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I have no crime to keep a secret.
It was hers, it was not mine.
Oh I may be a sinner, but it wasn’t me this time.
Just keep your mouth shut, keep your guard up.
I swear I’ll make it right.
Her stories had always been about the power of man, well, woman. Her dad would sit next to her on the bed late at night and let her curl into his side and read from a great book bound in rich leather. He'd tell her how a huntress saved little red, that the three little pigs were part of a larger village and had gotten help defeating the big bad wolf from a woman with a bow, how the boy had cried not out of lies or out of fear but to warn his villagers of the dangers of the wolf.
Looking back, there was clearly a theme. However, on those cool nights in the safety of her fathers arms it all seemed so obvious, and so true, and nothing to be afraid of. There were always hunters, humanity, and above all else the honor of protecting her own. Her dad told her that she was to be strong and fearless and a fighter, but honorable and true.
Now, she felt how fractured her code had become and ached to be whole again, to feel strong and powerful. She wanted to believe with a soldier's clarity and honor, with a childlike certainty in monsters and men. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t let herself do that again, become that again. Sometimes she got restless just waiting and worrying and wondering if those she loved would still be there in the daylight. She wanted to believe with a soldier's clarity and honor, with a childlike certainty in monsters and men. Some nights, for better or for worse, no matter how much she scared herself, some nights she picked up the bow again.
***
His mom used to tell him the story of the lady in the moon. The silver haired wisp of a goddess who looked down on earth, round and happy and full of joy once a month before growing old and fading out to be reborn again. She was nothing to fight against. No, she was there to protect him and all the wolves under her care and she never left even when the sun came up and blinded us from seeing her.
On the worst of the full moons as a child he would heave and sob in his mothers arms as the transformations raked through him and she would rub his back and sigh "my sweet baby boy." His mother would hold him and tell him over and over again, "make peace with the moon and who you are. You are my precious precious gift. You have to make peace with the moon and she will take away your pain." But then he was young, and he was different, and she was telling him to make peace with the monster inside, and that was something he could never do.
Now, he felt the cycle of the moon pull at his inside and rattle against his chest and no matter how much he worked to fight it, sometimes he couldn’t restrain himself. He had to let go of the anger and pain that tethered him to humanity and anchored him in his human heart. He fought against nothing more than the pull of the moon, and the light that called with his own darkness and gruff. Some days, for better or for worse, no matter how much it tore at him inside, some days he gave in to the wolf.
***
He raced through the woods on all fours, faster tonight than any other. She crept along the streets in tinted windows and dimmed headlights, using the light of the moon to guide her way. They both marked a careful perimeter, checking off the cleared zones on a mental list.
It was nearing dawn and she was growing tired. She made the first turn to fast and the second before she’d realized. It was never a place she returned to on purpose, but on nights like tonight, she wasn’t surprised to find herself in front of the towering and decrepit Hale house. She carried the tragedy here like a brand, a warning. She took a deep breath before taking a step out of the SUV, bow in hand. She circled the perimeter once, before stepping towards the stairs.
“What are you doing here, Argent?” Derek growled moving out of the shadows at the top of the stairs. She clenched the bow tighter in her hand at her side, but didn’t lift it.
“I heard it was taken over by the city,” she offered through gritted teeth, her eyebrows arching upward, begging for a fight.
“And you, what?” he asked sarcastically. “Thought you’d come by, knock down the rest of the place?”
“No, I just--,” she started pulling her free hand through her hair. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” she offered finally. They stood there in silence, neither willing to give up their ground. And then for a moment, the tension ebbed out of her features, and she fidgeted, and sighed.
“Look,” Derek started, the words seeming to cause him physical pain to think, let alone utter aloud. “I am not sorry that I saved Scott. And I am not sorry that there is one less hunter in the world,” he said. Each statement was punctuated with silence. “But, I was sixteen when--,” he started, unable to finish the statement without losing the thread of what he was trying to convey. “And no one should have to go through that.” She couldn’t help it, she chuckled lightly as her eyes clouded and she glanced away from the man in ahead of her.
“No,” she said quietly. “No one should have to go through that.” She added wiping away the single tear that fell. She shook her head to clear it, turning away from the house and moving towards the car. She stopped for a moment when she reached the door and looked up at Derek once again. "Thank you," she said.
"For what?" he gritted out.
"For saving him," she offered. Their eyes linked for the briefest of moments, before Derek gave a curt nod and she turned back to the car, stepping in swiftly and driving down road and out of the preserver, continuing her trail around the perimeter of the town.
And I will never tell a tortured soul;
that you are burning by my side;
that I am a sinner, I am a savior, I am alive.