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Above it all, watching both sides of the wall, were eight moons. Their blues and greys and yellows lit up the night skies and shone a light on both the common and horrific goings on of the denizens from either side.
Like a young boy, barely eighteen, sneaking past the old, beard coot that stood guard at a break in the wall to venture into the outside realm. There he came across a lovely slave girl, chained to a rickety caravan, both of which belonged to an excessively cruel hag, who took her incompetence at magic out on the girl. They watched as she offered him a glass snowdrop and as he tried in vein to free her from the magical rope that bound her to the witch, but then politely looked away as she brought him into the caravan and offered him far more than flowers.
Nine months later, the guard of the wall delivered a basket to the boy's front step, but left before the boy could open the door and see the contents: a legendary Babylon candle, a small piece of the same enchanted thread that kept the girl fastened to the caravan, and finally--and most importantly--a newborn baby boy.
However, even the moons were not immune to the world's pull, as one of them crashed into the realm beyond the wall. The seven remaining moons watched in horror as their sister was lured in by a powerful witch, and later bore witness as she cut out their sister's heart with a wicked ruby blade. If one listened closely during the quietest of nights, they might have been able to hear the moons crying out her name: Laura.
They avoided the world after that; they didn't see a young boy venture aboard a flying pirate ship, nor did they see a princess sneak off to fire arrows from a bow. They didn't even watch the child of the boy and the slave girl grow into a young man with a strong likeness to his father, and vying for the affections of a girl as pretty as his mother.
"Oh, Stiles," Lydia Martin said, eyes lighting up as Stiles revealed the sponge cake he had packed for them. It was covered in berries and sticky, sweet syrup, and Stiles knew it was the exact kind that was Lydia's favorite. "You've gone through quite the trouble for tonight, haven't you?"
They were sitting on a blanket underneath the night sky, and despite all seven moons being out, none watched the two teenagers. Which may have been a blessing, as Stiles had blundered several times during the date, and he was already mortified at one spectator.
Stiles could feel the blood go hot under his cheeks, but he ignored it in favor of a smile. "What, this little thing? This was no trouble." He waited until Lydia took bite before he continued. "Nothing's too much trouble for you, Lydia."
Stiles had loved Lydia since before he could even remember, though sometimes he found it difficult to tell if she felt the same way, particularly since Jackson Whittemore came to town. They had all but become betrothed, and Stiles felt as though he was on borrowed time tonight; it was his final chance to win Lydia over before a wedding was planned.
"What does Jackson have that I don't?" Stiles asked quietly at one point, and Lydia looked at him sadly.
"He can provide for me," Lydia said, and despite the fact that she may have been right, Stiles' heart stung.
No, the moons did not watch as Stiles brought into recollection everything he knew Lydia to love, nor did Stiles notice the small, gold-hue moon that was venturing far too close to the pull of the world. Lydia, however spotted the streak of yellow as it crashed, and pointed it out with wide-eyed excitement.
And as the moon fell beyond the wall, Stiles' hope rose. "Lydia," he said, taking her hand. "Jackson may be able to provide for you, but could he get you a moon?"
Lydia laughed. "Why would I want a moon, Stiles?"
"Because nobody else has one," Stiles stated, and that was all he had needed to say. A smile spread upon Lydia's face, and a deal was forged. If he could return with the remnants of the moon within three days, Lydia's hand would be his.
Stiles finished his picnic with Lydia immediately, and as she ventured back to her house, Stiles traveled to the break in the wall. There he was greeted by the same man who had stood guard eighteen years prior, though he proved to be just as spry when Stiles attempted to bypass him.
"Just like your father," the guard said, shaking his head. "Get along, boy. Nobody crosses over on my watch."
Stiles obeyed, walking back to his home dejectedly, where he relayed the information to his father, who nodded at each interval dutifully. He pulled out a small wooden chest, and passed it over to Stiles. Stiles opened it and frowned at its contents. A simple candle, a strand of silver thread, and a glass flower.
