Take the Shot

Tramping through the woods with Stiles and Scott felt oddly nostalgic. But now, Scott was a werewolf, I was a guardian, Stiles and I were dating, and we had all died more times than I can count. I was dragged out of my thoughts by Stiles.

"I think I found something." Stiles called to Scott, standing at the edge of the den with me. "It's a coyote den."

"Werecoyote." Scott corrected, stepping in behind Stiles and I.

"You see this? This is Malia's. Remember? It's the same one she was wearing in the photo."

I shifted, looking around. "We shouldn't be in here."

"What do you mean?" Stiles turned to me, confused.

"She's not going to come back now. We just invaded her home-- our scent's going to be everywhere." I murmured.

"If she's not going to come back here, where's she going to go?" I shrugged and Stiles turned to Scott. "Can you track her now? You think you got her scent?"

"Maybe... But I'm better at this when I'm a full wolf... And I'm still worried that if I do it, I won't be able to turn back." Scott said quietly.

Stiles sighed. "The door's still open."

"If I can't get to Derek, we're gonna have to find someone else to help." Scott paused. "This is basically a crime scene, right? I think it might be a little out of my boss' league"

"And more in my dad's."

-----☾-----

Sheriff Stilinski stood with his hands on his hips, staring at Scott like he was waiting for him to admit this was all some elaborate joke. "You're sure it was her?" the Sheriff asked, his voice gruff.

Scott nodded, his expression unwavering. "I looked her right in the eyes, and they glowed, just like mine."

Stiles jabbed a finger in the air. "It makes sense, Dad."

Sheriff Stilinski huffed, clearly unimpressed. "But it wasn't a girl, it was a four-legged coyote, right?"

I crossed my arms, watching Stiles shift awkwardly before answering. "Well... okay, yeah, technically, but that's the part we don't exactly have figured out yet."

Scott took a step forward, his voice insistent. "If it was a full moon, and she changed while her mom was driving, then anything could have happened,"

"Horrible things," Stiles cut in, waving his hands. "Ripping, shredding, tearing things."

Scott ignored him. "Which is probably what caused the accident!"

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, his voice rising. "Think about it, Dad, all right? They're driving. Malia starts to change. She loses control, the mom crashes, and everybody dies."

"Except for Malia," Scott finished solemnly.

I swallowed hard. "And if she blames herself?" I said, my voice quieter than I intended. "If she ran off into the woods and stayed there for years... what if she became the thing she thought she was?"

The Sheriff exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "That makes sense..." He hesitated before groaning. "In a Chinese folktale!"

Stiles threw up his hands. "Come on, Dad!"

"Boys, this- this is insane!" Stilinski snapped. "I need this kept quiet. The three of you? Not a word. I don't want anyone hearing about this. I especially don't want Mr. Tate hearing about this."

Scott wasn't listening. He was staring into the distance, eyes glazed like he wasn't even here anymore.

"Scott?" the Sheriff called. Nothing. "Scott!"

Scott blinked, shaking his head as if snapping out of a trance. "Sorry... what did you say?"

Before Stilinski could respond, a voice cut through the darkness.

"Mr. Tate."

I turned to see Agent McCall stepping through the underbrush, his expression unreadable. My stomach twisted. This was bad.

Sheriff Stilinski's face went rigid. "What the hell are you doing bringing him here?"

McCall barely glanced at him, instead looking toward the older man standing just behind him, Mr. Tate. His face was pale, his hands trembling as he clutched something small.

"It's hers," Mr. Tate whispered, voice hollow.

I took a step closer, my breath catching when I saw what he was holding. A tattered, dirt-covered stuffed animal. It made my heart clench.

McCall held up a hand. "All right, wait here."

Scott took a step forward. "Dad—"

McCall cut him off with a sharp look. "I'll talk to you in a minute. I wouldn't mind hearing how your mom's okay with you running around in the woods this late." I rolled my eyes at Scott's dad.

Sheriff Stilinski scoffed. "Are you serious right now?"

McCall ignored him, turning his attention back to Tate. "I know this is hard, but if there's even a chance of finding out the truth,"

Sheriff Stilinski took a step forward, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. "There's no body. No remains to identify."

