The Wolves of our Lives

She would admit, though unwillingly, that perhaps this was going to bite her in the ass.

Sure she'd done selfish, destructive things before: including, but not limited to her unfortunate obsession with the hunky swim instructor at the Y who she managed to get fired after he rejected her in the ninth grade. But this, this whole sleeping with the guy who's supposed to help them defeat the alphas and all, was probably the worst of all her bad deeds.

Not to say it was bad, because really, it was very far from bad, that's for sure. But more so it was… Well, complicated for lack of a better word.

Lydia couldn't even imagine what Stiles might say if he found out, hell, what any of her friends would say if they found out. Sure, Lydia liked casual sex as much as the next hormonal high school senior, but she would bet that this wouldn't end well for her. Or anyone really.

So, after slyly slipping out of her bed as to not rouse a peaceful Jordan, she snuck into her en-suite bathroom to think.

Tomorrow afternoon her parents would return from their big trip to god knows where and Jordan would officially have to find a new, more permanent residence in Beacon Hills. Which meant, in the interest of not doing anything she'd regret (again), she would just have to make sure she wouldn't be alone with him tonight. Simple as that.

And, she thought as she smiled at her reflection in the mirror, she knew just the perfect way to do that.

"You're throwing a party?"

Allison stared at her best friend with a look of complete disbelief, her eyebrows knitted down and her half eaten apple hanging forgotten from her left hand. Lydia had just finished explaining her entire plan: from the theme to the guest list to the oh-so-inebriating beverage recipe. She'd spent all morning drawing up the entire thing, leaving the house even before Jordan woke up so she could stop by Gary's – a 21 year old who used to work at the Quick-e-Mart and never minded hitting up the liquor store for his favourite underage red head – to place in her order for tonight.

It was all coming together perfectly, just like it always did.

"That's right," she said with a grin. "When was the last time any of us had any fun in this place, anyways?" She rolled her eyes emphatically. "We could use a damn party, for God's sake."

Still looking uncertain, Allison bit her lip as she seemed to consider what to say next.

"Well, yeah, but…"

"But what?" Lydia demanded. "Allison Argent, you of all people need a good night off, all right? So whether you like it or not, as my best friend, you are required to make an appearance tonight." The brunette opened her mouth to argue it, but Lydia simply lifted her hand before she could say anything. "I'll even invite whichever hairy sixteen year old you're fawning over this week, mmkay?"

Allison's face flushed red, but she simply nodded, perhaps more because she wanted Lydia to shut up than to declare her change in heart. Whichever the reason, Lydia was satisfied.

"Perfect, it's settled then," she announced with an excited clap of her hands, "tonight, we party!"

Stiles was understandably a little nervous.

Okay, a lot nervous.

"What does one wear to the end of the world?" he asked as he held up a simple grey long sleeve, his eyes narrowed at his reflection in the full length mirror.

"I dunno? A hazmat suit?"

Stiles flashed a glare at Scott's reflection, and his friend simply shrugged from his position on the bed behind him. They'd been at this since school had ended at three, and it was now 8:47 and they had precisely thirteen minutes until it was socially acceptable to show up at Lydia's. He didn't know what had possibly swayed her to throw a party amongst all this werewolf-y-drama, but he couldn't totally say he was disappointed in the choice. In fact, he couldn't deny that he wouldn't mind a night of loose morals and teenage idiocy to lighten the mood a bit around here. It wasn't like they were all skipping rainbows, after all.

"Very funny," he grumbled as he adjusted the hem of his white shirt. A couple years ago he'd gone as a dead man for Halloween, so the left over bloody shirt seemed like a good last resort for Lydia's End of the World Party. "Well that's as good as it's gonna get," he said to the mirror. "Ready?" he asked, turning towards Scott.

His friend simply rolled his eyes and grabbed his gas mask from the bed.

"Yeah, let's go."

