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They rent a loft away from the center of town, in a near-empty building their father used to own.
There’s a hole in one of the walls, and the sink doesn’t work, and the whole place smells a little like rancid meat, but it’ll do, for now. Better than staying in their destroyed home, which was Derek’s genius suggestion. Laura nipped that in the bud with a vengeance.
“I’m not letting you punish yourself,” she says with a growl. “We can’t protect ourselves there.”
Derek gnashes his teeth, speaking with his jaw clenched, so all his words come out mumbled. “We can’t protect ourselves here, either.”
Laura sighs, dropping their bags and tugging Derek close, one hand squeezing the back of his neck. She rubs her cheek on the top of his head. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” she says.
Derek grunts, pushing away. Laura lets go.
They order Chinese from the closest restaurant. She pulls out every scrap of information she’s been able to tease out throughout the years about the fire, spreading them across the floor.
“I don’t know why we’re going over this again,” Derek says, rubbing a hand across his forehead like he has a headache. His Chicken Lo Mein sits cold at his elbow. “We know who set the fire.”
“Because I want to make sure we’re not missing anything,” Laura says, mouth full of pork fried rice. She shoves his food closer with a fork. “Eat something. You’ll feel better.”
Derek snorts. “I doubt that,” he says, but he steals one of her dumplings, shoving it into his mouth.
She and Derek take turns sleeping that night. Laura takes first watch, staring out the windows with her knees pulled up to her chin. The moon peeks out from behind the clouds, a week’s shy of full.
She picks up one of the newspaper articles, a picture of her mother and father staring back with smiling eyes. She tosses it to the floor and squeezes her eyes shut.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Laura whispers. She presses her face into knees for a moment. Hiding from the rest of the world.
--
They visit the house the next afternoon, Laura following Derek out to the car, every footstep more wary and worried than the last.
“There’s nothing to find there, Der,” Laura says, and Derek tosses himself into the passenger seat with a clenched jaw.
“I know. I just… I have to see it, Laura. I need to see for myself.”
Laura sighs but gets in the car. Arguing with her brother when he’s wracked with guilt and anger is as effective as bickering with a brick wall. He’ll go anyway, and call her a hypocrite, but she refuses to let him go out there alone.
She scratches at the bandages along her throat. Nothing but a couple of angry, red lines remain where Peter’s claws scored her neck. She could chalk up the fact that she’s walking on her own two feet to stubbornness and a high tolerance for pain. She can’t explain away fully healed skin a week after almost having her throat torn out.
Derek spends the entire ride bracing himself, one hand clutching tight to the door handle. Laura places her hand on his thigh. He inhales sharply when the house comes into view, leg trembling under her fingers. Their once beautiful home, reduced to nothing but burnt wood, bad memories, and the smell of ash and old smoke.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Laura whispers. Derek nods, dragging himself out of the car the way a condemned man approaches the gallows. She waits at the door while he walks into the house. The floorboards of the porch creak with her weight.
Derek runs his fingers over the walls, every step measured and slow. Broken glass cracks under his feet. He stops in front of the stairs, hand clenching around the remains of the banister.
“Derek--” Laura starts, but a car pulls up the road as she starts to speak.
Derek turns, wiping away the soot on his fingers on his pants with a shudder. He closes his eyes for a moment, then stands straight, steel in his spine. Laura smiles with pride.
The car pulls up to the house, and Laura takes a deep breath, schooling her face into a mask of wariness as she fake-limps to the edge of the porch. The car belongs to the sheriff’s department; she doesn’t recognize the deputy who steps out when the engine cuts off.
“You Laura Hale?”
Laura clears her throat, speaking with a rasping voice. “Yeah.”
“Who are you?” Derek asks, stepping in front of Laura and shielding her body with his back. She glares at the back of his head.
The deputy, to his credit, doesn’t falter. “Deputy Sacks.” He approaches, keeping both hands in clear view and away from his firearm, no doubt chalking up Derek’s overprotectiveness to paranoia. She was, after all, almost murdered.
“Sheriff Stilinski figured you’d be turning up here,” Deputy Sacks continues, voice apologetic but not pitying. Laura likes him for that fact alone. “He has some follow-up questions he needs to ask.”
“Why didn’t he just call us?” Derek asks as she opens her mouth. She huffs.
The deputy raises his eyebrow. “Is your phone on, Miss Hale?”
Laura digs her phone out of her pocket. The blank screen stares back, unresponsive and useless. They don’t have any power yet at the loft. Charging her phone was the last thing on her mind. The only person she would need to speak to was sitting three feet across the room and forgot his phone in New York.
The deputy smirks. So does Derek, but she can smack him.
Derek scowls, rubbing the back of his neck.
“We’ll head over there now,” Laura says, clearing her throat. “Thank you, deputy.”
The deputy tips an imaginary hat. She makes a show of wincing as she walks down the steps, leaning most of her weight on Derek’s shoulder. Derek takes the opportunity to slip his hand into her pocket, sliding her car keys into his palm.
The deputy presses his lips together like he’s holding back a comment. He opens the passenger side door, allowing Derek to settle her into the seat before shutting the door. He gives a wave as they pull away. Derek glances in the rearview mirror, but he isn’t looking at the deputy.
“We should have expected that,” Laura says, once they pull onto the highway and out of sight of the house.
Derek raises an eyebrow. “What, that you would forget to charge your phone?”
Laura socks him in the arm. Derek growls. “No, jackass. The house is a couple of miles from the crime scene. He probably has deputies on patrol all over.”
“Maybe,” Derek says, unconvinced. Laura sighs, leaning her head back and watching the trees fly by out the window. They pull into the sheriff's station, Laura grumbling curses under her breath as she waits for Derek to turn off the car and step around. He guides her to her feet and shuts the door.
The door to the sheriff’s office opens, and Laura grips Derek’s wrist with clawed fingers when Chris Argent steps out.
He pauses at the top of the steps before a smug smirk blossoms across his mouth.
“Hale,” Chris says, rolling up the sheet of paper in his hands. Laura’s eyes dart across the lot to the two other unlabeled cars, no doubt full of Argent’s cronies. “What a surprise.”
“Argent,” Laura says, keeping Derek at her back. He growls, a low, incessant noise. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“You’re looking well for someone who just took a sword to the stomach.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Oh, you know. Word gets around.” Chris walks down the stairs. Derek hovers at her back, breathing hard. Laura holds her ground. “You know, you should really be more careful. Keep yourself and your family safe. You don't have much of that these days.”
Her eyes flash red. The door to the sheriff’s office opens again before she has a chance to comment, and the man himself walks out.
Sheriff Stilinski takes in the Mexican standoff in his parking lot, eyes swinging from Laura to Derek to Chris to his cronies.
He raises an eyebrow. “Something you need, Chris?”
“No thanks, sheriff. Got what I need.” He nods at Laura, tapping the rolled up papers in his hand against his thigh. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around.”
Laura raises an eyebrow. “You never know, Chris. Maybe I’ll be seeing you.”
Chris’ eyes narrow before his expression clears and he huffs a laugh. He strolls towards his car, cutting too close to her and Derek. She chokes on the scent of gunpowder and wolfsbane that clings to his clothing.
Their cars pull out of the lot, one by one. Chris offers a parting wave out the window.
Laura feels a little bit like she just declared war.