trigger warnings
gun violence

THING'S WITH THE KANIMA HAD  gotten way out of hand. What had started out with one victim had now turned into multiple. First, it was Mr. Lahey, who seemed to be the odd one out considering he was far older than the rest. There was the hunter, Bennet, who had a close link to the Argent family. Then there was the mechanic, Tucker, who I'd only been informed recently was crushed right before Stiles' eyes.

Just as things seemed to be dying down — no pun intended — a young coupled was killed. Sean was killed first, attacked in their shared trailer only to be dragged outside and brutally murdered. Jessica, his pregnant girlfriend, seemed to have been spared. However, not long after giving birth, she appeared to have been suffocated.

Though that, we didn't think was Jackson. It seemed more like a human had done it, as opposed to an animal.

I follow suit as Scott and Stiles step out of the jeep that's now parked in front of Scott's workplace, the animal clinic. Apparently his boss was a little more than just a veterinarian, and possessed a deep knowledge for all things supernatural.

"Okay, so we're going to try and stop Jackson at the rave? Are you sure that's safe, what with it being so public and all?" I question their plan, I can't help it. It seems a little dangerous to me.

"Yeah, maybe, but it's probably the only chance we're going to get at keeping him in one place for long enough to stop him." Scott tells me with a sigh, not sounding the most confident.

I nod. The whole school had been talking about the rave that was due to take place tonight, and up until a few hours ago none of us had tickets. Each one was going for €75 — none of us had that kind of money just lying around. "And Isaac got us tickets how exactly?"

"Uh..." Scott pauses and looks towards Stiles for help explaining.

I glance towards him, watching the wheels turning in his head before he finally responds. "Well... he may have had to beat a few people up, but it's for the greater good, so it's fine. It's totally fine. Minimal damage done."

I say nothing, simply shake my head in disbelief. This whole thing was beyond chaotic. But then again it was bound to be when a bunch of teenagers were trying to save the day.

Scott opens the door to the clinic and we walk inside, greated by a warm smile I'd never seen before, but felt like I already knew. Scott had talked a lot about Alan Deaton, and I knew he was someone we could depend on.

"Scott, Stiles... and you are?" He glances towards me with curious eyes, searching mine as if he's certain he knows me from somewhere but can't quite place it.

"This is Cassia, we can trust her." Scott informs him with confidence. Confidence in me.

The smile on my face grows as I give the worlds most awkward wave, and Scott makes sure to add, "She's my best friend."

"Second best friend— like directly under me." Stiles simply can't help himself, and earns a glare from all of us as he raises both his hands, placing one a few centimetres beneath the other to signify how far he is ahead of me on the friendship scale.

It doesn't bother me. I know they're closer with each other than they are with me, and that's okay. I'd moved away for a significant amount of time and things had happened, things that had solidified their bond beyond the ordinary.

"I would never want to be directly under you, Stilinski," I taunt, smiling smugly in his direction as he feigns insult. "I couldn't think of anything worse, actually."

"Guys," Scott warns softly, reminding us that we have no time for this, not now. He needs us to focus, be as present as we possibly can.

I clear my throat and take a few second to gather myself before we're being led further inside. When we come to a stop, the three of us gather around a table while Deaton rummages through some storage containers. "I have something for you."

He holds up a small bottle of liquid.

Scott leans in and examines the label. "Ketamine?"

"It's the same stuff we use on the dogs, just a higher dosage." His boss informs, placing it in front of us on the table, along with a syringe. I'm surprised Stiles doesn't faint on the spot at this sight of a needle, but assume his mind is too preoccupied to care.

"If you can get close enough to Jackson, it should slow him down enough to buy you some time. This," Deaton pauses to grab a square jar of what looks like dark ash, "is some of what you'll use to create the barrier. This parts for you, Stiles. Only you."

Stiles looks towards Scott, and I can sense the nerves that instantly take over him as he reaches out to grab it, carefully examining the contents. "Uh, that sounds like a lot of pressure. Can we maybe find s slightly less pressure-filled task for me?"

