competition, allison argent

xxi. party guessed

The train car creaks and groans, metal scraping against metal, echoing the discord within. Derek and Scott stand in the dim flicker of a hanging work light, their stances tense, voices edged with urgency and frustration.

"I'm saying we need a new plan," Derek lets out, "Or next time one of us is going to be too hurt to heal." Exhaustion lines his face, making him seem older than his years.

Scott nods, his own eyes shadowed with worry. "I get it. We can't save Jackson."

"Can't seem to kill him either," Derek adds, bitterness in his tone. "I've seen a lot of things. I've never seen anything like this. And every new moon is just going to make him stronger and bond him closer to whoever's controlling him."

Scott runs a hand through his hair, "So how do we stop them?"

Derek scoffs, a mirthless sound. "I don't know. I don't even know if we can."

"Maybe the Argents..." Scott starts, a flicker of desperation in his voice.

Derek cuts him off, harsh and final, "I'm the one who turned him. It's my fault."

Scott sighs, the sound heavy in the echoing space. "But you didn't turn him into this. This happened because of something in his past, right?"

"That's a legend in a book. It's not that simple." Derek retorts, a defensive edge creeping in.

"What aren't you telling me?" Scott's question is accusatory, fueled by his own fear and the weight of responsibility pressing down.

Derek's scowl deepens. "Why do you always think I'm keeping something from you?"

"Because you always are keep something from me!" Scott exclaims.

"Maybe I do it to protect you,"  Derek mutters, but even he doesn't sound convinced.

Scott sighs. "Doesn't being part of your pack mean no more secrets?"

Derek sinks into one of the grimy seats, head lowered. Defeat radiates from his form.  "Go home, Scott. Sleep, heal. Make sure your friends are safe," he murmurs, voice rough.  "The full moon's coming. And with the way things are going... I have a feeling it's gonna be a rough one."

🌙

The doorbell cuts through the pre-party buzz, a sharp, insistent sound that makes the delicate tray of plastic cups rattle in Lydia's hands. She swings it around with practiced ease and opens the door, a smile pasted on.

A monstrous, brightly-wrapped birthday present looms before her,  Stiles peering out from behind it. "Happy birthday!" he chirps, straining under the weight of the absurdly oversized box.

Cody appears beside him, laughter bubbling forth as Stiles wrestles with the gift trying to get it through the doorway.

"Um, maybe if I just..." Stiles grunts, ramming his shoulder into the box. Wrapping paper tears, the cardboard groaning ominously, but his determination is fierce.

Finally, with a triumphant shove, the present thuds onto the polished floor. Lydia's already whirling away, her voice a sing-song over her shoulder, "Don't forget to try the punch!"

"Okay, c'mon,"  Cody claps Stiles on the back, and they haul the wreck of a present through the house.  The party's energy flows over them, a swirling current against their mission.

Scott joins them as they reach the glass doors, his usual easygoing expression etched with worry. "You see Jackson?" Stiles asks, his eyes flitting over the crowd.

Cody shakes his head, his own gaze sweeping the faces with an underlying tension. "No. You see Allison?"

"No. But we need to tell her what we found."