[2x12; Master Plan]

Sixty-five percent of people living in America believed that they only use ten percent of their brain. Scientists and doctors debunked the myth, of course, but people still believe the outdated rumor. The human brain is complex; it performs millions of actions within a second, controls your emotions and behaviors, stores memories, and can solve mathematical equations.

Olivia knows firsthand because it sure feels like all three pounds of her brain were working overtime. It wasn't just the biological features, like her grief for Jackson or her worry for Stiles. It was the supernatural ones, too. Whatever came with her being an anchor was even more distracting than her emotions or the chaos going on around her.

It was the constant whispering in her ears, even though no one was there beside her. It was a distinct feeling that she almost couldn't describe; a weird zap in her temple that told her many of her pack members were hurt and a murky feel of where they were located. It was the overwhelming feeling to move, to stop fighting whatever was inside of her and find where Stiles had been taken.

"Olivia, hun, are you okay?"

Olivia blinked at the gruff voice and quickly focused, nodding her head at Noah. "Yeah, sorry, Sheriff."

Noah waved her off and continued telling her, Scott, and Isaac what he had planned on doing. "I've got to meet with the medical examiner and try to figure out what happened with Jackson," he listed. "I've got an APB out on Stiles. His Jeep is still in the parking lot, so that means...Hell, I don't know what that means."

Olivia knew what it meant and so did Scott and Isaac. Gerard had taken Stiles as soon as that game buzzer went off, taking him who knows where.

"Look," he sighed heavily, shoving his little notebook into his pocket. "if he answers his phone, if he answers his emails, if any of you see him..."

"We'll call you," Isaac assured him kindly.

"He's probably just freaked out from all the attention or something," Scott tried to make Noah feel better. Anything was better than telling him a geriatric psychopath—in the words of her father—had kidnapped him. "We'll find him."

Noah nodded solemnly. "Yeah...I'll see you, okay?" he patted Olivia on the shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss."

She managed a sad smile before he walked away. "Thank you."

Was Jackson her loss? Yes, in the sense they were friends and he had died out on that field, she lost Jackson. But there was something in her head, that supernatural side of her, that told her that Jackson wasn't as dead as they thought he was. And it didn't make sense that Gerard would just kill off his best player so soon to the final battle because she knew that Jackson would never kill himself. It was Jackson, for crying out loud.

"McCall," Coach approached them now, hardly bothering with the fact that Olivia was in the locker room. "We need you on the team, okay? You know I can't put you on the field next season if you don't get your grades up."

There weren't the right words but Coach's tone told them that he was grieving Jackson just like his players were.

"I know, Coach."

"All right," Coach faltered for a second. "I mean, I know I yell a lot but it's not like I hate you guys...Well, I hate Greenberg, but, you know, that's different. It's Greenberg," he chuckled a little bit before sobering. "I'm just saying we—I need you on the team. Get your grades back up."

It was the sweetest thing that Olivia had ever heard Coach say before. It actually kind of shocked her.

Scott looked just as shocked as her. "I will."

"I know," Coach nodded and then patted Olivia on the shoulder. "Martin."

Okay, that was two times she was comforted about Jackson out of nowhere. Was she not hiding her emotions as well as she thought or was it because people had actually noticed that she and Jackson were more friendly than their cold exteriors made it seem?

As soon as Coach was shut away in his office, Scott turned to Olivia and Isaac. "Is that everyone?"

Olivia looked around while Isaac used his senses to make sure no one was left in the locker room but them. "I think so."

Scott ripped off the door of Stiles' locker, tossing the warped metal onto the floor.

"You're gonna find him by scent?"

"Yeah, we both are." Scott picked up one of Stiles' shirts and tossed Isaac a shoe.

"But how come you get his shirt and I get a shoe?" Isaac complained.

"Stop whining," Olivia scolded him as Scott tensed up. She and Isaac followed his line of sight to see Derek walking into the locker room alone.

"We need to talk," he said seriously.

Olivia should have known that he wasn't alone; Peter dramatically stepped out of the shadows, revealing himself to Scott. "All of us."

Scott gaped at him. "Holy shit!" his amazement quickly faded and turned to anger. "What the hell is this?"

"Yeah, I forgot to tell you," Olivia winced; that was her bad. "Peter's alive."