"It's from the mountain ash tree," Deaton goes on to explain, "which is believed by many cultures to protect against the supernatural. This office is lined with ash wood, making it difficult for someone like Scott to cause me any trouble."

"Okay, so then what? I just spread this around the whole building, and then neither Jackson or whoever's controlling him can cross it?"

"They'll be trapped," the elder confirms. It puts me at ease.

"Doesn't sound too hard," adds Scott, hopeful.

I reach out and give Stiles a reassuring pat on the back. "Easy peasy."

"Not all there is," Deaton interrupts, pulling all of our attention back to him. "Think of it like gunpowder. It's just powder until a spark ignites it. You need to be that spark, Stiles."

"If you mean light myself on fire, I don't think I'm up for that." Stiles looks horrified, eyes wide. I stifle a laugh and glance across at Scott's boss, who also seems amused. He softens his features and tries a different, more clear approach.

"Let me try a different analogy. I used to golf. I learned that the best golfers never swing before first imagining where they want the ball to go. They see it in their mind and then the mind takes over. It can be pretty extraordinary what the force of your own will can accomplish."

"Kind of like the power of manifestation?" I mumble out the question, suddenly seeing the meaning behind his words more clearly.

My friends both look at me in confusion, surprised by my slight knowledge. "What?! My grandma is big time into it. She has all these books and journals and... she's always telling me that if I really, truly want something then I have to, like, speak it into existence— or something like that."

"Precisely." Deaton nods, looking both impressed and also like he's just realized something about me. I shake it off as he looks towards Stiles. "If this is going to work, Stiles, like Cassia said, you have to believe it."

Stiles inhales and exhales, trying to put on a brave face. While it's clear that he's overthinking it now, I know in my soul that when the time comes, he'll do exactly what needs to be done. He's more powerful than he ever gives himself credit for.

"Don't worry," I assure him, "you've got this."

——————————

Before we knew it, nighttime had come around. After hours of trying to find something to wear that wasn't an oversized jumper, grandma had managed to find a navy blue polka dot dress at the back of my closest. She'd insisted on loosely curling my hair, but had lost the battle of trying to get me to wear a small, heeled shoe.

Instead I wore the same worn-out converse I'd wore to school that day, and grabbed one of my moms old leather jackets to throw on top. It seemed better to be comfortable and wear shoes I could potentially have to run in rather than ones I could barley even walk in.

Scott and Stiles had picked me up on the way, but the atmosphere in the car was way off. Stiles seemed off. Usually he'd be the one to carry conversation, but tonight he was quiet.

We finally come to a stop, pulling up outside the old, abandoned industrial warehouse. Already I can hear the music from inside, feel the vibrations underneath my feet as we stand outside. If we weren't here to trap Jackson, it would probably be a fun night.

I watch on as the two boys empty bags from the trunk with the supplies needed for the night, and listen as Scott attempts to get something out of Stiles. "You okay?"

Stiles looks at him, trying to keep composure, but by the look in his eyes I'm pretty sure he was crying before he came to pick us up. I hadn't noticed it in the dimness of the jeep, but I could now that a light was cast upon him. "Yeah, why?"

"You just didn't say anything the whole way here."

"No, I'm fine. Let's grab the other bag." Stiles shakes it off, clearly not wanting to talk about whatever it is that's bothering him.

"I can't. Remember, Deaton said you have to do this alone." Scott's words seem to irritate Stiles, who still seems so unsure of himself.

"Okay, this plan is really starting to suck." As Stiles speaks, I slowly begging to move closer to them, noticing that Scott is now looking off into the distance with a look of pure concern.

"Scott?" I say his name, but he's not focused on me at all.

"No. Not here, not now." He says to himself, walking right past me as if I'm not even there. The only thing I can think of is that it must be something to do with Allison. Though as far as I'm aware she's supposed to be on some pretend date with Matt in attempt to throw Allison's family off the fact that she's still with Scott.

I'd told Scott how uneasy it had made me, how Matt gave me a bad vibe now like he had when we were younger, but naturally he chose to see the good in people. I just hoped he was right.

Before I can say anything else, he's taking off.

