Filler Episode

AN- I've been sick for like a few days. My head feels like it's wrapped in damp cotton and my energy is tanked. Still didn't want to miss posting. Before I started writing HP parody stuff I tried my hand at Teen Wolf as it was big at the time. This is one of those stories. I have more chapters if there is interest. If not, enjoy the read and I'll get back to the regularly scheduled programming as soon as I can.

AN 2- I'm messing around with the timeline a little. Laura is killed the day they find the body. Not sure if that actually is messing with the timeline, but I wanted it said. The rest of the changes are pretty obvious. There will be some guiding from the show, but I'm aiming for more of an AU setup.

1.

[Beacon Hills Preserve, no entry after dark]

Scott stared at the sign as Stiles jumped out of the jeep. This wasn't a good idea. Compared to all of the other bad ideas that Stiles had, this was probably in the top five. It was too earlier to tell if it was on par with letting spiders bite them to see if they'd get superpowers. That was the standard. Not only had he been covered in spider bites, but the dust under the porch had triggered an asthma attack. Stiles said, there's half of a dead body in the woods, we're going to find it, and somehow Scott was in the jeep. Sure, Stiles was his best friend, really his only friend, but this was incredibly stupid.

"Are we seriously doing this?" Scott asked as he got out.

"You're the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town," Stiles smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

That wasn't true. Stiles always bitched about nothing happened around here. His mind raced; he really didn't want to be out here.

"I was trying to get a good night's sleep before practice tomorrow," he shrugged.

"Right," Stiles clicked on a flashlight as he continued into the woods. "Cause sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort.

"No," Scott sighed. "Because I'm playing this year. In fact, I'm making first line."

"Hey, that's the spirit," Stiles said over his shoulder. "Everyone should have a dream. Even a pathetically unrealistic one."

Scott chuckled, says the guy who's been pining over Lydia Martin since the fourth grade.

They continued on for a couple more minutes in silence. Well, as quiet as two teenagers tromping through the woods at night with only one flashlight could be. Scott could feel a familiar tickle in the back of his throat.

Dust and mold, he cleared his throat, of course they'd be all over the woods.

"Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?"

"Huh," Stiles paused for half a step. "I didn't even think about that."

"And, uh, what if whoever killed the body is still out here?" Stay calm. There are cops nearby. You'll be fine.

Stiles dipped his head to the side. Translation: the thought just entered my brain at such high speed that it knocked me for a loop.

"Also, something I didn't think about."

"It's," Scott wheezed as they scaled a small hill. "Comforting to know you planned this out with your usual attention to detail."

"I know," Stiles smiled.

"Maybe," the wheezing got worse. Of course it got worse. You just stuck your face into a layer of dried leaves. "The sever asthmatic should be carrying the flashlight."

Stiles made it to the top of the hill. A chunk of leaves and dirt sailed past Scott's face as his friend dove to the ground. He joined him a moment later as he saw the flashlights in the distance.

See. Cops are right there. They'll find whatever did this and you're safe, he told himself. And then they'll catch you and Stiles out here in the middle of the night. You'll get grounded and probably miss practice tomorrow because you'll have to come straight home.

"Wait here," Stiles clicked off the flashlight. A broad smile crossed his face as he scrambled to his feet and headed toward the search party. Yet again kicking a tuft of nearby earth into the air.

"Stiles," Scott yelled.

It was all he could manage. He pressed his inhaler to his mouth and took a puff of medicine. Stiles lost sight of the details when he had an idea. He wasn't trying to make Scott have an asthma attack. He probably didn't even think about how the woods at the end of summer were practically a deathtrap to Scott. His focus was on finding the body. Stiles would apologize and feel like a complete ass once this was over.

"Wait up," Scott called as he chased his friend. "Stiles," he coughed as they ran. "Stiles," a decent amount of air finally made it to his lungs.

Stiles turned around to look at his friend. He spun back to the sound of a dog barking. The K9 unit pounced on him the moment he was on the ground. It was only by the grace of feeding all the dogs attached to the sheriff station a steady supply of scraps that he didn't get mauled. The wet nose nudged his neck and then began to search his pockets intently.

"Hey, Margo," his whisper got lost in the deputy's yell. "I'm happy to see you too."

