Chapter 33

The bus rattled along the highway, packed with restless teammates, half-hearted conversations, and the occasional shout from Coach up front. Seated in the back rows, Stiles, and Scott, and Michael the air between them heavy with more than just motion sickness.

Stiles nudged Scott’s arm. “Yo, Scotty! Still with me?”

Scott blinked, eyes unfocused. “Yeah, sorry. Uh… what’s the word?”

“Anachronism,” Stiles said, eyes flicking to his notebook.

Scott answered automatically, “Something that exists out of its normal time.”

“Nice!” Stiles grinned. “Okay, next word—incongruous.”

Scott leaned his head back against the window. “Can you use it in a sentence?”

Stiles held a dramatic hand to his chest. “Glad you asked! It’s completely incongruous that we’re sitting on a bus right now, on our way to some stupid cross-country meet, after what just happened. Incongruous.”

“Out of place. Ridiculous. Absurd,” Scott muttered.

Michael, seated infront of them, didn’t look up from his phone. “Ten points to Gryffindor. But maybe skip the vocab quiz and focus on the fact that everything’s going to hell?”

Stiles ignored him. “I’m just saying, a well-rounded education won’t kill you. Unlike, say… a serial killer Druid cult.”

“Fantastic,” Michael deadpanned. “Can’t wait to put that on my college essay. ‘Survived heartbreak, parental betrayal, and the occasional ritual sacrifice.’ That’s gotta count for extra credit.”

“Next word…” Stiles glanced at his notes. “Darach. It’s a noun.”

Scott shifted uncomfortably. “Stiles…”

“We have to talk about it sometime,” Stiles said, more serious now. “And we’re stuck on this rolling tin can for five hours. Might as well be productive.”

Michael finally looked up. “Or, hear me out, we bottle up all our trauma and explode later in a more dramatic setting. Like a pep rally.”

“New word,” Stiles said, flipping the page. “Intransigent.”

Scott mumbled, “Stubborn. Obstinate.”

Stiles’s voice softened. “Buddy… are you okay?”

Scott nodded weakly. “Yeah.”

“No, you’re not,” Stiles shot back. “We shouldn’t have come. I knew it. We shouldn’t have come.”

“We had to,” Scott said quietly. “There’s safety in numbers.”

“Yeah, well, there’s also death in numbers,” Stiles argued. “It’s called a massacre. Or bloodbath. Or carnage. Or—”

“Don’t forget evisceration,” Michael added without missing a beat.

Stiles shot him a glare. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m being realistic,” Michael shrugged. “Someone has to be.”

Stiles rubbed his hands over his face. “That’s it. I’m telling Coach you’re bleeding.”

“No,” Scott said quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Stiles said. “Let me see it.”

Scott hesitated.

“Scott,” Stiles insisted. “Just let me see.”

With a sigh, Scott pulled up the hem of his shirt. A deep, raw gash stretched along his ribs—red, torn, still inflamed. It wasn’t healing like it should.

“Dude…” Stiles recoiled, horrified. “That’s—”

“I know,” Scott interrupted. “It’s because they’re Alpha wounds. It takes longer.”

“Then why are Boyd and Isaac fine?” Stiles asked.

Scott didn’t answer right away. His voice dropped.

“I can’t believe he’s dead… Derek. I can’t believe Derek’s dead.”

🌕

Silver lingered driving behind the bus, eyes darting toward the window, lost in thought. He muttered to Lydia, her voice low and nervous.
“Am I getting too close?”

Lydia raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “That depends… Are you just following the bus, or are you planning on mounting it at some point?”

Silver gave a sheepish nod. “Yeah, maybe I should back off…”

Lydia smirked. “Well, that also depends. Oh—do you mean the bus, or the ex-boyfriend you’re currently stalking?”

Silver’s jaw tightened. “After what happened… I’m not letting him out of my sight.”

Lydia gave a thoughtful hum. “Hmm.”

Silver’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, his eyes still on the road, jaw clenched.  “And for the record? This all started when you came knocking at his door.”

Lydia didn’t even flinch.

“I’m trying to help,” she said plainly. “You’ve been closed off for days.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I have a reason,” Silver snapped, glancing at her. “Maybe I’m tired of people deciding what’s best for me.”

Allison stayed quiet, watching from the back seat as the tension curled in the air between them.

“I’m not deciding anything,” Lydia replied calmly. “Scott asked if you were okay, and I told him you weren’t. Because you’re not.”

🌕

“Lydia?”

Scott blinked, surprised as he opened the front door to find her standing there, arms crossed tightly over her chest like she was holding herself together by force.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping aside.

“Can we talk?” she said instead, already walking past him into the living room without waiting for an answer.