Scott gave her an obvious look and then turned back to Derek. "And you're, what, working with him?"

Derek cocked his head calmly, though Olivia could see the irritation in his eyes. "You know, I thought the same thing when I saw you talking to Gerard at the sheriff's station."

Woah, hold up, Olivia whipped her head in Scott's direction. I didn't know that.

"Scott?"

"Okay, hold on," Scott held his hands up defensively. "He—he threatened to kill my mom so I had to get close to him. What was I supposed to do?"

Okay, he had a good point, Olivia admitted to herself.

"I'm gonna go with Scott on this one," Peter interjected casually. "Have you seen his mom? She's gorgeous."

Olivia, Scott, and Derek glared at him, all three of them yelling, "Shut up!"

Peter rolled his eyes while Isaac ducked down to speak quietly in Olivia's ear, though they all heard him. "Who is he?"

"His name's Peter," Olivia informed him, all the while glaring at her father. "He's my dad. He's the one who bit Scott, me, and Lydia. He tried to kill everyone, so Stiles and Jackson set him on fire and Derek slashed his throat."

Peter waved at him. "Hi."

"That's good to know," Isaac whispered awkwardly; Olivia patted his arm.

"Yeah, how is he even alive?" Scott asked loudly.

"Look, short version is he knows how to stop Jackson," Derek declared. "and maybe how to save him."

Olivia raised an eyebrow in surprise, giving Derek a questioning look. He nodded ever so slightly at her, causing her to inhale deeply. Hope settled in her chest; if Jackson wasn't really dead like she thought, maybe they could stop him without killing him dead.

"Well, that's very helpful except Jackson's dead," Isaac told them the news.

Derek furrowed his eyebrows. "What?"

"Yeah, Jackson's dead," Scott confirmed. "It just happened on the field."

"I'm gonna be honest and just come out and say it," Olivia spoke up, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't think Jackson's dead."

Scott looked at her in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know, I can't explain it," Olivia's eye caught Peter's, catching his barely there smirk. "I just know that he's not dead. Not completely, anyway."

"Gerard wanted this to happen," Peter stated thoughtfully. "We need to figure out why. Something tells me the window of opportunity is quickly closing."

-

-

"Shh!"

Stiles reached above him, going for the cables wrapped around Erica's wrists. He ignored the muffle sounds of her protests chorusing with Boyd's and he shouldn't have. As soon as he touched the wires he was zapped, causing him to hiss and jump back.

"Ow!"

"They were trying to warn you," Gerard Argent slowly walked down the steps into whatever basement they were keeping him, Erica, and Boyd in. "It's electrified."

God, he hated this old man more than he had hated anyone ever. He was pretty sure the guy got his rocks off on torturing innocent people. The Argent patriarch was completely fucked up. Killing werewolves was one thing—a very bad thing—but killing innocent werewolves, especially teenagers, was a whole other level of cruel. He couldn't believe that Allison had been swept up in all of it. He thought—hell, they all thought—she was better than that.

Stiles swallowed his nerves. "What are you doing with them?"

"At the moment, just keeping them comfortable," Gerard answered, casually leaning against the cement wall. "There's no point in torturing them, they won't give Derek up. The instinct to protect their alpha's too strong."

As if hanging two sixteen-year olds by the ceiling with live wires wasn't torture.

"Okay," he played it cool. "So, what are you doing with me? Because Scott can find me, all right? He knows my scent. It's pungent, it's more like a stench. He could find me even if I was buried at the bottom of a sewer covered in fecal matter and urine."

Gerard looked annoyed at his rambling. Good. "You have a knack for creating a vivid picture, Mr. Stilinski," he drawled, slowly walking toward him. "Let me paint one of my own...Scott McCall finds his best friend bloodied and beaten to a pulp."

Stiles stiffened, nervously eyeing the ten inches between him and Gerard.

"How does that sound?"

"I think I might prefer more of a still-life or landscape, you know?" Stiles couldn't help but be a smartass. When in fear, mouth your way out of it—that was his motto. "What—what are you, ninety? Look, I can probably kick your ass up and down this room."

Gerard's hand came out and backhanded him before he could blink. Boyd and Erica gasped as he fell to the cement floor while Gerard grabbed the front of his jersey to add to his beating.