McCall's jaw tightened. "Not yet, Sheriff. But do a little digging, and I'm sure you'll uncover something... like the bones of a nine-year-old girl."

Stilinski clenched his fists, his voice low. "I think you're going to find it's a little more complicated than that, Special Agent."

McCall sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Come on, Stilinski. You know how this goes. It's the not knowing that ruins people like Tate. The truth, no matter how profoundly it sucks, the truth is always better than not knowing."

Before anyone could say anything else, a snarl tore through the silence.

-----☾-----

I stood next to Stiles, peering over his shoulder at the map he had pulled up on his laptop. We were crowded in the hallway, the buzz of between-classes chatter in the background, but none of us were paying attention to anything except the red lines he'd drawn through the woods.

"Here's where we found the den," Stiles said, pointing to a spot in the middle of the trails. "Right in the middle of the hiking paths."

Allison leaned in beside him. "That could actually help. Coyotes travel in fixed trails. But I think you're right about her not going back to the den. Coyotes don't like wolves, and they're really smart. If they don't want to be heard, they walk on their toes."

I blinked. "Wait, what? They tiptoe?"

"Yep," Allison said, completely serious. "They tiptoe."

I couldn't help laughing. "That's either adorable or creepy. I haven't decided."

Allison glanced at her phone. "I gotta go, but send me the pinned location, okay?"

Stiles gave a quick nod. "Yeah, got it."

Just then, Kira came overt. "Hey! I'm Kira." She paused. "You knew that. I knew you knew that. I don't know why I just told you that again."

I smiled, amused by how nervous she always seemed around Scott. "Anyway, I have something for you," she said, digging in her backpack.

"For me?" he asked.

"Yeah, about the Bardo. My explanation was kind of all over the place so I did some more research and printed it out for you."

"Aww, you didn't have to do that," Scott said.

"It only took a couple of hours," she shrugged.

Scott blinked. "Wow. Then you really didn't have to do that."

Kira glanced down at her bag, brow creased. "I swear, I printed it out..."

From across the hall, her dad's voice echoed. "Kira? You forgot all the research you did for that boy you like."

My eyes went wide and I stifled a laugh, quickly looking to Scott, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. We headed into class, taking our seats quickly.

Mr. Yukimura clapped his hands. "All right, everyone, let's get started! We were just talking about internment camps and prisoners of war. There's a passage in our reading that I'd like to go over in more detail. Who would like to come up and read aloud for us?"

He looked directly at Stiles. "Mr. Stilinski?"

"Oh, maybe someone else could...?" Stiles tried, already inching back.

"Everyone participates in my class, Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles sighed. "Okay..."

I nudged his elbow gently. "You got this," I whispered.

But something was wrong. As he moved toward the front, I saw the way his shoulders curled in, the way his hands were starting to shake.

Scott leaned over to me. "He doesn't look good."

"I know," I said. "Something's off."

Stiles stood there frozen, muttering to himself. "Okay, okay... Come on, come on..."

Scott stepped up quickly. "Stiles? You okay?"

"I should take him to the nurse's office," he said to Mr. Yukimura, not really waiting for permission. He wrapped a hand gently around Stiles's arm as we both dragged him out of the classroom.

"Stiles? Look at me, man. Is this a panic attack?" I asked, brow creased

Stiles was breathing fast, his eyes darting around. "It's a dream, it's a dream, it's just a dream..."

"No, it's not," Scott said firmly. "This is real. You're here. You're here with me."

I moved closer, my hand brushing Stiles's back, grounding him. "You're okay, Stiles. Just breathe. You're not dreaming."

Scott kept talking. "Okay, what do you do? Like, how do you tell if you're awake or dreaming?"

"Your fingers," Stiles said through shallow breaths. "You count your fingers. You have extra fingers in dreams."

Scott held up both hands in front of him. "How many do I have? Hey! Look at me."

Slowly, Stiles's eyes shifted to Scott's hands.

"Come on, Stiles. Look at my hands and count with me."

Stiles nodded faintly, his voice shaking. "One... two..."

"Keep going," I encouraged.

"Three... four..."

