Chapter Text
"Is it over?"
They don't have a ladder, but with werewolf strength and a set of ropes dug out of the back of Derek's slightly smashed up SUV they get everyone out in one piece. Stiles clings to his dad as if he's scared to let go. Scott hovers nervously until Melissa sweeps him up into her arms because at the end of the day, alpha or not, he's still her son.
Allison sobs into her dad's chest because Deucalion might not be dead but she feels more accomplished than she probably would if she had killed him. Revenge is a nice plan in theory, but after revenge what do you have? She's seen Kate: a woman who pretends to be fine but on the inside is worse than the monsters she hunts. She's seen Peter: a broken, flawed thing who not satisfied with killing those responsible, will continue killing until his bloodlust is sated.
But Allison isn't Kate and Stiles isn't Peter and they have Scott.
And she has her dad, and he holds her close, breathing in the smell of her hair. For a moment her chest aches, and she can't breathe. For a moment she's drowning all over again but then it's gone and she's okay.
They're all going to be okay, Allison thinks in amazement. They are all alive.
Something in her mind twists like an old wound and no, she thinks, not really, but it will be okay.
"It's over," she answers her own question, "It's over."
The darkness isn't a physical thing. Stiles almost wants to capitalise it to The Darkness, but it's not that important. He won't let it be.
He feels the same.
He's not sure if that's good or bad.
His thoughts still trip along the same pathways, and he worries for his friends and his father and for school and life in general. He finds himself wondering where Jennifer got to. He finds himself wishing Scott had let him follow her fading scent, instead of turning away, satisfied that both Deucalion and Jennifer were alive, but broken. So he had followed Scott, allowing himself to believe that it would be the last they saw of either of them.
But a part of him, a part that if he's brutally honest, has always been there, wants to make sure. A part of him wants to chase down those who have threatened his friends, his pack, and wants to rip them into shreds. He wants to make sure they are very, very dead.
He can't blame that on the darkness. That instinct was always there.
He's aware of it more when he looks at Scott or Allison. There are moments when he meets their gazes and then he's drowning again with that suffocating feeling shoving down on his chest. It feels like his head is going to explode. It feels like there are shards of ice and mistletoe digging into his heart, worming their way deeper…
Then it's gone. He can still feel its imprint, and he knows that this was the price. This was the cost they had paid.
And he'd pay it again, every single day if it gets him this.
"We did good," Malia says, curling up next to him on his bed when they finally, eventually, crawl back home. They've showered, washing away the dirt and grime and Stiles is listening to his dad's heartbeat, loud and reassuringly alive as he makes various phone calls to his deputies. Malia sounds half-asleep, and Stiles resigns himself to having a coyote blanket taking up half his bed sometime soon. He doesn't have the heart to kick her out, and she seems to sleep better here than she does when she's staying at her dad's. "We did good," she says again, voice pleased, "Didn't we?"
"Well," he corrects her, idly.
"What?"
"It's did w… you know what never mind. And we were the best. That's us. Team Wolf."
"And coyote."
"And coyote."
"And hunter. And banshee. And…"
"Okay, I get the point," he concedes the argument.
She grins, that slightly sheepish, but absolutely adorable grin. "You going to stay up all night?" she asks him.
There is a pause in which the Sheriff appears in the door, checking on both of them, "You two okay?" he asks, gently.
"We're good," Stiles says, exchanging a grin with Malia, "How about you?"
His dad considers the question for a while, "Been on the phone to Rafe McCall. That's a headache. I'd thank you for covering for me, but now he thinks I spent the past few days camping in the woods when in actuality I got kidnapped by a Darach. What the hell a Darach is, I'm still not clear on. Maybe it's time for me to bail… this town is so messed up."
Stiles' gaze drifts down to his phone, "Yeah, well we won't have to worry about her anymore," he says, dropping it on his desk. What Scott didn't know wouldn't hurt him - he hadn't complained about Gerard, after all.
"Tomorrow I'm having bacon and eggs for breakfast," the Sheriff announces.
"Dad, no."
"Dad, yes. Now go to sleep. You've still got school on Monday, and I don't care if you were dead, you're still going."
The Sheriff wanders off, muttering under his breath about supernatural children. Stiles collapses on his bed besides Malia. She sniffs at him, pressing to his side as if reassuring herself that he is alive, "Don't die," she murmurs, falling asleep on him already.
"Hey," he teases her hair under her ear, "I'm still alive, okay? And we're gonna stay that way."
"Good," she declares, burying her face in the spare pillow Stiles has started to think of as hers, "But if you do die, I'm having your bed."
"We do actually have a spare bed for you, y'know."
"But yours is so much more comfier."