"Okay, wait," Stiles spat out some blood after a punch to the face. "Wait, wait, wait!"

Down the road, where Olivia was illegally driving Derek's Camaro, she winched, cupping her cheek with her hand. At the more urgent whispering in her head, telling her tales of Stiles' misfortune, she pressed on the gas and pulled to a stop across the street from the Argents house.

She had taken the car keys from Derek and just started driving. She stopped fighting the feeling in her that could just find Stiles and like it take control. And it worked, it led her right to the Argents.

Now the only problem was getting him out of there without Gerard killing her. She didn't think that Allison would be any help—and she sure as hell hoped that the youngest Argent had nothing to do with Stiles' kidnapping—but there was one Argent who was more moral than the others. Chris Argent had always been about the Argent code and Stiles didn't fall under it at all. He was innocent and he was human. He was good.

So, Chris Argent was her only hope at the moment. How ironic, a Hale hoping an Argent would help them.

She got out of the Camaro and snuck over to the huge house. She couldn't just ring the doorbell, so she was careful not to be seen by any rogue hunters as she peeked into the windows on the main floor, trying to see a glimpse of Mr. Argent. It was her luck that he walked into the kitchen just as she peeked into one of the windows there.

She gently knocked on the window to get his attention, flinching when he pulled out his gun in surprise.

Olivia raised her hands, showing him that she meant no harm, and Mr. Argent sighed. He walked over to the window and opened it; there were worry lines all over his face and a sadness to him that was almost shocking.

"You're not safe here, Olivia."

"I know I'm not," Olivia whispered. "but Stiles, he's human."

Mr. Argent nodded, dragging a hand down his stressed face. "I know."

"You know, you guys say you're all about protecting humans against werewolves but look at you," she shook her head. "Stiles was kidnapped by your father. He's in this house, he's human, and he's hurt."

"You're right, Olivia," Mr. Argent said quietly. "Just—just wait here for a second. Don't let yourself be seen."

Olivia nodded and stepped back from the window as he shut it. She waited in the dark, shifting from foot to foot, for five minutes before Mr. Argent appeared, helping a black-and-blue Stiles with him.

"Oh, my God, Stiles," Olivia hissed, stepping forward to gently cup his face in her hands; Stiles winced. "Are you okay? What the hell did he do to you?"

"Livvy, I'm okay," Stiles croaked as she left go of his face to quickly check him for any other injuries. He grabbed her hands, keeping them still. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Olivia shook her head and shook his hand away, pressing her fingertips against his chin to tilt his head. "Look at you."

He took them from his face and pressed a quick kiss against them before squeezing her hand. "I'm okay," he enjoyed the surprised look on her face. "I just want to go home."

Olivia nodded shakily. "Your dad's been worried about you," as they started to over to the Camaro, she nodded once at Mr. Argent, who nodded back. "He put out an APB on you."

"Really?" Stiles' voice was soft, defeated; it made Olivia's heart break. "Wait, did you drive here? Derek let you drive?"

"Why do you say that with such surprise?" she opened the passenger door for him and he hesitated before getting in.

He waited until she was in the driver's seat before he responded. "Livvy, you don't have your license and I've heard Derek grumble about your driving before."

"Derek grumbles about everything," Olivia rolled her eyes and started the car. "Let's get you home."

Whey they arrived at his house, Olivia stayed in the living room while Stiles went upstairs. His dad was in his room, talking on the phone with a deputy. He looked completely lost, his voice desolate. "Yeah, I'm not finding any clues here," he rubbed his forehead. "Listen if he—if he shows up at the hospital—okay, thanks," he ended the call and groaned, "Come on, Stiles. Where the hell are you?"

"I'm right here," Noah whipped around at Stiles' voice, his eyes hardening when he saw the damage done to his face. His touch was so gentle compared to the look in his eyes that it made Stiles start to tear up. "It's okay, Dad. It's okay."

Noah moved his face slightly so he could get a better look at the shiner under his right eye. "Who did it?"

"It's okay," Stiles' voice wavered. He didn't want to lie but what was he supposed to do? Tell his dad that his ancient principal beat him up because he was in the middle of a war between werewolves and hunters? "It was just a couple of kids from the other team. You know, they were really pissed about losing and I was—I was mouthing off, you know?"

