Work Text
“I think I get it now,” Parrish says as the credits roll on another episode.“Get what?” She turns to face him, curling up her leg to tuck her foot under her thigh.“Why you like this show,” he clarifies.She grins. “Sneaks up on you, doesn't it?” She never would have thought this show would become so important to her, but it really is. Parts of it are even good.“No, I mean—well, yes, but,” he says, as if that explains anything, “I mean I get why you like it.”She raises an eyebrow at him skeptically. “Oh? And why's that?” She's curious to hear what his take on this could be.“The team,” he explains, turning further to face her, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “The way they care about each other, work together. They each have their own stuff, but when it comes down to it, they'll do anything for each other. It’s a lot like you and your pack, actually,” he observes thoughtfully.“Um,” she blinks a few times in surprise. He’s kind of spot-on, actually. The team dynamics took a while to build into what they are now, but even in the earliest episodes, they all had chemistry together. And now, she can’t help but see parallels in her own life. “Yeah, that’s—”“Also,” he adds with a sly grin, “Major Monroe is a total badass. And a lot like you, if you ask me.”Cora raises an eyebrow at that. “You think so?” The Major is unequivocally one of her favorite characters, and certainly has qualities she tries to emulate, but she hadn't expected Parrish to notice that. They're only just now getting to know each other, after all. Which seems a bit strange, now that she's thinking about it, given how close both of them are to O’Neill.He nods emphatically. “Oh, for sure. Both smart, confident, natural leaders. I'd follow either one of you into battle any day.”She smiles wryly. “That's good to hear. I just hope we don't have to put that conviction to the test very often.”“In this town?” Parrish raises both eyebrows with a bemused smile. “I’m more surprised when there are days I don’t have to follow you into battle.”“Hm. True,” she concedes. And she really should look into that, she thinks. She and her family, her pack, aren’t cursed anymore, and that has helped a bit, actually. There have been longer breaks between the bad things showing up, enough time for actual rest and recovery. But the bad things still keep coming, and she suspects it has something to do with the Nemeton. Yes, it’s a beacon, drawing in the supernatural—but the things it’s been drawing in have been disproportionately bad. Wrong. Antagonistic. There must be something to that, and if there is, there must be something they can do about it.“Though, the writers could be kinder to the Major in her personal life,” Parrish suggests, tilting his head and looking Cora over thoughtfully. “Not very nice of them to keep killing off her boyfriends.”Cora shrugs noncommittally. “I mean, sure, it’s rude of them to keep dying on her, but she doesn’t need a boyfriend to be a well-developed character. She has much more important things to worry about.”“I suppose,” Parrish says, nodding slowly, eyes narrowed as he considers that. “And besides, whatever it is the show’s been building between her and Denning… That seems like the kind of thing that would be worth the wait.”She hears a jangle of keys and the front door opening as O’Neill lets himself in. “Lucy, I'm ho-ome,” he calls in a sing-song voice.She rolls her eyes fondly. “You need to update your pop culture references, old man,” she calls back to him. There are a few thumps and some more jangling from the entryway as he, presumably, removes his shoes and jacket and sets down his keys before he finally appears.He walks up to the back of the couch, bracing his hands behind her shoulders, and leans over to look down at her. She tilts her face up to look at him upside down. “Who’re you calling old?” He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously and frowns.“I'm just saying,” she shrugs, “you could maybe reference something from this century, at least.”“The age of the reference shouldn’t matter, as long as it's understood,” he argues, glancing over at Parrish for support. Parrish just shrugs a shoulder, though, probably wisely deciding to stay out of it.“You’re gonna run out of references I’m familiar with pretty quickly,” she counters. “You’ve had two lifetimes to stay up-to-date on pop culture; I just got back from a seven-year gap where access was limited. No way I’ll be able to catch up to where you are.”His annoyance fades and his expression turns thoughtful as he looks back down at her. “I’ll make a prioritized list for your re-education,” he promises. “Make sure you see all the most important bits.” And that sounds pretty great, actually. Something to keep her busy between classes, once school starts in the fall. She gives him a slight smile and nod in agreement. He clears his throat and his eyes bounce between her and Parrish. “So, what’s the verdict?”She glances over at Parrish, pretends to think it over for a moment, then shrugs one shoulder and looks back up at O’Neill. “I suppose we can keep him,” she says.He grins wide, briefly, then schools his expression into one of indignant annoyance as he turns to look at his friend. “Years,” he complains. “I’ve been trying for years to get you into this show. And, what, one day of watching with Cora and you’re hooked?”“Clearly you’ve been doing it wrong,” she tells him, raising an eyebrow at him. She’d crafted a curated watchlist of key episodes, a good mix of important plot points, major character development scenes, and fun stories.“Or maybe it was the company,” O’Neill suggests, waggling his eyebrows at Parrish.“Both, I’d say,” Parrish agrees, meeting his eyes steadily and smirking back at him.O’Neill hums thoughtfully, studying his friend for a moment. “Both is good,” he mutters.“Good to know,” Cora observes quietly, smiling to herself as she watches the two of them, filling that thought away for later. She turns her face up to meet O’Neill’s eye as he looks down at her again. “Join us for the next one?”“Duh,” he scoffs, and he pushes himself upright so he can walk around and sit on the couch with them. He claims the empty seat between her and Parrish, propping his feet up on the coffee table and laying one arm behind each of them along the back of the couch. She smirks over at both of them and cues up the next episode.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It hurts, a lot more than she remembers from last time. Last time was a through-and-through in the fleshy part of her midsection. Not comfortable, certainly, but it was over with quickly and she’d started healing right away. That one had just been a normal bullet, too. She’s not as lucky this time.The bullet lands in her shoulder, hits bone, and stays there. She can feel the poison spreading immediately—this close to her heart, she won’t have long.She lets herself fall backwards, knowing strong arms will catch her, hold her safe, lower her slowly. She tunes out his voice, calling her name in a panic. She tunes out the commotion around her—shouting, gunshots, snarling, growling—and focuses on slowing her breathing, slowing her heart. Derek probably hadn’t expected that she’d have to use the skills he’d taught her in this way, but she figures it’s her best shot. She just needs to hold on long enough for Stiles to get to her.The sounds of fighting die down quickly. She knew they would, trusted her people to finish the job even with her incapacitated. She knew, in fact, that her current condition would likely be a highly effective motivator for certain key members of her team to finish it fast. The only noises now are shouting, mostly at and about her, but she ignores all that and focuses inward.She feels hands, pressing on her wound. Hands, checking for a pulse. She focuses, as best she can, on making sure there’s enough of a pulse for them to feel when they check for it. Focuses again, after the check, on slowing her heartbeat to slow the spread of the poison.She feels arms, lifting her now, carrying her away. So Stiles must not have brought the healing device with him, must have left it at home. That’s fine; not ideal, but fine. She’ll have to slow her heartbeat further, to last long enough to get back home. It’ll scare her team—she won’t be able to risk speeding it up again for another pulse check. But she trusts them not to give up on her.Hands, cradling her gently as she’s laid in the back of a car. Voices, speaking to her softly, speaking to each other urgently. The roar of an engine, her body shifting as the car takes the curves a little too quickly. And increasingly, over everything else, pain. Pain from the torn flesh, from the shattered bone. Burning, rotting pain from the wolfsbane spreading through her circulatory system.The car screeches to a stop, and arms lift her again, carry her into a room that smells safe, smells like home. The arms set her down, pull away. And once again, pain overwhelms her. Intensifies briefly, as the device starts its work, then fades into something more manageable. She can relax now, allows herself to release her focus, allows her heartbeat and breathing to return to normal. And, at last, allows her mind to slip into unconsciousness as her body finishes the healing process.She awakens slowly, a while later. She doesn't know how long it's been, but it's still light outside, so not too long. She’s laying on her bed, on top of the covers. Someone is holding her hand. Voices are speaking softly nearby. She takes a breath and squeezes the hand once before opening her eyes.“Guys—hey, guys! She’s awake!” Stiles squeezes her hand back, and she blinks her eyes open to see three sets of worried eyes looking down at her.The Sheriff reaches over and squeezes her arm, smiling warmly. “Hey, kid. How you feeling?”She takes a moment to assess before answering, shifting up so she’s partially seated against the head of her bed. “Little bit sore,” she answers honestly, “but almost back to normal. Hungry, though.” Healing always makes her hungry. She’ll need the calories, especially protein, to refuel and re-energize after all the hard work her body’s done. “Nice work with the healing,” she tells Stiles, squeezing his hand again and smiling gratefully. “Got it just in time.”“You scared me,” he accuses, glaring at her. “You’d stopped breathing, we couldn’t find your pulse. We thought we’d—” He cuts himself off, lips pressed tight, and looks away.“I know,” she tells him, rolling her eyes. “I had to, to slow the poison long enough for you to get to me.”His eyes snap back up to meet hers, and he gapes at her for a moment. “You—you did that on purpose?” His voice rises in pitch at the end, accusingly. “That—why? How?”She shrugs, ignoring the slight tension in her shoulder. “That thing you and Derek do. Needed to slow my heart so I didn’t die of wolfsbane poisoning before you could do your thing.” She looks around at all of them, meets their eyes. Stiles’ expression is an interesting combination of awed and betrayed. The Sheriff looks impressed and a little bemused. O’Neill’s face is, very deliberately, very carefully, blank. “Sorry for scaring you,” she says quietly to all of them, eyes lingering on O’Neill a moment longer before turning back to Stiles.“Didn’t know you could do that,” Stiles grumbles, then squeezes her hand one more time before pulling away. “Just… don’t do that again.” He stands, pointing a finger at her accusingly, and turns to storm out of the room.The Sheriff huffs in amusement, shaking his head at Stiles’ antics. He reaches down and squeezes Cora’s hand once. “Glad you’re back with us,” he says, meeting her eye steadily.“The hunters?” she asks.His expression darkens, fury clouding his eyes momentarily. “The ones that made it out alive are with Chris, now. None of them will hurt us again.”She nods once, satisfied. “Good.” They'd had no good reason to be here, just wanted to attack for the sake of it. Racist pricks, thought all supernatural creatures were the same, should be killed off, just for being what they are. She doesn’t need to ask what Chris will do to the survivors, just trusts that the situation is now, permanently, resolved.He lets go of her hand and pats her arm twice. “I'll go make you some grilled cheese. Come down whenever you're ready.” He smiles benevolently down at her, then leaves the room, patting O’Neill on the shoulder as he passes, shutting the door behind him on his way out.The silence is tense, awkward. It grows for several long moments. O'Neill holds himself stiff, unmoving, several steps away. She watches him, starts to fidget. Finally, she sighs. “Look, you know I had to—”“I know,” he snaps. “I know why you—” he stops himself, takes a breath, looks away. “I know what would've happened if you hadn't. I don't have to like it.”“I heal,” she reminds him. “I'm fine. You wouldn't have been. I had to. I'm not apologizing for that, ever.” If she hadn't taken that bullet, it would have taken him, and that wasn't something she could've been okay with.He moves, at last. He sighs heavily, scrubbing both hands down his face, then steps closer so he can sit on the edge of the bed next to her. He doesn't look at her yet, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, hands braced on his knees. He takes another breath before he speaks again. “We almost lost you,” he says quietly.She shakes her head decisively. “You didn't. I knew what I was doing. I knew I'd be fine, knew you’d all take care of me. It was a calculated risk.”His head whips up, turns to her, eyes wide. “A calculated risk—” He stares at her, mouth open in shock. “You—Cora,” he breathes, “please tell me you're kidding.”She meets his eyes steadily, sets her jaw. “I knew what I was doing,” she repeats firmly. “It was the best way to get all of us out alive.”He stares for several more moments, blinking a few times as he processes what she's said. Finally, though, some of the tension drains out of his shoulders, and he brings a hand up to scrub at his face. She pretends not to notice as he wipes the moisture away from his eyes with the heel of his palm. “God, Cora, you're just…” he trails off, shaking his head.She slides her hand over to tug at his sleeve, then lets her hand rest on his wrist. “I was right, you know,” she says, holding his gaze. “We all got home safe. And you all took care of me.”He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, dropping his head, then turns and looks up at her again. He swivels his body to face her as well, this time, and flips his hand so he's holding her by the wrist, now, too. “Of course we did,” he answers with conviction. “And of course you knew we would.” He scoots a few inches closer to her. “We always would.”She tugs his wrist, and he scoots a few more inches closer, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. “I am sorry for scaring you,” she reiterates, voice gentle, closing her eyes for a moment.He brings his free hand up to her shoulder, gently brushing his thumb over the bullet hole in her shirt, then slides his hand around to the back of her head, just holding her there while they both breathe. “I'd ask you never to do that again, but—”“I won't make promises I can't keep,” she mutters.He nods, and their noses bump together. “I know,” he whispers. He sighs one more time and pulls away. “Get changed so you can go downstairs to eat,” he orders, picking at her bloodstained shirt. “I'll meet you down there.”“Meet you down there,” she agrees. She squeezes his wrist one more time, lets go, and watches him walk out. She swings her legs off the side of the bed, pushes up to her feet, pulls off her ruined shirt as she walks over to her dresser for a fresh one. She stares down at the shirt for a moment, pokes a finger through the bullet hole, perilously close to where her heart had been. It really was a close call; she hadn’t let herself appreciate just how close it was, how badly things could’ve gone if she didn’t have this crew on her side, if they weren’t equipped with the tools they have now.She shakes those thoughts out of her head and tosses the shirt in the trash, fishes out her softest shirt from a drawer. She’ll shower later, wash away the last of the blood and grime from the fight. But for now, grilled cheese sandwiches and three of her favorite people are waiting for her downstairs.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I just don’t get it,” Scott complains. “I mean, I’m the True Alpha. What does she have that I don’t?”Stiles rubs the back of his neck and winces. “You mean, aside from multiple generations’ worth of knowledge on how werewolves work, exceptionally precise control over her own abilities, open communication with all relevant involved parties, and a knack for getting us out of even the toughest situations all in one piece?”“She’s mean,” Scott continues as if Stiles hadn’t said anything. “She punched me, you know—”“More than eight years ago, Scott,” Stiles reminds him, rolling his eyes.“—Just for trying to be her friend.” Scott crosses his arms and scowls.Stiles sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s not how it happened,” he says. “She asked you to leave her alone, and you wouldn’t take no for an answer. Punching you was her last resort.”“For trying to be her friend,” Scott repeats vehemently, eyes wide, as if intent overrides any need for consent. And maybe it does, in Scott’s point-of-view. That would explain a lot, actually, about the way Scott treats the people around him. How he’d used Derek against Gerard, and turning Liam, as the most prominent examples, but honestly there are too many incidents to list them all.“It’s not like she’s out there trying to undermine you on purpose,” Stiles says, instead of delving into any of that right now. Scott won’t hear it if he tries. Best not to veer off track, at the moment.“First Isaac, now Liam? Why couldn’t she just leave them all alone?” Scott throws up his hands in exasperation.“Okay, first of all,” Stiles says, massaging his temples. “Isaac approached her. It was his idea from the start. And she didn’t even accept him right away. It was a whole process. And Liam—”“I’m the one who turned him,” Scott says, “and we were doing just fine before she came along.”“Liam needed training,” Stiles continues, “from someone experienced. You remember what he was like, those first full moons—”“We had it under control,” Scott insists.“She offered to help, and you accepted,” Stiles reminds him. “And again, he approached her about joining her pack. She never even thought about suggesting he’d want to switch.”Scott rolls his eyes. “God, Stiles, you almost make it sound like you want to join her pack,” he accuses, and—oh. Shit.Stiles sucks in a breath. “I, um.” He rubs the scar on the back of his neck again, silently cursing himself for forgetting to have this conversation with Scott before now. “I am in her pack,” he mumbles.“Uh, no, you’re not?” Scott says, obviously confused, brow furrowed deeply. “You’re mine.”“Look, Scott,” Stiles sighs, shoulders drooping, resigning himself to this truly, deeply awkward moment. “I’m your best friend. And you’re my brother, in every way that matters. I love you, buddy. Always will. But I don’t belong to you.” He takes a breath to brace himself for the mess he’s sure will come next. “And I’m not in your pack.”Scott gapes at him, too shocked to speak for a moment. “But you—no. You are, you have to be.”“I do not have to be anything, Scott,” he says, enunciating each word slowly in the hopes that Scott will hear and understand him.“You left me for her? Without even telling me?” Scott practically screeches.“Not for her—not just for her,” Stiles corrects, because, honestly, Cora actually is becoming one of his closest friends. And if he were really honest, he’d also have to admit that he respects her a lot more than he respects Scott right now. “For Derek, and my Dad, and myself.” And if he were continuing the honesty, he’d also admit that Cora makes him feel respected, and appreciated, and listened to. All things he never felt while a de facto member of Scott’s pack.“I just—I don’t believe this,” Scott says, sounding betrayed. His eyes are wide, shoulders drooping. “How could you?”“Scott,” Stiles sighs heavily, “look, it’s not even about you—”“I can’t—” Scott shakes his head, expression closing off. “I can’t do this with you right now.” He turns to leave.“Scott, just—” Stiles reaches out, tries to stop him with a hand on his arm.“Not now, Stiles,” Scott snaps, and he storms out, slamming the door behind him.Stiles scrubs both hands down his face and takes one long, slow, even breath. “Well, that could’ve gone better,” he mutters to himself. “Ah, fuck.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Hey—” Cora says, knocking on the frame of Stiles’ open bedroom door, “wanna see if we can break another curse?”His face lights up immediately, just as she knew it would. “Oh hell yes.” He pushes himself up to his feet, starts looking around for supplies he thinks he might need. “What’s cursed this time? What do I need to bring? Who all is helping?”She leans against his door frame and crosses her arms, watching him bemusedly as he rummages around. “The Nemeton,” she answers, “probably just your hand device, and just you and me today.” She knows his latest conversation with Scott hadn’t gone well; he needs a distraction, a project, a challenge.He freezes momentarily and looks up at her, frowning. “You think the Nemeton is cursed?”She shrugs one shoulder. “Cursed, corrupted, poisoned… whatever you want to call it. It’s a beacon, as it’s supposed to be, but lately it mostly just draws in the bad stuff. I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work.”“Oh, shit, you’re right,” he breathes, eyes wide. “How had I not noticed that?”“You should know by now, I’m always right,” she jokes. “Now get your butt in gear, daylight’s a-wastin’”“Yeah, sure, let me just—” he rummages in one of his desk drawers for a second, then emerges triumphantly with his hand device. “Now let’s get this show on the road,” he declares, practically skipping out the door.She rolls her eyes fondly and follows him out. He chatters nonstop on the drive out to the preserve, about his latest Wikipedia research spiral. It’s not a topic she has any particular interest in, but she’s content to listen to him talk about it anyway. His enthusiasm has a way of making pretty much any topic interesting enough to engage with, even if only briefly. She knows, at some point, she’ll need to get him talking about whatever happened between him and Scott, but she doesn’t need to push. He’ll get there on his own, when he’s ready. For now, if he wants to talk about textile manufacturing in ancient Mongolia instead, she can let him do that.The topic finally does shift once they park and start the walk out to the clearing, but only to the current project. Which is also fine; if he wants to keep avoiding the Big Problem Subject, talking about the current project is the next best thing.“So, why today?” he asks, stepping carefully over a tree root on the path.“Why, did you have other plans?” She knows he didn’t, and neither did she.“Well, no, but like, is there a specific reason you want to do this now?”Aside from giving Stiles a healthy outlet for his frustrations with his friend? But she won’t mention that. He probably knows that’s one of the reasons, anyway. “Can’t a girl just want to break a curse on a lazy Tuesday afternoon?”“Normally, I’d say yes,” he says, studying her thoughtfully. “But I know you. That’s not why. And it’s not just because of my thing with Scott, either.”Ah, so he had picked up on that. Honestly, she hadn’t expected any less from him. She just hadn’t been sure if he’d be bold enough to bring it up. She takes one slow, deep breath to collect herself. “That last big fight, with the hunters…” she admits quietly, “it could’ve ended very badly. I knew we’d make it through, but I don’t want to have to do that again.”He inhales sharply, clearly not expecting that response. “Well, um—” he clears his throat, frowning as he steps around a rock on the trail. “Good, because none of us want you to have to do that again, either.”She studies him for a moment, wondering just how much he knows—or suspects—about her strategy that day. Probably all of it, she thinks. Whether he allows himself to realize it consciously or not, he and O’Neill are probably the only ones who understand. And Stiles is probably the only one who would’ve backed her play every step of the way, if she’d been able to tell him beforehand.Stiles looks over at her curiously as the silence stretches between them. “But also. Why just me, today?” he asks, clearly sensing her need for a change of subject. “You could’ve brought the rest of the pack. Or, I guess—” he lifts his left hand and wiggles his gold-capped fingers to indicate his hand device, “—O’Neill, at least, is read in on everything.”She sighs, and tries to think of a way to explain this to someone who isn’t as hopelessly introverted as she is. “You know I’m not… great. With people,” she starts.He snorts. “Understatement.”“Rude.” She glares at him for a moment, because she has been working on getting better at that, at being present, staying cordial even when she’s overstimulated. “I had no one but Ernest, for a lot of my formative years, and he wasn’t exactly a great conversationalist. But even before that, I wasn’t really a people person.”“Oh, I know,” he nods, smirking. “Scott’s still not over it.”“That was one time,” she laments, rolling her eyes. But, truth be told, she doesn’t mind that Scott still gives her a wide berth. Prefers it that way, actually. “But anyway. I get… all peopled out, pretty quickly. My social battery isn’t very high capacity, and some people are exceptionally draining.”He considers that for a moment. “So, what, I’m somehow the least draining option?” His voice is a little incredulous, and his eyes are sparkling in amused disbelief. “Gotta say, that’s not the reaction I usually elicit.”She huffs in amusement, eyes crinkling, because, sure. It’s a little counterintuitive at first glance. Stiles is brash, often loud, rarely reserved, at least publicly. But that’s not the only facet of his personality, and she’s seen other sides of him now. He’s unfailingly generous with the people he loves, fiercely protective, and almost as ruthless as Cora herself is. And contrary to popular opinion, he does, in fact, know when and how to shut up, if the situation calls for it. “People are exhausting. But the people I know best, trust the most…” she explains slowly, hoping he’ll understand, “aren’t always people, to me. You know?”He blinks a few times, head tilted to the side as he ponders her words. “Y’know,” he says at last, “I never thought I’d be grateful, not to be considered a person. But that’s… That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”She can’t contain a snicker at that. “That’s kinda sad, dude,” she tells him. She’ll have to tell Derek he needs to use his words more often, if Stiles reacts this positively to her awkward declaration. Stiles would surely lose his actual mind, if Derek ever managed to say aloud all the things she knows he feels for Stiles.“Oh, I'm aware,” Stiles agrees with her, grinning wide. “You know what, though?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her. “You're not always people to me, either.”“Aw, thanks, buddy.” She grins back at him and punches him lightly on the arm as they finally step into the clearing where the stump of the Nemeton waits for them.“So do we really think this will work?” he asks, absently rubbing the bicep she’d just punched.She shrugs. “We really think it's worth a try, at least,” she says. “Worked on me. Why not this, too?”“The Nogitsune and the Goa'uld were buried under the tree for decades. Wouldn't surprise me in the least if their influence is what killed it.” He looks down at the stump, frowning thoughtfully. “Think we'll be enough? I’m not even actually Goa’uld anymore—”“We've always been enough,” she says decisively. “Come on. Power of love, remember? We've got this.”She climbs up onto the stump and folds her legs in front of her, facing the center of the tree’s rings. Stiles joins her, mirroring her position. “So how do we start?” he asks, fidgeting a little as he tries to make himself comfortable.She drums her fingers against her knee for a moment while she considers their options. “Think you could hold a connection with me, even with that pointed elsewhere?” she asks, pointing at his hand device. She’s not sure what the limitations of the device are, but Stiles has always been down for testing the boundaries so far.He frowns as he ponders that. “Establish a connection, then hold onto it and redirect both of us…” he mutters to himself, brow furrowed. He shrugs and looks up at her. “No idea if it’ll work. I don’t think anyone’s ever tried before. But, hey, first time for everything?” He holds his unadorned right hand out to her, palm up.“Works for extending the shield,” she reminds him, placing her hand in his. “And your spark can give us a boost.”“I’m not actually sure that’s how it works,” he says with an amused half-smile.“If we believe it can work, there’s a better-than-average chance it will.” She knows that from experience, now. Stiles has been able to accomplish quite a few seemingly-impossible feats; pretty much anything is worth a try, if they’re brave enough to give it a shot. “Ready when you are.”“Right, okay,” he shakes himself a little, loosening his shoulders, then brings his left hand up to point his palm at her forehead. The jewel on his palm starts to glow, and she closes her eyes to join him in their mindscape.The last time they’d linked like this, his presence had been much more probing, exploratory. He’d been hunting Osiris’s curse within her, burning it away with energy he’d gathered from her amulet. This time, his presence feels more like an invitation. And it’s one she answers readily, bringing with her everything that makes her who she is, and everything that ties her to this town and its people.She can feel his focus shift as he points his palm straight down at the heart of the Nemeton, but she doesn’t lose the connection with him. She’d take a moment to celebrate that, the triumph of accomplishing something they hadn’t been sure would be possible—if not for the immediate, overwhelming darkness they’re immersed in when they connect with the Nemeton.No wonder it’s been drawing in everything wrong and dangerous, she thinks. And from his sharp intake of breath, she knows Stiles is thinking the same thing. She feels his presence waver, doubt setting in, as he takes in the enormity of their task. She sets her jaw and sends back a wave of unerring determination. She needs him to be all in, if this is going to have any hope of working. It takes him a moment, but he steels himself, finally matching her resolve. She leads the charge, pushing herself into every tendril and crevice of the Nemeton’s presence, burning away every last shred of wrongness she finds, replacing it with love and safety and hope. Stiles follows her lead, reaching deep into the corners and edges of everything, making sure no part of the Nemeton remains untouched.It’s exhausting work. She loses track of time, loses all sense of everything except the Nemeton and Stiles and her own determination. They keep at it until she’s satisfied that they’ve done all they can. The connection fades slowly, and she blinks her eyes open to a darkened forest, starlight peeking through the treetops.She winces as she moves stiff limbs, trying to coax life back into her extremities. She releases Stiles’ hand slowly, wiggling her fingers, shaking her arms, getting the blood flowing again.“Ah, fuck, ow,” Stiles groans. “Moving hurts.” He hisses in pain as he, too, tries to restore blood flow to his extremities.“Should’ve brought cushions,” she grumbles, swinging her legs around to place her feet on the ground, pushing herself upright slowly. Her legs are a bit shaky after so many hours sitting unmoving on a hard surface, but she steadies after a moment.Stiles doesn’t bother trying to stand just yet, just flops back and lays down, sprawled across the stump, feet dangling off the edge. “Do we think it worked?” he asks, tilting his head so he can look her in the eye.“Only time will tell for sure,” she says with a shrug, “but, yeah, we think it might’ve worked.”“Awesome,” he breathes, and closes his eyes. “‘M just gonna take a nap for a bit, ‘kay?”“Nap sounds excellent,” she agrees, “but I’d rather do that at home, in a bed.”Stiles flaps a hand at her carelessly, keeping his eyes shut. “Don’t have the energy to drive right now. Call my Dad, he’ll come give us a ride. We can get the Jeep tomorrow.”“You’re a genius,” she tells him, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She texts instead of calling, but the result is the same; the Sheriff responds moments later to let her know he’s on his way. She sits back down on the edge of the stump next to Stiles to wait. She leans her weight back on her hands, tilting her face up to the sky so she can watch the stars. “Hey, Stiles?”“Hmm?” She hears him shift slightly.“Thanks for today.” And she doesn’t just mean his assistance with the curse. She means all of today, even his conversation with Scott.He bumps a hand against her arm, and she looks down to see him staring at her intently. “Curse-busting bros for life,” he declares, holding out a fist.She grins and bumps her fist against his. “For life,” she promises.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Derek had known this was coming. His linguistic skills weren't the only reason the SGC had recruited him, after all; it was only a matter of time before they called on him to use the skills he was born with, instead of the ones he'd honed with years of study.It's not like this is the first time he's seeing combat, either. The Lucian Alliance seem to have some sort of vendetta against SG-1, especially Cam, and Derek has been on several missions that have gone sideways fast because of it. But each of those times, he’d been only one member of a whole team. This time is different.This mission is his, alone. It’s safer, this way, strangely enough. The fewer people who know how he’s doing this, the better.“You’re sure about this?” Cam asks him, one more time, as he waits in the ‘Gate room for the go-ahead from the General. One last survey from the MALP to make sure the coast is clear, and he’s going through alone. “Going in without backup—”“I’m sure,” Derek tells him, again. He’d roll his eyes, if the situation weren’t so serious.Cam sighs and claps him on the shoulder. “Just… stay low, stay in the shadows. You don’t need me to tell you—”Derek nods. “I know.” He knows how badly things could go, if this goes wrong. And he knows what he needs to do, to make sure that doesn’t happen.“All clear, Hale,” General Landry calls over the intercom. Derek looks up at the window to the control room and meets his eyes. “Mission is a go.”Derek salutes him, then looks back at Cam. “I’ve got this,” he assures him.Cam sighs and steps back. “Four hours, Hale. If you don't have him back by then—”“I'll have him.” He pats Cam on the arm, then walks up the ramp and through the Stargate. No room for hesitation or doubt here. He knows the stakes.He slips into the woods as soon as he’s through, and finds the densest thicket he can. He undresses, tucking his clothes, gun, and radio into the bushes, then shifts into his wolf form. He’s nearly invisible like this, in the dark. It won’t be too hard to stay out of sight.It isn’t hard to find the scent trail, either. The kidnappers were careful not to leave footprints, but they clearly weren’t expecting to be hunted by someone with Derek’s skill set.He stalks through the forest silently. If the situation weren't so dire, he'd take a moment to appreciate how similar this forest is to the redwoods back home. As it is, he just lets that vague sense of familiarity calm him, help keep him centered.An hour of tracking finally brings him to their camp. He circles the entire perimeter, calculating the best approach. The guards in the east quadrant seem to know what they're doing, blocking the most direct approach, checking in with each other regularly. The north and west quadrant guards are slightly less competent, slightly less alert, but still would be tricky to get past undetected. The south quadrant is a different story.He understands why; the terrain is tricky, the forest thicker. A human would find infiltration from the south nearly impossible. So they'd assigned their most careless guards there, and spaced them out to cover more ground with fewer men. Why waste resources there, when other approaches would make more sense? Surely they'd hear the commotion if anyone were reckless enough to approach from the south, but no one in their right mind would try. Right?There are too many, though, to slip in completely unnoticed, and too many in the tent with the prisoner not to become problematic once he gets past the guards. He’ll need to draw some of them out, create a diversion.He circles around to the north and allows one of the guards to see him—just a hint of his silhouette against the trees, making himself look as big and ominous as possible, growling and letting his eyes glow bright blue for a moment, before slipping back into the shadows and disappearing again.He slips over to the east, next, as swiftly and silently as he can manage, and emits a long, low howl that, paired with the mist filtering through the trees, unsettles the guards. There’s some chatter now, on their radios. He has them spooked. He deliberately rustles a branch, disconcertingly close to one of the eastern guards, and flashes his eyes again before disappearing again into the darkness.Back to the north, then, and he howls again, letting a different guard see him this time. He leads that guard into a brief chase, luring him away and into the forest before abruptly disappearing into the shadows once more. The guard calls for backup, and Derek abandons them to their search, slipping around to the south to begin his approach.Derek stays in the shadows, slipping silently behind the outermost guard. The man is dozing, leaning against a tree, apparently completely undisturbed by the chatter over his radio. It’s easy, then, for Derek to shift to human, just long enough to reach out and silently snap the man’s neck, before shifting back. He repeats this process with the next few guards, cutting as direct an escape route as he can manage.He backtracks, once his path is clear, and circles around to the east again, luring another small search party out on a fruitless pursuit through the woods. He attacks one, this time, leaving him bloody but still alive, ranting and raving about the monster in the woods. The chatter over their radios now lets Derek know his plan was a success; they’re sending a larger force out, now, to search for a creature they’ll never find.The pathway he’d carved to the south is still clear, and he has no trouble slipping through and into the tent where they’re holding Daniel. He’s beaten and shackled, but he’ll still be able to walk out, even on the rough terrain to the south, with Derek there to guide him.He makes quick work of the two guards that had stayed behind in the tent, dispatching them swiftly in a flurry of teeth and claws. They don’t even have time to draw their weapons before Derek’s done with them. He gently picks the keys off of one of the bodies with his teeth and drops them into Daniel’s waiting hands. “Derek? Did they send you here alone?” Daniel hisses incredulously. Derek rolls his eyes and nudges the keys to remind Daniel they need to get moving.He performs a brief inventory of Daniel’s wounds as he unshackles himself with shaking hands. Bruised or possibly broken ribs on his right side; bruises all over his face and arms; blood still oozing slowly from a several-hours-old gash on his forehead; sprained or broken fingers on his left hand. Derek nudges his nose under Daniel’s left hand and draws out as much of the pain as he can manage without clouding his own senses. Daniel gasps and almost drops the keys. “Did I know you could do that?” he asks, eyes wide, keeping his voice low.Derek huffs a breath and nudges the keys again.