"It's a Babylon candle," his father told him, as he pinned the flower to his son's lapel. "Light it, and it will take you anywhere you want to go." As Stiles took the candle from the chest, his father tucked the thread in his pocket. Stiles gripped the candle and thought of the fallen moon, and the moment his father lit the candle, Stiles burst forth at the speed of light and hurdled towards his destination.
On and on Stiles traveled, passing Lydia's house and the guard of the wall, and then through a marketplace beyond the wall and even farther. He pushed through a thick forest, and when he saw the crater in the ground just after the clearing, and he tried to slow down. Instead, he sped up, until he was over the dead center of the crater, and then he fell.
"Ow."
Stiles groaned and rolled over, and then his eyes widened as he realized he was not the one who spoke. He got up on shaky feet and turned around, and spotted what he landed on: a man, shirtless, who was now getting to his own feet and shooting Stiles glares as he did so.
He had broad shoulders and bulging biceps, with tanned skin that seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight. When he was upright, Stiles realized he was actually quite handsome. Broody and possibly homicidal, but handsome.
"Who are you?" Stiles asked, suddenly wishing there had also been a blade in the chest. He should have known there would be others after the moon as well. He held the Babylon candle tightly in his hand like a sword hilt.
"You're joking, right?" the man asked, and he winced as he rubbed the back of his neck. At Stiles' blank stare, he sighed and pointed to the ground, at the crater they were standing in, but there was nothing there.
Nothing.
Stiles gaped. "You're the--but how--"
"You were expecting a lump of rock?"
Stiles did not know how to reply to that. He had heard of the world beyond the wall's magical capacities, but was not expecting... this. Wordlessly, he pulled out the thread his father had tucked in pocket, and quickly wrapped it around the moon's wrist, the six inch thread extending as it tied itself on.
"What the hell are you doing?" The moon slid his fingers under the thread and pulled, but it did not budge. "What is this?"
"I promised my love I would bring her the fallen moon, so she will understand that I want to spend my life with her," Stiles explained. "I did expect a rock, but you'll have to do."
"Gee, thanks," the moon said, rolling his eyes. "But if you think I'm going anywhere with you, you're kidding yourself." Stiles tugged the thread like a leash, and as the moon stumbled, he swore. "Hey! Watch it!"
"This would work better if you'd walk with me."
The moon glared and sat down. "The only place I'm going is back in the sky," he said.
Stiles bit his lip and looked down, and as he looked at his hand he had an idea. "See this?" he asked, holding the candle up for the moon to see. "It's a Babylon candle. If you light it, it will take you anywhere you want to go."
The moon's eyes widened and he lunged for it. "Give it to me."
Stiles moved out of the way and shook his head. "Come with me and let me prove to Lydia that I did get her a moon, and you can have it."
The moon glared at Stiles some more, but finally he huffed and nodded. "Fine."
So they set off, Stiles leading the moon, who called himself Derek, through the forest. The moons that floated high above the land looked down upon them, studying the boy who had their brother prisoner. They watched as he responded to Derek's questions about Lydia, as a princess, maddened by the rules and regulations of nobility, set off on a trek to acquire the moon for herself. And they watched as a witch, the same witch who had carved out their sister's heart so many years ago, set out to claim their brother's as well.
The journey through the trees was long and exhausting, and Stiles wished that he could simply light the Babylon candle and go to Lydia. However, he made a deal with Derek and he thought he should at least try to keep it, particularly because Derek seemed to be made entirely of muscle and could probably crush his skull with one hand. Also, he had neglected to bring any matches along with him.
Finally, as they were nearing the end of the forest, Derek fell to his knees with a groan.
"Dude," Stiles said, tugging on the thread. "Get up."
"I'm tired," Derek stated, a bit prissy for a moon. "You said you have three days to bring me to her. I'm resting."
Stiles frowned, but he had to admit that he was also exhausted. He plopped down on the ground next to Derek. "So, what's it like being a moon?"
Derek raised an eyebrow, and then he shrugged.
"What does a moon even do?"
Derek shrugged again. "I used to watch the world, mostly."
"That's kind of creepy," Stiles said. "What do you mean, used to?"