"Scott?!" I call out to him, but nothing seems to register.

"What? Scott! What am I supposed to—" Stiles inhales, realizing our friend isn't going to stop. "Plan officially sucks."

As he throws the second bag onto the ground — the one filled with mountain ash that he needs to make circle the entire venue — I walk over and rest my side against the jeep. "So, if you need to do this alone and I can't help you, what the hell am I supposed to do?"

He sighs, leaning beside me. "Honestly, Cas, I have no idea. I guess you could go inside and keep an eye out."

A line forms in the centre of my forehead, eyes carefully studying his defeated stature. "Stiles, are you sure you're okay?"

He nods slowly, biting down on his lower lip to keep words in, before finally saying, "yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine. I just— this needs to work. I-I need this to work."

"It will." I tell him, so sure of it. "It will, just— just believe in yourself the way I believe in you. You can do anything you put your mind to."

"You really believe that?" He questions, to which I nod.

"Yeah, Stiles. I really do." I tell him with certainty, before slowly backing away, telling myself I have no choice but to let him go it alone despite every part of me wanting to help.

"Good luck."

I leave him with those words and begin to make my way around the building, searching for the entrance. Just as I reach it, I pause, trying to focus on the noise I hear outside of the music. I can't be sure, but it sounds a lot like gunfire.

Survival instinct tells me to go inside, away from any potential danger, but there's a streak of rebellion in me that always seems to question perfectly sound reason, and right now that side of me seems to be winning.

I move slowly, more sure now of the sound the closer I get. There's no denying it. The gunshots seem relentless, harsh. Intended to not only harm, but potentially kill. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, but still I continue on until I round the next corner and freeze in panic.

Bullets fly with no real direction, and through the mess of chaos and moving bodies, I spot Derek and Boyd in the near distance, clearly fighting for their lives.

"Stop!" I call out, stupidly, as though any of these people care about my voice. "Stop! You're going to kill them."

No one seems to hear, except one person.

"Cassia! Get out of here!" Derek screams out the words, and guilt eats away at me instantly as I prove to be a distraction. I should move, run in the other direction, but my feet don't seem to be taking the signal from my brain.

A stray bullet hits the large, metal garbage bin to the side of me, but before I can let out any sound of fear, someone is grabbing onto my jacket and pulling me away from immediate danger.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" It's Derek's voice, that's the only thing I'm sure of as he presses my back against the wall, shielding us both. Boyd is to the side of us, slumped down on the ground, but everything else is a blur.

"Get down!" He insists, bringing me down with him as he sits on the hard ground, both him and Boyd panting uncontrollably.

"Sorry, I —" I shake my head, bewildered. It takes me a few moments to finally come back into the present, shock slowly but steadily fading away.

"I think I stopped healing," Boyd strains, clearly in agony. He can't take much more, that much is obvious.

"Bullets, they're laced with wolfsbane." Derek seethes, and my eyes dart between the two of them as he keeps on talking to his beta. "You gotta go... to the car."

"What about you?" Boyd questions, worried for his alpha. And it seems like he should be. Though I notice now that the fight has come to a stop. I'm not sure if the other side has given up, or are simply just preparing for another round of battle.

"I have to find Scott. Take her with you. Go!" Derek is insistent, but as Boyd begins to stand, I shake my head.

I should go and I know it, but I can't leave without Scott. Without Stiles. My safety means nothing if my friends are still at risk.

"N-no!" I stutter, adamant. "I'm not leaving without my friends."

He breathes in, irritation painfully clear. I don't blame him, but I know my friends wouldn't leave me and I owe them the same courtesy. I hope he can understand that.

"Cassia, you almost just took a bullet through the head. You can't stay here." He looks right at me, gaze locked. Deep down I think he knows I'm not going to budge, but he's still putting in the effort to try.

"Please— d-don't make me go." There's a pleading to my tone, and I try to settle my shaky hands. Try to appear much braver than I feel.

He rolls his eyes briefly, irked by my stubbornness. "Fine. Boyd, go," he tells the other with a nod of his head, throwing him a set of car keys. "And you— you stay beside me at all times. Clear? The last thing I need right now is you dying on me."

