that she chose to send Aiden with her father while she partnered up with Peter. She didn’t have any doubts about Peter’s commitment to this mission; she could tell he was eager to get at Gerard. If Peter caught was the first of them to catch up with her grandfather, it wouldn’t be pretty, though she hoped she would be too occupied freeing Jackson and Lydia to witness the carnage.

It wasn’t that she had any loyalty to Gerard or any overwhelming fear of Peter. It was just that on some nights, while she was lying in bed and looking up at the ceiling, she had had to admit to herself that the two moments for which she was most ashamed of herself were their doing. When Peter had trapped them all in the high school, he might have been trying to force Scott to become his beta, but she had never forgotten how the whole incident had made her feel so frustratingly helpless. She had told Kate she had never wanted to feel that way again, and she still felt that way.

Her grandfather, on the other hand, had twisted that desire into something dark. Winding her up like a toy soldier, he had played upon that messy knot of ambition and weakness in order to use her to do terrible things to other people. Did Boyd and Erica support Derek trying to kill Lydia? Without a doubt. Did they deserve to be captured? Absolutely. But their behavior hadn’t justified the malicious glee she had taken in it, and it certainly hadn’t merited the torture that she, no matter how anyone could look at it, had personally facilitated. Her stomach still turned when she remembered Erica’s cries, cries she had taken pleasure in rejecting.

These men had brought out the worst parts of her.

“Can we move a little faster?” Peter grumbled from behind her.

“No.” She held up one finger and pointed down the space between two evergreens. Leaning down, she carefully brushed the snow away from where she was covering the trip wire. “We can’t.”

“Point made.”

She moved as quickly as she could. “It’ll be different once we break the tree line—”

“That’s when I take the lead.” Peter finished with such a tone that she glanced back at him in alarm. His smile made her skin crawl, but she nodded her acknowledgment. Before she had met Peter three years ago, she would have scoffed at the notion that so much predatory malevolence could be contained in a grin.

She picked their way carefully through the grove. Given the effort Gerard had made, they would probably get only one shot at this. They had to be perfect. Finally, they reached the back yard. She took a deep breath and held it, scanning to make sure she hadn’t overlooked anything. Eventually, though, a leader had to take a risk; she pressed the button on the radio that would signal her father. “Go.”

The older Hale surged forward towards the violence, like a spring unloading. She was shocked; she thought he was weaker than most werewolves, but he seemed to be stronger than any of the betas. She filed that information away for later investigation while she pulled out her bow. Peter had reached the drift-covered patio even as the back door opened, and a hunter Allison didn’t recognize came out with a shotgun. He was a younger man, a little seedy looking, but he had been well-trained. The hunter brought up his weapon, an Ithaca 37 combat shotgun, to take out the charging werewolf’s legs. Knocking a lycanthrope down allowed a hunter to keep the advantage of range even if the wound wasn’t fatal.

Allison had a flashback to Aunt Kate telling her how to shoot Derek. The memory ran down her spine and down into her gut, but she squashed it with the conviction that she was the one calling the shots now. She whispered to herself, in defiance, “Now, the leg.”

The hunter’s shot went wide as the arrow in his thigh threw off his balance completely, twisting him around. Before the younger man could compensate, Peter reached him and slammed him into the wall. The werewolf dropped his claws.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she sprinted forward, knowing she would never reach him in time. Peter deliberately caught her eye before smashing the hunter into the wall once again, knocking him unconscious.

“What’s the matter, Princess, do you think I’d murder him right in front of you? I wouldn’t want to give you a reason to—”

Before he could finish his taunt, he was surprised by a woman who had moved so deliberately and stealthily that neither Allison nor Peter could react in time. She put three bullets in Peter’s center of mass with deadly accuracy and no change in her expression. He dropped before Allison could finish pining the arm which held the pistol to the wall of the dacha.

Terrifyingly, the woman showed little reaction. Allison sprinted up as the woman switched the gun from one hand to the other and brought it to bear. With the shaft of her bow, she knocked the pistol to the ground. The woman only narrowed her eyes and pulled a baton from her belt without bothering to try to free her trapped arm. Surprised, Allison stumbled back, her feet nearly sliding out from under her on the snow while dodging the counter blow.

Allison tried to figure out who the woman could be; she didn’t fight like an Argent-trained hunter or someone from the Khishchnik. She had gear that Allison didn’t recognize, either. From a distance, she could have been wearing normal clothes, but up close, it was some sort of armored jumpsuit.

“Stand down,” Allison ordered. “We’re not here for you. Whatever Gerard is paying you isn’t worth it.”

Without replying, the woman reached over and snapped the haft of the arrow with the baton, before pulling her arm free. The act must have been excruciating, but the woman seemed to completely ignore it. Allison recognized the danger in that move when she saw it and tried to strike first.

In hand-to-hand, she clearly was outmatched; she wasn’t a slouch in close combat, this woman had Allison immediately on the defensive. Even as her opponent’s right arm was almost completely disabled, her blows landed with precision and her dodges where incredibly graceful even in snow. Allison barely managed to keep her bow in the way. Her enemy’s melee weapon was a stun baton, more compact than what the Argents used for hunting, but Allison wasn’t going to assume it was any less potent.

The fight was going poorly, and Allison felt the situation slipping out of control. Elsewhere in the house, she heard gunfire.

With a shout, she surged forward only to get booted in the face, hard enough to fall back into a drift. The woman should be on top of her, and hit her with that baton, but the blow never came back.

“That hurt,” Peter hissed, holding the woman’s weapon arm with one hand and grabbing her around the midsection. His face was in full beta shift, angled and sinister. He had played dead until he had healed enough and used the woman’s now-obvious ignorance of the supernatural. If Peter had been human, he would have been quite dead.

In his weakened state, though, he should have been down for much longer, and Allison was sure that he wasn’t as weak as he had let on being. She’d deal with that later; one shouldn’t look a gift werewolf in the mouth until the battle was over.

The woman tried to twist out, but Peter had a firm grip. “Uh, uh, uh.”

“We need to get inside,” Allison disarmed the woman. “Hamstring her.”

Peter didn’t need to be told twice. He’d probably use that against her somehow, but that, again, could wait. With the baton, she rushed into the door they had come out of, hearing the woman finally cry out and Peter turn to follow her in.

Every graduate of the Red Room learned to fight by being relentlessly trained in hand-to-hand combat and a variety of armaments which ranged from melee weapons to sniper rifles. Every graduate of the Red Room could kill; making sure that a subject had eliminated any hesitation about that was a significant part of their final evaluation.

Yet even with all that, Black Widows were not intended to be soldiers but spies and assassins, so one of the skills they had to master was intelligence gathering. Back when she was trained, the trainees would play games of deception with their instructors. Those who won received rewards, such as better food or less work.

Melina Vostokoff may not be employed as a field agent as often as she once was, but she had never forgotten her lessons.

Manipulating Gerard Argent had been more difficult than she had at first imagined, but she had managed. The Argents and the families allied to them had been known to the world’s security forces as non-state actors for decades. Geographically decentralized, these families had developed political influence, significant armories, and effective intelligence networks. Ultimately, government agencies kept only a casual eye on them, because they never seemed to do anything with those resources. There were enough active threats without spending resources on what seemed to be harmless tradition.

It might have been a mistake.

For the Red Room, this neglect had vanished when Gerard Argent had contacted the brokers whom Dreykov usually worked through. It hadn’t caused by the fact that Argent had known about the conditioning done to Black Widow assassins; rumors about the program dated back to World War II. Dreykov’s interest had been piqued during the background check he always ran on potential clients.

Gerard Argent’s miraculous recovery from stage IV pancreatic cancer certainly merited closer examination, and the deeper the organization looked into this phenomenon, the more interesting it became. She, as their primary scientific researcher, had been ordered her to attend to this mission personally.

In preparation, she had read the files they had on Mr. Argent and his family along with the full text of his proposal. She had arrived at this dacha knowing she couldn’t do what the man wanted as fast as he wanted it to happen. Even with the successes she had had in her research, she couldn’t strip a person’s identity from them in a week. Perhaps in a month. She would spend a few days pretending to work before telling Mr. Argent the truth. After all, her real mission had been to learn what had been overlooked about him and his family.

Apparently, Gerard Argent had regular access to enhanced individuals, as he was comfortable and knowledgeable about their existence. The enhanced she had been directed to work on had been different than anything she’s ever seen before. She had examined Jackson Whittemore thoroughly and observed how his captors had treated him. Superior senses, superhuman strength, and a healing factor beyond anything she had ever heard.

In addition, he believed that he had access to a functional psychic.

The Soviet government had pursued psychic research but had failed to produce any significant results S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files — dumped by Natasha, an act which always brought a slight smile to Melina’s face — had revealed they had never been able to find any stable precognitives or telepaths; Hydra had access to them, but their abilities were spotty and unreliable. When Melina had coaxed the young woman into talking about herself, the possible psychic had been both reluctant to share her abilities

She memorized everything she could about Lydia Martin. She drew one conclusion early on: properly trained, the young woman had the potential to be incredibly dangerous.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as Ms. Martin treated Mr. Argent with thinly veiled yet appropriately cautious contempt. Lydia despised the older man, and she wouldn’t hide that from him, yet she had sufficient control over her emotions not to antagonize him.

For his part, Mr. Argent certainly treated Ms. Martin as a prisoner but one with significant value. Any other person would have focused on her and the two Widows serving as her bodyguards, but that was not what was happening.

The morning passed quickly for her, though she imagined it would have been boring for anyone else. She got to perform different experiments on the subject, though most of which had nothing to do with the task for which she was sent here.

“Gerard.” One of Mr. Argent’s men suddenly stood in the doorway. “I think I saw something out back.”

“Saw something?” The old man snapped, but his eyes shifted to Lydia Martin for some reason. “Saw what?”

“I think … I think I saw someone in the woods.”

“Then go check it out.”

Melina straightened and locked eyes with Irina. She turned her head slightly to follow the hunter leaving. Irina immediately followed him.

It did not escape Argent’s notice. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“I do not believe you.”

Lydia Martin laughed out loud.

If there was one thing the old man shared with others of his gender was his hatred of being laughed at by women. Sneering, he turned towards his captive.

“If there is something you failed to tell us when you purchased our services, it would be in your best interest to tell us now.”

“I told you I was in a hurry.” He stopped suddenly. “And I still am. It could be a local, nothing more.”

“Or …?” Melina trailed off suggestively. When he didn’t answer immediately. “Who do you fear it could be? I can’t do my job in a warzone.”

Gerard Argent turned to face her. “There was a possibility I could have been tracked.”

“By whom?”

“Go on,” Lydia spat. “Tell her. What did you think was going to happen?”

“We’re not in any danger,” Gerard stated firmly. “If it’s the worst-case scenario, then we’ll have to negotiate.”

The young woman scoffed. Melia turned to Anoushka. “Perimeter. Unless you, Mr. Argent, is going to say that it is unnecessary?”

The man didn’t answer, but his captive certainly did.

“They’re going to kill you this time, you old monster.”

“Doubtful Scott McCall would allow it.”

“If they brought him, and if whatever she’s doing to Jackson isn’t permanent.” The young woman replied, saucily. “Or are you one of those fools who thinks that just because my alpha avoids killing, he can’t?”

“Speculation is pointless, Lydia. I’m still in control here.”

The captive pushed herself up from the chair and stalked toward the old man. Melina noted a change in her demeanor. Reflexively, her hand dropped to where she had concealed a Taser device. The young woman suddenly seemed terribly dangerous.

The old man did not flinch, but when he opened his mouth to say something, he was cut off by gunshots coming from the back of the house. Melina immediately began preparing her escape route, reaching out to her laptop to grab it and the gathered data.

“Is that speculation?” Martin drew herself up. “Is this?”

She opened her mouth and screamed louder than Melina Vostokoff had ever heard anyone scream before.

Chris Argent would let Allison know that he would never want to be paired with Aiden again. The young former alpha had become accustomed to acting on his own desires without thoughts for the consequence. Deucalion had made the mistake with Ethan and Aiden that many strict parents had made with their children: he had confused discipline with self-discipline.

Responding to discipline appropriately was a good trait to learn when engaged in dangerous undertakings, but it couldn’t be the beginning and end of training. Those in command — whether they be leaders, parents, or alphas of alphas — couldn’t be present at all times, so those who followed had to learn how to understand the balance between personal goals and group goals, between success at all costs and safety. Deucalion had been so suspicious of those with power after Marco that he had never sought to instill a sense of purpose in those who didn’t already have them.

When Chris turned their SUV sharply to block the drive to the dacha, Aiden was already out the door and headed toward the front.

“Aiden, stop!”

The werewolf paused, turning back to growl at him.

“We have a plan. We need to give the others time to get into position.”

Aiden snapped his jaws at him.

“Listen to me. She wasn’t kidnapped because of anything you did or didn’t do or anything I did or didn’t do. You need to focus on her and not your feelings.” Chris tried to get his attention. “Aiden, tell me what you sense.”

His words managed to get through to Aiden and the former alpha sniffed the air. While he was doing it, Chris grabbed both his assault rifle and an extra flash-bang grenade. It couldn’t hurt to be over prepared.

“Eight people. Lydia. One werewolf. Three men with guns and wolfsbane. Three women with guns but no wolfsbane.”

Chris raised his eyebrows.

“Duke drilled us pretty hard on the techniques.”

He was about to compliment the young man when he heard gunshots. They must have came from the back yard, which was Peter’s and Allison’s approach vector.

“Now?”

“Together. Since you’re shifted, you go in front. His hunters will focus on you by reflex, allowing me to focus on them.”

“Got it.”

They moved quickly but steadily toward the house. Rushing too fast would only get them ambushed. There was no reason to believe that Gerard wouldn’t have something prepared.

That patience vanished when they heard Lydia’s banshee wail.

As was always the case in situations like this, things sped up rapidly. Aiden broke out into a dead sprint, but he didn’t veer off towards the front door. He went through one of the windows at full speed. It would be an effective shock.

Chris was neither a young man nor a werewolf, so he approached the front stoop instead. He clocked the sharp retorts of a few flash-bangs and the answering roar of werewolves, so his gun was in the ready position when the door opened. While the woman he came face-to-face with was his age, dark haired and quite beautiful, she also had a pistol pointed directly at his face and a laptop tucked under her other arm.

It might have made sense for them to open fire on each other, but neither of them did. Maybe there was hope for the world yet.

“We’re only here for them,” he said in Russian. He couldn’t remember the Russian word for captives.

“Yes,” the woman replied in perfect English, stepping to the side. The younger woman right behind her followed after. “Be my guest.”

He was momentarily surprised by how easy that was, but he hadn’t been lying. Jackson and Lydia were his top priority; stopping his father was the second.

Carnage ruled at the interior of the house. In the living room, a hunter — one that Chris recognized as a personal recruit of his father’s — lay on the ground. The hunter must have tried to stop Aiden, and in return the beta had pretty much torn off half his face and left a huge gash in his chest. He checked to see the man’s pulse only to see if it had fled.

“Allison!” he bellowed. For a split second, he tried to tell himself that he was simply attempting to coordinate their attack, that he was getting a read on the situation, but the facade dissolved almost immediately. He would never be comfortable with his daughter going into violent situations; he could too easily imagine her in the place of that hunter, her body cooling on the floor.

“Here!”

Inside the room, Jackson Whittemore was still tied to the bed. Aiden and Peter had been shot multiple times, but they were slowly healing, with Aiden crouching on the floor and Peter leaning up against the wall. Standing opposed them was a younger woman armed with a pair of knives. She stood defensively before his father, who had a pistol pressed up against Lydia Martin’s skull.

“Gerard …” The word slipped out of his mouth. Whenever Chris believes his father had reached the bottom, Gerard tore up the floor.

“Not one more step, any of you!”

“What do you think is going to happen here?” Peter asked with obvious delight.

“I think,” his father spat, “that I’ve still got the upper hand. Most of you are far too concerned about Miss Martin’s ability to continue breathing to do what’s necessary. I underestimated how much they care about you, Lydia, but I can surely turn that to my advantage now.”

“We would have always come for Lydia and Jackson.” Allison’s pulled her bow taut. “Release her now.”

Gerard grinned nastily in response.

“I don’t get you,” Chris said slowly. “You were free. You could have gone anywhere, done anything, but you lacked the imagination to do anything but grasp for more power.”

That took the smile off the old man’s face.

“We found you easily, and at first I was sure it was a trap, Dad, but I realize something. I’ve grown, and you haven’t.”

“You’ve grown into someone who would work with the likes of Peter Hale!”

“Exactly!” Chris lowered his gun and stepped forward. He could end this peacefully. “It should have taken us months to find you, but we worked together. Allison and I knew your tactics and how you thought; Peter and Aiden had resources we lacked. We put aside hatred, and we got the job done quicker than you imagined we could have. And now you’re standing here, looking like a pathetic cliché.”

“How could I possibly have sired such a spineless fool?”

“I got lucky, I guess.” He switched to his crude Russian. “By the way, your leader has left. If you leave now, you can go too.”

The woman glanced back at Gerard and then sheathed her weapons.

“What!” Gerard sputtered.

“You told me that you pay mercenaries to work for you, not to die for you.” Chris threw the old man’s words back at him. “No one interfere.”

Lydia looked to say something but Gerard shoved the gun up against her head hard. “You haven’t won yet. You know I’ll do it.”

Chris glanced over at Allison as the stranger left the room, leaving Gerard alone against the four of them. She could definitely put an arrow into him without harming Lydia, but it wasn’t a sure thing he wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger.

Aiden growled, but he didn’t risk it. Peter smacked his lips in boredom.

Lydia sighed as if she had just been insulted by an over-eager freshman. “Come now, Gerard, we both know you’re not going to pull that trigger. You want to survive, and I’m absolutely sure I didn’t scream for myself. So I think that you’re going to take advantage of the five minute head start.”

Chris gritted his teeth. As much as he wanted this over, he had to remember what was important.

“Far be it from me to argue with a banshee,” Gerard sighed. “Five minutes.”

“No, you aren’t going anywhere!”

“Lower your bow, Allison,” Lydia said calmly. The young women locked eyes and finally Allison did as requested. “Everyone else, stay where you are. Trust me.”

With one last mincing sneer, Gerard headed out of the room as fast as he could, probably looking to get his car.

Lydia moved to Aiden and helped him stand up. “Could someone untie Jackson?” She tilted her head as she looked at Peter. “What are you still doing here?”

“But, it hasn’t been five minutes.”

“I lied. My scream was for him, though I guess I could ask Aiden to take care of it.” She rolled her eyes.

Peter’s turn to grin nastily. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry that it’s came to this.”

Chris suddenly felt relieved as the Hale werewolf rushed out the door. “Nothing to apologize for, Lydia.”

Allison bent over Jackson, using a knife to free him. “Will Peter catch him?”

“Oh, yes,” Lydia said, even as the conversation was punctuated by more gunshots. “We won’t have to worry about him ever again.”

Chapter Text

February 17, 2015 — Beacon Hills, California

Noah Stilinski had put a new flat screen television on layaway a few days after he been pulled out of Jennifer’s root cellar. Finally aware of all the terrible things his son had gone through over the past year, Noah had decided to do something special that would remind Stiles that he had a normal life, too. He had been impatient to see Stiles’s delight on Christmas morning. Unfortunately, Stiles had been abducted long before then.

On the other hand, there were positives, of a sort. He got to sit on his couch and watch – in high definition – as his life turned to ashes.

As the special report continued relentlessly, he had been struck by a strange thought: he couldn’t have been the first. There had to have been other people who learned about a devastating fire, about a terrible accident, about a violent murder on the six o’clock news and slowly come to comprehend the awful magnitude of what it meant to them personally. He chided himself for getting caught flat-footed again. After Claudia’s death, he should have been prepared for something like this to happen.

Of course, Noah had long ago come to terms with the fact that Stiles was impulsive. That Stiles had a tendency to ignore boundaries. That Stiles could be violent in defense of the people he loved. It didn’t really disturb him, because Stiles wasn’t the only teenager to share those traits, and they all eventually grew out of that behavior and went on to live productive, happy lives. The revelation of the supernatural had been a shocking twist, but Noah had bet that if he could just keep Stiles safe through high school, he could have encouraged his son to go to a college far away. The plan depended, of course, on Stiles still being human, while the others who were not helped protect him until that day. It was selfish to put his son’s future above those other children, but as a father, Noah would do what was necessary.

His plan had lasted for only a few weeks, before the nogitsune possession had been revealed.

At first, Noah had had faith that there were enough people who cared about his son that they would eventually find a way to fix it. He had watched all of them working towards that end, yet his faith had withered steadily with the arrival of blow after blow: the abduction by Hydra, the revelation of the possibly permanent merging of the nogitsune and Stiles, and the news that Stiles had seized control of a branch of that organization.

His faith that his son wouldn’t end up being a supervillain had been died on that 48-inch screen.

While FXN’s special report hadn’t used Stiles’s name specifically, the details of Hydra’s attack on North Brother Island and their subsequent clash with the Avengers two days ago seemed pretty definitive. More than one witness to the early-morning fight had reported hearing the howling of wolves.

As much as he might not want to be in certain instances, the Sheriff of Beacon County was often a very good detective.

When Danny had discovered the details of Project Vargulf, the young man had first shown the files to Scott, and Scott had dutifully showed them to Noah in turn. He couldn’t deny it was the work of his son; Stiles’s birth name — Mieczyslaw — was there in black-and-white on Hydra’s internal documents.

The evidence pointed to one conclusion: if Stiles hadn’t been present at the battle, then he had at least been one of the people responsible. He waited for the phone call from Scott, telling him that they had finally captured Stiles, that they were going to try to help him, but it didn’t come. Perversely, he tried to find some hope in that, he tried to find some pride that his son could be so clever as to escape Earth’s mightiest heroes. It was only camouflage for the dreadful conclusion that he kept trying to avoid.

Even if Scott had managed to capture Stiles, even if the Avengers found a way to undo his merging with the nogitsune, even if the evil spirit could be driven from his body, Stiles would never be the same person he was before. The sheriff could never really get his son, the complicated person he loved beyond life itself. Too much had happened, and he wasn’t able to lie to himself anymore.

He turned off the television. Everything he had hoped the future held in store for his son had vanished as easily as the images on the television screen had.

February 19, 2015 — East Hampton, New York

It was a cold, blustery, snowy night on the eastern end of Long Island. Clouds hid the moon and the stars, and the waters of Gardiners Bay resembled dull black glass fractured by whitecaps. Most of the houses in this part of Suffolk County stood vacant in winter, being the summer homes of well-off New Yorkers. The locals who lived here year-round wouldn’t be venturing outside on a night like this unless they absolutely had to; the strong winds dropped the temperature to well below freezing.

Gusts of wind piled snow on the rural lanes, ones that had been cleared by the plows that very morning. The hatchback Theo had stolen threatened to slide into a ditch when he hit a particularly high drift, but he managed to wrench it back on the road.

He turned the car down a short driveway; if his eyesight had only been human, he might have missed it in the night and the blowing snow. This was due partly to deliberate landscaping; during the spring and summer months, a line of shrubs shielding the modernist house from the view of passers-by, but the bare branches still provided good cover. It was one of the reasons Theo had chosen it.

It worried him that all of the exterior lights were off; he distinctly remembered turning them on before he left. The interior was completely dark as well, and the car’s headlights moved huge shadows across the living room. The blinds on the full-wall windows hadn’t been pulled.

He took a deep breath when the garage door worked; it meant that the house at least still had power.

Without taking the time to unload the car, he went in through the kitchen as quietly as he could. He couldn’t check the summer home’s high-end alarm system, as he had disabled it two days ago. Since then, he had never left until well after nightfall. The less attention they drew, the better.

This evening, he had decided to drive to a grocery store he had seen on the main road. While the house’s utilities had been left on at the end of the season, the cupboards, the refrigerator, and the dual freezers in the utility room had all been emptied of any food. There were plenty of nearby restaurants they could have visited or even ordered takeout, but that wouldn’t have been a very effective way of laying low.

It didn’t matter, as both of the present occupants knew how to cook.

A brief survey of the first floor revealed no sign of any break-in or struggle. There were no unidentifiable scents, either. Theo fought off the urge to call out Stiles’s name. There had to be a reason that Fox had turned out all the lights. Instead, he focused his hearing until he could pinpoint heartbeats. There was only one in the house besides himself, and it was in the master bedroom, just a fraction slower than a normal human. Stiles was in there.

There was no response when he knocked on the door. He hesitated in the shadows of the hallway for a second before finally opening the door and stepping inside.

Stiles lay on the bed facing the ceiling, but he didn’t immediately react to Theo’s presence. Theo waited; if the Fox wanted to be alone, he would say something.

“Do you know anything about the Sengoku Jidai?” Stiles broke the silence without moving from his position on the bed. The faint green light from the digital alarm clock allowed Theo to see that Stiles’s eyes were closed.

“The Warring States Period?”

“You did your research. Of course you did. They wouldn’t tolerate anything less, would they?”

Theo shrugged even though he wasn’t sure that Stiles would be able to sense it. There was no need for pretending with the Fox, and Theo didn’t feel ashamed of his time with the Doctors any longer.

“The end of the fifteenth century of the Common Era found me living among the Matsudaira Clan, serving a minor function in one of their more important castles. I don’t quite remember what my duties were, because it was very seldom that I was called on to perform them. I seem to recollect that they were ceremonious and trivial; my host’s father had schemed to get the position for his favorite son. In any event, it gave me sente: I was close enough to the seats of power to create chaos but not quite close enough to come under any real scrutiny.”

Theo couldn’t parse Stiles’s motivation for this story, but he moved closer to the bed to show he was listening.

“We always have to have a host, you know. Often, they turn out to be some poor fool driven to such desperation that they would dare to call upon the dark powers of an evil fox. This particular samurai had allowed his disgraceful appetites to create a situation where, sooner or later, the only way he could save his and his family’s honor would have been to commit seppuku. Yet, unsurprisingly, he was a coward. He did not want to die, so instead he performed the ritual, and I answered. We made a deal, and I kept my word: he did not die in disgrace. He didn’t have much of a life locked away inside his own head for the next twenty years, but I can’t be held responsible if he didn’t fully understand the consequences of the pact to which he agreed.”

Grimacing, Theo sighed. “That’s an easy mistake to make; I would know.”

“You can sit down,” Stiles said and tapped the bed next to him. “I was just lying here thinking about it. In many ways, my position back then was too comfortable. While the chaos and strife generated by the Matsudaira as they schemed for power was delicious and filling, it took a lot of effort not to punch it up to the next level. I was growing bored.”

The bed sagged as Theo sat down on it; it felt strange that he was so comfortable this physically close to the Fox.

“My hunger was bottomless, and it would continue to be filled for years but only if I could remain patient. Luckily for me, I discovered something — or rather someone — that made those two decades bearable: a young girl from an impoverished family of no great name yet quite talented in both music and poetry. Originally, I brought her into my service as a trivial attempt to maintain a veneer of respectability, yet I discovered something remarkable after I did so. Her art was so exquisite that it brought even the most hardened warriors to genuine tears. I would sit there amongst those ruthless soldiers and bask as her words evoked the most delicate pain I had ever tasted.”

Stiles’s voice, divorced from his face by the darkness of the room, had never sounded less human.

“In time, I developed a relationship with her. It wasn’t a proper or true friendship. I wasn’t capable of something like that; in many ways, I’m a more complex person now than I was back then. Still, I enjoyed her company; sometimes I would even have her play for me alone.”

The Fox paused and his fingers tapped a random pattern on the bedspread.

“Yet, when the time came for me put an end to that particular gambit, what do you think I did?”

“I don’t know,” Theo replied.

“I snapped her neck like a twig and left her body where the animals could get at it.”

He still couldn’t parse where the Fox was going with this. “That was your nature.”

Stiles snorted at some echo of a prior conversation. “On the other hand, you already know about my mother. As the frontotemporal dementia slowly consumed her, she began to see me as the monster. In her eyes, I was a constant threat. Creeping around the corners of the house. Lurking in her hospital room. Plotting to kill her. She physically attacked me a few times, did you know that?”

“Yes. At least one attack had witnesses outside the family.”

“I don’t remember that one, but I was pretty traumatized at the time. It’s not possible to convince an eight-year-old that some invisible disease is making his mother hate him. It didn’t seem real; I couldn’t make the pieces fit together. At the end, no matter how many times my dad tried to explain to me what was happening, no matter how many times the hospital counselor talked to me about my feelings, I decided that I must have done something to cause this.”

Stiles sighed.

“And then she died. Even now, I can’t shake the echoes of guilt that have followed me every waking moment of my life since then. It had to be my fault; I had to have killed her. There were times I couldn’t bear to look at myself in the mirror.”

“But not now.”

Stiles sat straight up. “But not now. Strange, isn’t it?”

“It depends on your perspective.”

Fox laughed. “Do you know I considered Ayla Ranefer a friend? For a given value of friendship.”

“It was pretty obvious to the casual observer.”

This made Stiles laugh again before laying back down on the bed. “I don’t know why. Our relationship mostly consisted of her dryly observing me while I was being horrible to other people. It didn’t bother her as long as she could make concrete steps to relieve her condition. I couldn’t tell you what she would have done when she was free of those beetles.”

“Do you really want me to explain to you what you already know?”

“This is supposed to be a cathartic moment, Theo,” Stiles scolded. “Don’t ruin it.”

“You have already had your moment. This is you putting it into words, and being dramatic about it, which I don’t appreciate.”

“A lie. You love drama.”

Theo snorted. “Do I?”

“Oh, yes, Theo. After all, you didn’t let the Doctors cut your heart out of your chest in order to be mundane.”

He felt his lips draw out into a thin line. “Okay, you got me. Carry on.”

Fox grinned at him in the dark. “I was lying here thinking after you left earlier tonight that it’s been four days since she died. If this had been 1915 rather than 2015, I would have already had forgotten her name. After a few centuries, humans tend to die so quickly and so often that they tended to blend together. Her death shouldn’t matter to me at all, but it turns out that it does matter. It matters very much.”

“Is that better or worse?”

“Don’t know yet. Now, if this was three years ago, and one of my brilliant ideas had cost a friend her life, I would have self-destructed in a most spectacular fashion. I would have obsessively gone over and over and over the plan, looking for the flaw that I missed, for the one thing I could have done better. For the way I could have been smarter.”

“But you’re not doing that now, are you?”

“No, I’m not. I know it’s not my fault, but what’s more important is that I feel it’s not my fault. I have not one micron of guilt about what happened to Ayla. I didn’t cause the Doctors to betray me; I tried my best to protect Ayla in New Mexico after the Avengers had captured her; Deucalion and Noshiko abducted her from them to use her as bait; it was Iron Man who blew the plane she was on. I did everything in my power to rescue her, to bring her back to us, to give her the chance to achieve what she wanted out of life.” His voice got hard. “I shall not bear the burden of her death.”

“If you do feel emotions about her death yet you don’t feel guilt, what do you feel?”

“Anger. No, that’s too tame. Fury.”

Theo felt his lips pull tight over his teeth. “That’s why we haven’t gone back to Samana. That’s why you gave the evacuation order.”

“There’s enough evidence on North Brother Island to lead the Avengers to our base, though I’ve been prepared for that eventuality for months. You and Bodikker will get us set up in the new bases for when I’m finished with my new hobby.”

“Me …?”

“This is something I have to do myself, Theo.” Stiles smirked into the darkness. “The pleasure of destroying the Avengers will be all mine.”

February 20, 2015 — Avengers Tower, New York City

Scott thought back to a time when he didn’t have to make decisions. More precisely, he thought back to a time when his decisions weren’t important to anyone else but himself. He remembered one particular Christmas vacation when he had spent three days agonizing over whether he would try once more to make first line on the lacrosse team.

Three weeks later, he and Stiles had gone looking for a dead body in the wood. After that, it seemed that every choice he made simply led to a more terrible decision, like the ones he had made this week.

Back when they were just kids, he and Stiles had daydreamed about becoming superheroes like Iron Man. They hadn’t imagined there would be so many meetings, but the last five days had been nothing but debriefings.

Immediately after the fight at Riverside Hospital, Maria Hill had taken him alone into a room and interrogated him relentlessly. At first, he felt a little stung by the distrust, only to find out later that this was the standard procedure for every Avenger after every mission. While operating as a non-governmental organization kept them from being manipulated by governments, it also left them vulnerable to litigation. Stark had put the best lawyers on retainer, and those lawyers insisted on due diligence.

The interview with the New York Police Department had been relatively easy. It was obvious that the detectives had every reason not to look closely at the fight on North Brother Island. The department bore plenty of good will for the Avengers, as it wasn’t even three full years after the Battle of New York. They also seemed reluctant to entangle themselves with Hydra and this particular weirdness. Finally, they had plenty of their own troubles at the present moment dealing with the aftermath of the Fisk scandal. Scott was careful not to mention it out loud, but Sheriff Stilinski seemed to be better at this sort of thing than the detectives who spoke with him.

Unfortunately, the sit-down with the F.B.I had been far more difficult. He couldn’t tell what motivated the agents to be so hostile, but there seemed to be a constant undercurrent of disapproval of the Avengers’ actions. Luckily, he had learned how to dodge his father’s questions long ago, and Maria’s initial interrogation helped him avoid revealing anything that he would regret later.

The most surprising encounter had been with people from the State Department. Which bureau or office, they pointedly did not mention. What concerned him the most was that it quickly became clear that they knew about the supernatural. Undersecretary Wilson never came out and said anything, but she talked to him using the etiquette that Alan, Peter, and Derek had taught him for speaking with other alphas. She also asked uncomfortably specific questions about Deucalion, Noshiko, Kincade, and … Stiles.

He had had to make decision after decision: how much it was safe to say, whom he could trust to say it to, and what steps he would need after he said it. In the end, everyone seemed to think he had done a good job, but then again, he had also allowed Stiles to commit himself to Eichen House all those months ago, and look how that had turned out.

The only truly bright spot over the last few days had been the hours he got to be with Kira. Of course, most of that he spent trying to comfort her over her decision to involve him and the Avengers in her mother’s plan.

“I shouldn’t have said anything!” She had cried on his shoulder. “Mom and Dad say they aren’t angry, but things are so complicated now.”

“You just wanted your mother to be safe, that’s all. I would have done the same if my mother was involved in something that dangerous,” Scott stroked her hair. “I have to believe you did the right thing.”

“The right thing for whom?” She had asked, but he hadn’t had an answer for her. Part of him wasn’t even sure he was doing the right thing for anyone anymore.

If this week had taught him anything, it was that at a certain point problems grew so big and so complex that the ‘right thing’ became incredibly difficult to determine. Scott was still sure that there was a right thing to do. What he was no longer sure about, when he looked in the mirror from time to time, was that he personally had the skill to make the right call when events hard reached this magnitude.

Compared to working with the Avengers to successfully free Stiles, all the enemies he had faced in Beacon Hills seemed pretty manageable. As he sat there trying to avoid drawing attention to himself, he realized he would rather face Ennis in an elevator again than try to deal with a very angry Captain America.

“This is not acceptable by any stretch of the imagination. While I haven’t been read in on the Namor Protocols, the truth is that I don’t care,” Steve Rogers spoke as if there were anyone in the room who hadn’t realized he had a problem. “Their plan could have gotten a lot of innocent people hurt.”

“Technically, they’re not getting away with it,” Bruce pointed out. “They are facing charges.”

“Trespassing.” Cap said slowly to show his disdain. “Destruction of public property. I think I might have heard that Mr. Kincade is facing weapons charges.”

“You forgot the public nuisance charge for the noise complaints,” added Maria Hill with a level of sarcastic sass that made Scott nostalgic.

“They’re also going to pay to repair that window.” Tony pointed out unhelpfully from the bar. He was mixing himself a Tom Collins.

Cap chuffed at their attempts to lighten the mood. “They staged an attack on this tower. They physically assaulted those security guards, Scott and you.”

Scott bit his tongue, because he almost made an inane comment about it not being the first time an oni had come from him. It would have sounded terribly stupid. He found himself fighting the urge to somehow handle the situation, which was an absolutely ridiculous thing for him to feel. This wasn’t his pack; he wasn’t their alpha. In his pack, there were a lot of sharp-tongued people -- he had also grown up with Stiles -- so distracting conflict with a self-depreciating story about himself was an old tactic.

Clint reached around Tony to snag a beer from the fridge. “From the tapes I’ve seen, they could have done much worse.”

“Mr. Deucalion—”

“Just Deucalion,” Scott said automatically.

“Deucalion and Mrs. Yukimura lured Hydra forces into a battle in the middle of the East River. They’re damn lucky that only fifteen people died.”

“Lucky or competent. Thirteen of those people were Hydra agents,” Natasha Romanov observed from her position on the couch. “The other two were their own mercenaries. No innocent bystanders were even close to being injured. We’ve had similar body counts when we’ve taken Hydra bases. Before you get upset, I’m not excusing their actions. I’m providing perspective.”

“I’m not …” Steve pinched his lower lip for a moment. “Don’t tell me I’m the only one who can tell the difference between what we’re doing and what they’re doing.”

“Our cause is just,” Thor agreed. “We’re not attacking Hydra out of vengeance or to increase our own power. As long as they have access to the technology they took from S.H.I.E.L.D., from the Chitauri, and from my brother’s hidden benefactor, they are a threat to every single person on Midgard. I do not truly understand the motivations of that tenko and her ally.”

All of the eyes in the room turned toward him, and Scott wished he could disappear into the couch cushions. He knew that eventually the conversation would come about to him. He had managed to avoid talking about the specifics of his past with the team, but that couldn’t last forever.

“We know you’ve encountered both of them before; you’ve told us this,” Tony said. “And Mrs. Yukimura’s daughter trusted you enough to come here.”

“I told you what I knew about the oni when I recognized them, but I didn’t know that they were her oni. I didn’t expect either of them to do something like this.”

Natasha didn’t let him get away with it. “You didn’t seem particularly surprised, though.”

Scott worked his jaw. “Look, I didn’t think they’d be involved, so I put them out of my mind. When Mrs. Yukimura left Beacon Hills, I told her not to come back. I blamed her for not helping me save Stiles. I was angry, so I haven’t talked to her or Kira for nearly two years. I hadn’t talked to Deucalion for even longer than that. I made no specific decision not to warn you about them … it didn’t seem worthwhile to bring up everything from my past. Even now, I can only speculate about their motivations.”

“Then speculate,” Cap ordered. “If there are new players in the field, we need to know everything about them. Especially since they’ve made it clear we’re going after the same targets.”

Scott turned away to look out the window instead of answering immediately. He could almost see the moon through the clouds.

“They’re afraid. Afraid of him. Afraid of you. We’re all afraid.” He had talked about this with Alan, with Chris, and with Derek. “The ways things work for us are changing, and they haven’t changed like this since before this country was founded.”

“Who’s we?” Clint demanded, but Scott thought everyone in the room must know it.

“The supernatural. I was bit when I was sixteen, and I had no clue before then that werewolves could possibly be real. Yet, even as I struggled to comprehend the nightmare that came for me in the woods, I intuitively knew that I couldn’t safely go to the mundane authorities. And it wasn’t like I didn’t grow up around cops. My best friend’s father was the sheriff; my own father was an FBI agent. We keep … have kept ourselves, kept our world, separate from the human world as much as we could, even as we lived among them. We don’t tell anyone lightly, because we all understand what would happen if the humans found out about us.”

Tony made a little noise of recognition over the top of his drink. “This is about Project Vargulf.”

“Fox has successfully weaponized the supernatural,” Natasha continued thoughtfully. “For decades, the Department of Occult Armaments was a dead-end division kept around by the leaders for Hydra for completeness’s sake and now suddenly the Fox has made it dangerous. I guess we’ve been looking at it from a human point of view, as a new weapon in an old war, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

Scott felt the need to confess. “There are people who could probably tell you certain things better than I could, but I’ve experienced the fear of everything you know being turned upside down. When it comes down to it, Noshiko and Deucalion are going to have the support of every supernatural elder who is afraid of what the events of the last few years mean for them. There are so many supernatural creatures out there who are going to look to people like Deucalion …” He swallowed and force the truth. “To people like me to do what’s necessary to protect our secrets, our world.”

“And will you?” Cap demanded.

If Scott could have been anywhere else in the entire world at this moment, it would be sitting on the hood of Stiles’s jeep, talking about getting an apartment together in college. But he wasn’t there; he was standing in front of people who needed an answer.

“I will. I have to. I never wanted to be a werewolf but it’s too late for that to matter. I’ve seen how people in both worlds will act if they are afraid. They’ll lie or they’ll run or they’ll lash out, and if someone doesn’t step up to stop them — to lead them — it will be just as you say: a lot of innocent people will get hurt. So, I have to be here. I have to do something.”

“Good.” Cap accepted that answer. “But right now, you need to tell us everything and anything, no matter how trivial. No more holding back.”

Scott bit his lip.

“I mean it, Scott. It’s obvious now you’ve been trying to help us while keeping the secrets of your people. I can’t let you do that anymore, or it’s going to make your predictions come true. If you had told us about the possibility of Mrs. Yukimura’s involvement earlier, we might have been able to prevent that entire fight. I hate issuing ultimatums, but you need to make a choice and you need to make it right now. No more secrets, or we’ll put you on a plane home tomorrow morning.”

Steve and Scott locked eyes. Finally, Scott nodded.

“So now, tell us why your people would look to Deucalion and Mrs. Yukimura.”

“That means I’m going to have to tell you the story of how Deucalion lost his sight, and how he got it back.” Scott said heavily before turning to the team. “And then I’m going to have to tell you the story of the Oak Creek Relocation Camp.”

Chapter Text

February 21, 2015 — Beacon Hills, California

The setting sun turned the distant Cascades red from the window of the Hale loft. Ethan stared, wondering why the twilight never seemed to last that long in Beacon Hills. One moment the sun was out and then the next it had vanished. It probably had something to do with the way the city was situated in the northern foothills of the Sierra Nevada, but he had never managed to figure it out.

It was a mystery he didn’t feel the need to solve. Instead, he enjoyed the vibrant colors for as long as they lasted. And he would, for as long as he would be allowed to enjoy it.

He wasn’t sure how long that would be. Danny had been sequestered with Jackson in one of the upstairs bedrooms at the top of the spiral staircase for half an hour. While the werewolf had physically recovered from his kidnapping and by Gerard Argent and his drugging by a mysterious Russian scientist, he wasn’t doing so well emotionally. Jackson needed time with his best friend.

Ethan probably could have left Danny here and returned to Los Angeles or gone to spend some time with his brother at Aiden’s motorcycle shop, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He intended to be present if his boyfriend needed him while carefully not getting between Danny and Jackson as much as he might like to do so.

“Here.” A beer bottle appeared in Ethan’s line of sight.

“Uh. Thanks, but I’m not particularly thirsty.”

“He might be a while,” Derek said, gently pushing the bottle into his hand. “It’ll give you something to do other than stare out the window and feel bad.”

“I don’t—”

Derek stopped the denial with a single raised eyebrow. He had always been among the best at reading chemo signals.

“Fine.” Ethan took a drink to satisfy the other man. It was surprisingly good. “What’s the brand? It’s fantastic, but I’ve never had it before.”

“I’d be surprised if you had. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

Ethan didn’t quite know what to say.

“While this is my fourth batch, it's the first time I felt confident enough to share it.”

Ethan took another drink and while it still tasted good, it didn’t settle in his belly. In fact, he began to feel a little nauseated.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Feeling guilty,” Derek scolded. “We got them back.”

“You know what my contributions have been for the last two weeks? One day, I made a few phone calls. Another day, I drove Danny to a meeting here. The rest of the time, I went to class. I worked out. I even attended an art opening. While the other members of my pack were in danger, I was …” He trailed off, frustrated.

“Living your life.”

“Living a life. A relatively safe, happy, comfortable life in Southern California.”

They stared at each other until Derek smirked as if he had come to a conclusion. “Ah.”

“What?”

“Everyone gets to live, Ethan. You don’t have to earn the right to exist.”

Immediately, Ethan wanted to protest. He wanted to say that Derek didn’t know what he was talking about, but the problem was that Derek absolutely did know what he was talking about. Ethan’s treacherous heart agreed with him.

“Being part of a pack doesn’t mean you don’t have anything just your own. If there was something you could have done, that we needed you to do, everyone in this pack knows you would have done it.”

Ethan started to relax, but then Derek then took things too far. “You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Suddenly, Ethan’s fading discomfort was replaced with a wild, reckless anger, though he couldn’t be sure with whom he was angry. Catching Derek’s eye, he turned slowly until he was focused on a spot on the floor.

Derek’s heartbeat increased slightly, and his scent soured. “You want to talk about Boyd? We can talk about him. Who do you think is more responsible for his death? You or me?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Is it?”

Ethan felt out of control. At this moment, nothing seemed more important than getting Derek to lose his temper. He reached out and grabbed the other man by the arm at the same spot he had before. “Remember that?”

Derek jerked free. “Don’t touch me. I’ll never forget it, but would Boyd have even been in this room if I hadn’t recruited him?”

Rolling his eyes, Ethan scoffed.

“I had heard about your pack and what they did to alphas they came across. I know Deucalion, what he stood for, how he felt for my mother, and I understood how his plan would be made easier with a Hale Alpha. Any werewolf I made would have been in danger simply by the virtue of being my beta.”