"I don't anymore," Derek said, and Stiles rolled his eyes. He was about to respond, but then he noticed the way Derek looked up at the sky at that moment, the way his jaw clenched. Instead, Stiles did not say anything.
They sat there for a while, neither giving a break to the silence, until Derek's stomach started to rumble. Derek frowned and looked down at his stomach, and Stiles snickered.
"Stay here. I'll go find us food," Stiles said as he got to his feet. As Derek went to stand, Stiles wrapped the enchanted thread around a tree trunk, binding Derek to it. "So you don't run away. Don't worry, I'll come back for you."
Derek glared at him as he went, and then slunk back against the tree, having no choice but wait for Stiles. After thirty minutes, Derek heard a rustling in the trees, but Stiles did not appear.
"Stiles?" Derek asked, rising to stand. He tried in vain to untether himself from the tree, but once again the thread would not break. He was easy prey this way, unable to do more than run around the circumference of the trunk. He cursed Stiles' name and tugged once more as the rustling started again. "Who's there?"
Derek stared as the visitor stepped out of the shadows, its long, silver horn appearing to glow under the moonlight. Derek raised his hand, and the beast came towards him, stopping to rest its muzzle against him.
"A unicorn," Derek said, faintly surprised. He had never actually seen one, back when he watched the world. "What are you doing here?"
The unicorn moved away from Derek's hand and then lowered its head, slicing through the thread with its great horn. The thread disintegrated, and suddenly Derek was free. "Thanks," Derek said, rubbing his wrists. The unicorn responded by lowering itself in obvious invitation, and Derek paused only for a moment before climbing on its back.
The unicorn led him through the remainder of the forest, and found an inn after five more minutes of riding. It was large, and looked warm and entirely out of place on what was otherwise a large expanse of wasteland. A delicious smell reached Derek's nostrils, and once more his stomach rumbled. As he approached the door, a woman stepped out, wearing a smile.
"Welcome, weary traveler," she said. "Why don't you come in and rest your head for the night?"
Derek certainly would have been able to recognize the woman standing in front of him as the same wicked old witch who murdered his sister. However, consuming Laura's heart had restored her youth, and this fiend bore little resemblance to the ancient being she once was. As such, Derek hopped down from the unicorn and stepped inside, ignoring its soft, worried whinnies.
"My name is Kate," the witch said with a wide, fake smile. "Would you like a warm meal? Or how about a hot bath?"
Derek nodded his head.
While Derek had the witch prepare him a meal, Stiles wandered lost in the woods, trying to find where he had left Derek. He was nowhere to be seen, until Stiles spotted the moonlight catching on a few strands of silver at the base of a tree. He kneeled down and picked up a piece, and he sighed when he realized Derek had escaped.
He sat down and leaned against the tree trunk and closed his eyes, wondering if he should attempt to hunt Derek down again. It didn't really matter at this point; he had nothing to capture Derek with, and obviously the promise of being returned to the sky was not enough to entice him to stay and wait for Stiles to return.
"Stiles. Stiles."
Stiles looked around and got to his feet. He didn't see anybody.
"You must protect our brother, Stiles."
"Who are you? Where are you?" Stiles called out.
"Derek is in great danger. You must save him. Before..."
Stiles looked up at the sky, at the seven great moons that lit up the night. Were they talking to him? "Before what?"
"Follow the path to him," they said, not answering the question. "Hurry, Stiles, before it's too late."
"What path?" Stiles asked, needlessly as a moment later a small stretch of ground illuminated, extending well into the distance. Stiles ran down the path.
At the inn, Derek was in a fluffy white robe, his feet soaking in hot water, and he had a bowl of beef stew in front of him. It was the most incredible thing he had ever tasted, although admittedly it was also the only thing he had ever tasted. All the while, Kate stood nearby, watching the tension ease from his body, and a soft glow slowly surround him.
"I'll be right back," Kate said, and Derek didn't know that she had left in order to get her ruby blade to cut out his heart. Nor did he know that Stiles had found the inn, and was pounding on the door with vigor.