I nod in agreement. Boyd takes off, eager to get to a safe place where he can heal. And when Derek stands up, I falter momentarily as he reaches out his hand to help me up. I gulp and take his help, trying not to think about how warm his hand is in mine, not in a moment like this.

The instant I'm on my feet, he lets go and motions for me to follow on. We get a few steps, maybe ten, when I hear the sound of a gun clock. I turn to see Allison's father standing there, gun aimed right at us. His harsh expression seems to fade ever so slightly when he sees me.

"Dragging more teenagers into your mess I see, Derek. When will you ever learn?" He pokes, and I can tell he wants the werewolf beside me to bite back. I'm glad when he doesn't.

"Just let us go, please. Hasn't there already been enough blood shed tonight?" I question, looking at the blood that's on the ground; a mix of werewolf and human, I assume.

As I say the words I find myself stepping out, placing my body in front of Derek's now. He makes a move to pull me back, but I shrug him away. Maybe it's foolish, but there's something in Argents eyes that tells me he won't hurt me, that he perhaps views me as innocent given the fact that I'm human.

"Please," I repeat the word, watching, waiting for his next move. Relief washes over me when he lowers his gun, and I mouth a small 'thank you' before Derek takes advantage of the moment and pulls me away before the hunter can change his mind.

When we're far enough away, he spins me around to face him, his expression a mix of both heightened annoyance and deep concern. "Will you please stop pulling stunts like that? He could have hurt you."

"He could have hurt you!" I snap back, weakly poking his chest with my finger, a move that doesn't seem to faze him in the slightest. He probably didn't even feel it.

"I'd heal, you wouldn't. There's a difference." The space between us is almost non-existence, so much so I can feel his breath against my face as he lightly pants, the healing process seeming to be working slower this time and him wasting energy yelling at me doesn't seem to be helping.

"Yeah, maybe! But you're not completely invincible, are you?! Werewolves can still die. Sorry for not wanting that." I start off yelling, but eventually my voice is simply a whisper.

I stay in place for as long as I can, challenging him before I have to pull myself away because I don't trust my intrusive thoughts while I'm standing this close to him. They're willing me to pull him close, and I cant. I can't be the one to cross that line, because I'm not so sure he'd appreciate it.

"I-I have to find Scott. And Stiles," I insist, turning away from him now so that I can gather myself without falling weak beneath his gaze. "And you have a pack to worry about, so let's stop arguing about this and go."

As I storm ahead, I huff. Angry. At him for being so impossible and at myself, for behaving like a stupid little girl with a stupid little crush.

I'm grateful a few moments later when I spot Stiles in the distance, and my feet begin to run to catch up to him, Derek hot on my heels. "Stiles!"

He jogs towards us, and before I can ask if he managed to spread the ash, he's looking at Derek with a worried expression. "Hey. So we kinda lost Jackson inside, but it's—"

He stops mid-sentence, glancing up at the exit as Erica and Isaac emerge, now suddenly confused as to why they're stuck behind the line of ash.

"You did it," I whisper with a sense of pride, though it's now tainted with a fair amount of worry for the two betas.

"Oh, my god! It's working. Oh, this is... yes! I did something." He beams, impressed with himself.

Out of nowhere, I hear Derek utter Scott's name with a sense of urgency. Both Stiles and I direct our gaze towards him and at the same time, ask, "what?"

"Break it." He tells Stiles, adamant.

Stiles shakes his head, scrunching his features. "What? No way."

"Scott's dying!" Derek yells desperately, reaching a hand out to the building to signify its where he needs to go.

"Okay, what? How do you know that?"

"Stiles, break it!" I scream, afraid as I study the alpha's expressions. Scott's in danger. Scott needs help, and we're not going to cut it. It needs to be Derek. "Break it!"

"Ah," Stiles mumbles, dropping to the ground to make a break in the ring of mountain ash. His hard work diminished in a split second.

Derek wastes no time, in an instant he's gone and we're left there, wondering if Scott will make it out alive.