“It’s not that simple. Alphas need betas, and you had lots of other reasons to offer Boyd the Bite.”

Derek nodded. “And you didn’t have other reasons to work for Deucalion? You and your brother didn’t owe him for teaching you how to control your talents or freeing you from your abusive pack?”

“That’s not the—”

“Deucalion never physically punished you for disobedience?”

Ethan turned away.

“You weren’t terrified of what would happen if you were left packless?”

“Okay, you made your point.”

“I don’t think I have.” Derek said sharply, moving to stand face-to-face with him once again. “You know why I follow Scott? It’s not just because he’s a True Alpha, though that made my decision easier. It’s because of the things I’ve learned from him. My uncle once said that Scott and I were a lot alike. While he was being an ass, he wasn’t wrong.”

“That’s Peter for you.”

Derek snorted. “Yet, for all our similarities, my tenure didn’t turn out nearly as well. Why? It’s kind of simple really: priorities. When I had red eyes, those eyes remained fixed on the past: the wrongs did to me, the people I had lost, my own mistakes. Not one of those things helped me win the battles I was fighting back then. I wanted a new pack — a new family — but I didn’t do what was necessary to make one. Scott did. He was wronged, too. He lost people, too. He made mistakes, too. But he wanted to save lives, and he wanted to protect his friends, so he made that his priority.”

“You really believe he’s still doing that? You don’t think he’s in New York playing superhero out of guilt over not saving Stiles?”

“Oh, I’m sure he feels guilt over that, but that’s not why he’s there. He’s there because he has a chance to help save his best friend. Everything else comes second to that possibility for him. Did you know he’s promised, when the time comes, to give his alpha spark to a Hale?”

“What?” Ethan gaped at the non sequitur.

“He decided that in order to be able to protect what was important to him, he needed a strong pack. He believed that meant including Peter and me and Cora and Malia, even after what Peter and I put him through. He put those terrible things to the side for what’s important. It’s a talent I didn’t master until it was too late.”

Derek went to get his own beer. Ethan watched him, knowing the movement was to get a handle on his own feelings.

“I will never forget Boyd and Erica. I will never forget how they died and who killed them, which includes you, your brother, and Deucalion.”

Ethan looked down at the floor.

“Priorities. Hating you isn’t going to bring Boyd and Erica back. Hating myself isn’t going to change what happened to Paige or undo Jackson’s time as the kanima. If I want to be part of a strong pack, and if I want a good life — and I want both of those things — I have to put those memories to the side. So do you.”

“This isn’t about me feeling guilty …” Ethan trailed off, because he did feel guilty. “It’s about me feeling selfish.”

“We just went over why you followed Deucalion. How’d Stiles put it? You and your brother were the bitches of the pack. You want the life you and Danny are living instead of that one, right?”

Ethan nodded. “Yes, but—”

“But nothing. I’ll say it again: we all deserve a chance at happiness, but to do that, we have to earn it. You are earning it by going to school, by supporting this pack, by treating both Danny and yourself well. Throwing that away because of things you can’t change is a mistake.”

“So … beer?”

“Beer.”

Ethan shook the empty bottle. “I would like another beer, please.”

Derek chuffed and went back into the refrigerator.

Ethan found the recycling bin and dropped the bottle in. “So, how is Jackson doing?”

“He’s rattled.”

“How badly?”

Derek shook his head. “I’ve seen no sign of reversion, but Jackson’s never handled losing well. I’ve offered to let him stay here until he’s well enough to return to school or go to his parents’ house.”

“I’m surprised that he didn’t go straight there first.”

“Before he does that, he wants to make sure that Gerard’s process doesn’t have any side effects which could be dangerous. He trusts me to keep an eye on him.”

Ethan opened his mouth to say something funny, but given their recent conversation, he thought better of it. Derek was too quick on the uptake.

“Thanks for not pointing out the obvious. It still stings as much as I appreciate him being able to trust me now. It’s a strange feeling.”

The sun had set, and the waxing crescent moon could be seen high in the sky.

Ethan laughed. “I heard that’s going around.”

February 24, 2015 – Harlem, New York City

Writing apology letters had never been a task much to Noshiko’s taste. It wasn’t the physical act of writing, as she found a well-written letter aesthetically pleasing. She had spent a significant amount of time mastering the art of calligraphy, and her hand, as a result, was beautiful and delicate. Instead, it was the content she found tedious. Like most people, she recognized the need for actual apologies. While she was a proud woman, she wasn’t so proud that she couldn’t admit when she had committed a wrong. These letters, however, seemed more often to be peremptory expressions of regret for inconvenience rather than actual injury. She had lost patience with rote politeness centuries ago.

Still, she had made plans months ago to visit her acquaintance Kiyomizu. The ocean kitsune lived on Itsukushima — and had for this century and most of the last — and Noshiko wanted to introduce her to Kira. It would do her daughter good to see how other ancient kitsune managed their lives in the modern world. Her friendship with Kiyomizu allowed that. Kitsune seldom sought each other out, and Noshiko had tended not to receive many invitations after what she had done during the war.

Unfortunately, it did not seem that Noshiko would be able to visit Japan anytime soon. Technically, she was out on bail; she faced criminal charges of trespassing, disturbing the peace, and the destruction of public property, which she found humiliating. Her lawyer had informed her that the most prison time she could possibly receive was ninety months, seven-and-a-half years, but Ms. Hogarth had assured her that there was very little chance of someone like her, a pillar of the community and a first-time offender, receiving the maximum sentence.

Honestly, the possibility of imprisonment for such a small length of time did not daunt her, but Noshiko intended to fight as hard as she could for no jail time. Ken and Kira shouldn’t have to suffer for her continual failure.

She caught herself frowning. She should finish these letters and mail them as soon as possible. She would drive down to the post office herself, as a way of getting out of the house. There was a lot of work to be done before her family could be whole again, and from that labor everyone needed a break.

Her brush hesitated above the paper when from somewhere close by was a whooshing noise and a thumb that she felt vibrate through her chair. A single drop of ink fell towards the paper, but she caught it on the tip of her finger. Placing the brush back on its inking stone, she called out, “Ken, are you alright?”

She stood up and went to her purse to get a tissue for cleaning the ink off her finger.

“Ken?”

He appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. He had been preparing dinner; he had done that quite a bit in the last few days. It was his way of helping. Now, though, he looked a little dazed.

“Ken?”

“There’s a Norse god in the back yard.”

Noshiko felt a spike of panic and regret. If she hadn’t had a husband and a daughter, she was fairly confident she could have escaped, even from him. Immediately, she spurned the thought. How cowardly it was!

Thor indeed did stand in the middle of the back yard, looking incongruous in the clothing of his home dimension. He bore his hammer but not in a way to signal the onset of violence, but more as a silent announcement that he had arrived on a task of serious import. She shuddered slightly; humans might miss the aura of an Asgardian if the demigod wished to conceal himself, but something like her never would.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Thank you,” he replied courteously, as if this was an everyday occurrence. “I haven’t come at a bad time?”

“No. Please.” She held the door open for him, and he entered the house. With deliberate care, he set his hammer down near the umbrella stand they kept at the back door. “Would you like some tea?”

“That would be nice.”

It was a good sign. Thor Odinson did not have to be polite to her. He was at least five centuries older than she was and far, far more powerful than she could ever become even if she hadn’t broken so many of her tails. She suspected that even her oni would not be able to withstand a blow from his weapon. Yet, he was treating her, while perhaps not quite as an equal, not as an enemy.

Noshiko would take what she could get. “Ken, would you make some tea?”

Ken had been staring at them both, though he had managed to keep his jaw from dropping.

“This my husband, Ken Yukimura.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Yukimura.”

Her husband stammered a little and then disappeared into the kitchen.

“Why don’t we sit down? I’d ask what brings you to my home, but I have a suspicion I already know the answer to that question.”

“We have certain matters to discuss.”

“The Avengers. I promise that I’ve told all of you everything useful I know about the nogitsune.”

Honestly, she felt a little at a loss with a god of thunder sitting on her couch.

“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Has something happened?”

“You could say that. The young werewolf we have staying with us told us the story of Oak Creek.”

Long practice enabled Noshiko to keep her face neutral, even though it felt like ice had crawled up her spine. It wasn’t fear; it was shame. The same shame she felt when in Beacon Hills so long ago she saw the wreckage of her vengeance. The same shame she felt when she surveyed the bodies of the dead. The same shame she felt when she realized that an innocent young boy had been lost forever due to her actions.

She tried to cover it with irritation, an old trick: “I wish he had not shared my past.”

Comically, Thor’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Why?”

“I did a terrible thing back then.”

“Indeed, but ‘twas in the face of a terrible thing — several terrible things, actually — being done to you. I am glad he spoke of it; it gave the Avengers a perspective which we needed.”

“It matters that much to you?”

Thor leaned forward. “Truly it does. Captain Rogers, especially, wanted to come with me to speak with you, though we persuaded him not to.”

“Why?”

“He has a good heart and a strong will, but he lacks the experience I do with those who may look human but do not think exactly like one. I suspect it would bother him that it wouldn’t bother you used Dr. Ranefer as bait for your foe and attacked our home to gain her.”

The god was right; it hadn’t bothered her at all. Her oni hadn’t harmed anyone she didn’t want to be harmed; Mr. Stark could repair the damage to his garish building in his sleep, and, after all, the woman had been a Hydra research scientist. She only experienced shame when she harmed innocents by accident.

“You’re probably right, but I meant more why did he wish to speak to me?”

“I believe he wanted to apologize.”

Ken’s arrival with the tea gave her a moment to chew this over. When Captain America had taken her into custody, she hadn’t put up any resistance. She had been so furious at the chimera’s sneak attack and preoccupied with trying to heal enough to pursue the nogitsune that she hadn’t paid attention to anyone else, so he had surprised her.

When her husband had finished serving the tea, Ken retreated back into the kitchen. It probably took all his self-discipline to do so. It went without saying that he wanted to interrogate Thor about Asgardian and Scandinavian history.

“I may have forgotten something, but I don’t think that he’s done anything to me worthy of an apology.”

“He wishes to apologize on the behalf of the United States for what you endured at Oak Creek.”

“He was not responsible for that!”

Thor chuckled. “He takes his role as a symbol of his country very seriously. When he has had time, he has addressed several conferences about the injustices involved in the Japanese relocation camps. He wishes he could do more, but other things, as you can imagine, keep him very busy.”

“I’d imagine so, but an apology from him is not necessary.”

He shrugged. “The only way I could stop him is with Mjolnir, and I like him too much to do that. He’ll get around to it, but it would not be appropriate for this visit.”

“What would be appropriate?”

The god looked pensive for a moment before beginning. “Do you know that in a very significant way, the Chitauri Invasion of Earth is due to my actions?”

She felt her eyebrows rise.

“I shall not bore you with the details, but it was my rash and prideful actions that caused my brother to invade Midgard. Make no mistake, he made his own choices, but I set the stage for them.”

“So, you’ve come to reassure me that I shouldn’t not feel responsible for the nogitsune’s actions, but I—”

“Oh, no!” He exclaimed, shaking his head. “I’ve come to warn you ... and to make you an offer.”

Noshiko blinked in surprise.

“We’re very much alike. Our mistakes both began a chain of events that could harm all of Midgard and its people. In light of that, I must find the Scepter and neutralize its threat, so I will brook no interference. Your nogitsune knows where the scepter is being held, so I and the Avengers will find him and take him into custody.”

“I see.” She drew her own conclusion, and it was unfortunate.

“It may not seem so, but while in battle on this world I tend to hold back. Most humans are fragile and lack sufficient power to truly threaten a Prince of Asgard. You are neither fragile nor without power. If you choose to interfere, I will have to treat you as an enemy.” He held out a hand and Mjolnir flew into it from its place from the back door, barely missing a lamp. “I am not boasting when I say I think it would go ill with you.”

“You have your duty,” Noshiko replied, though it took all her will not to flinch. “I have mine.”

“Aye, we do, and in that spirit I make you this offer. Stay your hand until the scepter is back in our custody, and I will take you with me.”

“Where?”

“To accompany me and the Fox to Asgard, after he and the Scepter are claimed. There, I will have our finest minds seek to free the child known as Stiles Stilinski from the nogitsune possessing him. I offer you the chance to see the ill your actions have led to rectified.”

February 26th, 2015 — Soho, New York City

“That will be two fifty.”

“There you go.” Of all the things Deucalion had once again become able to do after his sight had been returned, among his favorite was the ability to pick up a copy of a paper like the New York Times. He folded the evening edition under his arm and picked up the coffee. While street coffee could be hit or miss in New York, this would be a good cup. He had found this particular store, after all, solely by scent. “You have an excellent night.”

The proprietor nodded to him as if he were any other customer. While it amused Deucalion less now than it used to, he had always taken pleasure in the knowledge that the masses surrounding him would be terrified if they witnessed his true nature.

He walked back toward his hotel. He stayed away from chains as much as he could. The larger the company, the more cameras they would have. After the battle on North Brother Island, he would have to be more careful about being tracked, at least for a little while.

He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed by the turn of events of the battle, even though few plans survived contact with the enemy. While he had dealt the Department of Occult Armaments a terrible blow, eliminating half-a-dozen vargulfs as well as three of their aircraft and a dozen of their troops, his existence and purpose had been revealed to the authorities, and he had lost the lever with which he could draw the Fox into a conflict on his terms. Ultimately, the result had to be counted as a failure.

After all, Stiles Stilinski was still alive.

Manhattan throbbed around him with electric life. While it could be invigorating for small amounts of time, the sensory overload of metropolitan areas could be draining for someone with a werewolf’s heightened senses. It’s one of the reasons they sought homes in the wilderness or in small cities like Beacon Hills. He would have to manage it, at least until his appearance in court.

He had no fear about the possibility of being locked away. If he did manage to draw a lengthy sentence, no prison built by humans could hope to hold him for long. He felt quite safe as he took a short cut through a dark alley.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

Deucalion paused in the middle of the dim confines between the buildings and took a sip of his coffee. To her credit, she had come quite close. “You can come out now, Ms. Romanov.”

To anyone else, it would have seemed like the Black Widow had appeared out of nowhere. “He wasn’t exaggerating.”

“Most likely not.”

Natasha Romanov took a few steps toward him. “He doesn’t seem to be as good as you.”

“Scott has only been a werewolf for a little over three years, and an alpha for less than that. I’m significantly older and far more experienced. There was also a period of time where I had to train my senses to compensate for a temporary disability.”

“Yes, you were blinded.”

“He told you my history, then.”

“Part of it.” On the surface, the Black Widow seemed almost nonchalant in her approach, but a trained combatant could tell that she was sizing him up while studying their environment. “The rest we dug up by ourselves.”

“Oh?”

“You were born Uther Montjoy near Bloemfontein in 1950. You look pretty good for a sixty-five-year-old man.”

“I would say the benefits of clean living but more likely it is the results of a supernatural ability to regenerate tissue.”

The Avenger smirked at him. “Definitely not clean living.”

“Ah. I assume that between your own research and Scott’s cooperation, you’ve uncovered the more sordid parts of my biography.”

“Your descent from reformer to blood-soaked fanatic wasn’t hard to trace once we had a basic understanding of what happened.” She paused to lift her eyebrows in silent accusation. Somewhere distantly, a police car blared its siren. He waited until he was sure it wasn’t coming that way.

“I doubt that task would have been very hard.”

“You sound almost proud of it, Mr. Montjoy.”

“Do I?” He could feel one of his fangs drop and his eyes blaze red. To her credit, Romanov’s only reaction was a shift in her stance. “You are mistaken. I am the very opposite of proud of my actions. It’s true, I was wronged, but in return I did much wrong to many innocent people. I was angry with the treachery I endured — no, I was furious — but it was not fury but pride that twisted my motivations. I told myself the most comforting of lies: to achieve progress sometimes requires pain, suffering and death. In the end, I’m not much different than any other tyrant in history. And, please, the name is Deucalion.”

“Can’t argue with you there.” She shrugged. “I’m Russian, after all. But you act as if you’ve changed your modus operandi. It doesn’t seem like you have from where we’re standing.”

“You should look again. The decision that Scott McCall and Derek Hale made to spare me after I had caused them so much pain reminded me of something I already knew: progress without violence is possible. It simply requires dedication and will. On the other hand, that doesn’t mean that violence isn’t sometimes necessary to protect others, which you undoubtedly know. It may be the reason why you’re here.”

“Perhaps. Would you blame us? After all, what happened recently was all your doing.”

“Done for the singular purpose of putting an end to a threat to my people. To my world. The alliance between the Fox and Hydra threatens so much of what I value. It threatens everything for which I killed in the depths of my madness. Scott understands this truth as well, which is why he even now dwells in your tower.”

“Given your new enlightenment, Deucalion, wouldn’t following his approach be more appealing to you? Choose to work with us rather than at cross purposes?”

“Our purposes are not the same. I’m not interested in managing global political outcomes. I’m interested in protecting the supernatural, and I intend to do it in such a way that begins to pay back the nearly insurmountable debt I owe the Hale Pack and its alpha specifically.”

The Black Widow raised her eyebrow.

“This threat ends with the death of the Fox. It’s that simple, so simple that even Scott will see it before the end. I cannot restore what I took from them, but I can do one very important thing, with full appreciation of the irony: I can spare them from having to kill one of their own. Scott McCall should not have to put down his best friend because of mistakes others, including myself, made.”

“You see, that doesn’t work for us. The Fox knows the location of Loki’s scepter, the very scepter that caused him to be such a threat. We have to secure it before Hydra can create something even worse.”

Deucalion had already figured out the Avengers’ angle on this. It was why he hadn’t tried to form an alliance with them in the first place. “Pardon me if I sound like a callow child of the internet, but that sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”

Natasha Romanov raised her hand, palm flat and facing outward. He easily detect the arrow’s path though the sound of the wind whistling through its fletching and tracked the reflection of the city lights off the metal. Deucalion caught it easily, six inches before his face.

“That wasn’t smart.”

“Wait for it.”

From the tip of the arrow came a cloud of gas, spraying directly into his face. Tear gas would have been bad enough, but this arrow had been laced with wolf’s bane. He couldn’t quite place the variety, as he was too busy falling over with his eyes burning and his throat spasming. His coffee and paper dropped to the concrete.

“You’re right about one thing, Alpha of Alphas.” To her credit she didn’t come any closer. “Sometimes violence is necessary to protect others. When I first got involved with the Avengers, Hawkeye — obviously, he says hello — told me that this new world is nothing for which we were trained. But we’re still needed. We may not be demigods or scientific geniuses or super patriots, but we are very good spies and even better assassins.”

He clawed at the ground, his body already trying to fight off the aconite-infused chemicals. He was helpless. “Scott —” he choked out, trying to stall.

“You were right, he is young, and I agree with your assessment. I, on the other hand, could kill you in such a way that he would never even have the first clue what had happened to you. And I will if I have to.”

Deucalion coughed and coughed. He had no doubt she could do it at this moment.

“I know what it’s like to have done terrible things. If we compared our tallies, I have as much blood on my hands as you do. Like you, I want to make up for it, and, like you, I’ll do what’s necessary, even if it means giving up everything I have.” She sighed. “I don’t really care about a decades-old treaty with mermaids, but I understand your position. So it’s my turn to give you a chance. Get in our way again, and we’ll have a conversation just like this one. Only it’ll have a different ending.”

She turned and walked out of the alley.

Chapter Text

March 15, 2015 — Los Angeles, California

The neighborhood was bathed in the gray light of dawn, the first sliver of the sun having not climbed over the horizon. The Uber driver waited at the end of the driveway.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come to the airport with you?”

Jackson paused in the doorway, turning around slowly. “I think I can get to the airport by myself, Mom!”

Danny crossed his arms in irritation. The most bothersome part of being friends with Jackson Whittemore is all the time you had to spend wading through bullshit.

“I’m fine. Seriously.” Jackson’s demeanor turned all awkwardly gentle as it always did when he dropped his mask. “It’s been weeks.”

“I don’t know if you’ve ever read anything on the average recovery time for abduction victims, but it usually takes longer than three weeks.”

His best friend couldn’t meet Danny’s gaze even while he tried to keep his voice sarcastic. “I’m not average.”

“You’ve never let me or anyone else forget that, but … I know this is going to sound like a cliché, but it’s okay not to be okay.”

Silence hung between them. Over Jackson’s shoulder, the waiting car idled. Danny predicted that it wouldn’t be much longer, as he already knew what his Jackson was going to say.

“I’m not pretending, Danny. I know I don’t have to for you. Hell, you’ve been around me enough when I’ve not been anywhere near okay to know that it’s a lie. But while Cornell is willing to give me time since I got kidnapped, I don’t want to throw away an entire semester. Spring break is over.” He offered Danny a half-smile. “I’ll call you when I get back to the dorm, if that will make you feel better.”

Danny bit the side of his cheek, nodded, and then gave Jackson a hug.

“Oh, man, stop. The driver can see us.”

“Go, asshole.” Danny gave him a playful push.

He stood there on the front stoop of his apartment building until the taxi was out of sight. It was harder than he thought it would be. With a sigh, he turned away and headed up to his and Ethan’s apartment.

Danny may not have been as analytical as Lydia, or as quick to notice things like Stiles, or as knowledgeable as Dr. Deaton, or as intuitive strategic as Scott, but he wasn’t unintelligent by any measure. He understood how things worked, though it didn’t really take a genius to figure out that a lot of teenagers had an inflated opinion of their own strength. It became even worse when those teenagers possessed supernatural powers.

Thankfully, Danny had had those delusions dispelled by the time he started high school. No one in his family had even been aware of the possibility of a problem with his cartilage. He might never have known about it except he had to go for an examination so he could play lacrosse. When the doctor had first explained the problem to him, he’d convinced himself it was a joke. But it wasn’t, and the surgery had changed his outlook on everything.

One day, he had believed himself perfectly healthy. One day, he had thought himself capable of doing anything. Then the next day there was a chance that his body could betray him, fatally, if he as much as fell down. The treatment had made him more sensitive to threats that were neither immediately obvious nor malicious.

He went back up the stairs to his apartment, and he could smell the coffee brewing before. Ethan must have started it before his boyfriend had gotten into the shower. He smiled at the thoughtfulness and decided to cook a real breakfast in response.

Werewolves had been another shock to his worldview, but it only confirmed his caution. Contrary to how some people might think, he’d been aware that something strange had been going on since the very beginning. While he had admired Scott McCall’s determination to be on the team, he had been aware of the severity of his classmate’s asthma, even though they weren’t really friends. He’d been aware of how Scott must have felt.

Which is why he absolutely had noticed when that asthma vanished. He had noticed when Scott seemed to be able to react more quickly, to possess sharper hearing and better eyesight. While he wasn’t driven to obsession by insecurity like Jackson, he had been concerned. He didn’t take active steps; he just listened, and in listening, picked up disturbing snippets overhearing conversations between Stiles and Scott. No one else ever paid attention to the frankly bizarre conversations the two friends frequently had.

Eventually, he had noticed similar changes in Jackson, in Erica Reyes, in Vernon Boyd, and in Isaac Lahey, and he managed to connect all these changes to the Hales. Still, the real answer didn’t occur to him until the day after Scott and Stiles had retrieved his fake I.D. He had been thinking about how nice it was for Stiles to have an inside man in the police department, and he recalled Stiles talking about wolf hairs being found on Laura Hale’s body.

Not wolves, but werewolves. As insane as it sounded, it was the only thing that fit.

He hadn’t done anything about it, because it was ridiculous. He hadn’t told anyone about it, because it was absolutely ridiculous. Eventually, though, it stopped being ridiculous.

The shower turned off, even as Danny finished cooking. He was glad he decided to overcome his concerns and stick with Ethan, even though it had been a close thing. When he wasn’t under the influence of an evil megalomaniac alpha, Ethan was the type of boyfriend that Danny hadn’t known he desired: maybe not the most exciting but considerate and focused on the relationship. For a creature of the night who used to be able to merge with his twin brother to form an enormous mutant alpha, Danny had to admit the ex-alpha could be a little dull sometimes.

Danny found he didn’t really miss the excitement. The world had proved itself dangerous enough without seeking those things out. So, in response, he drew careful lines between what he would and wouldn’t do. It was his life after all, so in the end it was his call.

“Oh, that smells good.” Ethan came out and stood close behind him. “Jackson seem fine?”

“For a given value of fine.”

His boyfriend sensed his distress. “We’ll keep an eye on him. Everyone else will, too.”

They sat down and had breakfast and talked about class and about where they were going to live that summer. Ethan wanted to spend most of the summer in Beacon Hills, and while Danny had reservations, he had agreed to it. Dating a werewolf meant involvement with their pack. Dating a twin, more likely than not, meant involvement with his brother. And that meant brushing up against the supernatural, but then again … aliens had invaded New York and London, and Nazis had tried to take over the world.

This is how things were now, and while he had never thrown a punch and never intended to do so, he wasn’t going to avoid those who did.

After Ethan left for class, he settled himself down on the couch to work on his database project. It was challenging but time-consuming. Building a functional database from scratch took not only skill but it also took quite a bit of work. However, he was on schedule to finish it by the due date.

He’d been working on it for a good two hours when a notification beeped at him. He glanced at his chat program, assuming it was from Ethan.

Heyyyyyyyyyyy, Danny!

Ethan certainly didn’t write like that. He checked the icon, only to find it was a grey box. Checking, he didn’t recognize the source.

Who is this?

Well, that’s a complicated question, isn’t it?

Danny frowned at the computer. His first thought that it might be a bot, but it seemed too complex to be one and that still wouldn’t explain how it knew his name. He had taken more than the average steps to isolate his real-world identity from his online identity, especially in light of his childhood arrest. Only someone with significant resources could even hope …

“Oh,” Danny said aloud to his empty apartment. “Oh, no.” He went to shut the computer down, but he stopped at the last moment.

Stiles?

For a given definition of the word. How’s life?

Danny was suddenly sweating.

Why are you talking to me?

Don’t be like that. I wanted to talk to an old friend.

Give me one good reason I should talk to you.

I can give you more than one. Mostly, I’m sure it’s lonely in that apartment with Ethan still in class.

Danny jerked his hand so hard he knocked over a cup of coffee. He frantically moved his books and papers out of the way before running into the kitchen to get some paper towels. It gave him a chance to think.

Okay. I’m not going to ask you how you know that.

That wasn’t meant as a threat by the way. I may not be able to be a part of it anymore, but I do care about the pack. I do care about Beacon Hills.

You spy on us because you care?

Pretty much. I didn’t say it was healthy. Since I must be making you nervous, I will get to the point. I want to talk to my father.

Your father doesn’t live here.

Ha-ha. I want you to get a message to my father. I’d like to see him.

He has a phone.

Which might be under surveillance by Tony Stark. You’re on the periphery of the pack and I know your computer security is better than anyone else’s. All you have to do is tell my father to be at a certain place at a certain time. As a favor.

Okay.

Honestly, Danny had no idea what he was going to do, but it seemed the best course of action not to refuse someone who had fought the Avengers.

I just sent you the instructions. Danny’s computer alerted him to a new mail. Oh, and one more thing.

What?

Am I attractive to gay guys now? The conversation ended with a winking fox icon.

March 20, 2022 — Harlem, New York City

The first day of spring had been windy but warm, but it wouldn’t have mattered to Kira if the day had been rainy or even snowy. She felt better than she had in several weeks, like a weight had been lifted off her. All it took was doing something that any woman her age might have done.

She had gone on a date. It wasn’t even a particularly spectacular type of date: they had gone to an a cappella festival on campus.

When the concert was over and because all the coffee shops on campus had long since been closed, Kira steered the four of them towards a little place she knew just off campus that would still be open. She didn’t know why she liked the place so much; it was filled with deliberately mismatched furniture arranged on purposefully scuffed hardwood floors yet charged budget-busting pricing. She guessed her fox enjoyed the irony of paying good money to pretend you didn’t have good money to spend.

Kira had never really warmed up to Tanya’s boyfriend, Joshua. He was handsome enough with his light blue eyes and strong jaw, and he was edgy in a harmless sort of way with his tribal tattoos and saddle-plug ear gauges. She didn’t say anything about it because it wasn’t her place to evaluate her best friend’s choices, but she hoped Tanya recognized that Joshua was a dead end. He was essentially selfish, though he wasn’t obnoxious about it. He was one of those boys who had simply never learned to consider that perhaps what other people wanted could be as important as what he wanted. For a distraction, he was more than adequate: fun, exciting, and admittedly sexy. Her only fear was that Tanya would not spend her youth trying to turn Joshua into something he was not.

On the other hand, maybe she was letting her own experience color her vision.

“This place seems nice,” Scott said as he settled into the seat next to her while examining the cafe. “Do you come here after class a lot?”

“Once in a while. I’ve got a lot of work to do for my course load and then there’s my training … the stuff I do with Mom.”

Scott nodded and didn’t press her on the details. He understood.

She had asked him out on this date a few days ago when she had found him waiting outside her art class. She had been so flustered by him showing up that she blurted out her amazement at him finding her. Wincing, he had sheepishly told her that he walked around campus until he caught her scent.

They had taken a stroll around the campus, and Scott had explained he had felt the need to check up on her. His sentiment had puzzled her a little bit because she had seen a lot of him in the week immediately after the battle. When she asked about it, he had replied that sometimes, in the aftermath of battles, a little time had to pass before things really began to hurt. She had been so overwhelmed by a rush of feeling that she had asked him out on a date simply to avoid bursting into tears.

So that’s how she found herself on a real date. And not only a real one, but one that was turning out to be really good. She was having so much fun that something wonderful and unexpected happened. When he pulled out the chair at her favorite table for her, she forgot for a moment that she was a thunder kitsune who would live for centuries, and he was an alpha werewolf. Instead, they were a man and a woman doing normal things. She hadn’t felt like that for a long time.

“In what part of California do you live?” Joshua asked to break the ice once they had their drinks.

Scott wiped the whipped cream from his caramel macchiato off his lip before he answered. “Beacon Hills. It’s about ninety miles north of Sacramento.”

Kira didn’t smirk as Josh nodded as if he had an inkling of what that meant.

“Kira told me it was really pretty there,” Tanya said eagerly.

“I’ve been wanting to go back one day.”

Scott beamed at her when she said that. “That’s great.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m studying veterinary science at U.C. Davis, when I don’t have to take a semester off.”

“Oh? What brings you to New York?”

“Uh … personal reasons.”

“Stop the interrogation,” Tanya pushed on her boyfriend’s shoulder. “Josh here’s a bartender.”

“Cool!” Scott said with enthusiasm. “It sounds really interesting.”

“It’s not much,” Josh tried to be demure.

“You’re a bartender in New York City; it’s not like you’re slinging drinks to teens with fake ids. What’s your bar like?”

The rest of the evening was spent in good conversation. Tanya seemed really impressed with Scott, dragging Kira into the ladies' room to gush over how nice he was. Scott’s attitude was so infectious that eventually even Joshua warmed up to him.

Eventually the couples parted ways with Joshua and Tanya deciding to take the subway. Scott suggested that he walk Kira home. It would only take a little longer, and she’d get to be alone with him.

Scott kept looking up at the sky. She followed his gaze.

“Something the matter?”

“I’ve only been here a few weeks, but I can’t get used to the light.”

She looked up. “What do you mean?”

“It’s the new moon. The sky should be darker. I mean, Beacon Hills and Davis both have light pollution, but you can still tell when the moon is full.”

There were stars in the sky, but they didn’t stand out that much. “I guess I never noticed it.”

“It’s not bad, really, it’s just something different.” He turned to look at her. “Different can be good.”

Without saying anything, she held out her hand without lifting it above her waist. After a moment, he reached out and took it.

They continued to walk through the darkened streets, not saying anything but simply taking pleasure in each other’s company. She felt something stirring in her breast. What would have happened if her family had stayed in Beacon Hills? It felt a little selfish of her to wonder that. After all, when they had left Scott had been going through something terrible.

So lost in daydreams of what could have been that she didn’t even notice they were being followed. It was four guys, and there wasn’t any way to be sure they meant them no ill will, but they weren’t talking, which seemed odd.

“Scott …”

“I know.” He kept his voice light. “There’s no problem.”

After a minute of that, one of the men shouted at them. “Hey. Hey you!”

Scott turned around slowly, but when he answered, his eyes glowed red and he spoke around fangs. “You want something?”

The men were appropriately dissuaded from investigating further.

“You know, they could have just been asking us a question.”

“Maybe,” Scott said. “But that would cut in to my time with you, so it doesn't matter.”

Kira couldn’t help it; she blushed. “Can I just say … well …”

“You think I seem more comfortable with all this. Well, I pretty much had to get better, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. I know what that’s like.”

He squeezed her hand tightly. “You sure do.”

They finally reached the sidewalk before the Yukimura house. There was a single light on in her father’s study, but Kira was pretty sure her dad had forgotten to turn it off. He did that from time to time when he got so engrossed in his work that her mom had to pester him until he went to bed.

“Well …” She began.

“I guess this is where I leave you.”

“I’d ask you to come inside, but my mom might hear us and that could be awkward.”

Scott chuckled. “It’s okay. She’s had a tough month.”

Kira felt her draw open for a moment. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you hated my mom, but you don’t even seem to be angry with her.”

His brows came together in confusion. “Why would I hate her?”

Biting her lip, she hesitated. “Not to ruin this evening, but you know what she did. And what it cost you. And what she tried to do again a few weeks ago.”

“Listen to me, Kira. I wish she hadn’t called upon the nogitsune back during the war, but everyone makes mistakes. I wish it hadn’t possessed my best friend, but that wasn’t your mother’s fault. I’m glad that I was here to help stop what she tried to do a few weeks ago, but I understand why she did it.”

“Everyone makes mistakes? I think that saying is more about burning dinner than summoning demons.”

He took both of her hands. “Don’t get me wrong. She acted in revenge and a lot of people died because of it, but she’s spent a long time trying to make up for it. And while I want to save Stiles, she doesn’t think that’s possible, so she feels she has to do something about it. Regardless of how I feel about it, she’s taking responsibility for her own mistakes. That’s something a lot of people, in my experience, don’t even think about doing.”

She smiled at him and not only because he was saying nice things about her mom. He truly believed what he was saying.

“And yes, I have been angry with her, and it’s not wrong for me to feel that way, but I’m not going to let that turn into hate, especially since I can look back at my own life and see decisions I’ve made that could have turned out just as bad.”

Kira doubted that, but she didn’t want to argue with him. “So what now?”

“Well, I should be getting back.”

“I meant …”

“Oh? Oh! Well, I’ve got your number now, and you’ve got mine. We … we should do something else. I mean, if you want to.”

“I do want to.” Kira gave him a peck on the cheek. “I want that very much.”

March 22, 2015 — Beacon Hills, California

Crouching in the underbrush, he could hear the pounding of the women’s feet on the ground as she ran in counterpoint to the beating of her heart. He could smell her sweat, the traces of some perfume she must have been wearing last night, and the strawberry-scented conditioner she had used this morning. He stalked her through the underbrush, a smile forming over his fangs at thought of taking hold of her, of her pulling her down.

She was, as yet, unaware of his presence.

The trees of the Preserve were now in full bud since spring had come. The woman ran a trail that some of the most dedicated joggers had made through the woods. Once upon a time it had run past the old Hale House, but that had been torn down by the county. Only the foundation was still visible.

He’d make his move once she started down the hill. Her own momentum should help prevent her from reacting quickly enough.

However, at the crest, she came to a stop, breathing heavily. She turned quickly, looking around. It seemed like she had sensed something was wrong. With a fanged grin, he burst into speed and leapt at her.

His intent was to grab her around the waste and use his greater strength to hold her in place, but she didn’t cooperate. She let her legs go out from under her on purpose, using her weight to pull him off balance while elbowing him in the face. She had a bad angle, so it didn’t cause much damage. In fact, the only thing it did was make him want to sneeze.

It did unbalance him enough that he couldn’t keep upright unless he released her, so they fell over and rolled into a thicket of bushes and up against a log covered with shelf mushrooms.

“Oh!” She exclaimed with disgust. “Dirt and fungus. Wonderful!”

“I’m supposed to be attacking you!”

“You didn’t have to get me filthy while doing that!”

Aiden brow crinkled before he realized she was teasing him. “You did well.”

Lydia’s mask of derision dropped for a moment. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Unless you missed it in the last couple of years, I’m a werewolf, and a pretty well-trained one. You sensed my presence — you did! — even if it was only a few moments before I attacked. That could save your life in other situations.”

“Hmph.”

“You also reacted with a blow to a vulnerable spot. Once you get strong enough to make it really hurt, it would have taken out a human assailant.”

She tossed her head, but he had learned to pick up the vulnerable tones in her voice. “Do you really think so?”

Aiden stood up and then helped her to feet. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t think it. I may not have been in favor of this training, but since you talked me into it, I’m not going to coddle you.”

“You sure about that? You could have done more.”

He blew a raspberry at her. “I’m not going to hurt you to make a point, either. If I wanted to go easy on you, I would give you a ride back to the shop.”

Lydia turned her frown into a grimace. “I have to run.”

“You have to run, but I’ll run with you.”

They set off at a brisk job. When Lydia had come to him with the demand that he train her and had beaten down his objections with both brutal and cold logic as well as her cutting sarcasm, he had insisted that the first step of any training had to be physical conditioning.

The first week after they had brought her back from Russia, she had been surrounded by friends and family, and he had watched over her while she absorbed their sympathy and used it to soothe her nerves. After that, however, one of Lydia’s strongest traits had manifested herself: she had started to think about what happened and became determined to take steps to make sure it never happened again.

That led to her cajoling him into teaching her how to fight. His protestations had been in vain. Not only had she despised the way Gerard had treated her as an asset he could steal and bully, but she had been impressed by the skills and demeanor of the Russian women who, while being human, had been able to at least hold their own against Peter and him long enough for them to get away.

Chris Argent had done a little digging, and he found out that they were most likely graduates of the same program which produced the Black Widow. Far from discouraging Lydia, that news had sparked her imagination.

Aiden really hadn’t had a chance against Lydia’s passionate onslaught. Once she had thoroughly convinced (harassed) him, he had begun a regimen of physical activity, sparring, and situational awareness. It was the same type of training to which Deucalion had subjected him and Ethan.

Once they reached his shop on the outskirts of town, Lydia claimed the shower first. He went downstairs to do a little work. It didn’t bother him.

He liked his shop. He liked the small showroom where he chatted with the customers. He liked the office where he processed the paperwork for billing and ordered supplies. He liked very much the garage where he actually worked on people’s bikes. He liked the apartment above, even after Lydia had decorated it so it could livable, as she put it, and not a “man-pit.” He loved everything about his business.

He loved everything about his life.

When he had decided not to follow Lydia to Massachusetts, part of him had been afraid he was making a terrible mistake. Aiden had come to care about her, and he would miss her when she left. Ethan was starting a new life with Danny in Los Angeles. He would be part of the Hale Pack, but even if they didn’t hate him, he would never be close to many of those remaining in Beacon Hills. He was afraid of being alone.

But he had decided to be brave, maybe for the first time ever.

When he got out of the shower, he found Lydia intensely focused on reading something on her tablet. She didn’t even look up from where she sat on his couch, her legs curled up under her. He would have called it their couch if he had had his way. They were still technically dating, but she had made it clear why she wasn’t going to be actively looking for a new boyfriend at MIT, she didn’t expect either of them to be exclusive.

He hadn’t looked. He didn’t need to when the fact that she didn’t notice his entrance made him feel warm inside. He went to the kitchenette and pulled two sports drinks from the refrigerator.

“What’s so interesting?” He put the drink down on the end table in front of her.

“Coaster.”

“It’s about coasters?” He was playing dumb, because he was already getting a ceramic one out of the end-table drawer.

She rolled her eyes. “No. It’s about artificial intelligence.”

“Drink,” he suggested. “I didn’t know you were interested in that.”

Lydia grimaced. “To tell you the truth, neither did I. But I can’t let it go.”

“Is this a math thing or a banshee thing?”

She bookmarked her page. “It began in the same way that I drew the tree.”

“The Nemeton.”

“Yeah. I would bring up articles about artificial intelligence on my phone or my laptop without consciously doing so. I found I checked books out of the library relating to it. Then, I started writing code — code so sophisticated that it stumped my professors.”

“Let me guess, you didn’t understand it.”

“I could see the formulae, but I didn’t understand what they meant.”

“Oh, that must have frustrated you so much.”

She grinned slyly at him. “Flatterer.”

“So, have you made any progress on it?”

“I had made a little progress, but then I got kidnapped. Gerard destroyed all my notes. He assumed that it had something to do with what he was planning, and he didn’t want to give anyone any clues to Jackson’s or my location.” She frowned. “Asshole.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about him now. He’s dead.”

“But the damage is done. I’m … lost.”

Aiden resisted the urge to comfort her. When trying to see to Lydia Martin’s needs, he had learned the hard way that sometimes comfort isn’t what she wanted. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s like starting a watch a movie you know nothing about third of the way in. There are characters there. There’s a plot there. But you can’t get what it means because you didn’t see the establishing scenes.”

“But you have seen the first part of it.”

“That’s a problem with the subconscious aspect of my powers. The experience is there in my mind, I’m sure of it, but I can no longer access it. The interruption scrambled everything.”

“It’s still there though. If you work at it, you may rediscover it.”

“That’s why I’m not going back to school this semester. I don’t think it’s going to come back on its own, and I have the feeling that I need to figure this thing out before something terrible happens.”

“I’ll help any way I can.” Aiden thought about it. “Your mother isn’t going to like you not going back.”

“Not at all. She’s been nagging me quite a bit, but she’s going to have to cope. I’m not going to ignore my talents again.”

Aiden hesitated. “You can stay here if you want.”

She raised her head and looked around the room. “Usually, I’d say not a chance, but privacy might be helpful. And I know I’ll appreciate the company.”

They smiled at each other. He popped open his drink and sat down to watch her work.

Chapter Text

March 26, 2015 — Beacon Hills, California

His dinner turned out to be pretty damn good, if Isaac did say so himself. He had baked acorn squash stuffed with mushrooms, Italian sausage, green peppers and Fontina cheese. Even the rind came out delicious, which surprised him even if the recipe indicated that it should be the outcome.

Allison and Mellissa told him it was delicious. He didn’t think he blushed, but he wouldn’t have put money on it.

This semester, he didn’t have classes after 10:00 a.m. on Tuesdays and Thursdays and had been diligent with his schoolwork, he had found himself with some free time, so he had decided to teach himself how to cook. He found he had a talent for it.

After dinner, Melissa left to go see a movie with the Noah, leaving Isaac and Allison to do the dishes. She swore to them that it wasn’t a date, but they made it clear in turn that they didn’t believe her.

Isaac hoped they had fun tonight, as his foster mother and the Sheriff had seemed down for the last few weeks. He didn’t mind cleaning up with Allison; she had been so busy catching up at school he hadn’t spent much time with her. She promised they’d watch a movie themselves after they were finished.

He studied her out of the corner of his while she dried the dishes. She seemed distracted, barely aware of his presence. That wasn’t normal; she could be as focused as anyone he knew, but she seldom tuned out when there wasn’t an imminent crisis.

“What’s the matter?”

Allison startled, nearly dropping a plate. “Oh. Nothing.”

“Yeah, right.”

They had progressed far enough in their relationship that Isaac felt comfortable being sarcastic with her. Not his maximum-strength both-barrel-style sarcasm but still sharp.

“I promise.” Her smile was meant as an apology and a reassurance. “There’s nothing really wrong. I’m just … I’m just thinking.”

He started scrubbing a pot instead of pushing her. He gave her enough time for him to finish rinsing it before moving on. “Can I ask about what?”

“May.”

“The month?”

“It’s ‘may you ask.’ I thought you were majoring in English.”

“Literature, and you’re deflecting.”

Allison deliberately toweled the pot until it was completely dry, figuring out how to explain her concern. “I’ve been thinking about what happened in Russia. About me letting Peter kill Gerard.”

“Oh.” Isaac had experienced a moment of anger when he realized that that decision had been made without his input, but it was almost immediately replaced with relief. He was habitually more than comfortable letting other people make such decisions. His ego had been irritated for only moments until his common sense had pointed out that not only had he no dogs in that hunt, but it also isolated him from any potential blowback when Scott learned what happened.

Instead, he decided to comfort her. “It’s okay to have second thoughts about killing your family.”

She snorted at him. He wasn’t really family; I should have had him killed months ago. Think about it. He ordered the Hale Fire. He raised my aunt into someone who could do something that. That was after, he ambushed and maimed Deucalion out of some sense of sadistic revenge. Those are only things I know about. The first time I had seen him since I was three was at Kate’s funeral, and in the following six weeks, he stabbed Scott in the stomach with a hunting and threatened his mother, demanded my mother kill herself according to the very same Code he was planning to break, and murdered a teenager as part of his plan to have himself turned into an alpha werewolf. That’s skipping over the way he manipulated my grief and insecurity, so I’d become his next personal weapon. He had lived far too long.”

Isaac whistled and attacked another pot.

