Archive of Our Own ^beta

     Stiles paced the floor, occasionally looking at Scott or the visiting fae emissary from Chicago as he listened to the woman inform them of the threat she’d been brought in to help them take down.

     “The fae that’s been targeting Beacon Hills is a Moderatorem Memoriae. Literally, a controller of memories. She targets you by forcing you to relive your worst memories. If you’re not strong enough to fight back, you get stuck in those memories until you lose yourself to them completely. You’ll essentially be placed into a coma until, eventually, your mind won’t be able to take it anymore, and then…”

     “And then what?” Scott asked, his arms crossed as he stood over the fae sitting on his couch.

     “You’ll die. The strain on your mind and the stress of your heart will break you.” The fae, Kalmia, said softly, her hands folded in her lap. “The person targeted suffers greatly before the end. I haven’t encountered this fae before, but I have heard of her. She killed eight people in Cincinnati three years ago.”

     “Great! We love a serial killer who can get inside your head,” Stiles muttered, pulling on his knuckles. Catching Scott’s concerned gaze, he shook his head and waved off his concern as the alpha’s phone rang. Stiles turned to keep pacing as Scott answered the call, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. He brushed his thumb over the backwards S behind his ear, breathing out slowly as he reasoned that it wasn’t the same threat. The fae was messing with people’s memories, not possessing them.

     “We’re on our way.” Scott’s voice took on a serious tone, and he hung up before stalking towards the door. “She’s going after Peter. We need to hurry.”

     Stiles’ eyes widened, and he rushed to follow Scott with Kalmia close behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     They were too late. By the time they reached Peter’s apartment, the beta was lying on the floor, eyes open and glassed over, staring unseeingly at the ceiling.

     “Peter!” Lydia was the first to reach him, kneeling down and cupping his face. “Peter, can you hear me?”

     “He can’t hear anything in this state,” Kalmia said as she watched the banshee try to wake him up, feeling a bit stunned at how fast the fae had worked.

     “Then how do we fix him?” Malia asked, growling as she looked around at the broken furniture of her father’s home.

     “His heart’s beating really fast,” Derek murmured, his eyes a little wide as he watched Lydia check Peter’s pulse.

     “I said how do we fix him?” Malia snarled, grabbing Kalmia’s wrist and flashing blue eyes as she fixed her with a glare.

     “Whoa, easy. She’s here to help, Malia,” Scott interjected, putting himself between them and making Malia let go.

     Kalmia rubbed her wrist to ease the ache out of it. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect it to be this bad,” She murmured, moving closer to Peter warily. “Her aura is entwined with his in a way that’s… not natural. It’s happening faster than I thought it would.”

     “But you can help him, right?” Stiles asked as he moved to Peter’s side.

     “It’s… possible,” Kalmia said, slowly kneeling behind Peter’s head. She placed a delicate hand on his temple and inhaled sharply, her thin lips almost disappearing as she pressed them together. She didn’t stand a chance at helping him with the rogue fae’s energy so deeply ingrained in his. However, there was another way. “To be more precise, you may be able to help him,” Kalmia said, looking up at them. “If Peter is stuck in his memories and unable to break free himself, then as his pack, you may be able to help him snap out of it. However, there’s a good chance it won’t work.”

     “What do we have to do?” Stiles asked.

     Kalmia was a bit startled by his question, glancing at the others as they all shifted forward, eager to help their packmate. She didn’t expect them to be so willing without knowing all the details. “I’d have to create a mental link between you and him. It would place you in his memories with him, giving you a chance at pulling him out of it. It’s not easy. Depending on the memory and how entrenched it is, he may not even be aware that you’re there, and even if he is, he may not recognize you.”

     “We’ll figure it out.” The statement came from Scott as the alpha stepped forward, his voice a near growl as Peter whined. The sound drew their attention, and they looked down to see the beta’s eyes flicker distressed blue.

     The sight tugged on Kalmia’s heartstrings, but she couldn’t let them submit to her magic without warning them of the danger it posed. “You don’t understand,” She told them, looking up at the group of wolves. “It’s dangerous! If something goes wrong, you could all die trying to save him!” Kalmia protested, trying to impress the severity of the situation on them. She wasn’t willing to try if they wouldn’t regard things seriously. “I won’t sacrifice your lives for a si-” Kalmia’s voice died out as her eyes went wide, incredulous, and just a tad frightful as the wolves growled at her, their eyes red and blue and scorching with the anger they held.

     “Death is the least of our worries,” Lydia assured her, her red lips splitting in a smile as Kalmia turned to her.

     The banshee’s grin was just as sharp as the wolves’ fangs, and the fae couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped her at the sudden change of atmosphere. Kalmia had been aware of the dangerous aura of the pack when she arrived, but the sudden threat of violence in the air was suffocating.

     Kalmia’s head snapped towards Stiles as he kneeled down next to her. His eyes were colder than the bluest ice, and though they didn’t glow, the fae could see the murky sheen of spilled blood, the distinct glint of steel, and the shadows of a thousand horrors in their depths. Her heart quickened in her chest, abruptly aware that this pack was like nothing she’d ever seen before. Staring into the human’s eyes, she could see raw energy twined with his soul, the bright gold twisting through metal and shadows and blood.

     “Now, tell us what we have to do,” Stiles told her, and Kalmia could only nod in answer. If they wanted to save Peter, then there was no time for the questions lying on her tongue, nor for the fear instilled by this unusual pack of wolves and banshee and human- n̵o̸t̷-̵h̸u̷m̷a̷n̶  h̵̖̎ȕ̶̹m̸̤͝ȧ̴̫n̵̨̾- other (̵̮̍̇s̴̛͎̥͒͊p̶͓̆ͅḁ̶̆̈́ȓ̷̡̨̞̓̐k̶̯͓̍̌?̸͉͚̃̅͌)̶̹̻̽̂ .