Stiles stepped back from the door and ran at it, smashing his shoulder against it to no avail. He stumbled back and tried it again, though all he succeeded in doing was possibly crushing half of his body. As he prepared to attempt it again, he heard a loud neigh from behind him, and then was knocked down by the unicorn who had come to Derek's aid once before. The unicorn charged at the door, splintering it into dozens of pieces.
Derek looked up in surprise, as did Kate, who was approaching him with her knife. The unicorn galloped at her, shoving her to the ground and producing an ungodly scream from the witch. Derek stood in his robe and looked between Stiles and the ensuing fight at the far end of the room. The unicorn let out one painful whinny and then collapsed, and when Kate pulled her blade from its stomach, blood seeped over its white coat.
Stiles looked around frantically and spotted a sword hanging on the wall. He pulled it off and ran to Derek, who was watching the chaos with disbelief. Stiles, barely thinking clearly, stepped between Derek and the witch. He swallowed hard and pointed the sword at Kate, his hand shaking as she walked towards them.
"Run," he hissed at Derek, but before Derek could even consider that option, black flames shot up behind him, spreading to encircle them both, its heat unbearable. Kate continued to walk towards them, a sickening smirk stretched on her face. With a wave of her hand, she knocked the sword out of Stiles' hand.
"Nothing compares to a moon's heart when it's plucked at its most happiest." She raised her blade, still dripping with the unicorn's blood. "But better a frightened heart than no heart at all."
As she stepped forward, Stiles stepped back, desperate for some way out. His leg bumped against Derek, and suddenly he felt the bulge from the candle. "Derek, quick, hold onto me and think of home," he whispered, and when he felt Derek's hands grip his waist, Stiles pulled out the Babylon candle and shoved it to the black flame, thinking of home himself. As the wick was lit, Stiles and Derek were transported out of the inn, and Kate's knife plunged into the wall of the inn.
The tricky thing about Babylon candles, however, was that they were quite literal. While Stiles thought of his home in the village, Derek thought of his home in the sky, and thus the candle transported them midway between both homes, among the crackling storm clouds that floated high above the world, but not high enough to touch the moons.
Stiles shivered from the sudden chill, holding his arms tightly against his body. "What the hell? Why didn't it work?" he shouted over the crashes of lightning behind them.
"I don't know," Derek growled. "You told me to think of home, and I did."
Stiles stared at him for a moment, rain drenching them both, and then he snapped. "Oh my... My home! You were supposed to think of my home!"
"How was I supposed to know that?"
Stiles huffed a breath. "Why the hell would I want to go to your home?"
"Why the hell would I want to go to your home?" Derek challenged, eyebrow raised.
Stiles was about to rebuff that reply with a sound argument, however that was the exact moment he found himself pressed tight against Derek, a net binding them together as they were loaded onto a flying ship, a behemoth of a thing, made of black, varnished wood with two giant wings on either side.
"Fantastic," Stiles said, as he spotted the crew's swords and eye patches. "We've been captured by pirates."
One man stepped in front of them, and based on the very sizable feather in his hat, Stiles correctly assumed that he was the captain of this vessel.
"I am the captain of this vessel," he said, with a half-hearted glare fired at them. "Are you both lightning hunters as well?"
"Us? What? No," Stiles said, struggling in the net. Derek's body was so hard. "He's a moon, and I'm... a... uh. I'm not a lightning hunter."
"You have no intention of swindling our haul and plundering our wares?"
"No," Derek said.
"I don't even know what you just said," Stiles said.
With a nod, the captain turned to his crew. "Release them. They're harmless."
"What will we do with them, Deaton?" one of the crewmates asked as two others cut Stiles and Derek from the net.
"Scott," the captain--Deaton--called, and waited until a boy stepped forward. "Get these two into some warm, dry clothes."
