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It took just minutes for everything in the bank to settle into silence. Boyd and Cora had disappeared through the opened doors and Derek had tried to follow. The scent of ammonia threw him, the proximity of that many werewolves - that many alphas - overwhelmed him. He’d turned back to see Allison and Scott stare at one another and anger rumbled in his chest. He couldn't deal with this right now. Somehow he made it back to his building, and when he looked up to the window he saw Peter and Stiles’s shadows moving quickly back and forth.
He couldn’t go up. He couldn’t look Peter in the eye and tell him Cora was alive. He couldn’t begin to explain what the hell had just happened. He couldn’t explain why his baby sister, how Peter’s goddaughter, had survived the fire. He couldn’t look at Peter and say that he lost her again.
So he didn’t.
He walked away; passed the coffee shop and bookstore, walked down the next street and crossed onto the next. He let his feet lead him. He kept his senses alert but knew the alpha pack was done. The pull of the moon, stronger than it had been in months, would be too great for them to try something now. A blue moon always pulled stronger than the new; it pulled him. It would pull Boyd and Cora.
Derek looked up and found himself in front of a darkened house, the police cruiser neatly parked in the driveway. And he didn’t question it. He didn’t think, let his body take over and kept his mind locked tight. If he didn’t think, he couldn’t think. He took a breath then leapt onto the low tree branch, then the roof ledge. He pulled up the window open and collapsed onto the bed, kicked his shoes off and heard the papers on the floor crinkle.
He buried his face into the pillow, fisted his hands underneath. He closed his eyes and tried to make everything go back; he wanted to wake up to Isaac and The Girl - whoever the hell she was - escaping the alphas. Not Cora and Boyd. He wanted to snap at Stiles and have him cut back. He opened his eyes, stared at the posters hanging on Stiles’s wall, then rolled onto his side and faced the window. He closed his eyes and let the sheets and scents surround him. He wanted, needed, everything blocked out.
He heard the Jeep purr down the road, then stutter to a stop. Heard the back door open, then snick shut. He heard Stiles climb the stairs, then heard him pull in a breath. But Derek didn’t move. And Stiles didn’t turn on the light.
Instead he dropped his bag softly against the wall and kicked off his shoes; he sat on the bed then lay back. Derek felt Stiles’s shirt skim across his shoulders as he stretched an arm over his head, at least that’s what he assumed from the thunk against the headboard meant. A light tapping followed in the silence.
“Scott called about an hour ago,” Stiles said after a few minutes. “Me.” Derek felt the bed shake as Stiles moved his arms, “Not Peter.”
He stayed silent, closed his eyes when Cora’s sweat and dust covered face filled his mind. When he saw Boyd’s enraged eyes, Scott’s blood. He squeezed them shut when Allison’s shocked and horrified face rose up.
“I told Peter,” Stiles continued. He let out a shaky breath. “He...he didn’t react. Well, he did but I don’t think either of us want to go into it.”
Tears began to fill his eyes as Peter’s sorrow seeped into him. Who else was alive, he thought and tightened his fist until claws dug into his palm. Where had Cora been for six years? Stiles shifted then lightly touched his shoulder, then more firmly clamped down and shook him.
“Stay,” Stiles whispered. “Don’t go back to the loft tonight.”
He rolled over, but couldn’t bring himself to look at Stiles. Stiles fell back with the movement, he let Derek’s head rest on his chest; Derek listened to the rhythm, found himself fisting and releasing his hand beside them to the thump thomp of Stiles’s heart.
“We’ll find her, Derek. We’ll find all of them,” Stiles whispered.
What could he say? Derek tightened his fist, held it tight and let the lie lull him. He’d find her. And he’d find Deucalion.
“In the meantime,” Stiles’s fingers slid over the back of Derek’s head, “we’ll sleep. In the morning we’ll act like this didn’t happen. You can go back to fisting marble, I’ll go back to planning daring escapes that I watch from afar.”
“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek mumbled, his voice catching over the words.
He felt Stiles’s heart skip a beat, but his fingers kept sliding. “We can have pancakes and bacon, before you go back to proving your mascu--”
Derek lifted his head, found Stiles’s eyes and weak smirk in the dark, “Stiles, shut up.”
He lay his head back, curled closer to Stiles’s body heat, and closed his eyes. Stiles huffed a laugh, rested his hand on the nape of Derek’s neck.
“You’ll find her, Big Guy. I promise.”