"I said, let him go," Stiles practically growled as he pressed the gun directly against Corey's temple.

Scott felt sick to his stomach, "Stiles what are you doing?"

"What the shuck is a stiles?" he asked, and Lydia let out a small noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Listen, we don't want any trouble. Just let him go and we'll get out of here."

"No!" Scott took a tentative step forward. "Stiles, I'm not letting you leave again. We've been looking for you for three months."

Stiles lowered the gun a little and shot a quick glance at Minho and Teresa. "Are you saying I was friends with werewolves?"

"I mean, only three of us are actual were-"

"Liam, shut up," Derek growled.

Stiles clicked the bullet into place and pressed it against Corey's head again, "Let him go. Then we'll talk."

Scott listened to the steady beat of Stiles' heart. He meant it. He would kill Corey if they didn't let Newt go. With a hard swallow, Scott locked eyes with Argent and nodded, "Let him go."

Argent pulled out the keys and unlocked the handcuff around Newt's uninjured arm before backing away with his hands up as Teresa held her crossbow to his neck.

"Minho, check on him," Stiles nodded at his friend, who lowered his spear reluctantly.

"Actually, I've been awake for the past fifteen minutes," came a cool, British voice as Newt got to his feet with a smirk.

"You shuckface," Stiles said with a smile. He lowered the gun and quickly crossed over to his friends and pulled Newt into a one-armed hug before Minho and Teresa repeated the gesture.

Scott felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He was vaguely aware of Mason pulling Corey into a tight hug. Scott couldn't believe Stiles would threaten to kill anyone, let alone someone in their pack.

"Glad they didn't kill you, ya shank," Minho said with a smirk.

"You ain't getting rid of me that easily."

The Gladers then turned to the pack, shoulder to shoulder. The anger in their eyes replaced with newfound curiosity.

"If only three of you are werewolves, what are the rest of you?" Stiles asked.

No one said anything. A few were simply hurt that Stiles even had to ask that question, and the others were looking to Scott to tell them how much they needed to say.

"Don't all speak up at once, now," Newt said sarcastically.

Scott turned to the others, "Tell them. We need to trust each other.

"Banshee," Lydia said softly, then with more confidence. "I'm a banshee."

He may have been imagining it, but Scott thought he saw Teresa's eyes harden at that statement and Newt stepped ever so slightly closer to her, almost protectively.

"Werecoyote," Malia said simply.

"Corey and I are chimeras," Theo was leaning up against a support beam behind the Gladers, who turned around to look at him.

"Chimeras?" Newt asked, confused. "The lion, goat, snake, hybrid from Greek mythology?"

"It's also the word for a creature made up of incongruous parts. Or a person with more than one set of DNA. It's what we call someone made supernatural by the Dread Doctors because they have the DNA of two different creatures," Scott said and the Gladers turned back around.

"Theo," Derek looked at Theo. "Stop brooding in the corner and join the rest of us. That's my job."

"Come on Derek," Theo said as he crossed the room to sit on the arm of the couch. "Brooding's one of the only things I'm good at, don't take it away from me."

"Can we put him in the ground, again?" Liam asked, annoyed.

"You broke the sword, remember?" Theo smirked.

"I don't need a sword to slit your throat."

"Good luck with that, Liam," Theo smiled.

"Wait, the Dread Doctors?" Minho suddenly asked. "You mean that piece of klunk book Newt picked up at a drugstore? They're real?"

"Yes, and that is a long story that we don't have the time for," Malia said.

"What about you?" Teresa asked Argent and Derek who were sitting on either end of a table.

"Just a werewolf," Derek said.

"I'm a hunter," Argent said. "But I live by a code."

"So do we," Stiles immediately said. "We kill those who hurt innocent people."

"Scott's eyes narrowed in surprise as the rest of the Gladers nodded in agreement, "Stiles, what happened to you?"

"I watched my friend go crazy and kill a thirteen-year-old kid," Stiles said with his jaw set, shaking slightly. "We ran from a crazy guy who wanted to use us for his sick science experiment. I watched one of my best friends go crazy and begging for me to kill him before trying to kill me."

"Tommy," Newt said. "Calm down."

"I almost did it, Newt," Stiles said angrily, turning towards him. "I almost killed you. If Brenda hadn't pulled us out of the simulation in time-"

"But you're here now," Scott intercepted. "Just wait until we tell the sheriff."

"What? No!" Stiles exclaimed. "You can't tell the police we're here."

That was what told Scott just how bad this memory loss really was. "Stiles. The sheriff is your dad."

Stiles blinked, "My-my dad?"

"Yes, and he's been going out of his mind since you went missing," Lydia stepped up next to Scott.

"You don't have to stay in Beacon Hills," Scott said. "But you at least have to see him."

Stiles stared at him, "How do I know I can trust you? How do I know this isn't just another trick from WICKED?"

Scott smiled in spite of himself, "You don't. I know how hard it is for you to trust people, Stiles, but I also know you're smart. You have good instincts. So, tell me. Do you think we're lying?"

Stiles looked at him for a moment, "No. But I'm not risking everything on a hunch."

Scott pulled out his phone and scrolled back to the very first picture he ever took. It was of him and Stiles, back when he had long hair and Stiles's was short. He turned the phone around and showed it to Stiles.

He took the phone and stared at it while Newt and Teresa looked over his shoulder.

"No signs of photoshop, as far as I can tell," Newt said.

"You were cute back then," Teresa smiled at him.

Stiles handed the phone back, "That doesn't prove much."

"Okay," Scott put his phone away. "What do you want me to do? How can I prove that you knew us?"

After a moment, Stiles asked, "You talked about my dad a little. What about my mom?"

Scott bit his lip, "I'm sorry, Stiles. She died over twelve years ago."

"How?" Stiles asked, not phased in the slightest. "How did she die?"

"Frontotemporal dementia," Scott said sadly. "I'm really sorry, she loved you a lot and-"

"I believe you," Stiles cut him off.

"You-why?" Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged, "Because I know WICKED. They would have made it seem like I have a perfect life so it would hurt more when they took it all away."

Scott felt really guilty for being glad that Stiles' mom had died, "Does that mean you'll come with us?"

He shook his head, "No. Not yet. But we'll be in touch. We'll find a place to stay the night and go from there."

"No way," Malia stepped forward, but Scott grabbed her arm. "Come on, we can take them."

"No, Malia. Let them go," Scott said. "There's a pretty nice motel on Parkway Avenue."

They nodded in thanks and started towards the door. As they were, Scott noticed that Newt was limping heavily, "Hey, Newt?"

The Gladers half turned around before Scott gestured to his leg, "You're limping. Are you alright?"

"It's a. . . it's an old injury," he said. Stiles squeezed Newt's shoulder and Scott was still staring at the door long after they had left.

the door long after they had left.

"Do you think we should have let them leave?" Lydia asked, unsure of herself.

"Yes," Scott said certainly. "We need them to trust us. It's the only way we'll get Stiles back."

So, I had this chapter almost finished in terms of editing, but my computer decided to be stupid and delete everything so I had to start over. It may be better than I had it before, it might be worse, who knows. Just know that it's here, and in case anyone has decided to come back and reread this book for whatever reason, I'm currently in the process of editing, so that's why there are only the first four parts.