“Right. Outta here first,” Daniel nods begrudgingly, refocusing on freeing himself. “But we are so gonna talk about this when we get home.”The walk back to the Stargate takes nearly twice as long as it had taken Derek to get out there alone; Daniel can’t move quickly with his injured ribs, and he can’t see well in the dark. They also need to occasionally dodge search parties, once the kidnappers finally realize they’d escaped. But they do make it back to the ‘Gate before Derek’s deadline.Derek slips into the forest where he’d hidden his clothes and gear, shifts back to human, and gets dressed while Daniel dials the ‘Gate for them. He emerges from the woods just as the ‘Gate whooshes open, and he types his Iris code into his transmitter. “Infirmary first,” he tells Daniel, before the older man can start in with any questions. “Debrief after.”“Fine,” Daniel agrees with a scowl, “but you’re not off the hook for this. You’re explaining everything, as soon as I’m patched up.”He knows there will be rumors, now, amongst the survivors they’re leaving behind here today. Rumors of a beast in the forest, a shadow with glowing blue eyes that takes lives silently or leaves them mauled beyond recognition. Will the beast be tied to this place, this planet? Or will they associate it instead with the warriors of the Tau’ri, an avenging angel protecting its own?Whichever way this goes, though, the important thing is that Daniel is getting home safe, and no one else from the SGC needs to know how.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I’m pretty sure this is supposed to be impossible,” Colonel Carter says again, but her eyes are sparkling bright with interest now.“Impossible is just a state of mind, in my experience,” Stiles says with a smirk, still focused on his tinkering. Just a few more adjustments, and the Colonel’s hand device will be ready.“How did you even figure out how to do this?” she asks, peering over to watch him work.That makes Stiles pause. His Dad had told him his ability to access the Goa’uld memories was unique, but surely he hadn’t meant it was this unique? “Did… did your symbiote not know how to tune their hand device?”“Well, the Tok’ra don’t use the hand devices as often as—” she starts, then cuts off with a frown. “Wait. Can you just… access your Goa’uld memories at will? All of them?”“You mean, you can’t?” It kind of doesn't seem like it should even be possible, not remembering all of that. The moment the Goa'uld had fully blended with him—several thousand years in stasis had slowed its takeover enough to make Stiles worry he’d just been losing his mind instead—all of its memories had settled into Stiles' brain and mixed with his own. It had taken weeks of self reflection to get his mind in order to a point where he could function again.“No, I usually need to use a memory recall device any time I even want to try,” Carter says, shaking her head as if trying to dislodge the bad memories. “Especially if I'm trying to remember something specific.”“Huh.” Stiles blinks a few times as he processes that. “Must be nice,” he mutters, turning his attention back to his tinkering.“I wouldn’t exactly say nice,” she admits quietly. “The nightmares I’ve had since the blending—”He looks up at her abruptly, eyes wide. “You get those nightmares, too?” From the way she said it, he knows exactly which ones she means. They’re different from normal nightmares; he’s had those for years, of varying types and intensity, and more since finding out about werewolves. But the nightmares he’s had since he served as host to a Goa’uld are intense in a completely different way.“They’re so vivid, aren’t they?” she leans toward him, gaze intense. “I mean, my PTSD nightmares from the war and the ‘Gate travel are nothing compared to the ones I get from the Goa’uld.”“Yours was a Tok’ra, though,” Stiles says, frowning in confusion. “I’d have thought they’d have some… better memories? Or something?” He remembers every person his Goa’uld had tortured, enslaved, abused; remembers how it had felt to commit unspeakable atrocities; remembers that insatiable lust for power and the absolute lack of conscience.She shakes her head, expression grim. “Centuries of covert ops, being captured and tortured by the Goa’uld countless times? She may not have committed the atrocities, but being the victim of them isn’t any less of a nightmare.”“Oh.” He winces. He hadn’t thought about that aspect of it. “Right. Sorry ‘bout that.”Her expression softens a bit. “Not like it was your fault,” she says gently.But something tugs at his memories, and he can't stop himself from asking— “What was her name? Your Tok’ra?”Her brow furrows in confusion. “Jolinar of Malkshur. Why?”He feels the blood drain from his face. “Oh, shit. Um.” He rubs the scar on the back of his neck, then pinches the bridge of his nose as he takes a breath to compose himself. “Actually. Some of it… was my fault,” he admits quietly, voice coming out oddly hollow even to his own ears. “My symbiote’s, I mean, but. I remember doing it. And, I’m sorry.” The things it had done to her… it was unforgivable.“Oh,” she breathes, looking a little shocked. “Wow. I—” she leans back in her chair, staring at him. She shakes herself a little and a small wrinkle forms between her eyebrows. “I mean, it still wasn’t actually your fault, but. Thanks.”He sighs, rubs his temples, then turns his focus back to his tinkering. Only a few small adjustments left, then— “There. All done.” He sets down his tools and pushes the hand device toward her. “Wanna test it out now?”She picks it up hesitantly, but doesn’t put it on. “I’m not very good with it,” she admits. “I’ve never quite been able to control what comes out of it. Whatever I point it at usually just kind of… explodes.”“It responds best to intent,” he explains. “You have to focus on what you want to achieve. Don’t think about all the ways it can go wrong.”She raises her eyebrows skeptically. “Asking me not to think about something is pretty much guaranteed to make it impossible to think about anything else,” she says.And boy, does he ever get that. He snorts. “Right. Bad example.”“I think I’ll test it later, but,” she says, frowning down at the device, apparently deep in thought, “do you think you could do another? We have one more person on base who I think would love to use this with your modifications.”“Oh, for sure,” he nods enthusiastically. “And did you want yours to have a shield? I haven’t mastered the fine-tuning on mine, yet, but I can install the base version, no problem, and give it an upgrade once I figure out the tricky bits.”“You can install a shield…” She blinks a few times, then tilts her head in interest. “What other Goa’uld tech could you help us figure out?”“Um,” he rubs his neck again, furrowing his brow, “probably a lot of it? Susanoo was surprisingly knowledgeable about the tech he used. He liked to experiment.” It had earned him quite the reputation amongst his fellow System Lords.She nods slowly, and he can practically see the gears turning in her mind as she thinks. “I’ll work up a list of projects I’d like your expertise on, then, if you’re interested.”“If I’m interested? Are you kidding me?” To be able to turn the horrors in his brain into something useful, maybe even something good? Nothing would interest him more.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I'm pretty sure I've had this nightmare before," Stiles hears someone say from the doorway. He grins and looks over to see Derek leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, a wary expression on his face."Aw, wolfy, don't be jealous,” Vala teases, her grin predatory, eyes sparkling with delight. “We’ll give him back to you when we’re done. Probably mostly intact.”“Not jealous,” Derek says with a shudder. “Terrified. Colonel, not that I don’t trust you to know what you’re doing, but are you sure putting these two together is a good idea?”Colonel Carter’s grin is nearly as devious as Vala’s. “Almost certainly not,” she says. “But damned if this isn’t the most fun I’ve had in years.”“I don’t suppose General Landry knows what you all are working on in here—” His eyes narrow suspiciously. “What, exactly, are you working on, by the way?”“You probably don’t want to know,” Carter answers, which Stiles can tell does nothing to soothe Derek’s worries.“What the General doesn’t know can’t hurt him,” Stiles says, winking at Derek. “So did you interrupt us for a reason, or are you just here to spoil all our fun?” he teases, and from Derek’s answering eye roll, he can see that most of Derek’s trepidation is a front. There’s a line of tension in his shoulders, though, that gives Stiles pause.“Didn’t know you’d be here,” Derek says, pushing himself upright and taking a few steps into the room.“The Colonel here had a project for me,” Stiles tells him. “Goa’uld stuff.” He tilts his head and looks Derek over, trying to figure out what could be bothering him.Derek hesitates a moment, glancing briefly at the two women in the room before his eyes land on Stiles again. “I—” he cuts himself off, clears his throat, takes a breath. “I’ve missed you,” he admits quietly.Stiles blinks a few times in surprise. “Oh. I, um.” He ducks his head and scratches the back of his neck. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing, which he’s certain Vala will tease him about later. “I missed you, too,” he mutters. Smiling like a fool, too, no doubt.“Vala, why don’t we go get some lunch?” Carter suggests, louder than necessary. “Let Stiles have a moment alone with his boyfriend.”“Oh, but I wanted to watch—” Vala starts, cutting off when Carter grabs her arm and drags her toward the door. “Ow! Okay, fine, fine, I’m going. So mean—” Carter rolls her eyes and pulls the door shut behind them. Stiles can still hear Vala’s muffled complaints as they retreat down the hallway.Stiles is about to speak when Derek raises a hand to stop him, head cocked to the side as if listening for something. And he probably is, actually—waiting until Carter and Vala are long out of werewolf-enhanced earshot. He finally clears his throat and turns his gaze directly onto Stiles. “Boyfriend?” Derek asks with one eyebrow raised as he stalks closer.Stiles shrugs but stands his ground. “I mean, it's not an entirely inaccurate label…”Derek stops, one step away, and hooks his fingers in the belt loops of Stiles' jeans. “Not entirely accurate, either, though, is it?”“Is there one you think fits us better?” He knows it’s a dangerous game he’s playing, here. Knows, also, that if he pushes too hard at the wrong thing, Derek will close himself off, and all the progress they’ve made together will be reset to zero.“Stiles—” Derek closes his eyes for a moment and takes a breath. “You know I’m—”“Derek,” he brings his left hand up to rest on the back of Derek’s neck, slides his right hand up to land on Derek’s bicep. It’s probably a bad idea, doing this here, and now, but honestly, there’s probably never going to be a good time for this conversation anyway. “I’m gonna say something. You might hate me for it, but I need you to hear this.”“Stiles, don’t—” Derek tenses, body shifting as if he’s about to pull away, but Stiles tightens his grip.“If the only thing that’s stopping you is what Kate did to you, then you need to hear this.” Derek flinches, but he doesn’t step away, so Stiles will count that as a win. “You aren’t at fault for what she did. You were hurting, and she manipulated you. Everything she did is on her.”“Peter blamed me,” Derek reminds him softly, eyes drifting down and to the side. “Even—even Laura—”“They were wrong,” Stiles states firmly, squeezing the back of Derek’s neck to draw his focus back. “And Cora doesn’t blame you.”Derek scoffs softly and shakes his head. “How would you even know that?”Stiles shrugs. “We talk. A lot, actually. She’s kind of my best friend, these days.”Derek’s eyes narrow, and he studies Stiles’ face suspiciously. “What—did something happen with Scott?”“Don’t change the subject.” The Scott conversation isn’t one he wants to have right now. And anyway, it’s not relevant at the moment. “Look, the point is—I’ve seen inside your brain. You’re nothing like Kate. You would never—could never—do to me what she did to you. And you've seen inside my brain, too. You know what this is, for me. And you know I could never hurt you like she did.”Derek’s eyes search his for a moment. “No. If you ever did want to hurt me, you could hurt me so much worse.”And, fair enough. He could absolutely destroy Derek, if he wanted to. “But you know I wouldn't,” he says, meeting Derek's gaze steadily.“I know you wouldn't,” Derek confirms quietly. He unhooks one hand from Stiles’ belt loops and splays his palm against Stiles’ hip.“Do you need me to show you again?” he offers, sliding his left hand up a bit to card his fingers through Derek's hair. It's a little awkward, with the hand device, but Derek doesn't seem to notice or care.Derek shakes his head minutely, careful not to dislodge Stiles' hand. “I think it's my turn to show you, actually,” he mutters, and he tugs Stiles a half-step closer.Stiles inhales sharply and slides his right hand from Derek’s bicep to his chest, resting it over his heart. Not pushing away, just holding him still for a moment. “You know you don’t have to—I can wait, as long as you need, for you to be ready.”Derek unhooks his other hand from Stiles’ belt loop and brings it up behind his head so he can tap the back of Stiles’ hand device. “Let me show you,” he insists gently, and he brings his hand around to rest his palm against Stiles’ neck, over his scar.Stiles searches his eyes for a moment, but doesn’t see any of the doubt or fear that would usually lurk in their depths. “Right, okay. I’ll just—” he leans forward to press their foreheads together and closes his eyes as he wills the device to activate, leaving his mind open for whatever it is Derek wants to share.He almost doesn’t see, at first, what Derek is trying to show him. It builds slowly and blends so thoroughly with Stiles’ own thoughts and feelings that he almost misses the way Derek’s feelings mirror his own. He almost misses the way Derek is trying to show him the depths to which their existences are intertwined. There are bits of Stiles in nearly everything Derek does and thinks, just as there are bits of Derek in everything Stiles is now. He almost misses it—but then he doesn’t. And once he sees it, he can’t unsee it. Nor would he want to, ever. He wants to live in this sensation forever.And, actually, maybe he can.“Oh,” Stiles breathes as he relaxes the connection. It doesn’t fade entirely, just becomes a sort of constant background noise in his brain—in the very best way. “You, um.” His voice is unexpectedly rough. He pauses, clears his throat. “You were right. Boyfriend is an entirely inaccurate label for—for this.”“I don’t know what the right label is—” Stiles can feel Derek’s voice rumbling deep in his chest, from the hand still over his heart.“I don’t think it matters,” Stiles assures him. “As long as we know what we are to each other.”Derek pauses for a moment, meeting his eyes steadily. “Is it okay, now, if I—” His eyes flick down to Stiles’ lips.“God, yes, please,” Stiles breathes, and he leans in.Derek pauses again, millimeters away. “We’re on camera,” he whispers.“Don’t care,” Stiles growls, tensing the fingers of his left hand against the back of Derek’s head.Derek’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “I have to work here with these people, you know—”“Derek, I swear to God, if you don’t kiss me right now, I’m gonna—”He doesn’t need to think up an ending to that threat, though, as Derek finally surges forward and captures his lips.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Oh, now that’s a face I never thought I’d see again,” the Sheriff mutters, eyes fixed on someone in the crowd. “And here, of all places.”Cora furrows her brow and tracks his gaze. It takes a second to recognize him—he’s certainly grown since last time she saw him, matured significantly. But she’d recognize those blue eyes and that smirk anywhere. He was one of the few people she’d been able to tolerate back in the day, after losing her father and before losing the rest of them. “Wait here a sec,” she orders the Sheriff, eyes still fixed on her former friend. “I’m just gonna—” She waves her hand in his direction and starts walking toward him. “Jackson Whittemore,” she calls as she approaches.He turns to face her, looking suspicious, clearly not expecting to be called out by name. “Uh, yeah? Can I help—” She can see the instant he recognizes her. His jaw drops, eyes widen, face pales. “You,” he breathes. “Cora? Are you—” He raises a trembling hand, hesitates, then reaches out and shoves her shoulder, as though testing to make sure she’s really there. She frowns and shoves him back, slightly harder than he had. “Oh my God, it is you. You’re not dead,” he says, voice faint with wonder.She crinkles her eyes at him. “No, I’m not—oof,” she grunts as he flings himself forward and wraps his arms around her in a too-tight hug. She relaxes into his arms, wrapping hers around him to squeeze him back. “I’m not dead,” she confirms, mumbling into his shoulder. “Hi.” She buries her face in his chest and breathes deeply.He laughs wetly. “‘Hi?’ My friend comes back from the dead after nearly eight years, and all she has to say is ‘hi?’” He buries his face in her hair. “How are you not dead?”“I wasn’t in the house,” she admits quietly. “I was—it was stupid. I was running away. Don’t even remember why. Something stupid my mom said.”“Ah,” she feels him nod in understanding. Of anyone, he’d be the one to truly understand her frustrations with her mother. He rocks a little in the hug, and one of his hands rubs gentle circles on her back. “Where did you go? When did you get back?”She shrugs. “South America, mostly. Been back about a year.”“Guess we’re not finishing this tour, then, eh, kids?” the Sheriff says from behind her.She pulls out of the hug just far enough that she can turn to see the Sheriff. He doesn’t look annoyed, though, just bemused. “We can catch the next one.” She turns back and looks up at Jackson. “Come to lunch with us. You with anyone?”He shakes his head, looking a little perplexed at the Sheriff’s presence. “No, uh—no. Just me.”“Perfect,” she grins up at him. “Got you all to myself.”“And the Sheriff,” he corrects her with a confused frown.“I can make myself scarce, if you kids want to—” the Sheriff offers.Cora shakes her head. “Not necessary. You’re part of this, too.” She looks up at Jackson again. “Derek told me about your—why you left.”He sighs and pulls out of the hug, but slides a hand down to hold hers. He brings his other hand up to his face to scrub at his eyes, and she pretends not to notice the moisture as he wipes it away. “It—yeah. Not the best of times.”She squeezes his hand. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. The curse probably had something to do with it,” she admits sheepishly.“The—” he blinks a few times in shock, “curse? Okay, what—clearly I’m missing something here.”“Oh, this is gonna be a long day of playing catch-up,” the Sheriff mutters, but there’s a hint of a fond smile softening his expression.And he’s right; it is. They grab takeout to bring back to the Sheriff’s hotel room, and over lunch, Jackson and the Sheriff fill her in on some more of what she missed while she was away; she fills them both in on some of the details of her years in hiding; Jackson updates them both on what he’s been up to since he left town; she and the Sheriff tell Jackson the edited-for-the-uncleared version of what’s been happening in Beacon Hills lately.“So, medical school?” she asks Jackson at last, once they’re caught up to the present day. “Thought you’d be going into law.”He scrunches his nose in distaste. “What, and follow in my father’s footsteps? Oh, he would love that.” He sighs and shakes his head. “After the… everything,” he explains quietly, tearing pieces off his napkin, “—not that things ever got… really bad, but—they just. Don’t understand me anymore. Can’t understand.”“You never told them?” the Sheriff asks gently. “Not even about werewolves?”“Not all parents are as open-minded as you, Sheriff,” Cora tells him quietly, meeting his eyes meaningfully.The Sheriff’s eyes narrow, and he looks back over at Jackson, studying him intently. “If they’re ever going to be a problem for you,” he offers firmly, “you just say the word, and I’ll—”“No, that’s—” Jackson shakes his head again. “Thanks, but. They’re not that kind of problem—”“Whatever kind of problem they are,” the Sheriff insists. “Just say the word.”“Oh,” Jackson says, eyes flicking over to Cora momentarily. She nods at him reassuringly, and he takes a breath and turns back to the Sheriff. “Then, thanks. Right now, things are… we’ve reached an equilibrium, I guess. Where I mostly just pretend they don’t exist, and they support me financially when necessary but otherwise just stay out of my business. But if that ever changes, I’ll—I’ll let you know.” He clears his throat and frowns down at his hands. “But anyway, after everything that happened… I just needed some good to come of it, you know? And with my sense of smell and hearing, I think I can really help people.”Cora reaches over and squeezes his arm. “Same here,” she says, smiling softly. She looks over at the Sheriff and raises an eyebrow in silent question, and he responds with a minute shrug and nod. She turns back to Jackson and clears her throat. “So, you said you don’t have a pack since moving back here. And you know I’m an Alpha now…”Jackson sits up abruptly, eyes wide. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”“We’ll have to talk to the rest of the pack,” she says, “but—”“And McCall isn’t part of yours, right?” Jackson asks, a little desperately.Cora snorts. “Nope. Stiles is, but not Scott.”Jackson grins deviously. “Did Stilinski finally realize he could do better? Was it a messy breakup?”The Sheriff sighs and shakes his head bemusedly. “It’s a complicated situation,” he says, “and not yet fully resolved.”Cora leans closer to Jackson. “He did,” she mutters conspiratorially, lips quirked in a sly half-smile. “And it was so messy.” The Sheriff rolls his eyes.“So, restart the tour tomorrow?” the Sheriff says, very deliberately and unsubtly changing the subject. “I still think you should see the campus, get familiar with it before the term starts. And we can look into more housing options tonight—”“Actually,” Jackson says, eyes bouncing between the two of them, “I have an apartment here in the city, already. And I was considering looking for roommates—”“You’re inviting us over for dinner tonight,” Cora declares.Jackson raises an eyebrow at her. “Oh, am I?”“Yup,” she nods decisively.“Forgot what a bossypants you can be,” he mutters, crossing his arms petulantly.“Better get used to it,” she warns him with a grin, waggling her eyebrows, “because it turns out I am the boss, now.” He snorts and rolls his eyes.“Hey, by the way—” He reaches over and squeezes her arm. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” he says quietly.Her smile softens, and she squeezes his arm in return. “Glad you’re not dead, too.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
This had been inevitable. Derek knows he’s been lucky, so far. So incredibly lucky, to get out alive each time. To get home, intact; to get his team home intact. But luck has a way of running out.Captain Grogan had gotten himself shot again—not lethally, at least—but the rest of SG-9 made it out unscathed, and all of them had made it through the 'Gate. Derek had made sure of that. Daniel and Vala were through next, then Teal’c, with Cam and Derek covering their flank for the retreat.Derek would’ve made it through, would have been just one step behind Cam, if it hadn’t been for one lucky (or, rather, incredibly unlucky) staff blast. He stumbled, fell, had to roll and duck for cover. By the time he caught his breath again, Cam was through, and the enemy were too close for Derek to follow. There’s a clear shot into the forest, though; Derek couldn’t make it home right now, but he could make it out of the line of fire.He radios for the General to close the Iris, lets him know he’ll be going to ground. If he’s fast, and if his luck finds him again, he’ll be able to stay hidden, and stay alive. Long enough for rescue to come, or long enough for the enemy to disperse so he can get through himself.He runs as fast as he can—the injury is slowing him, but it’s healing, and he’s still faster than his pursuers—until he has a substantial lead on them. He slows down, then, and focuses on stealth. He slips deeper into the forest, careful not to leave enough of a trail for anyone to easily follow.It’ll be dark soon, which will give him an advantage. Ideally, he’d hole up somewhere to rest and finish healing and just wait for rescue, but he doesn’t think that’s in the cards for him this time. His pursuers are too numerous, too wily, and too determined. He’ll have to be strategic about this, instead.An opportunity arises when he reaches a river. He pauses a moment to rehydrate and refill his canteen, then wades upstream. The riverbanks get steeper the father he goes, the terrain rockier. These caverns and crevasses, carved into the riverbanks over centuries, will provide the perfect cover.He ducks into one, completely out of sight of anyone who might be passing by above or out in the water, and settles down to regroup and wait. Rips into a protein bar, then pulls out his knife to cut away the burnt and frayed portion of his pants to give him clear access to the wound on his thigh. The wound will heal faster if it’s clean, so he grabs antiseptic wipes out of his med kit and gets to work.He has nothing to do, now, but wait for darkness to fall. He keeps hydrated, eats another two protein bars, and listens. Search parties do pass by, but none of them come close to where he is. Just a few tense hours, and darkness finally falls.He strips out of his clothes and tucks them and his gear into a dry corner. He’ll come back for everything later, if rescue doesn’t come for him first. He closes his eyes, lets his mind settle, and strides out into the night on four paws.Something’s different in the atmosphere this time; two full moons glow bright overhead. It’s certainly a new sensation, intense in a way he’s never experienced before, especially in this form. There’s a feral edge to everything he feels right now; it’ll make the messy parts of this much easier.He slips through the forest as silently as he can, blending into the shadows easily. He takes out the first scouting party he passes, probably a little more violently than necessary. Lets a second search party pass by him unscathed, though he hears when they find what remains of the first. He ignores them and keeps moving.Another search party passes by. He’s not as thorough with this one, but they won’t be bothering him again.There are more of them, the closer he gets to the Stargate. He won’t waste energy taking them all out, just the biggest threats. He chips away at them, bit by bit. The ones he’s left alive are running scared, now, causing chaos and sending panicked groups further out into the forest to search for him, when what they should be doing is retreating to the Stargate and fortifying their position. Derek won’t complain, though. It’s all working to his advantage, now.He finally clears enough of them away from the Stargate that he should be able to make it through. The General must still be working out the details of the rescue op, but no matter; Derek shouldn’t need to wait any more. He backtracks, now, to get back to his gear.A few more search parties make themselves minor inconveniences, but he dispatches some easily, and scares off a few without needing to do more than bare his teeth and growl.He slips into the river unnoticed, dipping deeper into the water this time to let some of the blood wash away. No one has found his hiding place, so he shifts back to human, dresses quickly, and stalks back toward the ‘Gate.He mostly stays in the darkness. He flashes his eyes and growls at a few search parties that get too close, staying in the shadows. He’s done enough, at this point, that that’s all he needs to do to get them on the run. A few search parties aren’t as easily scared off, but that’s not much of a problem, either. He slips behind them and takes them out silently when possible, or attacks more directly when necessary.Landry’s team still isn’t through by the time he reaches the ‘Gate, so Derek clears enough enemy agents away that he’ll be able to get through unscathed now. He dials the ‘Gate, transmits his IDC, and walks home.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“It barely even hurts anymore,” Derek insists, rolling his eyes. “Just a little sore.”“Forgive me if I don't take your word for it,” Dr. Lam says, eyes narrowed suspiciously at him as she pokes at his thigh. “Must've been pretty nasty if it was enough to trip you up.”He sighs and scowls. “Was for a little while,” he admits reluctantly. “But it's fine now.”“I’ll be the judge of that,” she tells him firmly. “Still sore after several hours? If you were anyone else, you probably would’ve lost your leg.”“They got in one lucky shot,” he says, “and it still wasn’t enough to do more than slow me down.”She sighs and sits back on her stool, pulling off her gloves and tossing them in the bin, apparently satisfied enough with the progress of his healing. “Grogan told me what you did, getting him and his team through.”Derek shrugs one shoulder. “Just doing my job.”That’s apparently the wrong thing to say, though, as her glaring intensifies. “I’m pretty sure your job description doesn’t include deliberately making yourself a target.”He returns her glare with one of equal intensity. “It does when I can get them all home safe, with only minimal damage to myself.”“You’re not invincible, Derek,” she says, exasperated now. “You’re not as breakable as the rest of them, sure, but one more lucky shot, and you might not make it home next time.”“My life isn't any more valuable or important than anyone else on this base,” he reminds her.“But you're still valuable and important, and not just for what you contribute to the team,” she says. “Don't disregard that just because the risk to your life is slightly lower.”“I'm—” he huffs a frustrated breath. “Fine. I'll try harder not to get shot at next time. Okay?”“Derek, that's not—” she pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a slow, measured breath. “You shouldn't feel like you have to sacrifice your own health and safety, just because you think you can tolerate it. Stop punishing yourself for things that were never your fault to begin with.”That makes him pause a moment. Stiles keeps saying essentially the same thing, keeps trying to show him during their mind melds. And Derek thinks he's gotten better at that, especially after their last conversation. But old habits die hard. And it's not always easy to convince himself that the things that happen around him aren't his fault.Before he can say any of that, though, she keeps going. “...Not that you should be punishing yourself even for things that were your fault. You don’t make anything better by suffering, Derek. The universe is already out to get you. Don’t make its job easier.”“I—” he blinks a few times as that thought settles into his brain. “I hadn’t thought about it like that before.”“Well, think about it now,” she says, crossing her arms and staring him down. “Doctor’s orders.”He narrows his eyes. “I don’t think that’s how Doctor’s orders are supposed to work.”“If it reduces the harm done to my patients,” she counters, “then yes, that’s how it’s supposed to work.”He heaves a resigned sigh and looks down at his hands. “I’ll think about it,” he promises. Might end up restructuring his brain again, but it’s not like this will be the first time that’s happened to him in recent days. “Sorry for making you work overtime,” he adds, looking back up at her. As the only medical professional cleared to work on him, she can’t go home until he does, just in case anything—like the events of today—happens.She shakes her head firmly. “Don’t you dare apologize for that,” she says seriously, before her expression shifts to one of mischief. “You have any idea how high my overtime pay rates are? With everything you’ve been up to lately, I can practically buy my second home outright, in cash now.”He snorts in amusement. “Glad I could be of use to you, then.”She stands and pats him on the arm. “Now go on, get outta here. The General would like a word with you.”Derek groans and swings his legs off the side of the bed. “Weren’t you saying something earlier about reducing harm to your patients?”She sighs and shakes her head in mock-regret. “I’m afraid there’s only so much I can do. I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Really? You’ve never even tried?” Derek asks, sounding incredulous.Cora rolls her eyes. “Why does everyone find that so hard to believe? No, I’ve never tried.”Derek shrugs. “Just, I’d have thought you, of all people—”“I, of all people, who watched our great-uncle get trapped like that until he died?” she counters, and Derek snaps his mouth shut, eyes widening slightly. She sighs. “I’m not saying I never will,” she says. “It just… hasn’t felt important enough to override the risk.”He studies her for a moment in silence before speaking again. “That won’t happen to you,” he tells her gently. “You’re not like him. He lost control when he lost Catherine. He lost track of who he was. You’ve never needed anyone but yourself, to know who you are.” He reaches over and takes her hand. “Cora… we’re not cursed anymore. You don’t have to keep bracing yourself for the worst-case scenario all the time.”“Living as if the worst-case scenario would never hit nearly destroyed us all,” she argues. “Mom could’ve prepared us better. It’s not like she didn’t know we could lose people, even in times of peace. And, sure, she never could’ve anticipated we’d lose all of them at once, but. I mean, she never even taught us to fight.”“Well, okay, that—that probably wasn’t her best move,” Derek concedes. He sighs heavily and scrubs a hand down his face. “I think she just… didn’t want us living in fear.”Cora pauses a moment as she considers that, then frowns down at their linked hands. “Is that—do you think that’s what I’ve been doing? Teaching them all to live in fear?” That hadn’t been her intention, with all the training she’s been leading their pack and friends through. She wants them all to be able to defend themselves, wants them to be able to control themselves so none of them lose sense of who they are. But she doesn’t want them feeling paranoid. Just… prepared.Derek squeezes her hand tightly and waits until she looks back up, meets his eye. “I don’t, actually,” he says, and his tone is so certain, she wants to believe him. “You’re giving them the tools they need and teaching them how to use them. You aren’t telling them how to feel about what they learn. And if they follow the example you’ve been setting, they’ll handle themselves with confidence above all else.”She raises her eyebrows at that. “Well, um. Glad I’m succeeding at making it seem like I know what I’m doing, then,” she says. She’s making it all up as she goes, most of the time. But she isn’t one to second-guess herself, at least not in the moment. And she’s never been the type to panic.He snorts in amusement. “Better than I ever did, anyway. I was such a disaster as an Alpha.”Cora pulls her hand out of his so she can whack him hard on the arm. “Stop saying things like that about yourself,” she orders him firmly. “You were alone and grieving and literally everything was working against you at that point. You survived. That’s a miracle, in and of itself.”Derek grimaces and rubs his arm where she’d hit him. “Not all of them did survive. You know as well as I do—”“You didn’t kill them, Derek,” she says, whacking him again, but softer this time. She doesn’t need to make him hurt, not when he’s already hurting himself with this line of thinking. But he does need to break himself out of that particular spiral, and if she needs to make herself a menace in order to help with that, then so be it. She starts poking his side, searching for his most ticklish spot. “Stop taking credit for things you had nothing to do with.”Derek bats her hands away with a scowl. “I wouldn’t exactly say I had nothing to do with—Ah!” he yelps as she redoubles her efforts and lands on the most sensitive spot on his side. