Chapter Text
Night falls over Beacon Hills Preserve, shrouded in a thick, rolling fog as the first Beacon County Sheriff's cruisers arrive, headlights slicing through the dense haze. The air is heavy with anticipation and a creeping sense of foreboding, intensified by a distant, mournful wolf’s howl that lingers in the ears of those present. A dozen officers step out, boots sinking into the wet, uneven ground, their breath misting in the cold night. Each group of deputies is flanked by an alert K9, the dogs’ ears pricked and bodies taut, their barks echoing through the trees and amplifying the tension. Radios crackle with urgent, overlapping updates, while flashlights stab through the darkness, their beams darting over twisted roots and tangled underbrush as deputies fan out in coordinated lines. The rain begins to fall in a steady drizzle, adding a sheen to the leaves and a chill to the air, making the scene feel even more grim and relentless as the search commences.
High above the search, Kennedy remained silent on the highest branch of an ancient oak, her form nearly invisible within the dense fog and the thick canopy of leaves. The rough bark dug into her palms as she gripped the branch, her body tense and unmoving. For thirty long minutes, she watched the scene unfold below—flashlights flickering like ghostly will-o’-the-wisps and the searchers’ voices growing muffled and indistinct as the fog thickened. The moon, faint and distant, cast only a pale, ghostly light, barely illuminating the tops of the trees. Kennedy felt a cavernous emptiness, her chest tight with dread and sorrow, fully aware of the search’s grim purpose. The officers were looking for a body, someone whose name haunted her every thought. Grief and guilt twisted inside her, the pain of a broken bond raw and unhealed. Her earlier screams had torn through the night so violently that they had awakened Peter from his uneasy recovery, echoing back to her now as reminders of her own anguish.
In the search scene, the deputies’ dread and anxiety are deepened by describing the suffocating tension in the air, the desperate beams of headlights piercing the fog, and the mournful howl of a wolf echoing like a warning. Their nerves are visible beneath their stoic exteriors, with trembling hands on flashlights and anxious, clipped voices over the radios, making their fear of what they might find more palpable.
From Kennedy’s vantage point, her grief, guilt, and sense of loss are most tangibly expressed through her physical reactions: her breath catches shallowly in her throat, her body quivers despite her effort to remain still, and silent tears trace cold lines down her cheeks. The fog presses tightly around her, enveloping her in a damp veil that both conceals and amplifies her suffering. Above, the moon no longer offers solace; instead, she feels its pale light scrutinising her, indifferent yet inescapable. Clutching the rough bark beneath her, her fingers dig in, knuckles white, as fragmented memories surge unbidden, tightening the ache within her chest. Each remembered moment feels like a fresh wound, and every pulse brings a renewed sting of guilt, leaving Kennedy physically drained—numb and fractured—as she struggles to absorb the enormity of what she has lost and cannot reclaim.
A distant light grabs Kennedy's attention, and she focuses on it using her Slayer's powers to enhance her ability to see in the dark despite the big fog that has settled over the province. Two figures in the distance are heading towards the chaos of the primary search area. As the figures came closer, she could work out that he was none other than Scott and Stiles, whom she referred to as dumb and dumber.
As Scott and Stiles begin their ascent up the hill, Scott can't help but roll his eyes in a mix of amusement and exasperation. The incline proves to be a challenge, and soon Scott's breath becomes rapid, shallow, and wheezy, a clear sign that he is struggling to keep pace with Stiles' energetic strides. Between gasps, he manages to joke, suggesting that perhaps the one with severe asthma should be the one wielding the flashlight. Leaning against a sturdy tree for support, he fumbles for his inhaler, hoping to regain some semblance of control over his breathing. Yet, despite his discomfort, Stiles presses on, and Scott reluctantly follows, determined not to fall behind. As they near the top, they spot a group of people ahead, their flashlights flickering in the darkness as part of a search effort. Instinctively, they duck behind a large fallen tree branch, extinguishing their own light to avoid detection.
Stiles, however, is unable to contain his impatience and, with a sudden burst of energy, whispers back to Scott before darting toward the commotion. Scott's heart races as he calls out, urging his friend to wait, but his voice is drowned out by the rustling leaves and the sound of Stiles' footsteps. Desperate to catch up, Scott takes a quick puff from his inhaler, feeling the familiar relief wash over him, and then scrambles after Stiles, trying to keep his voice low to avoid drawing attention. "Stiles! Stiles!" he calls out, his voice strained but urgent. Just as Stiles hears the last echo of his name, a nearby K9 suddenly barks, startled by the noise. The unexpected sound sends Stiles tumbling backward onto the ground, his surprise evident as he struggles to regain his composure.