Stiles doesn't even bother arguing the logistics of personal belongings with the coyote anymore. With a content sigh he shoves her over slightly and curls up in the middle of the bed. After make a noise of protest, Malia burrows against him, her breathing already deep and even.
Stiles falls asleep soon after, too tired to dream that night of the tree whose roots are buried into his head.
"I've got it."
"Got what?" Lydia asks her friend who is grinning, bright-eyed at her as they turn up at school the next week. There is a spring in all their steps, as if they didn't die, didn't fight off alpha werewolves, as if everything is normal.
It's a nice change and Lydia thinks she can get used to it.
"I mean… I've had it planned for ages, but I told dad. I actually told him and he agreed."
Lydia just raises one eyebrow, waiting for Allison to spit it out. Her friend takes a deep breath, then recites a sentence in flawless French.
"Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes."
Lydia translates it slowly in her head, her smile widening to match her friend's grin. "To protect," she says, "That's your motto, isn't it?"
"Basically it means 'don't fuck with my squad," Allison says, "But yes. We protect those who cannot protect themselves. I told dad. He's gonna finish training me and we're going to stick it out here. I don't have much left to learn but I'll be officially a hunter."
"Will you teach me?" Lydia says, without even really thinking about it, "Will you teach me how to fight?" Allison blinks, looking confused and Lydia tugs down her shirt collar to show the ring of bruises, "I don't want to be the victim," she says, "Not if I'm going to be attracted to dead bodies on a regular basis."
Her best friend smiles, nodding slowly, "You just want to learn how to shoot my bow."
"I don't want to touch that thing," Lydia threatens.
"Of course not…"
"I'm staying in Beacon Hills," Cora tells her brother.
"I know."
She takes a deep breath then pauses, because out of all the things she thought Derek would say, that was not one of them, "What do you mean 'I know'?"
He looks up at her like it's obvious. There is a hint of a smile to his lips, "I know," he says again, infuriatingly calm, "Where else would you go? You have a pack here, I can't ask you to leave that."
"It's not an official pack," she says, "I mean… Scott didn't bite me, he hasn't claimed either Isaac, Stiles or I, I don't think he even realises that, but he's got Allison and Lydia and I don't even think it matters. They all feels like pack. Maybe it's because Scott's a true alpha, or maybe it's because we don't go through something like that without being closer but it… it feels right. It feels like it hasn't felt since the fire."
“You’re… involved. With Isaac.”
“And you. Can’t form. Whole sentences,” Cora grins at him, "Yes, why? Is it a problem? I like him. A lot. And to be honest he's a lot better than the other options."
Derek shakes his head, “I’m glad,” he says simply, smiling at her, gentle and warm and impulsively, she leans forwards to him. She doesn't hug him. She's not really the hug-sort of person and neither is Derek. She just stands there, breathing in his scent.
"You're leaving," she says, "Aren't you?"
"Just for a bit," he says, "I need to sort some things out in New York. And I'm going to check Erica is okay."
She doesn't ask if he's coming back. She doesn't think he even knows the answer.
"Here," she says, pressing a wooden box into his hands. He seems surprised, and then his eyes widen as he recognises what it is, "Laura gave this to me after the fire. Peter borrowed it for a bit for some reason, but I got it back because I wanted to give it to you."
"Is this…?" he gazes down at the triskele box with wide eyes.
"Mom's claws," she says, "Alpha claws. They didn't burn. Laura collected them and she told me to keep them safe and I… you should have them."
He looks like he wants to give them back to her. Like he doesn't trust himself with them, but she steps away from him before he can.
"It's not your fault," she says, "Never was, okay?"
She doesn't think she can stay there any longer. She heads for the door, pausing only to shout, "Phone me, you idiot!" before slipping out of the loft.
"Okay?" Isaac asks, leaning against the wall as she makes it outside. He's borrowed Melissa's car and flips the keys over in his hand as she emerges, "Derek didn't… I mean… are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she says, and for the first time in a long time she believes it, "So what's this thing we're doing?"
"Dinner," he drawls out, sarcasm lacing his tone, "With the Stilinskis. Stiles and Scott are cooking. I want to be there to see that disaster. We also need to pick up Melissa from the hospital first."
"Scott's already there?"
Isaac nods, and Cora slips into the passenger seat, "Well then," she says, eyes sparkling, "Let's go before Derek remembers you're dating his little sister."
It's amusing to watch Isaac lurch into action with a wide-eyed frantic expression on his face.
"I don't know what happened," the Sheriff admits to Melissa, "I have a daughter. God… Claudia always said about how much she wanted a daughter and she would have loved Malia."
"I wanted a daughter," Melissa says, wistfully, "How come I ended up with another son? Want to trade?"