Scott led them down below deck, and found them both very extravagant tunics. Derek mostly pouted and tugged on the collar, but luckily realized it would not be polite if he took off his shirt in front of his hosts. While he struggled to keep his clothes on, Stiles regaled the crew with tales of the wicked witch who wanted Derek's heart, and also of Lydia whose heart he wanted (but not in that way, he was quick to add). The crew laughed and hooted, but Scott just looked thoughtfully at him.
It was a two day journey to a landing dock, but it was a useful learning experience. They learned how to capture lightning, and Deaton taught--or at least attempted to teach--Stiles how to dance, and Derek even got to remove his tunic every so often.
The eve of their second night aboard, Deaton was in the middle of teaching Stiles a dance that he claimed would be sure to impress Lydia, and Derek was watching them both from the side of the ship. Deaton glanced over Stiles' head and smiled at Derek, who in turn ducked his head and looked at the sea of storm clouds they were in.
"He likes you," Deaton said.
"What?" Stiles asked, tripping over his feet. "How can you tell?"
"He only looks mildly annoyed when you're around."
Stiles thought about it briefly, brow furrowed, and then tried to follow Deaton's lead by putting the observation out of his mind.
They docked in the late afternoon the following day, and Deaton sent Stiles and Derek off on their way, but not before bestowing a canister of contained lightning to Stiles. "Use this well," he said with a knowing look. Stiles took it and nodded, though he didn't really know what he could use it for.
They were not an hour's walk from the small bartering town Deaton had let them off at when Derek began to pull and tug at his tunic again. Scott had pointed them in the proper direction of the wall that separated this land from Stiles', and in the distance Stiles could see another town.
"You could just take it off, you know," Stiles said finally. Derek looked at him with wide eyes, and immediately dropped his hand from the neck of his shirt. "I don't mind," Stiles insisted. He didn't, truly.
"I'm fine," Derek mumbled, and Stiles assumed it was the setting sun that put the pink on Derek's cheek.
On and on they walked, until Stiles was sure that his feet would soon refuse to go any farther. He did not know why Deaton couldn't have dropped them off closer to the break in the wall. He opened his mouth to complain, but at that exact moment he heard Derek cry out in pain instead.
Stiles jerked his head around and saw Derek fall to his knees and clutch his arm. Red, sticky blood seeped from between his fingers, and an arrow was stuck in the ground a few feet away. Beyond Derek, a girl in an emerald dress gripped a bow, sat on the back of a horse. Stiles rushed to Derek's side and gripped his shoulder, and glared at the girl.
"Are you crazy?" he shouted. "You can't just go around shooting people with arrows!"
The girl, obviously disagreeing, readied her bow for a second shot.
"I've come for the moon," she said, closing one eye for a better shot. "You won't get hurt if you step away from him now."
"No," Stiles said, and the girl shrugged.
"Suit yourself," she said, and then fired the arrow. It narrowly missed Stiles head, but only the girl knew that the near-hit was intentional. For she was Princess Allison, a blue-blooded royal from the Argent clan. Tired of her mother and father's constant insistence that she marry, she had fled her kingdom in search of the fallen moon. Allison believed that if she returned with the heart of the moon, her parents might not be so eager to give hers to any suitor who knocked on the castle walls.
Of course, had Stiles known all of this, he might have been a little more noble in his handling of the situation. Instead he grabbed the canister Deaton had gifted him, and unleashed the lightning. It shot out and hit the ground where the horse stood, and after releasing a panicked whinny, the horse galloped off, Allison barely managing to steady herself on the runaway steed.
"Are you okay?" Stiles asked once he was sure the insane girl with the arrows would not be returning anytime soon. He placed a gentle hand on Derek's arm when Derek revealed the cut on his arm. It was merely a flesh wound--the skin had barely been nipped, and the bit of blood that had trickled out was now dry and still.
Derek looked at Stiles and nodded, and Stiles realized then just how close their faces were at that particular moment. He could count every single one of Derek's eyelashes. He cleared his throat awkwardly and stood up, offering his hand to Derek.
"We should go before she comes back," he said.
They made it to the town nearest to the break in the wall, just as nightfall set upon them.
"We should rest for the night," Stiles said as he spotted an inn. He silently hoped this was not another of the witch's traps.