Because that's what he did. He mouthed off because he couldn't do anything else. He couldn't protect himself, he couldn't protect his dad or Scott or Olivia.

"The next thing I know—"

Noah cut off his explanation. "Who was it?"

"Dad, I don't know. I didn't even see them, really."

Noah's chest heaved with anger. "I want descriptions."

"Dad, come on. It's not even that bad."

"I'm calling that school," Noah declared, getting worked up. "I'm calling them and I'll personally go down there and I'm gonna pistol-whip those little bastards!"

"Dad!" Stiles raised his voice in order to get through to Noah. "I just—I said I was okay."

Oh, how he wished that his voice didn't break on that last word. His dad could see right through him, right through the strong front he had on in order to convince himself that he was okay. But he wasn't. Not really.

"God," Noah sighed sadly, grabbing the back of Stiles' neck to pull him into a warm hug.

Stiles buried his head into his dad's shoulder, trying to keep himself from acting like an eight-year-old kid and completely breaking down into tears. He could feel Noah shaking though, maybe it was his adrenaline dying down, and it threw him. Tears stung his eyes as he gripped onto the back of Noah's jacket, clenching the material with his fingers.

-

Stiles stared at the framed picture of him and his mom that was always placed on nightstand right next to his Adderall. It was taken a year or so before she had gotten sick and they were at the park, him sitting in her lap on one of the swings. They were both smiling happily and Stiles even had a little red mustache from the fruit punch he must have been drinking.

He wondered what his mom would have thought about everything going on in his life. Would she be proud of him? Would she be glad that she stuck to his best friend's side and helped out the best he could? Or would she be disappointed that he got himself into the mess in the first place?

He didn't want to think about his mom being disappointed in him, though. There was already too much disappointment racing through his own head, so he couldn't handle his mom's too. In the middle of all this mess, this war, he had been the one who needed to be rescued. He was the one who had Olivia travel into enemy territory just to make sure he was okay. He was the one who couldn't help Erica and Boyd.

He felt so useless, unneeded. A human in the middle of a group of supernatural beings.

"Dad, I'm fine," Stiles called when there was a light knock on the door. He had told Noah to send Olivia home so he could mope around, so it couldn't be her. Another knock; Stiles scrambled off his bed, annoyed. "Dad, I said I'm fine."

He roughly pulled open the door, only to deflate when he saw that it was Olivia on the other side.

"Told your dad to send me away, huh?" she walked into his room without an invitation.

Stiles sighed and shut the door after her, rubbing the back of his neck. "Livvy, it's not like that. I just want to be alone."

"I understand that," she nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. He was distracted when he noticed that she was still wearing his jersey. "and I get it, but shit's hit the fan, Stiles. Jackson's in this weird stage of metamorphosis, Allison's off the rails—"

Stiles scoffed. "And I'm supposed to do something about that?" he asked bitterly. "I think you're forgetting who you're talking to, Olivia. I'm not Scott, I can't just swoop in and save the day."

"You're not Scott, you're Stiles," Olivia's voice was sharp and her cobalt-blue eyes held a hint of sadness and irritation to them as she stepped toward him. "No one's asking you to be anyone but yourself. We don't need another Scott, we need you."

"Well, Stiles can't help."

"Stiles can," Olivia corrected him, shaking her head. "You're the glue, sweetcheeks. You hold us all together and you find out what's wrong and you help solve it. You're the one who knew that Matt was controlling Jackson, you're the one who found out that Peter was the alpha..."

Stiles' heart raced as Olivia ranted passionately. Anyone else would have thought that she was angry, and maybe she was, but not Stiles. He could see the love in her eyes, the sadness at the way he felt about himself, the disbelief that he wasn't believing her, the urgency to get through his thick head and make him see sense.

"So, don't you dare say that you can't help, okay? Because we need you—I need you," Olivia finished passionately and eyed the smile on Stiles' face. "You're smiling. Why are you smiling?"

"I'm not smiling."

"Yes, you are," she marched up at him and pressed a finger to the corner of his quirked lips. "Right there, you're smiling. I was being so serious and so heartfelt and you're just smiling at me?"

"You so like me."

Olivia looked caught off guard by his statement, making his grin widen. "Stiles!"

"What? It's obvious," Stiles chuckled. "Can you repeat the last part. Where you said you needed me?"