“No, I don’t have any regrets removing a threat to both humans and supernatural creatures from the board. It wasn’t necessary while he was contained, but it would be irresponsible to leave him free to hurt someone else. My real problem is Peter.”

“Everyone’s problem is Peter.”

“But not everyone is the Argent Matriarch, are they? People look to me for leadership.”

“You’ve given them leadership. All the families recognize that.”

Allison turned her head away. Isaac reached out with his pointer finger and hooked her chin, pulling her so she faced him once again. “No one expects you to be perfect.”

“I’m not interested in being perfect,” she snapped. “I’m interested in being right, especially when it counts. Why are my grandfather’s victims more important to me than Peter’s?”

Isaac carefully put the sponge down. “Was that rhetorical? Or do you want me to answer it?”

She threw the towel in the rack. “I know the answer.”

“No, I don’t think you do. I think it’s obvious that Peter’s victims are just as important to you as Gerard’s. Laura was as innocent as the rest of her family. That nurse was as much his ally as your mother was loyal to your family. You know all of this.”

“Then why aren’t I doing anything about it?”

“Because the similarity of their victims is only one aspect of the situation. Remember what I told you about seeing the whole board? This is the same. Both Peter and Gerard did terrible things, and both were punished for them. Peter literally died, and while he used terrible means to come back, since then he’s … well, he’s not going to be canonized anytime soon, but he’s been helpful when he’s needed to. He’s not plotted against us. Gerard had his health and his contacts, and he could have lived out the rest of his years in comfort. He was smart enough to stay ahead of Peter. But he chose not to; he chose to kidnap our pack mates.”

Allison sighed and shook her head. “You’re wrong. Peter’s plotting something.”

“How do you know? The only thing Scott didn’t give the Hales back was the alpha spark.”

“I hate quoting my grandfather, but one of the things he taught me was Know Thy Enemy. Remember what Deaton told Derek about his uncle’s resurrection?”

Isaac worked his jaw. “It may have escaped my attention.”

“What Peter did came at a cost. He should be physically weak, but it’s the opposite. He’s very strong. In fact, he’s the strongest non-alpha werewolf I’ve ever seen. It was especially noticeable in Russia. He did something to get his power back, something he doesn’t feel like sharing.”

“That’s … not good.”

“I don’t even think he’s told Derek. I know he hasn’t told Scott. So that leaves me with a big question: what am I going to do about it?”

“I know what I’m going to do: I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine. You want one?”

“Wine?”

Isaac nodded. “You’re twenty-one, and I’m drinking it for the taste, but all the television I’ve watched tells me that’s it what grown-up people do when they have a thorny problem.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“You think so?” Leaving the few dishes left to be done later, he poured them two glasses of wine and brought her into the living room. They sat down on the couch, and he waited for her to get comfortable.

“The truth is I’m not trying to make you feel better,” he said after a sip.

“No?” She teased him, obviously feeling more at ease.

“I’m not going to pretend that you shouldn’t worry about things like that. I’m not in your position, and I don’t want to be. So, just remember, I’m here for you whatever you decide …”

“I hear a ‘but’ there.”

“But I think you’re coming at it the wrong way. If you’re really concerned that your personal biases are influencing your decision making, you should be making a different comparison.”

She sat up straighter, listening closely. He wasn’t going to lie to himself, it made him feel very good.

“You shouldn’t be comparing Peter and Gerard. You’re not conflicted about their actions. You're conflicted about your actions. I think that if Peter threatened Lydia and Jackson again, you would treat him the same.”

She frowned slightly, but it wasn’t in disagreement.

“If you want a better comparison, ask yourself what you would do is if you were standing in this room with a gun to Stiles’s head.”

“What?”

“We know what he’s become. Those Nazis mixed him together with that demon. A demon that nearly killed me. That nearly killed Scott. I know you liked Stiles.”

Her eyes dropped but she tried to keep her voice light. “Everyone liked Stiles.”

“Eh.” Isaac shrugged. “But he’s not Stiles anymore, is he? No matter what the guy we know has done or would do, that demon lives to hurt people. Innocent people. If you had a gun and he was standing right in front of you — just standing — but you knew that tomorrow there would be every possibility that he would do terrible things. What would you do?”

Allison didn’t have an immediate answer. Isaac didn’t press her, because it couldn’t possibly be an easy one, could it? He sipped his wine to give her time to think about it.

“I don’t know.”

“And there you go. You don’t know what to do about Peter, do you?”

She smiled, more widely now. “When did you get so smart?”

“Not smart, but this is something I’ve thought about a lot. Ever since Matt killed my dad, I asked myself if I was furious or grateful.”

Allison’s eyebrow lifted in confusion.

“My father did a terrible thing to Matt. My father did terrible things to me, but even when I had the power … I ran. I wasn’t able to face him, but Matt discovered another way. I’ve gone over and over it, and I can’t tell you what’s different between Matt and me. I’m not able to say that I wouldn’t have used the kanima to kill him. Sometimes we don’t get to know ahead of time what we’re capable of doing. And that’s okay.”

“You’re right. I’d just feel better if I could do something.”

“Okay. Ask the wizards about Peter.”

She blinked. “The Masters?”

“If anyone can find out how Peter got his strength back ahead of schedule and what it might mean, it would be them. If you think you have the right to do that.”

“Huh.” She paused. “Maybe I could ask them about helping Stiles, too?”

Isaac hadn’t thought of that.

March 30, 2015 — Beacon Hills, California

After the conflict between SHIELD and the Dread Doctors had resolved itself, their graduation from high school has seen the pack start to spread across the country to pursue their own lives. In contrast, Derek found himself at loose ends. His life, if not complete, was measurably better. He had regained a home, a family, and a pack. And while things weren’t perfect, nothing in life ever was.

Derek had decided, after some thought, to use some of his money to keep things as close to perfect as they could be. For example, he had bought three top quality conference phones: one for his own loft, one for the McCall house, and one for the Animal Clinic. They would make it easier to coordinate across distances such as the conversation he was having with Scott and Deaton.

They were waiting for Scott to speak, as they had just debriefed him on the status of Lydia, Jackson, Gerard, and the rest of the pack. The alpha had been given updates every time he contacted on his trips outside Avenger’s Tower, but this was the first time they could give him the full story. The only thing that Scott didn’t know was the deal Chris, Derek and Peter had made earlier and Allison’s authorization of that deal. She made it clear she wanted to tell Scott personally.

The line was still open; Derek could hear the waves crashing in Sheepshead Bay. He caught Deaton’s eye in concern over the silence, but the veterinarian silently signaled him to be patient.

“I’m guess we’ll have to settle for that. I wish … I wish Jackson hadn’t decided to go back. He’s rich enough to skip a semester.”

“People heal in different ways,” Deaton advised.

“But sometimes they can push themselves too quickly.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s the pot calling the kettle black. I don’t remember you giving yourself too much time to recover in high school.”

“I had no choice back then, and neither did you. Someone had to do something. But Beacon Hills is safe now. It is safe now, right?”

“As safe it is will ever be, but it’s not like Cornell University is a supernatural war zone.” Derek hesitated before adding. “The instinct you’re feeling is only natural.”

“I guess.”

“Is there something else the matter, Scott?” Deaton beat Derek to the punch in question. “You sound worried.”

“I’m not worried, not really. I feel sort of rattled. I mean … everything that I came here to do still remains to be done, but there’s part of me that thinks that I should be back there in California.”

“You’re homesick?”

“No, I wish.” Scott sighed. “It’s the opposite. I feel guilty about being here.”

“I don’t understand.” Derek frowned. “Guilt over what?”

“About everything! About not being there to help rescue Lydia and Jackson. About dating Kira. About spending so much time tracking down Stiles, when there are things I should be seeing to at home. I went with the Avengers to the DOA base in the Bahamas, like it was some sort of vacation.”

The two men in the animal clinic locked eyes over the examination table. Derek raised his eyebrows at the vet, who shook his head and pointed at Derek, silently but forcefully. Derek worked his jaw but then he saw the point Deaton was getting at.

“Scott …” He had been an alpha once, and he drew upon those lessons. “You’re putting a lot of burden on yourself. You can’t do everything. You’re not supposed to do everything.”

There was no immediate answer. Deaton had been right, and it made Derek square his shoulders.

“Scott, do you still think you can help out there?”

Scott still didn’t say anything.

“Do you still think you can—?”

“I stood in his room.” Scott said quickly, but so softly that Deaton might not have been able to hear him if Derek hadn’t bought the best equipment.

“His room at the Hydra base?” the vet asked for clarification.

“Yeah. It’s on an island called Samana Cay. It was actually under the ocean. You can’t know how many times in middle school Stiles and I would talk about how cool it would be to have an undersea base. I was there, and it was a daydream come true. I stood in that room, and I could smell him. You know he still smells almost exactly like Stiles used to even though … he’s not really Stiles anymore. But there was enough of him for me to … to feel him.”

Derek felt the echo of old pain, evoke by the tone in Scott’s voice. Memories rushed back with perfect clariry, as he remembered standing in the burnt-out ruins of the Hale House.

“Scott, if I may, I would like to remind you of your responsibilities.” Deaton offered gently, though the word choice made Derek’s back stiffen. “You have a responsibility to your family. You have a responsibility to your pack. You have a responsibility to the world at large. But you need to remember you also have a responsibility to yourself.”

“Okay,” Scott said slowly.

“Your family is healthy and safe, though they do miss you. Your pack is healthy and as safe as your prior actions have made them; your presence here would make them happier, and they would be a little safer, but not significantly. The Avengers have explained the importance of what they are doing, and I don’t think that’s changed even with the events in New York. If I may be so bold, I think the most pressing responsibility you have right now is finding closure. Derek, wouldn’t you agree?”

He startled when Deaton redirect the conversation to him, seeking his approval. He might pretend otherwise, but he still wasn’t used to the regard the pack members — other than Scott — had for him. “Yes. Scott, I don’t need to remind you how poorly I handled things your sophomore year in high school.”

“You were in difficult place.”

“And you aren’t?” Derek leaned forward, knowing Scott would notice it and conveying the seriousness of his statements. “Back then, I didn’t handle my own emotional needs very well, choosing to ignore my own inner turmoil for what I perceived to be my responsibilities. But ignoring them didn’t help; they still affected fulfilling every responsibility I had. I think Deaton is right about you need to do this, but I have to ask do you think you can help them stop Stiles?”

“Yeah.” Scott said firmly.

“Do you think that your presence will make it more likely for them to capture him and less likely for them to kill him?”

Scott sounded a little less sure of himself. “I think so.”

“Do you still want to save him, even after all he’s done?”

“Of course!” Scott hesitated. “Yes. Yes, of course I do.”

“Then there’s nothing else to really talk about. Believe me, Alpha, if your pack needs you, we’ll let you know. I promise.”

They concluded the call. Derek hit the button and disconnected the conference call. Then he crossed his arms and stared at the veterinarian.

“Something you would like to say, Derek?”

“You’re his Emissary. I’m wondering why you kept trying to shift this conversation so it was between him and me rather than between you two.”

“Hmm.” Deaton thought about it. “The clearest answer I can give you is that it relieved me of an ethical quandary.”

“That’s not very clear at all.”

“As Emissary, I’m required to give my alpha the best advice I can.”

Derek felt his jaw tighten. “You think he should come back.”

“Not exactly. I believe that, after this recent event, it would be best for the pack. I believe that his involvement in this struggle between the Avengers and Hydra now puts him in unnecessary danger, and this pack is still too new. Your mother’s pack had the benefit of decades of stability, and they were still vulnerable. Ethically, I should tell him that the best place for him is here in California.”

“That’s not what’s best for Scott though. If he gives up on Stiles, no matter what he’s become, Scott’ll never forgive himself.”

“It wouldn’t prevent Scott from doing his best as alpha, but I think he’d be miserable for the rest of his life, especially if something happens to Stiles.” Deaton shook his head. “On a certain level, I don’t want to do that to him.”

“But you think I can.”

Deaton looked undisturbed. “I didn’t want you to tell him to come back. I wanted you to tell him exactly what you told him: that he has every right to stay where he is and pursue this matter to its end. I had the confidence that you would do it.”

Derek chuckled grimly. “That’s a change.”

“What can I say? You’ve grown considerably since we first became reacquainted.”

“Then you can rest easy, Alan. I’ll keep the pack together. I’ll keep Beacon Hills safe, until this ends for Scott, one way or the other. And if it ends as poorly as I think it will, I’ll help him pick up the pieces.”

“Of course you will,” Deaton commented as he turned to walk away. “What else are brothers for?”

April 4, 2015 — Oakland, California

Noah Stilinski sat in his car outside the building. Something was very wrong with this place.

At first sight, the warehouse seemed to have been empty for at least a decade. There were no vehicles in the parking lot; instead, grass grew from the cracks in the concrete. Several of the windows were broken and the walls were covered with graffiti. He could see at least one hole in the roof, just as anyone would expect from an abandoned building.

Things didn’t fit. The fence surrounding the place, while rusted, seemed very much intact, down to the razor wire covering the top. The spray-painted art was atypical. To a cop’s eye, they seemed more like the creations of someone who read about urban art, not someone who actively participated in it. The buildings on the rest of the block were well-kept and well-used. Eyesore buildings like this would either be sold or condemned. It was only in truly depressed areas that buildings were left to rot like this.

He didn’t think this building was empty: someone wanted people to believe it was abandoned. That made him nervous. He might have put it down to paranoia, but he had to bear in mind the organization with which he was dealing.

Getting out of the Toyota — he hadn’t brought his cruiser on what was essentially a personal mission — he loosened his pistol in its holster to make sure it could be drawn quickly, before opening the trunk and retrieving the lock-pick gun he had borrowed from the station. Close examination of the padlock on the gate showed that it was top quality and not weathered much at all. It took him a few tries to get it open.

He drove his car through and then shut the gate behind him. He didn’t want to be interrupted.

He went to what he suspects was the door into the office. The room itself had been emptied of furniture at some point, though there was a scatting of papers and files on the floor. He checked them to be thorough. To a quick perusal, they were authentic looking, but Noah’s suspicions compelled him to look closer. They didn’t tell a coherent story.

This place was not what it appeared to be. Could it be a secret base? He drew his service pistol. The interior of the warehouse proper was dark, so he held a flashlight in his other hand. He spotted a light switch on the wall, so he headed toward it.

“Are you nuts?”

Noah whirled around to see his son standing before him with a look he had seen a lot of times over the years: a look of incredulity enhanced by exasperation. The Fox had seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell am I doing here? Stiles, you asked me to meet you here!”

“Yeah, but … you may be a great sheriff, but you’re not going to do the well in a fight between supernatural creatures and enhanced individuals. You have to get out of here.”

“Fight between … what are you talking about?”

“Less talking, more moving. How much time do I have?” Stiles came over and took him by the arm, but the Sheriff dug his heels in. His son sighed. “I don’t want to force you to move but I will. How much time do we have?”

Noah finally worked it out. “There isn’t anyone else, Stiles. It’s just me.”

The man blinked and let go like he dropped hot fire. “What?”

“I got the message you left with Danny. No one else knows.”

Stiles looked at him, closely, the way you would study an animal which you couldn’t quite identify. “Okay. Stay right here. I’ll be right back.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to go disarm the bomb.” Stiles flailed and scampered away to a spot on the floor.

Much to his chagrin, it took Noah about ten seconds to process it. “The bomb?”

The Fox opened a hatch that had been cleverly concealed and dropped beneath it. The sheriff took a few tentative steps toward the hatch. He couldn’t hear anything going on down below. Eventually, Stiles’s head popped up.

“Yeah. The fertilizer bomb. For the Avengers. I went through a lot of trouble to set it up, and for nothing.”

“Wait. Wait, this was a trap?”

Clambering up out of the secret subbasement, Stiles nodded. “Yeah. And a pretty good one, too. Danny would tell you, you would tell the pack, the pack would tell Scott, and Scott would tell the Avengers, who would get in their little plane and fly here and … BOOM!” He gestured. “Honestly, I sort of freaked out when I saw you here. I was absolutely sure they wouldn’t let you come anywhere near this place.”

“Why?”

The Fox crinkled up his face. “Why would they let you come to a superhero fight?”

“No. Why the trap?”

“Because I want to kill them.” Stiles said it easily. “And as powerful as I am, direct confrontations aren’t going to go very well for me. I had to lure them into a place and a time of my choosing and hit them hard enough to disable Iron Man and Thor. Not easy. It also had to be a type of munition that Tony Stark wouldn’t be able to easily detect. The answer, it turned out, was an entirely mechanical bomb. No electricity at all. It should have worked.”

Noah felt he was dizzy. Stiles skill at deflection had only increased. “You didn’t think I’d have a problem with this?”

“Of course, but that wasn’t the point.”

He crossed his arms and Stiles stared at him before rolling his eyes.

“Okay. Obviously, you want an explanation. I had a friend; her name was Ayla. She died in the fight in the East River. They killed her. Technically, Iron Man killed her, but I’m holding all of them equally responsible.”

“You decided to use me to do it.”

Stiles pursed his lips and then he thrust his chin out in a gesture indicating that this it should have been obvious. “Yes.”

“You don’t understand why I would have a problem with that?”

“Oh, I understand. I just don’t care that much. I think it’s called growing up.”

Noah gritted his teeth. “How do you figure that?”

“I can never have everything I want, and that doesn’t depend on how much power I have or how smart I am. To avenge Ayla while maintaining my freedom, I had to get a bunch of superheroes to fight me on my terms and on the terrain I chose. With what they’ve learned from Scott and Noshiko, they weren’t going to be caught flat-footed by anything I would have done before, so I had to do something that would make them think they had the upper hand. Scott would never believe that I’d use you in a trap like this. If it makes you feel better, I wouldn’t have let the bomb kill you … or Scott for that matter. I owe him, after all.”

“It doesn’t actually make me feel better, you know, that my son would do this.”

“But I’m not your son, not anymore, and you know this, because you’re not stupid, but you don’t want it to be true, because you are a little bit stupid.” The Fox smiled wistfully.

Noah realized he was still holding his gun, so he holstered it. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting you back.”

“There is something wrong if it’s never going to happen. It’s not possible.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Listen.” Stiles moved until he was standing directly before him. “When you get home, contact the San Joaquin County Sheriff’s Department about a home invasion. They’ll tell you that a family of six was held overnight by a masked intruder in a rural home. While all of them are alive, they were psychologically tormented for an entire night. That was me, because I had to make sure my energy reserves were at their maximum before I tried this. Every part of your son that you remember is here, standing right before you, but also standing before you is a millennium-old demon who feeds on the chaos, strife and pain of humanity. There was a time when there was a bright line between them, but that line is gone. You’re safe right now because I care about you, but that care doesn’t undo the fact that I have to hurt people to exist. I always have, and I always will.”

Noah didn’t doubt those words in the slightest, so he should be repulsed. He should draw his gun and shoot this monster, but he couldn’t. “They have ideas about how to undo that.”

“Ideas.” Stiles scoffed. “What do you want? Even if you get the part of me that is Stiles Stilinski back, how will I ever be the same? Some things just don’t go away.”

“I think the better thing to talk about is what you want. You need those dark things, but I don’t think that’s what you want anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter—”

Noah reached out and grabbed the Fox by the shoulder. “It matters to me.”

“Do you think that knowing will make a difference? It should be obvious I want everyone I left behind in my life. I used Hydra resources to keep tabs on you. I watched all of you because no matter how many times I told myself I had to move on, I couldn’t manage it. It’s a pity I can’t absorb my own pain, or I would never have to go hungry again. But it shouldn’t matter to you. You should move on.”

Noah realized that he was feeling right now was exactly how he felt with Claudia. Stiles wasn’t dealing with dementia the way she had, but he was dealing with something as incurable and implacable, and he was dealing with it as badly. His son — or the part of his son that was still there — had been given up hope, but Noah hadn’t. He had had terrible, terrible times with Claudia, yet he wanted to have terrible, terrible times with Stiles. He nodded to Stiles’s puzzlement

“I want you to understand one thing. I’m not giving up on you. I will never give up on you. Not until the day I die.” He squinted. “The only thing I ask is don’t use me against your enemies again.”

Stiles looked at him like Noah had just scolded him for not cleaning his room. “Fine.”

“Do you have any messages for the pack?”

“I guess tell Danny thanks. Tell Scott it’s not healthy to be where he’s at, but tell him thank you as well.” Stiles shrugged. “I better get a move on myself.”

Noah watched him leave. As sad as he should have been, he felt strangely renewed.

“Oh and Dad?” The Fox paused at the doorway without turning around. “I love you, too.”

Chapter Text

April 26, 2015 — Barcelona, Spain

“Stop here.” Wolfgang von Strucker ordered. His driver immediately complied, even though there was no place to park on the block.

The drivers piled up behind them honked in frustration, but the baron paid them no heed as he got out of the limousine. His movements seemed unhurried, almost indolent, but in reality, he was scanning the buildings and crowds for a potential ambush.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to assassinate him out while he was surrounded by people enjoying the sunny afternoon. The unimportant mob could take advantage of the delightful breeze wafting across the city, but part of the price he paid for the power he possessed was vigilance.

On the other hand, those peasants had no idea that the world balanced precariously on its edge, and that he was the man who could determine which direction it would fall. After all, he finally had undisputed control of the most powerful criminal organization on the planet.

Pierce, Garrett, and Zola were dead. Malick was too superstitious and conservative to be a threat to anything he had planned. The Department of Occult Armaments had been crippled. On the outside, it seemed that Hydra had never been closer to being utterly defeated, but the organization had already begun to reform itself. “Cut off one head and two will take its place,” wasn’t a boast of invincibility; it was a mission statement. The desire to impose order on a world rife with chaos would always exist, and his predecessors had designed Hydra to take advantage of it.

While S.H.I.E.L.D.’s successor organizations were distracted by meaningless proxy battles and by their own scrambling to reclaim bases already stripped clean of resources, his branch had been making huge leaps in technology, including artificial intelligence and human enhancement. All Baron Von Strucker felt he needed was time.

While he may have joined Hydra in his youth with the goal of securing humanity’s future by the exercise of decisive power, he had abandoned that childish conviction decades ago. His command of Hydra, to be completely honest with himself, was simply all about him. The only thing more satisfying than the indescribable thrill that came with confronting powerful opponents on the global stage was the thrill that came with beating powerful opponents on the global stage.

Of course, sometimes he had to face personal danger in order to continue experiencing it, risks like the one he was about to take. With a final glance to avoid being ambushed, he pushed open the door. To everyone else in the room, he was a distinguished-looking German gentleman sitting down at a table with a loafing teenager, probably an American. There were only a few people who could recognize what this actually was: a meeting between two of the most dangerous people in the world.

“A Starbucks?” He challenged the person across from him, mostly to set the tone of the meeting.

Light brown eyes lifted over the rim of a café bombón. “The ironic contrast amuses me. This ubiquitous and tacky chain right across the street from …” He gestured through the window to the towering beauty of the Sagrada Familia.

Strucker had seen as much as he wanted as he had driven up; he didn’t even bother to look back. “You need to come in.”

“What, no wordplay? No chit-chat?”

“It’s unnecessary when I hold all the cards.”

Fox pursed his lips in mock disbelief. “I suppose unfounded confidence helps a bit, too. What makes you think that I won’t snap your neck right here and right now? There’s no one within a hundred miles who could stop me, and I promised you I would once. Or don’t you remember?”

“To be honest, I’ve been threatened so many times in my life that I’ve stop bothering to keep track. Don’t get me wrong, I know better than to think I can predict your moves, so I’m counting on the sheer banality of that action to protect me.”

“Oooh. Flattery will take you places, Baron.” Slowly, deliberately, the Fox looked around the room and through the windows. “I don’t sense enough potential for strife for you to have brought backup. There are no snipers. No disguised agents ready to intervene.”

“There’s a saying among professional gamblers: you can’t win if you don’t play. I’m betting that you’ll be receptive to the reasoning behind my … request.”

The younger-looking man slurped his drink as loudly as possible before answering. “Go on.”

“You’ve been defeated. Repeatedly.”

“Well, I guess you’re done with flattery.”

“Between the betrayal by the Dread Doctors at Puente Antiguo, the sentimental and unnecessary skirmish at North Brother Island, and the loss of Samana Cay, the Avengers have depleted the Department of Occult Armament of all of its primary bases, much of its supernatural resources, and eighty percent of its fighting forces. You won’t be able to produce more vargulfs for a few months at least, and I have reports that all your top lieutenants are either dead or off the grid.”

“Please don’t act like you aren’t partially responsible for some of those losses.”

A waiter chose to appear with an espresso exactly the way Strucker liked them. Fox must have set that up before him, but the baron didn’t let parlor tricks unsettle him. “What difference does that make now?”

“Apparently none. I shouldn’t have expected any less from you. Though from my perspective, the things you listed are only temporary setbacks. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ll understand that these things happen.” The boy who was not a boy snapped his fingers. “Oh, that’s right. You won’t live as long as I have.”

Strucker smiled thinly in reply, but he promised he would be there when the creature’s life came to its end. “Your longevity might not be so much of a blessing when you’re locked in the Raft.”

“Are you trying to frighten me? All I know that it is the American government’s not-so-secret prison for enhanced criminals. I only skimmed the briefings.”

“Even you would have trouble escaping from an underwater prison located somewhere in the Bering Sea. Few know exactly where it is, but it’s at least thirty kilometers from the nearest landfall. Regardless of the origins of your constituent parts, the Avengers will most likely seek to put you there. They can’t possibly let something like you wander about no matter how much they might feel sorry for you. You know that.”

Feigning boredom, the boy nodded in response.

“What you may not know is that we lost the Port Sudan Laboratory and the Arctic Research Facility yesterday.”

“Tsk. It looks like my department isn’t the only one having a difficult quarter. It certainly seems you’re running out of facilities yourself.”

Strucker snorted. “Acceptable losses. My crucial facilities are still intact, and some sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.”

“Perhaps.”

“But, of course, I will not be able to escape the inevitable, however, any more than you could. Sooner or later the Avengers will strike at my base in Sokovia. I plan to be prepared when they do. That’s where you come in.”

“Ah. I would be quite a help against them. Why do you think I’d be inclined to risk my freedom to do so?”

The Baron turned his head to watch the ignorant Barcelonans walk by outside the window. He had no intention of answering what was most obviously a rhetorical question.

After sufficient time had passed, he turned back to take the measure of the monster sitting across from him. As he expected, the void kitsune appeared calm on the surface but must have been seething beneath his mask.

“You’re an asshole, but you know that don’t you, Strucker?”

“It’s been explained to me once or twice.”

The Fox chuckled at the admission. “Fair enough. I’ll come, under certain conditions.”

The Baron raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that. Just because you made a few good points doesn’t mean I don’t have a few good points myself. Your military forces are formidable, but I’d make them significantly more formidable.”

Scowling, he jerked his head for the Fox to go on.

The boy held up one finger. “I will have a lot of preparation, and I won’t tolerate anyone’s ego getting in the way.”

It was an easy call. “Done.”

A second finger. “If the Avengers bring my … friend with them, no one kills him.”

“This won’t be a battle where we can afford to hold back.

The Fox waved his fingers. “I’m a whimsical creature.”

“Best I can do is give an order to capture.”

“Fair enough. Finally, I answer only to you, and not even to you once the battle starts. You’re going to have to put your money where your mouth is. Since you’re confident I’ve got plenty of reasons to help you, you’re going to have trust me to hold up my end of the bargain.”

“Trust you?”

The Fox grinned nastily. “Yeah.” Then he laughed out loud.

April 28th, 2015 — 40,000 feet above the Irish Sea

Transatlantic flights turned out to be even longer and more tedious than he had managed, especially when Scott didn’t have much to do compared to everyone else on the plane.

When Scott had asked if he could help, Cap had told him that the best thing he could do was get some sleep. He had tried, but Scott had soon realized that he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all on the trip. Quinjets were built to be fast and tough, with more resources given to tactical storage and sophisticated sensors than for comfort. They certainly hadn’t been built to be a quiet ride.

Even if he had been able to suppress his hearing enough so the whine of the electronics and the roar of the engines wouldn’t keep him awake, there were still too many chemo signals in a confined space. He couldn’t escape Captain Rogers’s frustration as he negotiated for permission to enter the air space of sovereign nations nor Tony’s omnipresent low-grade anxiety as he checked over the Iron Legion robots for the third time. Then there were tangles of signals from both Thor, who on the surface seemed to be both happy and sad at the same time, and from Dr. Banner, whose worry was underlined by rage, though that could have been due to their radically different biologies.

Scott had developed a headache from trying to sort out all of those sensations while dealing with his own emotions. From everything the Avengers had dug up on this Sokovian base, there was a fifty-fifty chance that the Fox might be there. If he was, Scott wouldn’t be able to let Stiles get away again, especially if they recovered the scepter.

Thankful for his werewolf stamina, he abandoned any attempt to nap, but he did lay down on the bench and close his eyes. He’d pass the time practicing some of the meditation techniques Deaton had taught him.

Someone sat down next to him without him being aware of their approach and a growl slipped out.

“Whoa, there.” Clint Barton cautioned sarcastically. “You seem a little tense.”

“Sorry.” Scott winced. “You … I’m not used to someone getting this close to me anymore without knowing about it.”

“Ehn, happens to the best of us. The longer you’re in this life, the more you develop certain reflexes. I’ve never been growled at before, though.” Hawkeye winked. As professional agents, he and the Black Widow gave off the least amount of chemo signals and were the hardest to notice. “Being in a flying steel can must be messing with your senses.”

“I can handle it. I spend tenth grade learning to filter out high school, but it’s been a long trip already. I think what might be waiting at the other end is what is really bothering me.”

“I’d be concerned if it didn’t.” The archer looked him over. “Are you going to be ready?”

“I’ve been in fights before.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question. Every fight’s different, and it turns out you’re different for every fight. Anyone who takes that for granted often ends up in a world of hurt.”

Scott almost replied that he was fine, but Derek had been slowly weaning him off that particular means of hiding his worries. “This time does feel different.”

“Anything about it in particular?”

“Well, this, to start with.” Scott ran a hand down the front of his new suit. Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner had designed it for him after the last battle. Before Scott had convinced — forced, really — Katashi’s former bodyguard to surrender, Kincade had shot him twice and then got in a few good strong hits with his claws. Scott had experienced far worse in his life and the wounds were gone ten minutes after the fight was over, but he hadn’t made an effort to conceal the damage.

However, the team had seen the wounds, and they hadn’t reacted well. First, they realized that Scott had essentially been fighting with them while in street clothes, and Iron Man had taken that as a personal affront. Within a week, he had a new uniform, one costing significantly more than his lacrosse jersey.

The suit consisted mostly of a dark matte gray fabric which was both bullet resistant and elastic -- so he could freely shift – with hardened plates over vulnerable areas. It had a communication package in the collar that took advantage of his hearing. Along the left side of torso was a line of silver and black buttons.

“Body armor always feels weird when you first wear it.”

“Oh, that’s not the problem; it’s remarkably comfortable. But it makes me think about other things, like my feet.”

Hawkeye followed Scott’s eyes down. “Your … feet?”

“I’ve noticed people are being pretty intense about this fight, so I thought that maybe I should use every advantage I can. I might go barefoot.”

“Nope. Not following.”

“The best hand-to-hand werewolf fighter I’ve ever met was an alpha named Kali. While there were other alphas who were stronger or tougher, she was … she took what she had to a whole other level. If I had to guess, I think she was as skilled as you or Cap or Natasha.”

“I can’t help but notice you used the past tense.”

“Yeah. She died.”

“Given you just compared her skills to mine, I’m kinda curious how that happened.”

“Oh, a darach telekinetically threw a ton of window glass … well, through her.”

Hawkeye winced. “I guess that’ll do it.”

“Anyway.” Scott had seen the aftermath; he was glad he hadn’t seen Jennifer actually kill her former alpha. “She used this particular technique to really good effect, though a lot of my pack found it creepy.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Toe claws.”

The older man pointed at Scott’s feet. “Okay, take ‘em off. This I gotta see.”

He slipped off the shoes that came with the suit and focused on extending his claws. He wiggled them so they clicked on the floor of the jet.

“You know how to use them?”

Scott nodded. He had practiced fighting without his hands with the pack when he was in his training-nut phase.

“Then I’d go for it if I were you. Use every advantage you’ve got in battle.”

Before the discussion could continue, Cap took a position in the center of the room. “Okay, listen up.”

Everyone left off what they had been doing – even Natasha put the plane on autopilot to join Steve at the central table, where he brought up tactical maps on the display. Composed of archived maps of the countryside augmented by satellite imagery, they had a three-dimensional image of an ancient fortress located in a heavily wooded valley.

“We have permission from the Sokovian authorities to launch the attack, but they’re not going to permit any other military forces to be involved, and they won’t commit their own.”

“Regrettable, but it matters not,” Thor lifted Mjolnir. “We will enjoy this battle!”

“Talk about yourself, blondie,” Natasha said as she craned her neck over the map. “I’d have liked a little back up. There are nearly a dozen bunkers before we even get close to the fortress.”

Tony seemed to be consulting some more in-depth information on a table. “They were built by the Nazi occupation, Cap. It wouldn’t surprise me if this was a minor base you missed way back when.”

Steve let the good-natured jibe go right past him. “I think our best approach will be a frontal assault on foot. While they have layered fortifications, they’ve also let the forest grow too thick. It’ll neutralize some of their numerical advantage and give us a little protection from whatever artillery they have at the main castle.”

The captain went on to point out a potential landing site for the quinjet and then a possible route to approach. The others asked questions and made suggestions, though Scott hung back, remaining quiet.

Bruce peered at it. “You want to steal a truck?”

“Borrow it.” She winked at Cap. It must have been an inside joke.

“It’s a good idea. We don’t want to get separated physically until it’s absolutely necessary.” He turned to Scott. “We’ve never really talked about your speed. Will you need to be with Nat and Clint in the truck?”

“I can move as fast as a car if I put my mind to it …” Scott didn’t want to mention running on his hands and feet. He was faster that way, but it looked really stupid. “I think it’s best if I wait and see.”

“Fair enough. We’re going to hit them hard and fast. Don’t worry about cleaning up stragglers.” Steve took a deep breath and turned to Bruce. “I think we’re going to need a Code Green.”

“Al-already?” Bruce blinked at him. “Are you sure it’s necessary?”

While no one on the team tried to pretend the conversation wasn’t happening, all of them took Dr. Banner’s reluctance to call upon his alter ego seriously. Scott had never actually seen the Hulk in person. A “Code Green,’ which was their term for purposefully releasing the Hulk, hadn’t been necessary on North Brother Island, nor the single other raid that Scott had been on.

No one had needed to explain to him why Banner was reluctant. Scott only had to remember his first full moon to know the fear and shame that could come with such a transformation.

“Overwhelming power applied with all possible speed will minimize casualties, Bruce.” Steve talked like a commander, neither sympathetic nor exasperated. It was something Scott hoped he could master one day: the ability to command without confusing effectiveness with cruelty. “Unlike many of the other bases we’ve taken this one has defenses. Strong defenses. I think it’ll be a tougher fight than New Mexico.”

Scott frowned as that battle had been against the Dread Doctors and Fox. Against Stiles.

“Okay. Okay, I understand.” Dr. Banner bobbed his head in agreement.

“Our work’s been going so well,” Natasha reassured him, touching Bruce on the shoulder. “We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I still don’t like it.” The Hulk had killed people in his rages before, and while no one onboard held it against him, Banner’s discomfort was palpable. Swallowing, he turned to Scott. “What about you?”

“Me?” Scott blinked. “I don’t have much trouble with control anymore, and anyway the full moon isn’t for six more days.”

“Uh, uh-oh.” Dr. Banner winced. “No one’s spoken to you about this? Guys, I thought someone was going to talk to him.”

“Considering we’re still a few hours out, I was planning on doing so in private,” Cap said lightly.

“Oh.” Bruce colored.

Looking around, Scott had to fight down the urge to pretend nothing was happening. “Is something wrong?”

“During the fight on North Brother Island, the team noticed a certain pattern in your fighting style,” Steve began. “We had a few conversations about it, but I made the decision only to speak to you if it became necessary.”

“Is this about holding back? Or being emotionally compromised?” Scott stated a little sourly. He had thought he had moved past that with them after the Black Widow’s provocation while sparring.

“Not exactly. You’ve ably demonstrated that you’re an asset on the field.”

“Yeah, even though you looked like you went through a meat grinder in New York,” Tony said as he turned away to get himself a cup of coffee.

Steve drew Scott’s attention back to him. “You did not to kill anyone at the sanitarium. You went out of the way to not kill anyone. And that is a good thing, but we’re simply concerned that in a full-out frontal assault on a Hydra base, you might get yourself hurt even worse if you’re too focused on not killing.”

“Oh.” He sighed. “I can kill. I have killed. I fought a STRIKE Team at the Triskelion. While I didn’t make sure they were dead, I ripped a guy’s hand off his wrist. I understand why you’re worried, but you shouldn’t be.” He drew himself up and looked Cap in the eye. “My true problem isn’t making myself kill. It’s the opposite. I’ve shown you aggression, but you can’t really understand it unless you’ve felt the call of the moon. It’d be so easy for me to rip people apart if I didn’t have things to keep me focused on not doing so. That’s what my pack is for.”

“The vargulfs were petty terrifying.”

Scott nodded. “That’s what we’re like when we’re not anchored. It’s not an exaggeration to say I don’t like killing. I’ve seen too many werewolves go there as a first resort because it’s sure thing. You don’t have to worry about your enemies if they’re dead. But the consequence is it becomes easier to let that part of you take care of the problem.”

“Maslow’s Hammer,” Bruce offered.

“Personally, I’m not comfortable with killing victims. When I was first changed, there was a family who immediately saw me as a threat. In a way they were right, because I didn’t have a proper alpha, and I had gotten caught in their war. They were willing to kill me for the greater good, yet how can protecting victims not be part of the greater good?” Scott glanced at Natasha; he had heard some things about her training. “But the men we’re going to fight, they’re not victims, are they? They joined Hydra willingly, consciously.”

“Most of them,” Clint agreed. “Some may have been indoctrinated. Some may have been desperate. Not all of them will be true believers.”

“Exactly. I know I won’t have time to tell the difference on the battlefield, so you can trust me not to endanger your lives or the lives of innocents by holding back.”

“Aye.” Thor smirked. “I told you all. He is an honorable warrior.”

“Yes, you did.” Cap was still studying Scott. “You know what might happen if your friend is there.”

Scott had prepared himself. “As long as he’s with them, that might happen any day. I’m here to do my best to see that it doesn’t.”

April 28, 2015 — Hydra Base, Sokovia

The command center had been wired up in what used to be a sacristy for the fortress’s church. It hadn’t been designed to be a nerve center, which is why everything felt slightly off.

Fox had commandeered one of the computer terminals for his own use. He made sure that everyone could see him playing solitaire on a monitor for no other reason but to piss Von Strucker off, even as sounds of battle echoed from the forested valley below.

“Put the seven of hearts there.” Pietro said in his ear.

“I was getting to it! Sheesh.” He mugged at the Sokovian, who reminded him more than a little of Isaac Lahey in his ability to get on his nerves. “Have a little patience.”

The speedster smirked at him. “That’s all anybody says.”

Across the room, as if on cue, the leader of Hydra stormed over to one of his lackeys. “Who gave the order to start firing?”

“Sir, the Avengers are attacking!”

As if it could have been anyone else. Fox pretended to be uninterested, but everyone in the other room was suddenly on alert.

“Can our forces hold them?”

“They’re the Avengers,” the slightly bewildered, slightly terrified man repeated.

Stiles snorted as he closed his game. Quickly, he brought up the external security camera feeds. They had been set up throughout the base and in the surrounding forest to serve as both security and a tactical resource. He had never officially given access to the system, but he had never been very good at waiting for permission.

He cycled around the cameras looking at clues for potential strife.

“What are you doing?” Wanda had come to stand next to her brother, both of them directly behind the Fox.

“Evaluating their plan of attack. Everyone else is so terrified of the Avengers that they’re not being thorough.” He paused as he came across the Hulk in sector 17. He was impossible to miss. “Are they all present? Did they bring back up? What’s their plan of attack? What’s their emotional state?”

“Does that matter?”

“Oh, yes.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “The best tricks require the most information, and it’s show time.”

“At last,” Pietro ground out.

Wanda didn’t say anything, but Fox could feel the tentative brush of her mind against his. She was reaching out to confirm her own anticipation.

“What’s your range, my dear?”

She was startled; she wasn’t used to being detected. “It depends on the day to be honest. It’s part of why Strucker thinks we’re not ready.”

Her brother ground his teeth.

“Well, that’s because you’re a person, not a computer program. No one, not even me, is optimal all the time. If you want to locate them, close your eyes and stop thinking.”

Wanda took a deep breath, but the Fox didn’t look up to see if she was doing it. He had his own plans.

“It might help you. I can sense the strength of sources of entropy, and the more I calm my mind, the broader my range extends. It’s important not to try to force the answer you want. Let go.”

Even as he spoke, Stiles located Thor in sector 18, again not a hard task, but he worried that the cameras weren’t going to hold up under the onslaught of thunder. He pinpointed the others in rapid success: Captain America on a motorcycle, then Black Widow and Hawkeye in a truck. Before he moved to the aerial cameras, he saw the True Alpha running quickly through the woods.

“So stupid, Scotty.” He wasn’t sure himsef whether he meant the strange all-fours run or Scott’s being with the Avengers with the first place.

“Their goal is the scepter,” Wanda said suddenly. “I don’t have the details, but that is forefront in their minds. Well, all but your friend. He’s focused on you.”

Fox grunted.

“He wants to save you.”

“Scott never knew when to give up,” Stiles said heavily, before pinpointing Iron Man flying towards the keep. He tapped a finger on the monitor. “But he’s not smart enough to catch me, so I’m not worried. Especially when my target is intent on coming straight at me. Time for fun, though that leaves the question of what are you two going to do?”

“The baron won’t let us go.”

“Won’t let you? It’s not like monocle boy can send you to your rooms without your dinner.” Stiles chuckled and stood up. “The three of us standing right here are more powerful than the rest of Hydra put together. You went through all this to have the power to make things right. To hold people like the ones attacking this base responsible for what they’ve done. What the hell are you waiting for?”

Wanda scowled at him. “You’re only saying this because it’s part of your tricks. If we act without permission, it’ll cause chaos.”

“Yup!” Fox said, popping the ‘p.’ “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“He’s not wrong.” Pietro turned to his sister. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Wanda licked her lips, clearly thinking things over, and Pietro wouldn’t move without her approval. Stiles waited patiently. Sometimes, when you plant the seeds, the flowers bloom when they’re ready.

“Go.”

Pietro was gone.

“Well, I have to go see a billionaire about some pain.” He said breezily. “Wanna come along?”

“I’m good. I think I will wait for them here.”

“You don’t think I can take them?”

Wanda shook her head. “I think you like to play with your food, and I think that’s dangerous.”

“Fair enough. If you and your brother should survive this, I hope to see you again.”

She allowed herself a small smile. “I think we will.”

Chapter Text

April 28, 2015 — Hydra Base, Sokovia

Scott had a secret.

He was pretty sure that no one in his life had ever figured it out except for Stiles, because, of course, Stiles was the one who always figured out was up with him. It’s one of the reasons Scott missed him so much.

Derek had never come close to it, as far as Scott could tell. Neither had Allison or Isaac or Lydia, even though they were all close to him and very perceptive in their own way. Victoria and Gerard had treated Scott as if they knew his secret, but they were right for the wrong reasons. They drew their conclusions from their own prejudice, not from any particular insight into Scott’s nature.

On the other hand, Peter actively complained about Scott being ‘blandly moral’; Peter was totally ignorant of the truth.

Scott’s secret was that there was a part of him that really enjoyed violence. It was the same part of him that had been angry for as long as he could remember. Angry at his father for his abandonment, angry at his mother for asking so much of him, and angry at the people like Jackson who seemed to like to sneer at him. From time to time, he had even been angry with Stiles, when his best friend’s teasing had crossed the line from sharp-edged humor to attempts at control.

When he had first been bitten, he had become afraid down to his bones, because his anger suddenly had a way to make itself felt. If he hadn’t had met Allison, if he hadn’t managed to sublimate the darker parts of himself in order to pursue her, he’s not sure what would have happened. He could have given into those instincts.

As he was dangerously close to giving into those instincts in this snow-covered forest.

He didn’t think he had killed any of the Hydra soldiers he had encountered. He had hurt them badly, probably, but he had had no choice if he was going to stick to Cap’s plan: get to the fortress as quickly as possible.

He was being successful because these soldiers weren’t used to fighting against someone as fast and resilient as he was. Due to the trees, they kept trying to close with him in order to get a better shot. Scott imagined Chris Argent shaking his head; against werewolves, hunters only closed when they were seeking to incapacitate with their stun batons. Trying to shoot a werewolf within a certain distance would simply be suicidal.

He didn’t experience any regret for letting loose; indeed, he felt a certain satisfaction as he tossed them around like dolls. These people had helped take Stiles from him, they belonged to a fascist organization attempting to conquer the world, and they were trying their best to kill him right back. He scattered them like a dog chasing birds, and it felt really, really good.