Scott closed the door and followed her. “What’s going on?”

Lydia turned, her face tight. “I’m worried about Silver.”

Scott tensed. “What do you mean?”

She exhaled, frustrated. “His dad moved him back here—into the middle of everything. His sister and his ex are still together, playing house like none of this is a big deal. And Michael—Michael is literally living next door to the Argents.”

Scott frowned but didn’t say anything.

“You didn’t know?” Lydia asked, catching the flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Or you just didn’t care enough to ask?”

“You knew?” she accuses.

Scott doesn’t answer.

“Scott.”

He sighs. “Isaac told me. He’s staying at Michael’s place now. Said Michael’s with his mom. Right across from the Argents.”

Lydia’s voice sharpens. “And you’re okay with that? You’re okay knowing Silver is being forced to walk past them every single day?”

“It’s not like I’m okay with it,” Scott mutters.

“No? Because it sure looks like you’re just watching it happen. I don’t understand why you’re letting this go. Michael might be good in a fight, but he’s the reason Silver is barely holding it together. He doesn’t get to be the hero now.”

Scott sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, running a hand over his face. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple!” Lydia snapped. “Silver is traumatized, and you’re letting him pretend everything’s fine while living next door to the guy who cheated on him with his sister.”

“He said he wanted to be strong,” Scott muttered.

“And what? You thought abandoning him would help with that?” Lydia challenged. “He can’t protect himself right now. Michael can’t protect him. You were supposed to. Have you even talked to him?”

Scott looked up, his voice low. “No.”

Lydia stared at him, incredulous. “Why not?”

Scott hesitated, then shrugged, shame creeping into his voice. “Because I’m scared. Because I didn’t know what to say after everything that happened. Maybe he didn’t want me there anymore.”

Lydia’s expression softened just a fraction. “He always wants you there. That’s the problem. He doesn’t know how to say it.”

Scott swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“Then go see him,” Lydia said gently. “Before worse becomes permanent.”

🌕

“Jared, again? Carsick? Every ti—How do you even get on the bus?” Coach’s voice echoed through the cramped bus, thick with irritation. “Look at me! No, don’t look at me! Look at the horizon. Keep your eyes—keep your eyes on the horizon.”

Michael, seated just in front of Scott and Stiles, groaned under his breath. “He really needs to chill.”

Coach turned again. “McCall, not you, too?”

Scott pressed a hand to his stomach but forced a weak smile. “No, Coach. I’m good.”

Coach narrowed his eyes. “Michael?”

Michael raised a thumb over his shoulder without turning around. “Alive and upright.”

Behind him, Stiles leaned toward Scott, keeping his voice low. “Scott, you’re bleeding again.”

Michael’s head tilted slightly, just catching the words. He didn’t turn, but his body tensed.

“Don’t tell me it’s just taking longer to heal, okay?” Stiles continued, pulling at Scott’s sleeve to reveal the spreading red stain. “Because I’m pretty sure that ‘still bleeding’ means ‘not healing,’ like, at all.”

Scott hissed a breath. “He’s listening…” He nodded subtly toward Ethan, sitting several rows up, his head tilted slightly like he was listening in.

Michael muttered, barely audible, “So let him.”

Stiles frowned. “Is he gonna do something?”

“Not in front of this many people,” Scott said quietly.

Michael finally turned just enough to look at Isaac and Boyd, who were both watching Ethan closely.

Stiles followed his gaze. “Okay, what about the two ticking time bombs sitting right near him?”

Scott shook his head. “No. They won’t. Not here.”

Michael smirked faintly but didn’t comment.

“Okay, well… what if they do?” Stiles asked. “Are you going to stop them?”

Scott’s answer was soft, steady. “If I have to.”

Michael leaned his head back against the seat, one arm slung over the headrest. “Good. Because if you don’t—I will.”

🌕

Silver answered the door in a hoodie and bare feet, his hair messy like he hadn’t slept all night. He blinked at the figure in the hallway—Scott, standing awkwardly, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, eyes unsure.

“…Did someone die?” Silver asked flatly.

Scott shook his head. “No. I—uh… we were supposed to talk.”

Silver’s expression shifted, just slightly. “Oh.” He glanced away, clearing his throat. “Yeah.”

He stepped aside and gestured him in. “C’mon.”

Scott followed him down the apartment’s narrow hallway. The walls were mostly bare, except for a single fading photo: Silver and Allison as kids, both grinning with scraped knees and summer freckles, back when everything still made sense. The door to Silver’s room clicked shut behind them.

Silver dropped onto the edge of his bed, arms loosely wrapped around himself. Scott hesitated before sitting in the chair across from him.

“How are you?” Scott asked, his voice soft and careful.