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop! I surrender!”She sits back with a smug smile. “Good. Hope you’ve learned your lesson. But be warned, I can repeat as necessary if you forget again.”“I’ll keep that in mind,” he mutters, eyeing her warily and scooting a few inches away, out of easy arm’s reach.“You’d better,” she mutters back, narrowing her eyes threateningly. After a moment, though, she relaxes, lets her face soften, and holds her hand out between them to signal a truce. He rolls his eyes, but accepts the offer, lacing his fingers together with hers. She lets silence lapse between them for a few moments, until curiosity finally wins out. “So… do you think you could teach me?”He frowns at the apparent non sequitur. “Teach you?” he repeats, and she can see his brain working to catch up to her train of thought. She also sees the exact moment he deduces what she’s implying, as his expression clears and his eyebrows lift in surprise. “You mean—really? You’re ready to try?”She shrugs. “Sure, why not? And if something goes wrong, at least I have you here all week to help me figure out how to fix it.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Derek is lurking in the corner of Stiles' bedroom. Stiles can sense it, even before he reaches his door. Probably hoping to startle Stiles, but apparently that won't work anymore. Stiles grins and lets himself into the room.“Is it weird that I knew you were here?” he says, by way of greeting Derek, pulling the door shut behind him. “And not because anyone told me, by the way. Like we're still kind of linked.”Derek shrugs and steps closer. “It's probably weird,” he agrees, “but I can't say it really surprises me. I've learned to expect the unexpected when it comes to you and me.” He wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulls him close.Stiles brings his own arms up to rest on Derek's shoulders. “What're you doing here? Thought you weren't going to be on leave for a few more weeks.”Derek scrunches his nose in annoyance. “Mission went wrong, got injured, General Landry decided I needed to take my leave early. I’m fine, Stiles,” he adds, tightening his grip on Stiles’ waist in emphasis in response to whatever face Stiles is making. “It’s protocol for team members to take leave after an injury.”Stiles studies his face for a minute before deciding he seems sincere. “I probably would’ve known if you really weren’t okay,” Stiles concedes. “Don’t know how, but I would’ve known.” He brings one hand to rest on the back of Derek’s head, combing his fingers through Derek’s hair. “Probably would’ve looked more suspicious if you hadn’t taken leave, if you couldn’t hide the fact that you’d gotten hurt.”Derek nods slightly. “That was one of General Landry’s arguments.” He loosens his grip on Stiles but doesn’t pull away, just lets his hands rest on either side of Stiles’ waist. He pauses a moment, takes a breath, then asks, “Are you going to tell me what happened with Scott?”Stiles groans and drops his forehead onto Derek's shoulder. “You really want to talk about this now? Instead of—” He slides both of his hands around to cradle the back of Derek’s head and pulls just far enough away that Derek can see Stiles flick his gaze down to his lips.Derek narrows his eyes and tenses the hands at his waist, stopping him from getting any closer. “He's your best friend, Stiles. That doesn't just go away. What happened?”Stiles sighs heavily and pulls away, flopping down to sit on the edge of his bed. Derek follows, sitting carefully beside him. “Quite honestly, things have been piling up for a while. It wasn't just one thing,” Stiles admits, glaring at the floor in front of him. “But… the last straw, I guess, was that I kind of…” he cringes and rubs the back of his neck, then turns slightly to peek over at Derek. “Forgot? To tell him I wasn't in his pack anymore. And that I was with you guys, instead.”Derek closes his eyes tightly and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Stiles—”“I know, okay?” Stiles says, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “I screwed up. I should've talked with him about all of this, a lot more and a lot sooner. But, I mean, it's not like he made it easy—”“Conversations like that are never easy, Stiles,” Derek says, reaching over to take his hand. “You still need to have ‘em.”Stiles stares down at their linked hands for a moment, rubbing small circles on the back of Derek's hand with his thumb. He's still not used to this, not used to Derek initiating these casual intimacies with him. It's kind of blowing his mind a little. “I, uh,” he blinks a few times, trying to get his mind back on track, back to whatever the conversation was about. Oh, right. Scott. “Right, yeah. I know. I'll—I need to talk to him again.”“I can go with you, if it'd help—” Derek offers.“Oh God no. No,” Stiles shakes his head emphatically, “absolutely not. Thanks, but. At this point, having you there would just make everything with Scott so much worse. Scott's never exactly been your biggest fan,” Stiles reminds him, squeezing his hand. “And now he thinks you've stolen me away from him”Derek studies his face for a moment, expression inscrutable. “Is that what I've done?” he asks quietly. “Stolen you away?”“You can't steal what's freely given,” Stiles tells him, quirking his lips up in a sly smile.Derek huffs in amusement and drops his chin to his chest, shaking his head lightly. “That was pretty cheesy, Stiles.”Stiles grins mischievously. “Oh, what, are you lactose intolerant all of a sudden?”Derek facepalms. “You are the worst. I can't believe I like you.”Stiles' heart skips a beat. Intellectually, he knew that. He's seen inside Derek's mind, seen how intrinsically linked they are. And their kiss at Cheyenne Mountain never would've happened if Derek didn't like him. But still, it's thrilling to hear it said out loud. “I kind of can't believe you like me, either,” he admits, a little bashfully. It still feels surreal to him, that someone like Derek could like someone like Stiles. It’s not like Stiles has ever been much good at making himself likeable.Derek drops his hand from his face and turns to look at Stiles, one eyebrow raised. He stands, then, and steps in front of Stiles, placing his hands on either side of Stiles' neck. Stiles tilts his chin up to look into Derek's eyes, letting his hands drift up to rest on Derek's waist. Derek holds him there like that for a moment, taking a few breaths until both of them are settled, before he speaks again, voice soft. “I'm a mess. You know that better than anyone. Horrible things keep happening around me, no matter how hard I try to stop them. And I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to relationships. But you, Stiles… With you, I start to believe that things can get better.” He gently pulls Stiles up to his feet so they're standing nose to nose. He takes a breath and adds, “I more than like you, Stiles. You should know this by now.”Stiles closes his eyes and leans forward slightly to rest his forehead against Derek's. “Knowing that and believing it are two entirely different things,” he says quietly. “But—” he tightens his grip on Derek's hips. “But with you, I think I can believe it.”“Need me to remind you?” Derek’s voice is low, and a little rough. He bumps his nose against Stiles’, and Stiles opens his eyes to see Derek staring at him with an intensity that sends a shiver down his spine.“I think—” Stiles clears his throat. “That might help, yeah.”Derek’s eyes crinkle in amusement, and Stiles can feel him smiling as he pulls him in for a kiss. And that’s another thing Stiles is pretty sure he’ll never get used to: that Derek is happy, now, because of Stiles.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Wait—” Derek says, holding up a hand and shaking his head in disbelief. “Cora got you into this? My sister, Cora.”Parrish’s smile is a little bemused. “I mean, yeah? Her primer, and then her introductory watchlist, were pretty thoughtfully crafted to get someone thoroughly hooked on the show.”“She wrote out a primer for you? Oh, that little hypocrite,” Derek growls. “And she calls me a geek for liking this show…” Though, honestly, he’s not mad about this at all. It’s hilarious, actually. Cora had spent so many nights complaining, saying how stupid the show was, when they’d first started watching together. And now here she is, writing thesis statements and curating watchlists designed to get people to fall in love with the show. Oh, how the tables have turned…“To be fair, though,” O’Neill interjects as he walks over to the couch, carrying a beer for each of them, “you are a geek. And not just for liking this show.” He sits down in the middle seat and hands off a beer on either side.“I never said I’m not,” Derek says as he accepts the beer. “I’m just saying it’s rich, coming from her, when she’s still teasing me for being a little obsessed with it, but she’s the one out here converting people into X-treme-ists.”Parrish snorts in amusement. “Fair enough, I guess,” he mutters, smiling as he brings his beer bottle to his lips for a sip.O’Neill frowns and tilts his head thoughtfully as he glances over at Derek. “Did you start watching with her before or after getting your new job?”“Uh—” Derek picks at the label on his beer bottle as he thinks back. “After, actually. But that was more just a product of timing, not something I did intentionally.”"Think she picked up on some of the, uh, subtext?” O’Neill asks, waggling his eyebrows meaningfully.Derek pauses a moment and considers that. Cora is perceptive. And even though she’s not fully cleared—at least not yet, not until she starts her medical internships—she’s read-in on enough to know that Wormhole X-treme! isn’t just some random show. She would know he wasn’t making her watch it just because it’s his favorite (though, it really is that, too). And that very well could have been a motivating factor for getting Cora truly invested in the show. “Probably, yeah,” is how he answers O’Neill, with a satisfied smirk.Parrish looks over at the two of them, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is this another one of those things you guys are gonna be super weird about?”Derek grins. “Probably, yeah,” he repeats.“You gonna try to tell me again that your new job has something to do with analyzing deep space radar telemetry?” Parrish continues, leaning forward and turning to get a clearer view of Derek. “As a linguist?”O’Neill snorts, unhelpfully. Derek whacks him on the arm. “You know I can’t talk about work,” Derek tells Parrish.Parrish shrugs. “Just saying, you should work on your cover story, dude.” He sits back with a smug grin.Derek rolls his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”“So, should I be paying closer attention to this show?” Parrish asks, eyes twinkling in amusement.“Closer attention?” O'Neill raises an eyebrow at him. “Is that even possible? Ever since Cora got you onboard, it's all you ever think about.”“It is not all I think about,” Parrish insists, rolling his eyes.O'Neill grins deviously. “Oh, that's right, you also think about—”Parrish whacks him hard on the arm. “Shut up,” he hisses.Derek raises an eyebrow at both of them. “Do I want to know?”“No,” they both answer simultaneously, though O’Neill is still grinning while Parrish has turned beet-red.“Hey, so, are we gonna watch this thing, or what?” Parrish says, in an exceptionally transparent attempt to change the subject. “Because apparently I've still got a lot of studying to do.”“Oh! Speaking of which,” O’Neill says, pointing at Parrish, “remind me later to send you that link to StylinJoe’s fic. There's one you might want to skip, in light of… recent events. I'll let you know which one. But if you really wanna delve further into that subtext we mentioned earlier, his stories are the place to start.”“That reminds me,” Derek says, tapping O’Neill’s arm with the back of his hand, “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Is Fragile Balance really the story of how—”“I can neither confirm nor deny,” O’Neill states firmly, but he winks and smiles wryly as he takes another sip of his beer.“Interesting.” He’s not sure why no one from the Air Force has taken down StylinJoe’s stories, if he’s really out there posting actual classified mission reports as fanfiction, but then again, they allowed the show to exist in the first place. And Derek can’t deny, he’s been enjoying having these insights into the early days at the SGC, and also the inner workings of O’Neill’s experiences in particular. “Anyway, yeah,” he nudges O’Neill again, “get us started. He’s still got a lot to catch up on, and my time here is limited.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Morning, Sheriff,” Derek greets the older man as he enters the kitchen.The Sheriff grunts and rubs some of the sleep out of his eyes, walks over to the coffee machine, grabs a mug from the cabinet above, and fills it. He braces himself against the counter for a moment, breathes in the steam rising from his mug, and takes a sip. He finally looks up at Derek, marginally more awake now. “You're here early,” he observes. “Cora or Stiles?”Derek smirks into his own coffee mug. “Both, eventually, but Cora first. We're working on something.” And Stiles would never voluntarily wake up this early anyway.The Sheriff slides into one of the seats at the kitchen table. “Secret project?” Derek can tell he's curious, but knows he won't push if Derek isn't ready to talk about it.“Cora wants to make sure she's worked it all out before she shows you.” Truthfully, though, she already has it figured out. Has since her very first try. They're just practicing for fun today, going on a run through the woods. Derek is pretty sure she's saving the Big Reveal for the moment with the greatest dramatic or comedic timing. Or, ideally, both.The Sheriff hums thoughtfully and sips his coffee, letting the silence lapse between them for a few moments. “Heading back tomorrow, aren't you?” he asks eventually.“Yep. It'll be good to get back out there.” He'll miss everyone here, but he loves his work. Even when the missions go wrong, he still loves it.“I envy you, y’know,” the Sheriff says, smiling wryly down at his mug. “Not for the obvious reasons—’Gate travel was never going to be my thing. Just, you don't have to hide what you do from your people at home. I hated keeping secrets from the people I love. One of the reasons I left.”And Derek understands that, all too well. First with hiding the fact that he's a werewolf, and now his work at the SGC. He's lucky that all the people he loves most are ones he doesn't have to hide from now, for any of it. That wasn't always the case, for him. He knows how hard it must have been for the Sheriff, not to have anyone. “Do you regret leaving?”The Sheriff absently traces the rim of his mug with a finger, frowning down at the table while he thinks. “It was the right thing to do, for myself and my family. And I'm happy with where I am now,” he says, looking up to meet Derek's eyes. “I miss the people, though. Don't get to see Siler nearly as often as I'd like.”“Sergeant Siler? The 'Gate Tech who keeps getting electrocuted?” He's gotten injured to varying degrees nearly every other week while Derek's been there. Derek doesn't know much about him aside from the fact that he’s apparently very accident prone, but if the Sheriff likes him, he must be a decent guy.“That's the one,” the Sheriff confirms with a fond smile. “Can you do me a favor? Check in with him? We haven't been able to talk much recently, what with everything that's been going on.”Derek nods. “Of course.” Probably a good idea to get to know the Techs and guards, anyway. “Hey—” speaking of checking in with people, though— “are you okay? You look exhausted.” And not just because of the early hour, Derek is pretty sure.The Sheriff scrunches his nose in annoyance. “Haven't been sleeping great. Weird dreams, recently. And… I don't know. Something feels off.”Derek frowns. “Off how?” Stiles hasn't mentioned anything strange going on in town, nor has Cora. But he's learned to trust the Sheriff's instincts. If he thinks something is wrong, it probably is.“I don't know,” the Sheriff repeats, rubbing his forehead as if trying to ward off a headache. “Nothing obviously wrong has happened. I just have this feeling like something's coming. Or maybe it's already here and just hasn't hit us with all the bad yet.”Derek taps a fingernail against the side of his mug while he considers what to do with that information. “Want me to check on anything, before I head out?”The Sheriff shakes his head. “Nothing specific enough to even know where to start, just a vague sense of impending doom.”“Whose doom is impending this time?” Cora grumbles as she shuffles into the kitchen, scrubbing at her face with both hands.“Ours, probably,” the Sheriff reports glumly.Cora grimaces and walks over to the coffee pot. “What, again? Thought Stiles and I took care of that when we de-cursed the Nemeton. What did we miss?”“Are none of you sleeping well? You look like crap,” Derek observes, eyes narrowed as he watches her.Cora scowls at him as she prepares her mug of coffee. “Sheriff, arrest this man for trespassing. He's being very rude to me.”“I'm off duty,” the Sheriff replies, glancing at her over the rim of his mug. “Do it yourself.”“It was your idea to do this this early,” Derek reminds her.“Must not have been thinking straight,” she grumbles as she joins them at the table. “Coffee first, then we can get going.”And Derek must admit—to himself, if no one else—that although he does love his work, and is indeed eager to get back to it, he’ll miss being here for moments like this. He’ll need to talk to the General about getting home more often.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Cora heaves a resigned sigh as she hears footsteps approach. It's not that she doesn't want to see him, it's just that she doesn’t really want to see anyone at the moment. She’s exhausted, and people are too much right now. But that’s not his fault, and at least he brought a mocha from her favorite coffee shop in town.“Everyone's been looking for you," O'Neill tells her as he approaches, placing the coffee cup into her waiting hand. He sits next to her, taking a sip from his own cup.“Needed a few minutes to myself,” she grumbles, closing her eyes as she inhales the steam from her cup.He nods, smiling wryly. “Sorry for interrupting.”She does appreciate, though, that he doesn't seem interested in forcing her to converse. They sit in companionable silence for a while, just drinking their coffees and watching the forest.But all good things must come to an end, she supposes, as he does eventually speak. “Any particular reason you're hiding out here today?”She grimaces. “Aside from trying to avoid people?”“I can go, if that's really all this is about,” he offers. And she knows, if she really wanted him to go, all she has to do is ask. But apparently she doesn't really want him to go just yet.“That's not all,” she admits.“Figured as much.” He sets his cup down on the stump next to his hip and leans back on his hands, looking out at the treeline.“Sheriff thinks something is coming,” she says, setting her cup down as well, leaning back on one hand, holding her Eye of Ra amulet in her other hand.“He’s usually right,” O'Neill says, and she can see, in her peripheral vision, him turning to study her profile.“Hence why I'm out here.” She shifts slightly, leaning further onto her hand. And if that just so happens to bring her shoulder an inch or two closer to his, she doesn't think he'll mind.“What are you hoping to find?” He’s still watching her intently.“Don’t know,” she says, glancing over at him briefly before turning her attention back to the forest. “Thought this place was as good as any other to start looking for whatever it might be.”“It’s not cursed anymore, though, right?” he asks her. “You and Stiles did something?”“We did something,” she confirms, “and things shouldn’t be as bad now. But it’s still a beacon. No telling what it might bring in.”“And you thought you’d just look into it on your own? You know we can help you, right?”She turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Did you miss the part where I wanted alone time?”He levels her with a very disappointed-seeming glare. “You know how to delegate. Tell us what we need to research and we’ll be on it.”She grimaces and turns back to the forest again. “You may have a point,” she has to concede. She takes a breath and adds quietly, “I’m just… still not used to not being alone.”“I know,” he says softly, studying her for another moment before joining her in watching the forest. She feels more than sees him adjust his seat, scooting slightly closer and leaning such that she can feel his body heat radiating along her arm.“I’ll work up a game plan for everyone,” she promises.He sighs and shakes his head. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make here. You can't fix everything, Cora. Sometimes things just go wrong. Not because of any kind of curse, but just because they do. You'll burn yourself out trying to stop every bad thing from ever happening. And you need to stop acting as if you’re alone in this.”She turns to watch him this time, studying his profile while he keeps a wary eye on the forest around them. “I’ll try to remember that. It’s just going to take some getting used to.”He turns to her again, and she’s a bit surprised to realize how close his face is to hers right now. “I’m happy to remind you,” he mutters, eyes searching her face, “as often as you need me to.”“I—” she starts, not entirely sure what she wants to say next, but she doesn’t get the opportunity to find out. There’s a noise, somewhere in the woods, of something approaching. “Déjà vu,” she says, straightening up and looking out into the forest. Last time she was out here alone with O’Neill, the noise out in the forest was a team of assassins sent to kill her. She really hopes that’s not the case this time.He straightens as well and stands, on the alert, but doesn’t disappear into the forest this time. “What do you hear?” he asks, voice low as he scans the treeline. He reaches one hand into his jacket, presumably for the gun she knows he keeps on him at all times.The breeze shifts, and her eyes widen. “The problem isn't what I hear,” she says as she gets to her feet. “It's what I smell. Get behind me.”“What?” He asks, incredulous. “Cora, I'm the one with a gun, you should—”“Won't help you,” she tells him, stepping between him and the approaching source of the stench. “You'd only make it angry. Now stay behind me,” she orders again.The last time she'd encountered a berserker, it had already been injured—they'd found the heavily-mutilated corpse of a bear deeper in the forest later—and even then, she and Ernest had barely made it out alive. Granted, Ernest wasn't a warrior by any stretch of the imagination, and Cora hadn't been trained in combat at all at that point, but still. The scariest fight of her life, followed by a full week of recovering from their injuries. She'd hoped to never have to face one of these things again.This berserker, unfortunately, is not injured. And she's much stronger now, and more skilled, but she'll still be taking it on mostly by herself. This won't be a fun recovery, assuming she survives this.“If you're gonna shoot it, aim for its head,” she tells O’Neill as she braces herself for the attack. “Otherwise, just stay out of my way.”She dodges the first strike, blocks and rolls out of the way of the second. If she can just get to its head, rip off its bear skull mask…It rips a set of deep gashes into her side with the bone-claws attached to one hand. She growls and dodges the next blow, swinging her own clawed hands up to strike at any bare patch of skin she can reach. It barely slows down, pulling some sort of bone knife out of its belt and embedding it deep in her shoulder. She ignores the pain and swings herself around onto its back, climbing up and grabbing the edges of the skull. It digs its claws into her arms, her legs, her sides, plunges another bone-dagger into her thigh, tries to pull her away, but she latches on hard and yanks.It dissolves into a pile of ash and bone and leather. She collapses on top of the heap of debris, breathing hard through the pain, yanking the knives out and tossing them aside.“Cora, are you—” O’Neill rushes over to her, gun tucked away again, arms outstretched, ready to check her over.She stops him short with a sharp shake of her head. “Call Stiles,” she gasps, “tell him to have his healing device ready. And take me home.”Maybe, one of these days, she’ll get a moment alone with O’Neill that isn’t attached to some sort of major disaster. She won’t hold her breath for that, though.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Berserkers don't just happen,” Cora says, wincing as another wound on her thigh closes up. “Either some idiot did that to himself, or someone did that to him. But either way, someone is out there distributing or performing the ritual.”“There's a mastermind to this?” Stiles looks up at her, eyes wide, but at least he doesn't stop working.“That'd be my guess,” she confirms. She hisses in pain as another wound closes. “Ow, careful,” she glares at Stiles.Stiles glares back at her. “Oh, I'm sorry, are my magical healing methods unsatisfactory? Would you rather I just leave you to heal all on your own?”She rolls her eyes. “We both know it's not magic, Stiles. Stop being dramatic, and just be gentle, please. I'm in enough pain already.”“Yeah? And whose fault is that?” he glowers accusingly at her, but he does something to adjust the healing process so it doesn't sting as much.“It's not like I went out there planning to get attacked,” she says, relaxing back against the cushions.“No, you just went out there alone, without telling anyone where you were going. And then you decided to take on a berserker all by yourself,” he accuses. “O'Neill was there, you could've at least let him help—”“Berserkers are too strong, and bullets don't do much against them,” she says. “He couldn't have helped in any way that mattered.”“He's a special ops trained combat veteran with more experience than everyone else in our pack combined,” Stiles reminds her. “He can do a lot more than you're giving him credit for.”“Not against a berserker,” she grumbles.He studies her for a moment as he continues to work. “I'm not gonna win this one, am I?”“Nope,” she confirms with a scowl. “And I did just fine without his help, anyway.”Stiles pauses the healing and stares at her incredulously. “Just fine?” he repeats. “You call this—” he gestures at her bloody, ruined clothes and the remaining unhealed gashes— “just fine?”“I'm alive, aren't I?” she counters. All things considered, she thinks she did pretty well for herself. She got hurt, sure, but she was able to walk away. “Can you finish up, please? I'm starving and I want to get cleaned up.”“Good idea,” he tells her with a nod, wrinkling his nose as he starts the device again. “You smell like death.”“That's the berserker.” It'll probably take several rounds of scrubbing in the shower to get rid of the stench. Those things are pungent.“Sure it is,” he mutters with a smirk.She swats his arm gently with the back of her hand. “It is.”Stiles narrows his eyes at her but gets back to work, concentrating in silence for a few moments. “So if someone is out there making berserkers,” he says, frowning as he thinks, “were you just unlucky enough that it happened to find you first, or was it sent after you, specifically?”She sighs and shifts her position against the cushions. “Probably too early to say for certain, but—”“But when has it ever been random happenstance, when it comes to us?” he finishes for her, face grim.“Exactly,” she agrees quietly. Because with the family curse lifted, the likelihood that the next bad thing would hit her, at random, out of everyone in town, doesn't seem very high. Someone made this happen, and someone sent it after her.“It's not necessarily just you they're after,” Stiles says, frowning absently as he refocuses on the healing. “We've all been having weird dreams. That can't be a coincidence. Not here, not with us.”“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asks. "To know I'm just the first of our pack to come under attack, by whatever this new thing is?” It's not the comforting thought Stiles seems to think it should be. It's one thing to know something is after her, but quite another to know it's after all of them.“Not better, exactly, just—” He takes a frustrated breath and shakes his head. “Solidarity, you know? We're all in this together.”“This isn't exactly something for which we should be celebrating our togetherness,” she grumbles.“If we can't celebrate our togetherness during the dark times, then what is even the point?” Stiles counters. He finishes his work and sits back, sliding the device off his hand. He studies her for a moment, then sighs and pats her arm. “We'll figure this out, okay? All of us.”She grimaces as she stretches a little, testing her body to gauge how well everything healed. “I'm just so sick of bracing for the next big disaster. I was supposed to be able to live here in peace.”“And you will,” Stiles promises as he stands. “But first you gotta take a shower, because you stink.”She grabs one of the pillows she'd been leaning against and throws it at his retreating back. “So rude,” she calls after him.“Rude but true,” he calls back as he shuts the door behind him.She rolls her eyes and gets up to gather fresh clothes, because he's right; she does stink.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“One incident and a few weird dreams is hardly enough for us to say it’s a directed assault,” Noah says, but he’s frowning thoughtfully in that way Stiles recognizes from when he’s analyzing the evidence in a tricky case.“So, what, you want us to wait to get attacked again before we get to do anything about it?” Stiles asks him incredulously. “That’s not really my style. Or hers.”Noah shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m saying. You know I’m going to be taking a closer look into recent cases at work, to see if anything could be connected. And I know you’re gonna start researching, even if you don’t know what to look for yet. Just—” he sighs heavily and scrubs a hand down his face. “We can’t conclusively know yet if it’s directed at her or at us.”“Any attack on her is an attack on us,” Stiles argues. “That’s how pack works.”“I’m aware of that,” his dad answers, glaring back at him. “But whoever’s doing this—do they know that?”Stiles pauses at that, because that actually could change their approach to the investigation. Does someone have a vendetta against Cora, specifically, or is she just the first step on the path to undermining the entire Hale-Littlefield pack? “So either this is very bad entirely on purpose, or it’s very bad because someone somewhere is a massive idiot,” Stiles concludes.“Essentially, yes.” Noah grimaces and rubs his forehead.Stiles frowns, watching his dad. “Headache again?” he asks, and gets a slight nod in response. “Did you want me to—”“No, just—” he waves a hand in dismissal. “What are your dreams even about? I’ve been trying to remember mine, but all I can come up with is this vague sense of—”“Undefined weirdness,” Stiles finishes for him, and Noah nods. “I remember them when I first wake up, but as soon as I think about anything else, it—”“—Vanishes. Yeah, same here.” Noah huffs a frustrated breath. “I can’t even remember if they’re bad or just weird. I don’t like it.”“I’ve never had this problem with my Goa’uld nightmares,” Stiles admits, staring down at the tabletop, tracing the grain of the wood with one finger. “I always remember those. Whether I want to or not.” And, obviously, not would be the preferred state for those particular dreams. But apparently everything about the Goa’uld wants to claw its way into parts of his mind that he just can’t ignore. It’s fine when it’s useful things, like technology or history or research. But when it’s every detail of the horrors his symbiote had inflicted on a particular test subject, and the pleasure it had felt in causing that pain—Stiles envies Colonel Carter and Vala, that they don’t have to deal with all of this. Carter really only seems to remember what happened during the brief few days she was a host, though she can, with great effort, access deeper memories. Vala was host for much longer, and Stiles knows she remembers much more than she’ll ever admit to. But none of her memories persist the way Stiles’ do.“Do we know how far the dreams have spread?” Noah asks. “Is it just us and O’Neill, or is it the whole pack? Do we know if anyone else in town is experiencing the same thing?”“Well, Derek isn’t having them, or at least not yet, but—” Stiles shrugs.“—But he’s not even always on the planet, let alone in town.” Noah nods, frowning.“I haven’t had an opportunity to ask Isaac or Allison or the kids about it yet,” Stiles admits a little sheepishly. “I was… a little distracted, this past week.” Things are still complicated with Liam, Hayden, Mason, and Corey, all still trying to navigate the awkwardness surrounding Scott. Cora’s been more concerned about making sure everyone receives the training they need to survive in this crazy town than she has finalizing their status in the pack. And with Derek here last week, Stiles had other things on his mind. But with Derek away again, he’ll have to face the Scott situation head-on, and soon. Can’t keep putting it off forever.His dad looks at him slyly. “Things going well with Derek, then?”Stiles can feel his face turning red. “I—yes,” he clears his throat, “things are, um. Things are going well.”Noah narrows his eyes and points a warning finger at Stiles. “If I ever hear that you haven't been treating that boy right—”“Oh my God, Dad,” Stiles buries his face in his hands, “what—aren't you supposed to be giving Derek this lecture?”Noah scoffs. “Please, we both know he'd rather throw himself into the unstable vortex of an opening wormhole than ever do anything to hurt you. You, on the other hand—”“I would never—” He sits up, indignant.“—You, on the other hand,” his father repeats firmly, expression serious, “would never intentionally hurt him, but the damage you could do with the wrong careless word, the wrong impulsive action—”“I wouldn't do that, Dad,” Stiles says, though he knows that's not exactly the type of thing he can guarantee. He is impulsive, and his brain-to-mouth filter doesn’t always work right, and the thought of breaking something with Derek just because he can’t keep his stupid mouth shut… He maybe starts to panic a little.His dad sighs and leans forward enough to squeeze his arm reassuringly. “I know, son. Just… be kind to him, yeah? Lord knows he needs more of that in his life.”“Yeah, I—” Stiles agrees quietly. “That’s the plan, anyway.”“And I know you’re… enthusiastic about this,” Noah continues, looking a little pained. “But—”“Dad,” Stiles turns even redder. “I’m—it’s not like that, with us. Not that I don’t want—but, no. We’ve barely even—”Noah raises a hand to stop him. “I don’t need the details. Just—don’t push him into anything either of you might not be ready for.”“I know, Dad,” Stiles says softly, meeting his eyes steadily. He knows, better than anyone, about Derek’s hangups, and the reasons why.Noah studies his face for a moment, then nods, apparently satisfied. “Right, well. Just don’t forget it.” He sits back, drumming his fingers against the table and narrowing his eyes as he thinks. “But anyway, the dreams. Chris isn’t the best at volunteering that kind of information about himself. I’ll need to ask him directly. Haven’t asked Parrish yet, but he’s on shift with me tomorrow. I’ll talk to him then.”“Actually—” Stiles leans forward, rubbing at the scar on the back of his neck. “About Parrish… I’ve been going through more of what the Goa’uld know about hellhounds, and there’s something I want him to try.”Noah looks at him curiously. "Gonna clue me in?”Stiles shakes his head. "Not yet, it's—I don't know if it's gonna work.” His symbiote had studied many different types of supernatural creatures before allying itself with the Nogitsune—hellhounds included. And while it hadn't been able to use any of them as host, its research had still yielded some very interesting results.Noah sighs. “Well, just… don’t break my deputy, please.”“I probably won’t,” he says, already plotting out how best to approach the experiment.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Is it weird, being back in town?” Cora asks, tilting her face away from the clouds to look to her right.Jackson tilts his head to look over at her and raises an eyebrow. “Could ask you the same thing, you know.”Cora rolls her eyes and looks back up, letting the silence sit between them for a moment. “When I came back,” she says softly after a moment, “everyone—almost everyone I loved was dead or moved on. Derek was the only thing left.”She can feel Jackson’s gaze still fixed on her. “He was enough to make you stay?”She sighs. “It wasn’t that simple.”“You came back because of him,” Jackson states, but she can hear the question underneath.“I came back because my uncle was dying, and I didn’t want him to be alone,” she corrects him.“Didn’t want him to be alone?” he asks skeptically.She tilts her head to glare at him for a second before looking back up at the clouds. “Didn’t want him to die alone, and didn’t want to have to be stuck alone myself after he was gone,” she amends reluctantly.“You could’ve joined a pack anywhere,” Jackson points out. “You didn’t have to come back here.”“Did you forget the part where I was cursed?” She stretches a leg out toward him to gently kick him in the shin for emphasis.“Ow.” He glares at her for a moment, then turns his face back up to the sky. After a minute, he asks, “Is that why you never told me? The curse?”She considers that for a moment. It’s become so natural for her, to hide what she is, to hide her family. Her mother taught them all to hide—for their own safety, she’d said—and forbade them from telling anyone. But she can’t deny that the curse made her especially reticent, even when she was the only one who believed in it. Or maybe because she was the only one who believed. She doesn’t really care to say any of that, though. “Would it have made a difference?” she asks instead.