Scott pressed his back to a nearby tree. Stiles and Scott had been partners in crime since they were kids. They had long ago decided that if one of them got caught, the other was free to flee. This plan had come up because they had discovered that if only one of them was grounded the other could still visit. It was Stiles's idea, mostly because Scott usually got caught first. Those big brown eyes were adorable, but he had a horrible poker face.

"Hang on," Sheriff Stilinski yelled. "This delinquent belongs to me."

"Dad, how are you doing?" Stiles tried to blink the grit out of his eyes as he stood.

"So, do you listen to all of my phone calls?"

"No," Stiles shook his head. "Not the boring ones."

"Where's your usual partner in crime?" Sheriff Stilinski scanned the area.

"Who Scott?" He waved off the idea and tried to catch his breath. "Scott is at home. He said he wanted to get a good night's sleep for the first day back at school tomorrow. It's just me. In the woods. Alone."

Stiles, Scott winced. You're using too many words again.

"Scott, are you out there?" The sheriff yelled.

Scott tried to make himself smaller against the tree. The beam of a flashlight swept through the air passed his hiding spot.

"Scott," the sheriff clicked off the flashlight. "Well young man, I'm going to walk you back to your car. And then you and I are going to have a conversation about something called invasion of privacy."

Scott gritted his teeth, great job. Now I'm out here alone.

He waited a moment and then tried to retrace his steps. A howl echoed through the forest. The hairs on the back of his neck started to rise. He pulled the hood into place and kept moving.

Get to the road. Get home. Kill Stiles.

The sounds of the woods stopped. One moment the animals were making a noise, the next they weren't. Scott could feel the stillness around him. Something moved ahead of him. He shook his inhaler as his heart started to beat faster. Something burst from the darkness in front of him. Deer, a lot of big deer fled his way. They eyes were wide and unseeing. He tried to scramble out of the way. His feet slipped, the inhaler went flying, and the deer kept coming. Scott tucked himself into a ball. His arms clamped around his head in protection. The world shook at they passed.

Suddenly, it was over. He looked around him as he got to his feet. His mind was racing, his heart kept pounding, but for some reason he could only latch onto one thought.

"My inhaler," he wheezed.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned on the flashlight. Scott scanned the ground around him. When he was in fifth grade they had done a project on archaeology. They broke down an area into a grid and began to search one box at a time. That didn't help at all right now. Somehow the details of the memory were taken over by Stiles using part of a rope as a whip and trying to swing from a rain-gutter.

Dirt. Leaves. More dirt. More leaves. Pale skin. Dead eyes. Scott jumped back as he discovered the other half of the body. It was a girl, mid-twenties if what Stiles had said was true. She had dark hair, her eyes had once been brown, and the middle of her back disappeared in a mixture of blood and gore.

Scott screamed as he jumped back.

Get away. Get away. Run. Screw the inhaler.

His feet hit a branch. He tumbled down a hill. The trunk of a tree graciously slowed him down a little as he crashed into it. He rolled to a stop at the bottom of the hill. Somehow he held onto his phone. He pulled himself up on a fallen tree.

Keep moving. Get home. Don't stop now. Being grounded is better than being dead in the woods.

He picked a direction and started to walk. Eventually it would take him to a road. The preserve was only so big. Granted, if he chose the wrong way he would wind up walking a couple of miles away from town, but at least he wouldn't be here. He'd call Stiles if he got too lost. They had activated the GPS feature on their phones and Stiles just happened to know how to use the tracking program from the sheriff's department. In fact, he'd do that now and skip the 'being lost' part.

The low rumble of a growl froze him in place. He slowly turned to look behind him. A wolf, the biggest freaking monster wolf, stared back at him. Red eyes glowed in the darkness as moved to pounce. The thing moved so fast. One moment he was standing and the next he was floating through the air. He chest first on the ground. Something grabbed his leg. He stuttered out a scream as he was pulled back toward the best. His hands tried to find purchase on the ground, but the leaves and loose earth simply gave way. A sharp pain in his side made something in his head snap.

No. I am not dying like this. They are not going to find my body torn to shreds in the forest. I'm going to school tomorrow, damn it. I'm making first line.