"Five..."

"Six... seven..."

"Eight..."

"Nine... ten..."

"Ten," Scott said quietly. "Ten."

Stiles looked like he might collapse. "What the hell is happening to me?"

"We'll figure it out," Scott promised. "You're going to be okay."

Stiles's expression twisted. "Am I? Are you?"

I stepped forward, resting my hand lightly on Stiles's arm. "You're not alone in this, okay? We'll figure it out together."

He looked between us. "Scott, you can't transform... Allison's being haunted by her dead aunt... And I'm straight up losing my mind."

"We can't do this," he muttered. "We can't help Malia. We can't help anyone."

Scott looked him straight in the eye. "We can try. We can always try."

I exhaled slowly. "I have an idea. But I need to talk to Deaton." I paused, going on my toes to press a kiss to Stiles' cheek. "I'll link up with you all later, okay?" They both gave me a nod and I sent a tight smile back.

-----☾-----

The door gave a soft chime, and the familiar scent of antiseptic and something vaguely herbal hit me the moment I walked in.

He looked up from where he was sorting vials along the counter. "Cassie," he said with that calm, knowing voice of his. "I was wondering when you'd come."

Of course he was. He always seemed to know more than he let on.

"I need to talk to you," I said, my voice lower than I meant it to be. I crossed the room, twisting my fingers together. "It's about the Werecoyote... but also about something else. About me."

Deaton set the vials down and gestured toward the metal exam table. "Take a seat." I climbed up onto it, the surface cold beneath me. "Start wherever you'd like."

I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. "I've been having dreams. Or nightmares, maybe. I'm not sure. But they're more than just dreams. It's like visions. The Nemeton, mostly. It shows up every time. Sometimes it's glowing, sometimes it looks like it's falling apart. I wake up and feel like I was still inside it."

Deaton moved closer, listening carefully. "And this has been happening since the ritual?"

"Yeah," I said quietly. "At first I thought it was just leftover stuff from what we did to find the parents, or what Jennifer did to me. But it keeps getting stronger. I don't think it's just in my head."

He gave a slow nod. "It's not. The Nemeton was reawakened by your sacrifice. That kind of offering, voluntary pain, deep emotional connection, it fuels the tree. You and the others who performed the ritual are more closely connected to it now. It remembers you."

I frowned. "Okay, but what does it want with me?"

"That's harder to answer," he admitted. "The Nemeton is... unpredictable. It's not sentient in the way we think, but it reacts to imbalance. It could be reaching out to you because something in the supernatural world is still off-kilter, and it sees you as a possible agent of balance."

"So, it's trying to fix something? Through me?"

"Possibly," Deaton said. "But that doesn't mean it's showing you clear paths. You'll have to interpret what it's giving you. Be cautious, it may not always make sense, and it may not always be safe."

Deaton turned to face me fully. "Cassie... there's something you need to understand. The kind of sacrifice you made, it doesn't end with the ritual."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"When you gave yourself to the Nemeton, it marked you. Not physically. Not visibly. But energetically, spiritually, however you want to define it, you became part of the balance it's trying to restore. You helped open a door between worlds, and now it sees you as someone who can keep that door from swinging too far open... or from slamming shut completely."

I sat with that, letting the words settle. "So I'm still connected to it."

"You are," he confirmed. "Which means it will continue to pull at you, when things are out of balance, when darkness is spreading, when something is trying to break the rules of nature. You may feel things before others do. You may see things no one else can."

I let out a slow breath. "That's what it feels like. Like something's tugging at me in the dark. Like it's trying to show me something, or use me. Sometimes I wake up and I'm still shaking. Like I never actually left the dream. I had the visions before, but they're darker, painful."

Deaton's expression softened. "It's not trying to hurt you. But it is trying to use you. Not in the way an enemy would, but the way a forest uses sunlight to grow. The Nemeton is a force, it doesn't think in terms of fairness or cruelty. It only responds to energy. You gave it yours, and now it sees you as part of its ecosystem."

I stared at the floor. "So what am I supposed to do? Just keep having visions and nightmares and hope they mean something?"