After a minor situation involving the nearly empty fuel tank in Stiles' jeep and a rather rude attendant at the gas station, the two boys finally rolled up on Lydia's street. The lights in the other houses were out – most of Beacon Hills including every single place to eat, Stiles thought with annoyance, shut down after 8 o'clock – leaving only Lydia's house lit like a bonfire on a deserted beach. She must have put colored paper over the lights too, because the entire place was illuminated in an eerie red wash.

"That's not creepy or anything," mumbled Scott from the passenger seat.

"Why can't the girl, for once, not over achieve."

It took them a moment to find a parking spot, as it appeared Lydia had invited the entire freaking town. But after a little awkward parallel parking on the other side of the street, the boys were finally heading towards the door.

"You don't think she expected a hostess gift, do you?" Stiles questioned as he wrung his hands nervously.

"Seriously? She's seventeen, not middle-aged."

"Right," he nodded fervently. "You're right. Totally right…"

He didn't have much longer to mull over the question, however, because soon enough Scott was pushing open the door, the swollen, dirty air nearly knocking the two of them off their feet as it washed over them.

"Don't you just love the smell of teenage hormones in the morning?"

Scott stared at him through the doorway, eyebrows raised.

"It's like nine o'clock at night."

Stiles chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder, walking past him and into the crowd of shifting teenagers.

"Sometimes I think becoming a werewolf also took away your sense of humour."

Before Scott could fully take in what he said, Stiles was off and pushing through the crowd, trying to spot a sign of red hair.

He could already feel a thin film of sweat sticking to his face and neck and he could practically taste the beer and testosterone on his tongue. The red covered lights distorted everyone's faces, bathing them in some sort of sick and twisted satanic glow. Masses of bodies pushed against one another, for what purpose, Stiles didn't know. Girls that looked much too young to be clinging to those Red Solo cups and boys who's overeager gaze made Stiles shiver in disgust, swayed to the music, laughing and chatting as if everything was perfectly normal.

Finally pushing his way out of the living room and into the kitchen, Stiles spotted someone he knew.

"Allison!" he called, smiling her way. She was looking down with what looked like fear into the cup she was holding. "What's up?"

"I think this may very well be a biohazard," she said before shoving the drink into some random's hands as they walked by.

"Having a good time so far?" he asked in a semi-yell over the noise of the party, all the while scanning the crowd for Lydia.

"She's in the back I think."

He spun his head towards her, cheeks flaming red. Had he been that obvious?

Of course he had, it was Stiles after all.

"Who?" he asked, trying to seem nonchalant.

She simply rolled her eyes and pointed towards the back of the house where there were a set of sliding doors leading to the Martin's backyard.

"Right," he said nodding his head. "Thanks."

With that he pushed his way back into the main room, following Allison's directions to the sliding doors. A couple freshman bumped him, sloshing their drinks over his shoes but he ignored it and moved on. He waved half-heartedly at a couple of his classmates as they called out to him, not in any way persuaded to go say hi. He spotted Scott in the corner talking to some blond, a dopey look on his face. Maybe his bro would finally find someone to get Allison off his mind.

Finally he reached the doors and slid them open, welcoming the blast of cool, fresh air like a long lost friend. He stepped out into the backyard and shut the doors behind him, the sounds of the party now just a distant thumping of the bass.

The Martin's yard was something out of a fairytale: tall perfectly shaped hedges, arches rimmed with roses and vines and a cobblestone walk that lead all around its perimeter. He wondered why, with Lydia's parents constantly on business trips, they'd ever need something like this. It wasn't like they'd spend a whole lot of time here, enjoying short walks under the moonlight. But perhaps it was just another thing he'd missed out on having never had a mom as he and his father weren't exactly the gardening type.

"Lydia?" he whispered into the dark. "Lydia?"

No answer.

He sighed through his nose and started towards the cobblestone path, which began to look more and more like a hedge maze the further he got in. He worried for a moment that he'd get lost out here - that some crazy, vengeful Alpha would jump out from the hedges and rip him limb from limb.

It was official, Beacon Hills could make even the nicest of places deathly scary.