Silver gave a hollow laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Oh Lydia.” He whispered. “That’s a loaded question.”

“I mean it,” Scott said, watching him.

Silver didn’t look at him. “Let’s see… My ex is living next door. With my sister. Who he cheated on me with. My dad’s pretending none of it happened. My body still hurts every time it rains. And I’ve got half the school watching me like I’m gonna snap or implode.” He let out a shaky exhale. “So yeah, I’m doing great.”

Scott leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Silver—”

“I know why you’re here,” Silver cut in, his voice flat. “You’re gonna tell me to stay out of it. Let you handle the twins. And I just pretend like none of this is happening.”

“No,” Scott said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not why I came.”

Silver gave him a look, skeptical. “Then why?”

Scott’s gaze dropped, just for a second. “You started wearing t-shirts again.”

Silver frowned. “So?”

Scott moved to sit beside him on the bed. “Your scars are showing.”

He reached out gently, fingers brushing over the familiar three slashes across Silver’s forearm. The contact was instinctive, tender, like muscle memory. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

“I can take care of myself, Scott,” Silver said quietly.

“I know,” Scott replied. “But the twins? They’re different. Stronger than anything we’ve faced. And I don’t want you getting pulled into something just because you’re trying to prove a point.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything.”

“You are,” Scott said, gently. “You always are. Even when you don’t realize it.”

Silver stood and began to pace, arms crossed. “You’re scared I’ll get hurt.”

“I’m scared you already are,” Scott admitted. “Silver… Ethan and Aiden—they scare the hell out of me. And I’ve fought Alphas. I’ve been thrown across rooms, slammed through walls, but this… this is different.”

Silver’s expression shifted, the edge of it softening. “You think I’m not scared too?”

“I think you’re tired of being scared,” Scott said. “So tired, you’re willing to break just to prove you’re not bending.”

That landed. Silver stopped pacing. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the floor like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

Then he looked up at Scott—really looked at him. For the first time in days, the sharpness in his eyes dulled into something human. Exhausted. Open.

“I’m sorry.” he muttered, “After all of this,” Silver reached out to Scott,

“I know.” Scott whispered.

🌕

Silver kept his eyes on the road, fingers tapping anxiously against the steering wheel. The distant shape of the school bus loomed ahead as the car hummed along the highway. From the back seat, Allison flipped through a worn notebook, muttering to herself.

“So,” Lydia said from the passenger seat, glancing back at Allison, “is that whole ‘not letting them out of your sight’ thing literal, or more like a general rule?”

Allison frowned. “Why?”

Lydia tilted her head toward the dashboard. “You’re running on fumes.”

Silver glanced down at the gas light and sighed. “She’s not wrong.”

“Ugh.” Allison groaned, seeing the gauge flat on empty.

“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure that bus holds a lot more gas than this Toyota,” Lydia added, smirking.

Allison leaned forward. “What if we stop and lose them?”

“Is it really that big of a deal?” Lydia asked, turning in her seat. “We know where they’re headed.”

“You didn’t see what happened,” Allison said sharply.

“I know who started it,” Lydia muttered under her breath.

Allison’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what Aiden told you?”

Lydia blinked, caught off guard. “Aiden?”

She turned toward Silver. “Wait—hold on. Is that why I’m here? This whole little road trip? You’re keeping an eye on me and him?”

Silver didn’t say anything, jaw tightening slightly as he stared at the road.

Lydia gasped. “Oh my God. You dragged me into this so you could babysit your ex and her boyfriend… and keep me away from mine.”

“So,” Allison asked, “there’s nothing going on between you two?”

“I am appalled by the insinuation,” Lydia replied dramatically, reaching into her bag for lipstick.

“Nothing?” Silver asked, raising an eyebrow in the rearview mirror.

“Nothing,” Lydia insisted, though her voice wavered slightly.

Silver shook his head as Lydia calmly applied a fresh coat of lipstick.

“What?” she said innocently, catching both of them staring.

🌕

“That’s it.” Stiles grabs his phone, “I’m calling Lydia, Silver and Allison.”

“How are they gonna help back in Beacon Hills?” Scott sits up.

“They’re not. They’ve been following the bus the whole time,” Stiles says, jerking his head behind them to Allison’s small Toyota. “Pathetic.”

Michael, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, seriously? They’ve been trailing us this whole time?”

“Yup.” Stiles put the phone to his ear. “Hey, Lydia.”

“Hey, Stiles. Um, you know really bad timing because Silver and I were just about to walk into a movie, uh, you know, the popcorn-”

“Lydia, I know you three are behind us. Put me on speaker.” Stiles tells her.

“Yeah, okay.“

“Okay, look, Scott is still hurt.”

“What do you mean still? Is Scott still not healing?” Silver asks.