     “Grab hands, all of you, plus Peter,” Kalmia instructed once she found her voice, watching as everyone settled on the floor around the fallen wolf. Stiles and Lydia grabbed Peter’s hands, then Malia and Derek’s, respectively, and Scott finished the link as he reached out for his betas. She then placed her hands on Peter’s head, fingers gently caressing his temples. “I’ll keep the connection open as long as I can.” She promised before closing her eyes and letting her energy flow into Peter, suffusing his aura and spreading through him to the others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

     Derek found himself on the edge of Beacon Hill's cemetery, looking out over the tombstones that were vaguely obscured by morning fog. He glanced around, half expecting his pack to be with him, but there was only Peter. His uncle sat on a bench, staring out at the yard with a distant look on his face.

     Unsure how to approach the situation, Derek stayed quiet as he moved to the bench and sat down. He caught Peter's brief glance, but his uncle showed no recognition as his gaze returned silently to the headstones.

     Derek followed suit, his stomach sinking as he realized who Peter must have been mourning. Was he prepared to help his uncle grieve the alpha they'd lost in Derek's mother? He wasn’t sure if he could. Peter’s relationship with Talia had always been strained, nothing like Derek’s own relationship with her. If he tried to help, would he just make it worse by saying something wrong?

     He chewed on these thoughts for a little while before deciding that if Peter didn’t recognize him, maybe it would be possible to do more listening than speaking. He’d be less likely to trip up that way. He shifted, and the bench creaked beneath him, drawing Peter’s attention. “What were they like?” He asked, glancing at Peter. “The person you’re here for.”

     Peter stared at the side of Derek’s face, his gaze burning for a couple of seconds, making Derek tense, wondering if he’d been recognized. Then the eyes looked away, and Peter answered in a quiet voice. “Kind.”

     The answer caught Derek by surprise, his head turning towards Peter automatically, stunned by the grief he found in Peter’s eyes.

     “And strong. She was so strong, even when she was dying. She faced it so bravely…” Peter's voice cracked and trailed off, and Derek swallowed hard as he processed the words.

     He hadn't been home the night of the fire. He didn't have any idea of what really happened that night to his family, how they had reacted and fought to escape. What had his mother looked like as she watched their family die? How hard had she tried to make it out? How quickly did she succumb when faced with the death of their pack?

     “It was my fault, really. And I don’t… I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it,” Peter murmured, sounding distant again.

     Derek’s chest squeezed painfully tight, and he flexed his fingers to keep from popping his claws out. He knew how that felt all too well. After all, it wasn’t Peter’s fault that Talia and the pack died. He had survivor’s guilt, sure, a question as to why he lived when they didn’t make it. But in reality? It was Derek’s fault that his family had been massacred. He’d let his guard down and Kate Argent in. Derek was the one to blame, not Peter. 

     “I was young and brazen, but that’s no excuse,” Peter continued, and something about those words gave Derek pause. Yes, Peter had been younger, but what did that have to do with his survival? “I killed her and let others take the blame, too ashamed to admit it was my fault.”

     Derek’s veins were filled with ice, frozen slush pumping through his heart and spreading to his hands as a realization slowly crept up on him. They weren’t talking about Talia, were they? They were talking about-

     “What was her name?” Derek asked, trying not to get ahead of himself.

     His heart shattered all the same as Peter slowly met his gaze and answered. “ Paige .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     When Malia opened her eyes, she was standing in what she slowly recognized as the Hale house. Not the charred, ruined house of her timeline, but one before the fire had desolated it. It was bright, decorated with warm browns and deep greens, mimicking the woods that she’d always felt so comfortable in. Scents pervaded the home, filling it with active, happy pups and busy, mildly stressed adults. There were human scents, wolf scents, and even some scent she couldn’t place, something other that made her nose twitch and almost tingle. She was tempted to follow that scent and discover what it was, but instead, she strode in the opposite direction, following the two scents that had caught her attention most. They were scents that screamed angry-alpha-submit and betrayed-beta-defiance.

     She wasn’t surprised when she found Talia and Peter in the study, nor was she surprised that they were arguing.

     “For the last time, Peter, stand down!” Talia roared, eyes glowing red as she looked up from her desk.

     “Not until you tell me!” The weirdly young Peter shouted back, eyes glowing a vibrant yellow as he bared his fangs in clear disregard for the alpha’s orders. Malia wondered how old he was and why she was seeing such an early memory, having assumed she'd be seeing the Hale fire or the day Peter died. “You took something I didn’t give you, Talia! And I want it back!” Peter’s fist came down on the desk he was leaning over, his chest heaving and his body trembling, and Malia froze when she saw the barely healing claw marks on his neck. The realization of what they were arguing about threw her for a loop, the young beta never having given serious thought to her father’s reaction when he found out his memory had been taken.

     She stepped forward as the shock wore off, intrigue overriding her concern as she stayed silent. She knew she was meant to be helping him, but she couldn’t help wanting to see the scene unfold. Deep down, a part of her had always believed Peter wanted to forget her, that somehow Talia’s little parlor trick wouldn’t work unless Peter, on some level, hadn’t cared about her, and this was her chance to find out.

     Talia growled lowly and stood up, prompting Peter to back up a step, his posture suddenly wary. “I took nothing without your permission. You begged me to take the memory away, Peter. You were a sniveling mess, insisting that I do so.”

     Malia scoffed, unable to picture Peter sniveling and begging at Talia’s feet. “I can’t believe she expects you to believe that.” She raised an eyebrow at Talia, who continued to ignore her as they both had since she walked into the room.

     There was no scathing retort from Peter, though, and Malia looked at him, shocked to see the slight uncertainty on his face. It didn’t last long, but it was there for just a few seconds before Peter’s lips thinned. “I don’t believe you. I would rather die than give up my memory, even if it hurt me,” He stated, posturing as he crossed his arms and straightened up, meeting Talia’s gaze.

     Their eyes no longer glowed, but the staredown was still intense as it stretched for a few moments before Talia answered quietly. “But if it hurt your pack? Would you still refuse?”