Finally he made it into the clearing in the middle where there was a big round outdoor dinner table, four chairs, and a state-of-the-art barbeque. Stiles shook his head at the ridiculousness of what the Martin's spent their money on and continued into the other half of the garden, or maze as it seemed now.

However, he'd just turned the corner when he heard someone laugh from the other side of the hedge. He creeped along quieter this time, approaching whoever was on the other side and straining his ears to listen in on the conversation.

"I have never met someone who felt so passionately about shoes," the voice said, laughing again.

Stiles' eyebrows knit together; he knew that voice. Jordan, it seemed, was spending some personal time with some poor unfortunate soul. Stiles felt for the obviously out-of-her-mind girl who'd let this kid lead her out here.

"What are you thinking?" he asked his companion after a long pause and Stiles rolled his eyes. This guy was officially either the biggest tool he'd ever met or the smoothest.

"I-" the girl began, seeming to rethink her answer.

Stiles took a couple steps further so he could see around the corner at the two of them and his jaw dropped at the sight of the girl.

"I'm just worried, you know?" said Lydia, twisted a piece of her red hair around her finger. "What will my friends think?"

Stiles had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling out at her. What in the hell was she doing out here? With him? If he didn't know better he'd say they were…

"Who cares what they think?" Um… me, thought Stiles. "It's your life Lydia Martin," continued Jordan and Stiles wanted to vomit from the way he used her full name, "don't let what other people think keep you from a good thing."

There was a long pause as Stiles watched Lydia stare at her feet, contemplating.

"But is it a good thing?" she asked suddenly, her eyes lifting to look somewhere above Jordan's shoulder. "Us, I mean?"

Jordan chuckled which made Stiles stomach churn for some reason, reminding him of nails dragging across a chalkboard.

"You're trying to tell me last night wasn't a good thing?"

Yup, he was going to vomit.

To top it all off, Lydia giggled and sighed, turning her eyes to meet Jordan's.

"I just mean that it's complicated. They'll all ask questions that I won't have ans-"

But before she could finish her sentence, much to Stiles' dismay, Jordan leaned forward and kissed her. He had to look away for the moment, wishing he could wake up from this weird dream. Or nightmare.

"That is not complicated," whispered Jordan seductively as they pulled away from each other.

"Oh for Christ's sake."

Stiles flinched immediately after he'd said it, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could register even having thought them. The silence hung over them for a moment and he knew it was too late - they'd already heard him.

"Who's there?" demanded Lydia, her voice prickly from being interrupted.

Stiles sighed as he realized there was no way out and sheepishly came out from his hiding spot, facing the two of them.

"Hey there," he said, ears still flaming red and rocking nervously on his feet. "Nice night huh?"

"Stiles," spat Lydia, Stiles too afraid to make eye contact and instead focusing on an imaginary spot just above her head. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged.

"Oh you know, just out enjoying nature and all."

"Right, of course."

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, anger emanating off her in waves.

"Hey," said Jordan, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Don't be mad, okay? It's easier this way, after all. Now you don't have to worry about him finding out the wrong way."

"'Cause watching you stuff your tongue down her throat was totally the right way for me to find out," Stiles muttered at which Lydia shot him another glare.

"Can we talk?" she asked between gritted teeth. "Now?"

"Well I don't want to be rude-"

But she was already dragging him forcibly by the arm around the corner and into the main clearing area. After she let go of his arm he sat down in one of the patio chairs, still avoiding eye contact.

"What were you doing spying on us?" she demanded. "What, are you stalking me now too?"

He rolled his eyes, anger bubbling up in his gut.

"Get over yourself, Martin," he said, folding his own arms over one another as he stared angrily at the barbeque. "I didn't know you were out here with him. Trust me, had I known I would have spared myself the lifetime of therapy."

"What's your problem, anyways? Are you jealous? Is that it?"

Stiles laughed uncomfortably and shook his head in disbelief. She didn't have the right to say something like that to him. Not after everything they'd been through, how far they'd come from being the popular girl and the nerdy guy with a crush.

"I am not in the least bit jealous of that loser."

"So what's the problem then?"

He paused as he thought over the answer.