“You lied to me, of course it makes a difference,” Jackson grumbles.“I didn’t lie to you, I just didn’t tell you everything.” And she knows that’s a cop-out, but what does he expect?“A lie of omission is still a lie,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice now that hints that he might not have forgiven her after all. “You were my friend, Cora. And you didn’t even trust me enough to—”“It’s not like I was your only friend,” she counters. “You had Danny. You didn’t need me.” And she hadn’t needed anyone, or at least that’s what she’d always told herself.“You were the only one who really listened when I talked about my parents,” he says angrily. “I thought you understood me.”“I did,” she insists, but saying it now just feels hollow somehow.“And then you just died,” he continues, and she realizes this whole thing isn’t actually about how she’d hidden the fact that she was a werewolf. “Or didn’t die, I guess, but just when I needed you most, you were gone.”She pauses to take a breath. “I know the timing was… unfortunate.” He’d found out about his adoption just a few months before the fire. And she can see how it must have felt so fresh, still, mourning a set of parents he’d never had the chance to meet; trying to figure out if he could still love or trust the parents he’d ended up with, who he’d clashed with endlessly about everything anyway, knowing they had lied to him his entire life about who he was. And then, suddenly, to have the friend who was helping him process all of it ripped away like that… She can’t imagine it would have been a good time, for him.He huffs a frustrated breath and sits up, bringing his knees up and resting his crossed arms on top of them. “It’s not even like I can really be mad,” he complains. “Not at you. What right do I have, to feel like that? How can I be mad at you for dying?” He glances over at her briefly, then turns his head away and rests his chin on his arms. “But I am.”She sits up too, crossing her legs, one hand going instinctively to her amulet. “You can be mad at me,” she says gently, staring unseeing out at the treeline, feeling the contours of the carving on the amulet with her thumb. “I’m still angry at all of them sometimes, angry at them for dying and leaving me behind. Especially my dad, even after all these years, even knowing now that he couldn’t have stopped what killed him. I’ve lived more years without him now than I did with him, and I still—” she squeezes her eyes shut and takes a breath— “I remember the warmth of his hugs, and the sound of his laugh, and I hate him for dying and taking those things away from me.”He doesn't say anything for a few moments when she pauses, so she takes another breath and continues. “So, be mad at me. Hate me, sometimes. I know how much you love hating people,” she adds with a small, quick smile. He doesn't quite smile back, but he looks like he wants to. “But just know that I'm back now. Here to stay.” She lays back down, one hand behind her head as a pillow, still clutching the amulet with her other hand, watching the clouds pass by overhead.He continues to sit in silence for a while, and she lets him. He needs to sulk a bit, needs to hold a grudge sometimes. It's always been like that. She can wait him out.He finally releases a long breath and reclines onto his back, hands folded together over his midsection. “I won't be mad forever,” he promises quietly. “I missed you too damn much.”“I know,” she says softly. “I missed you too.”“So you're, like, living with the Stilinskis,” he says, sounding perplexed, and she knows him well enough still not to question the apparent abrupt change of subject. “How does something like that even happen?”She huffs in amusement, eyes crinkling. “I don't even really know. I guess… The Sheriff offered me a place to stay after my uncle tried to kill me the first time, and I kind of just… never left. At first it was because it was safer than living alone in Derek's Loft, but once I'd killed Peter, I couldn't really use that as an excuse anymore. But, I don't know. I guess it's home now.” She still feels uncomfortable in Derek's Loft. Traces of Peter still linger, memories of the fights with the Alpha Pack, and the ghost of Boyd. Probably not a literal ghost, but then again… sometimes she wonders.“And the pack has grown a lot,” he observes. “It's, what, four werewolves, six humans, two chimeras, and a hellhound?”“Soon to be five werewolves,” she reminds him, extending her leg toward him to gently nudge him in the shin again. She sighs heavily as her leg retreats again. “I dunno. It was just supposed to be me and Derek. I never wanted a big pack again. But I just keep accidentally adopting strays, I guess. Or they keep adopting me, actually, because it was never my idea for any of them to join. You're the first one I picked on purpose.”“And rightly so,” he says with a sharp grin. “I’m awesome.”She rolls her eyes and lets go of her amulet long enough to reach over and whack him on the chest. “You never answered my question,” she reminds him, instead of indulging him in his ego-stroking routine.“Which question?” He looks over at her, brow furrowed in confusion as he tries to follow her train of thought. She just raises an eyebrow and waits for him to find it. It takes him a minute, but she can see the moment when he gets there. He scowls and turns away, annoyed at being called out for his evasiveness. “I don't know how to talk to any of them,” he admits through gritted teeth. “Even Danny, but especially Lydia. After my whole Disney Princess moment, and then my parents moving me away at the worst possible time, I just—” he growls in frustration and sits up again, curling in on himself. “How do you talk to someone who brought you back from the dead with true love's kiss, who you were then forced to abandon? How do you fix things with a best friend you lied to for months before vanishing off the face of the planet?”Cora can't help but snort at that, because for all that she's certain he's being genuine about how he feels, he really knows absolutely nothing about vanishing off the face of the planet. He glares at her, and she waves a hand in dismissal. “Sorry, not laughing at you—well,” she corrects, “I am, but not for the reasons you think. Anyway. Talk to Stiles, he's pretty good friends with Lydia these days.”“Friends,” Jackson sneers. “Yeah, right. He's been obsessed with her for years—”“Oh, buddy,” she interrupts with a grin, “I can guarantee you, you’ll never have to worry about that again. He’s got it down bad for my brother now, and it’s totally mutual. He and Lydia are legitimately good friends.”Jackson blinks a few times in surprise at that. “Wait—Stilinski and Derek? Derek’s into dudes?”“Derek’s into Stiles,” Cora says. His preferences beyond that, whatever they may be, are irrelevant now.“Honestly, that’s even more baffling to me,” he says, shaking his head. He sighs and lays back again.“They’ve been through a lot together,” she explains. “This past year, especially. Their connection is… next level.” It’s hard to describe the thing between Derek and Stiles. She won’t pretend to understand it all. But whatever it is, it works for them.“Stilinski and Derek,” Jackson repeats, a little bewildered, fixing his gaze up on the clouds again. “Never would’ve seen that coming.”She shrugs. “It works for them. They’re good for each other. But, yeah, talk to Stiles. And not just about Lydia. I know you’re still trying to figure out the whole kanima thing, and Stiles can understand what you went through, better than you’d ever imagine.”Jackson heaves a very put-upon sigh. “Fine, I’ll talk to him.”Cora grins over at him deviously. “Tell him about that big Wormhole X-treme! fic you’ve been working on.”Jackson jolts, sitting upright suddenly with wide eyes. “What—how do you know about that?” he hisses, pointing an accusing finger at her. “I’ve never even told anyone I watch that show—”She reaches over to pat him on the arm, lips still turned up in a self-satisfied smirk. “Don’t worry, buddy. You’re in good company here. Presence at Wormhole X-treme! marathon nights is mandatory bonding time in this pack. It’s good that I don’t have to start from scratch with you.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Cora says I'm supposed to talk to you,” a voice says from behind Stiles.“Wha—oh my God,” Stiles exclaims, clutching his chest as he whirls around. “What the hell, man? Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Do werewolves not know how to knock?”Jackson just raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, leaning against Stiles’ bedroom door frame with his arms crossed.“Ugh, fine,” Stiles throws his hands up in frustration and flops down onto his desk chair. “Come in, or whatever. Hello to you, too, by the way.”Jackson rolls his eyes and steps into the room. He surveys everything with a look of mild disdain on his face. Though, admittedly, mild disdain is pretty much baseline neutral for Jackson, in Stiles' experience.Jackson still hasn't said anything since announcing his presence, though. “So, generally, when someone claims they need to talk,” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes at Jackson skeptically, “they actually, y’know, talk?” He gestures a hand to suggest Jackson take a seat on his bed.Jackson huffs out an annoyed breath, but he does move further into the room, perching delicately on the edge of Stiles' bed. His jaw is tight, shoulders tense, and his knuckles have gone white as he leans his weight on fists clenched at his sides.“Are you…” Stiles frowns, looking him over cautiously. “Are you actually nervous? What's going on?”Jackson squeezes his eyes shut for a second and takes a deliberate, measured breath. Then he opens his eyes, looks directly at Stiles, and speaks, at long last. “How do you keep going, knowing all the terrible things you did while you were… not yourself?”Stiles inhales sharply and sits back. This is not a conversation he ever expected to have with Jackson. He has no idea where or how to start with this. “I thought you didn't remember anything from when you were the kanima,” he says, to stall for time.Jackson's jaw twitches, but he doesn't look away. “I lied.”“Shit,” Stiles breathes. “Okay. How much?”“All of it.” Jackson shuts his eyes again and scrubs a hand down his face, then pinches the bridge of his nose and crosses his other arm over his chest. “I remember all of it,” he repeats quietly.“Jesus.” Well, at least he doesn't have multiple centuries worth of such memories to contend with. Could be worse. Stiles leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and rubs the scar at the back of his neck. “Those things you did, Jackson… you’ll have to keep reminding yourself, that wasn't your fault. It was Matt, and Gerard. They were the ones in control, not you.”“How can we be so sure?” Jackson snaps. “How can we know I'm not like that? Each time Matt told me who to kill, he was so sure they deserved it. And because he was sure, I was sure. He knew they were guilty, therefore I knew they were guilty, and therefore they deserved to die. But he was wrong. And I know he was wrong, but I don't know if I can always make myself feel it.”Stiles clasps his hands together and lets himself think for a moment, tries to figure out what approach will work best here. He looks over at Jackson, really takes him in, and makes a decision. “I'm gonna tell you something I've never told anyone before, and hopefully never will again,” he says, meeting Jackson's eyes steadily. “So I'd appreciate it if you pay attention, so I never have to repeat any of this.”Jackson frowns, looking skeptical but curious, and gives a tiny nod of acknowledgement.Stiles scratches at his eyebrow, then rubs his palms together. “I’ll start by acknowledging, I know my situation wasn’t exactly like yours. We still aren’t completely clear on how the whole kanima thing works, why someone becomes one, what role the master plays in that dynamic, how much awareness or influence the kanima has in what happens. What I do know, though,” he continues, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he sits up straighter, “is exactly how you feel.”Jackson rolls his eyes. “How can you possibly—”“Pay attention,” Stiles glares at him, “and I’ll tell you. When I was possessed, I had no control over its actions, over my body. I couldn’t stop it from doing any of the terrible things it was going to do. But I could influence it. It was aware of me, it knew that I could see everything it was doing. I couldn’t stop it, but I could taunt it, make suggestions. There was an orderly,” he pauses to take a shaky breath, looking down at his hands. “At the hospital, during one of the attacks. It was going to kill him, there was nothing I could do about that. But—but what I could do,” he looks up to meet Jackson’s eyes again, “was make sure it killed him quickly.”Jackson shakes his head. “That's not exactly—”“Did I not already acknowledge that?” Stiles snaps. “The details don't matter. I'm talking about how it feels.” Jackson looks skeptical, still, but he keeps his mouth shut, so Stiles continues. “It killed dozens of people, with my hands. But that one—that one, I was a direct, active participant. How can I not feel responsible? How can I—” he stops, takes a breath, looks down at where his hands are resting, trembling slightly in his lap. “I wouldn't have killed him if it hadn't forced me to. But it doesn't always feel like I was forced into that one.”He takes a moment to breathe, scrubbing his face with both hands, trying to settle his mind again. He almost forgets Jackson is still there, and he jumps when the other teen speaks again. “So how do you do it?” Jackson’s voice is gentler now than Stiles has ever heard it before, and when Stiles looks up to meet his eyes again, all the defensiveness and bravado usually present in his expression have melted away.Stiles huffs a breath and rubs his neck again. “I use the knowledge and skills it gave me to help people. It would’ve hated that.”Jackson smirks. “Sheer fuckin’ spite. I can work with that.”Stiles snorts, grinning. “I bet you can.”Jackson is silent for another moment, but it doesn’t feel as awkward this time, so Stiles just waits it out. At last, he sighs, and speaks again. “Do you think I’ll have any chance of being able to redeem myself for Lydia?”And Stiles thinks that’s a very interesting choice of phrasing. Not trying to win her back, at least not as the primary goal. A focus on making himself worthy of forgiveness. And that’s a goal Stiles can get behind. “You’ll never be able to just go back in time and get back what you were to each other,” he warns. “You’re both different people now, you’ve been through too much.”Jackson rolls his eyes again. “I’m not an idiot, Stilinski. I know that. I just… I’d at least like to be able to talk to her again, without her hating me. She used to be my friend, in addition to whatever else.” He pauses and takes a breath. “I just want my friend back,” he adds quietly.Stiles nods thoughtfully. “I can help you with your research into the kanima,” he offers. “Why that might’ve happened to you, and if there are any lingering effects. And if we’re lucky, we’ll be able to use some of that for something good. I can’t say what’ll help you with Lydia, but I can help you figure out yourself, at least.” Which, most likely, is what would help him with Lydia.“Fine,” Jackson says, looking annoyed. He pulls out his phone and starts typing. Stiles figures that’s his way of signaling that he’s done, though he hasn’t made any moves to indicate he’s leaving yet.“Um. Right. Okay, then,” Stiles mutters, and he swivels his chair around to look at his computer, readying himself to start in on some research. He figures Jackson can let himself out, if he really is done here. A second later, though, his own phone pings with an incoming text. He pulls it out to check and, perplexingly, it’s from Jackson. “Uh,” he frowns over at the other teen, then frowns down at his phone, thumb hovering over the link. “What—are you trying to Rickroll me?”“No,” Jackson says, glaring at him. “Just open it.”He hesitates a moment longer, then clicks through. It is, quite literally, the last thing he would have expected Jackson to send him. A new fic, partially written, by one of his favorite Wormhole X-treme! fanfiction authors? “Dude, what? What is this? Why are you sending me this?”“If you discuss that with anyone other than Cora, I will rip your face off,” Jackson growls as he stands and walks over to the door. “But leave a comment. I think I backed myself into a corner on the last chapter and I need feedback to get unstuck.” He leaves without looking back again.“Dude,” Stiles calls after him, eyes wide in shock, “what the fuck??”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Here you go,” Stiles says with a grin, handing over one of his cups of coffee. “Nectar of the gods.”Parrish accepts the cup, but he’s eyeing Stiles suspiciously. “Why is this starting to feel like a bribe?”“What, a bribe?” Stiles says, clutching at his chest theatrically with his free hand as he starts his stroll down the street. “I would never!”“You absolutely would,” Parrish corrects him, fixing him with a no-nonsense glare. “The question is, why?”“Okay, so it’s not exactly a bribe,” Stiles admits. “More of an icebreaker.”“And, again,” Parrish says, “the question is why?”Stiles sighs. “I don’t want you to freak out when you find out where we’re going.”Parrish hesitates as he takes his next step. “And why, exactly, would I freak out?”Stiles scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Okay, so when a Major General of the US Air Force tells you you can only work on something inside a secure facility—”“No.” Parrish stops dead in his tracks, shaking his head emphatically.“Look, I know it's not ideal—”“No, Stiles.” Parrish takes two steps backward, back toward the coffee shop, staring blankly down the street to where the former NID office is.Stiles looks around, searching for a way to salvage this. There's a bench nearby, so maybe that's a place to start. “Sit with me,” he offers to Parrish, gesturing at the bench. Parrish doesn't respond, still staring down the street, so Stiles cautiously reaches out to touch his arm. Parrish flinches violently, eyes flashing orange briefly, and Stiles pulls his hand away, raising it in surrender. “Parrish, come on,” he says gently, gesturing again at the bench, “sit with me.”Parrish takes a shaky breath, but he walks stiffly over to the bench and sits. Stiles sits next to him, leaving plenty of room between them. Stiles lets Parrish sit for a minute, watches him warily. He’s still holding his coffee cup, but he seems to have forgotten about it. His free hand is wrapped around the edge of the bench in a death-grip, and he’s squeezing his eyes shut tight. “I can’t—you can’t make me go in there, Stiles. Please.”Stiles scrubs at his face with his free hand. “Look, if we had any alternative, I would—”“Do you know what that thing did to me in there?” Parrish looks up at him, eyes a little panicked. “Do you have any idea—”“I do, actually,” Stiles interrupts, face grim. “I know exactly what it did to you.” Because his symbiote and its queen had done the same thing to another hellhound, millenia ago.Parrish blinks a couple times in surprise, studying Stiles for a moment. “God damn. You actually do, don’t you?” he mutters. “Do I want to know how you know that?”“You really, really don’t.” He tries to suppress a shudder at the memory; doesn’t entirely succeed.Parrish takes another few breaths to try to collect himself. “I know the research you’re doing is important. And I want to help, really, I do,” he says after a while, “but I just—I don’t think I can go back in there. Find somewhere else.”Stiles nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll—It’ll take me a while to get something set up, but okay.” General Landry won’t be pleased about having to set up a new facility when, from his point of view, a perfectly functional one is already available and ready to use. But Stiles is sure Colonel Carter will back him on this, if he mentions his reasoning. He doesn’t have to go into detail. He knows what inferences he’ll need to make to get her to understand. And his research is important enough to the Colonel that she’ll make sure this can happen.“So, now that I’ve thoroughly ruined your plans for the day—” Parrish says, scowling down at his coffee cup.“Dude, hey, don’t even worry about that,” Stiles assures him. “There’s plenty of other stuff we could do.”“Yeah? Like what?” he asks glumly, kicking a small piece of gravel that had been sitting under the bench.Stiles thinks for a moment, then brightens and sits up. “Shooting range?”Parrish perks up at that. “That could work. Sheriff would be okay with that?”Stiles scoffs as he stands, gesturing for Parrish to follow. “Dude, you think the Sheriff wouldn’t teach his own son about basic gun safety? C’mon. Let’s get outta here.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“...And if there's anything else you need, anything at all, I'll be right over there,” the librarian says. “Just let me know. Anything. Really!”“Great, thanks,” Derek says, smiling at her distractedly, attention already captured by one of the tomes they'd brought to the table. The translation will be tricky—the language is one he knows well, but the dialect is unfamiliar—but it looks like it'll definitely be worth his time.“Yes, thank you,” Daniel says as the woman walks away, voice oddly loud. “Thanks very much. We'll let you know.” He grabs a book off of the pile and opens it to a random page. “Looks like someone's got a bit of a crush,” he mutters.“Hm?” Derek hums absently. He doesn't particularly care about anything other than his work right now, but Daniel clearly has some point he wants to make here, and he won't be able to let go and focus on anything else until he gets it out of his system.“The librarian,” Daniel says. “She likes you.”“Hm.” Derek jots down a few notes. “Okay.”“Okay?” Daniel repeats incredulously. “That's all you have to say for yourself?”“Why does it matter?” Derek frowns at the next passage, rereading it several times as he tries to figure out the meaning of an unfamiliar word from context.“Why does it matter? Do you—”“Why are we even having this conversation if you're just going to repeat everything I say back to me?” Derek makes a note to come back to this passage later; hopefully, he'll encounter the word again later in the text, and the additional context should provide deeper understanding.Daniel sighs and flips to another section of the book he’s holding. Derek is pretty sure he’s not actually doing anything useful at the moment; he’s just making himself a nuisance until he satisfies whatever weird whim has taken over his brain. “If I’d been even half as popular as you are when I was your age, I never would’ve gotten any work done,” Daniel grumbles.“What, are you mad at me for being attractive?” Derek looks up at Daniel briefly, raising an annoyed eyebrow. “It’s not like that was my fault. This is literally just my face.” He looks back down and scribbles out a few more notes on this section of the text before moving on to the next. The unfamiliar dialect is really tripping him up on this one; he’ll need to readjust entire sections of the translation once he’s finished the first read-through, and he’ll likely also need to translate several unrelated texts just to gain a better understanding of how these particular people use language. Context is painting an almost-entirely-unintelligible portrait with literal translation.“I’m just saying,” Daniel continues, “you have options I never had.”“And I won’t be pursuing any of them,” Derek says distractedly as his frown deepens, examining the text. “Hey, see if you can find any more works by this author,” he tells Daniel, showing him the tome. “He has a very distinctive writing style, and he’s not making it easy for me to figure out what he’s trying to say.”He gives Daniel a minute to study the text. “Oh, wow, I see what you mean,” Daniel mutters, brow furrowed as he reads. Eventually he nods and pushes the tome back toward Derek. “On it.” He starts shuffling through the materials on the table, searching for similar works.“Pretty sure this is what we’ve been looking for, though,” Derek says as he starts reading again. “I mean, it’s hard to tell for sure if this is supposed to be metaphorical or if this is just the way he speaks, but if it is the latter, then I think we’ve found it.” The more he reads, the clearer the big picture gets. Details are still hazy because of the phrasing and the few unfamiliar words, but he's certain he's on the right track now. These books are the reason they're here.“Shall I call for assistance from our friendly librarian?” Daniel asks as he searches.Derek rolls his eyes. “Only if our own search fails.” He reads the next passage several times before writing out more notes in his notebook. Definitely making progress, now.“A little harmless flirting wouldn’t kill you, is all I'm saying,” Daniel says, peeking up at Derek over the rim of his glasses.“I'm neither available nor interested,” Derek tells him firmly, not looking up from the book. He sits up a little straighter as he reads on—this next part is getting very interesting. He scribbles out more notes rapidly, hoping he'll be able to decipher his own handwriting later but not caring enough to slow down to ensure he produces something legible.“I’m not saying you have to actually act on it, just that it’s okay to have some fun sometimes—”Derek furrows his brow and looks up at the older man. “Daniel, what is this really about?” Because he has absolutely zero plans on ever flirting with anyone other than Stiles, ever again, and he thought Daniel knew that.All the playfulness fades out of Daniel's expression, and he sets aside the book he'd been perusing. “I just worry that if you lose Stiles—”“I won't lose him,” Derek says, expression hardening.“You don't always get a say in that,” Daniel points out quietly, eyes darkening with grief. He takes a breath and takes his glasses off to swipe a hand over his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose for a second, then settles his glasses back on his face. "Losing Sha’re nearly destroyed me,” he admits softly. “There are still days when I almost—when I'm not sure what the point of it all is, anymore. And I know you've lost people before, but you can't tell me losing Stiles wouldn't be different.”Derek drops his gaze, yearning to retreat into the safety and comfort of a challenging translation. “I won't lose him,” he repeats quietly. He knows, and now apparently Daniel also knows, that he wouldn't survive losing Stiles. Nothing to be done about that, now, though. It's not like he could pull away to protect himself, even if he wanted to. He'll just have to make sure that's a scenario he never has to face.Daniel sighs and picks up another book, starts absently flipping pages. “Sometimes I forget how young you are,” he mutters.Derek frowns at that. “What does my age have to do with anything?”Daniel shakes his head, something in his expression lightening. “It's not about how old you are,” he says, “but how young you are.”Derek blinks a couple times as he tries to parse out Daniel's meaning. “I'm not following,” he admits, shaking his head in confusion.Daniel smirks slightly and sits up, clearly pleased to get to start in on a lecture. “Well, you see, it's a matter of—”But Derek isn't paying attention anymore. There's a commotion outside, getting closer. He stands up, carefully setting aside his research materials, and reaches for the handgun at his hip. He takes a few steps toward the door, gun drawn, ignoring the concerned noises Daniel has started making and the alarmed voice of the librarian. Before he can do anything more than brace himself, though, the door bursts open and Colonel Mitchell stumbles through, arms raised, pushed along by a thug holding a weapon to the back of his head.“Drop it,” the thug orders when he sees Derek’s gun. When Derek hesitates, he shoves his weapon harder against the base of Cam's skull, causing the Colonel to wince. “Drop it,” he repeats, “now.”Derek locks eyes with Cam, and Cam shakes his head minutely, expression carefully blank. Derek clenches his jaw, but he complies, slowly lowering his gun to set it on the ground, then standing up straight again with his hands raised.“The illustrious SG-1,” the thug chuckles. “That was easier than I thought it'd be. You're coming with us.”Derek furrows his brow and asks, “Us?”The thug grins as several of his friends file in through the door. “Us,” he confirms.And Derek can hear, now, Vala struggling against her own captors outside. He won't be able to take out the ones in here before they can hurt her. He'll have to wait, and observe, and strategize. And in the meantime, he'll have to allow himself and his team to be taken away, and not fight it hard enough for anyone to get hurt.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“So,” Cam says, swinging one leg back and forth as he sits on the bench in their cell, “first time being held captive on a spaceship. How does it feel?”“Boring as hell,” Derek grumbles, scanning the cell, looking for weak spots. There’s a vent, high on the wall, that he should be able to fit through, if he can get it open.Cam sighs. “I feel ya, buddy. Landry’s not expecting us to check in for another…” he glances down at his watch, “three hours. So it’ll be at least that long before anyone even knows we’re gone.”“Not that they’d be able to send a rescue op after us in hyperspace anyway,” Daniel points out from where he’s sprawled across another one of the benches, staring at the ceiling.“Guess we’ll be rescuing ourselves, then,” Vala says with a devious grin, waggling her eyebrows at Derek.Derek meets her eyes for a moment, expression settling into a smirk. She’s already formulating a plan, and he’s pretty sure he can guess the outline of it. “How would we feel about turning this into my first time hijacking a spaceship?” he suggests, and from the smug look on Vala’s face, he can tell he’s guessed correctly.Daniel sits up to look at him in surprise, and Cam lifts a curious eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?” Cam asks.Derek stands, faces the wall with the vent, backs up a few steps. He runs a quick calculation in his head, crouches down, then leaps. His fingers catch easily in the vent grate, and he pushes against the wall with his legs until the grate pops free, momentum propelling him into a backflip off the wall. He lands back on the ground, absently hands off the grate to Daniel and fixes his gaze back on the vent above. “Wait here,” he tells them all. Probably unnecessarily, as it’s not like any of them will be able to follow right now. “Might take me a few minutes.” He leaps up to the vent again and shimmies through.It’s a tight fit, but he makes it through with only minimal difficulty. Vala and Teal’c had shown him blueprints of Ha’tak vessels for an eventuality just like this one, so he knows approximately which turns he needs to make to get where he needs to go. He pauses briefly when a security patrol passes by under him, waits for them to get out of earshot. He could drop down now, take them out, but he doesn’t want to cause a ruckus before the rest of the team is out and working on their parts of the plan. He’d also rather corral the goons and drop them somewhere out of the way, instead of having to kill them all. He knows most of them aren’t the masterminds here; they’re just following orders, working for the group they think has the best chance of keeping them alive. Not their fault they’re wrong.He heads first to the cargo bay where he’s hoping their captors had stashed their gear. He’s right; everything had been tossed in a loose pile on top of a crate. He grabs the essentials—weapons, radios, Vala’s hand device—and listens at the door for a second. There’s a small group in the corridor. He could wait it out, let them pass by and slip out unnoticed, but they seem to be lingering, joking amongst each other. He doesn’t know how long it’ll take to be rid of them. And then one of them says something derogatory about Vala, and the rest of them laugh, and his decision is made.He sets down the gear he’d gathered—he doesn’t want to draw attention yet with gunfire—and opens the door, eyes glowing blue, claws out. “Woah, what—” one of them starts, but Derek doesn’t let him get any farther than that. He takes them out as swiftly and silently as he can manage, minimizing the mess. Won’t do to alert the rest of the crew too early by leaving blood smeared on the walls and floor, after all. He pulls the bodies into the cargo bay, gathers up the gear again, and shuts the door behind him.The rest of the corridors between the cargo bay and the brig are blessedly empty—no point having heavy security patrols when your captives are locked up with no chance of escape—so it’s an uneventful trip.“Ah, sweet,” Cam greets him with a grin as he enters and opens the door to their cell. “That was quick. Meet any trouble?” he asks, quickly getting his gear settled.“Nope,” Derek answers, because it really was no trouble at all, taking out that first group. If Cam still has questions when they go back for the rest of their gear later, he can deal with it then. “What’s the plan?”“Take the bridge first,” Cam says. “Clean up the rest after. Derek, take point.”Derek nods once, decisively, and strolls out into the corridor. He doesn’t bother with sneaking around corners or hugging the walls; he’ll be able to hear anyone coming. He also keeps his gun holstered. He knows it makes Cam uncomfortable, when he does things this way, but the longer they can hold onto the element of surprise, the better.Speaking of which, there’s a patrol group up ahead. He signals for the others to hang back, slips into his Beta shift, and strides confidently around the corner to meet them head-on. He’s successful in unnerving them with his mere presence and appearance; they back away, try to scatter. He takes down the fastest ones first. The last one trips as he scrambles to get away. Derek stops him, kneels over him, claws held casually at the man’s throat. “Want to live?” he asks, voice low and even.“Yes,” the man whimpers, his whole body trembling. “Please, don’t—don’t kill me.”“Go to the brig. Stay there,” Derek orders. “If anyone comes looking for us or you, lock them in there with you. Can you do that?”“Yeah, yes, I can do that.” He nods, then stops when the movement makes Derek’s claws brush against the tendons in his neck.“Will you be calling for help, or warning anyone about this?” Derek asks, letting his claws rest on the man’s jugular.“No,” he gasps. “Definitely not, no.”Derek stares him down a moment longer, then steps back to allow the man to stand. “Good boy,” he says. “Now, go.”The man scrambles to his feet, nodding frantically, and runs off in the direction of the brig. Derek steps around the corner to see his team watching the man pass, all looking a little bewildered. “Let him go,” he tells them, so they won’t think he’s just an escapee he’d missed.Cam turns to look at him curiously. “What the hell was that about?”“Crowd control,” Derek says, and he steps around the corner again to drag the bodies out of sight. He gets them all stowed away by the time the others catch up with him, so he continues on down the next corridor.Patrols are more dense, the closer they get to the bridge. He manages to take them out silently each time, though a few of them create more mess than others. He only lets two more men escape to the brig; any more than that, and he’ll risk them getting intercepted on the way, or risk them deciding they’re numerous enough to fight back.There are ten on the bridge, Derek can hear as they approach. The thug who’d led the team that captured them on the planet is apparently someone of some importance in this organization, ordering people about in there. And according to the chatter amongst the crew, there’s also some issue of patrols missing scheduled check-ins, and a missing maintenance crew.Derek retracts his claws and fangs, eyes fading back to human. Stealth isn’t important anymore, won’t matter once they take the bridge, so Derek pulls his gun, peeks around the doorway, and fires, taking out six crewmen with one shot each. He steps aside to let Cam take the shot that incapacitates the ringleader. Only the pilot and two lackeys are left standing now, all too stunned to reach for their weapons. Derek strides into the room, plucking their weapons away, piling them all on the commander’s throne.“Well,” Cam says as he steps into the room, surveying the scene, “that was…”Derek glances over at the ringleader—not quite dead yet, but probably not alive for much longer, given the location and severity of his wound. “Easier than you thought it’d be?” he finishes for Cam, echoing the thug’s earlier claim.“Yeah,” Cam agrees as he watches the thug struggle to breathe. “That.”“So, where to, boys?” Vala asks as she steps up to the control console. “Straight home?”“I never did get to finish my translations,” Derek says, “since we were so rudely interrupted. Had to leave all my notes behind, too.”“Back to the planet, then,” Cam decides. “Grab our materials, then let Landry know we’ll be taking the scenic route home.”“We’ll need to drop off our guests somewhere, anyway,” Daniel agrees, eyeing the pilot and lackeys.Derek nods. “You can escort those ones to the brig. I’ll fetch the rest of our gear and start cleaning up the lower decks.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Wait—you're friends with Jackson now?” Scott gapes at him. “But—but he's such an asshole.”“Well, you're not wrong about that,” Stiles mutters, but a hint of a fond smile tugs at his lips. Because, sure, Jackson is an asshole. Always has been, probably always will be. But it turns out he's actually also pretty great in a lot of unexpected ways. Stiles is starting to understand why Cora became friends with him, and he won't be surprised to find himself thinking of Jackson as a close friend in the not-too-distant future.Scott throws up his hands in exasperation. “I just—first Cora, now Jackson? It's like I don't even know who you are anymore.”