The Sheriff watches Isaac snatch some food from Stiles' hands and bolt, his son squawking indignantly and Malia using his distraction to sneak her own taste of whatever it is Stiles is making. Scott's just standing there laughing, not much help at all. He's pretty sure the other girl with dark red-brown hair isn't either of theirs, but he's also pretty sure she's an orphan and at this point he's of the opinion: the more, the merrier. "Nah," he says, "I think I like them all together like this."
"We should get married," Melissa says, and the Sheriff almost chokes, but somehow manages to remain composed and doesn't spill his drink everywhere, "Then we could just have one house."
There is a pause for half a second, in which the Sheriff thinks that at least none of their supernaturally inclined kids - oh god, all his kids, adopted or not, are all supernaturally inclined - at least none were listening at that moment. After a moment: he and Melissa glance nervously at each other, Melissa letting out a nervous laugh and the Sheriff grinning, chuckling weakly as she shakes her head, "Yeah, no… that would never work… one house and four kids… yeah… no…"
"Stiles and Isaac would murder each other…" the Sheriff agrees, but he has to check he hasn't had an early heart attack.
"So the twins…"
"Are alive."
Stiles stares dubiously down the hall at where Ethan is flirting with Danny, and Lydia has gotten Aiden to carry all her books for her like a puppy dog that she's now ignoring, chatting comfortably with Allison.
"I thought Cora killed them," Isaac whistles, "Does she know--?"
"Yeah," Scott says, "It's hilarious - watch…"
Down the corridor Cora emerges from a classroom trailed by Malia. Spotting her, Aiden proceeds to drop all of Lydia's books and make an abrupt turn down a nearby corridor and up the stairs, leaving Lydia rolling her eyes and Cora looking really smug.
"She ripped their spines apart," Scott explains, "Deaton told me she broke their ability to fuse together. They're not alphas anymore and to be honest, I don't think they're much of a threat."
"Are you sure?" Isaac sounds wary.
"They're not a threat to us," Scott says.
"You know I finally read this," Stiles murmurs, waving Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness' as he grabs some books from his locker, "Marlow sure did like his rivets…"
"I think you missed the point of the book," Scott says.
"No, but, I get it. That quote you told me you liked."
"Looking into 'the heart of an immense darkness'," Scott says and Stiles nods, "But it's not that bad," Scott admits, "I feel it but it's…"
"Bearable?"
He nods, meeting Stiles' gaze, then looking to where Isaac is standing. Down the corridor Lydia and Allison are laughing together over something, and Cora and Malia have stopped to join them. "Yeah," he says, "Things are bad but… I look out for you guys and… they get better."
"Don't say that," Isaac mumbles, "You've cursed it now. Murphy's law."
"You're just being pedantic."
"In this town?"
"He's got a point. We've lit the Beacon for all things supernatural."
"Then we'll get through it," Scott says.
"Together?"
"Together." He likes the sound of that.
The forest is quiet. In the wake of the huge storm, the paths all lie strewn with branches and twigs. Rivulets of water run over the dry soil, and cracks in the earth run even deeper.
Beneath her hands the soil is mostly stable. Part of it has caved in, a large seeping sink hole the other side of the large, expansive tree trunk that she reaches for.
She's still alive. But barely. Scars ring her throat, just like they slash across her face. But she’s survived worse, she can survive this if she just--
A clawed hand curls over her reaching wrist, tugging it back and twisting until she's on her back, looking up at a man standing over her. "You," she says. She's never met him, but she's heard of him. His sister had been the one with a pure wolf form. Talia Hale had been well known and widely respected. Her brother on the other hand… well, even before the fire he had a less than savoury reputation. "Everyone else suffers but you come out on top."
"Scott still doesn't clean up his messes," Peter Hale sighs, looking down at where the woman pleads with him, "At least someone's on the ball. At least someone noticed you'd crawled away, to come back another day and we can't have that, can we?"
"You're going to kill Scott," Jennifer gasps out, "You'll steal his alpha powers."
"Oh, for if I could," he sounds almost regretful, "Scott McCall will get what's coming to him. I'm in this game for the long term, sweetie. I'm a patient man - I waited six years for revenge. I can wait a little longer.
"It won't work," Jennifer falls back to the earth, laughing, "It won't work, not against them. Not while Scott's here. The Hale's are finished. You won't be an alpha again."
"My dear sister might be dead," Peter growls, "But my family's power lies deeper than blood, deeper even than the roots of this tree you worship so dearly. Hoping she might save you?" he laughs, "She can't save you because you're already dead."
She's expecting the claws that flash out. But it still hurts as Peter rips the life from her. He'd been alive. Then he'd been dead. Now he was alive again, biding his time and now--
His eyes flash an ice blue as Jennifer's blood trickles out onto the dry soil. Her power was his power now and, well, after his resurrection he'd been a bit low in power.