"I'm gonna take it back."

"You can't take it back. Nice try, though."

It was crazy how Olivia could just snap him out of something. He'd been in the middle of a tense one-person-only self-hate session when she'd come up to his room without being invited and told him what was really going on. And what she said had actually worked, too. Stiles was a stubborn bastard, everyone knew that, and he didn't like being wrong. But damn it if she didn't change his mind, even if it would only work for a little while.

This was why he loved her. Olivia hid her emotions but she wasn't a robot. She cared almost as deeply as anyone he had ever met. She was protective and comforting and beautiful and smart and nerdy. She was serious but she was able to laugh, too. There was an innocence about her but no naivety. She was blunt but still cared about how someone felt. They bickered like crazy but she melted around him.

And he was just as affected by her.

Stiles opened his mouth to tell Olivia that he loved her—like, he was actually in love with her—but at the same moment, her phone rang. She apologized, telling him that it was Derek, and put the phone on speaker.

"What's happening with Jackson?" she asked her cousin without a greeting.

"Scott and Isaac say that he's in some kind of transparent casing. We think it's the venom that comes out of his claws."

"That is horrifying," Stiles mumbled under his breath, earning a look of agreement from Olivia.

"They also say that he's starting to move," Derek added. "Peter and I found something in the Hale archives. Apparently, what we've seen from Jackson is just the kanima's beta shape."

Olivia sighed in frustration. "Meaning that he can evolve?"

"Yeah, into something worse," Derek confirmed. "Look, we're meeting with Scott and Isaac in the warehouse district. They're bringing Jackson with them."

"Okay, we'll meet you there."

"You need to bring Lydia," Peter injected and Stiles was glad that Olivia told him about his resurrection earlier in the week because that would have been quite the shock. "I think she can save Jackson."

Olivia blinked in shock. "Uh, yeah, I'll get her. See you soon." She slipped the phone into her pocket. "Come on, let's go."

Stiles hesitated. "Wait, Livvy," he grabbed her arm so she wouldn't leave the room. "I don't think you should go."

Olivia raised her eyebrows at him and repeated his words, as if she didn't hear him right. "You don't think I should go?"

"That's what I said."

"Stiles, if I can help Jackson by bringing Lydia to him, I will."

"You could get hurt."

"I don't care about me," Olivia waved him off.

"Yeah, well, I do," Stiles raised his voice, catching her off guard. "I'd be devastated if you get hurt and if you die, I'll literally got out of my fucking mind."

Olivia's tense body relaxed. "Stiles..."

"Death doesn't happen to you, Olivia," Stiles continued over her, wishing that she would just see how much he loved and cared for her. "It happens to everyone around you, okay? To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're gonna live the rest of their lives without you in it."

"Stiles."

"And you think you're so invincible but you're not—and I can't just stand back and watch you get hurt—how am I supposed to even—you don't even realize—"

Stiles was abruptly cut off when a warm pair of lips pressed themselves against his. The kiss didn't last long as it was intended to shut him up, but somehow Stiles managed to stare down at Olivia wide-eyed the whole time.

Olivia smiled when she pulled away, amused by the look of amazement on his face. "You know, this relationship isn't gonna work if you're telling me what I can and cannot do."

Stiles blinked rapidly, spluttering. "Relationship?"

He grinned when she winced in embarrassment. He wasn't laughing at her, he wasn't. He was just so damn happy because, holy shit, she had basically admitted her feelings for him. Yeah, she didn't say the words but he knew. He knew from the way she came for him, the way she'd text him a funny meme in the middle of the night, the way she'd seek comfort from him and give it in return. He knew from the way she smiled at him because no one—not even Derek, Lydia, or Sirius—got that smile, the one were her eyes would sparkle and she'd bit her bottom lip just a little without realizing.

Olivia gave him an exasperated look. "We don't have time for this, Stiles."

"Okay, okay," Stiles nodded. "Just tell me you love me and we'll go."

"I love you, Stiles," Olivia deadpanned but he knew she meant every word. "Can we go get Lydia now?"

"Yes," Stiles let her lead the way from his bedroom. "I love you, too."

"I know."

-

-

"How do you even know all of this stuff?"