He grabbed a handful of fur and held on. If this beast wanted to eat him, then it was going to have to work for it. Scott gritted his teeth. His other hand found purchase on the fir. The wolf didn't move or try to take another bite. It stayed locked onto his side. Almost as though the simple act of grabbing the fur had frozen it.

Something about the situation shifted. The wolf relaxed. Its jaws loosened just a little. Scott kept his grip firm. An almost human breath escaped the wolf. It sank to the ground near his feet and pulled him along with it. The beast pinned him to the damp earth.

The adrenaline faded. His lungs ached with every shallow breath. The pressure on his back brought to mind how valiantly the tree had tried to break his fall. He felt the weight of the night pressing in on him, or maybe it was the wolf.

This is worse than the spiders.

Slowly the weight on top of him began to lessen. It shifted to the side as the wolf slumped to the ground beside him. Scott started at it for a moment.

Yes, that's a wolf, Scott thought as he studied the dark muzzle of the sleeping wolf.

Scott slowly stood up. The wolf didn't move aside from its steady breathing. He took a step away. The wolf still didn't move. He turned and sprinted away. The glimpse of freedom provided another burst of energy. He ran harder than he had ever ran before. There was a fence ahead.

Fence means road.

He hurdled the wood beams and found himself on a stretch of road. A car horn stole the moment of relief. The red SUV pulled to a stop nearby.

"What the hell were you thinking?" A woman called out at him.

"Sorry," he looked back at the fence. "Something was chasing me."

The passenger door opened, "get in."

Scott did. An SUV would get him to town a lot faster than walking. Even if it was driven by a stranger.

Stranger, a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Stiles said. What are you? Twelve?

He slumped back against the seat and buckled up. It wasn't until the SUV started moving that he even looked at the driver. A good-looking blonde woman was behind the wheel. She wasn't what he'd consider pretty, but she was attractive. Her arms were well muscles, her eyes were intense, and she had a nice body. Not that he was looking. The smell of jasmine permeated the vehicle. Her hair was wet.

"Something was chasing you?" She asked with a sly smile. The teasing tone in her voice had an underlying edge to it.

He nodded, "yeah. My friend heard there was a body in the woods, so we went looking for it."

"A body, huh?" She chuckled and shook her head. "That sounds like something I'd go out into the woods at night for."

"Half a body," he slumped into the seat. "It was stupid. He got caught by the sheriff, and I got lost. There was this big freaking wolf chasing me."

"A wolf?" The tease in her voice was gone. "You're sure it was a wolf?"

"Pretty sure," Scott shrugged.

"It was chasing you?"

Scott nodded. He was about to tell her that it bit him, but something stopped him.

"It startled a group of deer," Scott looked studied the road. "I was lucky that I wasn't as interesting as they were."

"You have no idea," the woman fell silent after that. "Where should I drop you?"

"There's a gas station at the edge of town," Scott pointed toward the lights ahead. "I can make my way home from there."

"I could take you home," the tease in her voice was back.

Scott blushed, "uh, thanks, but then I'd have to explain to my mom why I was getting a ride from a strange woman."

"Aw," she pouted. It was a very nice pout. "You think I'm strange?"

"Strange as in someone I don't know," Scott stammered.

"All that innocence and those big brown eyes," she pulled to a stop by one of the pumps. "If you were just a few years older. Or, if you could keep a secret."

Scott's eyes went wide.

"Thanks for the ride," he squeaked as he slipped out of the red SUV.

"I didn't get your name," she rolled down the window to talk to him.

"Scott," he put his hands in his pockets and looked around to get his bearings.

"I'm Kate," her smile had all the promise that made him wake up needing a shower.

"Thanks again," Scott turned around and hurried back to his house.

His mom wouldn't be home until four in the morning. Kate didn't need to know that. Scott patched himself up. His time working at the vet had taught him enough to do it on his own. Asking his mom to do it would lead to a line of questions that he couldn't answer without getting in a lot of trouble. Doing something stupid with Stiles was one thing, but accepting a ride from a woman in the middle of nowhere was something else.

~§~

Scott rode his bike to school. His side hurt, but the bandages were still clean, and he had his backup inhaler in his pocket. He was really lucky with his asthma. It was triggered by dust, mold, and some pollen. Physical activity didn't trigger attacks. He didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't play lacrosse. Not that he did a lot of playing really. He rode the bench most of last season. The only time he got to play was the last game of the season, before playoffs, in the last quarter. They rotated out all the players to make sure they got field time. He had almost scored a goal. By that he meant that he got the ball, ran four steps, and then got knocked to the ground before he could take a shot. He watched the playoffs from the bench. Stiles sat with him.