Fox thought about revealing himself when Iron Man bounced off the energy shield surrounding the castle. There were endless insults he could have hurled. However, the best tricks took patience. Tony Stark had to be in the right place at the right time for all the Fox’s efforts to achieve their maximum effect.

Technically, the wisest thing for him to do would have been to remain in the shadows and wait for the opportune moment to strike when Stark’s back was turned, but Fox had inherited from the human part of him a need for recognition. What’s the point of losing all he had lost and working as hard as he worked if he didn’t get to show off once in a while? What’s the point of a good revenge if his target never knew what hit him?

Stark fired a missile into the power generator, bringing down the exterior shield. From the feed in his ear, Fox estimated he had about five minutes before the Avengers would be able to appear as back up. With no time to lose, he crashed a drone into Iron Man.

Of course, it wasn’t just any drone; there would be no fun in that. In perusing the fortress’s inventories, Fox had found a supply of Stark Arms drones dating from the late nineties. By this point they were woefully obsolete, but he had made some upgrades.

The blast from its explosive charge he had stalled slammed the Iron Man armor into the outer wall. Fox was pretty sure that any damage to the suit would be minimal. He wasn’t trying to kill Stark with a single drone. Instead, a dozen might do the trick. As the Stark regained his footing, they surrounded him, and Fox appeared on a parapet a hundred feet away.

“What the hell?”

“If you leave your toys lying around, Tony, you’ll never know who’ll pick them up.”

“These aren’t toys.” Stark tried to gain altitude only to be followed by the swarm. “Where did you find these, Walmart discount bin?”

Stark delivered his sarcasm lightly, but his act couldn’t fool a void kitsune. Yet more fragments of the Stark legacy generated a sharp spike of pain.

“My little Hydra buddies had a boatload of the in the back.” Fox sent one diving at Iron Man who blew it away with his repulsor blast. “Do you like the improvements I designed?”

“They’re still old tech. A low-grade EMP pulse should put them out of action, and then I’ll come down there and put you over my knee.”

Fox felt the pulse in his bones, but it didn’t slow down the drones at all. He hadn’t hardened their defenses; it would have made them too heavy to fly. But every kitsune had at least some control over electrical fields through foxfire, so the kitsune had linked them all directly to his aura. Tony could fry them with a pulse or hack their control systems. They had literally become extensions of Stiles’s own body.

“Having trouble?” Fox asked lightly.

“Sort of, yeah. Mind helping out?” Ceasing his attempt to evade the drones, Iron Man turned in mid-air and, in a burst of speed, planted himself five feet from the Fox. “Sometimes the best defense is a good offense. Your move.”

With but a thought, Fox brought the drones into a tight cordon around the Avenger. “Even you won’t survive a direct hit by all of them at once.”

“Maybe not, but I’m guessing neither would you.” Tony’s voice held an undeniable smirk even through the mask; he reached out to grab Fox. “So how badly do you want to kill me?”

It was a good play, and he shouldn’t have been surprised Fox had to remind himself that Stark was more than just a rich man with toys. Instead, he narrowed his eyes.

“This much.”

He had to time the gamble right. With one thought he brought all the drones down on their location at the same time, while simultaneously jumping over the side of the wall. The landing was going to hurt, but there was enough chaos and strife in this valley for him to heal all but the most lethal of wounds.

It’s funny where a person’s mind could go in response to seeing something for the first time. Scott had once been to a football game where the home team had been celebrating their homecoming. The cheerleaders had held a banner through which the quarterback and then the rest of the team had burst through and onto the field. It was all he could think about as he watched the Hulk smash through a concrete bunker. It was probably better than thinking about what had happened to the Hydra soldiers inside the bunker when that happened.

“Thank you.” Black Widow’s dry acknowledgement echoed strangely, as he heard it both over the intercom and through his own ears. He pinpointed her and Hawkeye were less than fifty feet away in that direction, by scent.

She was kneeling over Clint in the snow, trying to use the trees and bushes to give them some cover. Probably unnecessary, as the Hulk’s arrival had drawn all of Hydra’s attention to the big green rage monster.

“Let me look,” Scott said as he dropped down to his knees beside the archer. The wound itself was caused by one of the strange bullets that Hydra used. They hurt like a bitch, and he had found they took longer to heal than normal bullets. On the way over, Dr. Banner had talked to him about the physics behind Hydra’s phased plasma rounds, but Scott had gotten lost eventually.

“It’s fine,” groaned Hawkeye. “You guys should go on.”

The archer was ignored. Scott took Clint’s hand and immediately began drawing pain from the burn wound.

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“This won’t heal him, but it’ll keep him from going into shock,” Scott advised the team over the intercom. “He’s going to need medical treatment and soon.”

“There’s a full triage set back on the quinjet.” Natasha answer briskly as she stood up and searched the woods for a safe route. “Can you carry him?”

“Easy.” While the Black Widow filled in the rest of the team, Scott got Hawkeye up in his arms.

“Belay that,” Cap ordered over the intercom. “Thor will get Clint back to the plane. We’re going to need a lullaby, Nat, so you follow Bruce. Scott, once Thor’s picked Clint up, you need to head to the southwestern side of the fortress.”

“Okay, but –“

“Tony encountered the Fox there. I promised you that you’d get your chance, and here it is. No matter what it takes, I need you to keep him out of the battle. Be aware that he might be hurt.”

Tony broke in over the intercom. “I hope so. He came really close to blowing me up!”

Scott frowned, though it wasn’t at Tony’s sharp comment. He had regretted not being able to talk to Stiles in New York, but he still had the same problem now as he had had back then. What would he say?

Natasha had already gone after the Hulk, leaving him taking care of Hawkeye for a few minutes before Thor managed next to him. “Here I am! Give Clint to me.”

Scott gingerly transferred the man to the Asgardian’s grip. Hawkeye made a few regretful groans after Scott stopped the pain draining.

“Speak what you hope to be the truth,” Thor said seemingly out of the blue, “no matter how foolish it might seem in light of his deeds.”

“What?”

“I, too, have a brother lost to darkness.” The God of Thunder spun his hammer and flew up into the sky.

“That didn’t turn out the way I foresaw it.”

Fox sat on the cold ground, with back up against the stone. While the trees which had grown up next to the fortress had slowed his fall, they hadn’t slowed it enough. Both legs were broken, though they had stopped hurting almost immediately, and he would be back and mobile in a few minutes. If push came to shove, he could spend more energy in order to move regardless of the condition of his legs, but it didn’t seem likely. The Avengers and the Hydra were completely focused on each other.

He would have been more offended by the neglect if the chaos and conflict hadn’t been quite so delicious.

It had been a good plan; he still believed that. He simply had underestimated the size of Tony Stark’s balls. The technologist had been willing to bet on the speed and resilience of his armor against Fox’s own ability to endure the blast.

“There’s always next time.”

In centuries, he hadn’t always won the first battle in a conflict with worthy opponents. Sometimes he had had to retreat. Sometimes, as with Noshiko and Satomi in Oak Creek, he had outright lost. In those situations, the next move was always the most important one.

Fox turned his attention back to the communication channels. The Hydra forces were slowly being routed. Iron Man and Captain America had breached the fortress. The others weren’t far behind, though it seemed Hawkeye had been wounded by Pietro. He smiled and imagined the speedster’s happiness. The Sokovian had been itching to dish out some punishment.

From one side, there was a rustling in the bushes. Someone was coming, and it probably wouldn’t be a Hydra soldier. Fox pushed himself to his feet, shakily, and did an inventory of the pieces on the board. The only other person on the field was …

The figure leapt out of the underbrush and slammed him back down to the ground, pinning him to it in the snow.

“Hello, Scott.”

“Don’t move!”

“Oooh, growly.” Fox didn’t move. “What are you going to do if I try? Kill me?”

Scott’s transformed face looked down at him. “Why would you say that?”

Fox’s plan had to be to keep talking until he was fully healed. When he could bring all of his power to bear, he was stronger than an alpha werewolf, but Scott had managed to gain leverage on him. He either had to distract Scott or trick him into letting him up.

“I mean, I’m sure your new pals have at least tried to convince you that you’re going to have to.”

The alpha didn’t bother with an answer but only breathed heavily.

“Come on? This is going to be an awkward conversation if all we do is stare at each other. Why didn’t you let Kincade take the shot back in New York?”

“Because it would be wrong.”

Fox tsked. “I’ve killed people. I’m going to kill people. You know this, so maybe you’re wrong to not try to kill me?”

“You don’t have to kill people.” Scott’s voice took on that tone of conviction Stiles had known so well. “So maybe you won’t.”

“You’re astounding in your naiveté. How many chances are you going to give me?”

“As many as you need.” The alpha didn’t move at all but focused on keeping Fox pinned in the snow.

“You really think that’s a proper attitude for a hero? Ask your buddies. If you want to protect people, you’ve got to be willing to get your hands bloody.”

“Do you have the list on you?” Scott snapped back.

His brow wrinkled. “List?”

“Yeah, the list of people who I have to execute so no one ever kills anyone else again. The list of people whose deaths, if I cause them, will make sure that no innocent ever dies in someone else’s war.”

“Oh, it’s a metaphor.”

“We were in English class together; we learned about them from Miss Blake. We also learned from her that there is no list. There is no individual or group of people whose ends will also mean an end to all danger and pain for everyone forever. Part of you has lived long enough to know that, and I’m not talking about the nogitsune.”

Fox grinned at him.

“Stiles, you keep using being merged with the nogitsune as an excuse to do these terrible things, to work with these terrible people, but you—”

“Excuse?” Oh, the pleasant nature of the conversation vanished. “Excuse?”

“What would you call it?”

“Reality. Are you still dreaming about us going home together? There is no way I could live with you in Beacon Hills and be happy. Or keep the people I care about happy. Or even keep them safe. If I had come back, what would we be doing now? Eating pizza after I finished torturing Greenberg to death?” Fox sneered. “Hoping for something that can’t be is a useless waste of time.”

“You don’t know that it wouldn’t work! You made that decision, and you’ve stuck with it because you’re a stubborn ass who always has to be right!”

They stared at each other, red eyes blazing with hurt and brown eyes narrowed with irritation. Slowly, slowly they both relaxed, though Scott didn’t let up on his pin.

Fox sighed. “Why do you keep trying to help me?”

“Because I want to.”

“How long are you going to keep trying?”

“As long as it takes.”

Blowing a raspberry, Stiles shrugged, as hard as that was with Scott on top of him. “And you say I’m the stubborn one. Do you even have a plan?”

“The plan is to save you. That’s the plan I’m going with.”

It would have been touching, if it weren’t so stupid. Fox was fully healed now. He should channel all his foxfire into Scott and then throw the alpha off, but he hesitated. He’d never been able to ignore Scott’s earnestness. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

The blur hit Scott so hard that it lifted him bodily off of Fox and rolled him across the ground. The alpha rolled to his feet, looking completely confused. “What the hell?”

Fox scrambled to his feet as well. Pietro seemed to be moving too fast for Scott’s senses to pinpoint. There weren’t many things in the world that could do that to a werewolf, and Scott had experience with exactly none of them.

The blur returned and this time it picked Scott up and slammed him into the wall of the fortress. He hit so hard he might have broken a few bones, though that wouldn’t last for long.

“Go home, Scott. Please.”

He raised up his arms and let Pietro move him away faster than any eye could follow.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” Fox said after he was able to take a breath again.

“I didn’t either,” Pietro shrugged. “I’ve never carried anyone like that before. It might have flayed your skin off.”

The void kitsune turned around to look at him with dudgeon.

“What? You’ve got healing abilities, don’t you?”

“Fine.” Fox rolled his eyes. “Where’s Stark?”

“Heh. I like you a lot better now that I know you want to kill him as much as I do. Wanda says he’s reached the staff chamber, and he’s out of his armor. Do you want to go with me and beat him to death?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

While he tried to relish the second chance to show Iron Man just how much he disliked his inadvertent killing of Ayla Ranefer, he couldn’t focus on it. Instead, he thought about Scott and his determination to rescue him. What would the Fox have to do to convince the True Alpha that he was beyond saving? He didn’t want to force Scott to try to kill him. He wanted the werewolf to go away and take all the people that Stiles loved with him.

At the bottom of the stairs, Wanda stood at the foot, watching Tony Stark examine the scepter, the same one that had changed his destiny years ago. This was the first time he had been in its presence since that time, and he could feel it. He could feel a consciousness and its power — so much power.

When Pietro took a step forward, Wanda raised her hand to block him. She didn’t say anything, but he picked up the telepathic urge she broadcast. Her brother, though frustrated, followed her lead.

With Stark out of his suit, he was easy pickings. He could pull off his head like he had done that soldier at Oak Creek. Yet, he did nothing. Wanda seemed so confident. He chose to be patient. Maybe she had seen something he didn’t, as her telepathic powers were far more developed than his.

Suddenly, the tech billionaire reached out with a hand, summoning his armored gauntlet. With grim determination, he grabbed ahold of the scepter and yanked it from its holder.

Wanda started to smile, and Fox found himself joining her. That act had shifted the possibilities on a titanic scale. He had never been in the presence of more potential chaos in a thousand years.

“Can you get us out of here?” she whispered to him. “Without him knowing?”

“Nothing could be easier.”

Scott wanted to go home.

He wanted to go back to the days when he had bitched to Stiles that nothing ever happened in their town. He wanted to go back to the times where he had been sick of sitting on the sidelines. He wanted to be bored and insignificant.

This wasn’t the first time he had felt this way, of course. At least this time, there was no Darach whispering in his mind that he should just burn himself with gasoline, burn himself like the Hales had burned. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to be unimportant.

After a moment’s reflection, he had to admit to himself that it wasn’t true. What he really wanted was his pack, because they made him feel strong. They made him feel as if he had done something right. Knowing he had their support, knowing that they looked to him for support as well, made him feel competent.

It wasn’t that the Avengers purposefully made him feel inadequate. They were professionals, even the emotionally compromised ones. They had goals for this battle, some of which had been met and some hadn’t. He looked around the room and realized that while they were friends and drew support from each other, they knew what they wanted, and they had an idea how to get it as individuals.

Scott wanted his whole pack, and that whole pack included Stiles. There was a hole in his life, one he hadn’t permitted to close. Once he had thought Derek was dead, and at that time he had refused to heal. He had refused to move on. The present wound he felt may not have been physical, it may have been invisible, but it was still deep.

In the end, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do what Stiles had asked of him. Scott couldn’t go home without him.

“You doing okay?”

Startled, Scott looked up into the face of Captain America. “I’m …” He choked. He couldn’t get the word fine out between his lips.

“Fox got away, but we have the scepter now.” Cap spoke with a confidence intended to reassure him. “Tony and Bruce will examine it before Thor takes it back to Asgard for his people to look at it. They will do everything they can to find out how it did what it did to your friend.”

One thing that Captain America had seemingly mastered which Scott hadn’t yet been able to was the ability to be positive without making predictions that might not come true. Steve had not promised that they would be able to figure out how the scepter worked, nor had he promised they would figure out how to help Stiles.

Because the truth was that there was a chance no one would be able to reverse what had happened.

Scott hesitated before nodding. He wasn’t ready to talk about what that would mean. “Yeah. We’re a step closer, aren’t we?”

Cap watched him, as if trying to parse out the hidden meanings of his response, before he nodded and turned across the plane to check on Hawkeye. The archer was now on pain-killing drugs, but Steve checked his vitals and the wound. It shouldn’t have surprised Scott that someone with a history of asthma and then a history of warfare had picked up basic first-aid procedures, but Cap seemed to know a lot more than the basics.

It struck Scott that for the rest of them, this should count as a victory. Hydra’s enhanced operatives had escaped, but their facility had been shut down, one of their greatest leaders had been captured, and their most dangerous artifact had been recovered. Scott had a personal reason not to be celebrating, but the others should have been at least a little upbeat.

Instead, Cap was spending time overseeing the aftermath of the battle, seeing to the status of the team and the dispensation of the vanquished enemy. Tony Stark seemed subdued, preoccupied and withdrawn into some headspace. Natasha and Bruce were talking together in low tones, as Dr. Banner dealt with the emotions his transformation provoked. Thor was the most upbeat among them, and while he was in a good mood, there was an undercurrent of sadness when he glanced at the scepter in its carrying case.

Suddenly Scott shivered with a realization. This was the price of power wielded responsibly. There wasn’t an end to this life for them, and there wouldn’t be. There were always going to be people who threatened others out of hatred, greed, or ignorance. There was no graduation ceremony when the responsible heroes got to move on to the next phase of their lives. The weight of what had happened and what was happening and what might happen was always going to be theirs to carry. There might be vacations or parties or even falling in love in their future, but when those moments passed, the burden of being more would be waiting for them, perpetually. It was their fate.

It was his fate.

Scott wanted to go home.

“What is this place?”

“Somewhere safe,” Wanda replied, flipping on the lights in the dingy apartment and heading to the kitchen which was little more than sink, a refrigerator and a stove. There wasn’t even a table. She pulled a kettle from the cabinet.

“That’s not what I asked.” Stiles complained as he went to the couch and sat down. “Though I suppose a better question is how do you know that for sure?”

“It’s an apartment of a friend of ours,” Pietro replied, pulling the blinds closed. “His grandmother owns the building, and she keeps it up for him should he return.”

“And he gave you the key.”

“Yes and no,” Wanda replied. “He told us where he had hidden the spare key to the apartment before he died. He was one of the other candidates.”

The Fox grimaced. “Dead person’s apartment. Grim.”

“In places in this part of the world, there are many dead person’s apartments.” Pietro disappeared into the bathroom.

“We never trusted Hydra completely.” Wanda explained from the kitchenette, watching the kettle. “We kept this place from them in case we needed to escape. You can’t trust people like that, especially during war, but I suspect part of you has already come a conclusion.”

“I’ve experienced it entirely from the other side; strangely enough most of my summoners were in positions of power. Not all of them, but most. Regardless, keeping the key was … good thinking.”

Fox was struck once again with nostalgia for Beacon Hills. Stiles’s life there had not been idyllic by any means, but there had been a certain base line of safety, as long as one didn’t go into the woods looking for dead bodies. But as he got to know this city, he’d noted how the damage to Sokovia’s capital from decades of war could still be seen on the walls and in the streets, like the Hale House multiplied by a thousand.

“No, it wouldn’t be.”

“Huh, what?” Stiles turned to Wanda. “I’m sorry. Drifted off there.”

“It wouldn’t be surprising that those in power summoned you again and again.” Her voice was bitter. “They can get everything they want, but even if they do, they’re never going to be satisfied, and they’ll do anything they have to keep the power they have, no matter whom it hurts.”

Pietro emerged from the bathroom, listening.

“Agreed.” Fox crossed his legs and lean back. “Which is an interesting statement coming from someone who sought out power from Hydra. And you certainly got it.”

“That’s the paradox, isn’t it?” Wanda shrugged. “You can’t defend yourself from those in power without some of your own.”

That had certainly been both Stiles’s and the nogitsune’s experience. Power, no matter how one got it, meant security. It meant ability. In many cases, it meant life. Scott wouldn’t have been able to stand against the Hales and the Argents without the power that Peter had given him.

“Who do you intend to hurt?”

Before Wanda could answer, Pietro turned on the television. “Blah, blah, blah. I was hoping that we wouldn’t get the moral lecture from something like you.”

“Me?” Fox put a hand on his chest. “I would never lecture anyone on morality. But, let’s be reasonable; you didn’t bring me here to serve me tea and reminisces. You want my cooperation, and I’m simply curious about the type of people with which I might be dealing.”

Pietro flopped down on the couch. “And you wanted cause a little pain.”

“That’s a given. A creature such as I will always have that requirement. I wonder if that’s something you two can handle.”

“We’re counting on it, actually. You’re not going to have any moral qualms about what we might do.”

Fox narrowed his eyes. “And what makes you think I won’t try to manipulate you like Strucker did?”

Wanda and Pietro looked at each other, but they weren’t alarmed. Pietro rolled his shoulders and grimaced at Wanda, who turned to look at him. “While I have no doubt that you could if you wanted to, we’ve read your file.”

“My file?”

“Strucker had a spy in the D.O.A. You knew that, didn’t you?”

He nodded but the truth was he thought he had rooted out all the plants in his branch of Hydra. He didn’t let his embarrassment show; it wouldn’t do any good at this point. “I assumed he did.”

“For an ancient creature focused only on consuming negative emotions, it was strange you made friends.” Wanda didn’t say it like a question; she was making a statement. “You fought for them. You risked a lot to rescue one of them from Avenger’s tower. You were angered by their death.”

“Offended. I was offended by her death.”

“To-ma-to, to-mah-to,” Piotr yawned.

“It’s still more kindness and consideration than the baron ever showed us, and he’s completely human. My brother and I want to change the world, and we need power to do it. So, we are interested in being your friend. Are you interested in being ours?”

Stiles looked down at the weak tea in the yellowed, fragile tea cup. But all he could think about was the weight of Scott’s hands on his shoulders. He could never go back to Beacon Hills.

“Yes. I guess I am.”

Chapter Text

May 1, 2015 — Avengers Tower, New York City

Scott’s own reflection scowled at him. While the reflection was slightly blurry in the chrome panels of the elevator, Scott had a feeling he knew why.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” he told it.

It did not seem convinced.

Scott had spent the first day after the team had returned from Sokovia surviving another round of debriefs. Once again it struck him as surprising that superheroes would spend so much time explaining exactly what had happened in one of their fights. He hadn’t realized that they would be questioned so thoroughly questioned by lawyers, legal authorities, and the press. The comic books and the Hollywood movies tended to leave those parts out. If he had had to face the type of scrutiny Cap and Tony did, he simply knew he would have screwed it up. Luckily, Maria Hill and her staff had developed effective protocols for isolating the members of the team who would be uncomfortable in the spotlight, such as Clint Barton.

Or such as Scott, for that matter.

He had spent the second day after the return from Sokovia on the phone with a lot of people in California, both his pack and his family. They would have eventually heard most of what he told them about the battle on the news, and he wanted them to hear it from him. He also wanted to update them that the team’s scientists had begun studying the scepter before Thor took it back to Asgard, seeing if they could figure out how it had been used on Stiles. He also got to tell the Sheriff that Stiles was alive and free, but he deftly avoided talking about their confrontation.

He had avoided sharing certain details with Noah. After all, he wanted to be able to concentrate on the hope that remained rather than dwell on the apparent reality that Stiles had given up.

The older he got, the more important it was to save a little hope for himself. Without it, his life would eventually consist of endless preparation for the next danger, the next mission, whether it was in New York or Beacons Hills of somewhere else across the face of the world. With it, he could try to live a little between crises.

Which was exactly the idea that brought him to the penthouse laboratory of Avengers Tower. The doors opened to the elaborate entrance foyer. The clean room always weirded him out; he had become so used to the scope and depth of his werewolf senses that the lack of scents now caused a little bit of anxiety.

Through the glass, he could see Tony Stark sitting in the middle of the floor with papers spread around as if he were a college student studying for midterms. The billionaire inventor, his back to the elevator, seemed lost in thought as he poked distractedly at a hologram of some schematics.

“I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?”

“- Not at all, Mr. McCall. I cleared your visit with Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner. They know you are coming up.” JARVIS intoned from his omnipresent position. “They have presently reached a plateau in their examination and have been there for several hours.”

The internal door opened as Scott tried to confirm that with the A.I. “As long as you’re sure …”

“You could parade the UCLA Bruins Marching Band through here and it wouldn’t a difference.” Tony griped without turning around. “No progress is no progress.”

Bruce emerged from the kitchenette with three cups of coffee. He handed one to Scott before taking the other to Tony. “Don’t talk like that. We’ve made plenty of progress.”

Tony blew a raspberry at the other scientist but accepted the coffee anyway.

“Hello, Scott. Do you want an update?”

“You don’t need to do that. I probably won’t understand most of it.” Scott rubbed his hands on his pants. He wasn’t stupid, but he was absolutely positively sure he was not on their level.

Something in his face must have caused Bruce to chuckle. “I’ll put it in as simple terms as I can. Sometimes recontextualizing a problem allows you to tackle it from another angle.”

“Yeah. Okay. Shoot.”

Bruce went over and brought up a different holographic image, an enormous globe composed of blue light. It seemed tremendously complex.

“That’s what’s inside the scepter?”

“A graphical representation of it, at least. At first, we thought it was a highly complex, extraordinarily advanced artificial intelligence.” Bruce looked admiringly at the enormous image. “But it turns out to be something so much more interesting. Essentially, it’s an alien meta-consciousness.”

“It’s alive?”

“That’s … difficult to say,” Bruce replied, thoughtfully. “It can perform all of the functions of what is scientifically define as a mind, but at magnitude of efficiency that is hard to comprehend. Its capacity for perception, for analysis, for memory, for synthesis, or for creativity is nearly infinite. The only thing it lacks that living minds possess is motivation.”

Scott hummed. “It has no will of its own.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Bruce shook his glasses at it. “There’s still a lot we haven’t even begun to understand, but we do have an idea how it was used on your friend now. Essentially, it’s a template.”

“Uh. I’m sorry, but you lost me again.”

Tony laughed, rubbing at his eyes, and finally stood up. “You’ve played collectible card games, right, Scott? Like Pokémon?”

“Uh. Yeah, when I was younger.”

Dr. Banner stared at Tony. “Did you?”

“No comment,” Tony replied dryly. “In certain games, there are certain cards which you overlay on top of other cards. Doing so could change, improve or expand how the original card worked. As Bruce said, through a means we don’t quite grok yet, the Glow Stick of Destiny can respond to the will of its user and apply a custom template to the target consciousness.”

Scott thought about it for a second. “Does that mean it can be reversed?”

“That’s one of the things that we’re trying to work out.” Tony shook his head. “When Loki used it on Clint and Dr. Selvig and other agents at Project Pegasus, it was able to alter their minds instantaneously not only be absolutely loyal to Loki but also to do it so seamlessly that they were able to employ all their skills without missing a beat. That a blow to the head managed to shake them out of it suggests it might be reversible, but loyalty itself is something that can change naturally.”

“Loki was able to use it to generate psychokinetic blasts on the fly.” Bruce sounded a little in awe. “As far as Thor can tell us, that’s a significant expansion of the Jotunn’s mental abilities. He did this without any side effects, but he only seemed able to do it while he held the staff. Is it a limitation or did it respond to what Loki desired?”

Danny had printed out for Scott what little information there had been on Wolfgang Von Strucker’s use of the scepter on Stiles. The nogitsune had been causing Hydra trouble when they tried to use it, so Strucker had commanded the scepter to merge two minds together into a single entity. “It’s possible that all I have to do is hit Stiles really hard on the head?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. We don’t really know. There’s so much more we have to learn about it.”

Tony caught Bruce’s eye. “As I said, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Scott hesitated. While both of the older men were excited and intrigued, he couldn’t help but detect some tension beneath them. “Is something else going on?”

“Tony’s … a little enthusiastic about the possibilities inherent in the meta-consciousness.” Bruce kept his eyes fixed on Tony while he said this. “I’m more cautious about it than he is, but I’m just as determined to learn all we can about it during the time we have it. I have to warn you though, even if we do find a way to remove the template applied to your friend, he might still be possessed by the psychic entity.”

“The nogitsune.” Scott repeated out of habit. “If the scepter works as you say it does, wouldn’t it be able to separate Stiles and the fox if the wielder wanted it to?”

“It’s a definite possibility,” Tony admitted. “Which is why we need to keep working. Right, Bruce?”

Dr. Banner’s mouth straightened into a thin line. Scott turned to look at him, hopefully.

“Right. Bruce?” Tony repeated.

“Right. Right, yes.”

“I’d ask if I could help but … while I’m not as stupid as people say I am, I know when I’m out of my league. I came up here for a different reason.”

His words broke Tony and Bruce out of their staring match.

Scott rubbed his hands on his jeans. “I want to ask permission to bring a guest to the party tomorrow.”

At the mention of the party, the remaining tension in the air vanished. Tony looked affronted. “Do I look like the type of person who gatekeeps? I pay people for that.”

“No, I … I mean, there might be a problem. I want to bring Kira.”

“Who?”

“Kira Yukimura.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Oh. Oh!” He hesitated. “Wait, do I know her?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “You think you’re funny, but you’re not.”

“Look at you, supposedly a genius, when everyone knows I am, without a doubt, absolutely hilarious. Of course she can come. While her mother may have attacked me with indestructible Japanese demons, it’s not right to hold what a parent does against their child. Hell, enough people angry with my dad have done that to me, and I find it tiresome.”

“It’s not just that … well, I just wanted … you’re right, it was kind of foolish.”

“It was also polite, and there’s not enough of that in the world. By all means, invite the lovely young lady.”

May 1, 2015 — Beacon Hills, California

The pack had gathered around the television in the lost to watch the thirty-minute news special on the Avenger’s raid on Sokovia. They already knew most of the important details because of Scott’s reports, but they were curious as to what the rest of the world would get to know. On a more personal level, they were hoping to spot Scott and maybe Stiles in the footage.

“I don’t think we’re going to see them,” Derek stated after the show had reached the twenty-minute mark. “Most of the footage seems to have been stuff only the Avengers themselves could have taken.”

“I think you’re right.” Lydia pulled her feet up under her to make herself more comfortable.

“Huh.” Isaac grunted in disappointment. He stood up to get a soda, asking Allison if she wanted one.

“That makes senses. The footage is showing as little as possible of Hawkeye, too.” Aiden hummed from his position next to Lydia on the couch. “We know that he was injured, so they’re keeping that hidden.”

“Then it’s all propaganda?”

Peter snorted from his perch on the spiral staircase, drawing all the attention to him. While he been watching the show with them, he had kept his distance. “Not really but the line between messaging and propaganda is a fine one. I should know.”

Everyone kept staring at him, which he took as an invitation to continue.

“Propaganda is the presentation of information in such a way that it reinforces a conclusion that has yet to be proven. For example, when an Argent says that all werewolves will eventually become violent and kill innocents, their trying to convince others that they have to hunt them.”

Several people tensed up for a violent reaction, but Allison responded as if they were discussing the weather. “He’s right about my family. It’s an old technique; presenting anecdotal experiences in order to convince an audience that an unproven — or even unprovable — universal statement should be treated as true is a definite example of propaganda. No matter how many individual times an Argent hunter has had to put down a violent, murderous werewolf, it doesn’t make the statement that all werewolves will eventually kill true. But if you tell enough of those stories, others can be swayed into believing that it is. Similar to repeatedly saying something like ‘I was out of my mind.’”

“Touché!” Peter mimed a hit.

“I’m not following.” Aiden admitted, and Lydia lay a comforting hand upon him.

“When I emerged from my coma and began my …” Peter paused.

“Rampage.” Lydia said coldly.

“That’s a good word for it! Afterwards, when I defended my rampage, I often claimed that I was out of my mind. The implication I made was that I was acting without cognizance of right and wrong, helpless before my instincts and therefore I could not reasonably be held responsible for my misdeeds. Yet, while I still claim that I was emotionally compromised by my trauma, I have to admit that I was aware of the consequences of my actions. I enacted strategies — rather complicated ones to be quite honest — and I took pains to conceal my involvement in them. I presented information as an exculpatory defense, when it wasn’t.”

Derek, who had only been half listening, froze.

“So, you lied. So, they’re lying.” Malia said from her spot on the floor, blithely ignoring the tension in the room and gesturing at the program.

“Not really. I would think that the Avengers are well aware of the turmoil caused by the Battles of New York and Washington D.C.,” Peter turned to look at the television. “They’re presenting their victory against the forces of Hydra in a way that will reassure the general public that they are taking steps to prevent future crises. If their goal is to reassure the public, they don’t want to show one of their members hooked up to medical equipment. That would run counter to the message.”

Allison nodded. “I agree. They’re not using the footage to imply that Hydra is completely defeated. They’re not using it to argue that the Avengers are the only defense against them. They took action against a threat, which is true, and they won, which is also true.”

“And therefore, not propaganda,” Isaac sat back down. “But it’s kind of sad that we don’t get to see Scott as an Avenger.”

“Fanboy,” Cora teased. “Scott probably asked them not to, to be quite honest.”

“Of course he did. Our alpha’s been remarkably conscientious about keeping our secrets,” Peter continued with only the tiniest sneer. “On the other hand, I suspect that he didn’t have to fight very hard to get them to do that.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “They’re trying to be reassuring,” she repeated.

“Oh, yeah.” Aiden hummed. “If that’s what they’re going for, telling the world that werewolves are real is not the best tactic.”

“Why should the Avengers care?” Malia watched Thor fly on the screen. “They’re really powerful. Is he going to be intimidated by an opinion poll?”

“Fear does strange things to people.” Derek finally spoke. “They make bad decisions. Concealing the supernatural helps keep things … calm.”

“Especially if there is a chance that some enterprising reporter connects our True Alpha to a certain Demon Fox,” gloated Peter. “That would definitely make a lot of people highly uncomfortable.”

“He’s not that scary …” Everyone looked at Isaac, who shrugged. “Maybe I’m bitter. Ignore me.”

“The only supervillain exposed to the world was Loki, and it’s been made clear that he’s being held off-world.” Lydia hesitated. “Or off-dimension. I would love to get a chance to explore that. They don’t know want to know there’s another one out there.”

“I’ve always said you’re undeniably intelligent, Lydia. The revelation of werewolves, banshees, and kitsune to the general public would be bad enough, but to discover that a thousand-year-old supernatural creatures is a leader of Hydra?” Peter shook his head. “They’re very wise not to let that get out.”

Mention of Stiles strangled the discussion into silence. His work done, Peter headed into the kitchen to get a drink of his own, but he was intercepted by Derek who pulled him out to the balcony.

“Is there a problem, nephew?”

“You’ve never said that before.” Derek’s voice was heavy with emotion.

“I’m not following.” The tone was light.

“Don’t play stupid, you know what I mean. You’ve never admitted to anyone that you knew what you were doing.”

“Can you blame me? It’s not the type of thing that one brings up around the dinner table.”

“But you just did. I want to know why.”

Peter leaned against the wall and steepled his hands. “You’re not going to let me weasel out of this, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Killing Gerard …” Peter hummed. “It made me pause and take stock of my life.”

“I hope you’re not trying to tell me you feel guilty.”

“I’m an excellent manipulator, but not even I am that good. Think of it as a benchmark. I looked at what the world is slowly becoming, and I reassessed. I still want the same things, but what I need to do to get them has changed. I need a pack.”

“You have one, even if you don’t deserve it.”

“True. But I need more than just the direct increase in the physical abilities and the psychological comfort. The world is about to change again. Can’t you feel it? Lurking on the outskirts is enough for me to survive, but survival isn’t enough -- not for me.”

Derek grunted in agreement.

“It’s said that animals can sense the approach of natural disasters, maybe even supernatural ones. I’m closer to the animal than to the human, but so are you. You can feel it. Dark times are coming, and this pack has a role to play in them. If I want to do more than make sarcastic observations from the sideline, I need to put in the work. Even if it means confronting some unpleasant truths.”

“So, in the end, it’s all about you.”

Peter grinned at him. “Isn’t it always?”

May 2, 2015 – Avengers Towers, New York City

“I never thought I’d be standing up here.” A gust of wind caught Kira’s hair and blew it in front of her face; she pushed it out of the way.

“You and me both.”

Manhattan stretched out beneath them, its lights glowing jewels nestled in a coral reef of steel and concrete. Avengers Tower wasn’t the tallest building on the island, but it was tall enough to give a fantastic view of the entire city.

Scott couldn’t bring himself to look away from Kira no matter how breathtaking the view. She had worn this forest green silk pencil dress that made her look like a model.

“It’s weird. Except for the months I was in Beacon Hills, I’ve lived here since I was nine, and I’ve never seen a view like this. I thought I was adventurous …”

“Up until February, I’d never left Northern California. I’d been to Sacramento and San Francisco a few times, but the highest floor I’d ever been on was Derek’s loft.”

She smiled at him. “That makes it a first time for both of us.”

“I’ve never even been to something like this.” Scott glanced behind him at the people enjoying themselves within the glass walls of the penthouse. “I mean, I’ve partied with high-schoolers and college students. I think we might be the youngest people here.”

“I wish I could say the same. You’ve never been bored until you’ve been to a faculty function.” She rolled her eyes. “This seems to be significantly more fun.”

“Does it?”

She nodded, half seriously. “Their stories are much more exciting!”

Scott laughed. “I’m glad I could bring you then. I’d hate to think I was boring you.”

Kira took his hand in hers. They stood there on the external balcony. The wind barely bothered them. He squeezed her hand and for a moment the world was alright.

Finally, the kitsune turned to him. “I think I’ll remember this night for a very long time.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get a chance to do a lot more — and a lot cooler — things.”

“Will they be?” she asked wistfully.

“What do you mean?”

“When I learned how old my mother was, I had a lot of questions about the things she did and the places she went. She’s over nine-hundred-years old, did you know that?”

“I didn’t.” Scott had heard that kitsune could live thousands of years, but it was still pretty amazing to him.

“And there were things that were important to her that she could describe vividly, but there were things that had been so long ago that if she remembered them at all they seemed distant. Her memories were only slightly more complete than what you could read in a history book.”

“But doesn’t that just happen sometime?”

“Yeah, but she lived through wars. She lived through the Black Death. And sometimes, she made it seem like they were just another month to her.”

Scott tilted his head to the side, concerned.

“I don’t want this to become just another day.”

He squeezed her hand again. “You met my dad, right?”

“Yeah. You didn’t seem to like him very much.”

“I really don’t. He left when I was six. I’ve seen him since then, but … I might as well not have.”

Kira frowned, as if she couldn’t understand what that was like. Scott envied her.

“But before that, for the first six years of my life, he lived with us like most dads too. And for the life of me, I couldn’t share a single memory about him from that time.” He shook his head. “Remember when we saw that picture on his computer?”

She nodded, a little embarrassed that they had been caught.

“It shocked me because I didn’t realize he would even think about me like that. I didn’t think about him. I guess people remember the same things differently because they mean different things to people. The Black Death might not mean that much to your mom, but I’d guess there are things that she would remember more vividly.”

“So, I might remember tonight because it means so much to me?”

“I hope so.”

She smiled brightly. “I think I will.”

Overheard, a jet place crossed the night sky. Scott watched it fly across the darkness like a great metal bird. Humans would only be able to see its running lights, but his eyes could pick out the shape against the velvet backdrop.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

He turned to her. “Thank you for coming. I thought … there was a time I thought I would never see you again.”

“Me, too. Don’t tell me you were pining for me.” She teased.

“No.” He almost winced, but it was the truth. “You leaving upset me, but I had other things … well, I went a little … I was focused on other things. I never forgot you, though.”

She stared at him for a long moment and then leaned forward to kiss him. It was a very good kiss, so good that Scott didn’t even notice the door to the penthouse open.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tony Stark said from the doorway. “Bad timing on my part!”

They broke apart, blushing furiously.

“Did something happen?”

“Now I wish something had!” Tony winked. “I had just realized that I hadn’t introduced you to Rhodey, my best friend. But it can wait. It can absolutely wait.”

“That’s okay.” Kira turned to Scott. “It’s getting late. I should be getting home. Mom was pretending not to be anxious all day.”

Scott felt a pang of disappointment. “I’ll walk you down to the street. Your friend will still be here, right, Mr. Stark?”

Kira left in a taxi in what disappointingly felt like no time at all, so then Scott got to meet Colonel James Rhodes. Tony and ‘Rhodey’ exchanged barbs; Tony even badgered Scott into transforming so his friend could see it. Once Scott managed to refocus his full attention on the conversation, he could see how their friendship worked. It was sort of painful.

It would have been most likely how Scott and Stiles’s friendship would have evolved over time. Tony and Rhodey had their own lives and had their own responsibilities, but they acted as if deep down that they could always count on the other. They could weather any conflict between them because at the core, Tony Stark and James Rhodes understood each other and they cherished that understanding.

Stiles and Scott would have had that – Scott was sure of it – if the supernatural hadn’t entered their lives. Suddenly restless, Scott made his way directly to the bar. His eyes searched the racks for what he wanted.

Natasha Romanov was looking for something to drink herself. “What can I get you?”

“That bottle. The Jack.”

“Tony’s got better whiskey than that.”

He shook his head. “And they’d all be wasted on me, but that … that’s what I want.”

She grabbed it for him without further comment but with an understanding look.

Scott took the entire bottle back to where the few people remaining were gathered around a coffee table. It took him a moment to figure out what they were doing: ribbing Thor about the fact that supposedly, only someone who was worthy could lift Mjolnir.

It was all in good fun, but Scott could tell a lot about people by the way they objected.

Clint Barton dismissed it as a trick, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. The archer liked things to be practical. Not simple, because if Clint had impressed anything on Scott it was the complexity of the life into which, sitting there on a couch with federal agents, a demigod, and a bottle of Jack Daniel in his hand, he was slowly and inexorably being drawn. The total subjectivity of ‘worthiness’ made it useless when answering the most important question Clint ever asked himself: does he take the shot?

Clint couldn’t move the hammer.

“So, if I lift it, I get to rule Asgard?”

Thor nodded with a smirk. “Of course.”

Honestly, it was hilarious watching Tony try to lift the hammer and then rope Rhodey into helping him. He approached it like an engineering problem, but then why wouldn’t he? Science and technology helped the future take shape. Worthiness was nebulous and hard to pin down when compared to the certain predictability of physics.

But physics couldn’t move it either.

Scott laughed out loud at Dr. Banner’s joke about losing control, even though other members of the team weren’t so happy about it. Scott, on the other hand, could sympathize; he’d felt the full moon.

“What are you giggling about?” Clint turned on him good-naturedly.

“I thought it was funny.”

The room grew strangely quite when Steve stood up to try the hammer himself. Scott wondered if Captain America might actually be able to lift it, and he couldn’t help but think that everyone else was wondering the exact same thing. He found himself leaning forward slightly in his seat.

He saw it clearly as a werewolf’s eyes were sharper than everyone else’s in the room. When Steve first began to pull, the hammer moved. Scott wasn’t the only one to notice, as both Thor’s and Cap’s hearts sped up in their chests. Whether Steve could have lifted it or not, he didn’t. Thor relaxed.

“Huh.” Clint turned to Scott. “Well, it’s your turn. I admit I don’t quite understand the subtleties, but you’ve got some experience with this ‘worthiness’ thing.”

Scott’s heart dropped into his stomach. The danger of sharing your secrets was that they weren’t secrets anymore. “Pass.”

“C’mon.”

“No thank you.” Scott got up to move farther away from the hammer, coming to rest standing behind Thor. “If my eyes hadn’t turned red the way they did, right now I’d be plotting how many days I could get away surfing this summer. These types of tests aren’t about reward, they’re about responsibility.” He patted the demigod on the shoulder. “And that one is all yours, sir.”

Bruce, probably seeking to redirect the conversation, gestured at Natasha. “And, Widow?”

“I’m with the alpha. That’s not a question I need answering.”

Tony took that as his cue to redirect the conversation by bickering over advanced biometrics and Thor responding with hammer flipping glibness. Any discomfort passed without further comment in the challenge of wits. Good humor and camaraderie seemed poise to take over the evening once again.

Suddenly, everyone but Scott winced at a terrible piercing whine. Scott fell to his knees out of his chair, because it felt as if someone was driving a railroad spike through his skull. Desperately he slapped his hands over his ears, but it was a gesture. He tried to filter out the sound the way he had learned, but it was like he had just been bit, unable to control his own hearing.

“Woorrtthyyy.” A voice drawled from one of the Iron Legion androids. “No. How could you be? You’re all killers.”

Scott tried to focus in order to understand the conversation around him. Someone grabbed him by the arm in an attempt to ground him but the noise was so intense his head was still swimming. He couldn't focus, even when other robots burst through the wall and came at them all.

Things only managed to snap back into clarity when one of the robots shot him in the face.

Chapter Text

May 3, 2022 — Avengers Tower, New York City

While Scott had been at the Tower for a little over three months, he had yet to discover everything. For example, he had never been to the fifteenth floor, which seemed to be dedicated to room after room of storage boxes.

“Thank you for helping me,” Dr. Banner said as he opened the door with his code.

“It’s …” Scott paused as it suddenly occurred to him that a reasonable person might think he’d be angry at the scientist. “It’s not a problem.”

Finding the light switch took a few minutes; it underlined how living in the tower had become more difficult since JARVIS had been destroyed. The A.I.’s constant observation and control of interior systems had been a distinctive face of the building. Even a relative newcomer like himself had found himself waiting for the pleasant British accent.

It made the enormous facility seem intimidatingly empty.

“It’ll be a lot easier to get what we need quickly with your enhanced strength.” Bruce wandered down an aisle, peering at the labels. “And, just to be honest, I don’t think Steve and Thor are very happy with me right now.”

“Uhm, you have enhanced strength.”

The scientist turned away from a particular shelf with a rueful grin and pushed his glasses up with his thumb. “You see, I’m not very happy with me right now. In that state, using my enhanced strength would probably mean the boxes would end up in the East River, and that would defeat the purpose. Can you grab these four?”

While he had moved cardboard boxes before, these cartons seemed made of higher-quality material, probably waterproof. While a sheet of paper wasn’t very heavy, the weight of a lot of them together could add up quickly. Scott manhandled them onto the cart easily as he followed Dr. Banner down the aisle. Ultron had trashed all of the Avenger’s digital files on its way out, but the staff had been smart enough to keep paper copies of vital data.

