AutumnXd
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CHAPTER 13
🕑 Added 2025-06-09 14:38:14 +0000 UTCAlex slammed the sedan to a halt in front of his mother's house, the tires screeching on the wet pavement. The quiet suburban street was dark, the only light coming from their own porch and the flickering streetlights. The rhythmic drumming of the rain had softened to a drizzle, but the air was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the weather.
He and Stiles scrambled out of the car, their earlier party moods entirely forgotten. The house was dark, except for a faint light in Scott's upstairs bedroom window. "His room, now!" Alex commanded, already heading for the front door, his earlier headache now a dull throb, overshadowed by a growing sense of dread.
Stiles, surprisingly agile when fueled by panic, was already at Scott's bedroom door, banging on it with a frantic rhythm. "Scott! Dude! Open up! It's me, Stiles! Are you okay in there? You sounded… not okay!" A low groan, laced with pain, came from inside the room. "Stiles… go away…" Scott's voice was strained, guttural, almost unrecognizable. "Scott, open the door! We heard you from the party! Open it!" Stiles yelled, rattling the doorknob. Another sound from inside, like something heavy being dragged, then Scott's voice again, tight with agony. "No! I… I can't!"
Hearing the raw pain in his brother's voice, Alex pushed Stiles aside. "Scott! It's Alex! Open this damn door right now! What is happening to you?!" A sharp intake of breath from inside. "Alex?" Scott sounded utterly shocked, the pain momentarily forgotten. "You… you're here? I thought… only Stiles…" Then, a renewed wave of anguish. "No! Go away, Alex! It's nothing! I'm fine!"
"Like hell you are!" Alex retorted, his own voice tight with a mixture of fear and frustration. He slammed his shoulder against the door, but it held firm. "You either open this door, Scotty, or I swear to God, I will break it down! And trust me, Mom will be way more pissed about a broken door than whatever teenage drama you're hiding in there!"
"Alex, he knows!" Stiles blurted out, his eyes wide and frantic. "I told him! About… about what's happening to you! We can help, Scott! Just let us in!"
"What?!" Scott's voice cracked, a horrifying mixture of betrayal and despair. "You told him?!" The indirect confirmation hit Alex like a physical blow. Stiles's crazy talk in the car… werewolves… it couldn't be… but Scott's reaction… He felt a cold knot form in his stomach. "Alex, open the door, man!" Stiles urged again, his gaze flicking between the locked door and Alex's stunned face.
"No!" Scott roared from inside, the sound more animalistic than human. "Did you tell Allison too?! Does everyone know?!" "No, man! No, of course not!" Stiles said quickly. "It's just Alex! Only Alex knows! We just want to help you!" A beat of silence from inside, then Scott's voice, raw and filled with a chilling certainty. "I know who bit me." Stiles and Alex exchanged a shocked glance. "It was Derek," Scott rasped. "Derek Hale. He's the one who bit me."
"Derek?" Stiles whispered, his face paling. "The guy from the woods? The one who looks like he eats nails for breakfast?" Alex's mind raced. Derek Hale. The dark, brooding guy he'd seen talking to Allison at the party. "Wait," Alex said, his voice sharp with a new, urgent fear. "Isn't he the one who took Allison… who offered to drop her home?"
A strangled cry came from inside Scott's room. "What?!" The anger in Scott's voice was palpable, overriding the pain. Anger, and a sudden, fierce protectiveness. "Allison… with him?" Before Alex or Stiles could react, there was a loud crash from inside the room, followed by the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass. THUD! Something heavy landed on the roof just above them. "Alex, what was that sound?" Stiles yelped, backing away from the door.
Then, from the backyard, a sound that made the hair on the back of Alex's neck stand on end. A long, mournful, undeniably savage howl ripped through the night, echoing off the houses, cutting through the drizzle. It was a sound that belonged in the deepest, darkest forests, not in their quiet suburban garden.
Alex stared at the ceiling, then towards the back of the house, his face a mask of disbelief. The headache was back with a vengeance, but a different, colder dread was now consuming him. "Oh, mother of heavens," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "Stilinski… you were serious. Is that… is that really Scott, howling?"
Stiles just nodded, his eyes wide as saucers, his face ashen. "I… I think so. And now he's probably going after Derek. The werewolf who bit him. Who might be with Allison."
The two of them scrambled down the stairs and burst out the back door. The garden was empty. The only evidence Scott had been there were deep, claw-like gouges in the soft earth beneath his bedroom window, which was now a jagged, gaping hole. The rain had picked up again, washing away any other tracks. "He's gone!" Stiles exclaimed, running a frantic hand through his hair. "How the hell are we going to find him, Alex? He's a werewolf! He could be anywhere!"
Alex, despite the chaos and the utter insanity of the situation, felt a strange, cold calm begin to settle over him. Problem-solving mode. That, he could do. "I have a better question, Stiles. How the hell is he going to find Derek? Does he have werewolf GPS now?"
Stiles looked at him, then shrugged helplessly. "By smelling him? I guess? Wolves can track by scent, right? And Scott's a… well, you know."
Alex let out a shaky breath, running a hand over his face. "Right. Yeah. Forgot. Now he's a werewolf with wolf powers. Super." His mind was racing. Telling the cops was out. Explaining this would get Scott locked up in a lab, not a jail cell. He looked at Stiles. "Stiles, telling Allison's parents Derek kidnapped her is out. That's way too risky. We can't expose Scott. Not yet. We have to find him ourselves. First."
They ran back to the front of the house, towards Alex's sedan. Melissa's car. He'd forgotten Scott had his M3. Damn it. Alex slid into the driver's seat, Stiles jumping in beside him. He started the engine, its quiet hum a stark contrast to the earlier roar of his own car. "Okay, any brilliant ideas on how we're going to find one newly minted, probably terrified, and extremely pissed-off teenage werewolf in the middle of a rainy night in a town full of trees?" Stiles asked, his voice tight with anxiety.
Alex didn't answer immediately. He tapped the car's large touchscreen display, navigating through menus with a practiced speed. A map of Beacon Hills appeared. He typed something, then zoomed in. A small, blinking red dot appeared on the screen, moving rapidly away from their current location, heading towards the outskirts of town, near the preserve.
Stiles stared at the screen, then at Alex, his jaw dropping. "Is that… are you tracking Scott? Seriously, dude? You put a tracker on your own brother?"
Alex glanced at him, a ghost of his usual smirk touching his lips despite the grim situation. "No, Stilinski. I put a tracker on those ridiculously expensive, limited-edition designer running shoes he's currently wearing while howling at the moon." He put the car in drive. "The ones I lent him for his 'makeover'. Never lend out your best gear without a contingency plan." He floored the accelerator, the sedan leaping forward, tires spinning on the wet asphalt as they raced in the direction of the blinking red dot.
Stiles was still gaping. "Why… why would you put trackers in your own clothes? In your shoes?"
Alex navigated a sharp turn, his eyes fixed on the road and the map. "Well, Stilinski, the life of a ridiculously wealthy, occasionally reckless, and internationally recognizable teenager has its own unique set of dangers. Kidnapping, for one. Industrial espionage. Overly enthusiastic fans. It pays to be prepared." He tapped the screen again. "These aren't just trackers. They have microphones too. Very discreet. Very useful for… gathering information. Or for blackmailing people who borrow your stuff and then run off into the night as a freaking werewolf."
Stiles just shook his head, a bewildered laugh escaping him. "Wow. Your life is… it's really something else, McCall. Full of adventure. And apparently, highly advanced, weaponized footwear."