“What—because I'm friends with the only two people on this planet you're apparently incapable of getting along with?” Stiles raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “Not everyone has to like you, Scott.”“But why not?” Scott asks, insistent. “I'm the True Alpha!”“See, you keep saying that,” Stiles observes, furrowing his brow now, “but what does that even really mean? Like, sure, you didn't kill anyone for your Alpha powers. Good for you, I guess. But guess what? Neither did Cora!”Scott frowns deeply. “Someone died to give her her Alpha power—”“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, incredulous, “her great-uncle, of old age. Look, Scott,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, “it's great that you were able to level up all by yourself. You're the one true king of England, or whatever. But Cora was never out there seeking power, and she certainly didn't kill anyone for it. And sure, Derek did, but he gave it all up to save his sister's life. What exactly is it that makes you any more virtuous than them?”“Well, I'm—” Scott splutters, “Deaton says—”“Oh, Deaton says?” Stiles repeats in disbelief. “And what, exactly, is that cryptic bastard saying to you? Huh? Have you even done any fact checking?”Scott scowls and shrugs sullenly. “Fact checking is more your thing, and you haven't been around, so—”“Wha—I've been around!” Stiles flails an arm to gesture vaguely at their entire situation. “Scott, I haven't gone anywhere. I've been here the whole time. Here for you, any time you need me. That's never changed. All you had to do was get over yourself and ask.”“Get over myself?” Scott repeats angrily. “How is this my fault? You're the one who abandoned me and my pack without even telling me!”“And I'm sorry about that,” Stiles says again, because that was why he'd come here today in the first place, to apologize for the miscommunication and try to make peace, try to get their friendship back on track. He hadn’t meant for this conversation to devolve into another argument, but that seems to be the only thing he and Scott are capable of doing these days. “I handled it badly. I should've talked to you sooner. But it was the right move for me. I can't apologize for that.”“I just don't get how you can choose them over me,” Scott says, eyes wide as if attempting his best wounded-puppy impression. “I'm your best friend—”“Are you, though?” Stiles surprises even himself with the question. But he can't quite bring himself to regret it, now that the words are out there. “Because you haven't exactly been acting like it recently.” He narrows his eyes and studies Scott intently for a brief moment. “You've changed, Scott. And I'm having trouble figuring out the new you.”“Oh, you're one to talk,” Scott scoffs. “Telling me I've changed? Ever since you were possessed by the—the whatever that thing was—and you've never given me a straight answer about that, by the way—”“Because I can't,” Stiles interjects. Reading Scott in on classified materials would be an unmitigated disaster.“Ever since then,” Scott continues, “it's like you're a completely different person. You're keeping secrets from me—”“Oh, like you've never kept a secret from me,” Stiles says with a dry, humorless laugh.“There were good reasons for why I—” Scott starts.“There was no good reason to keep your plans for Gerard secret from everyone the way you did,” Stiles snaps. “But for the sake of argument, sure, let's pretend you did have good reasons for all the secrets you’ve kept. Can I not also have good reasons for keeping my secrets?” Because the threat of federal prison is a pretty compelling reason, in his opinion. “And by the way, of course I’m different after my possession. That kind of trauma changes a person in ways you can’t even imagine.”“Maybe I could, if you’d just talk to me about—” Scott suggests.“I can’t—” even if I wanted to, he almost says. And that realization, that he doesn’t even want to bring Scott in on this, wouldn’t want to open up to him about such a vulnerable part of himself, stops him short. When did he start insulating himself against Scott? They used to be brothers, as close as any two people could be. And now… now, he doesn’t—can’t—trust Scott with the intimate parts of himself. Even if he could find a way to talk around the classified portions of his experience, he can’t trust Scott not to use it somehow, in some scheme to defeat the next Big Bad that appears in town. Scott always has the best of intentions, wants to do the right thing, but he doesn’t always think through how the methods he uses could hurt the people around him in fundamental, irreparable ways. And, unfortunately, he doesn’t think Scott is self-aware enough to realize that about himself and reassess his approach.Stiles takes a long, slow breath to try to center himself, scrubbing both hands down his face. “Look, Scott, I came to apologize about the way I handled things with you and Cora, and I’ve done that. Whether or not you accept it is up to you. As for the rest of it—”“Apparently there’s nothing more to say,” Scott snaps, “since I can’t seem to get the truth out of you about anything anymore.”Stiles rubs the scar on the back of his neck and sighs in defeat. “It’s not that simple. But, yeah. I guess there’s nothing more to say.” He doesn’t know if this is something that can ever be repaired. He still loves Scott, but the status quo isn’t working, and he can’t keep going like this, arguing in circles and never making headway. And, quite honestly, he doesn’t think he should be the only one putting in the effort. He walks over to the door, then pauses with one hand on the door frame and turns back to look at Scott. “We’ll still need to be able to work together next time something comes to town, but… but I think we’d both benefit from some space, right now. I’ll see you around, Scott.” For a second, he half-expects Scott to call out or follow, to stop him, but he doesn’t. Scott just stands there in sullen silence with his arms crossed, glaring after him. So with that, he walks out, leaving behind a friendship he’d once considered an intrinsic and immutable part of his existence.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Allison asks, holding her bow loosely at her side.Cora shrugs. “Why not? I'm bored.”“No, but I mean,” Allison sighs, “are you sure you should trust me with this?”Cora cocks her head to the side as she looks at the other girl. “Why wouldn't I?” she asks, and she's not trying to be glib. If there's a reason not to trust Allison, she wants to know.“I'm just—” Allison looks down, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If this goes wrong, I could really hurt you.”“If this goes wrong,” Cora tells her, “it's my own fault for missing.”“But what if I—”“Stiles trusts you, right?” Cora asks.Allison blinks a couple times in surprise. “Um. Yeah, he—he does.”“And he was there for all the things you did that have you thinking I shouldn't trust you?” She meets Allison's eyes steadily.Allison takes a breath, clenching and releasing her jaw. “Yes, he was,” she confirms quietly.“And it's not like this would be your first time shooting arrows at me,” Cora reminds her, raising an eyebrow.Allison huffs in amusement, cheeks dimpling. “Last time, Stiles was here with his shield spell,” Allison points out—and Cora won't correct her assumption that Stiles' shield is magic. It's close enough, anyway, and a completely reasonable assumption to make under the circumstances.“We won't need it today,” Cora says with a shrug. “It’d defeat the purpose, anyway. Now, come on. Let's get to it.” She walks across the clearing and stands ready, facing Allison.“As long as you're sure,” Allison says, pulling an arrow out of her quiver.“We're wasting daylight here,” Cora complains, raising her eyebrows expectantly.Allison's smile widens slightly, eyes crinkling. “Alright. But remember, if this goes wrong, it's your fault.” She nocks the arrow, draws her bow, and fires.Cora catches the arrow easily, snatching it out of the air by the shaft. She grins, holding the arrow up triumphantly. “See? All good.” She lobs the arrow back so it embeds in the dirt at Allison's feet.Allison grins brightly back at her. “Okay, you win. Keep going?” She bends to pick up the arrow, tapping some of the dust off.“Ready when you are,” Cora confirms with a nod.Allison fires again, slightly off to Cora's other side. Cora catches it again and tosses it back. “So aside from boredom,” Allison says as she pulls the arrow out of the dirt and nocks it again, “why are we doing this?"“Oh, you know,” Cora shrugs and catches the arrow again. “Just girly things.” She lobs the arrow back. “It may have escaped your notice, but most of our social circle is a bit of a boys’ club.”“So, what, are we supposed to start braiding each other's hair?” Allison asks skeptically. “Paint each other's nails?”Cora snorts. “No. Obviously. We're shooting each other with arrows. You know, girly things.”“Oh, of course,” Allison says with a laugh. She fires another arrow.“Actually,” Cora admits, catching the arrow and looking down at it contemplatively for a moment, “I thought something like this would be a good addition to the pack’s training regimen, but I wanted to test it myself first. If people are going to be shooting arrows at us on the regular, it’d be good to have a defense against that. Stiles’ shield has its limitations, and he can’t be everywhere at once during a fight.” Cora winds up and throws the arrow as hard as she can into a tree trunk behind Allison. It sticks there, several inches deep into the wood.“I—” Allison sucks in a slightly startled breath, eyes wide, then turns to look at where the arrow landed. “Wow. Okay,” she says, turning back to Cora, brow furrowed, “so, clearly you have the raw power, but—but actually, your technique could use some adjustment.”“See?” Cora points a finger at Allison with a satisfied nod. “That’s what I’m talking about. You know more about throwing weapons than I do, and you’re not afraid to tell me when I’m doing it wrong.”Allison shrugs and looks down, smiling bashfully, before looking up again. “If you’re gonna do something like that, you should learn how to do it right,” she states decisively. “But, um. Maybe we work on that part when we have some softer targets? I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull that one out intact, and if they keep getting stuck like that, I’m going to run out of arrows pretty quick,” she adds, gesturing at the small collection of arrows in her quiver.Cora nods absently, surveying the clearing. “We should get some hay bales,” she mutters. She squints, mentally tallying how many she thinks they’ll need to set up a proper training course. She hears a whistle of air as another arrow flies toward her, and she reaches out to snatch it out of the air. “You shot wide on that one,” she observes, looking over at Allison and raising an inquiring eyebrow.Allison lowers her bow sheepishly. “I wasn’t—you were distracted. I didn’t want to hurt you if you weren’t paying attention,” she admits.“I’m always paying attention.” Hypervigilance, the Sheriff calls it. A side effect of seven years living on the run, looking over her shoulder the whole time, and the rocky first several months of her return to Beacon Hills. They’ve talked about PTSD, and unhealthy coping mechanisms, and accommodations around the Stilinski home. And, mostly, she’s been able to start relaxing. Adapting, at least, to a world that maybe isn’t out to get her one-hundred-percent of the time anymore. But apparently there are still things she can’t let go of. She twirls the arrow around her fingers before tossing it back.Allison bends slowly to pick it up and hesitates, clearly deep in thought. “Can I…” she starts, frowning down at the arrow as she spins it between her fingers. “Can I ask you something?” She looks up to meet Cora’s eyes, something tentative in her gaze.Cora holds her gaze steadily. “You can ask me anything. I can't guarantee I'll answer every question you have for me,” she says, because there are still some things she doesn't want to talk about with anyone, and that's not even including the things she legally can't talk about with most people. “But every question I answer, I'll answer honestly.” She's pretty sure she knows what Allison wants to ask about, anyway, has been wanting to ask since the beginning of their acquaintance.Allison looks down at her bow and pauses for another breath, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “Just… with everything my family’s done to yours,” she says softly, glancing back up, “why… why did you bring us into your pack? How could you possibly trust us, after everything?”Cora studies the other girl for a moment before she speaks. “Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes,” she quotes, and Allison’s mouth drops open slightly in surprise. “You are not your aunt,” Cora continues, “or your grandfather. You chose another path, and you continue to choose to walk that path every day. So does your father. That doesn’t undo what your family did, it’ll never bring back what I’ve lost because of them. But you aren’t them, and never will be. And your father isn’t perfect, but he’s one of the most honorable men I’ve ever known, and he loves you fiercely enough to do right by you, always.”“Oh,” Allison breathes, eyes bright with sudden moisture. She sniffles a little, swiping at her eyes with the heel of one hand. “I…” She starts nodding, slowly at first, then more determinedly. “Okay.”“And besides,” Cora says with a shrug, “if you ever do turn on me or anyone else in my pack, three of this county’s top law enforcement officers will make sure no one ever finds your bodies.”That startles a laugh out of Allison. “Well, okay, that’s very true,” she admits, still grinning.Cora’s phone chimes with a text, and she pulls it out to check. “Shit,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut tight for a second after reading it. She looks back up at Allison. “Can you give me a ride somewhere?”“Of course,” Allison says, frowning in concern. “Why? What happened?”“Apparently the conversation with Scott didn’t go well,” Cora answers distractedly as she types out a reply.“Oh.” Allison’s face sets in grim understanding. “Sorry. Do you want… is there anything I can do?”Cora shakes her head and slips her phone back into her pocket. “Just a ride, thanks.” She starts walking out of the clearing, back toward Allison’s car, but pauses after only a few steps and turns back to look at Allison. “And, thanks, by the way. For today.”“No, hey,” Allison says, shaking her head and smiling slightly as she steps forward to follow Cora out of the clearing, “thank you. I think… I really needed this.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Cora hears the thwack of a ball hitting a net as she approaches the field, and again a few seconds later. As she comes around the corner, she watches Stiles scoop up another ball, adjust his grip on the stick, and fling the ball into the net. Cora doesn't say anything as she approaches, just walks closer until she knows he's seen her, then sits down on the grass nearby. She folds her legs in front of her, leans back on one hand, and holds her amulet in her other hand.Stiles glances over at her briefly and sighs, scooping up another ball. He clenches his jaw and scowls at the net. “I hate this fucking sport,” he growls as he flings the ball.Cora just watches in silence, waiting for him to cool down enough to really talk.“I only joined because of him, you know?” Stiles continues, scooping up another ball. “Even though it was a terrible idea with his asthma, and we both absolutely sucked at it. He was determined, so he joined the team. And I was his best friend,” he flings the ball harder than necessary, “so of course I joined too.” He spins his stick around, then tosses it angrily to the ground and paces over to flop onto his back on the grass next to Cora.She lets him seethe in silence for a moment before she says anything. “How bad was it?” she asks gently, watching as he breathes heavily, trying to calm himself down.He turns his head to look at her for a moment, eyes red from tears long since dried, expression full of pain and anger, and says nothing before looking away again.She sucks a breath in through her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut in sympathy. She lets go of her amulet to reach over and place her hand on his shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she whispers.He huffs an angry breath, but he moves his hand up to hold hers. “I just—I don't even know if it's worth salvaging, at this point.”She shakes her head. “It's still fresh,” she says, squeezing his hand. "Give yourself some time to process before you give up on him for good."Stiles looks over at her incredulously. “Why would you even care if he's ever my friend again? He's, like, your least favorite person ever.”She rolls her eyes and uses their joined hands to nudge him hard on the shoulder. “He's important to you, you dork. There must be something redeeming about him, if you care about him so much. And I want you to be happy.”He stares at her for a moment, then sighs and looks up at the sky. “Is this what having real friends is like?” he mutters, squeezing her hand.She shrugs, even though he's not looking at her right now and won't see. “I wouldn't know. Never really had one before.”He snorts. “Dude. I keep forgetting you were literally raised by wolves for seven years.”“A wolf, anyway,” she mutters with a half-smile.He tilts his head to look at her again. “D’you ever miss it? The whole…” he waves his free hand in the air in a vague gesture, “never having to deal with people… thing?”She knows why he'd ask that, right now, why he'd think that's something to miss, but— “No,” she says softly, shaking her head slightly but not breaking eye contact, “this is better.”He narrows his eyes at her. “Even with—”“Even with situations like this,” she confirms.He makes a face and looks back up at the sky. “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?” he quotes the idiom sarcastically.She sighs. “I dunno. Maybe.” She studies his profile for a moment longer, then turns her own face up to the sky. “Or maybe it's just—” she stops abruptly as the breeze shifts. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” she growls, letting go of Stiles' hand and pushing herself up to her feet.“What?” Stiles asks, sitting up and looking at her in concern. “What's going on?”“I don't suppose you brought your hand device with you?” she asks as she lets her claws out.“Well, no, I didn't—I wasn't expecting to need it,” Stiles says as he scrambles to his feet. “Why? What the hell is going on?”“That,” Cora points as it steps into view.“Is that a—”“Yep.” She takes a few steps out toward the center of the field, then stops when she hears Stiles stepping up behind her. “No,” she says, stopping him with a hand held out at his chest. “Run, and call for help.”“I'm not leaving you to face that thing alone—” he objects, glaring at her.“Yes, you are,” she growls, pushing him back a step. “I can't—” she stops as his eyes widen at something he sees behind her, so she turns to look. “Okay, new plan,” she mutters. “We both run.” Because, sure, she can take down one berserker by herself. It's not fun, but she can do it. But three at once? No. Not without backup.She shoves Stiles around until he starts sprinting toward the parking lot. She follows, staying one step behind, between him and the berserkers, in case they catch up. They make it to the Jeep just fine, though. Stiles fumbles the keys a little trying to get it started. “Where—” he starts as the engine roars to life, throwing it into gear.“Where does your dad keep his ray gun?” she asks, pulling out her phone to type out a text.“Zat’nik’tel,” Stiles corrects automatically as he backs out of the parking space. She glares at him, and he rolls his eyes. “At home.”“That's where we go, then.” She sends the text and tucks her phone away again, hoping their timing works out.“You think they'll follow?” Stiles asks, checking his mirrors as he pulls out of the parking lot.“I think they've been sent to kill me,” she answers, craning her neck to watch as all three run after them, “and their job isn't done yet.”“You sure you're the target?” He glances over at her briefly, then fixes his eyes back on the road ahead.“Could be both of us,” she admits, “but I don't think it's a coincidence that this is the second time I'm facing an attack, and this time they've escalated, because the first one didn't work.”“Two incidents isn't enough to definitively establish a pattern—”“It hasn't escaped my notice that I'm the only one in town getting attacked,” she says, raising an eyebrow at him.“So far,” he points out.“That's not the comforting thought you seem to think it is,” she grumbles, glaring at him briefly before looking out the back window again. The berserkers are still keeping pace with the Jeep. Not quite able to catch up, or not trying to for as-yet-unknown reasons.“Just saying, we still don't know what's going on yet.” He takes a curve a little too quickly, tires skidding a bit.“Doesn't really matter at the moment,” she says. “Just get us there intact, please.”He scowls, but takes the next turn a little more carefully. “Sorry my getaway driving isn't up to your standards,” he grumbles.“I'd just rather not die, if it's all the same to you.” She hasn't gotten a reply to her text yet, but she can't worry too much about that. She starts formulating a backup plan, just in case.“You sure about that?” Stiles asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Because you sure do seem eager to take on a whole lot of danger all by yourself a lot of the time.”She rolls her eyes. “Not because I want to die. I'm trying to protect all of you.”“Well, maybe stop trying to protect us from everything,” Stiles says, with a dark edge to his voice. “Let us protect you, sometimes.”She crinkles her nose in annoyance. “You sound like O’Neill.”“Good,” Stiles agrees, “because he happens to be right about this. If you—”“Oh, thank God,” she breathes as they round the next corner onto the Stilinskis’ street, and she sees the Sheriff standing on the porch waiting for them. She doesn't even wait for Stiles to pull into the driveway and stop the car, just flings herself out the door as soon as he slows down on the approach. “They're right behind us,” she calls out to him, turning to watch them approach. “You ready?”“Always,” the Sheriff answers, and three waves of energy surge past her, hitting each of the berserkers. They stumble slightly, momentarily stunned, but they keep coming. The Sheriff sighs. “Yeah, figured it wouldn't be that easy.” He fires again, and they collapse.“Are they dead?” Stiles asks, tripping over his own feet as he stumbles out of the Jeep and makes his way over to Cora.“Should be,” the Sheriff says. “Any intel we could gather from keeping the bodies?”Cora shrugs. “Not sure. Usually the only way to kill one is to take off its mask, and that just makes it dissolve, so—”“Uh, guys?” Stiles says, staring wide-eyed down at the bodies. “Are they supposed to do that?”She looks down, frowning, then raises her eyebrows in shock as one of the bodies starts to move. “No, they are not,” she says."Ah, crap,” the Sheriff mutters. He fires at each of them again, and the bodies vanish. “Well, that was new. What do we know about how berserkers work?”“Not enough, apparently,” Cora observes.Stiles nods, looking resigned. “Guess it's time to start researching.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Alright, try it now,” Colonel Carter says, sitting back on her heels and pulling her soldering iron away from the panel.“Okay, moment of truth,” Stiles mutters as he plugs in the control crystal. The panel lights up with an electrical hum, and Stiles grins triumphantly. “Yo, dude, it works!” He holds his hand up for a high five. Carter rolls her eyes but humors him, reaching over to slap his palm.“Well done,” she tells him, looking pleased, putting the cover on the panel and gathering her tools.“So, why are we installing a ring platform here?” he asks, pushing himself up off the floor and flopping down into a nearby spinny office chair. “Not that I’m complaining or anything, just—are we going to be using this enough for the installation to be worthwhile?”“You'll see,” she smiles mischievously as she puts everything away.“Wha—oh, come on,” Stiles complains, “you can't just leave me hanging like that!”Her smile widens. “I'm not going to ruin the surprise.”He pouts and spins his chair around once. “I'm not much of a fan of surprises these days,” he grumbles.“I've been assured you'll like this one,” she says, sitting at the nearest lab table and opening her laptop to start typing up notes.He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously. “Assured by whom?”“I'm going to have a pretty substantial list of projects for you to work on in the coming days,” she says, ignoring his question and continuing to type. “So I'll need to know your schedule.”“School starts the last week of August, so I'm pretty much free until then,” he answers automatically. “That is,” he adds after a brief moment of thought, “assuming I'm not needed for more, uh. Emergencies. Around town.”Carter looks up from her computer and frowns. “Did something happen?”“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says, pulling a box of spare parts closer, picking through it at random.“Tell me,” she says, pushing her computer away.He shakes his head, brow furrowing as he pulls a small crystal out of the box. “I actually can't,” he says distractedly, holding the crystal up to the light for closer examination.“What do you mean, you—”“Are you gonna use this?” he asks, lifting the crystal to show her. “Can I have it?”She shrugs. “I don't have any plans for it. All yours.”“Sweet,” he breathes. She probably has no idea what it actually is, otherwise she wouldn't be letting it go so easily. He tucks it into his pocket to tinker with later and keeps digging through the box.“Stiles, can we get back to—”“In your experience, is the second shot from a Zat always fatal?” he asks, pulling a collection of parts out of the box and lining them up on the table.Carter pauses for a moment to look at him suspiciously, then apparently decides to take the path of least resistance. “Under normal circumstances, yes,” she answers, “but there are biological and technological factors that may provide varying levels of immunity.”He hums and nods thoughtfully. He doesn't think the issue here is technological, but biological factors could be at play. And they still don't know enough about the interplay between Goa'uld technology and the supernatural. “But maybe the real question is,” he mutters as he thinks back on his recent research into berserkers, “can a Zat kill something that's already dead?” He fishes one last component out of the box and starts fitting pieces together.“What have you gotten yourself into here, Stiles?” she asks, voice full of concern.“Oh, you know,” he shrugs, smiling wryly, “just the usual. Here,” he says, fitting the last piece into place and pushing the reassembled device toward her, “this'll help with power efficiency.” He points his thumb over his shoulder at the ring platform.She raises her eyebrows at him, then picks up the device to examine it. “Where do I—”“Oh, uh—” He gets up out of his chair and walks over to open up the secondary power panel. He squints at it for a moment, then points to the connection slots. “Here, and here.” He steps back to make room for her.She steps over to plug it in, making a satisfied noise as the electrical tone emitted by the panel shifts. “Got any more tricks up your sleeve?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him curiously.He shrugs and walks back over to the table. “Depends what other parts I have access to.” He sits and starts rummaging through the box again.“I'll bring more next time, then.” She sits down at her computer again and starts typing. “But don't think this gets you off the hook for whatever it is you're being so evasive about,” she warns, glancing up at him briefly. “If you're in danger here—”“Hazards of living in this town,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “We're handling it.” He picks up a part out of the box, turns over in his hands a few times to examine it, shakes his head, and puts it back.She sighs. “Well, I guess just… if there are any resources I can provide that'd help, let me know.”“Yeah, sure, thanks," he mutters distractedly. There aren't too many more complete projects he can build with the parts here, but he could Frankenstein something together if he gets creative.“Stiles, if all of this is too much right now—”“No,” he says, looking up at her quickly in mild panic. “Look, this—” he gestures at the box of parts and takes a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “If I have to be stuck with all of this in my head, I need to be able to do something useful with it. This is, like, meditation for me. Keeps my hands busy, keeps my focus on the helpful parts of my memories instead of the traumatic ones, and at the end, I get a cool gadget or a useful upgrade. Just, let me have this.”“Alright,” she agrees, raising her hands in surrender. “I'm not exactly going to complain, because we're learning things about Goa'uld technology we've never had access to before. I just don't want you to overwork yourself.”He makes a face and turns his attention back to the box. He knows he's not the best at regulating his time or attention, easily gets hyperfocused on interesting projects and loses all sense of everything else. And maybe it's a little too easy to justify getting lost in the project here, but at least it's for a good cause. He sighs and starts pulling parts out of the box. “So what's the big surprise?” he asks, glancing up at her.She grins and starts typing again. “If all goes according to plan, you'll find out tomorrow.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“You stole a spaceship?” Stiles grins over at Derek as he walks onto the Pel’tak and directly over to the primary control console. Derek is set up on the platform at the base of the commander's throne, surrounded by books and papers and, in Stiles' opinion, looking altogether too adorably nerdy.Derek smirks, but doesn't look up from his book. “It was either that or wait for rescue, and I've never been particularly good at waiting around to be rescued.” He scribbles out some notes in his notebook.“You're ridiculous, d'you know that? A completely ridiculous person.” Stiles places his left hand over the control panel and summons the long-range sensor display to the HUD. He frowns at what he sees and starts making adjustments. “Dude, whoever was piloting this ship last sucked. How could they stand this?”“Vala didn't seem to have any problems with it,” Derek observes distractedly.“Vala doesn't exactly have the highest standards with such things.” He scowls as he switches to mid-range sensors. “Oh, man, this is even worse. What were they thinking? I gotta—” He sighs and opens up the crystal tray and kneels down to start tinkering. “Gonna need to go to the engine room for some of this,” he mutters, mostly to himself, as he starts mentally making a list of all the adjustments he'll need to make to get this ship to peak performance.“Do you need to go now, or—” Derek asks, sounding mildly disappointed.Stiles blinks and glances over at him to see that he's watching intently, eyes fixed on Stiles' hands as he reconfigures the crystals. “Uh, no, I'm—” Stiles clears his throat. “Gonna work up here for a bit first.” He pulls a crystal out of the panel and scans it with his hand device, making a few adjustments to the programming before slotting it back into place.“Oh,” Derek says, smiling softly and turning his attention back to his books. “Good.”Stiles allows himself another moment to just watch Derek, cataloguing the little crinkle that forms in his brow when he reads the source text, the satisfied quirk of his lips when he scribbles out a long note in his notebook, the twitch of his eyebrows as he puzzles over the next section of the text. Stiles eventually remembers why he's actually here, though, and shakes his head a little as he turns his focus back to his own work. He pulls the next crystal from the panel to make adjustments. “So, uh. Whatcha workin’ on?”“Historical accounts of possible werewolf packs offworld,” Derek answers, frowning down at the book he's translating. “Not many Goa'uld would've bothered with creatures they couldn't use as hosts, but—”“I did,” Stiles says, then blinks in surprise at himself. “I mean, uh. My symbiote,” he corrects, “for—for research, and hard labor.” Very hard labor, under conditions that would have been fatal to humans. Was fatal to most of the werewolves, too, quite honestly. Not that his symbiote had cared, as long as it got what it wanted.Derek looks up at him sharply. “Do you remember which planets?”Stiles pauses a moment to think. “Probably. I… yeah, I think so. Remind me to give you the list of addresses later.” He plugs the crystal back into the tray and pulls out another. He can already tell, just from the hum of the panel, that he's getting closer. The tones it emitted had started out discordant, but each adjustment he makes is bringing it closer to the harmonies it should be singing.“What did you just do?” Derek asks, head tilted curiously to the side. “Which crystal is that?”“Navigation interface,” Stiles says, frowning down at the crystal as he reprograms it. “It was totally out of sync with the sensors.”“So that was the source of my headache,” Derek says, rubbing his forehead. “I didn't even realize. The sound it was making—”Stiles grins as he plugs the crystal back in. “Better now, though, right?”“Much,” Derek confirms. “Not perfect, though. There's still—”“I know,” Stiles nods, pulling the next crystal. “I told you, the last pilot was awful.” He scowls down at this one. Lots of adjustments needed here. Quite frankly, he's impressed they even made it here in one piece, given the state of things.Derek hums in agreement. “Pretty awful kidnapper, too, as it turns out.”Stiles grins. “I bet. This is a big ship, crew complement of up to two thousand. And just the four of you took the whole thing? How’d you manage it?”Derek shrugs and smirks down at his books. “I may have spooked a few of them who have never seen a werewolf before.”“God, I love you,” Stiles says distractedly, plugging the crystal back in and grinning wider. He pushes the crystal tray shut and stands to face the console.There's a thump and a rustling of papers behind him, and he turns to look over. Derek has dropped his book and his notes, and is staring wide-eyed at Stiles. “You—” he breathes.Stiles' own eyes widen as he realizes what he'd just said. “I—oh, fuck. I didn't mean to say that.” He drops his head into his hands. “Can—can we pretend I didn't just say that?”Stiles hears more papers shuffling, then footsteps as Derek stands and starts walking over. “That depends,” Derek says, voice low as he approaches. “You didn't mean to say it because you didn't mean it? Or—”“Of course I meant it,” Stiles snaps, lifting his head to glare at Derek. “You know I meant it. I just—I didn't mean to say it like that. Especially not for the first time.” He braces his left hand against the console, staring beseechingly at the interface panel as if hoping it can spare him from this embarrassment.There's a spark of mischief in Derek's eyes now as he steps close enough to touch. He doesn't, yet, though; just stands tantalizingly close, eyes fixed on Stiles. “Like that being—”Stiles rolls his eyes and grabs a fistful of Derek's shirt, tugging him half a step closer. “Like it didn't mean anything,” he grumbles petulantly. “Like it doesn't even matter.” He flattens his palm against Derek's chest, then slides his hand around to land on the side of Derek's ribcage.Derek moves his arms, one hand landing on Stiles' hip, the other hooking around the back of his neck. He pulls Stiles’ head forward until their foreheads are pressed together, tips of their noses brushing together. “I stole a spaceship,” Derek says quietly.“Uh,” Stiles replies intelligently, frowning slightly. “Yeah, I know. You—”“For you,” Derek growls. “I stole a spaceship for you. Because I thought you'd like it.”Stiles looks at Derek incredulously for a moment—an awkward feat, with their faces this close—then huffs an amused breath. “I'd like to repeat my earlier assertion, that you are an entirely ridiculous person.”Derek closes his eyes and takes a few breaths. “I don't know if I can say it. Not because I don't, it's just—” His grip on Stiles' tightens, his voice rough. “The last person I said that to—”“Derek,” Stiles interrupts gently, lifting his left hand off of the control console to gently thread his fingers through the hair at the back of Derek's head. “You stole a spaceship for me. That says more than a few silly little words ever—”Derek surges forward and kisses him deeply, and Stiles hangs on for dear life, feeling weak in the knees, matching his passion as best he can. Derek pulls back slightly, once both of them are breathless. “If I never say—” he starts, looking intently at Stiles with an adorable crinkle between his eyebrows.“Words are stupid,” Stiles growls. “Get back here.” He tugs Derek back in, perfectly happy to not say anything again ever if it means he gets to keep kissing Derek.They both jump and break apart when someone clears their throat, over in the doorway. “We leave you kids alone for five minutes…” Colonel Mitchell says, though from his tone, Stiles can tell he's far more amused than annoyed.Derek drops his head down onto Stiles' shoulder and growls in frustration. Stiles drops his head back to stare beseechingly at the ceiling, silently willing his body back to a state fit for polite company. “Did you need something?” Derek grumbles, turning to glare at the Colonel.“The General needs to speak with us,” the Colonel says apologetically.Derek sighs heavily and takes a step back, slowly releasing his arms from around Stiles. He looks up to meet Stiles' eyes for another moment. “I'll have more to say on this topic later,” he mutters, gaze drifting down to Stiles' mouth.