"No," he said gently. "You're supposed to listen to them. Trust them, as much as you trust yourself. Keep a journal. Paint, I know you did that when this all started, like your mother. Ground yourself, stay near people who make you feel real. Because there will be moments where you feel pulled apart. Where your head is still in the dream and your feet don't know where to stand."

I looked at him. "And what happens if I get too deep?"

"Then we pull you back," he said. "But I have a feeling you won't let it get that far. You're stronger than you think."

A beat of silence passed between us.

"So I'm still a sacrifice," I said quietly. "That's what you're really saying. I didn't just help fix the past, I signed up to keep fixing what comes after.

Deaton didn't deny it. "It's a heavy burden. But sometimes the ones who are chosen for it... are the only ones strong enough to carry it."

I nodded slowly, my chest tight and I let out a slow breath. "Right. Okay. Well... the other thing."

Deaton waited.

"The Werecoyote," I said. "Malia. We think she's still out there, but she hasn't shifted back in years. If she's even still human underneath all of it... we don't know what it's going to take to bring her back."

Deaton walked over to a cabinet and opened it. "Scott told me. You're right to be concerned. The longer she stays in that form, the harder it becomes to reconnect with her humanity."

He returned with a small black case and placed it in front of me. Inside were three syringes.

"Xylazine," he explained. "It's a tranquilizer for horses. It should work on a Werecoyote within seconds."

"I'll text everyone to come here. We will all need to be together on this" I said, looking at the needles.

Deaton nodded. "Good. Because this isn't going to be easy. Malia might not understand what's happening. She could be scared. Or dangerous."

"And me?" I asked. "What do I do in all this?"

"You help guide them," he said. "Keep your feet in both worlds. The one trying to bring Malia back, and the one the Nemeton is pulling you into. You're not connected to her, not directly. But the timing of it all? It's not a coincidence."

I swallowed, the weight of it all settling on my shoulders. "Feels like I'm in the middle of two storms."

Deaton gave me a steady look. "Then stay centered. The storms will pass—but only if you don't get lost inside them."

-----☾-----

Deaton showed the case to Isaac, Scott, and Stiles once they entered.

"Xylazine," he said. "It's a tranquilizer for horses. For a Werecoyote, expect it to work within seconds."

He looked around the room. "I only have three. So, whoever's shooting needs to be a damn good shot."

"Allison's a perfect shot," Scott said.

Isaac shifted, arms crossed. "She used to be." I pursed my lips, agreeing with him but not saying it out loud.

Scott turned his head sharply. "She can do it."

"If we manage to find the thing," Isaac muttered.

Stiles threw his hands up. "Okay, what is the point of him?"

I leaned against the counter beside Deaton, arms crossed. This was already unraveling.

Stiles gestured to Isaac. "Seriously, I mean, what is his purpose? Aside from the persistent negativity and the scarf?" I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. He squinted. "What's up with the scarf, anyway? It's sixty-five degrees out."

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Look, maybe I'm asking a question no one here wants to ask. How do we turn a coyote back into a girl when she hasn't been a girl in eight years?"

Scott stepped forward. "I can do it."

Stiles looked at him like he had grown a second head. "You can?" I nudged him, as if to say 'not helpful'.

"You remember the night Peter trapped us in the school? In the gym, he was able to make me turn using just his voice. Deucalion did the same thing in the distillery." I nodded

Deaton folded his arms. "This is a Werecoyote, Scott. Who knows if it'll even work. If you can find someone who can teach you?"

Stiles pointed at him. "That's why you called Derek first." Scott sighed. "Yeah, I could try it on my own. But right now, I'm too scared to even change into just a Werewolf."

"We need a real Alpha," Stiles said. I grimaced. He turned to me. "You know what I mean. An Alpha who can do Alpha things. You know, an Alpha who can get it going. You know, get it—"

Isaac cut in dryly. "Up?"

"Ew- gross." I said under my breath.

Scott groaned. "Great. I'm an Alpha with performance issues."

"Okay, well, jokes aside, what do we actually have right now? Three darts and a scared Alpha who can't shift? That coyote is out there, and if we're not careful, she's going to stay that way." I could hear the tension in my own voice, Deatons earlier words staying with me.