He put his bike in the rack and took off his helmet. A car pulled into the spot next to him. The door opened and hit him in the hip.

"Dude," Jackson, king of the douche and also captain of the lacrosse team, stared through him. "Watch the paint job."

Jackson was handsome, athletic, and rich. He knew that and he made sure that everyone knew it. Everyone hated him, but somehow he was still popular. He had helped drive the lacrosse team to the playoffs and first line followed his lead. He left Scott standing there as he turned to see who called his name. Jackson gave him a final glare as he walked away.

Scott secured his bike and went off to find Stiles.

"What the hell happened last night?" Stiles practically hopped over to him.

"You got caught and left me alone in the woods," Scott shifted his bag to the other side to avoid the bite. "I got bit by wild animal."

"Alright, let's see this thing," Stiles leaned over to keep the display hidden.

Scott rolled up his shirt.

"Whoa," Stiles reached out to touch it.

"Whoa," Scott echoed as he pulled away. "It was too dark to see much, but I'm pretty sure it was a wolf."

"A wolf bit you?" Stiles asked.

"Uh-huh," Scott headed toward the doors.

"No, not a chance."

"I heard a wolf howling."

"No, you didn't."

"How do you know I didn't? How do you know what I heard?"

"Because California doesn't have wolves," Stiles chuckled. "Not in like sixty years."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Stiles shook his head at his friend. "There are no wolves in California."

Scott thought for a moment, that was a wolf. A monster wolf.

"Alright, if you don't believe me about the wolf, you won't believe that I found the body," Scott shrugged.

Stiles vibrated with energy for a moment. He bounced toward his friend, "are you kidding me?"

"I wish, I'm going to have nightmares for a month."

"That, that is freaking awesome," his eyes shifted off behind Scott. "This is seriously going to be the best thing that happened to this town since the birth of Lydia Martin."

The redhead blew right passed the two of them. Scott didn't want to say it, but Stiles was right. Lydia was cute, had a great body, and was a lot smarter than she let on. It was only among certain groups, those including Jackson, that she did the ditz routine. Scott had seen her doing calculus when the rest of the class was still learning algebra. He kept his thoughts to himself; Stiles was his best friend. Not that Scott had any more chance at dating Lydia as Stiles did. They were in completely different orbits.

He tried to concentrate on what Stiles was saying, but he couldn't. How had he never noticed the sharp, sour smell of anxiety before? Or how loud everyone was? It got worse as they made it inside. The lockers opening and closing, the footsteps, and the constant conversation made squint. He tried to breathe through his mouth as the mingled odor of the all the bodies mixed with the underlying harshness of bleach. It didn't help, now he could taste it.

Scott made it to his first class. The influx of sounds and smells faded as he took his seat.

Do I have an infection? What is that wolf had rabies? Don't people die from rabies? I'd have a temperature right? I don't think I have a temperature. It could just be a migraine. Stress from the first day back. And I had that asthma attack last night in the middle of everything going on.

He nodded to himself.

"And the police already have a suspect," the teacher said.

Scott looked back at Stiles, who shrugged. His dad must have taken the call once Stiles was off to school. Smart.

He jumped as the sound of a phone ringing stabbed his ear drums. No one in the room reacted, not even the teacher. His gaze followed the sound outside. A girl sat on the bench outside. She was gorgeous. Dark hair, light skin, and amazing lips. Like a modern-day Snow White.

"Don't tell me I forgot a pen," the girl said.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," the vice-principal said as he approached the girl. "You said you're from San Francisco?"

He followed the voices as they traveled into the school. The walls didn't dim their voices as they continued on.

"No, my family lived there for over a year, which is strange for us."

"Hopefully you'll be in Beacon Hills for a while."

The footsteps got louder. Scott watched as the door opened and the vice principal showed the girl in.

"Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent," his eyes went to a couple of the more annoying students. "Please do you best to make her feel welcome."

Allison smiled politely as she scanned the room for an open seat. Scott knew there was one right behind him. She started to walk over. He grabbed the extra pen he had and offered it to her as she sat.