“Promise?” Stiles asks, still feeling a little dazed.Derek nods, gaze still focused on Stiles' lips for a moment longer before flicking up to meet his eyes again. “To be continued.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“No, not—the one below it,” Stiles says, frowning at Colonel Carter and pointing at the correct crystal. “That one.”Carter raises an eyebrow at him, then pulls the correct crystal from the tray to switch it out for the backup. Her other eyebrow rises to meet the first when the entire panel shifts tone and shines brighter. “This would be a lot easier if you’d just write a user manual,” she says again, handing over the faulty crystal.Stiles sighs as he scans the crystal with his hand device and starts reprogramming. “Unfortunately, it’s more of an art than a science. And a lot of it doesn’t translate well into English.”“Can’t you try? At least list out which crystals do what.” She pushes the tray closed and pulls open the next one, squinting at the crystals as if they can tell her all their secrets.Stiles shakes his head. “It’s not that simple. For some of it, sure. The ship’s basic functions are fairly standardized, parts replaceable. But actually getting things to work well? It’s like…” He pauses his scan and taps the crystal absently with one finger, listening to the pinging noise it makes. “So, each crystal has a resonant frequency, right? Well, when the ship is working the way it should, it’s like a song. But the song also changes based on who’s piloting the ship, so it’s not one-size-fits-all. What sounds right for me won’t necessarily sound right for you, or Vala. And that isn’t really something that can be put into words. It has to be heard, and felt.” He taps the crystal again and frowns, not content with the tone it makes, so he starts scanning it again, searching for the bugs in the code.Carter just stares at him for a moment. “I had no idea it was that complicated,” she says eventually.He quirks his eyebrows at her quizzically. “You didn’t think a ship like this would be complicated?”She rolls her eyes. “It’s not that. I know, probably better than anyone, how complicated ships like this are. It’s just—” she huffs an amused breath— “I didn’t realize the Goa’uld were that refined. They aren’t exactly the most subtle of creatures.”Stiles snorts. “Personality-wise, sure. But they’re also fussy and prideful as hell. They want their motherships to fit them perfectly.”“I guess that makes sense,” she says, looking at the crystal tray again. “So if we were tuning the ship for me—”Stiles feels a pang—danger, fear, pain—and the crystal slips from his grasp and shatters on the floor. “Oh, hell no,” he growls, and he turns on his heel and sprints to the Pel’tak.“Stiles, what—” Carter calls after him, but he ignores her and runs faster.“You absolute dick, don’t you dare—” he mutters as he runs. “No, no, no no no—” He skids around corners, cursing the entire way, until finally he flails his way onto the Pel’tak and stumbles up to the control console.“Oh, hey, Stiles,” Dr. Jackson says, looking up from Derek’s notes. “What are you—”Stiles ignores him, shoving Vala out of the way—ignoring her indignant squawk as he does so—and thrusting his hand over the control panel. He doesn’t know how he knows where to go, but he does. He plots the course and engages the hyperdrive, then locks out the controls so no one can stop him.“Woah, Stiles, what’s going on?” Dr. Jackson says, setting the notes aside and standing in alarm. “Where are we going?”“This is gonna take too long,” Stiles mutters as he summons the ship’s navigation reports. Back to the engine room, then. He turns, snatching the Zat off of Vala’s hip as he passes, and sprints out of the room again.“Stiles, wait, stop—” Carter shouts as he passes her in the hall—clearly she’d been trying to catch up with him, but he can’t concern himself with that right now. He ignores her and keeps running, but he hears her turn to follow again. Whatever, that’s a problem for later.He skids up to the hyperdrive controls and pulls out the trays. No time for finesse here, he just needs to get there fast. He holds his left hand out toward the crystals and brute-force shoves the entire upgrade into them at once, then fires the Zat to give it the necessary initial power boost. He shoves the trays closed, then sits on the floor to start dismantling the Zat.“Stiles,” Carter gasps as she rounds the corner into the engine room again, trying to catch her breath, “what the hell is going on?”“Derek’s in trouble,” Stiles says distractedly, prying the Zat open to get to its innards. “And if Derek’s in trouble, so are Colonel Mitchell and Teal’c.” He pulls the power cell out of the Zat, opens the hyperdrive crystal tray again, and uses his hand device to fuse it in.“What—how do you—” Carter starts, then frowns deeply. “You haven’t been cleared to leave orbit. We need to contact General Landry—”“There’s no time,” Stiles snaps, shoving the crystal tray shut again as he stands. It’ll still take longer than he’d like to get there, but it’ll be hours instead of days. And he can probably trim that down some more with additional tweaks to the system. He pulls the navigation system crystal tray and starts scanning for programming errors.Vala and Dr. Jackson come stumbling into the room. “He’s locked us out of the controls,” Vala reports, sounding annoyed. “I couldn’t even access comms.”“Stiles, seriously, what is going on?” Dr. Jackson asks, equal parts concerned and confused.“Derek’s in trouble, and we’re going to rescue him,” Stiles states definitively, not looking away from his work.“Oh,” Dr. Jackson says. “Well, we’re gonna need a plan, then.”“Wait,” Carter says, “you’re just… You’re not even going to question how he knows this?”“Nope,” Vala answers. “We’re in. How are we doing this?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Derek doesn’t think he’s ever been in this much pain before. And he's been in a lot of painful situations in his life. Perhaps if he combined all his Greatest Hits of Torture and Terror into one, and then it just never ended, it might come close to this. He’s not sure how much more he can survive. Or, if this goes on much longer, if he even wants to survive.It was tolerable at first. Not fun, obviously, but he’d been through worse. And then they'd noticed his healing factor, and all bets were off. He’s starting to feel like Prometheus, growing a new liver only for the eagles to eat it again. Only this time, the metaphorical eagles are sadomasochistic dickwads, and they definitely aren’t limiting themselves to his liver.The upside, he supposes, is that they're focusing all their efforts on him, and leaving Cam and Teal’c alone for now. Not that it's much of an upside, per se, but it’s something. Sucks that they have to watch, though. From the pained noises Cam keeps making, and from Teal’c’s stoic silence and carefully schooled blank expression, this is probably nearly as psychologically scarring for them as it is for Derek.They’ve given him a brief reprieve, at this precise moment. Pausing for a snack break, maybe, because apparently torture is exhausting work. Or maybe just planning out the next round, seeing what limits they can push Derek’s body to next before they finally do something he can’t heal from. He’d be grateful for the break, if he didn’t know what’s coming next.He's lost in a haze of pain and dread, curled protectively in on himself in the corner of his cell, trying to decide if it’s worth letting his body heal enough to make it through the next round of torture, when something outside explodes, and the whole building shakes. And then there’s another explosion, and another, and several more. Dust rains down from cracks forming in the ceiling, but the building they’re in doesn't take a direct hit.“Is that—” he hears Cam say, and there’s a rustling from his cell as Cam moves around, likely trying to get a look outside.“Orbital bombardment,” Teal’c confirms, “from a Goa’uld Ha’tak vessel.”“Ah, hell,” Cam grumbles. “On top of all this, we get caught in the middle of some petty feud.”But then there’s a commotion out in the hallway, getting closer. Weapons’ fire from their captors, and the electric whine of Zat blasts, and a few other explosive noises he can't quite place. “I would not be so certain of that, Colonel Mitchell,” Teal’c says. And Derek, if he had the energy to speak, would have to agree, because when he strains his ears to really listen to whatever’s going on out there, he can pick out the tones of three very familiar voices over the din of the fighting.Derek decides he isn’t going to question how they got here so fast, or how they even knew where to find him. He isn't even going to question why it’s just those three, and not the full-scale rescue he’s sure General Landry should have authorized. The only thought he has energy for is immense, bone-deep relief. He uncurls slightly, leaning heavily against the back wall of his cell, and allows himself to breathe again.The door explodes inward, and Stiles stumbles in, face dark with fury. Daniel and Vala follow close behind, though Daniel stays in the doorway, Zat raised and ready to fire, covering their backs. Stiles strides over to Derek’s cell, left hand poised to blast the lock, crystal on his palm still glowing.“Oh, man, are we ever glad to see you,” Cam says, relief evident in his voice, as Vala uses her own kara kesh to blast his cell open.“Are you two—” Daniel asks, glancing over his shoulder at them in concern, but keeping most of his attention out in the hallway.“We are unharmed,” Teal’c says, as Vala moves over to blast open his cell now. “But Derek Hale—”Derek stops paying attention to any of that, because now Stiles is kneeling in front of him, cradling his face gently with those long, slender hands of his, looking at him with those beautiful whiskey-brown eyes. His expression becomes impossibly darker with fury as he takes stock of all of Derek’s unhealed injuries. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me, you asshole,” he growls. “I swear to God, Derek, if you—”Derek summons just enough strength to speak, though calling the rough croak he produces speaking is probably being overly generous. “Not dying,” he promises. “Not anymore.”“Shut up,” Stiles orders darkly, though he takes a moment to breathe, eyes squeezed shut, briefly pressing their foreheads together. “Stop wasting your energy on talking. We gotta—” He pulls back and turns away to start barking out orders over his shoulder. “Teal’c, you’re gonna have to carry him out. Colonel Mitchell, you got—”“Got our gear,” Cam confirms, “and I am so ready to get out of here and never see this place again. I swear, if y’all haven’t already killed the ones that did this to him—”“Don’t worry your pretty little head over that,” Vala says with a predatory grin. “I assure you, we’ve been very thorough.”“Is it really just the three of you?” Cam asks. Derek nearly whines as Stiles steps away to make room for Teal’c to scoop him up, but Stiles positions himself so Derek can see he’s still there. “I would’ve thought Landry would—”“Sam’s waiting for us up in the ship,” Daniel tells him as they all head out into the corridor. “And, uh. This wasn’t exactly an officially sanctioned rescue mission.”Derek’s eyes snap over to stare at Stiles. “You—” he croaks, then clears his throat and tries again— “you stole a spaceship for me?”Stiles blushes furiously. “Shut up, I didn’t steal it, it’s my ship. I just… didn’t wait around for permission to take it out for a spin. It’s—whatever. No regrets, I’d do it again, and I dare any of you to tell me it was the wrong thing to do.”“You will not hear any objection from us,” Teal’c assures him, “though I cannot imagine General Landry is pleased.”“Fuck General Landry,” Stiles snaps. “If he thinks I should’ve waited even a second longer to wade through his bullshit bureaucracy, he can kiss my lily-white ass.”I’m going to kiss him senseless, the second I’m healed enough to move properly, Derek promises himself as he finally lets go of his tenuous hold on the conscious world and everything fades to darkness.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“We really have to stop meeting like this,” Dr. Lam sighs as she steps into the med bay.“You’ll get no argument from me,” Derek grumbles. He winces as he adjusts his seat on the bed. No position he's tried so far has been comfortable.Dr. Lam reaches over to grab a pair of gloves, pulling them on as she looks him over. “Holy hell, Derek,” she mutters, eyes wide, hands hovering several inches away. “I don’t even know where to start.”Derek shrugs, then regrets it immediately when the movement reopens a wound on his side. “All you can really do is help get them clean. They’ll heal on their own. Eventually.” He hopes, anyway. These wounds are healing particularly slowly. And to Stiles’ immense frustration, there hadn’t been a healing device onboard the ship to help speed things along.She raises a skeptical eyebrow at him, but she reaches over for the saline and swabs. “You sure that's all I can do?”He nods stiffly and flinches as her hands approach the largest wound in his side. “Just… gotta wait it out.”She pauses when she sees him flinch. “Derek… if you want to talk about what they—”“I really don’t,” he states firmly. “Just—just get it over with, please.” He takes a breath and reminds himself that he trusts Dr. Lam, that he’s among friends again, that he’s safe here.She hesitates still, studying his face intently. “If there’s something I can do to help you feel more comfortable—”“Literally nothing is comfortable right now,” he tells her. “I’m fine. It’s nothing, I’m fine. Just do it.”“Derek, I really don’t think we should push this if you’re—”There’s a knock at the door, and Derek relaxes, knowing who it is before the door even opens. “Hey,” Stiles says hesitantly as he peeks inside, “okay if I come in?”“Uh,” Dr. Lam says, eyes flicking between Derek and Stiles. “I’m not sure if that’s—”“C’mere,” Derek says, holding a hand out toward him expectantly.Stiles slips into the room and shuts the door behind him, then walks over to take Derek's hand. “Hey, Doc. Sorry for interrupting.”Dr. Lam waves off his apology and slowly, cautiously, starts her work on cleaning out Derek's wounds. “As long as Derek’s comfortable, you’re fine.” She looks at Stiles curiously for a moment when Derek doesn’t flinch away from her again, but apparently decides not to question it, focusing instead on her work.“How much trouble are you in?” Derek asks, rubbing his thumb across Stiles’ knuckles.Stiles glances over at the door, as if the General might be standing just outside. “Probably less than I should be.”“General Landry is a good man,” Dr. Lam says distractedly as she works. “He may have to follow the rules, but I know he appreciates having people on his team who are a little more… flexible. He can’t fault you for doing what you knew was right, even if he didn’t approve of your methods. And if he gives you any more crap for this,” she adds with a miniscule smirk, “I’ll punch him in the nuts.”“You’ll—” Stiles’ breath leaves him in one surprised whoosh. “What?”Her smirk widens, eyes flicking up briefly to look Stiles in the eye. “Relax. He’s my father. If I do need to nut-punch him, he’ll know he deserves it.” She swaps out her swab for a clean one from her tray and gets back to work.Stiles stares at her for a second, then snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t know if I should feel excited or scared for the day when you get to team up with Cora. You two will get along entirely too well. Just, remember us fondly in your plans for galactic domination.”“I’ll keep that in mind,” she responds absently, eyes twinkling with mischief, as she continues swabbing Derek’s wounds clean. He can feel the healing starting in earnest, now, flesh knitting together, aches fading. Even the deeper internal injuries, ones the Doctor can’t get to, are starting to heal. The mental scarring will take longer, but that’s just the way of such things.They lapse into silence for a minute, Dr. Lam focused on her work, Stiles watching the wounds shrink, and Derek watching Stiles. Derek narrows his eyes suspiciously as he takes in the tense line of Stiles’ shoulders, the stubborn set to his jaw, and the way he’s avoiding looking Derek in the eye. “Hey,” Derek says softly, furrowing his brow in concern and squeezing Stiles’ hand to get his attention, “what’s going on with you?”Stiles clenches his jaw, eyes darting over to the Doctor, and shakes his head firmly once. “Not now.”“Dr. Lam,” Derek turns to address her, and she looks up, raising an eyebrow at the interruption, “do you think I could get a minute alone with Stiles?”She pauses a moment to consider, surveying the rest of his wounds and his rate of healing, then nods and steps away, gathering up her used supplies and tossing them in the bin, along with her gloves. “I’ve done about all I can, anyway, and your healing looks to be back on track now. Straight to your quarters after this, though. I’ll have someone send down some food.”“Thanks,” he tells her sincerely, pushing himself into a more upright seated position.She reaches over to squeeze his arm gently. “Glad you’re home safe,” she says, then nods a farewell to both of them and exits, shutting the door behind her.Derek swings himself around to sit on the edge of the bed facing Stiles, maneuvering Stiles around to stand bracketed between Derek’s knees. Derek reaches up to place his hands on either side of Stiles’ face, giving him nowhere to look but into Derek’s eyes. “Stiles, c’mon,” Derek says gently, “talk to me.”Stiles shuts his eyes for a moment and pauses to take a breath, and when he opens his eyes again, Derek is surprised to see his expression darken with fury. Derek had expected concern, maybe even fear, but fury? And directed so intensely at him? He’s not sure what to do with that. “I don’t think I should, right now,” Stiles says, and he takes a step back, reaching up to hold Derek’s wrists gently, pulling Derek’s hands away from his face. “I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”Derek frowns in confusion. “Why would you… Stiles, what’s going on?”Stiles takes a few more steps back, out of arm’s reach now, and braces a clenched fist against the neighboring bed, turning his entire body away. “I’m—I’m too angry at you to think clearly. And you’re still healing, I don’t—we shouldn’t do this now.”Derek’s frown deepens. “Angry at me? Why?” He wracks his brain, trying to sort out what he could have done to make Stiles this mad.Stiles glares at Derek over his shoulder. “You don’t—do you really not know?”“What—are you mad at me for getting captured?” Derek asks incredulously. “For being tortured? Because that sure as hell wasn’t—”“I’m mad at you for giving up,” Stiles shouts, whirling around to glare full-on at Derek. “I—” he stops, breath hitching, and holds a trembling hand up level with his chest. “I felt you giving up, Derek.” All the blood drains from Derek’s face as Stiles continues, as Derek realizes with horror what happened. “You—you were going to die, and you just—you just accepted it. I can’t—” he stops again, taking a shaky breath and running both hands through his hair, then clasping his hands behind his neck and looking up at the ceiling for another breath. “I almost lost you,” he says quietly as his gaze lands back on Derek, “and I can’t—I can’t have you being okay with that.”Derek stares at him in shock for a moment. “I didn’t—” his voice, once he finds it, comes out rough, rasping. He takes a breath and tries again. “I didn’t know you could feel that.”“Why the hell do you think I was in such a rush to get to you?” Stiles asks, eyes wild and a little watery now. “Can you honestly tell me, if I’d arrived any later, there would have been anything left for me to save?”Derek clenches his jaw and looks down at his knees, unable to summon the words.“Yeah, didn’t think so,” Stiles continues angrily. “You can’t do that anymore, Derek. You don’t have that luxury. You have too many people who care about you. Not just me, either. Actual people, who actually care. How do you think Cora would feel, if she lost you now? Or my Dad, or O’Neill and Parrish, the rest of the pack, your entire team here.” He pauses for a breath, but not long enough for Derek to gather his thoughts and form a response. “General Landry was all set to read me the riot act for taking the ship,” Stiles continues. “But you wanna know who talked him down? Siler. You’ve got one of the longest-serving members of this entire program going to bat for you. And not just on my behalf, not just because he’s friends with my Dad, but because he cares about you. So think about that, next time you’re trying to decide if surviving is worth it. Think of all of us who’ll fight to get you home safe, and think about how devastated we’d all be if we got to you too late because you wouldn’t fight, too.”Derek is too stunned to respond for a moment, but Stiles has apparently run out of steam a bit. Stiles leans heavily against the bed behind him, one arm crossed over his chest, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand as he tries to get his breathing under control. “I’m…” Derek starts hesitantly as his brain starts to reboot. “I didn’t know. I don’t…”“Fuck,” Stiles breathes, dropping his arms and taking a few hesitant steps closer to Derek. “See, this… this is why I didn’t want to do this right now. I just—” he stops, directly in front of Derek, trembling hands landing on either side of Derek’s neck, and pulls him in hard for a desperate kiss. Derek clutches at his hips, fingertips digging in a little too hard, trying to ground himself in the certainty and steadiness that Stiles always provides for him. Stiles breaks off the kiss, too soon for Derek’s liking, and rests their foreheads together, eyes closed as he breathes. “You scared the hell out of me today,” he admits quietly. “Just—never do that again. Promise me.”Derek nods minutely, not wanting to dislodge any point of contact between them. “I promise,” he answers quietly, trying to put as much conviction into it as he can, hoping with all he has that Stiles can hear the sincerity of his words.“Okay. I’m…” Stiles’ hands tighten at the back of Derek’s neck for a moment, clinging to him for another breath, but then he steps back, pulls away, hands sliding around to Derek’s chest as he stands up straight. “We’ll be okay,” he assures Derek. “I just—I need a minute.” He steps out of arm’s reach again, quickly swiping a hand across his eyes.“Yeah,” Derek agrees, voice rough. He doesn’t want to let Stiles go, wants to cling to him with everything he has, but he understands the terror Stiles just experienced, and he understands the need to sit with it for a while. This is what Daniel had been trying to warn him about. It’s probably worth revisiting that conversation, if he can get his thoughts in order. “I’m—” he starts, then changes tactics. He doesn’t think saying I’m sorry will fix anything right now. There’s not even anything to fix, really. But he does have one more thing he needs Stiles to hear. “I’m not used to having so much to live for,” he says quietly, fixing his gaze steadily on Stiles, hoping Stiles understands everything he means with that admission.Stiles doesn’t respond immediately, just looks directly back into Derek’s eyes. Eventually, though, a bit of the tension in Stiles’ body drains away. “Well, get used to it,” he orders Derek. “Because I have plans for you, buddy, and we can’t do any of them if you’re dead.”Derek nods thoughtfully. “I like the sound of that,” he says, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Because he has plans of his own, too. He may need to delay his promised kiss-Stiles-senseless plan, but it’s one he’ll be enacting as soon as Stiles lets him. And he has ideas for a few more things he’d like to try soon, if Stiles is interested.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Stiles stomps into Cora’s room without knocking, flings himself down to dramatically faceplant on her bed, pulls her pillow toward him, and screams into it.Cora sighs heavily, but doesn’t move from her seat at her desk, doesn't look up from her laptop. “What did my brother do now?”Stiles flops over onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “Why do all you Hales seem to have a death wish? Is it, like, a genetic thing? Or, no, wait, is it a Hale thing? Or do you get it from the Littlefield side? Oh, God, it’s a Littlefield thing, isn’t it? Shit, that explains so much about Ernest. Why else would he willingly strand himself alone on a planet for fifty-plus years? He couldn’t help it, it’s in your blood or something. God dammit. You’re all so fucking smart, and yet you’re all such fucking idiots.”“Need me to kick his ass for you?” she offers, sounding vaguely amused, ignoring the rest of his rant.“Fuck, no, not—not physically, anyway,” Stiles flails a hand in the air to wave off the suggestion. “He’s had more than enough of that. That’s the whole problem. But, dude,” he adds, pushing himself up on his elbows to look over at her, “if you wanna knock some metaphysical sense into him? Be my guest.”Cora looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. “What did he do?” she asks again, sounding exasperated now.Stiles releases an annoyed puff of air and flops back down again. “Ask him yourself. He’ll be here tomorrow.”She sucks a breath in through her teeth in sympathy. “Yikes. That bad, huh?” Because she knows full well, the only reason the SGC would be putting him on leave again so soon after the last time was if he’d been through some serious shit.Stiles takes one long, slow, deliberate breath and doesn’t answer. But that, he supposes, is an answer in itself.She sighs again, grumbles, “Dammit, Derek,” and goes back to typing.He tilts his head to look at her curiously. “What’re you working on?”“Beta-reading Jackson’s fic,” she answers distractedly as she types.Stiles snorts. “Is that even legal for you to do, as an Alpha?” She just rolls her eyes at the pun and pretends to ignore him. “Wait—” Stiles sits up in interest, peeking over at the computer screen— “Jackson’s fic? Can I read it? Dude, I gotta know—”Cora reaches over to plant her hand on his face and shove him away. “No spoilers,” she states firmly. “You’ll find out when he publishes the next chapter.”Stiles groans and throws himself dramatically back on the bed again. “You’re so mean to me,” he laments, tilting his head so she can see him pouting at her, looking as pathetic as he can manage.She reaches over blindly to swat at him. “He’s posting it tomorrow, you dweeb. You can wait until then. I promise it’ll be worth it.”He points a finger at her in warning. “If you’re lying to me, I’m firing you as my new best friend.”“I’m heartbroken, truly,” she mutters dryly. “To be cast aside so callously. How shall I ever recover?”He narrows his eyes at her. “Y’know, somehow, I get the sense that you aren’t taking me seriously.”Her eyes crinkle in amusement. “Gosh, whatever could give you that idea?” she asks sarcastically.“I feel so unappreciated right now,” he grumbles at the ceiling, crossing his arms over his chest. “So unloved. What did I ever do to deserve such uncaring friends?”Cora types out a few more words, clicks the mouse a few times, and shuts her laptop, swiveling her chair to face him. “So, if you’re all done with the dramatics—”“What?” he exclaims dramatically, pushing himself to sit leaning back on one hand, other hand clutching at his chest. “Dramatics? Me?? I’ll have you know, I am perfectly justified in my—”“Do you think Derek’s Loft could be haunted?” Cora asks, expression serious and a little concerned.“Wha—ghosts are real? Ah, hell, what am I talking about? Of course ghosts are real. This is Beacon Hills. Werewolves, kanimas, aliens, curses… why not ghosts, too? Seriously, Cora, you need to stop mentioning new types of things that might appear in town, because I’m pretty sure you’re just summoning them somehow—”“Stiles,” Cora says sharply, interrupting his train of thought. “I don’t know if ghosts are real. But if they are, I think there might be one at Derek’s.”“You think there’s a ghost…” Stiles repeats slowly, studying Cora’s face. Something in her eyes tells him what she’s really getting at here. “You think Boyd’s ghost is haunting Derek's Loft,” he concludes.Cora closes her eyes for a second and takes a breath. “I think it’s possible, yes,” she says when opens her eyes again.“Do you… do you think he’s a friendly ghost?” Stiles asks hesitantly. “Or—or is he a vengeful spirit?”Cora shrugs, a little helplessly. “Dunno. You knew him better than I did. Did he seem like the vengeful type to you?”Stiles winces. “I actually—I didn’t actually know him all that well,” Stiles admits sheepishly. “You were locked in that vault with him for months, you probably—”“I’m not exactly the most talkative person,” she reminds him, smiling softly. “And neither was Boyd. Or at least, not with me.”Stiles snorts and smiles a little sadly. “No, you’re totally right. Boyd was maybe even less of a people person than you are.” Stiles scrubs a hand down his face and furrows his brow as he starts sorting through what he might need to research for this project. And then, another—perhaps slightly horrifying—thought occurs to him. “Cora…” he starts hesitantly, “if, uh, if Boyd’s ghost is real, do you think—”Cora’s expression turns stony. “No.”Stiles cringes, but he still has to ask. “You wouldn’t even want to check?”“I already—” she pauses, squeezing her eyes shut tight for a second. “They’re not there. No one’s there. They’re gone.”“But how can you be so sure? If ghosts are real, wouldn’t that be, like, the primo place for them to—”“I checked, Stiles,” she tells him sharply. “When I moved back to town for good, I went out to the house to… I don’t know, say goodbye, or whatever. If anyone was there, I would’ve felt it then. But I didn’t. So, they’re gone. There’s nothing left of them.” She brings a hand up to hold her amulet, looking down at it as she rubs her thumb across the carving. “Nothing left of any of them,” she adds quietly.He watches her for a moment before he speaks again. “I’m not entirely sure that’s true,” he says gently. “You carry Ernest and Catherine with you right there—” he points at her amulet— “every day. Not as anything as substantial as a ghost, obviously, but you can’t tell me there’s nothing left of them, when you hold their love over your heart.”Her grip on the amulet tightens as he finishes speaking, and she nods slowly. “You’re right,” she admits quietly. “I hadn’t—but, you’re right. About that.” She pauses for a breath. “But the house isn’t haunted.”“Okay,” he concedes with a nod. “No Hale ghosts. We can focus on Boyd. I’m gonna have to do a ton of research, first, though. What, uh. What do we want to do, if he is there? Do we… what, exorcise him? Help him ascend? Uh, keep him around, somehow?”“I guess…” She frowns as she considers that. “I guess that's up to him,” she decides.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Cora hands Derek a mug of tea and sits delicately on the seat next to him on the couch, cradling her own mug in both hands. “How long are you here for this time?” she asks, looking at him over the rim of her mug as she brings it up to take a sip. He looks tired, weary in a way that doesn’t just come from a lack of sleep.“Three weeks,” he answers, eyes closed as he holds the mug close to his face and inhales the steam.Both her eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, that… must’ve been serious.” Three weeks means his injuries were too extensive and severe for anything less than that to be a believable healing timeline, to avoid stirring up the SGC rumor mill.Derek shrugs one shoulder and sips his tea. “I guess.”Her eyebrows drop and furrow angrily. “Don’t downplay this,” she growls. “You got hurt, Derek. Badly. Don’t try to shrug it off like it’s nothing.”Derek scowls. “I know it’s not nothing. I just don’t feel like I need to dwell on it.”Cora sighs. “I’m not saying you have to dwell. But it won’t help you to pretend it didn’t happen.”“I’m not,” Derek insists, glaring into his mug. “I just… don’t want to talk about it right now.”She studies him for a moment, then nods and settles a bit further into the couch cushions. “Okay.” She closes her eyes to savor the next sip of her tea.“So…” he starts slowly after a while, “what’s the project Stiles is working on?”“Oh my God,” Cora groans, rolling her eyes dramatically, “you two are obsessed with each other. He’s doing some research for me. I’ll tell you when it’s relevant.”Derek huffs a breath, equal parts annoyed and amused. “Alright, keep your secrets,” he mutters, smiling softly into his mug. He’s thinking about Stiles again, she can tell. He has that far-off, dreamy look in his eyes. Gross.“So, I have a question,” she says, deciding she’ll be better off changing the subject.He turns to look at her curiously. “Yeah?”She takes a moment to breathe, drink her tea, and figure out how best to ask this. She taps a fingernail against the side of her mug a few times, frowns softly, and, eventually, speaks. “What’s it feel like, having wolves in your pack that you’ve turned? Back when you were their Alpha, I mean.”Derek raises an eyebrow at her in surprise and leans forward to put his mug down on the coffee table. “Are you… thinking about offering someone the Bite?”She rolls her eyes. “No. Definitely not,” she states firmly. “Honestly, I never even planned for the pack to get as big as it is now. I just…” she sighs and puts her own mug down next to his, then settles back against the cushions. “We have quite a few humans in our pack, now, and… what if one of them asks for the Bite? I just. Wanna be prepared.”Derek doesn’t answer immediately, just sits there frowning for a minute, staring at nothing. She leaves him to it, lets him gather his thoughts, until eventually he blinks a few times and speaks. “If the Bite takes properly, the initial bond is strong. Even stronger than the bond with the wolves we’re born with. But it doesn’t stay like that. It stabilizes, after a few full moons, if things are going well.” Derek pauses for a moment and frowns. “I never got to feel what it was like to be Alpha to a werewolf who chose me, though, so I don’t know how it compares.”Cora hums thoughtfully at that, furrowing her brow as she tries to figure out if it’s something she can put into words. “It’s like… okay, so you know I was never all that close to anyone in our family, after we lost Dad. Ernest was pretty much the only one I could tolerate. I’m closer to you now than I ever was back then. And I am closer to you than I am with any of our other wolf packmates, but not by much, especially compared to Jackson. I don’t know, maybe it helps that you were the one that bit him and Isaac.”Derek’s nose wrinkles in disagreement. “Mm, no, I think the Jackson thing is all you. Things went wrong from the start, with him and me, and even after he was an actual werewolf, he was never properly in my pack. Not just because he moved away, either. He could’ve stayed part of it, if he’d wanted, even with the distance.”Cora’s face softens fondly. “Jackson’s complicated, and he doesn’t trust easily. If you’d spelled it out for him, and told him what it really meant to be part of the pack, things might’ve been different.”Derek’s expression turns sour. “Yet another thing I did wrong as Alpha,” he grumbles.Cora scowls and reaches over to cover his mouth with one hand, preventing him from saying anything else self-deprecating and totally stupid. “Shut up, that’s not what I meant. It’s not your fault Jackson’s screwed up. That’s just who he is. Things were easier for him with me, because we were friends before. And he probably couldn’t look at you without remembering that he’d lost me.”Derek's mouth twitches, like he can’t decide whether to smile or frown. “I’d forgotten that the two of you were friends. It’s not like you ever invited him over.”Cora makes a face. “And expose him to all of you? He never would’ve spoken to me again.”Derek huffs in amusement. “I suppose we could be a bit overbearing,” he concedes.Cora studies him for a moment, then takes a breath and scoots closer to him, leaning into his side. “For what it’s worth,” she says quietly, looking at the coffee table in front of them, “I liked you as Alpha more than I ever liked Mom.”He snorts as he slides his arm around her to pull her in tight in a sideways hug. “You barely got to see me as Alpha,” he says. “Missed most of my worst moments.”“Doesn’t matter,” she tells him, tilting her head to look up at him. “I was there for the moments that mattered most.”He scowls. “You mean, when I got skewered like a kebab in my own home? Or fell off a building and slept with a serial killer? Or when I killed Boyd?”She scowls back and elbows him gently in the ribs. “I mean, when you believed in Stiles and broke yourself free from the woman who’d used and manipulated you. Or when you chose to save my life instead of holding onto power for yourself.”He stares at her for a moment, expression inscrutable. “Y’know,” he says eventually, “I don’t think you were ever actually a Hale. Not really. You’ve been a Littlefield the whole time.”She ponders that for a moment, then shrugs and settles closer against him. “You’re probably right. Never got along with Mom, barely tolerated Laura. I would’ve found her insufferable as Alpha.”She feels him chuckle against her. “You two would’ve murdered each other within days, if she’d had to be your Alpha.”She takes a breath and sinks further into the cushions, and into his side. “I still miss them,” she admits quietly.He squeezes her tight and presses a dry kiss to the top of her head. “I know. Me, too.