Deaton nodded slightly. "Cassandra's right. If we want to help Malia, we have to work with what we have."

He looked between all of us. "Is there anyone else besides Derek who could help?"

"I wouldn't trust Peter," Isaac muttered.

Stiles scratched the back of his head. "Maybe the twins?"

Deaton shook his head. "They're not Alphas anymore. After what Jennifer did, almost killing them, it broke that part of them."

"Yeah," Stiles said slowly, eyes narrowing in thought. "But what if they still know how to do it?"

Scott hesitated. "Nobody's seen them for weeks."

I sighed. "Actually... that's not totally true."

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

I glanced around at all of them. "Let's just say... I might know where to find them."

Scott looked at me, then back at Deaton. "Then maybe we still have a shot."

-----☾-----

I had texted Lydia about the plan before separating from Scott and Stiles. I didn't particularly want to see the twins. I wanted to talk to Derek about everything, but I kind of doubted he would pick up. I tried to call him anyways, and much to my surprise, he actually did.

His voice was rough, but familiar. Comforting in that unspoken way he always was. "Cassie?"

"Hey," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "Sorry for bothering you again."

"It's fine. What's going on?"

I hesitated, staring at the steering wheel of my parked car. The scent of herbs and antiseptic still clung to my hoodie from talking with Deaton earlier.

"I talked to Deaton," I said. "About the nightmares. And the visions." I had called him originally when this had all started, keeping him in the loop.

There was a pause on the other end. "He said it's the Nemeton, right?"

I swallowed. "Yeah. He said it's trying to connect with me. That it's still not in balance. And because I was a sacrifice, it's... it's still tied to me."

"You already gave everything for that place," Derek said quietly. "You shouldn't have to give more."

I laughed, but the sound was tight. "I know. But apparently, the Nemeton didn't get that memo."

Another pause. I could hear him breathing, could practically picture him somewhere in a shadowy cabin with his phone pressed against his ear, probably pacing.

"Are the nightmares getting worse?" he asked.

"They're not just dreams anymore," I said. "It's like... I'm awake, but not. I see people who aren't there. I hear things before they happen. It's like my body is still mine, but something's pulling at it."

"Cass," Derek said gently. "That's not nothing. You shouldn't be handling this alone."

I sighed, resting my head on the steering wheel. "I'm not. Not really. I have Scott, and Deaton's trying to help too."

"You shouldn't be the one balancing all this. That's not your job."

"Maybe it is now," I said. "Maybe that's what it means to be a Guardian, to still be a part of the Nemeton. It marked me, Derek. It didn't just take something from me. It left something behind."

He was quiet again, "I can come back," he finally said. "If you need me to."

"No," I said quickly. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking. I'm offering."

"I know," I said, my throat tightening. "But it's not time yet. You left for a reason. Don't come back just because I'm having nightmares."

"I'd come back for less," he said.

"I know," I whispered. "That's not why I called you. Not to fix it. Just... to hear someone say it's not all in my head."

"It's not," Derek said firmly. "The Nemeton has always pulled at the ones closest to it. It twists the rules. It breaks time. If it's trying to reach you, it's because it still sees something in you that can restore balance. That doesn't mean it gets to own you."

"So what do I do?"

"You stay grounded," he said. "You keep your people close. And when it gets too heavy, you call me again."

A lump formed in my throat. "Okay."

"I'm serious Cassie."

"Okay," I said again, voice barely a whisper.

We stayed on the line for a few more moments. Neither of us said anything.

Then I finally let out a small breath.

"Thanks, Derek."

"Anytime, kiddo."

-----☾-----

Lydia looked around, uncertain. "Anyone else think we might be doing more harm than good?"

Scott shook his head. "We're trying to keep a father from killing his own daughter."

Isaac scratched the back of his neck. "Actually... we're trying to keep a guy from killing a coyote, who is actually his daughter... who we don't know how to change from a coyote back to his daughter..."

Stiles rolled his eyes, already exasperated. "Again with the not helping!"

Scott looked at us. "Did you bring it?"

I nodded, stepping forward with the tranquilizer. "Three shots. Deaton said that's all we get."