"Don't you think we should keep going?" Derek said, sort of grumpily. "Lydia isn't going to wait forever."
"Oh," Stiles said. In truth, he hadn't actually thought of Lydia since leaving the ship, only that he had to get back to his village. Derek looked at him with a pained expression. "Right. Well, sure. I'm bringing her the moon, literally. She can wait another day."
Derek didn't say anything else, but he did seem to glow a little among the light of the six moons.
They were able to get a room at the inn, and both were pleased to see that it was full of people and absent of witches. Stiles didn't realize how good it would feel to lay on a warm, comfortable bed. The bunks on the ship were mostly blanketed wood. Derek didn't realize how good it would feel to take off his shirt again.
Stiles felt his eyes linger on Derek's chest, and then drift over to the angry red mark on his arm. He frowned at the pinkness around the cut. Superficial or not, the wound had to be cleaned.
He filled a bucket with warm water and ushered a reluctant Derek over to his bed. He dabbed away at the scrape, cleaning and smiling softly at the way Derek hissed each time he touched it. "Baby," he said once, which earned him a nudge. However, Derek seemed grateful when Stiles wrapped his upper arm in gauze. And even more grateful at the way Stiles' fingers gently pressed against his hip.
Derek looked at Stiles, and Stiles looked at Derek, and both were innately aware of how close they were yet again. This time, however, instead of getting up and breaking the moment, Stiles only leaned in closer. The first kiss was soft and uncoordinated, noses getting in the way and unsure hands lingering in the air, away from the other's body.
The second kiss, however, was harder and more sure. Derek's hand cupped the back of Stiles' head, and Stiles let his fingers slide across Derek's stomach. And with the third, Derek closed his eyes, and let Stiles guide him to his back. Stiles' hand snaked down to Derek's crotch and pressed against the growing bulge there, and their kiss muffled Derek's moan.
Later, much later, while Derek slept soundly, Stiles was wide awake, his mind spinning. Lydia continued to creep into his mind, but not in an altogether pleasant way--not like the way she used to. Derek lying next to him did not provide Stiles with a lot of comfort, either.
He got out of bed and looked out the window, seeing the length of the wall and imagining the crumbled pass way in the distance, imagining Lydia waiting there with a stunned smile as he delivered Derek to her. He then looked back at Derek, whose face he did not have to imagine, who seemed so content at that very moment, the soft sounds of his snoring filling the room and Stiles' ears.
Making a split-second decision, Stiles found a knife in one of the inn's cupboards and walked over to Derek, and promptly cut off a lock of his hair. He folded it in a napkin and tucked it into his pocket, and he scrawled a quick note for Derek, leaving the parchment on the nightstand by the bed.
Derek, Stiles wrote, I've gone to see Lydia, meet me at the wall when you can. I now know who I want to spend my life with.
With that, Stiles ducked out of the inn and followed the length of the wall, until he saw the familiar break in the stone structure. The old man was nowhere to be seen tonight, which Stiles found unusual but not unfortunate. He let the light of the moons guide him home, trying his best to ignore the whispered disapproval they seemed to be sharing over him.
He pounded on Lydia's door, and minutes later after the repeated knocking, Lydia threw open the door with a fury.
"Stiles," she said, though it was more like a scream. "What are you doing?"
"I got your moon," Stiles said calmly.
Lydia's eyebrows rose, and then she narrowed her eyes. "Okay. Where is it?"
"Not here." Stiles pulled the napkin out of his pocket and passed it to her. "This is a piece of him. His name is Derek."
"You named a moon?"
"He named himself."
Lydia looked at Stiles like he had grown a second head, and Stiles might have realized how crazy this all sounded had he actually cared whether or not Lydia believed him.
"So I guess..." Lydia trailed off, and she sounded kind of sad. "This means my hand is yours."
Stiles smiled grimly. "I've waited so long to hear you say that," he said. "But I don't want your hand, Lydia. Marry Jackson."
Lydia's mouth formed a perfectly round circle. "You don't want my hand?" she asked, with mild outrage.