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The Sheriff freezes with his mug halfway to his lips as Derek steps into his office, pulling the door shut behind him. “You look like crap, son,” the Sheriff observes, watching Derek move, narrowing his eyes as he studies Derek’s face.Derek eases himself down onto a chair across the desk from the Sheriff with a weary exhale. “I feel like crap, Sheriff,” he admits honestly, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair and leaning back, rubbing at the tense spot between his eyebrows.The Sheriff sets his mug down and gets up, walking around to lean back against the corner of his desk. “Stiles didn’t give me details about what went down on your last mission, but from the sound of it—”“Yeah, it—” he pauses for a breath, looking down and picking imaginary lint off his pants. “Stiles saved my life. Again.” That’s what he’s choosing to focus on, out of everything. Not that he’s pretending the rest didn’t happen, but he’s okay with letting the good outweigh the bad for a while. He’s okay with basking in the love that would drive Stiles to hijack a spaceship to rescue him, rather than the horrors that made such a rescue necessary.“Now, I know Stiles would never turn down an opportunity to act the hero for you,” the Sheriff says, raising an eyebrow at Derek, “but I think we’d all appreciate if he didn’t need to do it all that often.”Derek’s mouth twitches into a wry half smile. “No, I know. I’m working on that.”The Sheriff hums thoughtfully and studies Derek for a moment longer. “So is that what you came here to talk about today, or is there something else?”“I’m actually here to offer my services, to help figure out why my sister keeps getting attacked by berserkers,” Derek says, raising his eyebrows expectantly.The Sheriff sighs and crosses his arms. “Y’know, generally, when they put you on leave, they expect you to use that time to rest.”Derek glares lightly at the older man. “You really think I'll be able to rest when someone out there is trying to kill my sister?”“I suppose not,” the Sheriff mutters, and he reaches behind him to grab a file off of his desk. He holds it out toward Derek, but pulls it out of reach when Derek raises a hand to take it. “Promise me you’ll also use your time here for actual recovery,” he says, leveling Derek with a stern look. “Stiles is worried about you. We all are.”“I will,” Derek says automatically, reaching out further to grab the edge of the file. The Sheriff’s grip on it tightens, preventing Derek from pulling it away. Derek looks up to meet his eye steadily. “I will,” he promises again, sincerely this time. “Scout’s Honor.”The Sheriff rolls his eyes, but he releases the file into Derek's grip. "You were never a Boy Scout,” he says accusingly.Derek smirks. “Sentiment’s still valid,” he mutters, opening the file. “Not much here,” he observes as he reads.The Sheriff huffs a frustrated sigh. “I know,” he grumbles. “Not much to go on yet. So far, the only ways we’ve found to reliably take down berserkers don’t leave us anything to work with, evidence-wise.”Derek frowns down at the file as he flips to a page of research, clearly gathered and annotated by Stiles. Something in here is striking a chord with him, reminding him of something he'd found in his own research recently. He glances up at the Sheriff. “I might have something, up on the ship. Think they’ll let me up there?”“What part of ‘on leave’ do you not understand, kid?” the Sheriff says, leaning over to lightly swat him on the arm with the back of his hand. “Tell Stiles what you need, maybe he can bring it down for you.”Derek sighs and looks back down at the page of Stiles’ research. “He's mad at me,” he mumbles sheepishly.“He’s not mad at you,” the Sheriff says gently. Derek looks back up at him, skeptically. “Not mad,” the Sheriff repeats. He sighs heavily and scrubs a hand down his face, then clasps his hands loosely in front of him and looks down, distractedly running his thumb across his wedding ring. “He’s scared of losing you,” he says quietly, voice rough. “He saw what losing Claudia did to me. I only survived it because I had him. But it… I had a rough time of it, for a while. Took me longer than it should have to wrap my head around it, to remember what I still had to live for.”Derek inhales sharply at hearing the Sheriff's words, echoing his own from his last conversation with Stiles. “I won’t let that happen to us,” he says with conviction. “Either of us.”“If you really mean that,” the Sheriff says, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “then you’ll take the opportunity during your leave here to get some actual rest. And for God’s sake, son, sleep more. You look exhausted.”Derek huffs in annoyance. “I’m trying, honestly,” he insists. “I just… I’ve been having these weird dreams, lately. For the past few weeks, actually.”“Ah, crap. You, too?” the Sheriff mutters. Derek raises an eyebrow at him in surprise; that wasn’t exactly the reaction he’d expected. The Sheriff reaches over and snatches the file back, turning to a page Derek hadn’t read yet. He picks up a pen out of a mug on his desk and pushes a few knickknacks aside to clear space so he can write. “Do you remember exactly when the dreams started? Do you remember what happens in them?”“Uh,” Derek blinks a few times, then frowns, trying to remember. “I think… first one must’ve been three weeks ago today, actually, and no, I don’t remember what they’re about. Just that they’re weird. Why? Is it important?”“Well, we’ve all been having them,” the Sheriff says distractedly as he adds his notes to the file, “so yeah, probably.”Derek’s frown deepens. “All? All who?”“The entire pack, now,” the Sheriff says, studying the page of notes intently. “Starting with Cora. And then—oh,” he breathes, eyes widening. “That’s a pattern. That’s… ah, crap. That’s not good.”“What?” Derek asks, standing now so he can lean over the file, see what the Sheriff sees. “What is—oh,” he says, when he sees it, too. “Crap.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The day had started out so promising.She’d had a fairly decent night’s sleep, all things considered, and woken up feeling almost fully rested. And she’d managed to get out the door before anyone could stop her to chat, or to try to convince her not to go alone. Mother hens, all of them. She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself.The morning is starting out cool, but it’s due to heat up quickly, so she’d wanted to get this run in early. It’ll be too hot to do anything later, much less do anything while also having fur.It's peaceful in the forest, this early. Before any hikers come out to use the trails, before they scare away all the wildlife.Or, rather, it was peaceful.A perfect blue cloudless sky. The Hermit Thrush’s call-and-response to its companions, and the Pileated Woodpecker cackling as it flits to another tree. The heavy floral scent of the azaleas blooming along the creek, and the sweet scent of huckleberries ripening on the bushes.She’d startled a fox, given a family of skunks an extremely wide berth, and stalked a deer for a while just to see how long it would take for it to notice her.If only all her encounters in the forest had been like that.She probably should’ve just run. For help, or for her life. But only one had attacked, alone, at first. She could handle one. Only when the first one was gone did the second one attack, but again, she could take it on alone. By the time the last three had appeared, running was no longer an option.She’s not entirely sure how she managed to survive. She’d fought like hell, focused on the kill at the expense of everything else. She hadn’t even realized the full extent of her own injuries until the last berserker had dissolved into dust, its mask still gripped in her teeth.She’s tempted to just collapse here, wait until she starts to heal. But there’s no guarantee more aren’t on the way, and she knows she wouldn’t survive another fight right now.She drops the mask onto the pile of bones and dust the last one left behind and shakes some of the dust out of her fur, regretting it immediately when the movement draws her attention to the knife still embedded in her ribcage. She curls around to grip the knife in her teeth, ignoring the searing pain as she yanks it out and drops it onto the ground.She should be able to make it home. She may even make it back there marginally conscious. But walking the whole way won’t be fun. Maybe she can catch a ride, if her timing works out. Both O’Neill and Parrish have regular patrol routes that take them out this way at various times of day, and both of them should be on shift this morning. If she’s lucky, she may be able to intercept one of them. She heads toward the main road along the edge of the preserve, listening for familiar engine sounds.She stays in the bushes, walking parallel to the road, until she hears the sound of a familiar car approaching. She just hopes he doesn’t freak out too much; none of them have seen her like this yet, none of them even know she can do this. And she can’t risk shifting right now, not with injuries this severe, not when she needs to be using all her energy just on healing. She’ll just have to have faith that he can figure out who and what she is, instead of making anything worse.She steps into the middle of the road as Parrish’s car approaches and stands stock-still as he jerks his car to a halt. He just stares at her in shock for a minute, and she briefly fears he’s just going to stay in his car and drive away. She sways a little in exhaustion and stumbles a couple steps closer to him.Seeing that she’s obviously injured must be enough to prompt him into action. He puts the car in park and hesitantly opens the door. “I must be crazy,” she hears him mutter to himself as he stands and steps around his car door, hand resting on the gun at his hip. “This is a stupid idea. Uh. Hey,” he calls to her, “are you…” he trails off, apparently unsure as to which question he wants to start with.She shakes her head in response to each of the unfinished questions. No, she’s not okay. No, she’s not just a wolf. No, she’s not going to hurt him. His eyes widen, jaw dropping slightly, and she nods in answer to his next unspoken question: yes, she’s a werewolf, one he knows well, and she needs help.“Holy shit,” he breathes, and she sees the blood drain from his face when he sees the amulet around her neck. “Cora?” She almost falls over in exhaustion and relief, but suddenly there he is, kneeling in front of her, one hand at her jaw, the other landing on the only uninjured part of her shoulder, holding her steady. “Okay. Shit, okay, let’s get you home.” She allows herself to be herded over to his car, limping badly, leaning against him for support. “Alright,” he mutters reassuringly, one hand buried in the fur at the back of her neck as he guides her to the back seat, “I won’t ask now, but seriously, Cora, I have so many questions.”She sighs heavily. She knows he does. He always does. She just hopes she’ll be able to produce some satisfactory answers this time. There are still just so many unanswered questions, even on her end. Like who is doing this to her, and why. Because with this latest attack, at least one thing is incredibly clear: whoever is doing this, and whatever reason they have for it, it’s definitely, definitively, directed specifically at her.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Yes, I’m sure,” Cora repeats, rolling her eyes. “We kept to ourselves. Didn’t interact with anyone long enough to make enemies.” And certainly not in any way that would have caused someone to track her down and follow her all the way from South America, just to try to kill her in seemingly the most complicated and annoying way possible.“Then who do we know locally with the knowledge, resources, and motive to pull off something like this?” the Sheriff asks, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees, rolling his coffee mug between his hands. “Come on, no bad ideas.”Derek scowls down at his own mug. “Well, if Peter wasn’t already dead—”Cora’s eyes widen, and she inhales sharply. “He had contingency plans. He told me, when I was—” she falters at the memory. “It was the last thing he ever said to me,” she finishes quietly. The first person she ever killed, and it was her own uncle. And, sure, he’d been trying to kill her at the time, but it still hadn’t felt good.Derek reaches over to squeeze her arm reassuringly. “He’s gone, though,” he says, glancing over at the Sheriff with a frown. “Right? There’s no chance that he—”“None whatsoever,” the Sheriff states firmly, sharing a meaningful look with Cora. “Can’t get any deader.”Stiles pauses his pacing and looks over at Cora, expression grim. “But he still could’ve set something up. Something to get to you, even when he couldn’t.”Cora wrinkles her nose in annoyance and nods. Even from beyond the grave, her uncle may still be trying to get his revenge.The Sheriff sighs. “Fair enough, I guess. Seems like the type of thing he’d do. Can’t be just him, though. Someone alive is orchestrating this.”Cora sits back to contemplate the options, brow furrowed, drumming her fingers absently on the arm of the sofa.“Deaton,” Stiles suggests, nodding assuredly and crossing his arms. “Dude is shady as hell.”“We’re going to need more than just your gut feeling, Stiles,” the Sheriff says. “Deaton was the Hale pack Emissary, wasn’t he? Shouldn’t that mean he’d be protecting you? What would his motive even be?”“We aren’t the Hale pack,” Cora mutters distractedly, tuning out most of the conversation while she thinks. She hardly knows anything about Deaton. If he’d really been loyal to her family—not just the pack—he’d have made an effort to support her as her pack started to grow. Any effort at all, really. But apparently he hadn’t even been there for Derek, when he actually was the Hale Alpha. So where do his loyalties truly lie?Cora wishes she knew more about the pack politics from before the fire. How did Deaton come to be the Hale Emissary? How well did her mother actually know him, and what had he done to earn her trust? The Nemeton had been cut down sometime during his tenure—she doesn’t know the exact timing—but why? Did he come because it was dying? Or did it die because he’d come?She has no problem imagining Deaton as one of the forces behind what’s happening. He certainly has the knowledge and resources to do all of this. But would Deaton really be so focused on just her?Really, with Peter out of the picture, only one person in town has been consistently holding such a strong grudge against her. Specifically her, and not the supernatural community as a whole.She understands his unhappiness, she supposes. He’d just been getting settled as a brand new Alpha, riding the high of gaining the power through his own force of will. And then she comes along, with her family legacy and all her knowledge and life experience, breaking curses and defeating evils all throughout the town. People start leaving his pack to join hers, including his best friend, his first love, and his own freshly-turned werewolf.It doesn’t matter that she never meant for any of that to happen. Doesn’t matter that all she ever wanted with her return to town was peace and stability. Doesn’t matter that her offers to help with training come with no strings attached, that she’ll help anyone, regardless of pack loyalties.She watches Stiles debating with his Dad, as the Sheriff tries to convince him that the NID could be involved, and Stiles counters with the argument that the NID don’t even know about werewolves or anything else supernatural, much less about Cora. She can’t bring this up to them right now; they’ll never believe her. They don’t think Scott would be capable of something like this.She sighs and scowls down at her hands. Maybe they’re right. No, they’re almost certainly right. Scott isn’t a killer. They might not get along, but that doesn’t mean he wants her dead. Even with Deaton whispering God-knows-what in his ear, Scott isn’t the devious type. Even if he’d stumbled across one of Peter’s traps, he’s not the type to…Oh.Crap.Scott alone probably isn’t that vindictive. But Peter definitely was, and Deaton is a wildcard. If Scott has been led to believe that removing her from the equation is for the greater good, he could have been persuaded not to question the methods being used.But they’ll never believe her.Stiles and Scott might not be on good terms right now, but Stiles still loves him like a brother. And as hard as Stiles is trying to deny it right now, Cora knows he still thinks of Scott as his best friend. That bond doesn’t just go away overnight.The Sheriff practically thinks of Scott as a second son, trusts him almost more than he trusts Stiles. Allison and Isaac would probably never admit it, but both of them are still a little bit in love with Scott. Liam and the rest of the kids have some sort of hero worship thing for Scott, even though they’d chosen to be in her pack instead. Even Derek, despite how little Scott respects him, is adamant in thinking the best of him.She might find an ally in Chris Argent, if she approaches this carefully. O’Neill and Parrish don’t know Scott very well, so they might back her on this. She’ll need more to go on than just suspicion. More than just a gut feeling about a horrifying confluence of personalities. She needs evidence, and Argent, Parrish, and O’Neill can help her find it, if she can get them to believe her in the first place.Probably the only one who will back her on this, no questions asked, is Jackson. She’ll text him later, see if he can come to town for another visit.But until she has evidence—overwhelming, undeniable proof—she can’t mention this to anyone else. None of them will believe her, and they wouldn’t want to hear it even if they could believe.She sits back with a heavy sigh, watching and listening as the Stilinskis and Derek debate, and keeps her thoughts to herself.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Hey, Cora, do you have the—” Stiles looks up and freezes as he pushes her door open. “You’re not Cora.”Jackson doesn’t look up from his laptop, just keeps typing, lounging back against the headboard of Cora’s bed, but he does raise an eyebrow. “Amazing observational skills, Stilinski. How could you tell?”“You’re hilarious,” Stiles remarks dryly. “Where’s Cora?”Jackson shrugs. “Dunno. Something to do with one of her deputy boytoys? Or maybe both of them at once? I honestly wasn’t paying attention. She said I could hang out here ‘til she’s done with whatever.”“Wow, Jackson, you’re such an attentive friend. Thanks ever so much for that totally informative update,” Stiles grumbles at him, shoving his way into the room and sitting on Cora’s desk chair, shuffling through a stack of books on her desk. “She’s not alone out there, though, right?”Jackson rolls his eyes. “She’s fine, Stiles. What’re you looking for, anyway?”“None of your business,” Stiles mutters distractedly as he searches. He could’ve sworn Cora had it last. Where would she have put it?Jackson hums absently and goes back to typing. “As long as she’s cool with you snooping around in her things, I don’t actually care.”“Always the charmer, aren’t you, Jackson?” Stiles continues searching for a moment, then pauses and looks over at Jackson. “What are you even doing here?”Jackson looks over at him incredulously, then glances back down at his laptop, and back up at Stiles.Stiles gives him an exaggerated eye roll. “In town, I mean. Thought you had Big Important Business in the city.”“Nothing that can’t wait,” Jackson says, typing again. “Someone’s trying to kill Cora, you know. Not sure if you’d noticed that.”“I had noticed that, actually,” Stiles replies, abandoning his search and swiveling the chair to face Jackson directly. “They tried to kill me, too.” He leans forward, craning his neck to see if he can sneak a peek at Jackson’s computer screen.Jackson glares at him briefly and adjusts the screen so Stiles can’t see. “Only incidentally, from what I’ve heard. They were after Cora. You were just there.”Stiles wrinkles his nose in annoyance and crosses his arms. “Still. They would’ve killed both of us.”“Mhmm, and what exactly have you been doing to stop it from happening again?” Jackson looks up at him angrily, slamming his laptop shut and setting it aside. “Huh? Because she barely survived the last attack. If we don’t do something about this soon, we’re going to lose her.”Stiles sits back and blinks a few times in surprise. “Woah, dude, listen—”“Do you understand that?” Jackson continues, glare intensifying. “Someone wants her dead, Stiles. And if you didn’t have your head so far up your own ass, maybe you’d—”“Maybe I’d what, Jackson?” Stiles snaps. “What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for the past few months? You think I haven’t been trying to figure this out?”“Clearly not trying hard enough, since someone is still out there trying to kill Cora,” Jackson growls.“Well, I have had a few other things on my mind, too,” Stiles says, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Like researching kanimas for you, and ghosts for Cora, and hellhounds for Parrish. And—” studying alien technologies and hijacking spaceships to run rescue operations— “analyzing deep space radar telemetry, or whatever. It’s not all on me, you know. We have an entire pack full of people working on this, including the Sheriff, whose actual job it is to investigate things like this.”“Fat lot of good that’s doing us so far. You probably wouldn’t understand what’s going on here if it came up and bit you in the ass anyway, so whatever. Focus on all that other stuff, instead, I guess.” Jackson waves a dismissive hand and picks up his laptop again, then scoffs derisively. “Deep space radar telemetry? Really, Stiles. You can do better than that.”Stiles frowns. “I wouldn’t understand—what the hell is that supposed to mean? Wait—” Stiles holds out a hand to stop Jackson from retreating into his computer— “do you know something? What do you know?”Jackson stares at him for a moment, then scowls and looks down at his closed laptop. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything. Not until there’s proof,” he mutters.“Proof?” Stiles asks, bewildered. “What—why would you need proof before you can tell me what you know? I can help you get the proof. That’s what—”“Just—” Jackson cuts him off, raising one hand and shaking his head. “No. Doesn’t matter right now. This is about Cora. She’s the only real friend I have left, Stiles,” Jackson says quietly, surprisingly vulnerable for the first time in Stiles’ memory. “Don’t make me lose her again.”Stiles studies Jackson for a moment. “Okay, first of all, she’s not the only friend you have,” he says eventually. “But dude, are you okay? Are… things not going well with Danny and Lydia?”Jackson’s jaw clenches, grip tightening around the edge of his laptop. “Things with Danny will be fine. Eventually. It’s awkward, but we’re getting there.”Stiles waits, but Jackson doesn’t continue, just sits there scowling. “Dude,” Stiles says, reaching over to punch Jackson on the shoulder, “you haven’t even talked to her yet? What’s the deal? I told her you’d call, she’s been waiting.”“I’m—” Jackson frowns and punches him back. “Shut up, it’s not that easy. Why are you so invested in this, anyway? It’s weird.”“Why, because I used to be in love with her?” Stiles snorts, rubbing his shoulder where Jackson had punched him. “Look, Lydia is amazing. Always has been, always will be. And I do love her, but not like that. I think, actually…” he scratches the back of his neck, smiling wryly. “What I felt for Lydia was never that kind of love. Or at least, it’s nothing like what I feel for Derek, so—”Jackson wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Ugh, Cora was right,” he grumbles. “You two are gross about each other.”Stiles grins. “Oh, like you and Lydia were ever any better. But, y’know, speaking of which—”Jackson groans and rolls his eyes. “Forget it, never mind, I’m done with this conversation. I’m—”“Jackson, come on, I’m serious,” Stiles punches Jackson on the shoulder again. “Lydia’s awesome. And it turns out, shockingly, you’re kind of awesome, too. You both deserve to be happy. And Lydia hasn’t been truly happy with anything since you left. So, call her.”Jackson glares at him for a moment, then sighs in defeat. “If I say I’ll call her, will you shut up about this?”“Only if you actually do, this time,” Stiles says, glaring back at him. He spots the book he’d come in here for out of the corner of his eye and leans over to grab it. He looks down at it for a minute, tracing the letters embossed in the cover, and takes a slow breath. “Look, I know you’re scared about everything going on with Cora—”“I’m not—” Jackson starts with a growl.“I am, too,” Stiles interrupts him with a gentle glare. “But we’re all working on it, okay? We won’t rest until she’s safe.” He stands, drumming his fingers on the back cover of the book as he grips it in both hands. “I’m glad you’re here,” he admits honestly. “It feels better, having all of us close.”Jackson grimaces as he settles back against the headboard with his laptop. “Don’t get all sappy on me now, Stilinski. You’re making me uncomfortable.”Stiles smirks and walks to the door, but pauses and looks back before he exits. “You gonna be around tomorrow? I found something you’ll probably want to know about in my kanima research.”Jackson opens his laptop and starts typing again, clearly ready to ignore Stiles again. “I’ll be around.” And it sounds like he’s promising a lot more than just tomorrow.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I thought you said you were taking me to the shooting range,” Parrish says suspiciously as he follows Stiles into the building.“Okay, so, technically,” Stiles says as he swipes his badge at the inner office door and punches in his code, “I never actually specified that it would be the gun range. We’re gonna try something a little different today. Swipe your badge there so you get logged in properly,” he instructs, pointing at the reader on the wall as he cracks the door open. “Your current PIN is last four of your social, you can update it later.”Parrish narrows his eyes at Stiles, but pulls the new ID badge out of his pocket, swipes it, and types in his code. His eyebrows rise when the reader beeps in approval, light turning green momentarily. “What the hell have you gotten us all into, Stiles?”Stiles just grins and shifts his case to his other hand so he can clap Parrish on the arm, then shoves the door the rest of the way open with his shoulder. “Come on. This’ll be fun! If it works.”“If what works? Stiles, can you please just tell—”“So, hellhounds, as it turns out,” Stiles says as he leads the way down the short corridor, “aren’t like other supernatural creatures. Hellhounds can’t be born or turned.” He badges into the second door and holds the door open for Parrish to follow. “They’re possessed. The hellhound is a foreign entity inhabiting your body.” He flicks on the light and shuts the door behind them. “And actually, there’s an incredibly strict set of factors that determine whether or not someone will be a compatible host. The bomb that killed you in Afghanistan—”Parrish’s head snaps around to look at Stiles, abandoning his curious survey of the room. “Stiles, no, I don’t—”“There was something different about it,” Stiles continues, setting down his case on the table at the near side of the room. “It’s why they sent O’Neill. Right?”Parrish pauses, blinks a couple times in surprise, then frowns. “There were rumors that the cell we were tracking had gotten hold of some… unusual materials for their bomb-making. And, I guess, our unit was specifically requested for the assignment. But how did you—”Stiles nods at the confirmation of one of his suspicions. “Magic, obviously, is one of the factors. The bomb went off at the precise moment we reactivated the Nemeton. Your death in fire during a massive surge in magical energy ensured that your body was available as a vessel. But the naquadah in the bomb was what made your body compatible.”“Naquadah? What’s—”“And the residual naquadah in your bloodstream should mean that you can use this,” Stiles says, opening the case. He hands one kara kesh to Parrish and starts putting the other on his own hand.Parrish shakes his head and tries to give the device back. “No, Stiles, I’ve seen this thing in action. I don’t think this is the kind of tool I want to—”“It can do a lot more than you’ve seen," Stiles assures him, pushing the device back into Parrish’s grip, “and most of it is pretty awesome, actually. But, more importantly, if you can use this, then you can also use the healing device.”“Let’s just stick with that, then,” Parrish says, trying again to give the device back to Stiles. “I’ll be the healing guy, you can use the blaster.”“It has a shield,” Stiles reminds him, and that's enough to make Parrish hesitate, looking down at the device again with renewed interest. “It’s just… really hard to learn how to use it, if you don’t have the advantage of genetic memory easing the way.”Parrish furrows his brow and looks up at Stiles curiously. “Genetic memory? How do you—”“Not the point,” Stiles says, making the final adjustments to the fit of his kara kesh. “Now, put that on, I wanna see if this works.”Parrish sighs, resigned, and pulls the device onto his hand. “Fine. How are we doing this?”“It’s controlled by a neural interface,” Stiles explains, “and it’ll respond to your intention. Think about what you want it to do, and let it happen.” Stiles points his palm at one of the dummies on the far end of the room and sends out a concentrated blast of energy. The dummy wobbles violently, chest dented from the force of the blast. “Your turn.”Parrish steps forward, looking down at his left hand with a curious frown, flexing his fingers to test the fit. “What if this doesn’t work?”Stiles shrugs. “Then it doesn’t work, and I’m still the only person in town who can use these.”“It won’t hurt me?” Parrish still looks hesitant, but Stiles can tell curiosity will win out soon.“It never hurts the wearer.” The Goa’uld wouldn’t have relied on them so heavily if they did.“So I just—” Parrish raises his arm and points his palm at one of the dummies, brow furrowing in concentration.“Just think about what you want it to do.” Stiles pulls out one of the chairs tucked under the table and sits, spinning around once before settling in and taking the book he’d gotten from Cora's room this morning out of his pocket.“So, uh,” Parrish starts, frowning deeply as he stares at the dummy across the room while the crystal on his palm does nothing. “What is Scott’s deal?”Stiles’ head whips up in surprise. “Wha—Scott’s deal? What do you mean?”Parrish scowls at his kara kesh and shakes out his hand, then raises his arm to try again. “I mean—well, you two were best friends, weren’t you? What happened there?”Stiles sighs, closes the book, and scrubs a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”“Cora thinks it’s her fault,” Parrish says, as if that’s not one of the most devastating thoughts he could share. He drops his arm. “Stiles, I don’t think this is working. Maybe we should—”“You’re trying too hard,” Stiles tells him. “You have to just let it happen. And it’s not Cora’s fault that things between me and Scott went wrong.”“So, then—”“Honestly?” Stiles looks down at his hands and adjusts the finger caps on his kara kesh. “Things with Scott have been going downhill for years. Ever since he became a werewolf. He blames me for that, says I ruined his life.”“How is it your fault he became a werewolf?” Parrish asks, turning to look at him in confusion. “It’s not like you’re the one who bit him.”“Well, no, but—” Stiles leans forward, bracing a forearm across his knees and scrubbing a hand down his face— “it was my idea to go out into the woods that night. I wanted to find the other half of Laura Hale’s dead body. I thought it’d be fun.”“That’s kinda messed up, dude,” Parrish says, crossing his arms and giving Stiles a very judgmental raised eyebrow.Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yes, thank you, I am aware of that. Not my finest hour. But anyway, Scott went with me, and that’s when he got bit by Peter. But the thing is, he didn’t have to say yes. He could’ve stayed home, or gone home on his own at any point, or come out of the shadows and gone home with me when my Dad caught me out there. He chose to stay out there. And, come on, it’s not like we could’ve known there was an insane Alpha werewolf out there ready to bite people. We didn’t even know werewolves were real. But no, apparently it’s all my fault, and his life is ruined because of it.”Parrish stares at him for a minute after that rant, while Stiles sits back and tries to get his breath back under control. “Okay, so, first of all,” Parrish says eventually, “that was definitely not your fault, and it’s messed up that Scott continues to say that it is. And secondly, how is becoming a werewolf a life-ruining event? Seems to me, being a werewolf is pretty awesome.”Stiles can’t stop a hint of a fond smile from tugging at his lips. “Well, we might be a bit biased on that count. Because Cora and Derek are awesome.”“Hm, true,” Parrish mutters, echoing Stiles’ fond smile briefly before frowning again. “But if things have been off for so long, why did they not fall apart until now?”Stiles shakes his head. “Just—not any one thing. It was a bunch of things all piling up. And, sure, Cora is one of those things, but not because of anything she did. I changed, after my possession. In ways that made me not fit with Scott anymore. In ways he can’t understand. So, no. None of it is Cora’s fault.”Parrish hums thoughtfully and frowns down at the ground for a moment, then glances up to meet Stiles’ eyes. “Does Scott see it that way?”Stiles takes a slow breath and rubs the scar on the back of his neck. “Dude, I have no idea what’s going on in Scott’s mind anymore. He’s not the Scott I used to know. But I’m not the Stiles he used to know, either, so…” He shrugs, feeling defeated. “Anyway, why all the questions about Scott? Trying to get out of our experiment here?”“No. No, just—” Parrish clears his throat and turns back to the dummies, raising his arm again. “I dunno. Cora mentioned something about him today, and I was curious.” He closes his eyes, takes a breath, opens his eyes again, and the kara kesh bursts to life, blasting a dent into one of the dummies.Stiles whoops triumphantly and stands, grinning. “Dude, awesome! See? I told you it’d work!”Parrish stares wide-eyed at the dummy, then down at his hand. “Huh. I was not expecting that.”“Okay, so now that you know what it feels like to make it work in general, we can move on to round two.” Stiles bounces on the balls of his feet in excitement.Parrish eyes him suspiciously. “Am I gonna hate round two?”Stiles’ grin widens. “Nope! Round two is just practicing and refining your control. You’re gonna hate round three!”“I’m going to regret ever agreeing to this, aren’t I?” Parrish asks warily.“Probably!” Stiles agrees, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Okay, so what you’re gonna want to do…”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Derek flips idly to the next page in the book he’d been trying to translate without looking down. He would try harder to focus on his own work, but he keeps getting distracted watching Stiles, sitting at the table across the room, nimble fingers dance over the crystals, palm glowing, occasionally swapping out a crystal with one from the pile next to him. And besides, he’s not getting anything useful out of this book. Probably time to move on to another. “Shouldn’t you be working on that on the ship?” he asks, propping one elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand.“Trying to get rid of me, Hale?” Stiles glances up at him, eyes twinkling playfully.Derek’s mouth twitches into a small smile and he looks away so he can swap out his book for a new one. He picks up a thin volume, one of a set of seven. “Not at all. Just, is this really the most efficient way to work on… whatever that is?” He waves one hand to gesture vaguely at Stiles’ project.Stiles wrinkles his nose in annoyance. “It really isn’t,” he admits. “But, turns out, you can’t just leave an alien spaceship parked in geosynchronous orbit without a few people noticing. Not without a cloaking device, anyway.”“Ah.” Derek nods in understanding and opens his new book, but can’t get his eyes to focus on it yet. “So you’re—”“Building a cloaking device,” Stiles answers with a smirk.“Of course you are,” Derek mutters, smile softening with fondness.Stiles glances up at him briefly, eyes widening a fraction before narrowing into a glare. “Derek.”“Hm?” Derek settles his chin more comfortably on his hand.“If you keep looking at me like that,” Stiles warns, “I’m gonna end up doing something that gets us both fired.”Derek hums thoughtfully and looks at him a little more intently. “Wouldn’t that be a shame.”Stiles growls lightly and turns his focus back to the tray of control crystals. “You are evil.”Derek smirks. “So I’ve been told.” He looks down at his book with a sigh. As much as he’d like to just keep enjoying the view in here, he actually does need to find something useful. They’re running out of time; the full moon is only a few days away. And if they’re right about some of the trends they’ve been tracking, whoever is doing this will ramp up their attacks significantly that day. He quirks an eyebrow in interest as he skims the next passage, then pulls over his notebook and starts scribbling out notes for the translation. Finally, something he can use.“Oh, by the way—” there’s a rustling of paper— “here.” Something hits Derek on the cheek and flutters down to the table.Derek picks up the paper airplane skeptically and looks up at Stiles with an incredulous raised eyebrow. “Seriously?”“Open it,” Stiles says, waving a hand to gesture at the folded paper, then gets back to work on his project.Derek rolls his eyes but does as he’s told, unfolding it to reveal a list of ‘Gate addresses. He frowns, eyes scanning the page. “What is this?”“All the planets my symbiote brought werewolves to,” Stiles explains.Derek’s eyebrows rise. “Oh.” He pauses at one address, blinking a few times in surprise. “I’ve been here,” he says, tracing a finger over the symbols.Stiles’ head snaps up in surprise. “Wait, really?”Derek nods. “It’s where I got these.” He sets the list aside and gestures at his pile of books and scrolls. “Guess I shouldn’t be so surprised.”“Did you—” Stiles gets up and walks over to stand next to Derek, leaning over Derek’s arm to look at everything, picking up a scroll written in Goa’uld. “I mean, were there still werewolves there?”