In the midst of the chaos, a deputy with a search dog shines his flashlight directly at Stiles, commanding him to freeze. Stiles instinctively raises his hands in surrender, while Scott, several meters behind, presses himself against the rough bark of the tree, closing his eyes tightly as if that could render him invisible. The tension in the air thickens as another voice cuts through the night—it's Noah Stilinski, Stiles' father and the Sheriff of Beacon County. The weight of the situation hangs heavy, and Scott can only hope that they can navigate this unexpected encounter without drawing further scrutiny.
Stiles paused, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh beam of the flashlight that the deputy aimed directly at him. The sudden brightness made him squint, and he felt a rush of adrenaline as he stood up, trying to regain his composure. The night air was cool against his skin, but the tension in the atmosphere was palpable. He could sense the deputy's scrutiny, and it only added to the weight of the moment. Stiles stutters, "Hang on, hang on..."
The sheriff let out a weary sigh, his voice carrying a blend of authority and weariness as he addressed the deputy. He made it clear that Stiles was under his watch, a little delinquent who had somehow found himself in yet another predicament. Stiles, ever the master of deflection, attempted to lighten the mood with a casual greeting for his father. He approached the sheriff with a warm smile, hoping to ease the tension that hung in the air like a thick fog. Stiles, trying to play it cool, greets his dad warmly.
"Dad, how are you doing?" Stiles asked, his tone light but laced with an underlying concern. The sheriff turned to him, his expression a complex mix of frustration, exasperation, and exhaustion. It was evident that this was not the first time he had found himself in a situation like this with his son. The weight of the night seemed to settle heavily on the sheriff's shoulders, and Stiles could feel the unspoken words lingering between them, a silent acknowledgment of the challenges they faced as father and son.
The Sheriff raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he posed the question, "So, do you, uh, listen in to all of my phone calls?" Stiles, caught off guard, let out a nervous chuckle, his cheeks flushing slightly. The playful tension in the air was palpable, a familiar banter that had become a staple of their relationship. Stiles, trying to regain his composure, quickly added, "No. Heh..." but the Sheriff’s knowing gaze prompted him to finish his thought, "...Not the boring ones." The lighthearted exchange was a testament to their bond, a mix of humour and understanding that only a father and son could share.
The Sheriff let out a resigned sigh, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he nodded, acknowledging the truth in Stiles' words. He had come to accept that his son had a knack for finding trouble, often accompanied by his equally adventurous friends. As he surveyed the dense woods surrounding them, the familiar rustle of leaves and distant sounds of nature reminded him of the countless times he had searched for Stiles in these very woods. The Sheriff knew that wherever his son roamed, his loyal companion was never too far behind, a fact that both comforted and concerned him. The Sheriff let out a resigned sigh, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he nodded, acknowledging the truth in Stiles' words. He had come to accept that his son had a knack for finding trouble, often accompanied by his equally adventurous friend. As he surveyed the dense woods surrounding them, the familiar rustle of leaves and distant sounds of nature reminded him of the countless times he had searched for Stiles in these very woods. The Sheriff knew that wherever his son roamed, his loyal companion was never too far behind, a fact that both comforted and concerned him.
With a hint of curiosity, the Sheriff turned his attention back to Stiles, his voice steady as he inquired, "Now, where's your usual partner in crime?" The question hung in the air, filled with a mix of concern and playful scepticism. Stiles, sensing the underlying worry in his father's tone, glanced around, half-expecting to see his friend emerge from the shadows. The woods, with their towering trees and thick underbrush, held secrets and adventures, but they also posed dangers that the Sheriff was all too aware of. In that moment, the bond between father and son deepened, a shared understanding of the risks that came with their lives, and the unspoken hope that they would always look out for one another.