     Peter’s eyes widened, and he shuffled back half a step as his arms dropped down to his sides. Peter looked incredibly vulnerable as Malia watched her father flounder in a moment of confusion and dawning belief. Still, he wasn’t wholly convinced as he clenched his fists and flashed his eyes again. “If I find out you’re lying, Talia… You won’t like what I do,” He threatened, his whole body tense as the alpha stepped around the desk and moved to put an arm around him.

     Malia bared her teeth and snarled at the way her wretch of an aunt touched her father, mocking him with false affection. “I’m not lying, Peter. But I understand your mistrust. I’m sorry it had to come to what it did,” Talia murmured, and Malia felt sick at how Talia’s heart beat steadily throughout the lies. How long had Talia been gaslighting Peter like this? How often had she lied to be able to do it so well without a trace of stuttering in her heartbeat?

     “Just answer me this: Did I forget something or someone?” Peter asked, and his expression crumpled with grief when Talia simply remained silent and pulled him into a hug. Her heart skipped just briefly over his use of the word ‘someone’.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     When Scott opened his eyes, he was in a forest, surrounded by nothing but trees and moonlight. It was quiet until it wasn’t, and Scott’s feet turned automatically toward the sound of screams, the alpha running with sure footsteps towards a howl of a wolf that screamed for its alpha. He skidded to a stop on the edge of a small clearing, and his heart stuttered at the horrifying sight of a small girl surrounded by hunters. There were guns and arrows aimed at the child’s neck and chest, and the men holding the weapons smiled wickedly at the fearful golden eyes that the girl flashed in fright. “Come on, girlie. Scream for Mama to come rescue you.”

     Scott growled at the words of the assumed leader, and he rushed forward before they could threaten her further, teeth and claws gleaming in the moonlight as he tackled the man. Scott’s head spun as he landed on the forest floor, disoriented as he pushed himself up and turned, half-lying on the floor as he stared up in confusion at the man he’d just phased through. He couldn’t stop them. He couldn’t save her. He could only watch in horror as the girl refused to scream, smart enough to recognize a trap but too scared to hold out for long as one of the men grabbed her hair and put a gun to her temple. The girl let out a terrified howl that Scott felt down to his soul, a desperate call for her alpha that had Scott keening and scrambling to his feet to try again.

     One of the men in the circle went down with a shout, and a stray arrow embedded itself into a tree. Scott stared with wide eyes at the unfamiliar yet unmistakable young Peter that had taken the man down, flinching as Peter turned towards him and lunged. He dodged just in time, and Peter took down another hunter with a slash of claws. The shock wore off as the hunters started yelling. They were all trying to land a bullet or arrow on Peter’s body, but the beta wasn’t letting them. Scott had never seen Peter move so fast as he dodged bullets and arrows, even catching one arrow and lodging it in the neck of a hunter who was swinging at him. It was over in a matter of minutes, leaving only Peter, the girl, and the man holding the gun to her head. Said hunter stared at Peter with wide eyes, stunned at the quick and brutal takedown of his partners.

     “B-Back off,” The hunter stuttered, and now that he was focusing on him, Scott noticed his youth. He couldn’t be any older than Peter, who looked to be in his early twenties, yet his hand didn’t shake where he held the gun. “I’ll shoot her if you get any closer.”

     The girl whimpered, eyes still glowing yellow, but she looked up at Peter with such implicit trust that Scott felt a distant pang of guilt for being surprised at the display.

     “And then you’ll be dead,” Peter countered, flicking blood from his claws before pausing, producing a low growl. Inexplicably, Scott felt himself relax a little and realized with shock that the sound was meant for the girl, to calm her more than to intimidate the man, though the hunter definitely looked spooked. The girl’s eyes stopped glowing as she eased a little, and Peter continued. “This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to drop the gun and let her go because that’s the only way you don’t die. Then you’re going to go running back home and tell whoever’s left of your people that if any of you step foot on Hale property again, you’ll be dealing with the alpha next time. And if I can take you down so fast, just imagine what she could do.”

     The hunter’s face paled slowly, and without a word, he tossed his gun down and pushed the girl at Peter. The beta caught her as she stumbled forward and growled angrily at the hunter, who had already turned tail and started running.

     Scott sighed, relieved that the girl was now safe. Even as he glanced at the bodies cooling on the ground, he couldn’t muster up his usual hatred for killing. Not when his relief was so tangible that Scott could taste it, a copper tang similar to blood. He turned from the bodies to watch as Peter knelt down and scooped the girl into his arms.

     “Cora,” Peter murmured reverently as he pressed his lips to her forehead, one hand cupping the back of her head. He tucked her into his shoulder. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” He scolded, and Scott had to smile at the sight of Peter acting like a worried parent. Peter shushed Cora as she started to cry, reassuring her as he turned them towards the Hale homestead and started walking.

     Scott’s smile faltered before settling with a look of pride on the alpha’s face as he stared at the way Peter was holding Cora. Peter held the girl so carefully, with his one clean hand pressing her close to him, and with his other arm, he held her weight up, supporting her from beneath with his bloody left hand extended out, ensuring that not a drop of blood got on the young girl. The position screamed protectiveness so loud that Scott completely missed the shadow emerging from the right until the figure was directly next to him.

     With a battle cry, the young hunter rushed at the pair, dagger in hand, and before Scott could blink, Peter reacted, hand dropping from Cora’s back and reaching behind him. He pulled the hunter’s gun out of his waistband, and with cold eyes that would someday glow in frigid blue, Peter pulled the trigger. The hunter dropped in his tracks, the back of his head nothing more than a jagged hole where his brain used to be.

     Scott stared at the body in shock before looking back at Peter, who was swallowing convulsively and looking a little green. Cora whimpered, starting to cry again, and Peter snapped out of it. He dropped the gun and held her tighter as he tried to calm her, his feet carrying them away quickly as they left Scott and the dead hunters behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Stiles noticed the heat before he even opened his eyes. He heard the screams and the crackle of flames, and he knew exactly what memory he had stepped into. At a quiet gasp to his left, Stiles reached out, interlocking his fingers with Lydia’s and squeezing them tight as he steeled himself to open his eyes.