"Thanks," she smiled at him and took it.

He didn't remember the rest of the class. Or the day for that matter. She smiled at him in the hallway. Then Lydia and Jackson assimilated her into their clique. She turned down their invitation on grounds of a family night. His ears perked up; she was coming to practice.

Scott suddenly realized how much he sucked at lacrosse. He'd worked all summer to get better. Running, stick exercises, and he even looked up videos on Youtube. Allison was there. Coach wanted him to play goalie. Even better, he was going to make a complete ass of himself.

That didn't happen, if he ignored the shot to the head at first. He kicked some serious ass. Not even Jackson, captain of the champion team three times, had scored. Everyone was cheering, even Lydia for some reason. He scanned the stands and found Allison. She smiled at him. He waved. Something caught the edge of his vision.

Scott turned to see a man standing alone on the sidelines. He was dressed in a simple tan sweater and slacks that kind of made him look an old man. The most striking thing about him, other than the burns along the side of his face, were his eyes. He stared straight at Scott. There was something about him that was familiar.
"Scott," Stiles yelled.

He turned to look at his friend. The man was gone when he looked back.

"Okay, McCall," Coach called. "Take a seat. Turner, take goalie."

Scott jogged over to the bench. He took off his helmet. The guy was still gone. Which made sense, he guessed.

"Hey," he looked to Stiles. "Hold this."

Scott didn't wait for Stiles to answer. He handed his friend his helmet and stood up. The man had been standing by the far corner of the opposite goal. A muted scent of freshly turned earth and sunlight swirled with a familiar smell. The smell grew stronger as he got closer, but he couldn't quite place. Scott stopped in place when his eyes fell on a piece of gray plastic. He knew it was his inhaler even with the label facing away from him. It smelled like him and the woods from last night. He jogged over. The inhaler rested between a pair of footprints in the grass. The dirt-sunlight-something scent hung in the air.

He sniffed the air. There was too much to follow. It was buried under the scent of sweaty guys, a menagerie of deodorants and colognes, the cheap plastic cups the assistant coach got for water, and the cups of hot cocoa.

"McCall," Coach blew his whistle. "What are you doing?"

"Dropped my inhaler, coach," he yelled as he held up the piece of plastic.

Stiles jolted upright and fell over the bench.

~§~

It had been an awesome day, even with the weird moments. He had made quite the impression at practice. He saved the dog that Allison hit, it was a minor fracture, and she had accepted the offer to go to the party with him. Tomorrow was the last day before first line was chosen. He laid back in his bed. The moon was almost full. It made the clouds glow. He let out a contented breath and drifted off to sleep.

Scott rolled over. Damp leaves scratched at his face. This wasn't his bedroom. He sat up slowly. At some point during the night he had walked to the middle of the woods and settled into a semi-dry spot under a small cave that was a rock outcrop with root cover.

Unless I'm still asleep. He flicked the tip of his nose. The vibration made his eyes water. Not asleep, got it.

He stepped out of his mini-cave. An incline of stone lead to a stream. That didn't help. Small streams went all through the woods around town. He could hear something to his left. Water running out of a hose. Not that he knew how he was certain it was coming from a rubber hose and into a potted plant.

Scott let his senses guide him. A fog had come in during the night. It obscured his vision after about fifteen feet. Something moved. He waited. Something had definitely moved. The scent from the other day was strong now. Freshly turned earth, sunlight, and that third thing he couldn't quite place. There was something else in with it too. A musk. Somewhere between sweat and a wet dog.

The beast stepped out of the fog. It looked smaller now, or the night had made it look bigger. Stiles was right though; it wasn't a wolf. Scott had seen enough horror movies to recognize a werewolf when he saw one. This was the one that bit him. He knew that without a doubt. It pulled itself onto its back feet. The form shifted from beast to man. A naked man.

"Uh," Scott looked up toward the trees.

"I didn't have time to stash some clothes," the man had a gentle voice. "You led me on quite a trek."

"Could we talk when you're not naked and I'm wearing something more than boxers?" Scott asked.

The man laughed. Scott looked at him. He held a hand up to cover the portions he'd rather not see. It was the same man from yesterday. The scar didn't end at his neck. It went down the side of his body and covered a portion of his torso.