"You don't love me like you love Jackson," Stiles stated, something he realized he had always known but never really wanted to admit until now. Lydia didn't deny this as she unfolded the napkin. "And I don't love you like I..."
"Is this a joke?" Lydia asked, interrupting Stiles and holding out the contents of the cloth. A small pile of black soot sat in the middle of the napkin, without any hair to be seen. "It's not even a chunk of the moon. Just some measly moondust."
"Derek," Stiles said quietly, wide-eyed. "He can't cross the wall."
"What?"
"He can't cross the wall," Stiles said again, and immediately ran back the way he came, leaving Lydia confused, though Stiles was not worried about Lydia at that moment. What if Derek woke up after he had left, and was now making his way to Stiles' world?
Unfortunately for Stiles, that was exactly the case. He hadn't been gone for an hour before Derek turned over in his sleep, reached for Stiles, and only found empty sheets. Along with the vague nature of Stiles' note, Derek reached the conclusion that Stiles had meant he had found love with Lydia. Dejected, he got dressed and made his way to the break in the wall, figuring he could at least salvage the situation by getting the Babylon candle he had been promised.
Derek spotted the broken portion of the wall, but did not manage to cross over. An arrow whizzed past his head, and when he turned he saw the same girl who tried to kill him earlier.
"Hello, darling," came a voice behind him, and Derek spun around to see the witch, her face worn old from excessive magic usage. She smiled toothlessly at him, her hand glowing green.
Stiles arrived in time to see the aftermath of the stand-off; small patches of grass were blackened and on fire, trees were split and spread among the grass, and one figure was hunched over, clutching their stomach. When Stiles ventured closer, she grabbed her bow and pointed an arrow at his head.
"Whoa, easy," Stiles said, raising his hands above his head. Allison glared at him, her teeth dug into her split lip.
"I should kill you where you stand," she said, and after a moment, she lowered the bow with a sigh. "But there's no point in that. The witch has the moon now, so there's no need for me to kill you for it."
"What?" Stiles' mind was suddenly flooded with horrific images of Derek being held down, of the witch's ruby blade plunging into his chest and carving out his heart. "No. We have to find her. Where did she go?"
"You're wasting your time, kid," she said, spitting out blood. "Not to mention your life."
"I don't care," Stiles said. "I need to save him."
"You don't even know where they are," Allison said.
Stiles revealed his Babylon candle. "I don't need to," he said. He bent down to one of the burning patches of grass.
"Wait!" Stiles looked up, and Allison sighed, shaking her head. "I'll go with you," she said.
"Why?"
"Because if you go alone, you're going to die," she said simply. "And for some reason, I don't want that to happen. At least yet."
"Oh," Stiles said. "Thank you?"
"Plus, that bitch ruined my dress." She flashed him a tight smile; Stiles doubted she actually cared about her dress. "I don't think we've been formally introduced. I'm Allison."
"Stiles."
She kneeled down next to Stiles and gripped her bow. "Okay, how does this work?"
Stiles lit the Babylon candle, and when the rushing stopped, he and Allison were standing in front of a large, run-down building that stood precariously on the edge of a steep cliff.
When Stiles looked through the dirty glass window, he could make out Kate on a small upper level, with her back towards a tied-down Derek. There were candles burning on the railings of the staircases at either end of the level, and she was sharpening a ruby cleaver, the blade glinting in the light. Stiles and Allison shared a look, and then Stiles slowly opened the door. It creaked loudly, but Kate either didn't hear it or wasn't concerned, as she continued to sharpen her weapon.
Stiles drew his own sword and slowly walked into the room, Allison trailing behind him. As they neared the two, they could hear Kate's cruel voice.
"You're not much of a talker. Nothing like your sister. Now her, she was a talker." Kate paused, and Stiles heard one loud scrape as she finished sharpening the cleaver. "She was also a screamer."