“No, he’s still not healing. I think he’s actually getting worse. He looks worse than usual.”

“Oh, the blood is actually turning a black color. I’m not a doctor but that’s obviously not good.” Stiles gags..

“What’s wrong with him?” Lydia asked, worry and fear evident in her tone.

“What’s wrong with him? I don’t- Lydia you do know that I don’t have a degree in lycanthropy, right? How am I supposed to know what’s wrong?” Stiles asks scoffing.

“We need to get Scott off that bus.” Allison says.

“And take him where? A hospital?” Lydia challenged, knowing that the only hospital well equipped enough for Scott is in Beacon Hills.

“If he’s dying, yeah! Stiles, there is a rest area about a mile up. Tell Coach to pull over.” Allison tells Stiles. Stile scoffs as he looks over to see Coach staring down Jared. “Yeah, I’ve been trying.”

“Reason with him.” All three yell.

“Have you met this guy! There is no reasoning with this guy.”

“Just tell him something!” Lydia barked.

Stiles took a deep breath, got up, and stepped into the aisle. “Coach, we have to stop at the next rest stop. Just five minutes. Bathroom break, okay? We’ve been on this thing for, like, three hours—”

Coach blew his whistle in response, trying to shut him up.

“It’s sixty miles to the next—”

Whistle.

“Being cooped up like this isn’t—”

Whistle.

“Our bladders aren’t—”

Whistle.

“Coach, this is serious—”

Whistle.

“LET ME TALK! I’M—”

“Get back to your seat, Stilinski!” Coach barked, pointing sharply toward the back.

“Okay!” Stiles held up his hands, retreating.

Michael leaned across the aisle toward Scott. “This is bad,” he muttered, his tone low. “If we don’t stop soon, you might not even be able to stand.”

“Jared, keep your eyes on the horizon.”

🌕

Michael stepped out of his room, barefoot and bleary-eyed, rubbing his face as he shuffled toward the kitchen—only to stop dead at the sight of Isaac tiptoeing toward the door, jacket half-on and boots in hand.

“…Whoa,” Michael muttered, voice still thick with sleep. “Where are you going?” Isaac froze like a kid caught past curfew.

“Uh… I was gonna get some food.”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “At midnight?” Isaac nodded too quickly. “Late-night Mexican run. You know. Tacos.”

Michael crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Cool. I’ll come with you.” Isaac winced. “Nah, man. It’s fine. I can eat alone.”

“What are you getting?” Michael asked, his tone already skeptical. “Tacos?” Isaac said again. “Maybe churros.”

Michael raised a brow. “Isaac, where are you actually going?”

“I just told you—Mexican—” Michael cut him off. “You’re sneaking out. Badly, by the way.” Isaac groaned. “Come on, man. Don’t do this.” Michael didn’t answer.

And Isaac, without another word, pulled the door open and slipped into the night.

Michael stood there for a few seconds, unmoving, still half-asleep, still annoyed—and then he heard the scrape of a mug behind him.

Rachel stood leaning against the kitchen doorway, robe loose around her frame, a chipped mug cradled in both hands. She didn’t say anything right away—just looked at him with that unreadable, tired sort of look only moms seemed to have perfected.

“So that’s it?” she asked quietly. “You let him walk out like that?”

Michael sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He didn’t ask for help.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it,” Rachel said calmly.

Michael glanced away. “He’s not our responsibility. Besides… this isn’t even our mess.”

She stepped forward and set her mug gently on the counter, then looked him dead in the eye.
“You expect me to believe that? After everything we’ve been through? After everything you’ve been through?”

Michael tensed but didn’t answer.

“I know my son,” she said, voice softer now. “And I know you. You’ve always tried to be the good guy—even when no one gave you credit. Don’t let that part of you die just because things got hard.”

He gave a dry, bitter laugh. “I’ve done enough damage, Mom. Being the ‘good guy’… that’s not my role anymore.”

Rachel stepped closer, but she didn’t touch him. “Then change the role. You’re not trapped in it. You don’t need to fix everything, Michael—but you can choose to care.”

Michael didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.

He turned, grabbed his jacket from the hook, and muttered under his breath as he tugged it on,
“If he’s not actually getting tacos, I swear to God…”

🌕

The bus screeched to a halt at a grimy roadside rest stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Jared barely made it off the steps before he doubled over in the grass, dry-heaving, as Coach Finstock leaned out the door and shouted, “Jared, you suck! Somebody grab some towels—or a mop… or a new bus!”

Inside, the chaos was spreading fast. Silver and Stiles were on either side of Scott, holding him up as he staggered toward the tiny, run-down bathroom. Scott’s face was pale and sweat clung to his skin. Lydia, heels clicking against the filthy tile, trailed behind them with Allison and Michael not far behind.

