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The sunset is tinting the sky dark red, hints of pink and purple on the horizon. Waves lap up against the shoreline, a gentle rhythm as Stiles stares out at the water, a barely-there wind rocking the lake. It’s a private beach, the only sounds the insects, the low hum of a boat somewhere out too far away to see, the cresting of the waves against the sand.
It’s the most peaceful place Stiles has been in years, but his heart sits heavy.
Tears track their way down his cheeks, thinking about what led to this all, what’s going to happen tonight at midnight as the full moon blesses the magic land. The vase is back at the house that sits behind him, the rest of the pack there, waiting. Derek’s house, Cora’s house, one of the only Hale properties not sold in the wake of the fire. A beautiful lakefront mansion and a stretch of beach on Lake Michigan.
“Hey.”
Stiles startles, blinking against the tears still in his eyes and glances to his left, where Lydia folds her legs as gracefully as ever and sits down next to him on the sand. Her eyes are dry, but red and puffy, and it’s one of the only times he’s ever seen her sans makeup. Her expression is somber, not looking at him but instead staring out at the water as well, lips pressed together. She takes a deep breath, sighs, and he turns his eyes back out.
“How are you doing?”
Normally, in a situation like this, given that exact question, Stiles has no doubt he’d snort, glance at Lydia, give a sad smile and respond “How do you think I’m doing?” But he can’t, not now, not with this. There’s a moment of silence as he works up the energy to respond.
“Really fucking crappy,” he says, voice cracking all around, and he clears his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he can see her look to him, finally, eyebrows drawn down tight, but he knows the answer isn’t unexpected. None of them are doing alright, but sure, Stiles knows and feels like it’s just a little bit worse for him.
Lydia doesn’t respond, just scooches over a little bit, holds out her hand and sets her head on Stiles’ shoulder. After a moment, Stiles reaches out as well, takes her hand, and lets out a sob.
*
“Ten minutes,” Allison is the one to say, looking at the beautiful grandfather clock in the corner of the living room. The rest of the pack, gathered around watching the fire in the fireplace or whispering quietly to each other, startles at her voice before everyone’s eyes go to the vase sitting on the mantel. It’s beautiful, old, runes carved in the side of the clay. They brighten a little bit as the time nears midnight, and Stiles can feel it too within his own body, his magic alighting at that within the land.
“Should we go down?” Cora eventually asks, voice clearly broken. She’s sitting on the couch, bundled in a blanket because she’s been having chills since the fateful day, even in the warm August night, and leaning heavily on Erica. Everyone nods after a moment, lots of eyes blinking against the realization of what’s about to go down, and it’s Scott who’s the first one to actually get up.
“Alright,” he says, nodding, “Alright.”
He takes the vase down from the mantel, then turns, glances between Stiles who’s sitting in one of the big, comfy chairs nearest the fire, staring at the vase, and Cora. After a moment Cora nods, looking over at Stiles, who slowly stands and takes it.
“Okay,” he agrees. Everyone else stands then, slowly coming to their feet and it’s Kira who lets out the first cry. Stiles leads the pack out the sliding door, down to the stretch of beach, runes glowing brighter as they approach the water. The lake sparkles in the moonlight, bright and full above them and by the time they’ve made it to the wet sand most of them at least have tears streaking down their cheeks, grasping at each other’s hands and, as planned, everyone forms a half-circle around Stiles holding the vase, in the middle, facing the lake.
Lydia steps forward, clearing her throat and blinking against the tears in her eyes, pulling out the small notebook from her back pocket.
“Two minutes,” Isaac lets everyone know, and Stiles nods, taking the lid off the vase. He takes it around to the rest of the pack, who each take a small amount of the ash inside, near everyone hesitating when it gets to them. The runes are glowing brightly enough to rival the moon, and when he gets back to Lydia, standing with back to the water in the middle of the semi-circle, her eyes are glowing aqua blue. He feels his own settling into their usual deep purple.
“One minute,” Allison whispers, and Lydia and Stiles look to each other again. She takes her little bit of the ash, and then Stiles does, before she clears her throat, looks down at the notebook in hand. Stiles sets the vase down in the sand, holding some ash of his own in his left palm.
“Goddess Earth, and Mother Moon, we give this ‘wolf back to you as you gave him to us, asking that you bless his life after life and receive us peace. We ask via air,” a gentle breeze strikes up at those words, and everyone graps their ash a little tighter, “fire,” Stiles takes his free hand and lets out a small burst of flame towards the ground, which lights the stack of branches they’d arranged on the beach earlier, settled in front of him and Lydia, on fire, “and water” the lake laps up against the shoreline, water barely reaching their feet, “To allow this ‘wolf to pass onto the next stage of his existence.”
They all wait another moment longer, until the time hits midnight, a settling within the pack letting them know the time, before, with deep breaths all around, they all released the ash from their hands, wind pulling it west, across the water. The small fire at their feet crackled, and Cora steps forward, taking the vase, runes glowing bright, bright, bright now at midnight, and after a deep breath, tear tracks clear on her cheeks in the moonlight, dumps the remaining ash into the fire.
It roars, turning the same bright, bright, bright of the runes, easily reaching six foot tall as they all watch.
By twelve-oh-one it’s died down, kindling. The air settles around them, lake quieting. Stiles’ magic fades to a tingling as he looks up to the moon. Lydia reaches over, takes one of his hands and Cora pulls the other and he closes his eyes, heart aching. It’s better, he supposes, being here with pack, with people who love just as hard as he did, but it hurts, still fresh and it’s been over a week, he doesn’t think it ever won’t feel fresh.
“I love you,” he whispers, so low he doesn’t think even Cora hears it. The wind picks up, and he feels a slight caress on his cheek. He opens his eyes, knowing already that there’s not going to be anything, anyone, in front of him anyway. Because that’s all Derek is now; the breeze, brushing against him, the moonlight, washing over him.
Tears prick the back of Stiles’ eyes again, again, again, he’s been crying almost non-stop since last week but he can’t help it. He looks toward the moon again, bright and bold in the sky above them, whispers.
“I love you.”