The crash site had been there for years.

Rust clung to the overturned frame of the old car, vines crawling through the broken windows as if the forest had tried to swallow the memory whole.

Still… something about it felt familiar.

Scott McCall stood near the wreck, brows furrowed as he inhaled slowly. Beside him, Stiles Stilinski shifted nervously, glancing between the trees.

“Tell me I’m not the only one getting déjà vu,” Stiles muttered.

Scott shook his head slowly.

“You’re not.”

Behind them, Malia Tate crouched near the dirt, her nose twitching slightly.

“…Someone lived here,” she said quietly.

Scott’s eyes moved to the broken vehicle again.

“Just like when we found you.”

Stiles swallowed.

Years ago they’d found Malia trapped in her werecoyote form.

Now…

Maybe it had happened again.

They followed the faint trail through the trees until they reached a small hollow hidden beneath thick brush.

Scott knelt near the entrance.

Inside the den sat two things.

An old blanket.

And a dirty stuffed dog plush.

Stiles frowned.

“Okay… that’s either deeply sad or deeply creepy.”

Malia’s nose wrinkled slightly.

“There’s another scent.”

Scott nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

But it was already moving.

⸻

Far deeper in the woods, your paws pounded against the forest floor.

You had caught their scents too.

Werewolf.

Human.

Werecoyote.

Danger.

Your instincts screamed at you to run.

Eight years in this form had taught you one thing very clearly.

Stay hidden.

So you veered away from the den, darting through the trees until another scent caught your attention.

Metal.

Oil.

Something familiar.

You emerged into a small clearing where a robin egg blue jeep sat crookedly in the dirt.

One of the doors hung open.

You sniffed cautiously before padding closer.

The humans had clearly left in a hurry.

You leapt onto the passenger seat.

Then climbed into the back.

Then finally squeezed into the rear cargo space behind the seats, curling tightly beside a pile of strange objects.

A metal bat.

Flashlights.

Duct tape.

Tools.

You tucked your nose beneath your tail and stayed still.

Hidden.

Safe.

⸻

Minutes later, footsteps approached the jeep.

Stiles jogged over first.

“Okay, I’m grabbing the flashlights because if something jumps out at us in the dark I would at least like to see it before I die.”

Scott rolled his eyes slightly.

“You’re not going to die.”

“You say that like Beacon Hills hasn’t proven otherwise.”

Stiles popped open the back of the jeep.

Then froze.

Inside the cargo area, a small dusty dingo pup stared back at him with wide eyes.

Stiles immediately flailed backward.

“AH—WHAT THE—THERE’S A DOG—NO—NOT A DOG—WHAT IS THAT—”

Scott rushed over.

“What happened?!”

Stiles pointed dramatically into the trunk.

“There’s a thing in my jeep!”

Scott slowly looked inside.

The small dingo was curled tightly in the corner, watching them nervously.

Malia tilted her head slightly.

“…That’s not just a dingo.”

Scott’s voice softened.

“It’s a shapeshifter.”

Stiles blinked.

“Wait… like you guys?”

Scott nodded slowly.

“And judging by the scent…”

His eyes widened slightly.

“They’ve been stuck like this for a long time.”

Stiles slowly peeked back into the jeep.

The tiny dingo looked scared.

Small.

Alone.

And hiding in his jeep.

Stiles swallowed awkwardly.

“…Okay so first of all,” he said softly, “I’m gonna need you to promise you’re not secretly planning to eat me.”