"It's just -" he stopped, standing up from his seat and turning his back on her. "He's not good for you, okay?" he said, turning back towards her. "There's something about this guy, Lydia."

"What? What is it about him?" she asked, beginning to sound hysterical. "Is it that he's too nice? That he seems relatively normal for someone who's been a werewolf all his life? I know we're used to all the bullshit drama around here, but newsflash: it doesn't have to be like that!"

He shook his head, dragging his hand across his forehead.

"His pretty smile is distracting you from his true personality, Lydia. You're not thinking clearly."

"I'm not some pathetic useless girl, Stiles!"

"I know that," he said quieter. "Trust me, I know that better than anyone."

He took a step back, distancing himself from her.

"I just have a bad feeling about him, Lydia. Something in my gut is telling me that we shouldn't trust him."

"That we shouldn't trust him?" she whispered harshly. "This has nothing to do with you, Stiles. Just leave me alone."

He stepped back, shaking his head sadly.

"I don't know what happened here," he said quietly. "But if that's what you want, Lydia, then so be it. Here's me leaving you alone."

And with that, he turned on his heel and left.

It didn't take them long to get to the loft.

Stiles had never liked the place, it gave him chills and reminded him of a bad Batman movie (pre-Nolan of course). Plus the whole single werewolf sulking around an empty brick apartment seemed cliché in the most obnoxious way. But as luck would have it, it also happened to be a very convenient Beacon-Hills-werewolf-HQ, although he would never understand who'd come up with the brilliant idea of an alarm as the only security between them and a pack of alphas.

Nevertheless, he wasn't thrilled as they entered through the industrial sliding doors.

"Derek?" Scott called into the apartment, his voice bouncing off the high ceilings.

Stiles waited, but there was no answer.

"What is it?"

He jumped into the air as the werewolf materialized from seemingly nowhere, clutching at his chest as a panic attack threatened to collapse his lungs.

"Freaking werewolves," he muttered to himself, his shallow breath steadying.

"We came to talk to you," Scott told him, ignoring his friend's frantic attempt not to pass out. "Well, Stiles did."

Derek rose a single eyebrow at him and crossed his arms over his chest in the macho power-stance thing he did. It kind of reminded Stiles of the Mr. Clean guy from the commercials, except less bald and without the welcoming smile.

"Well?" asked Derek.

"It's-" he began, but stopped himself as Derek's stare became uncomfortable and rubbed his neck as he diverted eye contact awkwardly. "It's about Lydia."

"What about her?"

"I'm worried about this guy she's seeing."

Derek rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I hardly have time to keep up with your teenage drama, Stilinski."

"This isn't about that," he said, exhaustion washing over him quickly. Even Scott was giving him a weird look, who he hadn't had the time to explain the conversation. "This isn't some random guy she's hangout out with, Derek."

He paused as he tried to formulate the best way to say this.

"He's your cousin, Derek. It's Jordan. She's seeing Jordan Hale."

A small breath escaped Stiles as he let the words sit heavy in the air between the three of them. Stiles watched as Derek's expression turned from couldn't-give-a-damn to something akin to fear. Although the look didn't suit him, Stiles thought absentmindedly.

"Jordan?" Derek asked through gritted teeth after a long pause.

"Yeah, we found him," explained Stiles. "Lydia and I. We thought he could help, you know, with all this alpha shi-"

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"Well, we were going to but Jordan asked us not-"

"And you never wondered why he might not want you to tell me? Didn't think that was suspicious at all?"

"I, well… No, I didn't I guess-" he stopped though midsentence and snapped his head to look at Derek. "Why, should I be suspicious?"

"There's a reason why Jordan doesn't live in Beacon Hills," said a voice from above them.

Descending from the spiral staircase - another creepy addition to the horror-movie-esque loft - was Peter Hale, dressed in simple everyday men's clothing but still reminding Stiles of an old timey villain with a long face and black fedora. He moved with a strange grace as he sulked down the stairs, each step taken in complete silence. While Derek was all muscle and six-feet-of-intimidating, his uncle was all cheek bones and manipulation, which made Stiles only ten times more nervous.