“Oh my God,” Lydia whispered, hand over her mouth as she took in the sight of Scott’s trembling form. He looked worse than he had back on the bus—like something inside him was slipping fast.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Silver asked, voice sharp with panic as he and Stiles helped ease Scott down onto a blanket spread out on the cracked floor.

Scott managed a weak shrug, barely whispering, “Sorry…”

“Just—just give us a second, okay?” Silver muttered, waving the others back as he hovered over Scott, his hands already searching for the worst of the wounds. “This shouldn’t be happening. I’ve seen him heal from worse than this.”

“I don’t understand,” Allison murmured from the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “This doesn’t make sense.”

Michael stood beside her, brows drawn together. “Unless it’s not physical.”

“What do we do, then?” Stiles asked, wide-eyed. “Do we just call an ambulance?”

“What if it’s too late?” Silver said quietly. “What if they can’t help him?”

“We gotta do something,” Stiles insisted, looking between them all.

Lydia stepped forward, hesitating just long enough to sound uncertain. “You know… it could be psychological.”

Stiles looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “What? Like psychosomatic?”

“Somatoformic,” Lydia corrected.

“Som-a-what now?” Stiles blinked.

“A physical illness from a psychogenic cause,” Silver said flatly, still pressing a towel to Scott’s side. “It means… yeah. It’s in his head.”

“Because of Derek,” Michael added, frowning. “He’s not healing because… he doesn’t want to.”

“He’s blaming himself,” Allison whispered. “He’s punishing himself.”

Silver grabbed the emergency kit Lydia had handed him and dropped to his knees. “Then we stitch him up,” he said. “If he sees the wound healing, maybe he’ll start to believe it’s healing.”

“You’re serious?” Stiles asked, taking a step back. “Like, actual needle and thread?”

“You want to sit around and let him bleed out?” Silver snapped.

Silver rifled through Scott’s bag and tossed his ruined shirt aside. “He’s gonna need another one. Where’s his backup?”

“Um—I’ll go get it,” Stiles said quickly. “I hate needles anyway.”

He hesitated at the door. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Silver nodded once. “My father taught me.”

“I mean, how fast are you gonna…?” Stiles glanced nervously back toward the parking lot. “The bus could leave.”

Silver didn’t even look up. “You just make sure it doesn’t.”

“I can help,” Lydia offered, grabbing Stiles by the arm and tugging him toward the hallway. “Come on.”

“Hey,” Allison stepped forward and gently caught Silver’s wrist, her eyes soft but insistent. “You’re shaking. Let me do it.”

Silver’s hands trembled, but he pulled back stubbornly, blinking fast. “No. I gotta do it. He’s… he’d-” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. “I have to.”

“Liss,” Michael said softly, stepping closer, his voice calm but firm. “Let’s go.”

Allison glanced toward Michael, uncertain, but eventually nodded. With one last look at her brother, she stepped back.

Michael lingered for a moment longer, watching him, then finally sighed and followed Allison out.

Silver let out a shaky breath once they were gone, forcing his hands steady as he threaded the needle.

Silver’s hands trembled as he tore open the sterile kit with his teeth. He barely noticed the sting of alcohol against his fingers or the cold tile beneath his knees—only Scott, slumped and bleeding, his breath shallow, his skin too pale.

“Okay. Okay, stay with me. Stay with me, okay?” Silver whispered, voice cracking with fear.

Scott let out a soft exhale. “I’m tired…”

“No,” Silver said quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t. Don’t fall asleep. Scott, just—look at me, okay? Just keep looking at me.”

He grabbed the needle Lydia had passed to him earlier and sterilized it with trembling fingers. The wound on Scott’s side was deep, angry, bleeding more than it should have. Silver tried to breathe, tried to steady himself, but the blood kept coming—and so did the memories.

The sound of leather cracking across skin. Screaming. Being held down. Thomas’s voice in his ear—”Hold still, or I’ll make it worse.”

Silver blinked rapidly. Focus.

“Come on…” he muttered under his breath as he threaded the needle. “Come on, come on, come on…”

He glanced down. Scott’s eyes had started to close. “Scott?” Silver called. “Scott?” His voice rose with every repetition. “Scott… Scott?”

Scott’s head lolled to the side, and the terror in Silver’s chest surged like a wave. “Scott!” he shouted.

Scott jolted slightly, groaning. “…It’s my fault,” he muttered.

Silver leaned over him, trying to blink away the sweat and panic fogging his vision. “Scott, look at me. It’s okay,” he whispered, brushing the hair off his friend’s forehead. “You’re okay. I got you.”

Then, he dug the needle into Scott’s skin.