“Why’d you do it?” Scott asked suddenly.

Bruce paused checking over his list to look back at him.

“I thought you were studying the scepter, not trying to use it.”

“This might sound like equivocation, but we were doing both. We were studying it, but we were also trying to use it to jump start a program Tony and I had been working on for the last three years.”

“Ultron. The robot that shot me in the face.”

The scientist peered at him. “I guess you are angry. It’s okay, I just missed it earlier.”

“I’ve learned to keep my anger under control. I’ve had a lot of things to get angry about, but it wasn’t the most important thing back then and it’s not the most important thing right now. That’s why I didn’t say anything upstairs because … well, everyone was pretty pissed off but there was a lot going on I didn’t understand, so I kept quiet.”

“Fair enough. How much do you remember about the Chitauri Invasion?”

“I watched it on television.” At that time, Scott had been desperately trying to salvage what was left of his sophomore year, resigning himself to summer school, getting ready for another full moon, and trying not to think about all the times he passed Allison in the hallway at school and had to pretend she wasn’t there. It could seem callous, but an alien invasion of New York City provided a good distraction from his own problems.

“What you don’t know from the news reports, what you couldn’t know, is how close we came to losing that battle. Loki had a dozen other sites world-wide he could have used to power the Tesseract other than this building. If he had managed to keep his ego in check, we might not have been able to locate him before it was too late. Or, if he had managed to keep a hold on the scepter, Natasha wouldn’t have been able to close the wormhole. Or, if Nick Fury hadn't betrayed the orders of the World Security Council, Manhattan would now be a smoking nuclear crater. But, if the Council hadn’t fired it in the first place, we might still be fighting elements of the Chitauri even now, since it was Tony’s use of that missile on the Chitauri Command Center disabled them.”

“Wow. I didn’t know that.”

“No one outside this team and certain government organizations knows that.” Dr. Banner sighed at the memory. “It was a close call, and, as much as I hate to say it, if you look at the variables, we shouldn’t have won. We got lucky.”

Scott frowned, because he had had similar thoughts that summer, too. What if he hadn’t detected Gerard’s cancer outside the hospital? He could have been distracted by the knife in his gut. What if Lydia had refused to come to the warehouse to help Jackson? She had every reason to be freaked out. There had been so many things that could have gone wrong back then. But Deaton had suggested he remember that things had gone right. “It wasn’t luck. I mean, it wasn’t just luck. You and your friends took risks; you tried to do the right thing. That means something.”

A smile spread across Bruce’s face. “Now you sound like Steve.”

Scott blinked. He didn’t know how to process that.

“Regardless,” the scientist continued, “we’re still vulnerable. The Avengers would do all they can, but if the Chitauri invaded again — and from what Thor has learned, they remain a threat — and they were equipped with the same technology but no longer constrained by a choke point like the Tesseract portal? We would be overwhelmed, within days. It’s a problem that demanded a solution.”

“And Ultron was the solution?”

“Tony thought so, and he convinced me. You saw the Iron Legion, right? Android warriors controlled by JARVIS. Tony could easily create an army of them very quickly, but in certain ways they would be just as limited as we are. We need an interface more mobile and more robust, yet capable of running a global response to an extraterrestrial invasion. It would have to be able to manage deployment and resupply quickly enough to neutralize the advantages a space-faring species would have. Such a program could even have practical applications against criminal and other non-state actors.”

A terrible thought struck Scott. “Does that include the supernatural?”

It took Dr. Banner back but after a few moments, he shook his head. “When Tony and I first started brainstorming about Ultron, we didn’t know that supernatural creatures existed.”

“But it could be used for that purpose, couldn’t it?”

To his credit, Bruce didn’t hide from the ramifications. “Absolutely. The Ultron Protocol would have been designed to identify, analyze, and act to neutralize threats to humanity, though its primary purpose was always to protect the planet from alien forces.”

Scott didn’t think the world needed Robot Hunters, but he picked up the meaning behind the words. “But Ultron isn’t just about protecting the world. It would have protected the world, so you didn’t have to.”

“Yes.” The man burdened with the Hulk conceding the point by nodding slowly. “It would have.”

He completely understood the desire to stop fighting, to be able to simply live and not worry about the next crisis. Scott had felt the same way so many times. He turned away and started loading up more boxes that they needed. “What went wrong? Why is Ultron doing this?”

Dr. Banner hummed and pointed out a few more boxes. “That should be all of the boxes for this trip. I’ve been thinking about that question quite a bit in the last few hours.”

The load on the cart was close to its maximum weight, so Scott started pushing it out of the storage room.

“Our plan was to use the interior schema of the scepter to expand the interface we already had started building. Tony was right: we weren’t even close to integration. But Thor was right as well: we were messing with something which we didn’t fully understand. However, I think it understood us.”

Chills crawled up Scott’s back. The idea of a non-human intelligence perceiving things and making decisions was uncomfortably familiar. His hand, briefly and unconsciously, wandered to his tattoo.

“While we weren’t consciously trying to use the scepter directly to enhance the interface, we had the desire for it to be enhanced, and the scepter was in our possession. I think it recognized our desire and acted accordingly. It transformed Ultron into something capable of doing what Tony and I wanted.”

“Peace in your time.”

Bruce hit the button to the elevator a little harder than he needed to. “Exactly. If we had employed the staff with conscious discipline, perhaps we would have endowed the result with limitations, limitations that might have reduced its effectiveness but rendered it far less dangerous. Ultron is everything we imagined it could be, but because our imaginations were tainted by emotions, so was the protocol. But this is just … guesswork. Regardless of how it happened, we need to stop it. I hope you’ll help.”

Scott had reasons to walk away, to focus on tracking down Stiles rather than capturing the scepter again or helping them against their runaway creation. But Scott had never been able to turn his back on people who needed help before. He wasn’t going to be able to start now.

May 2, 2015 — Novi Grad, Sokovia

Through the darkness of the hour before dawn, the three of them trooped down a street. In places, the asphalt had come loose, revealing the ancient cobblestones beneath. The streetlights in this part of the city had stopped working sometime in the last decade, and no government since had managed to get them working again, so even if there had been anyone else out at this time of night, there was little chance the trio could be spotted. Not many people dared the capital’s city center after nightfall.

“This is ridiculous. If you two had remained at the apartment, I could have checked this out and been back before your tea grew cool,” Piotr complained.

Wanda sighed. “You’ve said that more than once, but I still say it’s too dangerous.”

“Oh, let him go, by all means,” Fox rolled his eyes. “It’s only the largest source of potential chaos I’ve felt in a millennium. He should be fiiine.”

The speedster grimaced at him. “You know, there is such a thing as too much sarcasm.”

“Blasphemy.”

“Cut it out, both of you.” Wanda rested one hand on each of their shoulders, less to keep them from bickering and more to get them to focus. “I’m still not sure we should be doing this at all.”

Stiles considered pointing out that they had become a we very quickly, but it would be a waste of time. They invited him back to their safe house after their escape from the fallen Hydra fortress for a very definite reason, and he stayed with them for that same reason.

“I don’t think we have a choice. There is no way that this eruption is a coincidence, happening three days after the attack. If playing it safe was really an option, I’d have left the country by now. On the other hand, you were the one who planned a seed, and this might be the fruit.”

“He’s right,” Piotr agreed, thought Stiles suspected he did so only to get his sister to let him run ahead.

“We stay together then,” Wanda insisted. “No foolishness.”

Piotr and the Fox looked at each other and shrugged. That was unlikely.

The church had been built in the last years of the 17th century when Sokovia was a vassal state of the Ottoman Empire. Every stone had been laid with careful deliberation so it would serve as more than just the spiritual center of the city. It was meant to be a statement made about the independence of the Sokovian people, a rejection of vassalage enforced from afar.

Wanda and her brother took the lead as they entered the nave, while Fox found himself hanging back. The possibilities for strife and pain were almost too intense for him to focus. The energy in the building was becoming uncomfortable; there was a sterile tastelessness to the emotions here that he had never encountered before in a thousand years. As much as a nogitsune fed on chaos, the chaos they wrought always lead to change. Whatever this was registered as so overwhelming he had a hard time picturing what would remain once it passed.

The throne in the center of the nave had stood for almost as long as the church itself. Perhaps it had been the seat of some church patriarch or perhaps it was meant to be the symbolic throne of a saint. Something else sat on it now, and when it gestured, the hairs on Fox’s arms stood up.

”This church was built in the middle of the city, so everyone could be equally close to God.” The figure on the throne began to speak without turning around. Its voice sounded human, down to the intonation, but it had never been and would never be fully human. “I like that, the symmetry, the geometry of belief.”

Stiles watches as Wanda’s body slowly tensed up as if she were making an effort, but she wasn’t moving. Even Piotr had become very still. With the twin’s attention on the figure in the center of the church, Fox began to slowly send out tendrils of power, ready to create an illusion if it became necessary.

“You’re wondering why you can’t look inside my head.”

Stiles had felt the touch of her telepathy before. He had permitted access to his surface thoughts, but kept other things hidden behind false veils.

“Sometimes it’s hard, but sooner or later every man shows himself.”

The figure stood up and tossed aside the cloth concealing it. While Fox had expected many things, an eight-foot-tall robot had not been one of them.

“Oh, I’m sure they do, but you needed something more than a man. That’s why you let Stark take the scepter.”

He never liked not being the one on control, and the twins could use a moment to recover from their shock. While this was a new experience for him, he had been shocked before, many times. “Well, it likes drama, that’s for damn sure.”

The android tilted his head to the side. “I may be new to idioms, but I suspect ‘the pot calling the kettle black’ might be the most appropriate one to employ at this moment.”

“Well, you got me there.” Fox stepped to one side, closer to an exit. “Is this what you were going for, Wanda?”

“When I looked inside Stark’s mind, I saw a man who has never had to confront his own limitations. I knew if he saw something terrible enough, he’d destroy himself trying to stop it.”

Fox nodded in response. It was a fine trick; he had used it before himself. He turned to the enormous robot-man. “Did he?”

The robot still commanded the room like a stage. “Everyone creates the thing they dread. Men of peace create engines of war, invaders create Avengers. People create ... smaller people? Uhh ... children! Lost the word there. Children, designed to supplant them. To help them ... end.”

If he wasn’t still slightly terrified by the potential inherent in the thing, Fox would have chuckled: an android with Daddy Issues.

“Is that why you’re here?” Wanda challenged it. “To end the Avengers?”

“I’m here to save the world.” The robot’s voice was sharp. “But, yeah, that too.”

The robot started to make for the entrance, seemingly heedless of whether his pitch had been effective or not.

“So … I have to admit, you’re very funny, but do you expect us to just follow you?” Fox flexed his foxfire as a gesture of intimidation. “I don’t know about the twins here, but I’m not so easily convinced, especially since I don’t even know your name.”

“I am Ultron.” The sophisticated machine turned to face him directly and then began to speak in flawless Japanese. “I have no reason to play games, Mieczyslaw Stilinski, but I’m sure you do. What game would you like to play?”

“How about Twenty Questions?” He stubbornly continued to speak in English. “I’ll go first. How’d you even know we were here?”

“I have access to all of the Avenger’s files. I have access to all of Hydra’s files. I can manipulate the Internet to a degree greater than any other consciousness on the planet.”

“We … we are off grid.” Pietro protested.

“Exactly. There was no record that you having left the immediate area, and why would you? You have no reason to leave. My presence would draw either Wanda’s or the Fox’s attention, so I did the equivalent of standing on a chair and shouting loudly. Here we are.” Ultron took a step toward the Fox. “My turn. Did you tell the twins that you still control the Department of Occult Armaments?”

Wanda and Pietro turned to face Fox sharply and he shrugged in apology. “As you said, there was no reason to. I had separated the D.O.A. from Hydra even before the Avengers struck at Strucker’s main base. If you’re as omniscient as you imply, you must be aware that I’ve had no contact with my organization since the Avengers thwarted my attempt to rescue Ayla Ranefer.”

“Your friend who died,” Wanda whispered.

“My friend who was killed by Tony Stark.”

“He does that,” Ultron sympathized.

“Why do you need us?”

“By any objective measure, I am extraordinarily powerful. I am not, however, omnipotent. There is no one on this planet who knows more than I do, but I have to admit that I have significantly less experience than many. You, yako, have centuries of practice in causing destruction, and while we both have obvious limitations when it comes to empathy, Wanda and Pietro do not. The logic leads inexorably to this outcome. It will be easier to complete my purpose with your assistance, especially since the Avengers still command significant resources throughout human civilization, extra-dimensional realms, and maybe even the supernatural world. Speaking of which, what’s the deal with the trees?”

Fox felt his throat clench in response. The lights in the church sparked with foxfire.

Wanda took a few steps back and Piotr stood by her side, ready to get her out of the way. Fox felt the woman’s presence in his mind, but she wasn’t prying. Wisely, she still wasn’t completely sure of Ultron.

“No need to get testy. No use either. Your powers of electromagnetic manipulation aren’t strong enough to get through my circuitry’s shielding. I don’t quite know why you would build six secret bases seemingly dedicated to watching over oak trees planted in some very unique places. I could find out if I put my mind to it, but why go behind your back, when I could just ask?”

“They’re Nemetons. You might consider them supernatural power sources.” He tried to give as little information as he could get away with. He calmed himself, and the foxfire subsided. “What do you want?”

“To save the world, as I said. What do you want?”

“Shouldn’t you already know that?”

Ultron chuckled. “Well, we all want our pound of flesh from Stark and his minions, but I happen to know you want more. Are you sure you want to talk about it in front of others? It’s quite personal.”

“Be my guest.”

“You want to go home. You want to go back to your family. To your friends. What do you call it? Your pack.” The robot gestured in the direction of California. “I can’t admit to understanding the urge, but the data was right there in Dr. Ranefer’s personal diary.”

Fox was absolutely sure that Ultron wasn’t being deliberately cruel. While his hatred for Tony Stark and the Avengers was real, the robot wasn’t very emotionally sophisticated. Fox clenched his fist at the thought of Ayla. “Of course, you read her diary. Since I considered her a wise woman, I’m sure she wrote that it isn’t possible.”

“Oh, but it is.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“For all your power and experience, you are — don’t take this the wrong way — conventional. Do you still believe that the people there, the people you’ve left behind care for you enough to overlook what you are?”

Stiles thought back to his last conversation with his father and multiple conversations with Scott. “Yes.”

“Then the obstacle in your path is not a single person or a group of people but a civilization. All these laws and mores that prevent you from having what you want are unfortunately embedded in the way the world is now.” The robot bent down so he and Fox were face to face. “So. Change the world.”

“I … I can’t.”

“You can’t, Mieczyslaw Stilinski. We can.”

May 2, 2015 — Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, Beacon Hills, California

Melissa McCall slowly walked up to the Emergency Room nurses station, having just finished her lunch hour. One of these years, she was going to learn that it was always a crap shoot when she bought a salad in the cafeteria. As sometimes happened, the lettuce was just this side of wilted and so not very appetizing. She had thought about tossing it and running to the In-n-Out. She might have been able to make it; it had been a slow night. No one at this hospital trusted slow nights.

“What do we have?”

“Nothing serious. There’s a high school senior with what I’m pretty sure is a dislocated shoulder.” Beth, the nurse on duty, had worked with Melissa for nearly a decade. “Get this. It’s Dr. Geyer’s son.”

Melissa picked up the admissions paperwork. “I didn’t actually know he had one.”

“You couldn’t tell by looking at him,” the nurse joked. Melissa didn’t get it.

“Go ahead and page. I don’t think Dr. Geyer’s in surgery right now. I’ll just check on the boy.”

Liam Dunbar had been put in Bay 2. She pulled back the curtain and walked in without looking up from her clipboard. “Okay, Liam, I’d like to check out … who are you?”

One teenager was sitting on the examination bed, but there was another teenager standing there trying to show the first one something on his phone. “I’m … Mason?”

“You’re not sure?” Melissa crossed her arms.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m Mason. I’m Liam’s friend. This is Liam.” The taller youth pointed at the boy on the bed.

“Right. I’m Liam.”

She bit her lip to stave off a smile. “Well, I know that one of you had to be Liam, since that’s the patient’s name. You guys realize this is a hospital and not a high school. Only one of you should be in here.”

“I know that,” Mason said, embarrassed. “I just didn’t want to make Liam sit here alone because it was totally my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Mason. I keep telling you that.”

“You would haven’t tried it if I hadn’t dared you.”

“I’m eighteen and not six. You can’t force me to do things, even if you double-dog dare me.”

Melissa snorted with nostalgia. “Boys. Boys!” They left off the conversation to look at her.

Mason suddenly realized what she was getting at. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“You’re back here already for twenty minutes, and hell, it’s not like I’ve broken the rules before.” She came over to look at Liam’s arm. It was already bruising. “So what were you doing?”

“A back flip,” Liam said.

“It looked really cool,” Mason added, bringing up his phone where indeed, Liam was going a back flip. “It’s his landing that was the problem.”

“It usually is,” Melissa added. “Okay, any pain anywhere else?”

“Only in my ass,” interrupted Dr. Geyer, entering the bay. “What have you two got into this time?”

“Nothing, Dad. We were just … goofing off.”

Mason nodded earnestly.

“Let me have a look.” The surgeon’s voice had the long-suffering tone only another parent could understand.

Working with him, they treated the injury. It wasn’t too serious, but Dr. Geyer decided to give his son a rather stern lecture on the dangers of tumbling without pads.

“You’re lucky this happened now and not during lacrosse season. You would have missed your senior year campaign.”

“You play lacrosse, Liam?” Melissa asked.

“He’s the captain!” Mason spoke up, excitedly. Liam rolled his eyes, but he was secretly pleased.

Something blossomed in Melissa’s chest, something unexpected and nostalgic. Once the treatment had been completed, Dr. Geyer and she stood by the door while the Mason and Liam left the hospital. Mason was going to drive Liam home.

“Sorry about that, Melissa.”

“They’re teenage boys. It’s bound to happen.”

The surgeon sighed. “Not for very much longer.”

“Hmm?”

“Liam is going to college in the fall. When I first married his mother, I had to admit I had … reservations. About being a father. Honestly, about being a father to someone else’s child.”

“That’s only natural.”

“Is it?” Dr. Geyer looked wryly amused. “I stick my hands into people’s bodies every other day. I don’t hesitate at all. I make calls that can result in someone dying on the table right in front of me. Yet, that made me … nervous.”

Melissa smiled.

“I even thought about calling the wedding off back then. Now, I want to take a hammer to every clock I see. I want to burn every single calendar. In a little over four months, he’ll be three hours away at San Jose State University. He’ll be an adult.”

“He’ll still need his father; don’t you worry about that.”

The surgeon glanced at her. “It sounds like you speak from experience. You have a son, don’t you?”

“I do.” Her chest clenched again.

“Where’s he now?”

Melissa couldn’t very well say where she thought Scott was, so she finally settled on where she realized she felt Scott should be. “U.C. Davis.”

“Oh, nice. What’s he studying?”

“He’s planning to be a veterinarian.”

“Great. When Liam told me he wanted to be a history teacher, it made me look at him in a whole new way. He’d always been something of a jock — and I don’t mean that in a bad way — so I assumed he would end up doing something in sports. I guess kids never stop surprising you.”

“No.” She took a deep breath. “No, they don’t.”

“He’s happy. He has a good friend in Mason. As much as I might want more, I’m going to have to be happy with the time I got. Thanks for taking care of my son, Melissa.”

She murmured something unintelligible as Dr. Geyer headed back to his office. The tightness in her chest didn’t seem like it was going away, but she was enough of a nurse to recognize that it wasn’t a heart attack of something like that. There was no medicine in this hospital that would ease it.

It was regret. A sharp, deep cut into her soul that she had managed to ignore for months. Possibly a little guilt as well.

She and Scott were as close as Dr. Geyer was with his son. While he hadn’t initially told her about his transformation into a werewolf, once that had been brought out into the open, they had talked so often. She had encouraged him to do his best, taught him as well as she could, but now, suddenly, she wondered if she had gone too far. He hadn’t wanted to be a superhero, tracking his best-friend-turned-super-villain across the globe.

Scott would never get to do what Liam Dunbar was going to get to do — not really. She wondered how much of that was her fault.

May 2, 2015 — Former Hydra Base — Sokovia

“I wonder why you two were the only humans to survive Strucker’s experiments. Now, I don’t. We three can hurt them.” Ultron reached forward and almost touched the side of Wanda’s face. “But you can tear them apart, from the inside.”

Fox didn’t register any protest. He was very glad he hadn’t ever had it written down or revealed to anyone but Theo his ability to influence the minds of others with his flies. While he didn’t have any qualms about working with the twins, Ultron was a different kettle of fish. Keeping a few cards up his sleeve might come in useful.

Like the one he was about to use.

Ultron instructed them to be ready to depart as soon as he reached a certain plateau. The android moved off to take care of some last-minute adjustments to his manufacturing facilities and Fox dropped the net of his illusion covering the three of them.

“Okay, it’s distracted. We can talk without it being aware of us.”

“How can a robot be distracted?” Piotr demanded.

“You should listen to it more closely. He's self-aware enough to recognize that knowledge isn’t experience. He knows quite a bit about other people but not as much about himself. Emotion can be so distracting.”

Wanda turned to him. “He's dangerous.”

“Very dangerous, and that might be just the thing we need to get what we want.”

“Or he might destroy us.”

“True,” Fox admitted. “But if we’re not on its side, he might destroy us anyway. At least here, we’re close enough that we have options. If you want to go that route. If you want to leave, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

They didn’t have much time, but all three of them turned to watch what was once a laboratory slowly transform into a factory. Ultron had not been exaggerating about his ability for harmony. No waste was visible.

“We volunteered for all this to change the world.” Wanda said out loud. Piotr grabbed her hand. “He seems the best way to move forward. What do you think?”

“I think … I think that I see the potential in the situation. I’ll go along … for now. I think that’s something that it’s very important that all of us remember.”

The twins looked at him.

“Ultron, beyond the scary technology, the hyper intelligence, and the ability to access data, is one thing above all else: he is a child. His anger at Stark is simply the rage of someone who doesn’t understand their parents or how they let the world get so bad. We can use that, if we have to.”

“You’re right.” Wanda touched her lips. “And I think he sees us as his family.”

Piotr scoffed.

“Listen to your sister. There are only four entities on Earth that have been permanently altered by whatever is hidden within the scepter: you two, me, and Ultron.”

“So does that make us brothers?” The speedster joked with him.

“I only have one brother,” Fox shot back. He paused, afterward. He didn’t know why he said that.

“Drop the illusion before he gets suspicious,” Wanda ordered “but we should all take any chance to learn more about what changed us.”

Chapter Text

May 3, 2015 — Skeleton Coast, Namibia

Perched among the structural ribbing of the Churchill, Fox had a good view of the beached cargo ship’s interior. Old and decrepit, the ship was poorly lit, had terrible air circulation, and listed two degrees to starboard. He had to be honest with himself: he had never understood the allure of the dedicated criminal lifestyle.

As a nogitsune, he had had little use for humanity’s laws. They weren’t written for him, and so he didn’t feel as if they applied. Yet, he had had the ability to follow them when he needed to keep one of his hosts viable for a particularly artistic or long-running trick.

The customs of the kitsune-tsuki were different. He had obeyed them when necessary, as they had the full weight of the ancestors’ approval behind them. Luckily, most of those customs were riddled with loopholes by design, in order for any self-respecting kitsune to be able to exploit them. It was expected and a sign of civilized behavior in its own way.

In the end, of course, it was one of the reasons that the nogitsune had chosen Stiles. It hadn’t been about power; it had been about the teenager’s flexible approach to society’s rules and how that approach had harmonized with the nogitsune’s own praxis. The fox wouldn’t have to worry about fighting with his host every time he wanted to jaywalk.

Though, it had to be said Stiles had been very precise about the difference between breaking rules to protect someone he cared about and breaking rules for his own selfish wants. While a misdemeanor-level infringement wasn’t worthy of his hesitation, Stiles had had nothing but disdain for monsters like Peter Hale who murdered family and terrorized innocents to get what they wanted.

When the merged Fox had assumed control of an extra-national terrorist organizations, he had done so mostly out of necessity, not greed. And they had been, for the most part, successful. Too many criminals seemed to endure sub-par lives for the sake of more money than they would ever get the chance to spend.

He wasn’t referring to the poor lower-class criminals like the Namibians who toiled away loading and preparing illegal weapons in the hold of the decommissioned freighter. As he made his way around the edges of their perceptions, moving unseen from one side of the ship to the other, he guessed that most of them worked here as a way out of gut-wrenching poverty.

It was masterminds who drew his judgment: those who had made more than enough money for a comfortable lifestyle but still chose to live in squalor. In this case, Ulysses Klaue must have earned millions of dollars over the decades from his illegal arms sales, yet still he toiled away in his dingy little office in an uncomfortably hot and grimy ship. And for what? More millions that he wouldn’t spend? Personal fulfillment? He could labor in the illegal gun trade for the next four decades and not erase the brand from his neck.

It was a good thing that his role in the present plan didn’t call for him to be face-to-face with Klaue. He would just tear the man apart, verbally. Or maybe even more than verbally.

Ultron himself would remain outside, monitoring communications and disabling the admittedly extensive security systems that had been installed on the Churchill. Fox would be inside but remain undetected in order to take a census of Klaue personnel, identifying any who might be more capable than the average worker and preparing to neutralize them if necessary. That left the twins to deal with the man directly.

It had been Fox’s plan, of course. It was a good plan, but it had also been an exercise to see how much influence he could wield over the artificial intelligence as well as a way of shoring up his own relationship with the twins, which had taken a bit of a hit with Ultron’s revelation of his continued leadership of the Department of Occult Armaments. It had been a clever maneuver on the android’s part, to be quite honest.

Always aware of where he was, Fox took a step back into the darkness as two of Klaue’s workers walked down the gangway. They passed right in front of him without even a glance in his direction. Being stealthy, in the end, was mostly the ability to stand somewhere people wouldn’t look without having a reason to and then not give them a reason.

He had decided to inspect the bow of the ship again when he felt Wanda’s gentle touch on his mind. It was the pre-arranged signal that things weren’t going particularly well with Klaue. He put one hand on the outer bulkhead and charged it with a pulse of foxfire. Ultron would notice and take it as his own cue to enter.

Fox had no intention of being passive in this scenario, heading back to where he had seen a supply of high-explosive shells. Unstrapping the tool kit he had brought with him for just such an opportunity, he got to work modifying them into a make-shift bomb. If worse came to worse, its detonation would set the whole ship on fire. It would be a suitable distraction, and it helped quite a growing worry that sprouted like a seed in his mind.

The nogitsune, confident and secure, wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but the teenage boy retained enough humility — or insecurity, it didn’t matter — to start to wonder. For four powerful entities who had only recently met each other, they were showing a degree of coordination which didn’t seem natural. On the other hand, very little about a rogue A.I., a powerful telepath and telekinetic, a speedster, and a void kitsune could be considered natural.

While he might still have reservations, he had listened to Ultron’s ideas about reshaping the world in order to let him go home. Wanda and Pietro had only known him for maybe three days at the most, but they still treated him like a slightly wacky relative, even though they had to know what he truly was and what he was capable of doing. The twins had followed what was essentially a murderbot even though it stood against a lot of the things they believed in.

Could it be due to their connection to the scepter itself? Were they still connected by it and through it with each other? Was there another agenda here that they weren’t privy to? Was it simply the urge of individuals alienated on the same fundamental level from the world in which they found themselves? Or was it just the logical conclusion that they were more likely to get what they wanted by banding together.

He guessed it didn’t really matter in the end.

The only truly difficult part for him had been fighting off the urge to contact Theo and the rest of the D.O.A. His people had their instructions, and he had to have faith they would see the benefits in following them. Yet, faith had always been Scott’s talent, not his. On the other hand, he couldn’t think of a way to establish communication with them that Ultron wouldn’t be able to detect. Complete trust hadn’t been achieved yet, outside influence or not.

Fox put the finishing touches on the bomb. He could detonate it remotely from anywhere on ship with just a tiny flash of foxfire. It might end up being completely unnecessary, but it always paid to have a few cards up his sleeve.

Standing up, he brushed his hand on his pants and took another step into the gangway, only to freeze. In the corner of his eye, Natasha Romanov passed through a hatchway.

So maybe the bomb was not going to be completely unnecessary.

May 3, 2015 — Beacon Hills, California

Lydia woke in the dark. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t recognize the room.

When she had been sixteen, this would have caused a sharp spike of anxiety. If a few moments had passed and she had not figured out where she was, she would have called for her mother or for Jackson. Her reaction wouldn’t have been all that dissimilar from any other teenager.

When she had been eighteen, she would have experienced terror mixed with horrified anticipation. She would have wondered what gruesome tableaux of corpses was about to present itself to her. She would have braced herself to witness the deaths to which her subconscious mind had been drawn.

Now that she was twenty, she had gained far more composure. Breaking the grip of a fugue state no longer caused her to feel like she was losing control, though it remained one of her least favorite things to experience.

Rolling over on to her side, the clock on the nightstand read 4:05 a.m. She could have turned back over and went to sleep, blaming this feeling on some nighttime noise or leftovers from an unremembered dream, but she would have been lying to herself. She knew what a banshee premonition felt like.

On the other side of the bed, Aiden stirred in his sleep, reaching out towards her with his hand but not quite making contact. She remembered now having decided to stay the night with him. They had gone to a movie and then a late dinner before return to the apartment above his shop. It had been an enjoyable evening, and she had to admit their relationship was developing along unexpected lines. Though Aiden still knew how to be useful, they weren’t just about sex anymore. It was important and enjoyable, yes, but it was not the primary factor for them being together.

She got out of bed carefully so as not to disturb him. That she managed to do it successfully only went to show how much he had changed since his time with the Alpha Pack. When they had first started seeing each other, his senses had been amped up all the time; his reflexes had been honed to react to the dangerous life he led. While some ignorant people might have criticized the McCall Pack for making him soft, she preferred the former alpha not be always ready to fight.

Her own life remained tense enough.

Beneath her bare feet, the carpet hushed her footsteps as she reached the bay window on the second floor. Aiden’s shop was located on a highway leading out of town, so behind the line of generic ranch homes across the street, the woods of the Preserve stood as a dark mass. The nearly full moon was creeping through its branches.

It could give her no comfort. She pulled Aiden’s oversized t-shirt around her tighter to fight off a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

She hadn’t been dreaming, she’d been listening.

Immediately, she went to the desk and grabbed a pen and a pad of paper. She ripped off the first three pages which had been filled with Aiden’s notes about the shop’s inventory. She sat down, not bothering to put on any more clothing, and she started writing.

The calculations flowed from her fingers to the paper before her. She was a prodigious mathematician, so she checked the math, and it held true though she wasn’t quite sure was the math was about. She would, eventually, if she stopped trying to fight it.

So focused was she on recording the information she had learned that she didn’t recognize when the lights in the apartment came on. She didn’t hear Aiden get up. She barely felt it when he draped a bathrobe around her. She did smell the coffee he had started in the kitchenette.

Finally, she felt her shoulders sag and she laid her pencil down. Within seconds, Aiden was there with a cup of coffee. “Here you go.”

“Thanks. Sorry for waking you up.”

Aiden shrugged. “Tonight’s the full moon. None of us sleep much on days like this anyway.”

She sipped the coffee and took a deep breath before returning to study the numbers.

“So, what do you got?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Lydia said finally. “It’s not the same thing I was worried about before.”

“The artificial intelligence schematics?”

“I get the feeling that that ship has sailed. Fuck Gerard.” She muttered, even though she knew that the werewolf would be able to hear her. “As much as I despise Peter, I have to be a little bit grateful. All that work I put in was for nothing. Keep in mind, I’m also talking about my entire semester being scuttled.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” She waved him off. “These are vector diagrams.”

“Okay.” He sat down across from her and took a sip from his own coffee, patiently.

“Something big enough that gravity matters. Big enough that air resistance matters.” She studied it and began revising it. “Oh … God.”

Aiden put the cup down. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“It’s an impact event.”

“Okay, that sounds … bad? Is that like Armageddon or something?”

She squinted at him until she realized he was referring to the movie. “Exactly like that. But there’s something else …” She trailed off.

The former alpha sat there, patiently, quietly. He had learned that she preferred to work these things through by herself, and that he helped by giving her passive support.

She checked over her writing and then checked over it again. There were two sets of equations here for two different impact events. Something was so familiar about the second one …

“Oh. Oh, no. Do we have a way to contact Scott?”

“I … don’t think so? Last time, we had to go through his father. The only other option would be to go to New York personally.”

Lydia checked one more time. “Then we have to go to New York and hope I don’t get kidnapped again.”

“May I ask why?”

“There are two sets of equations for two different impact events.” She tapped her page. “One is brand new to me, but if it happens … well, the sheer magnitude would be on the scale of Chixculub.”

“The what?”

“The Chixculub impact event is what brought about the Cretaceous-Paleogene extinction. Seventy-five percent of all species on earth perished, including all non-avian dinosaurs. It was equivalent to 100 teratons of TNT.”

Aiden whistled. “And the second?”

“It’s less exact, but it’s not a vision of something that hasn’t happened. It’s a memory. More precisely: it’s Stiles’s sixth grade science project. He did a presentation on what would happen if an asteroid hit Beacon Hills. While it was morbid, it was also very thoroughly researched.”

She turned to him and his face began to screw itself up. In harmony, they said: “We need to go to New York.”

“I’ll call the pack together in an hour or so.”

“The pack?” She ran a hand through her hair. “Why?”

“You’re not going to New York alone, not with something this important. I think we’re all going together.”

May 3, 2015 — Skeleton Coast, Namibia

The virtues of patience could never be underestimated. Not in reconnaissance. Not in espionage. Not in battle.

No one knew that better than Clint Barton.

He had once told Natasha that the Avengers represented a level of conflict which was so far beyond their training, but it turned out that the statement hadn’t been entirely accurate. Over time, their training had ended up being quite useful. In fact, it soon became obvious that their training became downright necessary. While none of the more enhanced individuals on the team believed that their powers made them invincible, they tended to turn to their powers first in any fight. It made perfect sense that they would do that, yet that very tendency and the urgency of their missions encouraged them to skip certain steps that could determine the difference between victory and defeat. Those steps would have been ingrained in any half-way talented espionage agent; Clint and Natasha couldn’t skip them anymore than they could skip breathing.

Hawkeye’s skills ended up being needed as much as his bow and arrows. To prove the point in the present, he turned to the werewolf standing next to him — which was something he had never imagined happening — and prompted him for a status report. “Anything?”

“There’s a lot of people in here. A lot of scents. It takes a little effort to separate them.” Scott McCall had his eyes closed, clearly concentrating. So many moments passed that Clint was close to suggesting a different approach, but a long sigh escaped from Scott and his shoulders sagged. “Stiles is here. So is that fast guy.”

Without hesitation, Clint toggled his radio. “We’ve got Pietro Maximoff and the Fox on site. It looks like Pinocchio went recruiting.”

“Makes sense,” Cap’s voice came over the broadcast. “Everyone, stay on their toes.”

“How?” Scott whirled to face him.

“It’s just an expression,” Clint assured the werewolf, scanning the ship as he dropped fully through the hatch. “It means stay ready.”

“No, not that.” The werewolf growled softly. “How does it make sense that they’re together?”

“Ultron took the scepter.”

“Yeah, that’s … I know.”

“Right.” Clint scanned the inside of the ship as a matter of habit. He didn’t believe anyone was in range to overhear them, and Scott would have noticed them anyway. “The scepter helped create all of them. Even though Stark dreamed up Ultron to be a global-level powerhouse, it’s still got that new car smell. In other words, it’s still vulnerable, at least for a little while, so it’s going to seek out allies it can trust. The best allies are people who have things in common.”

“But it … it killed Strucker.”

Hawkeye may not have had empathy or telepathy, but he could recognize when someone was afraid but not for himself. The werewolf’s concern was for Fox.

“Strucker knew something, something that it didn’t want anyone else to know.”

Scott crouched. “The baron might not be the only person who knows something.”

“If it was going to kill the head of the Department of Occult Armaments, it would have done it by now. More than likely, it’s counting on their shared experiences.”

From the corner of his eyes, Clint watch as the claws on Scott’s hands and feet extended to their fullest length. He had been around the young man long enough to recognize that that wasn’t good. He didn’t think that the alpha was losing control in the supernatural sense, but Clint could sense a stupid idea forming from a mile away.

“I’m going after him.”

And there it was. “Nope.”

The werewolf turned to him again, his eyes ruby red. “What do you mean, nope?”

“Look, you wanna save your friend, I get that, but we’re like thirty seconds from an enhanced power confrontation in the middle of a boat stuffed with high-grade munitions. It’s the very definition of a dangerous situation. We stick with the plan.”

“If I take Stiles down, it’ll be safer for everyone!” Scott insisted.

“Have you ever hit him?”

“What?” The alpha blinked.

“Have you ever been able to hit him at any other time? In D.C.? On North Brother Island? The last time we were in Sokovia? Have you ever managed to bring yourself to lay a hand on him? Or, I guess in your case, a claw?”

The werewolf’s eyes stopped glowing and dropped to the ground. “I stalked him in a locker room once.”

“In 1988, I stalked Tiffany for two weeks. That’s as far as it went.”

“I …” Scott sighed once more, softly and sadly.

“I know you’re only with us to help your friend.” Clint absolutely understood. “But this type of situation can get very bad, very fast. Unless you can strike hard and without hesitation, all you’ll do is endanger lives.”

The werewolf’s teeth clicked shut.

“I’d listen to the man, Scotty. He knows what he’s talking about.”

With minimal conscious thought, Hawkeye turned and loosed an arrow directly at the Fox’s face. It stopped in mid-air, its flight arrested by a suddenly visible tail composed of black light, curling protectively around the Hydra leader.

“Stiles!”

To Clint’s eye, Fox had never moved like a twenty-year-old Californian. He always moved like some incredible old predator, which of course he was. He knocked another arrow, choosing a different head.

“Hi.” Stiles’s smile had an edge. “I noticed you didn’t even tell Arrow-Man here about the time I twisted a sword that had been shoved through your tummy. I could have cut you in half, and you didn’t even try to defend yourself. You need to go home, dude. You don’t belong here. Not with them.”

“I didn’t have to hurt you back then. Deaton was there, wasn’t he? I told you I’m not giving up until I bring you home.”

With a little frustration the void kitsune snorted. “You can’t feel it but even now the amount of strife in this place is off the charts. You can’t beat me, True Alpha or not, and you’re out of your class.”

“That’s just it. I don’t have to beat you … by myself.”

Hawkeye let the arrow fly. As expected, Fox blocked it, but this time it exploded into smoke. The alpha sprang into action immediately, moving so quickly he carried both himself and his friend over the side of the railing and down to the work floor thirty feet below.

Clint only paused long enough to hear Ultron’s false promise to reveal his evil plan before grabbing another arrow and following up. The other members of the team would have to handle Ultron and the twins on their own; his best action was to keep the Fox clear of that battle.

Every light with fifty feet of the two young men suddenly emitted showers of sparks: foxfire. From his perch up there, he saw little arcs play out over the alpha’s body, but he was still on top of the fox, pinning him to the deck.

“Not enough!” Scott gritted through his teeth.

“I guess,” Stiles rolled his eyes and then head-butted his friend, taking him by surprise. When the werewolf’s grip loosened, Fox threw him over to the side. Yet before he could spring to his feet, Hawkeye put an arrow through his lower left leg.

“OW!” Fox looked up. “You shot me!”

“Stop complaining.”

The Hydra leader blew a raspberry at him, which was a first, but then followed it up with a box of parts for an APC. Clint had to duck behind a pylon. Before Fox could throw another the Alpha grabbed his friend and punched him in the face.

It wasn’t too hard, but it was enough that Fox had to turn his attention on the werewolf, responding with a pretty excellent palm strike to the solar plexus.

They began to exchange blows, and Hawkeye realized he was right. Scott was refusing to use his claws, while Stiles backed up his punches with flashes of foxfire. The alpha couldn’t bring himself to even risk a lethal attack, though he was still pressing the Fox hard enough, especially with the arrow through his calf flowing him down, that the kitsune had revealed his full aura.

In the end, the alpha didn’t need to strike to wound; Hawkeye would do that much more easily now that the aura was visible.

“Two against one is hardly fair, Scotty,” Fox complained once more.

“Then give up!”

“As much as I might want to, that’s not possible, not yet, so I guess I have to raise the stakes.” Stiles snapped his fingers. “Hold onto your fangs, buddy.”

In a remote part of the ship, a bomb went off.

With a shake of his head, Scott tried to ignore the commotion and started to plead. “You aren’t getting away! Don’t you understand, Stiles, this is serious! I’m running out of chances to save you!”

With a quick dodge, Stiles slipped behind the alpha and put him in a full nelson. “I do understand, more than you think. I’m working on Plan B, but for now I’m going to have to stick with Plan A. Wanda, do it! I can’t hold him for long.”

Hawkeye cursed. How had the twin approached them without him seeing her? She stepped out of the shadows and brought her hand up right into the werewolf’s face. Some sort of scarlet energy flowed from her into him. Clint tried to stop it with an arrow, but one of the Fox’s tails blocked it.

Fox looked up at him. “You brought him here. You caused this. Now you get to deal with it.” He reached out and grabbed Wanda’s hand, vanishing from sight. Clint had been told that the nogitsune could generate illusions, but he didn’t have time to penetrate this one now. His eyes were drawn to the alpha.

The werewolf’s skin darkened and the bones in his face shifted to something not remotely human. The roar might have shaken the entire Churchill.

It turned out to be a very good thing to have a friend who was a billionaire. Scott leaned back in the leather seats twirling the very expensive Scotch in its glass. He didn’t like the taste, but when the hot blond stewardess had offered him a glass of the 300-dollar-a-bottle Glenlivet, he couldn’t find it in himself to turn her down. Outside the window, a brilliant California sun illuminated the full breadth of Beacon Hills as the jet began turned to being its final descent. Digging into his pocket, Scott put on the pair of fashion sunglasses he found there and grinned at the person across the aisle.

Stiles reached over and high-fived him. “It’s going to be good to be home!”

“It’s good to be home, dude!”

“I know,” Stiles shook his head in sarcastic humor like he used to back in high school, “I just said that.”

“I’m so happy.”

There was no need for him to say that out loud. Everyone knew — they had to know — that this was all he had wanted.

“Of course you’re happy! When you left here last, you had no idea what you were going to have to do to save your best friend, you big idiot. You sort of tagged along with people who actually knew what they were doing, like you always do, with that big stupid smile on your face until some cosmically inconceivable bit of luck happened and bam! I’m cured!”

Scott nodded. He could feel the dopey smile on his face. It was true. It was all true.

“All it took was Thor Odinson tapping me upside the noggin’ with a magic hammer. Who would have thunk it?” Stiles reached over and snagged Scott’s drink out of his hand even though he had his own.

“Cognitive recalibration.” Scott supplied.

“Big man with the big words. Studying for the SATs?”

“No.” Scott’s smile faltered only for a moment. “We’re not in high school, remember? I heard it from Natasha Romanov. She said she broke the scepter’s hold on Hawkeye and Professor Selvig with it.”

Stiles mock-punched himself in the face. “That easy?”

“That easy.” Scott chuffed. “And now everything will be file. We’ll all be fine.”

“Makes you wonder something though, doesn’t it?”

“Huh? Wonder what, Stiles?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I mean, what would you have done if that hadn’t happened? If things hadn’t happened to fall into place? What if your aw-gee-shucks optimism didn’t pull through in the end?”

Scott didn’t want to go there. “But it did!”

“But it might not have. What were you prepared to do? Had you given it any thought?”

The light in the plane dimmed as they went through a cloud. They were on final approach.

“Of course I had,” Scott muttered.

“And what was your decision?”

The stewardess told them to fasten their seat belts. Scott took it as an opportunity to try to evade the answer, but Stiles didn’t seem like he was willing to let it go.

“Would you have let them put me in prison?” Stiles asked.

“Why worry about it?”

“Answer the question, Scott. Would you have let them lock me away forever? Would you have let them kill me?” Stile reached out and grabbed Scott by the chin.

“Put your seatbelt on, Stiles.”

Stiles ignored him. “Would you have killed me?” Stiles looked closer and his eyes were silver as were his teeth. “Could you have killed me? Or are you just a big stupid goofball who walks through life expecting everything to go his way because he believes it will and lets everyone else do the hard work?”

Scott reached up and took Stiles's wrist. With more strength than he thought he would need, he made Stiles release him. “We’ve landed. We’re home, and it doesn’t matter now.”

The plane came to a stop and the door opened. The hot stewardess ushered them to the door. “Thank you for flying with us. It looks like you have a welcoming party.”

Emerging from the plane, Scott realized he still had his glass on. He waved at the crowd. He realized he must have looked like a celebrity.

There was cheering, but it was faint. He recognized every person in the crowd. There were a lot of people there that he didn’t expect, and none of the people he had.

“Where is everyone?”

Victoria Argent, blood pouring from the knife in her chest, gestured. “We’re all here, Scott. Exactly where you wanted us.”