     The sight was just as horrible as he expected. Three werewolves tried to reach out into the open air through the barred windows of the Hale basement, their skin blackened and burning as they screamed. Stiles’ stomach rolled, and they turned away from the sight to see Peter holding a young Cora in his arms, trying to shield her from the heat and smoke, struggling to breathe even as he murmured reassurances to her. There were burns on his hands, and his sleeves were half gone as if he’d reached directly into the fire.

     “He’s watching her,” Lydia observed, following Peter’s gaze to Talia, who was raging against the mountain ash barrier that kept her from opening the gate that led to the escape tunnel. The alpha roared, reaching toward the bars and howling in pain as she strained to reach the gate, pushing at the barrier with her hands. For a brief, foolish moment of hope, the duo held their breath along with Peter, and then Talia fell back, unable to hold out against the barrier.

     She was no true alpha, after all, and for all that Stiles and Lydia mourned the Hales for their pack, neither held the alpha in esteem.

     “We have to snap him out of it,” Lydia said, watching as Peter hauled Talia off the ground and passed Cora to her.

     “How?” Stiles asked. “That witch’s mojo is all over him,” He told her, gesturing and glancing at Lydia once and then again as she first raised one eyebrow, then both. “Oh. You can’t see that?”

     “First off, you know the fae consider witch to be a derogatory term, and I’m only letting you get away with it because this one deserves it. And secondly, no, Stiles, I can’t see that.” Lydia shook her head, smiling exasperatedly at him, despite their morbid surroundings. 

     Her boyfriend shrugged, scratching the back of his head sheepishly as he always did when they discovered something odd he could do that the others couldn’t. “I mean, he’s practically wrapped in her… aura or whatever. Not sure if we should try touching him.”

     “Then we won’t. But we can try talking to him,” Lydia said, letting go of Stiles’ hand and walking over to the gate where Peter was psyching himself up to try the barrier. “Peter. Peter, can you hear me? It’s Lydia.”

     “And Stiles! I’m here too,” Stiles chimed in, walking to Peter’s other side. “Come on, Zombiewolf, time to wake up, buddy, okay?”

     Peter continued to ignore them, shaking his arms out and glancing back at the other wolves in the basement, a look of desperation overtaking his features as he faced forward again. “I can do this. I’m the alpha. Just… be an alpha, and I can do this.”

     Stiles and Lydia shared a look of realization at the whispered words, and Lydia averted her eyes first, biting her lip as Stiles sighed heavily. Both knew of Peter’s obsession with being the alpha, but the wolf had long since lost the mindset, accepting that he didn’t need to be an alpha to protect his pack, to protect himself .

     Insight told them that this was a pinnacle moment that had led to Peter’s obsession, a moment where he was doing all he could to save his pack. It was this moment that got stuck on a loop in his head for the next six years before Peter woke from his coma, and if they didn’t stop this soon, Peter might not wake up this time.

     Peter reached forward, crying out as he hit the barrier, his face twisting in pain. But he didn’t pull back, his body one long line of tension as he persisted, grunting as he clenched his teeth.

     “Peter, stop this! This isn’t real!” Lydia shouted, waving a hand in front of his face.

     “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to work,” Stiles murmured, though a moment later, he joined in, calling Peter’s name repeatedly as the wolf continued to ignore them.

     Peter’s eyes glowed a bright yellow as they watched, and he roared, fangs bared and spit flying. The beta pushed harder against the barrier, and they watched in shock as the barrier ballooned out around his hands, his fingers managing to grasp the metal bars. Peter gasped, but it wasn’t a sound of hope or surprise. It was a sound of pure agony, and Peter’s body trembled, fine muscle spasms jerking his body as he tried to hold out. But it was too much for the beta. Somewhere between a moment and a growl, he flew back with a cry, landing on his back.

     “Peter…” Lydia’s voice was a mere wisp of sound, an echo of grief and pity.

     “Did he just- You saw that right?” Stiles asked, gobsmacked as he stared down at their Left Hand.

     “I saw it,” Lydia whispered, her voice shaking as she watched Peter’s form curl in on himself. “We have to stop this.” She shook the shock off as Peter struggled to his knees. “Now.”

     “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow.

     Lydia nodded, a slight grin overtaking her lips. “I think so. I might not be able to howl like Scott, but I can scream.”

     As Stiles watched, Lydia took a deep breath and closed her eyes. He wondered what sound she chose to focus on, Peter’s heart or his own? Hearts were her preferred choice, after all. They were a reassurance that her pack was right there, grounding her with a comforting sound she could only ever hear when she screamed. And scream she did, calling Peter’s name in the shrill screech of a banshee.

     The sound blasted through the room, and as Stiles watched, the greenish hue of the magic clinging to Peter flickered and writhed beneath the onslaught. “It’s working! Again!” Stiles shouted, flinching just a bit and covering his ears when Lydia let loose a second, louder scream.

     But it worked! The green flickered again, fading momentarily as Peter’s eyes suddenly cleared and caught them. “Lydia?” He panted, blinking hard and turning to look at Stiles. “Stiles?”

     “Yes! Yes, we’re here, Peter! You’ve gotta come back to us, okay? This fae trapped you here, well, not here, but like a memory of being here, and-”

     “It’s not real!” Lydia interrupted. “It’s just a memory, Peter. You’ve got to fight this!”

     Peter’s brow crinkled, and he opened his mouth to reply, only to scream instead as the green aura surrounding him surged back to life. It enveloped him completely and pulsed outward, forcing Stiles and Lydia against the gate.

     A disembodied voice screeched in their ears. “You can’t save him! I won’t allow it!”

     Stiles and Lydia reached for each other and screamed together as the magic overcame them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “ Paige .”