Scott hissed, his muscles jerking beneath the touch, but Silver held firm. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, voice thick. “Just hold on, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He stitched fast, not cleanly but tightly—each loop of thread pulling the skin together like pulling his own mind back from the edge. Blood pooled under the thread, warm against his fingertips, but the wound slowly began to close. Not healing. Not yet. But better.

Scott groaned again. “Did you do that?”

Silver glanced at him. “What?”

“The stitching…” Scott rasped, eyelids fluttering. “Did you do that?”

Silver gave a weak smile. “Yeah…”

Scott managed a tiny grin. “Nice.”

Silver let out a shaky breath that sounded too much like a laugh. “Can you stand?”

Scott didn’t reply, but Silver slipped an arm under him anyway, pulling him up with quiet strength. He reached for the clean shirt nearby and guided it over Scott’s head with careful hands.

“Okay,” Silver whispered, still shaken. “Put this on. We’re getting you out of here.”

But even as he helped Scott to his feet, Silver’s eyes flicked to the mirror—half-expecting to see Thomas again.

And for a second… he swore he did

🌕

At the roadside rest stop, Silver had one arm around Scott, steadying him as they moved slowly toward the car. Scott’s weight leaned heavier than usual, but Silver didn’t say anything—he just adjusted and kept walking.

Lydia jogged up to meet them, eyes flicking between the two. “Is he okay?” she asked, then quickly turned to Scott. “Are you okay?”

Scott nodded weakly, still catching his breath. “Yeah… Where’s Stiles?”

“Trying to stall Coach,” Lydia said, glancing toward the bus. “But we still don’t have gas.”

Silver shifted his grip on Scott and spoke firmly. “I’m not leaving him.”

Lydia exhaled, tense. “Then we have to leave the car.”

Silver didn’t even hesitate. “Sounds good.”

Lydia blinked. “What? That wasn’t—” she muttered under her breath, “That wasn’t an actual suggestion…”

Silver was already guiding Scott forward.

“Silver, wait!” Lydia called, jogging after them.

She groaned as she caught up. “Ugh. Aw, screw it.”

🌕

Scott nearly jumped out of his skin when his door creaked open and Isaac stepped in, followed closely by Michael, who looked less enthusiastic about being there.

“Hey,” Isaac greeted casually.

Scott raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

Michael ignored the question and walked around Scott’s room, “Nice place,” he said flatly. “Where are you going?” Michael asked,Scott hesitated. “Uh… I was gonna go get some food.”

“Oh, perfect timing,” Isaac said brightly. “Michael and I were just talking about getting food. We’ll come with you.”

Scott frowned. “Nah, dude. It’s okay. I can eat alone.”

“What are you getting?” Isaac pressed, already way too interested.

Scott reached out, blocking their path. “Guys—Michael, Isaac—I said I can eat alone.”

“You’re not going alone,” Isaac insisted.

Michael leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “We figured you might do something stupid.”

Scott sighed. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t say you weren’t going to,” Michael cut in. “You’re literally the definition of ‘about to do something stupid’ right now.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “Why are you even here, Michael?”

Michael shrugged. “Honestly? I was dragged here.”

Isaac scoffed. “You followed me.”

“My mom made me.” Michael muttered.

Scott let out a breath, somewhere between annoyed and amused. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” Michael said, sitting up now. “Tell that to the look on your face.”

“I have a car that fits all of us,” Michael added after a beat, tossing Scott his helmet. “Come on. Just trust us. We’re not trying to babysit you. He’s your friend. I’m the good guy this time.”

Michael turns off the radio as the three of them drive in silence toward the mall. He glances over at Scott, who’s staring off into the road, lost in thought.

Michael parks the car, and the three of them step out. “We’re just gonna talk to him, okay? Try to reason with him. That’s it, all right?” Scott says, trying to keep the tension low. Michael scans the mall around them, sharing a glance with Isaac.

“What?” Isaac asks Michael.

“Nothing,” Michael replies with a nervous chuckle. “It’s just… I’m actually kind of hungry now.”

“So am I,” Isaac agrees.

Suddenly, a voice calls down from above. “You didn’t come alone.”

The three teens turn to see Deucalion standing at the top of the escalators.

“This is Isaac and Michael,” Scott introduces quietly.

“I’m not talking about Isaac and Michael,” Deucalion says coldly.

They turn again to see Derek approaching with Boyd and Cora following closely behind.

“You knew I would do this?” Scott pleads, stepping forward. “Derek, don’t. You can’t do this—so no one gets hurt. If someone else dies—”

“Him,” Derek interrupts, eyes locked on Deucalion.

“Just him?” Scott repeats, disbelief and worry flooding his voice.

Derek’s gaze sharpens.