-----☾-----

We were deep in the woods, Stiles on the phone with his dad, pacing just ahead of me and Lydia.

"It took the doll again? What the hell is so important about this doll?" Stiles asked, exasperated.

I could hear the sheriff's voice crackling faintly through the speaker. "I don't know, but listen to me. There are traps all over those woods... near the trails, probably near the car crash. And Tate is out there with a rifle. I want you to stay out of those woods. You got that?"

"Stiles?" his dad said again when he didn't answer.

"It's the doll," he muttered. "It's... the... doll???"

I stepped up next to him. "What's going on?"

He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the photo on his phone. "Why would it go all the way to the school and then all the way back to the house, just for a doll? One that was in the car wreck in the first place. We didn't find it in the coyote den."

Lydia gave an indifferent shrug. "It likes the doll—who cares?"

"It likes the doll a lot," I added quietly.

"What kind of doll is it?" Lydia asked.

"I don't know..." Stiles said, flipping his screen around. "It's a doll, you know? Little arms, big baby head, dead soulless eyes. Actually, I took a pic! Here."

He held the phone out, and Lydia leaned in.

"That's Malia?" she asked.

"Yeah. That's the jacket and the scarf we found in the den."

But Lydia frowned. "Stiles, she's not holding the doll."

We all stared at the image. The realization hit us like a wave.

"That's Malia's younger sister," he whispered. "That's her doll."

Lydia's brows furrowed. "So?"

"I know what she's doing," Stiles said, eyes wide. "I know where she's going."

"What?" Lydia asked.

"She's bringing the doll back to the car wreck. It's like leaving flowers at a grave, right? And we stole the flowers."

I stepped closer. "Lydia, go try to find Isaac and Allison. Loop them in. Me and Stiles will keep going."

Lydia nodded and turned to head back.

The woods grew thicker as we moved, branches tugging at my jacket. Stiles pulled out his phone again and left a voicemail for Scott.

"Scott? It's me. You gotta call me back as soon as you can. It wasn't Malia's doll, it was her sister's. She left it at the car. She's trying to bring it back. That's where she's headed, the car wreck."

Suddenly, the ground shifted beneath me. I looked down. "Stiles...?" I said, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?" he asked distractedly.

I saw the trap right under my foot. "Stiles!" I snapped.

He turned instantly. His eyes locked on mine, then dropped to where I was standing.

"Cass, don't move," he said, voice tight with fear.

"Wasn't exactly planning on it," I said, the sarcasm leaking into my voice. "Look for a warning label."

"A what?" he said, already scanning the trap.

"A warning label. Instructions. Something."

"Cass, why the hell would they put instructions on the bottom of a trap?"

"Because animals can't read!" I half-laughed, half-sobbed.

He crouched beside it. "Cass... we've got a problem."

"What?" I asked the question, but already knew the answer, my heart sinking in my chest.

"I can't read, either."

My heart pounded. I swallowed before looking at him. "You don't need instructions. When have you ever used instructions, huh? You don't need them. You're too smart to waste time with them."

His eyes met mine, softening just a little. "You're the one who always figures it out. So figure it out." I said, giving him the tiniest nod.

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose. "Okay. Here we go. Ready?"

I nodded, hands gripping each other tightly. "Okay. Here we go..."

His fingers moved delicately over the latch. One click. Then another.

Nothing.

"Is it done?" I asked.

He slowly stood. "I think so."

Without even thinking, I lunged forward and threw my arms around him. I could feel his heart racing against mine.

"I really don't like bear traps," I muttered.

"I really don't like almost losing you," he said quietly into my hair.

I pulled back just enough to see his face. "You won't."

There was this moment. just us, suspended in the middle of chaos. His hand moved to my cheek. I didn't hesitate. I leaned in and kissed him, quick and fierce and full of everything I'd wanted to say since this whole nightmare started.

"Good," he whispered.

Suddenly, a roar echoed through the woods. Loud. Spine-tingling.

Stiles grinned, still holding me close. "That's what I'm talking about."

I smiled, but my eyes stayed on him. Because in that moment, the only thing I really cared about was the boy who never needed instructions to save me.