     Peter murmured the name, and suddenly the world surrounding Derek shifted. Vertigo overcame him as the young man found himself on his feet, staggering forward to lean against a tree. The cemetery was gone, the headstones replaced with familiar trees, and the foggy morning replaced by waning moonlight filtering through the dark of night.

     Nausea rippled through his stomach, and Derek swallowed a mouthful of copper-tinged spit as he pushed back the urge to vomit. “Okay, I definitely don’t wanna do that again,” He mumbled, pushing himself off the tree as he looked around to gain his bearings. Rustling leaves drew his attention to the left, and he turned, his chest constricting as his eyes lit on the figure approaching him.

     A young Peter walked forward, eyes trained determinedly ahead of himself and arms gripping Paige’s crumpled form tightly. Moonlight slipped between the branches and glistened on the wet trails streaming down Peter’s face. Derek had to look away for a moment at the sight, unwilling to feel sorry for his uncle when it was his fault that Paige had died. He didn’t want to face this, to acknowledge the night he’d tried so hard to bury in their past. But it was like a magnet drew his eyes back to the man. He'd never let himself think of what happened during the aftermath when Peter left to bring Talia back and took Paige's body from him. But now, watching Peter kneel and lay Paige down on the ground, he thought maybe he should have. Because Peter was not okay.

     His uncle, who had been so stoic when he took Paige from him, who had so calmly lied to his mother that neither of them knew why Ennis had targeted Paige, was now crying over said girl. The tears kept coming, and Peter's breaths wheezed through his chest as he stumbled back from Paige's body and fell to his knees. The tremble in his lips grew more pronounced as he stared at the girl's body, and finally, he broke. Great, heaving sobs wracked his body.

     “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!” Peter gasped, hands coming up to grip his hair and pull, an odd grounding motion that Derek had never seen him use before. Peter was always so calm, cool, and collected at all times. But like this, screaming and sobbing into the empty air, mourning a girl that he hardly even knew, Peter's horror couldn't be hidden away. His guilt, remorse, and terror were plain as day, and Derek’s breath caught in his chest as his uncle started begging the universe to turn his eyes blue, to let the blame fall on him instead of Derek. Peter pounded his fists on the ground and dug his claws into the dried leaves, screaming his admission of guilt as if he'd been the one to bite her as well as the one to snap her spine.

     Peter howled into the dirt, a sound of pure grief and mourning, and Derek couldn't take it anymore. His tears mirrored Peter's as he knelt down in front of him and gripped his shoulders. “Peter! Snap out of it! I forgive you! I do, I forgive you! It was both our faults, not just yours. We were both just stupid kids,” Derek sobbed, and when Peter didn't react, Derek's voice rose to join his uncle's as they howled for the death of their packmate who'd never been.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Malia flung her arms out to balance herself as the memory suddenly stretched and shifted around her, leaving her in a familiar den that smelled of home and loneliness and blood. Warmth dripped onto her lips, and Malia reached up to touch them, her fingers coming away bloodied. “That's concerning,” She murmured, wiping at her bloody nose with her sleeve before ignoring it to focus on the people in the den.

     Peter stood at the den's entrance, staring at Malia’s past self. A stone settled in Malia's stomach, and she winced as he recalled the memory.

     “When were you going to say something? When was anyone going to say something?! I found out from a freaking piece of paper, and now you just expect me to accept this?” Malia asked in the memory, seething as she bared her teeth at the intruder in her den, at her father. “Well, it's not that easy, Peter,” She spat the name like a derogatory term, which, for a father who simply sought reconciliation, it likely felt like one.

     Malia watched with a grimace as her past self went on her tirade. The anger from then still echoed faintly in her chest, but it was merely a whisper of the past, long since resolved and mostly healed, at least on her end. Maybe not on Peter's, though, she thought as he opened his mouth to reply, only for past-Malia to trample over his attempt.

     “I don't want to hear it. You were never there for me, and I have a real father who, at the very least, tried!” Past-Malia shouted, stalking forward and shouldering her way past him. “You'll never be my dad!” She sneered. “Feel free to show yourself out.”

     As past-Malia walked out, present-Malia watched with regret as Peter's face drained of color at the words. At the time, she hadn't stuck around to ensure that he left and had just assumed that Peter had gone shortly after her departure. That didn't seem to be the case, though, and Malia stared as Peter sank to his knees. His eyes were glazed over, and his chest was barely moving, her father hardly breathing as he gazed into the distance.

     “Peter?” Malia called, unnerved at the sight of her father shutting down. She'd never seen him do this, but it reminded her of Stiles’ panic attacks, the ones where he went quiet and tense, and his eyes tracked the shadows and ignored everything else as he counted fingers and ran the shaking digits over the mark behind his ear. This was like that, in the way that Peter seemed lost and far away, but he wasn't moving his hands, nor trembling the way that Stiles did. His body was still as a corpse instead, face pale, and breathing nearly nonexistent.

     Malia hated it. It tightened a knot of worry in her chest, and she didn’t know what to do. “Peter,” She called again, kneeling in front of him. Her hands hovered over his shoulders, unsure. Stiles hated being touched during his attacks, but this was different, and she was growing more scared by the second. “Dad, please,” She whispered, gripping his arms and ignoring the guilty tears that welled in her eyes. “I'm right here, Dad. I'm right here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     The dark woods around Scott winked out of existence in a flash of light, and Scott’s vision blurred, his knees going weak beneath him as he sank to the floor of the study he suddenly found himself in. Scott shook the dizzy spell off, blinking heavily until he could bring the room into focus.

     In front of him, Peter stood with his arms crossed and shoulders hunched, a classic defensive posture that looked out of place for the young man. Talia stood by the corner of her desk, an angry look on her face as she lit into Peter.

     “-the stupidest thing you could have done! Your fingerprints were all over the gun, Peter! If my contact at the sheriff’s office hadn’t managed to pull those prints before they reached anyone important, we’d have a right mess on our hands,” Talia ranted, seething at her younger brother.