“Just me? Now, how’s a blind man supposed to find his way into a place like this all on his own?”

🌕

The air outside the rest stop buzzed with unease. Silver sat hunched on the curb, elbows on his knees, staring down at the gravel. Lydia stood beside him, arms folded tightly across her chest, while Allison leaned against the bus, her eyes distant. Michael paced in front of them, restless energy simmering under his skin.

“You shouldn’t be here anymore,” he muttered. “You should’t be here at all. Do the three of you not understand that the Darach’s still out there. You should go back. Now.”

Silver lifted his head, frowning. “Back to what? School? Home? Like nothing happened?”

Michael stopped pacing and looked at him. “No—back before it gets worse. You don’t need to be in the middle of this.”

Lydia arched a brow. “And you do?”

“I can handle it.”

Silver stood slowly. “You don’t get to decide who gets protected and who doesn’t, Michael.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” Michael said, his voice sharp but not unkind.

Allison stepped forward. “You think we came all this way to just turn around and run? After everything we’ve seen—after everything we’ve lost?”

Michael looked at her, then Lydia. “You three should go.”

“I’m not going,” Silver cut in firmly. “Not when Scott’s still out here. Not when we’re all still in danger.”

Before Michael could argue again, a shout rang out from behind the rest stop.

“ISAAC! ISAAC! BACK OFF! STOP!”

Coach’s voice. Loud. Panicked.

Everyone froze. Lydia’s eyes widened.

Silver said quietly. “Come on.”

Michael cursed under his breath but didn’t stop them as the four of them turned and sprinted toward the sound.

Coach was struggling to pull Isaac off of Ethan.  Isaac didn’t slow down as Coach tried to break up the fight.

“ISAAC!”

Silver staggered back and  could’ve sworn he saw Scott’s eyes flash red.

🌕

Michael looked around as the Alphas began to circle the Hale pack and their few allies—outsiders like Scott and himself. His stomach twisted. This wasn’t going to be a negotiation. It was Beacon Hills. Nothing ever ended without blood.

He flinched when Kali landed a brutal kick to Derek’s face, knocking him back. A sickening thud beside him made Michael turn sharply—Ethan and Aiden had fused again. The hulking twin-wolf snarled as it advanced. Across the lot, Boyd and Ennis were already tearing into each other, claws flashing, skin shredding.

Scott, Isaac, and Michael exchanged a quick, unspoken glance. Isaac took off first, charging toward the twins. Scott was mid-shift when Isaac was slammed into the pavement.

Michael didn’t hesitate. “Damn it,” he muttered, sprinting after them.

He reached Scott just as the fused twins grabbed each of his wrists and slammed him into a wall. Michael threw himself forward, trying to pull them off, but a clawed hand sent him flying, landing hard on his side. He groaned, rolling just in time to see Scott’s chest slashed open.

The chaos around them only grew louder. Boyd and Cora tried to flank Ennis, but the massive Alpha barely flinched, shoving them aside with ease. Kali pinned Derek, pressing him into the ground with her heel. And then, Ennis had Boyd—by the throat.

Kali slashed across Boyd’s chest. Blood sprayed. Ennis let go.

Isaac was thrown again. Kali pinned Cora down, foot against her neck, and the twins dragged a gasping Scott across the ground. Ennis stalked toward Michael.Deucalion’s voice rang out cold and cruel.

“Kill him,” he ordered.

Derek stood frozen, staring at Boyd bleeding on the floor. Boyd looked back at his alpha with fear in his eyes.

“The others can go,” Deucalion added smoothly. “You’re beaten. Do it, Derek. Take the first step.”

Michael, dazed and aching, forced himself to his knees, watching helplessly. He wanted to say something, anything—but the threat of another blow kept him still.

Deucalion continued, turning toward Michael now with a smirk. “Or I could have the hunter do it. Fitting, isn’t it? A hunter helping you finish off your own.”

“Ironic,” Kali spat. “This is your pack? A couple of teenagers playing hero?”

“Some have more promise than others,” Deucalion mused.

“Let him prove it then,” Kali hissed. “What’s it gonna be, Derek? Pack or family?”

Kali’s boot pressed harder into Cora’s throat. She gasped.

Then—thunk.

An arrow shot through the air, striking the twin-beast and forcing it to split apart. More arrows followed, hissing through the shadows, scattering the Alphas.

“Your eyes—cover your eyes!” Deucalion shouted.

But it was too late.

Flash-bang arrows burst into light, sending the Alphas stumbling. Ennis roared, grabbing his face. Kali recoiled, freeing Cora.

🌕

Silver stood by the window, arms crossed tightly over his chest, the afternoon light catching in his hair. Outside, the street was quiet—too quiet. Like the world was waiting for something. Inside, the silence between him and his father was loud.