"Scott McCall," the man said.

Scott nodded. The guy was a freaking werewolf, knowing his name wasn't all that shocking.

"I'm Peter Hale," the naked man said. "Does Beacon Hills still have an open campus for lunch?"

Scott nodded, "yeah, but I usually eat in the lunchroom."

"Make an exception. Your house is three miles that way," Peter turned and faded into the fog.

"Thanks," Scott turned the way he had pointed.

He knows where I live.

~§~

"Dude," Stiles whispered. "I'm the one with ADHD."

"What?" Scott turned to look at his friend.

"Stop bouncing your leg," Stiles motioned with his eyes. "You're vibrating man."

"Oh," Scott looked at the clock. "I've got plans for lunch."

"Cool," Stiles nodded. "Where are we going?"

"You can't come."

"What? Why not?"

"Stiles, please, just trust me on this," Scott sighed.

"Fine," Stiles flopped back in his chair. "If you're going somewhere with fries, you better bring me some."

"Deal," Scott said.

"Mister McCall, Mister Stilinski. Care to share what's so important with the rest of the class?" The English teacher asked.

"I was just telling Scott that if he wanted to wear a skirt then he'd probably have to call it a kilt," Stiles said without missing a beat.

Scott shot him a look. His cheeks flushed and he slid low into his seat. A gentle hand touched his shoulder from behind.

"I know some tricks to find the perfect fit," Allison whispered.

He blushed brighter. The bell rang, Scott hurried out of the classroom and into the parking lot. They hadn't discussed how they were going to meet. Was Peter just going to show up? Did Scott need to find him? Were they actually going to eat lunch? He hoped so, he was really hungry.

"Scott," a stern voice came from the parking lot.

He turned to see a sullen man a few years older than him standing near a black car. The man had an impressive set of eyebrows and a resting bitch face that came with years of practice.

"Peter sent me to get you," the guy walked around to the other side of the car.

He didn't invite Scott into the car or tell him to follow. Scott hurried to the passenger door and slid into the seat.

"Hi," Scott smiled nervously. "I'm Scott."

"I know," the man started the car.

Scott was pushed back into the seat as the car sped out of the lot.

"You are?"

"Derek," the man glared out at the road. "Derek Hale. Peter is my uncle."

"Oh," Scott turned his attention to where they were going.

He tried to take a stealthy breath through his nose. Peter had been here, recently. The scent from last night lingered on the seat. A similar one, he guessed that it belonged to Derek, was all over the car. Warm wind, wet stone, and leather. He filed that away as Derek. Scott wondered what his scent was.

The car zipped through the lunch traffic. It pulled into a spot at BBQ Part Two. The scent made Scott's mouth water. This place smelled amazing before, now it was turned to eleven. He reveled in the scents of beef, chicken, pork, and four different kinds of sauce.

"Don't drool in my car," Derek snapped.

"I wasn't drooling," he wiped a hand across his face.

He followed Derek to the table where Peter sat. Five large plates of food took up the majority of the space. Three plates, one in front of Peter, were set out as well. He had waited for them.

"Glad you could join us," Peter inclined his head as the two approached.

The scarred man was dressed in a crimson button-down shirt and a pair of black slacks. Even with the burns the guy was handsome. It made him wonder what Peter had looked like before whatever happened. Scott sat at the table.

"I'm sure you have questions," Peter served himself a portion of food.

"Yeah," Scott nodded.

There was a plate set out, possibly for him, but he didn't want to assume. Peter didn't say he was invited to lunch, just that they were going to talk at lunch. He looked up from the food. There was an amused shine in Peters eyes.

"You can eat," Peter smiled.

Scott loaded his plate. He savored the smell of some shredded beef before he took a bite. For one moment everything in his world was perfect. His vision came back to focus. Peter had paused his meal to watch.

"Am I?" Scott asked.

"Yes," Peter nodded.

"Is he?" Scott looked at Derek.

"Yes, it runs in the family."

"You're the one from the other night?"

Peter inclined his head.

"Wow," Scott leaned back in his seat. "It makes sense. I was amazing yesterday at practice."

"Practice?" Peter asked.

"Lacrosse," Scott nodded.

"It was basketball when I was in school," Peter looked into his eyes. "You can't play."