Stiles feigned ignorance as the rain began to fall, his voice dripping with false innocence. He casually mentioned that Scott was home, claiming that his friend wanted to rest up for the first day back at school. Kennedy, standing nearby, could hardly believe what she was hearing. The thought that Stiles would leave someone with asthma alone in the woods, especially with a deranged killer on the loose, was unfathomable. The Sheriff, his expression a mix of disbelief and frustration, watched Stiles squirm as he continued to weave his web of lies. With a tone that dripped with sarcasm, Stiles insisted that it was just him, alone in the woods. The Sheriff, however, was not convinced by Stiles' desperate attempts to downplay the situation. He raised his flashlight, its beam cutting through the darkness, searching for any sign of Scott, who remained hidden behind a nearby tree, holding his breath in fear. The tension in the air was palpable, as the Sheriff’s instincts told him that something was amiss, and Stiles's bravado only deepened his suspicions. Calling out for Scott, the Sheriff’s voice echoed through the trees, but the silence that followed was deafening. After a moment of waiting, it became painfully clear that Scott was not with Stiles, and the Sheriff’s frustration boiled over. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed Stiles firmly by the back of the neck, his grip a mix of authority and urgency, and began to lead him toward the entrance of the preserve. The rain continued to pour, a fitting backdrop to the chaos unfolding in the woods, as the Sheriff’s mind raced with the implications of leaving an asthmatic boy alone in such perilous circumstances.
The Sheriff turned to the young man, his tone firm yet measured, indicating that they would be taking a stroll back to the car. He made it clear that a discussion about "invasion of privacy" awaited them, a topic that seemed to hang heavily in the air. As they walked away, Stiles and the Sheriff in tow, Scott felt a wave of frustration wash over him. He leaned back against the rough bark of a nearby tree, his eyes squeezed shut as he muttered a quiet "Damn!" to himself. The realisation hit him hard: in his attempt to conceal himself, he had lost his way home. With a cautious glance around to ensure the coast was clear, Scott decided to retrace his steps through the woods, following the same path he and Stiles had taken earlier. Unbeknownst to him, Kennedy had decided to follow, fully aware that the oblivious boy was heading straight toward the Alpha whose howl had echoed ominously just moments before.
The rain poured down relentlessly, transforming the forest into a treacherous landscape for Kennedy as she navigated through the trees. She leapt from one sturdy branch to another, her heart racing as she evaded the dangers lurking in the shadows. The storm above rumbled with thunder, and flashes of lightning illuminated the darkened woods, creating an eerie atmosphere. Meanwhile, Scott was making his way back, his hood pulled tightly over his head in a futile attempt to shield himself from the downpour. The cacophony of forest sounds surrounded him, each rustle and call heightening his anxiety. Yet, as he stumbled into a fog-laden clearing, an unsettling silence enveloped him, amplifying his unease.
In a moment of desperation, Scott fished out his inhaler from the depths of his hoodie, shaking it nervously as he prepared to take another hit. Just as he was about to inhale, chaos erupted around him. A herd of deer, startled and panicked, burst into the clearing, their hooves pounding against the ground as they charged toward him. The sheer force of their stampede knocked him off balance, sending him sprawling to the ground and causing his inhaler to fly from his grasp, skidding several meters away. Dazed and gasping for breath, Scott struggled to regain his composure, the wild energy of the forest now a chaotic whirlwind around him.
In a state of sheer panic, Scott races through the dense underbrush of the woods, his heart pounding in his chest as he stumbles over roots and rocks, each misstep sending him tumbling to the ground. The fear of whatever creature had attacked him propels him forward, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Just as he feels a sharp tug at his back, a sudden jolt pulls him down, and he feels the searing pain of teeth sinking into his right hip. The forest around him is a blur of shadows and rain, each drop mingling with the sweat and fear that clings to him as he fights to escape the unseen predator.
At last, Scott bursts onto the nearest road, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but his moment of relief is short-lived. Just as he steps onto the asphalt, a burgundy SUV careens toward him, the driver’s eyes wide with shock. In a split second, the vehicle swerves, narrowly avoiding a collision that would have surely ended in disaster. With the roar of the engine fading into the distance, Scott takes a moment to collect himself, his body trembling from the exertion and the lingering terror of the chase.
Finally feeling somewhat safe, Scott lifts the hem of his hoodie, his heart sinking as he gazes at the large, angry bite wound on his hip, the skin around it already bruising and inflamed. The relentless rain continues to pour down, washing over him like a cold reminder of the danger he has just escaped. But before he can fully process his injury, a chilling wolf howl echoes through the trees, sending a fresh wave of dread coursing through him. The sound reverberates in the stillness, a haunting reminder that he is not alone, and the woods still hold secrets that could threaten his very existence.