If Derek said anything, Stiles could not hear. He held his breath and waited, hilt of the sword getting difficult to hold with his sweaty palm, and then Kate finally turned to face Derek. The continued use of magic had drained the youth from her; she was wrinkled and spotted and clumps of her hair had fallen out. She slid a finger down his chest. "I do wish you were a little happier. I'm not going to get many years from your heart at this rate." Her finger went lower. "What if I..."
The arrow went whizzing past Stiles' head and hit Kate's hand. Kate uttered a shrill cry of agony, the ruby cleaver dropping from her hand and skittering off the edge of upper level, where it crashed to the floor below. Kate turned her attentions to Stiles and Allison, her face almost as red as the weapons she was so fond of.
Allison readied her bow again, but Kate was quicker. With a mere look, she flung Allison through the window with a startling crash.
"Allison!" Stiles shouted, and then Kate laughed.
Kate pulled the arrow from her hand and then threw it at Stiles, its spine glowing black as it hurdled toward him. Stiles ducked behind a crate just in time, and the arrow splintered against the thick wood. When he came out from behind the crate, Kate was making her way down the stairs to collect the cleaver. Stiles avoided a projectile of black magic thrown at him and made his way up the opposite staircase.
Without pause he sliced the leather straps that bounded Derek to the table, and Derek sat up. "Come on," Stiles muttered, eyes watching Kate carefully. She didn't seem to care that he had just freed her captive; she kept slowly making her way to her cleaver. Derek did not move to leave, however. "Derek, come on."
"Where's Lydia?" Derek asked.
"Lydia?" Stiles replied, blankly. He shook his head. "We don't have time for this. We have to go."
"I--" Derek started, but Stiles pulled his arm and got him to an upright position.
"Let's go," Stiles said, and this time Derek did move with him. They ran down the staircase and past Kate, who was just making it to the blade. Outside, Stiles could see Allison, injured but alive, as she looked in on them. They were almost free.
Stiles and Derek slammed hard into an invisible wall, falling to the floor. Stiles groaned and crawled towards the door, but something was blocking the way. Behind them, Kate laughed.
"You shouldn't have come here, boy," she said, turning to them. "I don't care about you. I only need your friend's heart."
Stiles drew his sword again, and pointed it at her. She waved her hand and the sword flew from Stiles' hand and crashed against the back wall. Kate smiled and approached them.
Derek struggled to his feet. "Stiles," he said. "What happened with Lydia?"
"Derek, it's not really the best--"
"What happened?"
Stiles glanced panicky at Derek. "I told her I didn't want to marry her."
"Why?"
Kate drew closer, her cleaver in hand.
"Because!"
"Because why?"
"Because I'm not in love with her!" Stiles waved his hands, words coming out fast and tight. "I told her I couldn't marry her because I'm in love with somebody else!"
Derek moved suddenly and wrapped Stiles in his arms. "Close your eyes," he said, his skin starting to shine.
"What? Why?"
"Just do it," he said, and when Stiles did, Derek emitted a great, warm light. Kate screeched and dropped the cleaver, and then with one more dying scream, she exploded into nothingness.
Stiles opened his eyes and pulled away from Derek, his mouth agape. "You--what--why didn't you do that to begin with?"
"I couldn't. Not until... I knew."
"Knew what?"
Derek just looked at him.
"Oh," Stiles said quietly, and then Derek kissed him. Stiles, ignoring the fact that they were most likely covered in witch remains, kissed back.
Stiles attended Lydia and Jackson's wedding, and he smiled throughout. Later, when he hugged Lydia and said he was happy for her, he actually meant it.
Allison returned to her kingdom, where a chance encounter with one storm-chasing pirate convinced her that marrying might not be such a bad idea.
Stiles' father journeyed beyond the wall again, this time with the guard's blessing, and he located his long ago love, still working for the hag. This time, with a tip from Stiles, he severed the thread that bound her to the old witch, and then he took her back to his village.
As for Stiles and Derek? Well, For years they lived in the land beyond the wall, making a life for themselves and seeing everything the world had to offer. When the time came that they were ready for a new adventure, the two lit the remnants of the Babylon candle and went home.
And finally after so many, many years, there were once again eight moons in the sky, quietly observing the world below.
~