     “I messed up, I know,” Peter admitted, rage coloring his tone, but his voice stayed quiet to not further anger the alpha. “I should have brought the gun back-”

     “You shouldn’t have used the gun at all! Seven men dead, Peter. Their families are clamoring for justice, and I’m stuck in the middle of it, trying to keep the peace!” Talia shouted.

     Peter growled, unable to help himself as he bared his teeth at her. “Justice?! If those hunters had followed their own code, their people wouldn’t be dead. They had no business coming after us! They didn’t even have the spine to fight us directly. No, they targeted Cora. They targeted a child, Talia, your daughter, in case you’ve forgotten, and if you had been the-”

     “Peter!” Scott cried for his beta as Peter went down in a heap. The beta lay on the floor, stunned, hand pressed against his jaw where a dark bruise was already forming from the vicious backhand that Talia had dealt him.

     Scott moved without thinking, putting himself between Peter and Talia. He growled loudly at the woman, but Talia went on without care, reminding Scott that this was just a memory.

     “Don't you dare talk as if I don't care about my daughter! I am her alpha and her mother, and if I could’ve been there, I would have!” Talia snarled.

     “But you weren't,” Peter murmured, prompting Scott to look back and see the beta's eyes glowing yellow with barely contained fury. Peter's lips were curled in a sardonic smile as he stared at the floor. “No, you were off with that quack of an emissary, doing God knows what, instead of being here where you were needed.” Condescension dripped from his voice like poisoned honey, a tone Scott had to assume he’d mastered at birth by how well Peter used it. “You’ve let that druid convince you that balance is more important than your pack, Talia. So what kind of alpha does that make you?”

     Peter looked up at Talia with the end of his question, and as Scott turned, he saw the blow coming this time. He saw the way Talia’s eyes burned red, her fangs dropping and claws extending as she raised her hand, ready to slash and hurt her  No, his beta. She was going to hurt his pack, and Scott reacted like any alpha should.

     His eyes were crimson flames as he dropped his fangs and roared , the sound a pure melody of protective rage as his claws flicked out, ready to fight the apparition.

     Talia froze. Anger still twisted her face, and her hand was inches into what would have been a devastating blow. But she didn’t react or move to acknowledge Scott, and the young alpha snarled in furious confusion, itching to fight and protect.

     “Scott?”

     Peter’s voice had Scott whirling around, the red fading from his eyes as Peter stared up at him with blue eyes that were much too young. Tears pooled in Peter’s waterline and slipped slowly down his cheeks as Peter sat up and glanced slowly between Talia and Scott. The look of unsurety on his face rocked Scott’s perception of his beta, and Scott immediately crouched down in front of Peter. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here, Peter. She’s not going to hurt you again,” He told him, but Peter seemed conflicted, still partially stuck in the memory and disbelieving that Scott was real.

     Grasping for a way to reassure Peter, Scott recalled how Peter had growled to soothe Cora. It was a low sound, more of a rumble than a growl, and Scott leaned into the memory of it and the way he’d relaxed instinctively at hearing the sound. He inhaled, thinking hard about wanting to comfort his beta in the same way, and breathed out, trusting in the instinct that took over as he rumbled softly.

     Peter jolted a bit at the sound before immediately calming, his eyes slowly gaining focus as his alpha reassured and called to him with the low rumble. It was a sound that promised help and safety, the sound of a packmate who cared, an alpha claiming that he was there and always would be. Peter’s eyes closed, the beta swaying forward as his head came to rest on Scott’s shoulder.

     “Alpha,” Peter whispered quietly as Scott pressed a gentle hand against his back.

     “I’m here,” Scott answered, offering his beta a smile as Peter pulled away with a slight flush to his ears.

     The beta cleared his throat, ignoring the evident embarrassment as he met Scott’s gaze. “The fae that did this…”

     “She won’t get away with it,” Scott said, his hand sliding from Peter’s back to his arm. “We’re going to save you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Stiles was in a hospital chair, slumped onto his mother’s bed as he idly watched her breathe. Up and down, her chest rose and fell, gradually growing more slow and shallow with every passing moment. Stiles knew what was coming. Intuition, or maybe just instinct, told him it wouldn’t be much longer. She’d been having such a good day, but Stiles had seen right through the false hope it gave his father. He knew it would be the last time she opened her eyes, the last time her smile warmed from the sight of them. So he stayed. His father left to go to work, despite Stiles begging him not to leave, and Stiles remained by her bedside as she fell asleep, keeping watch. It was the least he could do, to be there as she slipped away for the last time, to ensure that she wasn’t alone at the end, even if she wouldn’t know.

     So Stiles sat there, tears dripping from his eyes onto the blanket as he held her hand and watched as her breath began to stutter and fade. He sat there and refused to look away, refused to close his eyes as the EKG grew louder and louder, beeping faster and faster until it stopped altogether. Her chest fell in one last exhale, and Stiles screamed as the aides rushed to his side and tried to pull him away. “No! No, I have to stay with her!” He cried, trying to pull away. He twisted desperately to get away from them and froze as he saw his reflection in the mirror.

     A filmy green aura wrapped around him in swathes of light, and Stiles abruptly remembered Peter, the fae, and the wave of green energy that had overcome him and Lydia. The light flickered as he remembered, and he glanced down at his hand, recognizing the feel of Lydia’s clasped in his. It seemed that the fae’s magic couldn’t extend to others as strongly as it did to the original host. Stiles could feel it now, the energy fading around him the more he focused on the present and not the past. “Lydia!” He called as she flickered into a semi-transparent image in front of him. “Lydia, it’s not real!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Lydia never liked feeling helpless. She hated it, in fact. It’s what drove her to excel in school, even as she played the dumb blonde for Jackson. It led her to join Scott’s pack in the early days because even if she hated her newfound abilities, they were useful. Lydia could use them to help, and in Beacon Hills, they could use all the help they could get.