"I know - some sort of falling out right? Hale family drama or whatever," Stiles said, going by what he'd assumed from his conversations with Jordan. Though he'd never come out and said it, Lydia and Stiles figured that Derek and Jordan must not have gotten along, that maybe after everything that happened with the alpha pack last time they'd all just drifted apart or something. It wasn't like the Hales were the fluffiest of families, he could see why you might want to run away.

"Something like that," replied Peter vaguely, now approaching the group of them. "Just add a little murder and you're dead on."

"Murder?" asked Scott.

"Try not to get too squeamish at the idea, Scotty-boy," Peter drawled. "You're supposed to be a predator after all."

"What happened between you guys then?" interrupted Stiles, trying to get the conversation back on track. "Why did Jordan run away?"

"He didn't run away," Derek said, his face still serious and cold. "He was exiled."

"He's so infuriating!" screamed Lydia as she paced across the lawn.

"Talk a deep breath, love," whispered Jordan as he watched her walk back and forth.

"-he thinks he's so smart walking in here, talking shit about you and-"

"-Lydia, please," he tried to interrupt.

"-how does he even - I mean, what was he thinking? He has no right-"

"Come on, calm down."

"-just for once I'd like to understand the absolute idiotic things that tiny little brain of his whips up. I swear I have no clue how he's survived this long in the real world!"

Her chest heaved as she sucked in the air she'd neglected to take in during her rant and she pressed her hands hard into her temple.

"Your friends just don't understand you," Jordan whispered. She felt his hands take her shoulders and she closed her eyes and he pulled her closer to him. "Not like I do." She could smell the laundry detergent of his T-shirt. "But that's exactly the point, Lydia Martin. I do. I understand you. I know how special you are."

She opened her eyes are peered up at him, mesmerized by the way the moonlight hit his irises and made him glow with excitement. She'd never been around someone who was so sure about what he was saying, that could look so prepared to fight tooth and nail to convince you he was right. Though she would have thought it would be alienating, it was exactly the opposite. His confidence in himself and more importantly his confidence in her was about the most attractive thing about him.

"How do I know you're not just saying that?" she said weakly.

He paused for a moment and she could swear she saw a grin flash on his face.

"We prove it."

He squeezed her shoulders once more and backed away from her, turning to face the moon.

"You see that?" he asked, pointed towards the moon above them. "Tomorrow it'll be full." He turned back towards her. "You see, Lydia, my family has been torn apart because of the curse of that thing hanging in the air. We live in constant fear: of those who hunt us, of our own kind who fight us… of ourselves."

He paused again and his left hand clenched hard at his side.

"You can help us, Lydia Martin." She gasped quietly at the realization of what he was saying. "You can rid my family of this curse - you can cure us."

She stood there silent as the words floated in the air between them.

She could picture it now - the Hales, Derek and Peter, cured of their lycanthropy. Able to live normal lives, free from the fear of the change. They might even be able to reunite with Jordan, get over what every wolf-feud they'd been fighting and remember they were family.

Maybe she wouldn't have to stop there either - maybe she could cure all of Beacon Hills. Maybe Scott wouldn't have to be a werewolf anymore. Lydia could protect all her friends from the bite, she finally relieve Beacon Hills of werewolves.

"Tell me what I have to do."

AN- Dunh dunh dunhhhh. I want to say a big thank you to the anon on Tumblr who messaged me ten times to update this fic. Although I may be the most unreliable fanfic writer of all time, you don't know how much I appreciate those fans who stick with me anyways. Anyways, yay the hiatus is over (yeah that's how long I've been gone)! So I wrote most of this chapter before the show came back on, so sorry for the overlap in party theme (again Jeff and I are practically the same person haha *cough*right? RIGHT?*cough*yeah okay maybe not). What did y'all think of this chapter? We only have two more left (crazy huh?) so imma try my best to get it up as soon as possible, by life sucks and is busy so it may not be until April (at least I'm honest?). Review, reblog, do whatever! Love hearing from all of you!