𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐫, m. tate & i. lahey

𝟎𝟏𝟑. false allies

ANCHOR

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"HERE, TRY THAT," Stiles advises, tossing a pair of black basketball shorts to Malia.

The werecoyote catches it and sniffs the piece of clothing, frowning at the lack of scent. "Fabric softener."

Stiles rushes to the bathroom, and Malia, Isaac, and Allison follow quickly. He opens the hamper and sticks his arm in, only to pull out boxers. He turns to his friends, who all have disgusted expressions on their faces.

"Remember, Scott's life is on the line."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure our lives will be on the line if we smell that," Isaac retorts, furrowing his brows at the boxers once more.

As Stiles rolls his eyes, Allison and Malia whirl around and scan the Alpha's bedroom, searching for anything else that could possess Scott's scent. Malia takes a large step towards the bed and snatches a pillow off the top, holding it close to her nose. Relief washes over her, and she turns to the two boys, jerking the pillow once in confirmation.

"Yeah. That works, too," Stiles shrugs, tossing the boxers back in the hamper and brushing past Isaac to the door of the bedroom.

Allison sighs thankfully, carefully taking the pillow from Malia and slipping it out from under the fabric. They take the pillowcase and rush after Stiles, following him down the staircase to the living room. As they reach the first floor, the sight of a certain dirty blond freshman causes Stiles to groan.

"Oh— Liam, go home! You're not coming with us," Stiles passes the boy as Liam pushes himself off the dining table.

"Why not?" he complains.

"Because it's a full moon, and I don't feel like driving all the way down to Mexico just to have you rip my throat out," Stiles replies, facing him as they come to a stop.

Liam frowns. "You can lock me up, right? Chain me down to the backseat or something?"

"You tore through the last chains, remember?" Allison reminds him, raising her brows.

"Yeah. We would have to freeze you in carbonite to get you down there," Stiles states, making a Star Wars reference.

"Okay, then where do we get... carbonite?" Liam questions, shrugging casually.

Isaac moves his hand to his throat, gesturing for the boy to hold his tongue. However, Stiles' glare has already found itself trained on Liam, and he squeezes his eyelids shut in failure.

"Seriously? You haven't seen it either?" Stiles mutters, his lips pushed together in disappointment. Then he turns to the door, ready to leave the McCall house.

Liam finds himself between them and the exit once again, desperately chasing after the trio. "Wait! What if we put me in the trunk?"

"You'd get out of that too," Malia says.

"Liam, you've been a werewolf all of five minutes," Stiles voices. "You don't have to do this."

The dirty blond nods knowingly. "I know I don't, but I want to. There's gotta be bigger chains, a bigger trunk, a bigger something. There has to be."

Stiles and Isaac seem to have the same idea, as they both raise their chins and look at each other. They glance at the girls and younger boy before speaking.

"Maybe there is."

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The tall werewolf opens the door to the passenger's side, nonchalantly holding his hand out for Malia as she climbs out of the backseat. She slips her palm into his as she steps out of the jeep, landing on the concrete floor to a large garage. Allison and Liam exit the vehicle after her, the boy straightening his hoodie nervously.