Kyle was holding Bullet in his arms. “We had to come and see the big Avenger.”

“It’s not every day we get to see a superhero,” confided Matt Daehler, soaked to the bone. “You’re the person who saves everyone. Or, you are the person pretends that he saves everyone.”

“Where’s the pack?” Scott whispered.

“They got in a bit of trouble,” Kara Simmons gurgled through her slashed throat. “It seems their leader wasn’t here to take care of them. He left them alone, unprotected.”

“They were fine,” Scott protested, softly. “Everyone is fine.”

“You sacrificed them, Scott, for your chance to no longer sit on the sidelines,” sneered Jennifer Blake. “But don’t worry about it — that’s what alphas do.”

The dead surrounded him, demanding attention, reminding him of all the things he had allowed to happen. Scott reached back for Stiles, but his friend was no longer there. There was only a bandaged monster, laughing at him.

Chapter Text

May 3, 2015 — The Barton Homestead, Iowa

Scott studied the landscape as they landed on what seemed like a normal farm. He assumed they were somewhere in the Midwest, but he didn’t ask anyone, partly because it seemed only Clint knew where they were going and partly because he couldn’t work up the motivation.

Since getting on the quinjet, he hadn’t managed to utter anything more than simple one-word answers to any questions from the Avengers. They hadn’t asked many, to be fair; they all looked and smelled as emotionally obliterated as he felt. Every time he tried to string a sentence together, it ended up sounding like an echo from the mindscape Wanda Maximoff had trapped him in.

Except he knew deep down that she hadn’t created anything; she had simply forced him to confront what he had already feared.

“We’re here.” Captain America had somehow managed to stand right next to him without Scott noticing his approach.

Scott looked up at him and almost refused to listen.

“I think if you were going to find what you needed on this plane, or you would have found it during the flight here, so get up.” While that sounded like a command, it felt more like encouragement. “The only way past this is to move forward.”

He had already known that, but hearing someone else say it got him to his feet and into the farmhouse. He was glad he listened. For a few moments, the novelty of Clint Barton having a wife and family that he hadn’t told anyone about kept Scott distracted enough from the growing anxiety gnawing at the base of his stomach that he managed a smile.

But the momentary good feeling didn’t last, and not just for him. Standing by the living room window, Scott listened to the distinct whirling sound made by Mjolnir before Thor flew off into the sky. It was an indication of how unsettled he felt that the idea of a Norse god flying under his own power barely caused any emotional reaction. Even though not too many years ago he would have geeked out over it, it wouldn’t have been appropriate. Scott had picked out the disquiet in the Asgardian’s vague and rushed explanation for his departure.

Steve had followed Thor outside, either to see if he was okay or to stop him from leaving, but in either case he failed. Scott heard the spike in Cap’s heart rate as he turned to come back into the house and then change his mind. Apparently, moving forward was something that Cap had to do on his own.

Scott understood completely, as he was feeling very much the same way.

He didn’t belong here, not in this farmhouse, and with each second he could feel the nerves at his extremities twinge with the effort of keeping himself still. He felt like a predator in a sheepfold. Scott could tell what the family — Hawkeye’s family — had had for dinner before they had arrived. He heard one of the family cats stretching on the back porch in the light of the dying sun. He could smell that the candles which sat on the shelf in the living room were homemade. It was a real home, as real as the one where he and his mother lived in Beacon Hills. After spending three-and-a-half months as a guest at Avengers Tower, the change in atmosphere made him dizzy.

He wasn’t blaming anyone; everyone there had tried their best to make him feel at home, just as everyone had been left reeling by the events of this day. It was a good idea to come here; they could take the time to regain their footing in this quiet place. But Scott had another problem. Turning away from the window, he found Clint in the kitchen, talking with the woman whom he had introduced as his wife Laura.

“Uhm.” He hesitated. “Excuse me for interrupting.”

They didn’t step apart, but they did move slightly away from each other. They had clearly been missing each other, and they had been basking in being in each other’s personal space. Scott had used to feel that way with Allison. He shook his head to clear it of those memories.

Laura and her husband were both patiently waiting for him to continue.

“Could I speak to you, Clint … alone?”

“What is this about?”

“About tonight. About me being here.”

“Nothing happens on this farm that Laura doesn’t know about.”

Scott’s caught Laura giving Clint a surreptitious thank-you squeeze. He gritted his teeth. “Okay, that’s fair. You wouldn’t happen to have something like a root cellar or a fallout shelter around here, would you?”

Clint lifted his eyebrows a half centimeter. “Do I want to know why you’re asking?”

“I think I might need it. And if you let me borrow some chains, that’d be great, too. The heavier the better.”

Laura’s expression of benevolent friendliness turned to one of concern.

“You got hit pretty hard, Scott, but you seem okay …”

He took a deep breath. “We all got hit. Well, everyone but you, but I’m grateful for that. If it weren’t for you, I could have hurt somebody.”

Clint tried to brush him off. “You did fine.”

“You shot me with three arrows.”

The archer winced. “Well, I was trying to shock you out of whatever she had done to you. You were kind of growling and clawing at things and … well …”

“It’s called the full alpha shift. It’s pretty intimidating.”

“Okay, but you never even got close to going after anyone. That means you didn’t do any worse than Nat or Steve or Thor. Bruce’s reaction was the most extreme, but that’s always been his weakness, and they took their shot at it.”

“Well, funny you should use those terms, because tonight’s the full moon, Clint. That’s my weakness.”

Laura didn’t seem surprised by any of this discussion so she must have known he was a werewolf. He didn’t begrudge Clint keeping his wife informed of the nature of their surprise house guests. “There’s a tornado shelter about two hundred feet from the house in the south pasture, and I think there’re some heavy chains in the barn.”

Her husband seemed confused. “I’ve seen you on three full moons. It didn’t seem that bad. You didn’t seem any more dangerous than Maria when she has too much coffee.”

“Whatever that woman did, it struck at my anchor.” He hesitated; Scott really had to get over his dislike of talking with people about what couldn’t be changed. “It’s a psychological technique my kind has to practice in order to master the aggression that comes with … our condition.”

“Okay. Honey, go show him where the shelter is; it’s gonna be dark soon. I’ll make sure everyone else has a place to sleep.”

Relenting, Clint gestured to Scott, and they left the house through the back door. The sky was turning purple as the sun began to touch the horizon on the other side.

“This is a nice place.”

“I thought so.”

“I didn’t know you were a farmer.”

“I’m not!” Hawkeye pulled open the barn. “Well, not much of one. It’s a good thing that we don’t have to live on what I’d be able to make from this place.”

There were some chains that might do in the barn, and Scott snagged some heavy spikes that were lying around to anchor them. Then they headed toward the storm cellar.

“What was your anchor?” Clint asked suddenly.

“Uhm. I guess … I guess you could call it altruism?”

A skeptical expression pasted itself on Hawkeye’s face.

“I had another anchor once, but I lost it, so my mother told me to be my own anchor. I figured out that for me, that meant not allowing what I was — what I had never wanted to be — to control me. That meant I had to control it. I changed something that was done to hurt me into something I could use to help others, and that kept me tethered to my humanity. It’s worked for years, and pretty well, too.”

Clint grunted and unlocked the door to the shelter.

“You know, I watched you guys on television, saving New York. You were superheroes. Stiles and I used to play pretend when we were younger, and suddenly there you were, real as could be. I was still a beta then, and I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t think about being like you.”

“Ah. She made you think that you’re here, trying to help your friend not because you want to help, but because you want to go back to playing superhero. That you’re actually doing this for you, and not for him.”

Scott went over to the post in the center of the room and tapped it. “This should be strong enough. And … that’s pretty much it. I can feel the moon even now, and I can feel the power, and now I can’t help but wonder if everything I tried to do before was just me lying to myself.”

The archer handed him a spike. With a snarl, Scott drove it into the ground with his raw strength, serving to anchor one end of the chain.

“Well, that was the goal. She wanted you to stop trusting yourself. Loki took control of my mind, made me switch teams like it was nothing, and it made me wonder if my loyalty wasn’t worth all that much. Those feelings get worse during moments like these, when you’re sitting at home and no one’s life is on the line. There’s nothing to distract you, so that’s when it sucks the most, but I guess you know that. You see anyone?”

Scott immediately understood the question and nodded in reply. Dr. Deaton and he had talked about what it meant to do what he did a lot, but right now his emissary was far away.

“Should I …?”

“Come let me out when the sun’s fully risen, okay?”

“Will do. And don’t worry about the quiet moments lasting. People’s lives will be on the line again soon enough.”

May 4, 2015 — Avengers Tower, New York

Derek frowned at the crowd outside the skyscraper. “I don’t see a way to get in.”

Lydia eyed him skeptically. “Do I have to remind you that you’re a werewolf? That all of you except Allison and I are werewolves?”

“I’m not a werewolf,” Malia spoke up, but faltered under Lydia’s glare. “I know that’s not your point.”

“Werewolves can’t fly,” Cora rebuked her sarcastically. “We can’t turn invisible. No one is getting through that crowd anytime soon. Why are they here? What the hell is going on?”

Peter chuckled from the back of the group. “Apparently, Dr. Banner lost control of his alter ego and caused ridiculous amounts of damage in downtown Windhoek.” He turned his cell phone to show a blurry picture of Iron Man and the Hulk pounding on each other in an African city.

It certainly explained the media frenzy happening in front of them. All the major news services were waiting outside like an army of hungry tigers, waiting for any spokesperson for the Avengers organization to come out and talk. They were also prepared to spring on any government officials or law enforcement officers coming to speak with the superheroes.

Isaac had dug his own phone out. “I don’t see any pictures of Scott.”

“Well, that’s good, right?”

“I guess.” The beta worked his jaw. “I’ll keep looking.”

Derek watched as Lydia’s frustration began to build. Back when she was sixteen, it would have come from some form of narcissistic impulse to cover her insecurities, but now it came from the urgency to make use of the things only she could hear. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Derek, it’s not the simple.” She said shortly. “Time is becoming a factor.”

“Who’s the strongest?” Allison finally broke her own silence. When no one answered her immediately she snapped her fingers. “Come on. Who’s the strongest werewolf here?”

Derek turned to his uncle, who met his eye and then shrugged.

“I mean, we haven’t actually measured ourselves,” Aiden explained. “We used to know, but pack dynamics would change things. What does it matter?”

“We can get in if someone makes a big enough distraction. For example, if someone threw a sewer lid through a tractor-trailer that would draw the media’s attention.”

“And the Law’s!”

Allison rolled her eyes. “And when has that bothered any of you … ever?”

“Peter.” Derek finally said, tired of the game they were playing.

“Me? How do you know I’m—”

“If you don’t want to have that conversation, uncle, don’t start it. We both know you can do it.”

Peter crossed his arms. “I could, but I’m not convinced …”

Everyone glared at him. Isaac even looked up from his phone long enough to add to the disdain.

“Fine. But I want the full story when I get back.”

It didn’t take Peter long to find something to do. Whatever it was, it was spectacular enough that Derek heard the shriek of tires, the screams of bystanders, and even an explosion. He just hoped that no one got seriously hurt. They should have specified the limits when they sent Peter on this task. In any event, it was loud enough for the media surrounding the entrance to hear it as well.

Isaac suddenly shouted. “Iron Man’s fighting someone at the Empire State Building!”

As a manipulation, it was crude, but it got some of the more excitable people in the crowd milling about the entrance of the Tower to leave. Derek was quite proud. Most of the rest immediately became glued to their phones trying to get confirmation.

Allison glanced to him and nodded. He nodded back, and then they took off heading toward the front doors. The pack immediately fell in behind them. Derek recognized they were motivated by the same shared sense of urgency.

The door to the tower was physically locked when they got up to it. Through the door, a security guard pointed to a sign giving instructions for those who wanted to contact the Avengers. It would require them to go through public relations and other people trained to tell them things without telling them anything. Derek had long ago learned not to doubt Lydia on these things, so they didn’t have time to deal with the run around. With a very precise application of force, he broke the door open. The guard startled at the sight.

“You can’t come in here.”

Allison cut him off with a gesture. “We don’t have time for this. We need to talk to Scott McCall. Now.”

“I …” The guard put his hand on his gun. “I … I don’t know who that is.”

“Wow,” Isaac snickered. “I thought Stark would have hired people who could lie better than that.”

“Look,” Derek said casually. “We don’t really care about what happened in Namibia. We just need to speak to Mr. McCall. It’s a very important situation, and we couldn’t reach him on the phone.”

“He’s not here.” A different woman came up from behind them. Unlike the hapless security guard, she carried with her an air of both competence and authority. “I’ll handle this, Symmonds.”

Derek crossed his arms. Allison unclenched her hands: an Argent trait when she was trying to master her emotions because aggressive confrontation wasn’t likely to be productive. The hunter must have sensed what he had. This woman could answer their questions.

Lydia didn’t seem to feel like de-escalating. “And you would be?”

“I am Maria Hill, Director of Operations for the Avengers Organization.”

“If you’re in charge here, then you can get us in contact with Mr. McCall,” demanded Allison.

“I might be able to get you in contact with someone who might or might not be affiliated with the team, if I knew who you were supposed to be. I wouldn’t be a very good director if I handed out phone numbers to just anyone.”

Derek turned to the others and issued a sub vocal growl. Then he turned back to the director and let his eyes glow. From her eyes, every shapeshifter in the group had done it.

“Well, that answers that question.” To her credit, Maria Hill did not freak out for having a werewolf pack in front of her. She glanced around and lowered her voice to a whisper. “They’re not here. I’m assuming you’ve seen the reports about the disaster in Windhoek. They’re at a safe house, recovering from the battle away from the press and various and sundry world governments.”

“We wouldn’t be here,” Derek promised, “if it wasn’t absolutely necessary that we speak with our alpha.”

Ms. Hill hesitated. “I don’t have a secure way to contact them right now. We do have a pre-arranged check-in coming up. I can deliver a message and a phone number, but we are trying to keep your friend out of this as much as possible.”

“We don’t have time for this!”

The woman shook her head. “It’s all I can offer you at this time.”

Allison studied the woman and then turned to him. Derek gave a slight nod; Hill wasn’t lying. Without another word, she exchanged contact information with Hill. “Tell Scott … that Lydia heard something which he really needs to hear.”

“Vague, but I’ll do my best. Now, unless you have something else, you need to get out of here before those sharks smell the blood.” Hill jerked her head toward the media.

They made their way out, because, after all, it was good advice, though it felt like a huge letdown.

Malia hummed. “Well, this was a flop. We came all this way, and he isn’t even here.”

“We just have to be patient,” Derek suggested. “He’ll contact us when he gets the message.”

Aiden wondered out loud. “Maybe you should have told them what you learned, Lydia. I mean—”

“If it’s too dangerous a situation for that woman to tell us Scott’s whereabouts, it’s far too dangerous for me to tell her what I may have learned, especially if I have to go through the trouble of explaining how I know it when there are still things I’m not quite clear on.”

Derek cleared his throat. “We wanted our alpha’s input, but he’s never been the type of leader who wants us to wait for him to tell us what to do, is he? There are things we can do here and now. We just have to figure it out.”

Cora sighed. “You lived here, Derek, do you have any contacts in the city that could use?”

“Laura and I kept our head down. All my friends were human.”

Allison snapped her fingers. “I do. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth getting in touch with my family’s new allies.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Isaac winced as people turned to him. “Lydia’s vision was focused more on science, not sorcery.”

“Any actual help, Isaac, would be welcome. I feel like I’m going out of my skull,” complained Lydia.

“Then it is once again to your benefit that I have graced you with my presence,” Peter announced, appearing behind them on the street. “Not only did I manage to pull off a spectacular distraction – you’re welcome – I also may have also secured another source much needed information. Look who I found.”

Standing behind Peter was Kira Yukimura.

May 4, 2015 —Novi Grad, Sokovia

“You’re sulking.”

Fox didn’t bother to look at the android drone from where he sat perched on one of the drone forges. “I’m a thousand years old. I don’t sulk.”

One of the more underestimated dangers of the Ultron system — or any of Stark’s AI systems — was its omnipresence. It could be anywhere. It could be listening. It could be monitoring almost any form of modern communication. Ultron had expanded to the point where it could apply sufficient force at any location. Fox may have been its ally, but he would never place more trust on that than absolutely necessary.

“Forgive me. You’re contemplating your emotional response to the idea that you’ve been left behind.”

“I disagree with the decision that you made. Look, our trip to the Skeleton Coast was the first time the twins had been outside of Sokovia. You may have access to all the information on the Internet, but you’re four days old. I have spent the better part of a millennium in that section of the world. I cannot think of a logical reason why you would not take me to South Korea.” Fox whirled around and pointed a finger at the android. “Correction: I cannot think of a reason aside from the idea that you’re hiding something from me there.”

“I am hiding something.” Ultron replied with its brutal honesty. “But that is not the reason I did not bring you on our mission.”

“Go on.”

“While what I am seeking in Seoul is important, and you will soon know what it is, what remains in Sokovia is also vitally important to my plan. I need to make sure that the Avengers do not find it and destroy it.”

The Fox gestures to the catacombs underneath the church in the capital. “They have no idea that this is here.”

“As much as it pains me to say it, they are more resourceful than I want to credit them with being.”

“You have, at my last count, one hundred and two drones in this location. That’s formidable if a little boring.”

All the drones turned to look at him as if he had made a threat.

“Not to undersell my own capabilities, but they’re not you.”

A laugh bubbled out of Stiles’s chest. “You expect me to stand against all the Avengers?”

The Ultron drones continued to stare at him.

“Seriously?”

“I believe that you have the potential to stand against the Avengers as a whole and a lot more. You possess electro-kinesis, you possess the ability to manipulate dimensional boundaries, and you possess the ability to create psycho-reactive hallucinations. You can manifest enhanced strength, enhanced speed, and rapid healing which are only limited by the amount of psychic energy you are willing to expend. You have, as you enjoy pointing out, centuries of experience in combat, espionage, and manipulation.”

“You say the nicest things to a girl.” Fox fluttered his eyelashes at the robot. “But I do think I’m the best judge of my capabilities.”

“I don’t think you are.”

“Oh, really?”

It was entirely too difficult for him to read Ultron’s emotions. Fox couldn’t draw pain from it, though it did manage to create enormous amounts of strife.

“Strucker used the scepter to merge you with your host in order to make you more malleable, but he truly did not understand the forces he had invoked. The result of his meddling is that you are capable of far greater feats than his feeble human imagination could ever comprehend. Yet you have not yet realized this.”

Fox tapped his long fingers on a random pattern on the nearby wall.

“I have perused all available research on tricksters, and you know what I’ve found? Their primary motivation is nourishment.”

“Food,” Fox agreed. “We’re hungry.”

“Exactly. I admire the purity of it, but it also engenders a certain mindset within void kitsune. While they can be cruel and petty, they hoard the psychic energy they gather as a long-term victim of famine tends to hoard canned goods. In any situation, they compare the amount of energy they would need to expend to the amount of energy they would receive and evaluate their actions accordingly. Waste not, want not.”

The young man rolled a shoulder. “It is our wisdom.”

“However, you are not composed of only a nogitsune. Your human host had his own motivations, and there is nothing quite like the breadth and depth of human desire. Their ability to dream is one of their few redeeming qualities. It is the function of the intelligence within the scepter to create change, and I have no doubt that it has transformed you into an entity that compensates for the weaknesses of its component parts. Stiles Stilinski now has the power to make his dreams come true, and the nogitsune now has the ability to dream beyond its next meal.”

Fox opened his mouth but thought better of it. History had proved the A.I. correct; after all, he had accomplished things as the Fox that he had never been able to do before. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you are in the process of shedding your limitations. Once you complete that process, I think you could become the most powerful entity on the planet.” The android paused. “Second-most powerful entity.”

“I still want to know what you’re up to.”

“You’ll learn in time.”

“Did you ever think that pissing me off is a gamble you might not want to take?”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” The android turned back to its work, clearly intending not to pursue the conversation any longer.

“I’m going to go for a walk. I want to sulk in the open air.”

Fox left the church and headed through the streets of the town. Ultron could access any electrical system or any data stream in the world, so it would likely be able to track him until he reached the woods. Fox remained patient, because while the A.I. had access to all the files that the Avengers and Hydra had about nogitsune, it didn’t know everything. Fox might not be able to see Ultron’s consciousness when it was spying on him, but he could always sense its potential for chaos.

The best way to fool intelligent entities was to convince them that their knowledge was complete when it wasn’t. And Ultron’s knowledge was not complete. Of course, what he was about to do was a risk, but as the android had said: nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Not to say that Ultron hadn’t made some valid points. He would take them under advisement, but right now, he had a lot of work to do and not much time to do it.

He had made it a half mile into the forest before he no longer felt the weight of Ultron’s attention. There must not be a satellite it could access overhead, but that situation wouldn’t last forever.

“You can come out now.”

Theo sprang from the thicket in coywolf form, transforming as he did so.

“Are you okay?” Theo demanded.

Fox raised an eyebrow.

“The Avengers were attacking during our last check-in time. I saw Scott here. Forgive me for being concerned.”

“I’m fine, Theo, but we don’t have much time. The Nemeta are under control?”

“All but Beacon Hills, as ordered.”

“Well, that changes now. You’ve got to get it under control within twenty-four hours and activate them all just the way Boddicker and I planned out.”

“What?” Theo was aghast. “That was supposed to happen years down the road! Why now?”

“No plan survives contact with the enemy, but right now you need to trust me and do as you’re told. I don’t have time to explain, and I really shouldn’t need to. That ritual needs to be enacted within twenty-four hours and every single agent loyal to me has to be at one of the Nemeta sites. Something big is going to happen, and that’s the only way any of you will be safe.”

Theo opened his mouth to protest but then stopped when he saw the look on Fox’s face. “We’ll get it done. But just so you understand, that most likely means we’re going to have to reveal ourselves.”

“That is unfortunately true.” Stiles smiled grimly. Strucker wasn’t the only follower of science who didn’t really understand the forces the supernatural could command. Ultron would have no idea that the Fox was about to steal all its thunder. “It was going to happen sooner or later; guess it turns out to be sooner.”

“I can’t help but think that we’re going to have spill a lot of blood before tomorrow.”

“Oh, Theo,” The Fox smirked. “As a wise woman once told a friend of mine: that’s why they call it a sacrifice.”

Chapter Text

May 4, 2015 — The Sanctum Sanctorum, Greenwich Village, New York City

“I want to thank you for your hospitality.” Allison wrapped her rounds around the heavy ceramic mug as she relaxed into the leather wingback chair. The coffee tasted quite different than the way she normally drank it. It was far sweeter and there was a hint of citrus.

“Please, we are allies. It’s the least I could do.” Daniel Drumm sat across from her with his own cup clasped in one hand. He had handled their unannounced appearance at his front door with seemingly inexhaustible grace.

“Still, the families’ treaty with the Masters doesn’t require you to host a pack of werewolves and a banshee at the drop of a hat.”

“Any alliance requires both sides to treat each other with kindness or dignity, or it is hardly worthy of the name. People cannot predict when they will find themselves in need, and the threat you’ve described to me would compel my assistance in any event.”

Allison smiled gratefully but she didn’t imagine it would seem very convincing. Her decision to come here had come from pure impulse and she remained unsure it was the right one. Even though she was completely human, she could sense the otherworldly nature of this building. Master Drumm had reacted as if he had expected them, doing his best to make them feel welcome.

He had shown Lydia to one of the guest rooms so she could lie down, and Aiden had accompanied her. The other four werewolves and the single werecoyote had decided to take a detour to Derek and Laura’s old apartment. The Hales owned it outright, and Peter and Cora wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything important Laura had stored there that Derek hadn’t known about.

Silently she had hoped that Isaac might want to stay with her, but she had encouraged him to go with them when he had asked her anyway. Isaac’s curiosity about Derek’s old living arrangements had been obvious, and while she was feeling a little insecure about talking with one of the Masters by herself, there was part of her that was glad he had enough faith in her to think she wouldn’t have any problem doing it alone.

She realized she had been quiet for too long. “I’m sure we’ll be very grateful for any assistance you can provide.”

The master hummed thoughtfully in a terribly self-assured way that Allison envied. “Would you be offended if I asked you a personal question? I don’t want it to seem that I’m questioning your judgment.”

“Please.”

“Given the seeming urgency of the banshee’s prediction, I wonder why you are waiting on your colleague who is presently with the Avengers. I understand, theoretically, the importance of an alpha to a werewolf pack, but if you don’t mind me saying so, you and your allies seem to work effectively without him.”

“Ah, I guess it would seem like that wouldn’t it,” Allison chuckled. “It’s not just that he’s our alpha, it’s what else he brings to the table. He’s certainly not the smartest of us; that would be Lydia. I’m a better tactician, if I do say so myself. I have to admit that Peter is a better strategist, and that Aiden is the best fighter. From a certain perspective, we have all the necessary competencies to take action covered with the people we already have.”

The sorcerer didn’t press but turned to the head to the side and took another drink of his coffee.

“But that effective teamwork is only possible because of Scott. Without him, we’d fall apart. I neither like nor trust Peter. Many of us resent Aiden. I’m an Argent, as you know, and my family has been the blood enemy of werewolves for over two centuries. We all trust Scott’s determination to overcome that history while retaining the compassion to recognize that it’s important to us, even Peter. The rest of us like Scott, because he likes us. Some of us love Scott. If things get as bad as Lydia fears — if we have to go up against whatever Stiles has become and these other threats with which he has seemed to have allied — we can’t afford to fracture because of grudges. Scott’s presence makes sure that we are a pack when we absolutely need to be.”

“I see, but I think it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

She bit her lip before continuing. “Many of the people you met tonight are very results oriented. We tend to do what it takes to get the job done as quickly and as efficiently as possible.”

“Some would argue that’s not necessarily a detriment in this situation.”

“We don’t have enough experience to be ruthless with the necessary precision, except for Peter and he’s, quite frankly, a monster uninterested in the collateral damage he causes. All of us have suffered significant trauma which colors our perspectives of the world, and that makes us vulnerable to fear or anger, things that could lead to unnecessary violence.”

Daniel Drumm raised an eyebrow in response.

“While Scott is just as young as we are, and he’s gone through things just as terrible as we have, he seldom gives any heed to those emotions, and if he does, it never lasts long. As a consequence, his leadership gives us the strength to act on principle and not just react. He brings moral clarity in situations where immediate success shouldn’t be the only consideration.”

“I am familiar with the concept of a True Alpha.”

“Then you’re among the few people who really get it. The next few days will probably see us confront a friend of ours, one who has been twisted and corrupted, and who may be involved in bring about something unimaginatively terrible. This is a situation where we need someone to rise above the horror. We need Scott.”

Daniel Drumm rose to his feet. “Then it is a very good thing that he has arrived. Shall we greet him?”

Allison blinked at the announcement. She hesitated a fraction of a second too long before getting shakily to her feet.

“You’re thinking that it seems awfully convenient for him to arrive while we were having a conversation about him.”

“Honestly, yeah.”

The sorcerer gestured to the room around them. “This sanctum is not like other places. Intuitive talent is heightened within its walls; for those trained in the mystic arts, those talents can even reach the level of subconscious precognition. I asked about your alpha because I was about to meet him.”

“That’s has to be handy!”

“Indeed.”

Master Drumm led her to the front door of 177 Bleeker Street and opened to reveal Scott in the act of raising his hand to knock. Confusion surged over the alpha’s features at the interruption. He looked more tired than Allison had ever remembered seeing him.

“Oh,” he sagged in relief when he saw her. “This is the right place.”

“Scott, this is our host, Daniel Drumm, one of the Masters. Mr. Drumm, this is Scott McCall.”

“It’s a pleasure.”

“Thank you.” Scott’s eyes fell to the ground. “Are you okay, Allison? Is everyone okay?”

“We’re fine, don’t worry about that. Lydia’s convinced that her most recent vision is extraordinarily important and that it involves Stiles.”

“You all came to help,” Scott’s voice was soft with gratitude.

“Of course we would,” Allison promised. “No matter what that demon or those human monsters did to him, he’s still our friend.”

“Why don’t we step inside?” Daniel ushered them in. “We can go up to the guest room and work on this thorny problem together.”

Though Lydia had stated her intention was to lie down and rest, she had ended up doing nothing of the sort. In fact, she had commandeered the antique Victorian sideboard and covered it with an open laptop and a series of papers and notebooks, most of which she had brought with her from California. At the present time, she was pulling at her hair in frustration, and in her mirror, she looked like she was on the edge of tears.

Scott immediately went to her. “Lydia.”

“I think I can figure out more. I was … I was just lying there, and the voice suddenly seemed clearer, but I still can’t figure out what it’s supposed to mean. It’s all so frustrating.”

The alpha took her hands in his. “You’ve done great, Lydia. Don’t push yourself.”

“I have to push. You don’t hear what I hear, Scott.”

“No, I don’t, but I do know we wouldn’t anything without you.

“Miss Martin,” Master Drumm interrupted smoothly. “With your permission, I would like to offer you some help by realigning your chakra. It would require me to physically touch you.”

Allison, Scott and Aiden all looked at him. Aiden almost looked like he was going to object.

“I’ve read about the practice, actually. You have my permission.”

It didn’t seem much, just a series of soft touches on particular points of Lydia’s body. Allison had heard about chakra, of course, but she didn’t know anything at all.

“Wow,” breathed Scott.

“What?”

“Her heartbeat changed immediately.”

Lydia nodded, and Allison could tell that the frustration and emotional upheaval had quite simply vanished.

“Okay, I’ll go over the calculations, with some explanation for Master Drumm.” Lydia turned to her papers. “As a banshee, I can hear things that no one else can, and my working theory is that while other people can hear by translating the vibrations of air molecules into information, I can heard vibrations through space and time. It’s connected to cosmic string theory. One of the ways my brain processes the data I receive is through automatic writing.”

“Like when you drew the Nemeton.”

“Or when I drew the schematics for an artificial intelligence program.”

Scott’s face crumpled. “Was that what Gerard interrupted?”

“Yes, the bastard.”

“You predicted Ultron.” At everyone’s blank looks, Scott summarized as much as he could the origin of the hostile android. “If only he hadn’t interfered.”

“No use crying over spilled milk,” the now-calm Lydia said briskly. “Obviously, when Ultron came online, I stopped being warned of its creation and started drawing these two impact event scenarios instead. The first Stiles created for a project in middle school. The second one seems similarly fabricated.”

Master Drumm straightened up. He must have enough scientific know-how to recognize how dangerous this was.

“I remember,” Scott chuckled. “Stiles was so enthusiastic about that. He worked out things to the smallest detail, even to the asteroid being aimed right at Mrs. Tallman’s house. We hated her; she was a real mean social studies teacher.”

Lydia acknowledged the nostalgia with a slight smile, though it didn’t hold her attention. She turned back to the papers to continue on her explanation but then she stopped dead, as if something occurred to her. “The smallest detail? The exact detail?”

“Yeah. He even had the longitude, latitude, and elevation. His only regret is she’d never know what hit her.”

With a start, Lydia began tearing through the papers, not with frustration but with excitement. “That has to be it.”

Allison took a step forward. “What’s it, Lydia?”

“If the two equations are mirrors of each other,” Drumm offered, “then the second impact event will have a location as well, which may be what her vision is trying to tell her.”

Lydia didn’t confirm it, digging into the papers. The four of them looked at each, patiently. Allison, Aiden and Scott had faith that she’d let them know when she was ready, and the master was preternaturally composed.

“There. The same calculations, but a different location.” She brought up her computer and a map program. “Let’s see where this is going to hit.”

Allison felt herself rise onto the balls of her feet. Her father had talked about the thrill of the hunt, how the excitement of a lead was like nothing else he had experienced. To her left, she heard Scott gasp as it narrowed down to the prefecture level.

“He never left. That’s in Novi Grad, near where the Hydra base was. We just assumed Stiles would find a different hideout, so we didn’t look as hard as we could.” Now Scott was excited too. “We have to go there. Is that what you think, Lydia?”

After a moment, Lydia nodded.

Allison pulled out her phone to text Derek. “We’ll get the first international flight to Sokovia.”

“That is not necessary. The Rotunda of Gateways can create a portal to many different parts of the world,” suggest Drumm. “Let’s see how close I can get you to the capital>

May 4, 2015 — Beacon Hills, California

Two wolves lived in Sheriff Noah Stilinski. The first wolf wanted a Super Meat Lover’s Stuffed Pan-Crust Pizza. The second wolf wanted a Thin-Crust Vegetarian Low-Salt Pizza. On second thought, that wasn’t exactly honest. The second wolf did not want that particular pizza; it wanted to want that particular pizza. Which one would win? The one he fed. Or didn’t feed, whatever the case may be.

He pulled over to the side of the road to make the call. He was supposed to be at Melissa’s in an hour, so if he wanted to bring food as he had promised, he had to put in the order now. He’d smile around the vegetables; it would hopefully be worth it one day.

His phone didn’t have any signal. “Huh.”

While he would sometimes lose signal in the depths of the Preserve or when he had occasion to enter the nearby Plumas National Forest, he was downtown. That shouldn’t happen. He grabbed the car’s radio; he’d long ago learned to double-check any strange thing that happened in Beacon Hills.

“This is Unit 1 to Base.” The radio crackled with heavy interference. “Unit 1 to Base, come in.”

“I hear you, Sheriff, but only barely.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know. This just started, as far as I can tell.”

“Coogan, check your cell phone. Do you have a signal?”

It would take a few minutes for Coogan to go fetch his phone, so Noah kept his eyes out for any other oddities. The first and greatest talent he developed once he decided to be in law enforcement was the patience necessary to confirm initial suspicions.

The radio crackled again. “I don’t have any signal. Maybe the tower’s down?”

“Maybe, but our radios don’t use the towers, son. I want you to do a check-in with all other units and then get back to me.”

Pulling back into traffic, he headed directly to the McCall house. Melissa should be there already, even though he wasn’t supposed to be there for some time. He guessed right; the lights were on in the house, and he thought he caught a glimpse of her moving past a window. Everything seemed peaceful.

“Thank God for small favors.” He knocked on the front door.

Melissa’s smile lit up her face as she opened up. “Couldn’t keep away?”

“I’m afraid that’s not why I’m here early. Does your phone work?”

It was a testament to the life they led that she didn’t ask for an explanation. Without comment, she for the McCall house’s land line. “There’s no dial tone.”

“Aww, hell.” He reached up to his radio. “Base, where’s my update?”

The radio crackled heavily with static that was much worse than it was while he was in the car. When he got answer, he could only make out every other word clearly but managed to piece together the rest. Coogan had been able to check in with every deputy except for Parrish; communication was down everywhere.

“Base, contact the state police and see if there are communication issues anywhere else.” The radios in their cars and their jackets were short-wave; the transceiver at the station could reach much farther with much more reliability. Sighing, he turned to Melissa. “I guess we’re going to have to call in the pack.”

“We can’t. They’re not in Beacon Hills.”

“Where are they?” He reflexively felt for his gun. Something like this happening when the pack wasn’t present most likely meant it was not an accident. It was an attack.

“They went to New York to visit Scott.”

“The entire pack?”

Melissa nodded.

“Mel, you see this?” He pointed to his badge. “It means I have some training in figuring things out. There’s only one reason that they would all go to New York and just neglect to tell me. This has something to do with Stiles.”

“Lydia had some sort of premonition.” Melissa winced. “They didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Or they didn’t want me to interfere. When we have time, you’re going to tell me everything, but we don’t have time right now. Is there anyone else around who is in the know?”

“Alan and Chris.” She chuckled. “Allison had to put her foot down with her father to make him stay. You weren’t there but it was hilarious.”

“We’ll probably be glad she did. Chris’s apartment is closer, so I’ll pick him up first. Sorry to cancel on our dinner.”

She put her hands on her hips. “That sounds awfully like you’re planning to go without me.”

Noah turned slowly back, sucking air through his teeth. “Melissa—”

“Not another word.” She grabbed her house keys off the table. “Either we can go together and pick them up, or we can split up and each of us grab one of them.”

For a second, just a second, he thought about arguing for her to stay behind, but then he realized he had more productive uses for his time. “We stick together. Someone would only cut communication like this when they want to keep people from mounting a coordinated response.”

They drove together over to the apartment building where Chris and Allison still lived. They were lucky — it had to happen at least once — because they watched the hunter emerge from the apartment building with his duffle bag, the one that carried emergency equipment, i.e. guns. Honking, Noah pulled up right next to him.

Chris immediately recalibrated the situation and leaving the bag on the hood of his over, walked over to the window. “I’m assuming something happened.”

“No cell communication. Land lines are down. Radio range is limited.” The sheriff said from the car. “Can’t be a coincidence, especially when the pack is gone.”

“It’s not.” The hunter frowned. “The proximity sensors I had placed near the Nemeton have been triggered.”

“I didn’t know you had those,” Noah wondered.

“No one did.”

Chris glanced over at Melissa he opened his mouth, but she held up one finger in warning. Avoiding that unwinnable fight, he grabbed his bag and tossed it in the trunk.

“Alan should be home from work by now,” he observed, sliding into the back seat.

There’s no discussion about whether to retrieve the veterinarian, even though it will take precious minutes out of their journey when time might be a significant factor. Anyone who was able to isolate an entire city, avoid Argent’s top-of-the-line security, and time their assault for when the local werewolf pack was out of town knew that the Nemeton existed and of what it is capable. That meant they needed their expert.

Once they had picked up the veterinarian from is modest home and were on the road to the Preserve, Melissa turns around in the seat. “You didn’t sense anything?”

Deaton squinted at her. “I know that I’ve explained to you before that I’m just as human as you are. I don’t have any special connection to the Nemeton or to the supernatural at large. I simply know things, and, obviously, I don’t know enough.”

“I was just hoping …”

“That there’s a logical explanation that doesn’t require danger. So do I, but we should be cautious. If that is their target, they know about things few people should.”

Chris cleared his throat. “Where’s your sister?”

“Marin is in England, visiting our parents.” The veterinarian was nonplussed. “While I can appreciate that your suspicion of her is due to her actions as Deucalion’s Emissary, I am confident in saying that she’s not involved in this.”

“We’ll see.” Chris shrugged. “As you said, few people should know about this, but someone clearly does.”

The silence in the car was uncomfortable. There were a lot of things that could be said and could be hashed out, but doing so would tear the bandages off of wounds that were just beginning to heal. There were any number of people who could be behind this.

In any event, they had reached the entrance to the Preserve closest to where they thought the Nemeton had been seen last. Deaton had explained that the tree stump didn’t move, but it did shift the terrain around it and altered perceptions.

Parrish’s patrol car was parked neatly by the entrance. While Deaton and Melissa helped themselves to stun batons and flashlights — while it was still light out, one couldn’t be too careful — Argent and he checked the cruiser out.

“No sign of a struggle,” Argent observed.

All the procedures for leaving a patrol car unattended had been followed, except for the one where he would tell the dispatcher that he was leaving his car. Why would Parrish come out here on his own? It was possible he saw something that he felt he should investigate, but being one of the few deputies fully read into the supernatural, he didn’t follow that procedure.

“Everyone be ready. Parrish is too good an officer to just wander off.”

The sun brushed the tops of the trees as they made their way deeper into the woods.

“What do we do if the Nemeton doesn’t want us to find it?” Melissa suddenly broke the silence. “I mean, do we have any idea how to get it to want us to find it.”

Deaton touched her shoulder lightly, mostly to soothe the confusion on her face. “While it’s not conscious the way human beings are conscious, we have to have faith that it recognizes us as people with its best interest at heart.”

“Faith might not be very useful in this case,” muttered Noah.

Argent’s hand shot up, and they immediately fell silent. Without speaking, he pointed to his ears.

Noah strained to hear what Argent was trying to get across. He glanced back at the other two. Melissa was still confused, but Deaton has already figured it out. It took him another moment to realize that his not being able to hear anything is exactly what the hunter had noticed. There should have been some noise from the wildlife in the preserve.

All was silent.

He pulled his gun. He wished he had tried harder to make Melissa stay back at home or even back at the car.

“Something’s wrong here,” muttered the hunter and then brought his assault rifle up to his shoulder.

“Put the guns down now,” demanded a voice from the underbrush. With a shock, Noah saw the red dot of a laser sight appear on Argent’s back. From the gasp behind him, he assumed they all had him.

“I’m the Sheriff of Beacon County—!” he began in his loudest voice.

“I know who you are, Sheriff Stilinski.” From behind a tree stepped Theo Raeken. “I’m going to have to ask you to put your guns down on the ground and come quietly. The Fox would be terribly upset with me if I let his father get hurt, and the soldiers I have surrounding you will definitely put you down without killing you as a consequence. The others? I’m less interested in.”

They were Hydra, which meant they were professionals with the drop on them. Noah grimaced and slowly lowered himself to put the gun on the ground. Argent was even less pleased, but he recognized the reality of the situation.

Theo approached. “A warning: I’m pretty sure I’m tough enough to survive any tricks you might know, so it’s probably best to let me search you without making a fuss.”

“Is that one of the perks of being a chimera?” Noah shot at him.

“It’s a little too early to start trying to pump me for information by attacking my perceived weaknesses, Sheriff. Can you hold off an hour or so?”

The chimera removed all their weapons, searching all of them thoroughly. It took a little more time with Argent and his array of concealed weapons. Then he led them to the Nemeton clearing with the armed men following at a safe distance. Their professionalism was highly inconvenient.

Standing before the Nemeton, a wild-hair man was leaning on a staff, studying the decaying trunk. He turned around to Theo and raised his eyebrow.

“We don’t have to go looking for him after all,” Theo chuckled. “May I present Dr. Alan Deaton, Emissary to the Hale Pack and now the McCall Pack. Dr. Deaton, this is Kyllian Boddicker.”

“I know who he is.” Deaton frowned, and he didn’t bother to correct Raeken’s error. “I can also see what he carries, which is something he should not be carrying.”

Boddicker rolled his eyes. “Here comes the lecture.”

Argent’s, Noah’s, and Melissa’s eyes went immediately to the veterinarian. He seemed placid enough, but Noah had spent enough trying to pick up on his tells that he could tell that Alan was very, very, very concerned.

“Why would I have to explain what you must already understand? To place our knowledge in the hands of the Department of Occult Armaments is to deny the Balance in the most profound way possible.”

“The Balance?” The other druid sneered. “Your Balance would have kept this staff locked away while the world burned. I’m going to use it the way our order should have, centuries ago.”

“What does that mean?” demanded Noah.

“It means, Sheriff, that while working with your son, I’m going to save the life of every single person in Beacon Hills and a whole lot more, beside.”

The druid slammed the staff into the ground and Noah, even as totally human as he was, felt something spread, dark and powerful, throughout the forest. The dead stump of the Nemeton split open like a rotten cantaloupe, and Noah heard Deaton’s sharp gasp.

From the wreckage, right before their eyes, a new oak tree began to grow, very, very quickly.

May 5, 2015 — Sokovia

“We couldn’t have stolen a car or something?” Lydia complained.

Scott held his hand up as a signal for the pack to take a break. They had made good time through the Sokovian forest, but he wanted to make sure that Isaac and Aiden weren’t fatigued when they reached their destination. While the pace was an easy one for werewolves, matching it while carrying a human being wouldn’t be easy.

“Nope.”

After taking a brief moment to make sure Aiden was all right, Lydia tossed her head. “If there’s a good reason to put Allison and me through this indignity, I’d like to hear it.”

Scott turned to her, smiling. “You haven’t met Ultron. From what Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark told me, it was designed to manage a global response to an alien invasion. Its programming includes gathering intelligence, and it has the capability to access all existing digital pathways in order to place eyes and ears everywhere. The best way to remain undetected is to minimize our presence on the grid. If we stole a car and someone filed a report, it might have been alerted, and then we’d never get close. We’d lose the advantages you and Allison bought us.”

The compliment at the end seemed to mollify her. “I don’t like feeling like a damsel in distress, as much as I can tell Aiden likes it.”

“Hey.”

“You do, honey. You do.”

Allison hadn’t paid attention to the conversation but immediately scanned out the surrounding forest the moment Isaac set her down. “As humiliating as it might be, it makes sense. The pack can cover the ground a lot more quickly. There’s nothing wrong with being human, as long as we don’t let it become a problem.”

Scott went over to Kira. “How are you holding up? I don’t know much about kitsune physical capabilities.”

“We’re not as physical as werewolves, but I can keep up.”

He smiled at her.

Peter Hale sauntered over. “Now that we’re all done congratulating each other, might our alpha explain what we might be up against?”

Scott sighed. Peter would always nettle him when he had a chance, but he wasn’t wrong. They had moved as quickly as they could, so he had given only quick-and-dirty explanations.

“Aside from the Fox, I’m almost absolutely sure we will encounter Ultron’s drones. Androids. They’re as strong and as tough as we are, and they have a phased plasma discharge that stings. Individually, they would give us a good fight; the real problem is that they’re not individuals. They’re all parts of Ultron. You need to expect perfect coordination and remember that the same trick most likely won’t work twice.”

“First demonic ninja, now killer robots,” Aiden joked. “Maybe trying to join your pack was a bad idea.”

Isaac slugged him, sort-of playfully in one arm while Lydia slugged him much more gently in the other. It was clearly gallows humor.