"What?"

"You're a werewolf, Scott," Peter dabbed a steak-fry in the sauce on his plate. "A new one. You can't risk turning on the field. I found your inhaler. Suddenly being amazing at sports would raise questions. It wouldn't be obvious, but someone hardheaded enough could figure it out."

"But" Scott stammered. "I'm going to make first line this year. I've been working all summer for this. I can't just quit."

Peter looked to Derek, who shrugged. His eyes had a faint crimson sheen as he turned his attention back to Scott. It faded as he studied the young man.

"Fine," Peter pointed the fry at him. "Solve this problem. Be smart. Show me what you can do. Enough talk, let's eat."

"I promised my friend some fries," Scott said as the three werewolves dug in.

~§~

"Scott," Stiles as he sprinted to the bench by the field. "Scott. Scott Scott, Scott."

"Yes?" Scott said with a wince.

Stiles didn't need to yell. His werewolf hearing, how did that sound normal, made it easy to hear him.

"My dad got a call from the lab," Stiles vibrated.

"I don't have time for this right now," Scott slipped on his gloves and headed onto the field.

"They found fibers on the body," Stiles breathed. "They belonged to a wolf."

Scott joined the huddle as Coach Finstock went into his yearly speech about making the team. Allison caught the edge of his vision. He waved at her, she waved back.

"You got a question, McCall?" Finstock asked.

"No," Scott paused. "Yeah. Could I try out for goalie."

"Get a stick and pick a goal."

Scott did. Not a single shot got by him the rest of the afternoon. Luckily Danny was awesome at mid-field too. Jackson wasn't happy, but he never was.

~§~

The sheriff's car was in the driveway when he got home. He hadn't had an asthma attacked since he had been bitten, but it sure felt like it now. His chest tightened. The breathes he took weren't enough. He dropped his bag in the yard and ran inside.

"Mom?" He called as he burst through the door.

"Yes?" Melissa McCall called from the kitchen.

"The sheriff's car is out front."

"Yeah," she poked her head around the corner. "He's talking to our new tenants."

"What?"

"You know I had the apartment over the garage listed for a while," she shrugged.

"And you wouldn't let Stiles rent it."

Melissa waved his statement away, "there was a patient discharged from long term care. He and his nephew were going to be staying in a motel. Our place would be cheaper in the long run, and the extra money would be nice."

Scott rocked back on his feet. He sniffed the air as his mother disappeared into the kitchen. She smelled of home. Their laundry soap, her sweat, the faint smell of the band around her finger that once held her wedding ring, and the underlying smell of the hospital. Scott tilted his head to the side. The memory clicked into place. That was the smell that he couldn't identify on Peter Hale. The hospital. Industrial grade cleaner, sickness, hope, and lots of plastic.

"You might know his nephew, he's only a few years older than you," she said from the kitchen. "Derek Hale."

Scott hurried out the back door. Sheriff Stilinski sat across from Peter Hale at the picnic table in the backyard. Derek was busy looking grumpy as he loaded boxes from the trunk of his car to the apartment.

"And Kate Argent," Peter finished.

"Mister Hale," the sheriff said. "I understand what you're saying, but you've been in a coma for quite a while. How am I to know that you're of sound mind?"

"My nephew, he was eleven, he died in his mother's arms," Peter said evenly. "They had tried to take refuge by the door to the stairs, but it had been sealed. I watched my brothers' hands weld to the barred window as he tried to pull it away from the wall. I can tell you how and where they all died. I can tell you who screamed, who cried, and who fought."

"I'm sorry," Sheriff Stilinski coughed.

"I understand your skepticism," Peter turned to look out the window. "I don't know how long I've been out, but that night has been playing on repeat in my mind. Sometimes I swear I can still smell smoke."

"Thank you for your time," the sheriff stood. He gave Scott a nod. "Scott."

"Hey," Scott mumbled.

"Today was the final day for tryouts," the sheriff snapped his fingers as the thought hit him. "How did you do?"

"I made first line," Scott's gaze drifted over to Peter. "I'm the new goalie."

"Congratulations," the sheriff patted him on the shoulder as he walked by. "Let Stiles know I'll be working late if you see my son before I do."

"Goalie," Peter smiled as the sheriff walked around the house. "Smart."