     But she couldn’t help now. Now she could only struggle to hold Stiles upright as the urge to scream welled in her chest and crept up her throat. Stiles stumbled and fell, and a name formed on her lips. Lydia screamed the name of her best friend.

     The world faded out as she screamed, and Lydia heard the worst sound she’d ever experienced, the sound of a friend dying. It was pierced flesh and dripping blood, desperate, whispered words, and the last rasping breath as Allison’s heart stopped beating. It echoed in her ears, promising to haunt her for the rest of her life as she collapsed against Stiles.

     Allison was gone, and with her went Lydia’s light as the world darkened with gloom around her. Sound came back, but the light stayed away, smothered by the dark whispers that buffeted the banshee’s ears. So much death, so much suffering. So much… Stiles?

     “Lydia, it’s not real!” The sound of Stiles’ voice seemed to bounce off the walls surrounding her, and Lydia sat up, her eyes wide as she stared at the unconscious boy next to her. “It’s the fae, Lydia. These memories aren’t real!”

     The fae… Peter! He’d been taken by the fae, and they were helping when she attacked them. Lydia had been blown back with…

     “Stiles!” Lydia called for her boyfriend, glancing around and jolting when she suddenly felt the hand in hers. She stared hard into the air next to her, and a wavering vision of Stiles appeared, flickering between a younger and older vision of himself. “Stiles?”

     “I’m here, Lydia! The fae can’t keep this up. She’s weakening. Just focus on breaking the illusion. It isn’t real!” He called, squeezing her hand hard.

     “It’s not real,” Lydia repeated, squeezing his hand back. It felt real, though. Oh, it felt so real, and she could still hear the whispers, the screams. “It’s not real,” She said again, hearing Stiles echo it beside her. It buoyed her faith, and Lydia raised her voice defiantly. “It’s not real!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “No!” With a loud shriek from the fae, the memory wavered and then winked out of existence with a flash of light. The fae’s magic released them, and Stiles and Lydia stumbled forward, still holding hands. Stiles caught himself first and steadied Lydia, looking her over worriedly. “Are you okay?” He asked, as her legs shook beneath her.

     “I’m fine,” Lydia breathed, ignoring the dizziness as she focused instead on the blood dripping from Stiles’ ears. “Are you?” She asked, reaching up to touch the blood and show him the liquid staining her fingertips.

     Stiles paled as he stared at the blood, his body stilling as he swallowed hard. “Okay, that’s not good. We need to finish this.”

     “Good idea,” Lydia said, nodding. Their time was running out, and they could only hope the others were still okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Back in the apartment, Kalmia breathed in and out slowly, feeling her energy start to wane. She wouldn’t be able to hold their link much longer. She wasn’t sure if she should as she glanced at the pack. There was blood coming out of ears and noses, faces much paler than their normal hue, and breaths straining to enter and exit their lungs. They wouldn’t last much longer, and neither would Peter with the way his body had started to seize and tremble as his heart beat faster and faster.

     She would have ended the connection by now if it were up to her. It would be better to save the pack than let them all die for a single beta. But they would disagree, she knew. They would rather die than lose their packmate, she thought, remembering the fierce protection they’d all displayed toward the wolf. If it were her troupe, would she be willing to go to the same lengths to protect her fellow fae? She wasn’t sure, and it made her sick with shame to realize that the answer may be no.

     This unusual pack, so strange and different, showed more loyalty to each other than Kalmia had ever known or experienced. It was odd to see, yet so inspiring, and so the fae closed her eyes and focused on putting all she could into keeping the link open. As long as they didn’t give up, neither would she.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “You have to scream again!” Stiles said, raising his voice as he and Lydia watched Talia begin to succumb to the smoke. The alpha coughed and lost her grip on Cora as she passed out.

     “Talia!” Peter choked on her name and grabbed Cora before the surging fire could claim her, holding her close to his body as he moved towards the stone wall, as far from the flames enveloping his dying sister as he could.

     “The fae’s energy is waning!” Stiles shouted over the roar of the fire. “She can’t keep this up much longer!”

     Lydia nodded, moving to stand over Peter as the beta lay on the ground, facing the stone wall and coughing hard as he shielded Cora as best he could against his chest. Flames leapt forward, and Peter cried out at the same time that Lydia called his name, their screams mingling in the air as Stiles watched the green aura surrounding Peter flicker and writhe.

     “Keep going, it’s working!” Stiles shouted, covering his ears as Lydia continued to shriek. But it wasn’t working as well as before. The fae’s magic was weakening, but Peter was too caught up in the memory as the fire enveloped his right side. His tortured screams rivaled even Lydia’s, and Stiles couldn’t stand it any longer as he listened to his friend howl in pain. With no thought to the consequences, Stiles rushed to Peter’s side and grabbed him. The second his hands encountered the green light, Stiles cried out in pain. It felt like it was searing his flesh, burning with the heat of a thousand suns. But he didn’t care. Stiles was far too angry at this point, and he wouldn’t let Peter be stolen from them.

     He rolled Peter over, shocked eyes meeting his as Stiles gripped Peter’s head. Peter’s hands moved to grip Stiles’ wrists as Cora faded away, and Stiles’ anger swelled by the fear in Peter’s teary eyes. Lydia’s screams were washing over them, making the green energy wane even as it continued to burn Stiles, flooding his entire being with agony. Peter mouthed his name, and Stiles pressed their foreheads together, letting loose a rage-filled shout that made Lydia shudder.

     “ Get out of him! ”

     Instantly, the green aura was flooded with a golden glow emanating from Stiles’ body, the warm light suffusing the room until everything around the three of them faded out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     As Derek raised his voice and howled, he felt Peter stiffen beneath him, the beta’s howl cut off with a grunt of pain. “Peter?” He stopped howling and looked down at his uncle. There was no answer aside from a second groan of pain, and then Derek heard it, the sound of a banshee’s cry. It pierced the air around them, followed by a familiar voice that Derek had never heard so angry.