Olivia looked up from the message she got from Peter at Stiles' question. It wasn't for her, it was directed to Lydia, who was sitting in the backseat as they drove to the warehouse district.

"Liv told me," Lydia stated matter-of-factly.

Stiles' head whipped to Olivia. "You told her?"

"She deserved to know," she defended herself. "and is this really the time to talk about this? We're about there."

"Fine."

Lydia leaned forward, giving her cousin a serious look. "What do I have to do?"

"Peter said that because I'm an anchor, I can start the process of getting him back to himself. Once I call Jackson's name, you're the one who's gonna finish it," Olivia told her quietly, knowing how much this was going to mean to both Lydia and Jackson. "Did you bring the key?"

"What? What key? Did I miss something?"

They both ignored Stiles. "Yeah," Lydia confirmed before reaching around her neck to unclasp the silver chain that held the key to Jackson's house. "I got it."

Olivia gave her a sad but comforting smile. "It's gonna be okay, Lyds. You can do it for Jackson."

Lydia nodded, clenching the key tightly. "For Jackson."

"We're coming up to the warehouse," Stiles warned them. "Seatbelts?"

Olivia and Lydia straightened in their seats and held on as Stiles crashed his Jeep through the thin metal sheet surrounding the warehouse and then rapidly turned the wheel so he could run right into the kanima. There was a moment where everyone stopped and stared and then Olivia was opening her door and she and Lydia were getting out of the Jeep.

"Jackson!" Olivia yelled for her friend, getting the kanima's attention.

The kanima turned toward her, cocking its head, and Lydia stepped forward. "Jackson?" she whimpered as the kanima crawled toward her, holding up Jackson's key. "Jackson."

Olivia nervously gripped Stiles' arm as he came up beside her, watching as the kanima froze, its eyes on the shiny key in Lydia's hand. It stopped and stared for a long, nerve-wracking moment.

And then the neon green of its eyes started to fade and Jackson's blue hue started to appear. His scales turned back into bare skin and dirty-blonde hair appeared. As Jackson silently took the key from Lydia, his venomous claws turned into blunt fingernails. His eyes met Lydia's wet ones and Olivia could feel tears in her eyes from the look they shared alone.

Jackson nodded slowly and carefully stepped away from Lydia. He stood still and raised his arms defenselessly, allowing Derek and Peter, both of them in their werewolf forms, to lunge at them. Olivia gasped sadly and squeezed Stiles' hand as they tore their claws into them.

Lydia rushed forward as Jackson fell to the dirty ground, catching him just before his body hit the concrete. Olivia covered her mouth tearfully as Lydia sobbed, cradling a dying Jackson in her lap.

"Do you—" Jackson choked. "Do you still...?"

"I do," Lydia assured him quickly, more tears falling down her face. "I do still love you. I do. I still love you."

Jackson nodded slowly, his eyes falling shut and his body slumping as his heart stopped beating. Stiles wrapped an arm around Olivia's shoulders, offering comfort, and she burrowed her face in his chest, wishing that things had been different. That they had been able to save Jackson.

She allowed herself a few seconds before pulling away from Stiles and going to Lydia. Lydia took her offered embrace without a word, sobbing heavily into Olivia's shoulders. More tears fell down Olivia's cheeks as she hugged her cousin tightly, only to stiffen when she saw movement coming from Jackson's fingers.

"Jackson?"

Jackson's eyes opened, a brilliant bright blue. The same blue that Derek had before he had turned into an alpha. Werewolf blue. Lydia whipped around to face him as Olivia sighed in relief.

Jackson got to his feet, his features turning to what they should have been all along, and tilted his head back, howling loudly. The howl ended and his human features reappeared, allowing him to gaze nervously at Lydia and Olivia.

Olivia laughed lightly because, of course, Jackson just had to have a dramatic transformation to match his dramatic ass. She grinned as Lydia jumped from her arms to his, wrapping him in the tightly hug she had ever seen.

She turned away from Lydia and Jackson to give them their privacy, very relieved that Jackson had survived. The heaviness that had been on her chest since the end of the lacrosse game had lifted because he was safe and healthy.

As she went back to Stiles side, he grinned softly at her. "You've got some mascara," he pointed to the corner of his eye. "rigghhht there."

She glowered at him. "I hate you."

"Sure, you do, ya big fluffball."