“Someone needs to help them,” Silver said at last, his voice strained, almost brittle.

At the kitchen table, Argent didn’t look up from the papers spread out before him. Maps. Records. A pile of contracts. He stayed focused on his work, every movement precise.

“Not us,” Argent replied coolly. “I’ve got the consulting business to rebuild, and you’ve still got school. You need to graduate. That’s a normal life. It’s what we agreed to.”

Silver turned to face him, disbelief written all over his face.

“So we just ignore it?” he asked, a flare of anger creeping into his tone. “There’s a pack of Alphas hunting people I care about—people who would fight for me—and you want me to just sit here pretending it’s not happening?”

Argent sighed, the sound tight and tired. He finally looked up, his eyes hard.

“We stay out of it, Silver.”

“That’s not who we are.”

“It’s who we have to be now.”

Silver stepped forward, fire rising in his chest.

“Since when did survival mean abandonment? Since when did we become the kind of people who look away?”

Argent’s voice sharpened.

“It’s not abandonment. It’s called threading the needle—finding a path between two dangerous forces without drawing attention. Without getting crushed.”

“No,” Silver said, voice trembling. “It’s called saving your own ass.”

There was a long pause. The temperature in the room dropped. Argent stood, slowly, as if the weight of the conversation physically pressed down on him.

“They’re not your family, Silver.” His voice was colder now. A deliberate cut.

Silver’s jaw clenched. He stared at his father, eyes rimmed with hurt and something older—something worn down by too many years of trying to be brave in a house that never felt safe.

“With all the family I’ve lost?” he said, voice low, shaking. “I could really use a few friends.”

The silence that followed was thunderous. Argent didn’t move. He didn’t have to. The damage was done.

Silver’s breathing hitched as he turned sharply on his heel and stormed down the hall. His boots echoed against the hardwood floor, each step more purposeful than the last.

He stopped at Allison’s bedroom door and knocked once—hard.

The door cracked open. Allison looked up from her bed, startled by the look in her brother’s eyes.

“If you want me to forgive you,” Silver said, voice low but unwavering, “if you want me to trust you again…”
He took a breath.
“…I need you to help me.”

Allison’s mouth parted, but no words came out. She stared, stunned by the rawness in his voice.

🌕

From above—on the second floor—Silver and Allison fired relentlessly, their expressions fierce, bows steady. Deucalion zeroed in on them instantly. His eyes locked on Silver.

He moved fast.

Silver’s grip on his bow faltered as Deucalion rushed forward, faster than any human. For a second, Silver froze-his mind flashing back to that day, the breath on his neck, the pain, the helplessness.

It stopped him cold.

Allison saw it happen. “Silver!” She shouted, but it was drowned in the chaos.

Below, Michael glanced behind him just in time to see Ennis charge Scott. And then—impact. But when Ennis staggered back, Michael saw something he hadn’t before: red eyes. Scott’s eyes glowed like fire for a split second.

Alpha red.

But as Scott blinked, they faded back to yellow.

Still a beta… for now.

Michael stood shakily, just as Derek surged forward, landing a heavy punch to Ennis’ face. The two locked into a deadly embrace, shoving each other toward the edge of the overlook.

Scott noticed it a second too late.

“No!” Scott sprinted, trying to stop them. Michael tried to follow, but pain lanced up his leg.

Scott reached the edge just as the two Alphas tipped over. He slashed at Ennis’ leg, but it wasn’t enough.

Derek and Ennis fell.

🌕

Silver sat quietly beside Scott, the silence between them heavy. The night had worn them both down, and the tension still lingered in the air like smoke.

“You know,” Silver said gently, not looking at him, “if he’s really dead… it’s not your fault.”

Scott let out a shallow breath, his eyes unfocused. “Maybe…” he murmured.

Silver didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, rolling it up slowly to reveal the faded scars that marked his forearm—thin, sharp, and deliberate. He stared at them for a moment before speaking.

“These,” he said quietly, “were supposed to be reminders. Of where I’ve been. Of what I survived. But sometimes they just feel like proof. That I was there when I shouldn’t have been. That I stayed… when I should’ve run.”

Scott’s eyes drifted from Silver’s face to the scars, his own breath catching slightly.

“You don’t get to pick the scars you carry,” Silver went on. “But you do get to decide whether or not they mean you deserved them.”

Scott swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was just trying to help.”

“I know,” Silver replied, finally looking at him. “So was I.”

There was no red in Scott’s eyes – Silver let out an audible sigh of relief.

Scott tilted his head, a little confused. “What?”

Silver gave a faint shrug. “I was just looking at your eyes.”

Scott struggled but he managed to wrap his arm around Silver as the bus started to move.