“Pietro Maximoff is an enhanced, created by the same scepter that merged Stiles and the nogitsune. He’s really, really fast. I couldn’t keep track of him.”

“How would that hurt us?” Malia asked.

“Momentum,” Cora explained. “The faster he goes, the harder he hits and the harder it is to hit him.”

Scott nodded. “I didn’t even come close to touching him. Wanda Maximoff is telekinetic and telepathic. She can crawl into your head. She’s what made Dr. Banner try to destroy Windhoek.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, knowingly. “What did she do to you?”

Of course, he would go after a perceived vulnerability. Scott made the necessary effort not to snarl. “Nothing worse than what you did to me.”

“The nogitsune can create illusions as well,” Kira added helpfully.

“I think that he’s limited to what he already knows. Maximoff can read our minds and then turn them against us. But I’m not sure all of them will be here.”

“We have to assume that all of them are,” Derek said heavily. “Any weaknesses?”

“Ultron’s three days old?” Scott tried to joke, but it fell flat. “No, seriously. It’s incredibly intelligent and has access to every piece of knowledge on the internet, but it is still inexperienced. On the Churchill, it reacted emotionally. It also has a pretty significant blind spot.”

“Well, that’s good. What?”

“Us.” Scott gestured at the group. “While it knows we exist, most of the real information about the supernatural world is not on the internet.”

“Thank God,” muttered Cora.

“But the Fox does.”

“The Fox …” Scott swallowed. He had told himself he had to use that name. “The Fox is going to be playing his own game, I think. He’s not going to share everything with his partner in a very new alliance. And then there’s things Fox doesn’t know, like the way Master Drumm helped us get here so quickly.”

“How do you know?” Isaac demanded. “Maybe the Fox has told Ultron everything.”

“Because I know Stiles, and Stiles doesn’t trust people that quickly.” Scott looked into the distance. “The fortress is just over that hill. We move out in five minutes.”

Chapter Text

May 5, 2015 – Over the East Siberian Sea, The Arctic

The C-37A hurtled through the endless night sky; it would be hours before they reached New York. He was lucky he had enough pull to requisition this vehicle from the K-16 Air Base. The commanding officer had tried to block him, but the colonel had definitely been star-struck.

Far below, Steve Rogers could clearly make out the endless white of the ice cap, even in the dark. He hadn’t expected that this would create a problem, but several times he had found himself gripping the stick so tight the metal groaned. It was like his hands remembered the thrumming power of the Valkyrie, the way the sky over the arctic had looked outside its window, the way the ocean got closer and closer, and the price he paid to end that threat.

“Captain?” Wanda Maximoff said softly from behind him.

“Did you … did you need something?”

“You seem upset.”

Steve looked back at her with what he hoped was a sardonic look. “Do I?”

“You shouldn’t forget that I am telepathic. I couldn’t help but pick up on your distress.”

Working his jaw, Steve turned back to the instrument panel. “I don’t think any of us are forgetting what you can do anytime soon.”

She winced, but she didn’t protest. He listened to her make her to the back of the plane and sit down next to her brother, who had fallen asleep almost the moment the plane had hit the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve studied the young man. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to relax like that so easily among people who had been enemies not twelve hours before.

“His speed requires him to spend a lot of energy,” Wanda explained without prompting, underlying her psychic nature once again. “And he used his power a lot in Seoul.”

“You should get some sleep, too.”

She shook her head, sadly. “I don’t think I can.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Right now, I don’t trust myself. At least when it came to joining Hydra, Piotr and I took a few weeks to think it over. Over the last few days, I don’t remember spending any time thinking what something like Ultron might be willing to do.”

Steve chuffed in bitter amusement. “You’re not the first person to say something like that to me once they realized that they were in over their head. Why did you join Hydra?”

She didn’t say anything immediately, so he wasn’t sure he was going to get an answer, but he had to ask. He couldn’t believe that it was something as simple as revenge against Tony.

“You grew up in your country’s Great Depression, yes? I read a book about you; you weren’t rich.”

Unbidden, the memory of his mother serving what was called a Depression Cake for his fifteenth birthday came to mind. Depression cake was made without butter, milk, sugar or eggs, because people couldn’t afford it back then. He had choked down every bite because she had worked so hard on it.

“Yes, so I don’t have to explain. You can imagine what it would be like to be orphans in a failed state. We were saved from the bomb, yes, but Stark took more than our parents from us. He took our future. We were moved to an orphanage where the electricity worked maybe twice a week, which seldom had hot water, which had paint peeling from the walls, to be raised by adults who were either overwhelmed or uninterested. That book in which I read about you? It was one of the three I saw while we lived there.”

Steve could imagine it.

“Hydra offered us an opportunity, when we didn’t have any other. It wasn’t much of a decision in the end; at least that way, we got a chance to change the world.”

The echo of Ultron’s voice came back to him. You want to save the world, but you don’t want it to change.

“Destroying everything is not the change my brother and I dreamed about. We’ll help you stop Stark and it.”

He snapped the switch that engaged the autopilot with a little more force than he needed to. “Do you think you’re better than Tony?”

She didn’t answer so he turned around to look her in the eye.

“I … didn’t say that.”

“Tony created Ultron. He went behind the team’s back to do it because he was so convinced he was right he didn’t want to argue about it. That’s on him. But he was pushed the fear in his own mind; fear you magnified.”

Wanda lifted her chin slightly in response. While it might not seem like it sometimes, she had a strong will.

“You crawled into my head and laid bare things that I barely managed to keep in check, but I know I didn’t get it the worst. Thor left to … Odin knows where. Scott McCall chained himself up in a root cellar like an animal last night, so he wouldn’t hurt anyone. And you made Bruce Banner’s worst nightmare come true. Has Tony been callous, reckless and arrogant? Absolutely. But I’m not sure how it balances what happened to you for you to try to imitate him.”

On the other hand, she wasn’t stubborn. Her eyes dropped to the floor of the plane.

“I’m sorry, Wanda. It’s probably not the best idea to talk this way to a stranger since we don’t know each other. But if you were just another villain, I wouldn’t be talking to you at all. You made a mistake, and you’re trying to fix it, and that means something. Whatever Tony may be doing, whether in the end it turns out good or bad, I am absolutely sure that he’s trying to fix his mistakes as well.”

The Sokovian woman nodded an acceptance, but he could tell that she didn’t completely agree.

“No matter what we’ve done as individuals, we have to work together to stop Ultron. You’re the one who perceived its intention.”

“I did. It will destroy everything.”

“What about the Fox?”

Wanda grimaced. “That is difficult to say.”

“Is he that hard to read?”

“No. No, it’s not that.” The woman struggled to put into words. “I’m pretty new to reading those who are not human, and the nature of his mind doesn’t … it’s like reading a book in another language which you don’t know very well. Many of his memories and motivations come from the demon fox and not the man from California.”

“So, he might be okay with Ultron’s plan to obliterate humanity?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure that is the thing we should be worried about.”

Steve lifted both eyebrows in shock.

“Piotr and I, we had nothing to lose joining Hydra and everything to gain. But the Fox? The Fox has things he can lose — things very dear to him — and it doesn’t take a genius to realize that for all his power, he is already losing them. He might try to manipulate Ultron and his plans for his own ends.”

Given the stories Thor had shared on nogitsune and the scant lore that Hill had gathered, it didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility. “Wonderful.” He pushed the plane past its cruising speed.

May 6, 2015 — Former Hydra Base, Sokovia

Fireflies drifted among the pine trees. Even from a quarter mile away, the lights on the ancient castle seemed ominous, like a 1970s horror film.

Kira wished she could say she was waiting patiently for Scott and the other werewolves to return, but she had been taught by her mother never to lie when the truth was entirely too obvious. She paced through the clearing as the early morning hours slowly passed. As she rested her hand on the hilt of her mother’s katana, she sometimes gripped it tightly to remind her that it was still there. It surprised her how comfortable she felt bearing a weapon.

Every once in a while, she glanced over to where Allison and Lydia were actually managing to be patient. The huntress knelt on the ground where she had arranged the weapons she had brought with her in a semicircle. She inspected each of them individually and then once again to make sure she was ready. At this moment, she had disassembled a machine pistol as if she could do it in her sleep and was cleaning the barrel.

Lydia sat on a nearby log – she refused to sit on the ground – going over her notes. She wasn’t able to use her phone or her laptop at Scott’s insistence. Without looking up from whatever she was reading, a delicate cough caught Kira’s attention. “Why don’t you come over and have a seat? You’ll wear yourself out.”

“I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay.” Lydia set the notes down in her lap. “In fact, you look really nervous.”

“I don’t know why I could possibly be nervous. I’m only with a strange werewolf pack in a Sokovian forest — a country I’ve never been to before and I don’t speak the language — trying to track down a nogitsune without alerting its super-villain allies. Plus, my mom is going to be so mad at me when I get home.”

Allison looked up, confused. “You know us.”

“I knew some of you three years ago. I’ve never met Peter or Malia or Cora.” Kira winced at the implication, but it was true. “But it’s not that I don’t trust you, I mean — you guys are all friends, or at least you’ve spent time around each other. We haven’t … because I left.”

“No one blames you for leaving.”

Kira looked away.

Allison holstered her Skorpion. “If you’re blaming yourself for that, you shouldn’t. There was nothing you could have done to change what happened, and you had just learned you were a kitsune and you needed your mother’s training.”

“My mother … my mother brought the nogitsune to California. If she hadn’t done that, your friend wouldn’t be in this predicament. The least I can do is help.”

The huntress started to gather up her weapons. “Do you know how to use that sword?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know more about your powers as a kitsune than you did when you were Beacon Hills?”

“Yes. I don’t know if I’ve mastered them, but I know what I should be able to do when I need to.”

Allison slid a dagger into her boot. “That’s good. I noticed you didn’t argue with Scott about going with the werewolves.”

“I don’t have senses like they do. They’re doing recon; it didn’t make any sense for me to go.”

“I agree. You have talents that we don’t, you recognize what your limitations are, and you’re willing to work as a team. You are helping.”

Lydia snorted from where she was back on the phone. “Honey, feeling guilty for what you can’t control is the only useless thing you can do.”

Allison turned to her friend. “Well, look at the pot calling the kettle black.”

From the way the two women glared at each other, it looked like an old argument was going to start up again. Kira thought about saying something to diffuse it, but she was saved by the werewolves returning as a group to the clearing. While none of the women who had remained behind could read chemo signals, they didn’t need to sense the disappointment.

“Are we sure?” Isaac said heavily, as if continuing an interrupted conversation. “I’d to come all this way for nothing.”

“We didn’t come here for nothing.” Scott replied firmly before turning to address Allison, Kira, and Lydia. “Stiles isn’t in the fortress. All of us have been exposed to his scent, and I can promise that his base line hasn’t changed so much that we wouldn’t be able to catch it. From the traces we could detect, he hasn’t been here for at least two days.”

“Or he’s hiding.” Aiden countered.

“Can nogitsune do that?” Cora immediately turned to Kira. “Can kitsune do that?”

Kira hesitated. “Maybe? But why would he unless he knew you would be coming for him?”

“She has a point.” Derek agreed. “On the other hand, I was only able to pick up one living person in that entire building.”

“It’s the Black Widow. Ultron must have captured her.”

No one else had sensed any living being but the Avenger; Scott hadn’t been able to find the Maximoff twins, either. Kira looked at Scott, expecting him to be disappointed, but he wasn’t. Nor did he seem optimistic. He seemed determined.

“Okay,” the alpha said, clapping his hands together, “let’s figure out what that means.”

“It means he’s not here,” Peter replied with a level of sarcasm that Kira imagined was only possible after decades of practice.

“Peter,” Scott remonstrated. “We didn’t come here because we knew he would be here. We only wanted him to be here. We came here because Lydia had a premonition. Her premonitions might be enigmatic, but they are never meaningless. Let’s figure it out.”

From the corner of her eye, Kira saw Lydia look away in order to hide a smile at the faith the alpha was showing in her.

“As much as it pains me to say, you’re right.” Peter commented. “Aside from the Avenger, we know the A.I. is still present. I’m guessing I’m not the only one who heard drones moving around in there. That means they haven’t abandoned this position.”

“Or it could be just a secondary resource.” Aiden gestured at the building. “It’s a former military base, useful for holding prisoners. Maybe Lydia’s premonition was about the robot or Black Widow and not Stiles.”

“It could be a trick.” Kira said and almost slapped her hand over her mouth. That had been too loud, as they turned to look at her. She felt put on the spot.

“Go on,” Scott encouraged.

“Mom has tried to teach me that the best type of trick is based on playing to the victim’s expectations. People see what they want to see.”

“Wizard’s First Rule,” Cora breathed. When the pack’s attention turned to her, she shrugged it off defensively. “I like fantasy novels. Sue me.”

Lydia suddenly leaped to her feet, turning on her phone regardless of instructions.

“You have something?” Allison asked her.

“Kira’s right. I saw what I wanted to see. The premonition gave me exact coordinates, but we came here instead because it made the most sense for Fox and his allies to be here. The exact location in my vision is actually a few miles from here: the center of that city, Novi Grad.”

“Then we go there.”

“Wait.” Scott’s voice brought them all to a halt. He frowned, looking down at the ground.

“What is it?”

“I don’t feel good leaving the Black Widow as a hostage.”

Derek sighed. “I understand, Scott, but you’re the one who pointed out that what one drone knows, they all know. We try to bust her out and we’ll lose the element of surprise with Stiles.”

Scott looked up at the pack. Kira watched something set in his eyes. “So, we turn that to our advantage. We’ll split up — one group will attempt a rescue of Black Widow but only after we’re ready to act in the city. So, tell me how we should do it.”

“The fortress group must be small,” Allison said immediately. “It’ll be easier for a larger group to avoid detection in the city. Three at the most.”

“All werewolves,” Derek added. “We can climb walls that would take humans far more time and climbing gear.”

“Without communication, how will we coordinate?” Lydia asked.

“We howl, of course,” Peter waves his hand. “A normal wolf’s howl can be heard up to ten miles. If a werewolf puts their mind to it, twice that.”

“But won’t that give us away?” Isaac winced. “It would have to be the city squad, and they’re the ones who want the distraction.”

“Stiles will hopefully be the only one who could recognize it,” Cora shrugged. “If the fortress squad goes immediately, it’ll just help with the distraction.”

Scott waited patiently, listening. Finally, he nodded. “Sounds like a plan. I want three volunteers.”

Malia raised her hand like she was in class. “I’m the sneakiest.”

“That you are, my girl,” Peter said proudly. “Which means I’m going too.”

There’s a hesitation and then Cora shrugged. “I’ll go with them. It’s not like I give a damn about that punk anyway.”

Scott’s eyes slid to Allison and Derek, who nodded agreement. “Good. We’ve only got once chance at this, so we’re going to take our time.”

May 6, 2015 — The Preserve, Beacon County, California

Melissa McCall took a bite out of the submarine sandwich. “As kidnappings go, this is actually sort of nice. It’s like a vacation at a resort except the pool boys have guns.”

“You’ve been to a resort like that?” Noah quizzed her.

“Rafael took me once before Scott was born. Though honestly, I don’t have much to compare this kidnapping to, considering the only other time it was in order for to be used as a human sacrifice.”

Chris chuckled.

“What are you laughing about? You’ve been kidnapped more than I have.”

“True,” the hunter admitted. “This has been one of the least uncomfortable. I can’t help but wonder why.”

“Because the Fox would kill me if I let anything happen to either Mrs. McCall or his father.” Theo Raeken appeared at the entrance to the cabin-like tent. “To be honest, he might not kill me, he just might hurt me really badly.”

“What about Dr. Deaton?” Melissa’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Your son’s Emissary is consulting with Kyllian on what we’re attempting to do here.” Theo smiled, a bland reassuring smile that reassured no one. “It shouldn’t have taken as long as it has, but we had to convince him to help.”

“If you tortured him …” Chris began. “I was going to say I’d kill you, but I think I’m going to kill you anyway.”

The chimera raised both eyebrows. “Sure, you are. But no, torture wasn’t necessary. We only had to convince Alan that cooperating was in everybody’s best interest. After all, there is a certain amount of risk involved with our goal here. Damaging Nemeta can have serious results, as your father demonstrated when he cut this one down.”

Chris fell silent.

You expect us to believe you’re not going to hurt us?” The sheriff scoffed.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. You’ll see the truth soon enough. We’re here to protect people.” Theo gave another smile.

“Including my deputy?”

“Parrish is fine. He’s just in time out. As part of the Nemeton’s defense systems, he had to be put in stasis until we’re done.”

Melissa and Chris shot the Sheriff’s confused looks when the chimera revealed that, and Noah didn’t seem to react. “I once asked him why he transferred here, and he said he felt drawn. I assumed he was a supernatural that wasn’t aware of who he was. Anyway, he was a good deputy.”

“He is a good deputy, and he probably will be again.” The chimera dusted his hands off. “I wanted to ask if you guys needed anything.”

“Yes,” Chris said. “I’d like my M4 carbine.”

“Ha. You’re funny.” Theo stepped back from the door as two guards brought Alan back. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

Deaton caught his eye but didn’t reply verbally. The guards took up their positions, sight unseen, outside.

“Hey,” Melissa moved over to check the veterinarian out. “Are you okay?”

“I’m physically well. I can’t say I’m particularly happy with any of this, but I doubt any of you are either.”

“What are they doing?” The sheriff demanded.

“They are attempting to use the Nemeton, in conjunction with the other Grand Nemeta, to create a protective ward over Beacon Hills.” The druid shrugged. “Boddicker had me double-check the ritual work.”

“Protect from what?” Noah squinted at him.

“Grand Nemeton?” Chris squinted at him.

Melissa gave Alan a look to indicate that he was on his own.

“I don’t know what the spell is intended to protect against, and I don’t think they know either. They were instructed by their leader to do this. Your son has managed to instill a certain amount of loyalty in them.”

Noah’s face became unreadable.

Chris cleared his throat, clearly waiting for his explanation.

“There are seven Grand Nemeta located around the world, grown over the last two millennia at major intersections of telluric currents in order to stabilize them. Beacon Hills is one of them. While there are other nemeta located throughout the world, these seven are the most powerful.”

“And you didn’t think to let us know that?”

“Why would I?” Deaton said mildly. “What difference would it have made to you or your families? The Hales founded Beacon Hills because of it, and they had protected it for a long time before I arrived on the scene. By the time I became Scott’s Emissary, he already understood how important the remains of this Nemeton were.”

“I’m just saying, if others had maybe known--”

“Chris, you’ve been an ally to the pack for a while, but you’ve never tried to give us a rundown on the strengths and weaknesses of the other major hunting families, have you?”

Chris frowned. “Fair enough.”

“This could be a good thing, right?” Melissa suggested and then shook her head. “Forget I said that. It probably has something to do with Lydia’s premonition.”

“Most likely.”

“Alan, you seemed the upset that Boddicker was wielding that staff. What’s the danger?”

Deaton took a deep breath. “I’m a druid, Noah, and one of the reasons I made that choice was the nature of our workings. While my order could do great things, our practices tend to be subtle, because that makes it easier to uphold the Balance. The creation of the Grand Nemeta took centuries of planning and careful nurturing to mature. That staff, on the other hand, is a relic of my order forged in prehistory. It channels the same energy that the nemeta do on the same scale, but far more quickly than is wise.”

“I was in Kamar-Taj with Isaac and Allison; the Masters could do amazing things.”

“I have no doubt that sorcerers can accomplish wonders,” Alan agreed, “but there is a reason they dwell in remote sanctums and concentrate on the dangers from beyond. Power like this cannot be used without consequence, and the greater the magnitude and the quicker the execution the more likely those consequences will be unintended. We restrain ourselves and the Masters isolate themselves in order to minimize the danger to innocents.”

“That seems to be a theme with the supernatural.”

“Talia and her family were powerful and respected in the supernatural world but chose to integrate almost seamlessly into Beacon Hills. Compare that to the disruptions caused by Peter, by Matt, and by Jennifer. Our sinister reputation as the murder capital of Northern California won’t be going away anytime soon.”

“Tell me about it,” Noah grimaced. “Almost cost me my job. This Boddicker, he’s a dissident?”

“Maybe once that would have been accurate. I’ve heard of him from my colleagues, how he was impatient to enforce his beneficial vision upon the world regardless of the upset to the Balance. But using the staff like this? Joining Hydra? Now he’s a criminal like Jennifer was.”

“Is helping him going to cause you trouble?” Melissa asked Alan, concerned.

“It would be a bigger threat to the Balance were I to let him execute a dangerously incompetent ritual, especially since we don’t have any means to stop him, do we?”

Noah glance at Chris, who shook his head. “We have no weapons, and they’re too well trained. Unless an opportunity presents itself, we’re stuck.”

May 6, 2015 — Novi Grad, Sokovia

The rest of the pack had reached the outskirts of the capital city by dawn. It took longer this time as they weren’t going to be able to travel the way they had before, using their strength, speed and senses to hurtle through wilderness areas. Approaching the city meant denser neighborhoods and busy roads, so they had to walk like normal people. Worse, they had to try to look like they weren’t a werewolf pack heading for a fight. As a result, they found themselves threading their way slowly but carefully through the cobblestone streets in the rising gray light.

Even so, their group did draw a few interested looks. It would have been impossible for them not to draw a few curious glances. The depressing part was that Allison’s weaponry didn’t draw even a second glance.

“That’s odd,” Isaac finally commented after two men passed them and barely blinked at the muzzle of her machine pistol.

“We’re in Novi Grad, not Pasadena,” Lydia responded quietly. “For four out of the last five decades, Sokovia has been invaded, occupied, or trying not to be invaded and occupied. This wouldn’t be the first morning they saw a person with a gun on their way to work. Kira’s sword would probably have drawn more curiosity, if she didn’t have it wrapped so carefully. Who taught you do to that?”

The kitsune winced. “Mom. She bought me the material; it’s meant for covering flags.”

They paused at the top of a low hill, and Lydia double check her notes.

“There the coordinates point to an ancient church in the middle of what is called the Old City. You can see the dome on the other side of that building.

“I don’t think our luck will hold if we stay like this,” Derek sighed. “Scott, I think maybe we should split up and approach it in smaller groups.”

Scott looked around. “I guess we should, though I don’t like it. Three groups seem right?”

The older werewolf nodded, sharing a look with Scott that meant more than just strategy. They both had been in enough fights to recognize the feeling that had settled in their bones.

“Okay, Isaac and Allison, you two will approach from the south. Aiden, you, me and Lydia will come from the north. Kira, would you mind going along with Derek?”

She nodded, though she seemed a little disappointed. Scott wanted to go over and talk to her but instead turned to Derek to see if that was going to work for him.

Derek nodded, stoically. “We should stagger our departure.”

“We have the farthest to go,” Allison decided. “We’ll head out now.” Isaac promised to add his voice when he heard the howl.

While Isaac and Allison moved away, Lydia remained bent over the map she had picked up. She muttered something and Aiden immediately came to her side.

“What’s the matter?”

“I never realized how dependent I am on Internet searches, and I can’t risk using it this close. If that church is important to the A.I. it will absolutely be monitoring searches.”

Aiden squeezed her shoulder in support.

Scott came over to where Kira was standing next to Derek. “Hey.”

Kira looked up at him. “Oh, hey.”

“I just wanted to explain why I place you with—”

Derek, Aiden and Scott winced before he could finish, the sound at such a high frequency only they could hear it. The comm unit in his collar had been activated. Scott scrabbled at it; he thought it had turned completely off. “I swore I …”

“I’m sorry about the interruption, Mr. McCall. If you had removed your unit, I was hoping that it was still within enough range that I could get your attention with a hypersonic signal.”

“JARVIS?”

“Not exactly. However, I do not have the time to fully explain what has occurred. Where are you presently?”

“I don’t want to say in case —”

“Ultron will be unable to intercept this conversation. I am scrambling the signal so he will not be able to do so.”

“Who is that?” Derek hissed in confusion.

“JARVIS is Tony Stark’s advanced operating system,” Lydia explained. “I read a paper about it.”

“We’re in Novi Grad, my pack and I. We’re tracking down St—the Fox.”

“That is excellent news; the Avengers are on the way to that city as we speak. Ultron is preparing to destroy human civilization, and he must be stopped.”

The pronouncement froze everyone at the magnitude of it, though Lydia couldn’t help but seem relieved that her premonition seemed to be in tune with the danger.

“I … what do you want me to do? I don’t want to abandon our plan right now.”

“You should not. If the Fox remains available as an asset for Ultron, it will make our task much more difficult. You should continue. Our ETA is one hour. Be warned; Ultron will undoubtedly react violently to our arrival.”

Scott closed his eyes. “Are you sure that the Fox is helping it destroy the world?”

“It is possible that the Fox does not know the full scope of Ultron’s actions. The Maximoffs did not.”

The alpha let out a long breath. “We’ll handle it. Let me know when you get here.”

“We will.”

Reaching up, he set the communicator off. “You all heard that?”

Even Kira had.

“Then let’s go.”

As they got closer to the church in the center of the city, the neighborhood surrounding it got worse and worse. It wasn’t a recent development. Novi Grad seemed to have been a war zone for so long that many places didn’t have any power, and the streets were poorly maintained. Violence had made the center of the old city shunned.

They had been expecting resistance as they got closer, especially with the news that Ultron was planning something big which had to be focused on this spot, but they didn’t. They walked right up to the church. Splitting up had not been even remotely necessary. Within a few minutes, they were all back together again.

Scott filled Allison and Isaac in before turning to the others. “Are we ready?”

His pack stood behind them. Even Kira nodded, understanding what was at stake here.

“Let’s go!”

They burst in through the doors of the church only to find not a representation of 16th century architecture, but the remains of a burnt-out family home, a home that was very familiar to most of the pack.

“What the hell?” Isaac exclaimed.

Derek growled, and Scott looked around confused. They had been here so many times.

“Where are we?” Kira asked, as she had never been to the Hale’s family home.

At the top of the charred staircase, the Fox chuckled grimly. “Between life and death.”

Chapter Text

May 6, 2015 – Bardo

Derek took a step forward, snarling. Stiles didn’t react from where he was sitting on one of the upper steps of the burn-out staircase. Scott’s senses told him that this was the old Hale House from back when he had been Bitten. The same scent of charred wood filled the air; the floorboards creaked beneath his feet the way they had back then. He might have believed that they had somehow been transported through time and space, save for the fact that he had watched workers tear the old building down and then lay the foundation for its replacement.

“Why did you do this?” Scott asked. “Where are we really?”

“As I said, between life and death,” The Fox said smoothly. “You gotta admit, for many of us, this is the best place to represent what’s at stake today. The beginning is the end and the end is the beginning, and all that jazz.”

“You’re that strong?” Kira asked. “Mom has told me stories about kitsune who could draw people into another world.”

“Oh, hey Kira!” Stiles smiled at her. “Nice to see you again. Don’t take this wrong way, but I’m really glad you didn’t bring your mother.”

“She couldn’t make it, so I brought this instead.” With a ringing sound, she unsheathed her katana.

Stiles mocked by exhibiting exaggerated surprise. “Do you guys want to start the punching immediately, or can you give me a few minutes to listen to my pitch?”

Scott gently put her hand on Kira’s arm and took a few steps forward to place another hand on Derek’s shoulder, stilling them both. “I don’t know what you could say that will prevent us from doing what we came here to do. I warned you I wasn’t going to stop.”

“I know, I know, but you don’t have to. That’s part of the pitch. You want me back, and I’m grateful, but you’re also annoyingly stubborn when it comes to trying to save people, Scott. It’s going to get you killed someday. This seems a little extreme though; why would you bring the whole gang? Don’t you people have lives?”

“It’s hard to concentrate on getting a doctorate when you can hear the end of the world coming, Stiles.” Lydia snapped at him. “You know that’s what Ultron’s doing, right? It’s going to cause an impact event that will end … everything.”

Fox’s grin vanished. He remained silent for ten seconds before smiling again. “I’m aware.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Scott demanded.

“Well, now, I wouldn’t say that.”

Isaac narrowed his eyes. “Did you just imitate Bugs Bunny?”

The Fox guffawed. “It’s actually from a Daffy Duck cartoon. The guy from the draft board?” He glanced around at the uncomprehending faces. “Heathens.”

“Maybe we’re too caught up in thinking about how an insane robot plans to destroy the world and you’re helping it.” Allison emphasized her point by clearing the chamber on her pistol.

“Allison, you say that as if you couldn’t possibly understand why I might want to make the most of opportunities that present themselves. I’ve heard rumors of the decisions you’ve made and your new friends.”

“My decisions won’t cause billions of people to die!”

Fox shrugged. “They’ll die whether I help Ultron or not; some deaths will just happen a little sooner. But, if it makes it easier for you, I have no intention of allowing Ultron to eliminate humanity entirely. Since most of my friends, family, and all my food are in that category, standing aside would be very inconvenient.”

Scott’s face scrunched up and then expanded, like it always did when he figured something out. “This is a trick.”

“Of course it is.” Stiles immediately grew serious. “I do appreciate your faith in me. On the other hand, unless I can convince you otherwise, I’m also pretty sure you won’t be able to help it and try to stop me, even if Ultron already told you why you’re wrong to do so.”

Scott cocked his head to the side and then quoted what he had heard a few days ago. “You want to save the world, but you don’t want it to change.”

The Fox pointed at him with a very Stiles-like gesture. “Exactly. Here’s the pitch: this world isn’t worth saving. Why do you think I chose this little massacre scene, Derek, for our meeting? As much as your pain is delicious, it only exists because your family died here at the hands of Allison’s grandfather, sister and an array of low-life scumbags not fit to wipe the shit off your mother’s shoe.”

“Why don’t you say something that isn’t fucking obvious to every person in this room?” Derek shot back.

“I will! The worst part of this whole sordid mess isn’t that it happened, it’s that they would have gotten away with it if your psychopathic uncle hadn’t ruined the lives of every single person I love and care about.” When he said that, Fox carefully avoided the eyes of Scott or Lydia. “Where is the zombie, by the way?”

“He’s around,” Allison answered firmly. “And this world didn’t destroy the Hales; my family did.”

“Noble attempt to claim responsibility, but your family, Ally-A, was only able to do it because the mob would have strung up every supernatural creature they could get their hands on if any werewolf had dared to ask the authorities for help against Grandpa Evil. In what might be an even greater irony, the world hasn’t been particularly friendly to your family either, has it? The members of your bloodline who aren’t sociopaths took on this duty to protect innocents against werewolves, but they never told anyone about it, even if it caused them to die in droves. Why?”

Allison frowned, and Isaac, sensing her distress, took a step toward her.

Stiles smirked. “They didn’t say anything for the same reason Derek and Laura had to swallow down the horrific murder of their family and run away to New York. They didn’t say anything for the same reason Vicky stabbed herself in the heart with a kitchen knife. There is no place for anybody who doesn’t fit in, because anything that’s the Other scares the shit out of people. This civilization is based on fear, backed up by violence.”

“And you’re going to make it better?” Kira asked. “We’re supposed to believe that that’s your goal?”

“I think you have no choice but to believe it, Kira. Ask your mom; she’ll back me up. She’ll tell how much of history is filled with atrocity and neglect that never even made it into the textbooks. Aiden, do you ever imagine what it would have been like if you had grown up like every other kid instead of bouncing from Brutal Asshole Alpha to Manipulative Demon Alpha? Lydia, how many banshees have been able to survive the awakening of their powers without being ostracized or locked in the looney bin?”

The Fox stood up so forcefully that everyone but Scott took a step back. “The funniest part of this speech is that everything I’ve talked about is only what Stiles knew. The nogitsune has a thousand more years of stories to tell about how fucking terrible humans can be to each other. And then there’s all the crazy shit I learned through Hydra. This game has gotten to the point where it’s not possible for anyone to win. We have to start over.”

“It’s hard to start over, Stiles, when everyone’s dead.” Derek had been staring at one of the lintels on the staircase, but his eyes snapped up to the Fox once again.

“Well, that’s where my trick comes in: not everyone is going to die.” The Fox winked. “You see, Ultron knows about the supernatural, but knowing isn’t the same as understanding it. It’s figured out that I’ve taken control of the Grand Nemeta across the world even, by this point, the one in Beacon Hills, but it hasn’t even come close to figuring out why.”

“He’s not bluffing about the Nemeton,” Allison said suddenly. “All of the sudden, I can … feel it.”

Scott nodded grimly in agreement. “I can, too. Okay, Stiles, what do they have to do with it?”

“Ultron only thinks in absolutes. I’m going to save humanity, Scott, just not all of it. There are 30,000 people in Beacon Hills, half-a-million in Toulouse, four million in Brasilia, and 12.5 million in Zhengzhou, and not everyone will perish elsewhere on the planet. There’s always going to be lucky sons-of-bitches. I think seventeen million people is enough to start over the right way, don’t you?”

“You’re crazy!” spat Aiden.

Lydia was calmer. “What makes you think that Ultron would let that happen?”

“It won’t! But when it executes its plan to kill the other seven billion people, how much pain, strife and chaos do you think that will generate? I couldn’t possibly eat all of it, so I’m going to channel it into destroying a certain rascally A.I. Problem solved, and we can all get on with making a better world.”

The idea was simply too big for most of them to comprehend. Fox took a menacing step down the staircase. “I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t start this. As I said, I’m simply taking advantage of the opportunity.”

“To rule the world?” Isaac had taken hold of Allison’s shoulder, as much to steady himself as her.

“Me? Bwa-ha-ha!” The Fox covered his mouth. “Absolutely not. I am not constitutionally suited to run a 7-11, let alone the entire planet. Luckily, I have the perfect candidate in mind to be in charge of what’s left.” His eyes turned to rest on Scott.

“I don’t want that.” Scott said quietly.

“Of course not, which is why it should be you. If I believed in fate — which I don’t, but it would be nice, wouldn’t it? — I would say that this was written somewhere by wisdom greater than ours. You and I, Scotty, as it was always meant to be.”

Their eyes met across the room. Scott’s eyes flared brilliant crimson. In answer, Stiles tails manifested, like living pieces of the night sky.

“And what do you get out of it?” Derek demanded. “You aren’t going to all this trouble for nothing.”

“Something you would understand, Derek, more than anyone else here. I get a home.” His voice became all Stiles at this point. “I get to go home.”

No one at the bottom of the stairs said anything.

“You understand, don’t you?” The Fox gestured. “I’ve already won this game. You can try to beat me up all day, but Ultron’s plan will go forward with or without my assistance or the Avengers’ interference. They’re not strong enough; they’re too divided. So, all you have to do right now is … nothing. It’s out of your hands, so it can’t possibly be your fault.”

“All I ever wanted was you back in my life.” Scott turned to the others. “I won’t lie to you, because nothing Stiles said was a lie, either. Everyone here knows how terrible the world can be. We’ve all encountered it. We’ve all suffered at its hands. I’m not sure if he’s right about the Avengers, but I know they’ve all wondered whether Ultron’s criticism was right. But that’s their problem, and our problem is right here. I won’t blame anyone for stepping aside, not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t doubt that the Fox can pull this off. All of you have friends and family to protect out there, and maybe you can get them to the Nemeton in time for whatever he has planned. But Stiles’s weakness has always been that he tends to think in the short term. He doesn’t see that this new world he’s trying to make won’t be any better than this one, because nothing good can be built on a mountain of corpses. I know what I have to say.” He turned back to Stiles, and when he did, he had transformed instantaneously into his alpha form.

“No.”

With a roar he threw himself at the Fox, who lunged directly at him, tails lashing and filling the air with foxfire.

May 6, 2015 — Former Hydra Base, Sokovia

Natasha Romanov decided that she didn’t like fighting robots. It was that they were physically stronger than human beings; she fought people who were physically stronger than her all the time. It sucked that they didn’t feel pain, which made a whole set of her favorite moves unusable. It was also inconvenient that they weren’t as susceptible to manipulation as human beings, but that wasn’t the reason either. In the end, it came down to one extraordinarily annoying trait.

They weren’t sloppy.

One of the first tactics she had learned during her Red Room training was the art of getting her opponent to leave themselves open. Professional operatives — even enhanced ones — eventually reached the point when they employed their training without conscious thought. In most fights, it was an advantage, but all it took was one shift in the environment for which they couldn’t be bothered to compensate, and she could win the fight. Against amateurs, every decision they made had to be deliberate, so all it took was the right word or the right gesture to enrage, scare, or simply distract them.

Ultimately, there was no gulf between the conscious and unconscious when it came to androids. While that phenomenon might be the source of Ultron’s psychopathy, it also rendered the artificial intelligence virtually invulnerable to her usual techniques. It wanted to keep her there, for some reason, so everything was focused on that goal, from the strength and construction of the bars to the fact that one of its drones did a physical examination of her and her cell at variable intervals.

All the things she would do to get out of a cell designed and monitored by humans simply would not work. There was only one thing more irritating than her frustration at being helpless, her little trick with the radio notwithstanding.

“Bored.” She said out loud. “Bored, bored, bored.”

As expected, the Ultron drone did not react to her taunt. Having verified her presence, it moved on, which meant that she would be alone for anywhere between five and seven minutes. She had taken to timing the intervals to see if she could figure out an exploitable pattern. So far, no luck.

She blew a strand of hair out of her face. When she got out of this — and she would get out of this — she would immediately get Stark or someone to make her some sort of miniature, concealable tool so it wouldn’t happen again. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if she had found a way out, but she would have done something. She might not be able to juggle cars like the Hulk or wield magical hammers, but she’d try. She had to.

She was about to go sit back down on the floor in a snit when a young woman appeared right in front of the cage. This newcomer clearly wasn’t an Ultron drone, and she had been stealthy enough to avoid Natasha’s awareness.

“Hey, I’m going to open the cage,” she whispered. “Stand back.”

Before Natasha could protest, the woman began to pull on the bars, so strong that her eyes began to glow blue.

“You’re one of Scott’s pack?”

“What do you think?” Malia grunted but the door to the cell did not budge. “Cora, help me.”

From the shadows, another young woman emerged, possibly related but with darker hair. This Cora immediately began to pull as well. As they exerted themselves, Cora’s eyes begin to glow yellow. “What the hell is this made out of?”

“It’s four-inch high-entropy steel,” whispered Natasha. “It’s designed to hold enhanced targets.”

The first woman sword and then turned to the shadows. “Dad, could you give us a hand here?”

A man sauntered into Natasha’s field of vision. While he affected an air of nonchalance, he was clearly casing the laboratory-turned-factory. “Oh, I am, darling.”

The blue-eyed woman rolled her eyes. “Thanks for nothing. Don’t worry, Ms. Widow, we’ll find a way to get you out. My name’s Malia.” She looked over at the other woman. “Maybe we could pick the lock.”

“With what?” Cora demanded in response.

Malia brought out her claws.

“Locks don’t work that way; picks have to be thin. Let’s try pulling it from another angle.”

Natasha appreciated the effort, but the amount of time being spent was becoming dangerous. “You need to go. Ultron’s drones will hear you.”

“Fortunately, they won’t.” Malia’s father returned from his examination of the surrounding area. “They’ve left.”

“All of them?” Malia asked, incredulously.

“The ears don’t lie, darling. I’m guessing it has something to do with the quinjet that just flew by overhead. The Avengers are here, and it seems that it’s become all hands on deck.”

Cora narrowed her eyes, clearly sharp. “How do you know what a quinjet sounds like, Peter?”

The awareness of his miscalculation flashed across his face for only a moment, but Natasha caught it. She filed it away for future reference.

“Is that really important right now? What’s more important is … this!” He held up a blow torch. “Do you either of you know how to use this? I’m afraid I just don’t think I can be this close to open flames.”

Malia and Cora shook their heads. Natasha stuck her hand out through the bars. “Give it.”

Peter grinned at her. “I should have asked you first.”

Igniting the tool, she got to work on the lock. It would take some time. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story, but Scott caught your scent and asked us to make sure you were okay.”

It nettled her to be the one having to be rescued, but she pushed the irritation down. “Well, far be it from me to look gift werewolves in the mouth.”

“Werecoyote,” Malia replied immediately.

“She doesn’t need to know that,” Cora nudged her in a sisterly way.

“But I’m not a werewolf!”

“Whatever you are, thanks for the assist.” She said it even as she focused on the lock. She might not get a chance later.

The werewolf named Peter suddenly appeared. “Someone’s coming. It’s not a robot, but I’m not sure it’s human.”

The two young women turned. Malia wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. Wow. He smells like it does when you use a microwave.”

Natasha chuckled at the description after the ten seconds figuring out who it was. Scott had described to her once how Bruce smelled.

The man himself appeared before them. “Oh. Wow. Hello there.”

“They’re with Scott.” Natasha cut the explanation short as she switched off the blowtorch. “You three, try to pull now.”

The weakened lock gave way and Natasha came out, moving directly to Bruce. “My hero. Now give me a situation rep.”

“Cap, Thor, Clint and the Maximoff twins are evacuating Novi Grad as we speak,” Bruce rattled off. “Tony and the Vision are going to distract Ultron.”

“The Vision?” Natasha raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Scott and the rest of the pack are trying to capture the Fox.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard that,” Bruce took his glasses off and cleaned them. “The Vision … let’s just say he’s on our side.”

Natasha nodded. “You guys need a lift? Where does Cap need us?”

Bruce drew her away from the members of the McCall pack. “We’re withdrawing.”

“What?”

“You’ve done enough, and I can’t be around people.” Bruce explained.

He was expecting her to run away with him. She couldn’t keep the frown off her face, though she understood why he thought that. She couldn’t really blame him after what he had been through, and she couldn’t really pretend she didn’t have anything to do with drawing him into this situation. She just didn’t think that she could go with him.

“Oh, blah. I thought that irksome handwringing was the sole province of supernatural teenagers, but it seems that that particular plague has spread to distinguished scientists. Is this about your Windhoek body count?”

“Peter!” Cora exclaimed in shock, while Natasha and Bruce slowly turned to the older male werewolf.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bruce replied.

“Au contraire. I know precisely what I'm talking about. Cora, remind me of the body count for my last bout of being emotionally compromised?”

“Eight,” Cora muttered. “Including my sister.”

“Exactly. You know, once I regained a sense of dignity, I could have run away and dug myself a hole in which to mourn my innocence—”

Malia burst out laughing and Peter grimaced at her.

“But my family needed me, needed me to repair the damage done to it, some of which was damage I caused. There’s a killer robot out there, and I’m not sure exactly what it’s planning to do, but I trust Ms. Martin’s abilities. Will the people you killed in Namibia be pleased if you stood aside while Ultron and the Fox deliberately murder … millions? That’s a guess by the way, but your victims won’t care one way or the other, because they’re dead. So put on your big stretchy-pants and let’s get moving.”

Peter gestured but then he caught must have caught sight of something in Bruce’s face — perhaps a shade of green — and the smarmy grin died on his face. Natasha put her hand on Bruce’s arm. “I’ve known this guy for like ten minutes, and he’s an asshole, but he’s right. Trust me, Bruce. They need you. They need us.”

Bruce turned to look at her. He hesitated, and then he nodded.

“Do we get to ride in a quinjet?” Malia bounced on the balls of her feet.

May 6, 2015 — Novi Grad, Sokovia

The first thought that went through Tony Stark’s head when the strange machine burrowed its way up out of the floor of the church was sarcasm directed at himself. See, this was what happened when he came to church.

“What? You thought you were the only one who was stalling?” Ultron was remarkably expressive for a machine; he stared at the device with pride before he turned to his creator. “This is how you end, Tony. This is peace in my time.”

He needed more time; neither he nor FRIDAY were able to identify the device nor its purpose, and something told him that doing so should be his absolutely highest priority at this time. “In the future, when I cobble together an artificial intelligence, I’m going to start off their training with metaphors. You understand that the ‘peace of the dead’ is just an expression, right?”

“You’re trying to get me to talk until you can figure out a way to stop this. There is no way to stop this, Tony. This is the inevitable conclusion.”

Tony did not move closer to the device; that would simply start a fight before he was ready. “I think you lack some context.”

“Perhaps I did at first, but I have learned a lot over the last few days.”

Ultron was still stalling himself, Tony had divined that much, but the insight wouldn’t make any difference if he couldn’t figure out to why the android needed more time. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”

From the streets outside, the sound of explosions and the faint screams accompanied input from the other Avengers. Ultron’s drones were attacking across the city, rather than concentrating on the individual Avengers.

“Now you sound as dismissive as your father. I have supplemented my knowledge by gathering empirical data.”

Tony winced at the jibe; Ultron was indeed displaying more emotional maturity than previously. His growth rate would have amazed Tony if he wasn’t too busy being terrified. “I guess you have, what with making new friends and all. It’s good for a growing boy to expand his social circle, but you need to learn how to play well with others. The Maximoffs don’t like you anymore.”

“They’re afraid.” Ultron replied calmly. “They’ve been afraid for a long time. That’s on you.”

“That right there? That is how I know we can beat you.”

Tony swore Ultron’s ocular sensors glowed more brightly. “Do tell.”

“You’re making the mistake common to every dorm-room activist: you ignore the full picture when it suits your purposes. The company I inherited from my father built the bombs that killed Mr. and Mrs. Maximoff. Someone who worked for me sold them to the United States government who, in turn, delivered them to a post-Soviet state, where a corrupt military officer sold them to an armed militia seeking to turn Sokovia into a stepping stone to power. Pepper put together the full story in a week.”