     “ Get out of him! ” Stiles’ voice rocked the woods, and Derek’s eyes widened in alarm as they were swallowed by golden light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Recognition flickered in Peter’s eyes, and he breathed her name. “Malia?”

     Then the clarity was gone, and Malia caught him as Peter doubled over with a cry of pain. “Dad? Dad?!” She called, her heart beating fast. Was this it? Were they losing him?

     A scream filled the air, and Malia’s tears slipped down her cheeks as she heard Lydia shriek her father’s name. He was dying.

     “ Get out of him! ” The shout raged through the den, and Malia shut her eyes and clutched Peter tight as a bright light enveloped them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

      “We’re going to save you.”

     The words had hardly been spoken when Lydia’s scream penetrated the thick walls of the study. Scott glanced up and grinned before looking back at Peter. “I told you.”

     Peter nodded, eyes wide and awed as Stiles’ voice followed the banshee’s.

     “ Get out of him! ”

     Peter huffed at the angry shout, finally cracking a familiar grin as Scott laughed and warm light washed over the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Peter’s apartment filled with golden light as the mental link broke, and Peter sat up with a jolt and a gasp echoed by those around them as they all came back to themselves.

     Stiles was the first to meet his eyes, and he pumped a fist in the air. “Yes!” He shouted, slinging an arm around Malia next to him. “We did it!”

     Relief spread through the group as Peter's heart rate slowly returned to normal parameters, leaving the beta feeling as though he'd run a marathon.

     “Oh, thank goodness,” Lydia breathed, tipping forward to rest her forehead on Peter’s shoulder, prompting the man to exhale loudly as he leaned his head against hers.

     “Let’s never do that again, hmm?” Peter murmured, weary as he glanced around at the others, a tired chuckle leaving his lips as they laughed and moved to welcome him back to the land of the living.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Three days later, Kalmia stood at the bottom of the staircase in Derek’s loft, her bag in hand, and smiled at the unusual pack she’d come to have a special fondness for over the last few days. She still couldn’t quite believe they’d managed to save Peter, but her relief that they were able to do so was palpable as she watched Peter and Malia spar while Stiles sat on the couch and threw popcorn at them, heckling them with a grin. Lydia lay on the sofa with her head in Stiles’ lap and a book in her hands, while Derek and Scott were discussing plans for renovations to the loft over by the windows. But there was no mistaking the occasional glance towards Peter that both the wolves and the banshee made. Something fundamental was shifting inside the pack, Kalmia could sense it, and it piqued her interest.

     It was tempting to stay, but…

     Derek noticed her first, nudging Scott to look her way.

     Scott turned and clocked the bag before sending her a friendly smile. “Ready to head out then?” He asked, garnering the attention of the others. The sparring and heckling stopped, and Lydia sat up.

     “I’m afraid it’s high time I get home. My troupe will be expecting me,” Kalmia said with a polite smile to cover the doubt in her words. Would they be expecting her? She hadn’t heard from them aside from their confirmation that the Moderatorem Memoriae had been delivered to the Court. It wasn’t unusual; her troupe had never been heavily affectionate towards one another, but after observing this pack, she realized the distance at which her troupe held each other felt wrong. It wasn’t even that the pack was blatantly tactile or verbose with their affection. No, it was more the little things that had Kalmia’s heart questioning her troupe’s bond. It was the way no one had pushed Stiles for answers about the golden light or insisted Peter discuss the painful memories he’d had to relive, but rather left it up for them to talk about when they were ready. It was in the way that they showed they were willing to wait, the small smiles and nudges when one or the other got lost in their head. It was in the way the pack couldn’t hide their worry, in the concerned glances they directed at Peter’s back or Stiles’ shaky hands. There was so much love suffusing their bond that Kalmia could almost see it radiating from them. It left her to wonder what it would feel like if that bond extended to her as well…

     Lydia hummed, standing up to come to her side, linking an arm with her. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to have you back. However…” The banshee raised an eyebrow at Scott, who glanced back at Stiles, turning back to her when Stiles nodded. Interesting… did they just-?

     “We want you to join our pack.”

     Kalmia blinked out of her musings, her mouth opening in a surprised ‘o’. Were they serious?

     “We mean it,” Lydia told her, squeezing her arm before pulling away to face her properly. “You’ve proven yourself by helping us save Peter, even when it put you in danger along with us.”

     A blush flushed the fae’s cheeks at the reminder of how she’d fainted once Peter woke up, her energy reserves drained to the point of exhaustion. She had been unconscious for a solid twenty hours before she woke up in a guest bed at Derek’s loft.

     “And we could use someone with your magical expertise,” Stiles added, standing behind Scott now, his gaze carefully focused on her as the others turned towards him. “In case something like this ever happens again.”

     Kalmia didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that he wasn’t referencing the attack on Peter, at least not wholly. It was an amazing opportunity, but…

     “I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I have to go back.” The words felt like sand in her mouth, gritty, unpleasant, and tasting of regret. Why did she say that? “However, I hope I’ll have the opportunity to come back and visit sometime.”

     They didn’t look surprised, in fact, Scott seemed almost pleased by her answer. Behind him, Peter nudged Stiles with a smirk, some tension draining from the young man’s shoulders as he glanced away and back at her with a smile.

     Scott nodded and extended a hand to her. “Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.”

     A bit of that warmth that she imagined filling their bond brushed against her with the reassurance, and Kalmia accepted his hand with a smile.

     Two hours later, sitting in the plane heading home, Kalmia looked out the window at the clouds and closed her eyes. Maybe it was just her imagination, but it felt as though she were taking a little bit of their warmth back with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Somewhere in the continent of South America, Cora Hale stared down at her phone, eyes wide with shock and her chest tight with hope as she read an unexpected text.

     With determination filling her, Cora rushed to the pack leader of her town. She had plans to make and bags to pack because finally, finally she had a chance at coming home.