Kennedy came to an abrupt stop, her heart racing as she recognised the unmistakable howl of Derek, the wolf she had come to know so well. A wave of urgency washed over her; she could sense that her wolf was in distress, calling out for her help. Instinctively, she turned on her heel, her senses sharpening as she raced back toward him. Meanwhile, Scott stood frozen, a tumult of emotions swirling within him—fear mingled with a strange sense of relief. He hesitantly lifted the hem of his hoodie, his breath hitching as he caught sight of the large, angry bite mark on his hip. The skin around the wound was already bruised and inflamed, a vivid reminder of the danger he had narrowly escaped. The relentless rain poured down, soaking him to the bone, each drop a chilling reminder of the lurking threats that still surrounded him. Just as he began to grasp the severity of his injury, a haunting howl echoed through the trees, sending a fresh wave of terror coursing through his veins. The sound shattered the eerie stillness of the woods, a grim reminder that he was not alone and that the forest still held secrets capable of endangering his very life.
With a sense of urgency propelling her forward, Kennedy sprinted toward the source of the anguished hhowl her heart pounding in her chest as she navigated the treacherous terrain back to the clearing where Scott had been attacked just moments before. As she burst into the clearing, the sight that met her eyes was nothing short of harrowing; Derek knelt beside a lifeless body, his face a tumultuous blend of grief and rage. A shaky hand reached out toward the mutilated form, and in that instant, Kennedy's instincts surged to the forefront. She called out Derek's name, her voice a desperate plea that echoed through the clearing, reverberating against the trees that bore witness to their tragedy. Without a moment's hesitation, she leleaptorward, her instincts as a slayer guiding her as she pulled him away from the gruesome scene. In that critical moment, she had intervened, preventing Derek Hale from touching his sister's body, ensuring that his DNA would remain untouched for the authorities when they arrived to investigate the horrific aftermath.
The weight of the situation bore down on Kennedy, a suffocating reality that enveloped her like a dense fog, obscuring any flicker of hope. The relentless rain drummed against the pavement, mirroring the turmoil within her as she guided Derek back to the house, where Peter and Willow anxiously awaited her return. Their expressions were a mix of concern and urgency, reflecting the gravity of the moment they were all facing together.
As they entered, Derek was the first to leap through the open window of her bedroom, a familiar act that felt both comforting and surreal. Kennedy followed closely, shutting and locking the window behind her, sealing them off from the storm outside. In the dim light of the room, she spotted Peter sitting quietly at her study table, while Willow, her fiery red hair contrasting sharply with her pale complexion, perched on the edge of the bed, her hands neatly folded in her lap. The tension in the air was palpable as Willow broke the silence, her voice steady yet laced with apprehension, asking what exactly they were up against.
Kennedy reclined against the headboard of her bed, her back pressed firmly against the wood as she drew Derek into her embrace. She wrapped her legs around him, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety, while her gaze shifted to Peter. With a gentle pat on the space beside her, she silently beckoned the older wolf to join them, a subtle invitation that spoke volumes in the tense atmosphere. Her eyes flickered to Willow, a serious expression settling on her features as she prepared to share a grim revelation. "I can confirm that the identity is definitely Laura Hale," she stated, her voice steady yet laced with an undercurrent of urgency. "The omega-wolf killed her, but the torn body is clearly the work of a hunter, not a mere animal. The precision of the cut is too surgical, and the spacing between the ridges suggests it’s most likely a shovel. Do you understand what that implies?"
Willow, absorbing the weight of Kennedy's words, responded simply yet gravely, "Hunters." The single word hung in the air, heavy with the implications of their reality. The atmosphere shifted, tension coiling around them like a thick fog, as the gravity of the situation settled in. Kennedy's expression hardened, her resolve evident as she continued to inform them of the dire circumstances they faced. "The alpha has taken his first beta, the worst candidates in this entire town that he could have possibly chosen. It’s the most selfish, self-serving, self-absorbed boy I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering." Her voice dripped with disdain, each word a testament to the betrayal and danger that loomed over them.
As the weight of Kennedy's revelations sank in, the room felt charged with a mix of fear and determination. The shadows danced around them, mirroring the turmoil within their hearts. They were not just dealing with a loss; they were facing a calculated threat that had infiltrated their lives. The stakes were higher than ever, and the bond between them grew stronger in the face of adversity. Together, they would have to confront the darkness that threatened to consume them, armed with the knowledge of what lay ahead and the fierce loyalty that bound them as a family.