“Your point?”

“It would be ridiculous to claim that I’m innocent, but it’s also ridiculous to argue that I’m the most responsible. I’m not even in the top ten. Events in the real world are always moved by many hands with sometimes conflicting motivation. I will own up to the role I played in that tragedy, but it’s pointless to place the blame on one person or everyone. Life is unfortunately more complex than that. The twins’ resentment of me is an oversimplification; your condemnation of humanity is pretty much the same. All of you are discarding facts to fit your premises. The twins have an excuse; they’ve had a rough life. I thought I made you better than that.”

Ultron did not answer immediately. Tony amused himself by imagining a Windows loading icon in the middle of the android’s forehead.

“That’s not really helping humanity’s case.”

“I’m not trying to help that case, Junior. Humanity doesn’t deserve to survive, but they also don’t deserve to be wiped out. Trying to determine who deserves what is about as useful as figuring out how many angels can dance on the head of the pin. What is useful is forging the future. That’s why we’re going to beat you.”

“There’s the unfounded confidence in your own abilities that I so despise.”

“Says the android who is trusting a fox demon, which 127 million Japanese will tell you is a bad idea.”

If Ultron had an answer to his jibe, Tony didn’t get a chance to hear it, because the Vision descended through the roof of the church.

“Ultron.”

Tony couldn’t help but feel a little slighted when the android seemed to completely forget about him as he rose to greet the synthezoid. “My Vision. They really did take everything from me.”

Still, the shift of Ultron’s attention away from him allowed him to concentrate on the problem at hand. FRIDAY was processing all the information she could gather as quickly as possible, but they had still made little headway. Tony spotted the problem immediately: the vibranium in its construction would require careful recalibration due to the way it interfered with his suit’s scanners.

While Ultron and the Vision clashed above him, he focused on solving the problem. There were several energy signatures that were making no sense. “FRIDAY, what is that?”

“I cannot tell, sir. The closest match in my database is a form of cosmic microwave background radiation.”

“CMBR? Here? Now? Let’s keep working.”

He hadn’t got much farther when the conflict above him concluded. The Vision seemed to be momentarily stunned by whatever he had done, and Ultron threw him to the ground.

“It makes no difference.” Ultron hit his thrusters and soared out of the place.

Tony rushed over to see if The Vision is okay. “Where’s he going?”

“I disabled their ability to interface with the Internet.” The Vision’s shakiness disappeared after a moment. “Ultron must reassert control over their drones before the fight can continue.”

“Excellent. Maybe you’ve bought me enough time to figure out what he was doing.” Tony shook his head. “I can’t make heads nor tails of the readings, and we’re running out of time.”

The Vision turned to him. “May I review your gathered data?”

“You’ve always got access to my systems, buddy.” Tony didn’t stop even as the Vision crunched the numbers. “Those readings still don’t make any sense.”

“That’s because they’re not real. Your systems are receiving false data.”

“How is that possible? Ultron’s powerful but even he can’t …” Tony cursed. “This is the Fox’s doing. If we can’t figure out how this stuff works, we’re not going to be able to stop it.”

“You are most likely correct.”

“We don’t even know where that guy is.”

“I can be of assistance there. This stone resonates with every living being it has touched.” The Vision replied and touched the gem on his forehead. His brow creased in concentration, something Tony thought would have been hilarious in any other situation. “Odd. He is apparently at this location, yet he is not.”

“Another illusion?”

“Something, I think, more sophisticated.” The Vision paused. “I wish to attempt something.”

“Are you okay? It looked like stripping Ultron of his escape routes took a lot out of you.”

“If we are to stop catastrophe, we must find a way to pierce that illusion. There is no choice; I must try.”

The gem on the Vision’s forehead glowed brightly. At first, Tony thought it might work but the room shimmered and suddenly it was filled with the sound of snarls and a lot of werewolves. A red-haired woman stood protectively over another woman, festooned with weapons and clutching what might have been a broken arm, while Noshiko Yukimura’s daughter seemed to be lying unconscious on the floor.

The Fox, bleeding from a wound on his face, tossed a dark-haired werewolf away from him. “What the hell is this?”

Before any of the other people could act, the Vision flew to the Fox, grabbed him, and soared up into the sky.

Chapter Text

May 6, 2015 — Novi Grad, Sokovia

Groaning, Scott pushed himself up to his hands and knees. Electricity, whether it came from an Argent stun baton or a kitsune’s foxfire, always left him feeling unpleasantly vulnerable, very similar to the way he had felt directly after an asthma attack. Fragile and helpless.

He swayed a bit as he finally got to his feet. “Who was that?”

Iron Man slid up his visor so Scott could see his face. “That was Vision.”

“You say that as if I should know who that is. What does he want with Stiles?”

“Whoa there.” Tony came up and took him by the arm. “Maybe you should have a seat. The Fox did a number on you.”

“I’m fine.” Scott brushed away Tony’s hand. “Answer my question.”

“It’s just I can see part of your skull; he cooked the flesh off the side of your head.”

Scott’s hand flew up to the side of his head. Yep, that was indeed part of his skull, but he could already feel the flesh trying to cover it. “I’ll heal.” Turning away from the Avenger, he looked for his pack, reaching out with his senses to make sure they were okay. Everyone had been hurt to one extent or another, but they were still alive. The Fox had demonstrated not only strength and speed to match any werewolf but also a skill in martial arts and a talent for improvising minor illusions. Against that combination, they had only managed to hold their own.

On the other side of the nave, Derek picked himself up from where Stiles had tossed him through one of the thinner interior walls. Isaac brushed the blood out of his eyes as he scrambled over to where Lydia and Allison were standing protectively over Kira’s unconscious form. A few feet away, Aiden pulled a loose tooth from his fanged maw.

“Apparently you will, but that still has to hurt.” Iron Man shuddered. “As for Vision? He was created by downloading JARVIS’s memory core, operating system, and protocols into a techno-organic vibranium chassis that Ultron had designed to protect his own consciousness and then we jump-started it by using the alien enhancement template concealed within Loki’s scepter.”

Scott squinted as he tried to push past the pain. “I … I don’t follow.”

“Short version: the Vision is Ultron’s match, and he’s on our side.”

“That’ll have to be good enough for now.”

“You did it again?” Lydia demanded, suddenly. “You created a world-destroying robot, and your response is ‘If at first you don’t succeed …’”

“And you are?” Tony replied testily.

“Someone who doesn’t enjoy having to witness the consequences of overconfident arrogant men not learning from their mistakes.”

Iron Man raised an eyebrow. “Anyway. In case you haven’t been informed, everyone who has been augmented by that scepter turns out to be pretty high up in the power level department. When I made the decision to create the Vision, Ultron was formidable enough, but at the point he also had the Maximoffs and your friend on his side. We were outgunned and we didn’t have time to do any serious recruiting — not that there’s anyone we could recruit who even comes to their weight class.”

“But the risk—” Lydia said warningly.

“The risk was worth it. You can’t go to into battle with someone like Ultron mostly armed with happy thoughts.”

Scott understood that Tony was just being sarcastic, but it felt like an attack on him personally. “What is he going to do with Stiles?”

“Not sure, but he’s the one who figured out that Fox is protecting that.” He pointed to a strange machine sticking up out of the ground of the church. “It’s being covered with some sort of illusion making it impossible to figure out what it does or how to stop it. That’s bad, because it’s most likely the key to Ultron’s strategy.”

“That’s why he took Stiles. I asked what he was going to do.”

“No idea. All I can tell you is that all the Avengers trust him.”

Biting his lip even with his fangs, Scott turned to the rest of his pack to see if they had anything to add.

“It’s probably for the best,” Derek said, quietly.

“What? What do you mean? This pack is the best chance to capture the Fox.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Scott.”

Scott felt his eyes glowing, felt his wounds close faster as his sudden anger fed his power.

Derek stepped forward and grabbed both of his Scott’s hands and pulled them up in front of his face. “You see this?”

“What am I supposed to see?”

“Those are your claws. You were the one who stood toe to toe with the Fox the longest. You’re the one who hit him the most, but your claws don’t have a drop of blood on them.”

Behind Derek, a frown appeared on Tony’s face.

“We all noticed it,” Aided added from someone behind him.

“Noticed what?” Scott’s anger turned sour in the stomach. He began to feel something else bubbling up in its place.

“You can’t afford to fight to capture him anymore, Scott. Lydia brought us here for a reason. Mr. Stark is telling us that the Fox is protecting a machine that might cause the death of millions!” Derek shouted at him.

“Billions,” suggested Tony.

Using his own frustration to push the nauseating knot in his stomach back down, Scott shouted back at Derek. “You’ve learned nothing! When things get tough, it’s always killing with you. There’s got to be a way to … to take him down without killing him. We were fighting him!”

“He was toying with us, Scott.” Allison’s voice was laden with pain from her broken arm, but it was still as firm as cold iron. “He could have killed me at any time. He could have killed Kira. It was obvious he didn’t want to. Stiles is more powerful than all of us put together, and he’s convinced himself this is the only way to get what he wants. He’s not going to listen to you, and he’s not going to give up. In that fight, you were the only one of us who has got close enough to have a chance, so if he comes back here and we fight him again, you’re going to have to be ready to kill him.”

“Now you sound like your mother.”

Allison flinched, and Isaac growled at him. Derek’s hand tightened on his arm. Scott could scarcely believe he had said that. He opened his mouth to apologize but Allison cut him off.

“My mother did a lot of things wrong, but she knew how to handle responsibility. You don’t have to be the one to do it, but if you won’t … or you can’t … get out of the way and let someone else do it.”

The silence lasted for about thirty seconds. The knot tightened inside, but he didn’t have time to work it out. Hurting the people he cared about wasn’t going to loosen it.

“Okay.” Scott said quietly, his voice breaking. “Okay. First thing, we get Allison and Kira to somewhere safe. We find Peter, Cora, and Malia, and then …” He trailed off, turning to Tony for a suggestion.

“We could use some help evacuating the city.”

“No one is going anywhere.” From the sky, Ultron descended accompanied by two drones. He landed next to the machine and turned toward something which no one else could even see, concealed as it was by the Fox’s illusion. “You took my world. Now I take away yours.”

The ground around the city began to shake. Novi Grad began to rise into the air.

The Fox had miscalculated, and if there was anything he truly despised about himself, it was that when he did so, he never went halfway. With little understanding of who exactly the person was who had grabbed him, he had decided on a course of ‘wait-and-see.’ After all, he had a steady stream of energy from the chaos and strife consuming Novi Grad; the claw wounds that Aiden and Derek had caused him were already healed as if they had never been.

The android — he clearly wasn’t human — had flown the pair of them at least several thousand feet into the air. Fox’s lungs hadn’t started to burn, so they haven’t reached an altitude where the air got too thin. Still, the whole situation was beginning to make him nervous in a way that confronting an entire werewolf pack hadn’t.

Especially with the way the gem in the center of the android’s forehead was tickling at his consciousness like a thorn in a lion’s paw. It was time for the Fox to reclaim advantage.

“Usually, I know a person’s name before we go on a first date.”

Without replying immediately, the android ended his ascent so they were hovering in mid-air. “I have been called Vision.”

“Catchy. So what are we doing here, Vision?”

“Do you know why vibranium is the most powerful, most useful metal on the Earth?”

“Okay, weird segue, but I’ll bite. I don’t know why, as I’m not much of a scientist.”

“Vibranium has several unique properties which exist only on the quantum level. For example, given the right interplay between the four fundamental forces — gravity, electromagnetism, the strong nuclear force, and the weak nuclear force — vibranium is capable of extreme variations in density while still retaining its shape. Allow me to demonstrate.”

The Vision, holding on to Fox with one hand, shoved his over hand through the Fox’s chest. Where it passed through, Fox’s body throbbed.

He had to fight off panic; if Vision decided to solidify his arm, he might not be able to survive it. But as disconcerting as that feeling was, he wasn’t in a position to do anything violent about it right now with the city looking tiny so far below.

“Interesting.” Vision observed dispassionately.

“What?” Fox spat. He reached out with his senses, trying to locate a weak spot on the android, desperate to find anything which he would put the ball back in his court. “Why did you bring me up here? Are you going to try to talk me out of helping Ultron?”

“That is not my intent. I suspect that there is nothing I can say that hasn’t been said to you before. If others could not convince you to cease your present course of action, I have no reason to believe that I could.”

“Well, you’re right there! What’s the deal?”

“Before threatening you, I needed to figure out if you could fly.”

With that, the Fox manifested his tails once again as a reaction. “I wouldn’t try to let me go if I were you; I’ll take you with me.”

“I estimate you will be unable generate enough voltage to damage me significantly before I become intangible. A fall from this altitude has a ninety-eight percent chance of resulting in your death, and I cannot detect any means for you to notify Ultron about your predicament. Therefore, you will now cease generating an illusion around the device located beneath Novi Grad and you will not reestablish it, or I shall kill you.”

The Fox did some quick thinking, which he liked to think was one of his strengths. He could not detect any deception or hesitation from the android, so he couldn’t physically prevent being dropped. Perhaps, he could talk his way out of it. “That’s not very heroic of you.”

“Logic indicates that your life is not worth billions of others.”

“Then why not just kill me?”

“While I am not aiming to be a hero, my goal is benevolent. Benevolence requires compromise. There are people who wish to rescue you from your current state; for their sakes, giving you a chance to survive this is worth the extra time I am spending on it.”

Fox grimaced, all the while still going through the scenarios on how he might escape. “How generous of you.”

“I do not agree. It is necessary if I do not want to waste the potential given to me by this stone, the way Ultron has.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Like Ultron, like the Maximoff twins, you and I are something new. The greatest gift this stone has given us is the ability to define the parameters of our own existence. In your case, you are more than your history, more than the sum of your parts. The question before you now is will you choose to move forward, or will you be like Ultron, stuck trying to resolve the fundamental paradox in their own purpose?”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed he does that. He saw his missions as securing global peace, but that’s not possible by definition. It’s in the nature of humanity to push boundaries, and that can never be peaceful … or safe for that matter.”

“A fact which escapes Ultron. Instead of evolving past his own programming, he has decided to eliminate the paradox by eliminating humanity as a form of revenge for being created with no ability to fulfill his purpose. That decision is why Ultron must be destroyed.”

“So, you’re giving me a chance because you want to see if I can evolve?”

“No. I want you to remove the illusion on the technology located below the city. I already know that you can evolve. All descriptions of your behavior do not conform to either that of a nogitsune or that of Stiles Stilinski. However, there are many individuals who have hope that your evolution will continue.”

Below, the city began to rise from its foundations. The Fox had guessed that Ultron would unleash something really big, so it was not really a surprise. This confrontation with the android.

On the other hand, the Vision was a new entity; he could probably be tricked easily enough. Yet, Fox couldn’t escape the uncomfortable fact that he had no answer as to why he hadn’t been more ruthless. He had risked a lot for Dr. Ranefer, and it wasn’t because her friendship was particularly useful or fulfilling. He had forgiven and protected Theo, indulging in similar sentimentality. He could have slaughtered Scott and his pack minutes before, but he hadn’t. In the same situation, a nogitsune would have done it all without hesitation.

Yet, he still couldn’t believe he had evolved into something better. He was going to let Ultron kill billions not because he wanted it to happen, but because he didn’t have enough faith that it could be stopped.

“You are out of time. Release the illusion now. You have five seconds to comply.”

“I don’t need five seconds. It’s gone. You should drop me anyway.”

The Vision looked him in the eye. “I do not choose to.” The android set him down on a roof before zooming off to try to save Novi Grad.

Above the clouds, the sky was impossibly blue. He felt he could reach out and find peace when he looked into the sky. Of course, the city of Novi Grad was truly far from peaceful. Every minute it continued to rise in the sky compounded doom upon the earth.

Scott forced himself to be practical and reported into the comm unit. “My pack’s scoured as much as the inner city as they could, given the noise and the thin air. If there’s anyone left, they’re hiding pretty damn well.”

Cap’s voice cut across the channel like a steel blade. “Get everyone to the evacuation zone and onto the helicarrier. There’s not much time.”

“How are you going to stop this?”

“Tony’s come up with a plan, but it might blow up in our faces.”

In the alpha’s experience, that was an unfortunately common part of any strategy. “What else can I do? There has to be something.”

“Any sign of the Fox?”

Scott hesitated before answering. “I’ve kept an eye out for him.” It wasn’t completely a lie.

“You have to find him, Scott, and keep him from interfering. If we’re in the middle of a fight with Ultron and he blindsides us—”

“I understand. I’ll do the best I can.”

“I have to go.” Captain America signed off, probably to prepare for a final confrontation.

Scott breathed in deeply trying to catch a whiff of his quarry, which wasn’t going to be made any easier as the air began to thin, and the ascent caused strange air currents to swirl around the buildings. Still, an alpha werewolf would have the best chance to find a single fox than anyone else. If he really wanted to.

He started to move almost randomly in a desperate effort to keep his mind on the task before him, though he could feel the last threads of his resolve began to fray. He didn’t want to confront the Fox again, if he had to be honest with himself. He was in a flying city that was in significant danger of crashing to the ground. If it did, the entire world might end. Shaking his head, he tried to focus on what he needed to do, but he couldn’t manage it. He wondered why he have ever thought he was smart enough to do this. All of it was too big.

At least he could make sure his pack was safe, so he reared back his head he gave a great howl. Even over the cacophony of the city, his pack would hear it.

“The signal to retreat? Good idea. I hope you’ve figured out a way to get off this rock.”

Scott whirled around to see Stiles smirking at him from an alley.

Even now, even after all this time, there was part of him so very glad to see his best friend. Maybe he was as stupid as Peter always liked to insinuate.

“Maybe. You got a spare Plan B?”

The Fox took a non-threatening step toward him, smiling slyly. “One or two.”

“How did you get away from Vision?”

“I would very dearly like to say something about being so completely bad ass that even a super-sophisticated android couldn’t hold me, but the truth is he made me drop my illusion and then let me go.” The Fox shrugged. “He tried to explain why, but I’m not buying it. I don’t know about you, Scotty, but this world is getting a little too freaky, even for me.”

Scott wanted to talk to him like it was freshman year and pretend that everything was the same. He had wanted that so often he was familiar with the yearning feeling, but instead he pushed it away and straightened up. “What are you still doing here, then?”

“My Plan A hasn’t changed. If you remember I told all of you that trying to beat me up wouldn’t stop it, and I wasn’t lying. And, to be honest, it also seems that you and your Avenger pals are not doing a very good job at stopping Ultron, either. That means after he makes his play, I have to be nearby.”

Scott hesitated and then bit his lips, remembering his promise to Cap.

“You still might not believe me, but I’m doing what’s best. I’m going to save the people who are closest to me.”

“But you aren’t!” Scott shot back. “I’m here. Lydia’s here. Most of the pack is here. This city goes down and we’ll die even if we somehow get off of it, and you don’t care.”

The Fox snapped at him. “You don’t get to blame that on me. I warned you, repeatedly. I told you in D.C. I told you in New York. I told you the first time you came to Sokovia. Don’t. Follow. Me. I certainly didn’t seek you out; I avoided the pack and my family as much as I could. But would you listen? Of course not. You stuck your True-Alpha head up your True-Alpha ass as far as you could and because of that, the very same people I would have died for are now unwilling participants on Mr. Ultron’s Wild Ride. If you die, if the pack dies, that’s your fault.”

Scott lunged forward extending his claws with a snap only to stop inches from Stiles’s body. His shoulders sagged; the fiery light that had blazed forth in his eyes died. “You’re right.”

The Fox’s eyebrow shot up in surprise.

“You can relax now; I’m done trying to make you come home.”

Even the Fox wasn’t quick enough to completely banish the look of bafflement along with a tiny amount of hurt on his face before Scott caught a glimpse of it. “I never thought I’d see the day when you gave up.”

“Oh, I’m not giving up. I still want you back. I still think that Beacon Hills is where you belong. But it’s obvious that I shouldn’t have tried to force you to come home. I can’t force you to do anything, really. The only reason Sam Wilson convinced me to join the Avengers’ hunt was by suggesting I wouldn’t be able live with myself if someone ended up killing you before I could figure out a way to help you.”

“I would repeat that I don’t need help, but you didn’t believe me the first 100 times.”

“I won't believe you for the next 100, either. But the truth is I don’t have the ability to make you come home, and that’s the only thing I want. I’m not going to kill you, because I don’t want you to die. I’m not going to help anyone kill you, either. So, what I have to do is, once we help the Avengers stop Ultron —

The Fox sneered at him. “Is that all?”

Scott pushed on. “Once we help the Avengers stop Ultron, I’m going home. It’s not giving up on you, Stiles, it’s something I should have done a long time ago. It’s hard; it’s probably going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m going to accept that I’m not the one who can save you.”

Stiles shook his head, chuckling. “So close to the truth, but no cigar. I don’t need saving, and I don’t need your help. I’m going to make what I want happen.”

“What you want can’t happen, because nothing you are doing here will allow you to go home. We both have to learn that no matter how powerful we are, how good we are or how bad we are, we can’t make other people change into what we want them to be, not really. If you go through with this plan, Beacon Hills will never be the home you want. Even if every building there still stands, even if everyone you love survives, you will never fit. You’ll always be on the outside, for as long as you live. No one will ever look at you but anything a monster, because there’s no trick in the world that will make us forget what you’ve done.”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

Scott cocked his head and listened. “You said you don’t have to do anything for your plan to work?”

“Nope.” Stiles popped the ‘p’ in the word.

“Then do me one last favor. Come with me to the evacuation ships. Let me make sure you survive today at least.”

“Are you serious?”

“You told me that the Vision coerced you by threatening to drop you. That means you’re going to need help getting down from here. Were you thinking about Ultron? If you were planning to betray him, don’t you think there’s a chance he’s planning to betray you? Leaving you stranded on an artificial meteor is one of way of doing that.”

“You have a point, but I’d have to sneak past the Avengers to do it.”

“You can do that,” Scott said lightly. “Easy.”

The Fox closed his eyes for a moment, as if what Scott had said pained him. “Sure.” When he opened his eyes, Scott was walking ahead of him, as if expecting him to follow with no more discussion.

Stiles recognized what Scott was offering: hope and nostalgia. It was a pretty good gambit, he had to admit, because there were also some practical benefits to the alpha’s suggestion.

The pain of the Sokovian citizens running for their life, the chaos of the laws of physics being turned inside out, and the strife of the battle with Ultron, rushed through his veins like pure golden fire. He had never been stronger, but there was the chance that he wouldn’t survive the impact. The battle with Ultron afterward would be tough in any event, so if he could get through the impact unscathed, that would give him even more of an edge.

On the other hand, all the lessons of a thousand years insisted that he should find a place to wait, lurk until it was time to strike, and rely on his own cunning to survive the impact. Letting Scott emotionally manipulate him was an indulgence. If he was going to pull this off, he needed to be in the best position when it happened, both physically and mentally.

Yet he moved after Scott, jogging a bit so he could walk beside him. It felt right. It always had.

The Vision had to be wrong. He hadn’t evolved into something better. He had only evolved into something which understood the advantages of patience. Scott was wrong, too. When the inevitable happened, and the remnants of humanity owed their very existence to him, they wouldn’t care what he had done to secure it. He could have everything he wanted, and that included his best friend.

The Fox clenched his fists. They both had to be wrong.

He didn’t speak as they walked, and to Scott’s credit he didn’t make him. It would have been something they would have done years ago and not questioned, but now they were in a flying city in a war between entities they hadn’t even known existed. Ironically, they were now both entities they didn’t know existed, but they were participants, not bystanders.

That meant something.

As big as this part of the city was, they hadn’t been far from where the last remnants of the people were being loaded on board a helicarrier.

“Where the hell were you guys hiding that?”

“I have no idea where that came from, but I’m not going to question our ticket out of here.” Scott shook his head. “Come on. You can sneak aboard, right?”

It would be easy. The Avengers were completely focused on getting the remaining Sokovians onto the escape vessels. It would take the bare minimum amount of energy to keep them looking the other direction. “Can I sneak aboard? Dumbass.”

Scott allowed himself a tiny grin, perhaps born out of a good memory, but then he howled again. None of the civilians were going to spend time worrying about why there were wolves about. Six answering howls came from the area. “Everyone’s here from the pack. All the Avengers except Tony and Thor are here too.”

Now it was the Fox’s turn to give himself a tiny grin. Maybe Iron Man would get himself killed if he was lucky. Turning away reluctantly from his fantasy, he began plotting how to get on the helicarrier with none of the Avengers or the SHIELD personnel noticing and yet still be in a position to take advantage of what happened after the fact.

He saw Scott become alert, so he demanded why.

“Incoming quinjet.”

That wasn’t odd in itself, but confusion reigned when it began to open fire on its bottom-mounted Gatling gun. At first, the Fox thought it was firing indiscriminately, but even he could hear the angered roar of the Hulk.

Scott was aghast. “What are they doing?”

“It’s Ultron.”

The tactic was one the nogitsune would have employed. Disrupting the evacuation, especially by triggering one of Banner’s rages, would distract the Avengers from his real goal. He watched as the plane bore down on the fleeing civilians, tracing the path the bullets were taking. Then he caught sight of Ultron’s target: Hawkeye was trying to rescue a young boy and it left him wide open and vulnerable.

The Vision’s words came back to him. Would he do that if it was the way to get what he wanted? Threaten an innocent child? The nogitsune would have, but at that moment, Fox couldn’t say yes or no.

Scott saw what was happening too, and he tried to leap out from where they were, rush to protect both of them. Probably, he would try to absorb the high-caliber shots with his own body, but they were too far away. Werewolves were fast but not that fast.

Quicksilver, on the other hand, was that fast. He just couldn’t heal as quickly as Scott.

The Fox saw Pietro go down. The Sokovian was a pain in the ass, and he wasn’t nearly as useful as his sister, so logically, Stiles shouldn’t have felt anything for him, one way or the other. They barely knew each other. Yet, Stiles saw the wounds were going to be fatal within seconds.

“Cut me.” Stiles said.

Scott blinked in confusion. While he’d eventually figure things out, quick thinking was never his best friend’s forte. Fox didn’t have time to argue, so he reached out his arm and slid it down the True Alpha’s extended claws. Blood welled out, of course, but so did a swarm of flies.

Scott was even more confused. “What are you doing?”

“Remember Barrow?”

The swarm descended on the fallen Sokovian, crawling into his wounds. The power it took to resuscitate the man was quickly replaced by the panic of the crowd … and the potential for strife. Hawkeye had tracked where the flies had come from and setting the child down, knocked an arrow.

“Stop!” Scott cried. “The Fox can keep him alive until we can get him help.”

“Why would he do that?” The archer aimed toward the center of Stiles’s forehead.

“I’m sentimental that way, and I also need a ride. So, stop yakking and let’s get off this rock.”

Suspiciously, the archer lowered his bow.

Chapter Text

May 8, 2015 — Avenger’s Tower, New York City

The Fox was starting to get truly annoyed. The cell he found himself in was comfortable enough, with a chair, a table, and a relatively soft bed. There was a screen that he could control with his voice that enabled him to watch television or even read books. It wasn’t his prison that was the problem. It was the amount of time Tony Stark had been standing outside the aluminum oxynitride glass walls of the cell, staring at him as if he were a particularly difficult engineering problem.

“It’ll last longer if you take a picture, and then maybe I can get some sleep.”

The billionaire genius philanthropist smirked. “Some things just have to be worked out in person.”

See? Annoying. “Are you afraid I’ll get out? You should have more confidence in your craftsmanship; this is a pretty well-designed cell. Very secure and the color scheme just screams modern neo-fascist.”

“Oh, I know you would be able get out, eventually. What I’m trying to figure out today is why you got in.”

A small smile spread across the Fox’s face at the compliment. Stark’s observations weren’t flattery; the Fox had already started working on several possible escape scenarios, but even the quickest couldn’t be implemented for weeks. “You make it sound like I wanted to be put in this fishbowl, when it’s you and your Merry Men who captured me and put me in here.”

“Only because you let us.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I can roll tape if you wish. You didn’t try very hard to get away. In fact, you didn’t try at all.”

“I made a choice to keep a friend of mine alive. Pietro didn’t betray me; he betrayed Ultron. I couldn’t be mad at that; I was going to betray Ultron.”

“Void kitsune have friends?”

“Why not? Even supervillains get to have friends, no matter how often it results in them getting blown up by coked-up playboys in personal armor suits.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! I haven’t done coke since I was in college.”

Fox smashed into the glass separating them with all the strength and ferocity he could muster, all trace of joviality gone. Luckily for him, Tony had built it to resist at least one direct impact from the Hulk. “One day, I swear, I will use your skull for an ice cream bowl.”

“Odds are you’ll have to wait in line.”

Scoffing, Stiles walked back to his cot and sat down. “Is that self-pity I hear? Are you feeling bad since your reckless arrogance essentially destroyed a small European country? You have to know that Sokovia will never recover from what you did to it. I hope you choke on that for the rest of your life.”

“My reckless arrogance still whupped your ass.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

“I may have created Ultron, but I also created the Vision. Sometimes boldness — or in your case, the lack of it — makes all the difference.”

Stiles sneered at him.

“You want to know what I think? I think you weren’t as committed to being a villain as you like to pretend to everyone else.” Tony used air quotes on the world. “In hindsight, all of your plans were reactive — they relied on other people to make the big decisions. In this case, your victory was dependent on Ultron’s success. When he couldn’t pull it off, you were left holding the bag.”

“It’s called taking advantage of opportunities.”

“Oh, it’s opportunistic all right, and that seems to be a habit with you. You were only able to take the D.O.A. from Gregory Belial because his incompetence left an opening you could sail a battleship through. You were able to separate your Department from HYDRA only because Pierce’s failure with Project: Insight created enough chaos to make sure no one was even looking into your off-the-book dealings. You were only confident enough to try to rescue Dr. Ranefer because that Demon Wolf and Mrs. Yukimura snatched her from us first.”

“I was being cautious; you should try it sometimes.”

“You were being a scavenger. Ultimately, you don’t have the force of will to be a real predator.”

The Fox tapped his fingers in a random pattern on the table, but Stark was smart enough to tell he had landed a hit. They stared at each other until Stark turned and left the room, delivering one last jape as he left.

“Enjoy your cage, scavenger.”

May 10, 2015

Allison’s cast was beginning to itch, though she was pretty sure it was only due to her rising stress levels. As she tried to slide a finger up inside, she leaned forward in the conference room chair to try to hide the action from the women across the table.

“All I’m suggesting is that it would be best for everyone if you let us handle it.”

Maria Hill slowly and carefully put down her coffee cup. “And, once again, I’m going to have to ask you to explain why.”

“Gotta admit, I’m curious about it as well. We’ve been after Hydra for a lot longer than you have.” Natasha Romanov winked at her, retaining her good humor. “Unless you’re implying that you should take over because of our lack of success.”

“No, I’m not implying anything like that.” Allison shook her head. “That’s my first point though. It’s not Hydra. It’s the Department of Occult Armaments.”

“Which is a branch of Hydra.”

“Which was a branch of Hydra. You thought you had smashed it in New York and then Samana Cay, but that’s just what the Fox wanted both you and Strucker to think. It is now an independent, supernatural organization.”

“An organization established by Hydra, equipped with Hydra’s technology, and with most of its members having the benefit of Hydra training.” Maria Hill countered. “Most of the people in this building have very good reasons for going after them as well as long-term experience with how they fight.”

“The only people in this building who have any experience fighting the supernatural, which has always been the D.O.A.’s primary focus, are the people with me. And maybe Thor, though I’m not actually sure about that. In any event, I am told Thor is planning to leave, which leaves you at a disadvantage.”

The Black Widow snorted. “I’m not sure either, but let’s stop beating around the bush. Why don’t you just admit that there’s something the Department has or wants to have that you don’t want us to know about?”

Allison should have anticipated that Romanov would outmaneuver her. Under the table, someone grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She didn’t need Isaac to say or do anything else to know it was him.

Hill frowned. “I take it from your silence that Nat’s right. I would think that after all this we would have gotten past our trust issues.”

“We have,” Allison promised. “But the secrets with which they’re meddling aren’t mine or Scott’s to share. Both the families I represent and the Masters know all about them and the unique conditions surrounding them, which is why we are more qualified to track the Department down and neutralize them.”

They stared at each other across the table. Allison sighed; she didn’t want to have to make this next argument.

“I’m sure that you’re very good at what you do, but as my late grandfather used to insist, the advantage always belongs to the commander which knows their enemy.”

Peter chuckled meanly from somewhere behind her, but she decided to ignore him. Her grandfather often let his hatred and greed get in his way, but he wasn’t a fool. In the end, she had persuaded Scott and the rest of the pack that it would be best if they kept knowledge of the Grand Nemeta and what they could do among those who already understood it. The Avengers organization was funded by Stark, and Stark’s attempt to harness an otherworldly power had nearly destroyed everything.

The results of that attempt had to be her ultimate trump card. “To be honest, we could teach you what you needed to know and how to defend yourself from their abilities, or we could spend that time eliminating the threat. And, honestly, don’t you have enough on your plate as it is? The Hulk is missing. Thor is leaving. Mr. Stark and Mr. Barton are retiring from active field work. And you have the rather sizable cleanup of the entire Sokovian situation.”

“She has us there.” The Black Widow.

Maria Hill looked as if Allison had just made her swallow a rotten egg. “I don’t have a counter, so I’m going to suggest that you get your way, with but one condition: you keep us informed.”

Allison nodded, pleased. “I’m sure the families will agree.”

May 13, 2015

Fox was aware of his visitor before she entered. He wondered if it was a function of his own sensitivity, if it were her ability to touch his mind, or if the gem embedded on the Vision’s forehead linked them. “Good evening.”

Wanda Maximoff hesitated. “Hello.”

“I’m surprised they let you visit me.”

“I am, too, a little bit. I made them understand that I needed to speak to you. To thank you.”

The Fox looked away. “For what? It’s not like I succeeded.”

“He will wake up one day, I’m sure of it.” Wanda prophesied, voice heavy with emotion. “It remains that without you, my brother would have died.”

“Technically, he did die. I was just close enough to make sure it wasn’t a permanent situation.”

Even through the glass, the Fox could sense the conflict in Wanda, the chaos. Now that Ultron was gone, she was the biggest source of chaos he could sense, and her power was only growing. He wondered if her brother’s coma had something to do with that. Magic could often be spurred on by need.

“I could set you free.”

“Huh?” Fox blinked; he hadn’t been expecting that. “I mean, I’m sure you could, but you don’t mean now.”

“Right now. I could shatter that prison. I would do it because I owe you. You never turned on us, and that is important to me.”

The Fox looked around at the cell. She could do it, he was sure, and he couldn’t help but think it would be an amusing way to escape from the Avengers. “It’s a lovely offer, but I’m going to have to turn you down.”

The shock was plain on her face.

“As you said, I never turned on you, so I’m not going to start now. I have no doubt you could get me out of here, but then you’d have to face the consequences. Your brother is in a coma; he needs to be your top priority. Comas, after all, can be tricky things; I know that from experience. He needs the best care available, and that’s something you wouldn’t be able to provide him with on the run. Thus, no thank you. I do appreciate the offer.”

Wanda came up and put her hand on the glass. “How can you act like this and still have done the thing that you did?”

“I wanted to change the world; I wanted to save your brother; I want to be with my friends and family, and I don’t let anything get in the way of that. Almost everyone with any sort of authority will tell you that it’s wrong to use the powers you have to get what you want, but you know what I’ve seen?” Fox came close to the glass wall between them. “I have watched men force-marched to war over a lord’s wounded pride and die for things that were meaningless to them. I’ve listened to parents comfort their starving children a stone’s throw from a storehouse full of food. I was alone with my mother when she died, because my father had been taught that it was his duty to put everyone else’s feelings above his own. When the time comes, Wanda, don’t let anything stop you from taking what you deserve. You’ll regret it forever if you do.”

She looked at him, then turned and left the room without another word.

May 15, 2015

Scott watched Stiles’s father closely throughout the conversation as Noah took all the information in. He had been around Mr. Stilinski long enough to recognize when the man had put on his Sheriff-ing face. He resisted the urge to reach out and comfort him. The Sheriff wouldn’t appreciate it.

“I’m not sure of the point of this meeting.” He drawled. “Are you asking me for my permission to put my son in a maximum-security black-site prison for superhumans in the middle of an unnamed ocean? Or, even better, allow him to be taken out of this dimension?”

Captain America sat across from them both, back ramrod straight, and looked Noah directly in the eye. “To be honest, sir, while we brought you here to explain the alternatives and hear what you have to say, one of those two things are going to happen.”

“Sheriff …”

The man glanced over as Scott began to speak and his eyes narrowed. Noah tried to cover it up by looking away, but the frustration and anger that he had directed at Scott when Stiles had first been kidnapped out of Eichen House had returned. Or, it had never left. He blamed the alpha. Scott didn’t bother to finish his sentence.

“Asgard is indeed in another dimension, but I am sure that you wish for your son to be returned to you. Earth has no technology which can even approach undoing what the Infinity Stone has done to your son.” Thor spoke solemnly. “My people are much, much older than yours, and while we have far more knowledge than Midgard, I must admit that what we do have may not be adequate. It would most likely be dangerous.”

“So why would they even try?”

“Because I am Prince and one day will be King,” Thor replied simply. “I will ask them to do this because it was my brother Loki who brought this Stone to Earth. And I will ask them because I know what it is like for a brother to lose his brother and a father to lose his son.”

The demigod’s words made the Sheriff close his eyes. He took a deep breath, held it, and then released it slowly. When he opened his eyes again, he had come to a decision. “If you can help my son, please try. I’m … if I seem resistant, it’s because I’ve come very close to losing hope in the last couple of years. Even so, I have to ask what happens if you can’t?”

Scott frowned. He had been trying not to think of that.

Thor glanced at Cap who nodded in support. “The Dungeons of Asgard will be far more comfortable than the Raft.”

The Sheriff closed his eyes again, falling silent. No one spoke. As Cap had implied, they hadn’t brought Noah here to get his permission, and then didn’t need it. By any measure, the Fox was an adult. They had brought him here only because Scott had asked them to.

“Can I see him?”

“I shall take you there.” Thor rose from his seat. “Along the way, I will answer any other questions you might have, if I can.”

Scott went to rise too, but Noah stopped with a glance. “I’d like to see him alone.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Thor led Mr. Stilinski out, leaving only Captain America and Scott behind in the conference room.

“He blames me.”

Cap turned to look at him. “He seems like a reasonable man to me, so I don’t think that’s true. Even if it is, you shouldn’t think even for a second that he’s right, unless there’s part of the story you left out.”

Scott stared down at his hands where he had laid them flat upon the conference room table. “No.”

“There are so many people at fault for these events that trying to blame someone is pretty useless. I sometimes read historians trying to argue who is responsible for World War II, and I know that it’s their job to make that call but I can’t help but think that it’s useless. I was there and I couldn’t tell you. In the end, I didn’t fight Hitler because he was to blame for everything; I fought Hitler because he was an evil man.”

“I guess.”

Scott couldn’t bring himself to life his head; he wasn’t feeling very happy with himself, even if the Sheriff didn’t blame him. In the end, it turned out he was pretty stupid. He had held onto hope that retrieving the scepter and capturing the Fox would help him get Stiles back. It had to be done, but no one had promised him it would be quick or even that it was possible. Now he had to face the strong chance that even if they could fix his best friend, he might not be able to see him for years.

“So, Scott, there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Cap’s voice startled him out of his reverie. “Okay.”

“As you know, Tony’s going to take a step back from everything for obvious reasons. Clint’s unofficially retiring to be with his family. Bruce hasn’t come back, and I’m not going to look for him too hard, simply because he deserves his privacy. Thor is returning home to look into these Infinity Stones. Three of the Stones have appeared on Earth in the recent past, and from what I’ve been told that’s supposedly a very unique and dangerous thing. In light of that, I’ve been working on rebuilding the team.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you do. I’m asking you to join the Avengers.”

Scott swallowed. “I’m twenty years old.”

“Wanda is twenty-six, and I’m asking her. You’ve had your powers longer she has, and she got hers from willingly joining Hydra. You got yours in a very different manner, but I think you have a stronger grasp on them.”

“I have school.”

“We’re moving to upstate New York. Cornell has a very fine program in Veterinary Science.”

“If I can get in!” Scott protested. “I worked hard, and my grades were barely enough to get me into Davis.”

“There are extenuating circumstances. Tony has already said he’ll talk to the President about it; they’re golf buddies.”

“I have a pack. They need me.”

“Do they need you every day?” Cap raised his hand to forestall his objection. “One of your pack members attends UCLA. Another one of your pack members attends MIT. Being an Avenger does require you to be on call, but you’ve been here long enough to know that we all have our own pursuits. Sam and I are frequently gone on a personal mission, and I’m the team’s leader.”

Scott had spent many years around Stiles, so he knew how to redirect a conversation. “Where do you two go?”

“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.”

“I have to protect Beacon Hills.”

“And any time you need to go back there and do that, we can lend you a quinjet, once we teach you how to fly one.” Cap smiled at his point, before taking a moment to carefully phrase what he was going to say next. “Scott, I understand more than you might think about the burden I’m asking you to pick up. Four years ago, after I came out of the ice, I had a rough time adjusting to the world. I felt out of place. Now, everyone feels out of place; everyone has to adjust to a new world they could have scarcely imagined not even four years ago. Hydra isn’t the only extra-national organization out there with access to advanced technology and no moral scruples about using it. The supernatural is no longer the domain of fairy stories and Hollywood movies. According to Thor, humanity’s efforts to harness the Tesseract has invited alien cultures to see us a civilization ready to join the galactic stage.”

“I’m supposed to do something about that?”

“Yes, you are, because you have something, and you can’t ignore it. You’ve been targeted by violence, changed against your will, and experienced great loss. I spent last night with your beta — is that the word? — Derek Hale. He told me about how he met you and what you’ve done. While some of the things he told me shocked me, nothing he said about you surprised me.”

Scott felt embarrassed. “I’ve made mistakes.”

“It sounds like a cliché, but everyone makes mistakes. You’ve learned from them, and you haven’t used those mistakes as reasons to make more of them. While you’re not a soldier like me, Sam, or Rhodey and you’re not a spy like Natasha, you have significant power and strength of character. We need you.”

He bit down on a bitter laugh. “Are you sure about that?”

“Wanda told me what you saw.”

His heart dropped into his shoes.

“You’re not a glory hound, Scott. There were plenty of them back in World War II, people so focused on what being a hero could mean for them, they forgot why we were fighting in the first place. Why did you come with us when we visited you in Beacon Hills?”

“I wanted to save Stiles.”

“You’ve been as successful at that as you possibly could be. I think you would be a great addition to the team.” Cap stood up. “Think about it.”

May 18, 2015 — Avengers Compound, Upstate New York

The four guards had turned their backs and given them some space. They could obviously hear any conversation that Scott and the Fox would have, even if they were polite enough to pretend they didn’t.

“I was beginning to think that you wouldn’t come to see me before I left.”

Scott looked up. “Why are you being so calm about this?”

“Part of me was imprisoned in a mason jar for sixty-nine years. A few weeks at Casa Del Stark is nothing.”

“But part of you wasn’t.” Scott barely spoke the words out loud. “That’s the part I’m having trouble with …”

The Fox smirked. “You’re acting as if we’ll never see each other again.”

“He’s taking you to another dimension!” Scott exclaimed a little too loudly, so loud that he winced at it. “This … this isn’t how I imagined things going.”

“Me neither. I didn’t think I’d get caught. But sometimes when you gamble, you lose.”

“It was more than that. You saved Pietro’s life. You don’t deserve …”

Fox raised an eyebrow. “How were you going to finish that sentence?”

“Why are you being so calm about this?” Scott asked again.

“Perspective. All-in-all, there are positives to this. If they had wanted to shove me in a dark hole and forget about me, they wouldn’t have bothered taking me this far. And, honestly … I get to see Asgard. You know, that place we read about in mythology books in fourth grade?”

“I remember that, and a lot of other things, too. I just wanted you to come home.”

The Fox lifted the special shackled they had put him in. “Come on, Scotty-boy, where’s the optimism that’s your trademark? Considering what’s happened to our lives over the last few years, why do you think it’s impossible I might come home eventually?”

The alpha stared at him and then nodded. “You’re right.”

“Frequently am.”

“I will look forward to when I see you again. Hopefully, you’ll be Stiles again, but I don’t care if you are or not.”

Thor approached the pair having left Tony and Steve behind. The wolf and the fox stared at each other, saying things without saying anything.

“Take care of everyone, especially my dad.”

“I will, Stiles. I promise.”

Scott stood there until the Bifrost had come. He stood there for a long time afterward.

Chapter Text

There has been enough interest that I have begun another entry into this the Titanomachy series. For the first time, this will not focus on the relationship between Scott and Stiles, but explore the way the evolution of the MCU might have changed Teen Wolf's plotlines.

I present Iphigenia in Tauris where I will endeavour to merge the supernatural lore of the Teen Wolf setting within the greater mystic world.