“None that I met, but we didn’t get to hang around and chat with the locals for long. We were, uh—” he smirks at the memory— “interrupted. Got a spaceship of it, though, so…” He shrugs one shoulder. Worth it, in his opinion.“Might be worth a follow-up visit,” Stiles suggests distractedly as he reads.“We have to go back at some point anyway, to return these. You think there might still be a pack there?” Derek asks, scribbling out a few more notes as he translates the next passage.“Well, my information is about ten thousand years out of date, so I might not have the most reliable intel. Which planet was it?” He lowers the scroll and looks down at the list of addresses.Derek reaches over to tap the page with his pen.“Ah. One of my research facilities.” Something dark passes across Stiles’ face. “I hadn’t intended to leave so much behind at that one.” Derek frowns a little at Stiles’ use of first-person pronouns; he's usually a lot quicker to correct himself, especially for the things that happened before he became host. “Got banished to the Tau’ri before I could finish the cleanup. I suppose a few of my experiments could have escaped,” Stiles mutters, an angry edge to his voice, pulling out a chair so he can sit next to Derek as he continues reading the scroll.“Wait—you said research facility?” Derek asks, glancing over to watch Stiles cautiously. “We didn’t see anything like that while we were there. Just a town, fairly ordinary-looking.”“As if I would just leave the entrance to my lab for anyone to stumble across,” Stiles scoffs, frowning deeper, attention still fixed on the scroll. He’s sitting with an unnatural stillness to him, none of the kinetic enthusiasm that makes him so quintessentially Stiles. “The other System Lords were after my research. Had to keep it hidden away from any potential thieves.”“Stiles…” Derek starts hesitantly, reaching a hand out toward him, but hovering just shy of touching. “Who are you right now?”Stiles’ head snaps up to look at Derek, and for a fraction of a second, Derek almost expects his eyes to glow. “You dare—” Stiles starts, then freezes at the sound of his own voice, eyes widening, slowly dropping the scroll onto the table. “Shit,” he breathes. “Sorry. That doesn’t usually happen.” He rests both elbows on the table and drops his head into his hands, but flinches when the crystal of his kara kesh touches his face and crosses his arms instead, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.“What, exactly… did happen?” Derek asks gently, letting his hand land on Stiles’ back.Stiles takes a slow, shaky breath. “Forgot which one of me I was, for a second there,” he mutters, voice muffled by his arms. “Too much—too much time in its memories.”Derek’s eyes widen. “This has happened before?”Stiles nods, head still buried in his arms. “Not often. Just when I’m—” He stops himself, takes another breath, and sits up, shoving the scroll he’d been reading away from him. “Nothing. Never mind. I’m fine.” He moves, braces his hands against the edge of the table, preparing to stand.“You’re not fine,” Derek says, sliding his hand up to curl his fingers around the nape of Stiles’ neck, to stop him from leaving. He swivels in his chair to face Stiles directly and gently guides Stiles around to face him, cradling his head in both hands. “You need to take a break.”“Can’t,” Stiles grumbles, but he makes no attempt to pull away, instead sliding his hands onto Derek’s thighs. “Too much to do.”“Not even if I ask nicely?” Derek pulls Stiles in, kissing him slowly. He ends the kiss sooner than he’d like, just as Stiles tries to press in closer, pulling back to look him in the eye steadily.“Ask me like that again,” Stiles warns as he slips his hands further up Derek’s thighs, “and we are definitely getting fired.”Derek’s eyes flick up to the sole security camera in the room. “That seems like a preventable problem.” He lets go of Stiles so he can stand and walk over to the corner of the room, looking up at the camera intently as he considers the options.“Dude, if you sabotage the camera, they’re gonna know for sure what we’re up to,” Stiles says, sounding amused.“They’ll never be able to prove it,” Derek mutters. He jumps up and rips the camera out of the wall, tossing the broken electronics aside as he lands.“You’ll get in trouble for breaking the equipment,” Stiles complains, but when Derek turns around to look at him, he’s smirking smugly, eyes twinkling with mischief.“Won’t get fired, though,” Derek responds, stalking back over to Stiles. He leans down and braces his hands against the table, bracketing Stiles between his arms, bringing their faces close enough to lightly brush their noses together.Stiles grabs a fistful of Derek’s shirt to reel him in, but just before their lips touch, he straightens up with a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, I almost forgot!” He pushes Derek back so he can fish something out of his pocket. “Made you this,” he says, reaching up to clasp something around Derek’s neck.Derek furrows his brow at Stiles curiously, then straightens so he can inspect the object. It’s some type of pendant, on a sturdy gold chain. There’s a small crystal in the center, wrapped in intricately carved metal. “Uh, thanks? It’s pretty, but I’m not really into jewelry—”Stiles rolls his eyes. “It’s not just—it’s functional,” he explains. “I don’t want you to have to worry about a Goa’uld trying to use you as a host. Because they would, for sure. They want perfect hosts, and I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself recently, but—”Derek feels his cheeks heat. “I’m not that—”“You are,” Stiles states firmly. “They’d choose you, every time. Might even abandon whatever host they were in before to take you instead. Mine would have, if it hadn’t been recovering from centuries in stasis, and hadn’t known what you are. But if they even tried it—”“I’d die,” Derek finishes for him, studying the pendant more closely now. There’s more to it than just Goa’uld technology, he’s sensing. A spark of something that feels distinctly like Stiles.“It does a few other things, too, but the Goa’uld repellent seemed like the most urgent,” Stiles continues. “They won’t even consider you, now. Not quite a cloaking device, more like a glamour? Or something. I don’t really know how to describe—”Derek cuts Stiles off by tugging him to his feet and in for a fierce kiss, one hand at the back of his neck, over his scar, the other clutching his hip, fingers drifting until they find a way under the hem of his shirt. Stiles gasps at the contact and kisses back with equal fervor.“I guess that means you like it?” Stiles asks with a grin when they eventually pause to catch their breath.“I think it means I like you, actually,” Derek corrects him, nosing along his jaw until he can gently nip at the skin just over the pulse point on his neck, then presses a kiss there.Stiles groans, letting his forehead fall onto Derek’s shoulder. “Much as I’d love to just keep doing this forever, if we keep going, I won’t be able to stop myself from doing something incredibly inappropriate for the workplace. And I don’t really think we want our first time doing that to be here, and now.”Derek sighs and presses one last kiss to Stiles’ neck. “You’re probably right. There’s also the whole ‘someone trying to kill my sister’ thing we have to deal with.”“Wow, way to kill the mood,” Stiles grumbles as Derek steps back.Derek doesn’t step away completely yet, though, and doesn’t pull his hands away. He gives himself just enough space to comfortably look Stiles in the eye. “To be continued?”“Definitely,” Stiles breathes, pulling him back in for one last kiss.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Derek knocks on the frame of Cora’s open bedroom door. “Ready to go?”“In a few,” Cora says, still typing away on her computer. “Want to finish this first. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.” She absentmindedly gestures a hand at her bed, not looking away from her screen.“What are you working on?” he asks, walking in to sit on the edge of her bed, leaning over to peer at her screen.Cora scowls and tilts the screen away from him. “None of your business.”Derek shrugs and sits back, settling more comfortably. “Alright.” He takes a breath, then frowns as he recognizes a scent. Familiar, but not one he would’ve expected to find here. “Jackson’s in town? What was he doing in your bed?”Cora wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Ew, no. He was on my bed, not in it,” she corrects him. “Get your mind out of the gutter, he was just hanging out. He’s in town until we stop whoever’s trying to kill me.”“Oh,” Derek says, eyebrows rising. “That’s… unexpectedly nice of him.”“It’s not unexpected,” she grumbles, “you just don’t know him very well. He’s not actually as much of a jerk as he pretends to be.”“It’s adorable that you think so,” Derek says. He doesn’t actually harbor any particularly negative feelings toward Jackson anymore, but the guy is still not the easiest to get along with.“I know so, actually,” Cora says, shooting a quick glare at him. “You two need to hang out more. You have a lot more in common than you think.” She smirks at her computer screen as she types.“I’ll keep that in mind.” He lets her type in silence for a moment, idly straightening the edge of one of her blankets. “So what is Jackson actually doing while he’s here?” he asks eventually, brow furrowed.“He’s looking into someo—something for me,” she mutters distractedly.Derek watches her, eyes narrowing. “You know something,” he accuses. “You know who’s doing this?”Her expression turns guarded. She’s not typing anymore, but her eyes are still fixed on her computer screen. “I don’t know anything.”“But you have a theory,” Derek prods again.Cora scowls at her computer screen and flexes her fingers. “It’s been too long since you took a science class,” she grumbles. “Theories come with evidence. A theory would be provable. All I have for now is a hypothesis.”“Whatever you want to call it,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. “Tell me.”Cora is silent for a long moment, long enough that Derek thinks she might be ignoring him entirely, but just as he’s about to ask her again, she shuts her laptop lid, spins her chair to face him, and speaks. “What can you tell me about Peter?”Derek blinks twice at the unexpected question. “What do you mean?”“I mean,” she growls in frustration, “you knew him better than I ever did, especially after the fire, but even before. Before, he primarily only interacted with me to tease me about the curse, but the two of you actually hung out. And after—” She stops, looking down at the floor. But he doesn’t need her to elaborate. He knows what Peter put her through.“I wouldn’t exactly say that we hung out,” Derek clarifies. “He followed me around. I think he was trying to relive his basketball star glory days.”Cora looks at him curiously. “He always claimed you two were BFFs.”“He may have overstated things a bit,” he says, crinkling his nose in annoyance. “Not like I was closer friends with anyone else, though, so,” he shrugs.“God, why is our entire family full of such losers?” Cora laments, pinching the bridge of her nose.Derek snorts. “Not our entire family,” he corrects her. “Laura had plenty of actual, real life friends.”“Oh, sure,” Cora says, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “Such close friends that none of them even mourned her when she got ripped in half and left to rot in the woods.”Derek looks down at his knees and brushes away some imaginary lint. “You don’t know they didn’t mourn her.”“Yeah? And how many of them sought you out to offer their condolences?”“I had been arrested as lead suspect in her murder at the time,” he reminds her.“Mhm, and after you were cleared of all charges?” She waits, but he doesn’t say anything, just clenches his jaw and glares at her. She nods. “That’s what I thought.”“Maybe they all just mourned in private,” he suggests, though he can’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. It might’ve been nice to know that at least one person in town cared enough to acknowledge Laura’s death. The Sheriff had been the only person during that whole ordeal to actually express sympathy. But it was a generic, impersonal sort of sympathy; the Sheriff hadn’t known Laura, couldn’t offer anything deeper.Cora sighs and reaches over to squeeze his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It sucks when you feel like you’re the only one who misses someone as much as they deserve.”“It’s not just—” he pauses for a breath. “It’s like the entire town forgot about us.”“I promise you they didn’t,” she assures him quietly. “The people who matter remembered. Now, c’mon, tell me about Peter.”“Ugh, Peter.” Derek scowls. “Fine. What do you want to know?”“What kind of traps he might’ve left behind, where his hiding places might be, if he could’ve corrupted the mind of someone who everyone believes to be incorruptible—”“Someone who—what?” Derek frowns. “Who?”She waves a hand dismissively. “Nothing, no one, not important right now. This is about Peter. So, come on. Thoughts?” She raises her eyebrows at him expectantly.Derek sighs. He’s not letting this go, but he knows he won’t get anything out of her about this right now. Whatever it is, he’ll get it out of her later. “Peter was secretive even before he was insane. There are a few spots around town he could’ve hidden things. I can check—”Cora shakes her head and reaches over to her desk for a notepad and pen, which she hands to him. “No, give me a list, or a map. Whichever is easier. I need you on research, others can do the legwork. So, do you think our berserker problem is the result of something he did?”Derek taps the pen against the page a few times as he considers that. “Could be, yeah. If he left the ritual somewhere it could be found, and the right type of person found it—”“And just in case they’re not the worst of it, what else could someone make and control, that Peter might have known about?”He frowns and hums thoughtfully. “That might be trickier to figure out. I know where he hid his laptop, though, so that can give us a place to start.”She nods, satisfied. “And as for mind-controlling someone from beyond the grave—”“Well, that’s definitely something he’s done before,” Derek says. “But as to whether or not he could do it this time… What happened to his body? You never actually told me—”“I ripped his heart out, and the Sheriff vaporized his body with a ray gun,” she answers bluntly.“Wow.” He blinks a few times, picturing it. “That’s… thorough. So, when he mind-controlled Lydia the first time he died, he still physically existed somewhere. He’d need a conduit, a tether, to reach through again. I don’t think he could do that without a body.”Cora pauses a moment to consider that. “But even if his consciousness couldn’t stick around, could there still be—”“He definitely could have left behind something to poison a mind,” Derek confirms with a nod. “Or multiple somethings, to poison multiple minds. Or multiple somethings to poison just one mind a whole bunch.”“God, that guy is the worst,” Cora growls. “Why can’t the dead just stay dead in this town?”“Most of them do,” he reminds her.She sighs and pushes herself to her feet. “Whatever, I need some air. Let’s get outta here.” She grabs his wrist to drag him along after her.He hastily tosses the notepad and pen at her desk and lets himself be led out. “Didn’t you need to finish whatever on your computer?”She waves a hand dismissively. “I can finish it later. I need to go punch something.”“Fair enough,” he concedes. “Combat training it is, then.” Maybe if he lets her work out some of her frustrations, he can get her to talk about her hypothesis.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“So,” O’Neill says as he hands Cora her mocha and sits next to her, “What do you think it’ll be this time?”“Hm?” She raises a questioning eyebrow at him, holding her cup close to her face to enjoy the scent for a moment. It’s too hot to drink comfortably just yet, but it does smell amazing.“What new crisis will interrupt our one-on-one time?” he clarifies, eyes bright with amusement.She snorts. “Well, I haven’t been abducted by aliens yet. Starting to feel like I’m missing out.”“Trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he grumbles into his own coffee cup.She bumps her shoulder into his. “Top five least favorite alien abductions,” she prompts. “Go.”He grins and shakes his head. “You know I can’t.”“Boo, lame,” she heckles gently, though she knows better than to push.“Though, technically,” he says, tilting his head thoughtfully, “I’ve only been abducted once. Or, un-abducted? Does it count as abduction when you’re just beamed back up to your creator?”She eyes him curiously for a moment. “How weird is it, for none of your memories to properly belong to you?”He releases a slow breath and scrubs his free hand down his face. “You sure don’t pull your punches, do you?” he mutters, then clears his throat. “On the one hand, I guess it’s kind of nice to know that I’ve never actually done all the horrible things I remember doing. On the other hand—” he pauses for a shaky breath— “I still remember doing them.”She studies his profile for a moment, as he sips his coffee and stares off into the distance, jaw tense. “Was his life really that bad?” she asks gently.“Not all of it,” he says quietly, with a sad half-smile. “There were plenty of good times, too. More good than bad, honestly. But the bad parts were—” he cuts himself off, and a dark look crosses his face.She reaches over to squeeze his forearm. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”“No, it’s okay,” he assures her, leaning over to bump shoulders again. “It’s just, a lot of it is classified, and the rest isn’t really my story to tell. I mean, it is, it’s still what made me who I am. But it also isn’t. None of it is my life. It’s all his.”“Well, he’ll never get to know what it’s like to have a hellhound for a best friend, or what it’s like to be close friends with a werewolf,” she says, patting his hand consolingly.“Is that all we are?” he asks, turning to look at her with a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. “Friends?”She smirks and takes a sip of her mocha. “I was talking about Derek, actually.”“Ah.” He grins, and huffs out an amused breath. “Of course. My good buddy Derek.” He settles in a little more comfortably, jostling her with his shoulder again. But this time, when their shoulders touch, he doesn’t pull away. And neither does she.“So, how old are you, actually?” she asks, tilting her head to look at him curiously. “How many years of memories are really, truly yours?”He hums thoughtfully and frowns as he does the calculations in his head. “Ten years, one month, twenty-seven days.”She gasps and whacks him on the chest with the back of her hand. “I missed your birthday? Dude, you should’ve said something!”“Did you seriously just call me dude?” he asks incredulously, absentmindedly rubbing his chest where she'd whacked him. “You’ve been spending way too much time with Stiles.”“Unbelievable,” she growls, ignoring the jab at Stiles. “I missed your birthday. Well, don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you. Next time I see you, there will be cake.”He shrugs. “I mean, legally, my birthday isn’t until October—”“Nah,” she says, waving a hand in dismissal, “that’s his birthday. You get to celebrate your own. Now, c’mon—” she sets her coffee down and swivels to face him, her knee bumping his thigh, poking his chest with one finger— “what d’you want for your belated birthday present?”He sets his own coffee down and captures the hand she’d been using to prod him in the chest. “I don’t need anything,” he says gently, guiding her to flatten her palm over his heart, meeting her eyes steadily.She meets his gaze and raises an eyebrow in challenge. “I didn’t ask what you need,” she offers quietly. “I asked what you want.”His eyes flick down to her lips, then back up. “What I want—” he starts, but then stops, closing his eyes and shaking his head, sliding his hand up along her arm to wrap around her bicep and push her away a fraction of an inch. “No. Not if you don’t mean it. Not if you don’t want it, too. If the only reason you would is because of some stupid birthday wish—”“What if the birthday wish isn’t the only reason?” she insists. “What if it’s just the excuse I use to do something now, instead of waiting any longer?”His brow furrows and he holds his ground. “Why the rush, all of a sudden?”She growls and pulls away, turning her body to face forward again, pulling up her legs to rest her feet on the seat and wrap her arms around her knees. “Maybe I didn’t want to die having never been kissed,” she grumbles.“You’re not going to die,” he growls back at her. “I won’t let you.”She sighs and picks up her amulet in one hand, running her thumb across the carving. “You can’t guarantee that.”“Cora,” he says softly, his hand landing on her back, “look at me.”She shakes her head and tightens her grip on the amulet. “Why? What’s the point?”He reaches over with his other hand and wraps it around hers, her hand still wrapped around the amulet. “C’mere,” he encourages softly, hand on her back applying gentle pressure to get her to turn toward him again.She sighs and unfolds herself, swiveling to face him again. Her free hand drifts to land on his elbow.He moves the hand on her back up to the nape of her neck and waits until she meets his eye. “You’re not going to die,” he says again, with a certainty she wishes she could believe in. “Want to know how I know that?” He gently strokes his thumb across the back of her hand, where they're still clasped together around her amulet.She raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Alright, I’ll bite—” he snorts in amusement at the phrasing, and she feels her eyes crinkle in response— “How do you know that?”“All of us—hey, look,” he pauses until she sighs and settles her eyes steadily on his, “all of us in your pack are one-hundred-percent committed to figuring this out. We won’t rest until you’re safe.”“Yeah, sure,” she smiles wryly, “because those stupid dreams won’t let us get a decent night’s rest.”He rolls his eyes. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”“Yes, I know what you mean,” she grumbles. Her hand feels warm and slightly tingly where it’s sandwiched between his hand and her amulet.“So, c’mon,” he squeezes the back of her neck gently in emphasis, “believe me when I tell you this: you aren’t going to die, because we won’t let you. You’re not alone anymore.”She sighs and leans forward until their foreheads bump together, closing her eyes for a breath. “It just never ends,” she says quietly. “Why is he doing this? What did I ever do to deserve—”“Nothing,” he growls. “You did nothing to deserve this. I don’t know why he’s doing this. Some people are just awful.”“But that’s the worst part,” she says, sitting back a bit to look him in the eye again. “What if he’s not awful? What if I’m overreacting? What if I’m wrong? What if—”His jaw clenches, and his expression darkens. “You’re not wrong.”Her eyes widen, and she takes one shaky breath. “What did you find?”He reluctantly pulls his hand away from the back of her neck and reaches into his pocket for his phone. He taps on the screen a few times, then turns it around to show her.She frowns down at the screen. “Is that—”“Yep.”“This is real?” She pulls both hands away from him and grabs his phone so she can get a closer look.He sighs heavily. “Unfortunately.”“Shit,” she breathes. She studies the screen for another moment, then hands his phone back and looks at him regretfully.“I know,” he says, smiling wryly and nodding. “Crisis time.” He stands and picks up his coffee, then bends down to cup the back of her head and press a kiss onto her forehead.She grabs a fistful of his shirt to stop him from pulling away. “I will be getting you a cake,” she warns him teasingly, “as soon as all of this is over.”“Looking forward to it,” he mutters with a sly grin.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Since when do you knock?” Stiles asks as he opens the door for Cora, brow furrowed in confusion. “You usually just barge in.”She takes one more breath to brace herself before stepping into the room and heading directly over to sit on the edge of his bed. She stares at the floor in front of her for a moment, trying to compose her thoughts, absentmindedly stroking her thumb across the carving on her amulet; it still feels oddly warm, as if generating its own heat, but that’s probably just from how tightly she’s been gripping it.“Dude, you’re acting weird,” Stiles says, frowning at her as he sits in his desk chair and wheels it over to sit in front of her. “What’s up with you?”She sighs heavily and scrubs her free hand down her face. She opens her mouth, trying to find the words and get them out, but fails, closes her mouth, and shakes her head.“Hey, seriously. What’s wrong?” He scoots his chair closer and leans forward, studying her face intently.She grimaces and lets go of her amulet. There’s no good way to say something like this; best to just get it over with. She takes another shaky breath and looks him in the eye. “I want to preface this by saying, I really wanted to be wrong about this.”His frown deepens. “Wrong about what?”She looks away momentarily so she can fish her phone out of her pocket, navigate to the video O’Neill had forwarded to her, and turn the screen to face Stiles.She watches as his expression shifts from confusion to shock, then horror, as the video plays. “No, this…” he shakes his head, jaw clenching. “This can’t be real.”“It is,” she says quietly, “I’m sorry.”“Where did you get this? When was this?” His voice sounds odd, as if trying to mask some emotion she can’t quite identify.“O’Neill took it this morning.” She watches him warily, bracing herself for all the worst-case-scenarios she’d imagined for this moment.He plays the video again, and his expression shifts to one of abject fury. “That motherfucking piece of shit,” he growls, and she sits back a bit, eyes widening. “What the fuck does he think he’s doing?”She blinks a few times in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to accept this so quickly. “He might not know—”“Might not know what?” he snaps. “That he’s a murderer?”She flinches slightly. It’s true, but she hadn’t expected him to just come out and say it like that. “We don’t know if he actually knows what the ritual does to the person he’s transforming.”“That’s no excuse. And even if he doesn’t know all of what happens during the ritual, he knows what’s happened to them after. And he just keeps making more.” He starts the video again, glaring at the screen.“It might not be his fault,” she offers, reaching over to tap the screen, pausing the video. Stiles redirects his glare up to her face at the interruption. “We don’t know if he’s acting of his own free will, or if he’s being manipulated into all of it.”“Manipulated into—” Stiles pauses, then shakes his head and somehow manages to look even angrier. “No, fuck that. Why are you defending him? He’s trying to kill you.”“He’s—” she sighs heavily and runs a hand through her hair. “I don’t want to sabotage anything for him if he's just another victim in all of this. He could be—”“Cora,” he scoots his chair forward enough that he can place a hand on her shoulder, “that’s a really sweet thought, and the fact that you’d do that for him is yet another example of why you’re absolutely one of my favorite people in the galaxy. But, dude, he’s trying to kill you. He doesn’t get a pass for that, even if it was someone else's idea.”“He’s your best friend,” she says. “I don’t want to be the one to ruin—”“This—” he interrupts, holding up the phone, video paused at the worst, most incriminating moment— “is not a person I can ever think of as my friend again. And you—” he shakes her lightly with the hand on her shoulder— “didn’t ruin anything. He did that himself when he started all this.”“No, Stiles—” she sighs, takes her phone back, and pushes his hand off her shoulder. “I can’t just let you give up on him. If he’s being brainwashed—”“Doesn’t matter whose idea it was,” Stiles says, shaking his head and pointing at her phone again. “You saw his face there. He’s doing that on purpose. He’s killed at least ten people now, and for what? What did you ever do to—” he stops, eyes widening. “This is why Parrish was asking… How long have you known it’s Scott?”Her shoulders sag, and she looks down at the floor, gripping her phone tightly. She hadn’t liked hiding this from him, had known he would feel betrayed, but it was for the best. “I didn’t have proof until today, but I’ve suspected since the last attack,” she admits reluctantly.“You told O’Neill and Parrish before you told—oh, of course,” he says, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “and Jackson. Anyone else? Am I the last to know that my former best friend is the one trying to kill my current best friend?”“No, of course not,” she says, meeting his eyes again apologetically. “I mean, I did also tell Chris Argent—”“You told Chris Argent before you told me?” he asks incredulously. “Why would you—”“I wanted to be wrong,” she reminds him. “I was so hoping I was wrong about this. And I didn’t want to risk damaging things further with Scott if I was wrong. O’Neill and Parrish could be impartial on the subject. Neither Jackson nor Chris Argent have anything to lose with Scott. But everyone else, especially you—”“Scott already lost me,” Stiles says grimly. “He burned that bridge weeks ago when he—”“He probably still thinks he can win you back,” she points out. “He probably thinks, if I’m out of the picture, you’d be on his side again. If I’d told you before I had proof, he would have taken that as a personal attack. He would have seen that as proof that I was the one sabotaging the two of you. And if I had been wrong, and he wasn’t actually involved in all this, that’s what it would have been, even if I didn’t mean it that way.”“He wants you dead, Cora,” Stiles reiterates yet again. “Not just ‘out of the picture,’ dead.”She rolls her eyes. “I’m aware of that, thank you. I’m just saying, we don’t know yet why he’s doing this, or if he even really knows what he’s doing. There’s a chance he’s as much of a victim in this as I am.”Stiles snorts at that. “Right, of course, because Scott is always the victim.” He rolls his chair back to his desk and pulls open his desk drawer. “No, he’s not getting away with it this time. I’ve had enough.” He grabs his hand device, slams the drawer shut, and pushes himself to his feet.“Wait, Stiles—” she stands and positions herself between him and the door. “No. You can’t just go after him. We need to be smart about this. We need a plan.”He shakes his head as he slides the hand device on. “I’m not waiting around for him to send that—” he points to the phone still in her hand— “and however many more of those things he’s made to try to kill you again. Get out of my way.”“No,” she says, standing her ground and tucking her phone back into her pocket. “I need you to promise me something.”Something dark and dangerous flashes in his eyes, a side of him that he usually keeps tightly controlled and thoroughly masked, and for a moment, she almost backs down. But then he deflates with a weary sigh. “Alright, what?”She holds his gaze firmly, unyielding in her resolve. “If it turns out he is being brainwashed into this, I need you to promise you’ll be there for him, to help him through the deprogramming. You can’t give up on him, just because of what he’s doing now. He’ll need you. If he isn’t doing this of his own free will, then you, more than anyone, can understand what he’s gone through, and what can bring him back. If anyone can save him from this, it’ll be you.”Stiles is silent for a moment as he takes that in, the expression on his face inscrutable. Then he closes his eyes, exhales slowly, and steps forward to wrap his arms around her. “Alright, I promise,” he mutters into the top of her head, squeezing her tight. “If he’s been brainwashed.”"Thank you,” she says, squeezing him back.“But you need to promise me,” Stiles says, pulling back just far enough to look her in the eye again, “if he’s not being brainwashed, if he’s doing this of his own free will, you won’t ask me to forgive him. I get to hate him for what he’s doing to you and the person he’s allowed himself to become.”“Oh, believe me, if that’s where we’re at, I’m right there with you,” she assures him. There’s no love to be lost between her and Scott, and if it turns out he’s the mastermind behind all of this, she’ll be first in line to destroy him. But she has a feeling it won’t be that simple. There’s a whole lot of gray area between evil-supervillain-mastermind and completely-brainwashed-pawn. She doesn’t know at what point on that spectrum Scott will end up landing. And she doesn’t know what level of self-determination would make Scott irredeemable. All she knows is that Scott was once a good person, and he’s still important to a lot of the people she loves.However this ends up going down, it’ll be a mess. She just hopes they all survive to see the other side of it.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Why wouldn’t she tell us?” Derek asks, sitting forward with his elbows braced on his knees and his hands clasped together, watching as O’Neill pins another note to the board. The big picture is getting more damning, the more they add. It hadn’t looked like much at first, just a lot of disconnected pieces, a lot of circumstantial evidence, but once they’d started to put it all into context, the conclusion was undeniable. The video is just the final nail in the coffin. “We can’t help her if we don’t know what we’re up against.”O’Neill sighs as he picks up the next page from the stack. “She wanted proof first. She didn’t want to cause problems with Scott if she was—”“She didn’t think we’d believe her,” the Sheriff interrupts quietly, leaning against the file cabinet behind his desk, eyes still fixed on the phone as he plays the video again. “Didn’t think we’d trust her over Scott.”O’Neill’s jaw clenches and he nods once, stiffly. “Also that.”“Scott has done nothing but use and betray me from the moment we first met,” Derek growls. “In what universe would I ever believe him over her?”“You know, you might actually get to find out someday,” O’Neill says with a slight smirk. Derek rolls his eyes. He is not in the mood to be joking about alternate realities right now. “I’m not saying I agreed with her decision to keep this from you,” O’Neill continues, “but I understand her desire for caution. She wanted to protect all of you.”Derek raises an eyebrow. “She wanted to protect us from the person trying to kill her?”“Are you really that surprised?” O’Neill asks, mirroring Derek's raised eyebrow.Derek feels his expression soften a little with fondness. “Guess not.” That’s just like her, to be more concerned for their safety than her own. She’s always been far too independent for her own good.The Sheriff finally locks the phone and tosses it down onto his desk. “Dammit, Scott…” he mutters to himself, crossing one arm over his chest and pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “Does Stiles know—”“Cora’s with him now,” O’Neill says, writing a note under one of the pictures on the board. “Derek, you may want to—”“Oh, no, for sure,” Derek agrees. “As soon as we’re done here.” Stiles will be on the warpath now, and with all the stress he’s been under recently, Derek isn’t sure he’ll be able to keep a handle on his darker impulses. Stiles will need Derek to help him stay grounded.The Sheriff sighs heavily and scrubs his hand down his face. “Someone’ll have to talk to Melissa.”“Let Argent do it,” O’Neill suggests. “They’ve been getting close recently.”“No,” the Sheriff says, shaking his head glumly, “it should be me. I’ve known them both longer. They’re—” he falters, clenching his fists tightly, schooling his expression in an attempt to mask the betrayal and fury— “family.”O’Neill cringes apologetically. “I hate to have to suggest this, but speaking of Scott’s family—”“Oh, come on,” the Sheriff complains, shoulders drooping, expression bleak, “isn’t this situation bad enough without him? Do we really have to—”“He’s Scott’s father,” O’Neill says. “He deserves to know. And he might have some resources that could help us. He clearly still cares about Scott, he pulled strings and defied orders to protect him last time. We could use that.”The Sheriff’s expression turns stormy, but he nods reluctantly. “Fine, I’ll call him, too,” he grumbles. “As if this situation really needed to get any worse.”“What we still need to figure out, though,” O’Neill says, taking a step back from the board so he can see everything at once, “is why he’s doing this.”“Cora’s been asking me about Peter.” Derek stands and crosses his arms as he studies the board. “And if he could’ve corrupted the mind of someone who everyone believes to be incorruptible,” he quotes.“Right,” O’Neill confirms with a firm nod, “and we don’t know what kind of power Deaton might have over him, either. He could be cherry-picking the information he feeds Scott to steer him in a particular direction, or just being manipulative in general, or using magic to control him somehow. He has an agenda here, we just don’t know enough about him yet to know what it might be.”“So Scott might not even be in control of what he’s doing?” the Sheriff asks, looking up with a frown.“That’s definitely one of the avenues we’re exploring,” O’Neill confirms, tapping one of the notes on the board.The Sheriff stares off into the distance, eyes unfocused, brow furrowing. “O’Neill, do you remember… about a year before I retired, Teal’c brought Rya’c to the SGC. But Apophis had done something—”O’Neill snaps his fingers and points at the Sheriff. “Yes. Setesh used it, too, and Hathor had a version of it. Stiles’ symbiote definitely could've had a stash hidden away somewhere that one of them could've found.” He grabs a pen and scrap of paper to add another note to the board.“Maybe I should just Zat him,” the Sheriff suggests with a shrug. “If it fixes him, great. Problem solved. If it doesn’t, well, can’t really say I’d feel all that bad about shooting him at the moment.”Derek nods in approval. “I’m all for shooting him.”“Can’t hurt to try,” O’Neill agrees with a smirk. “I call second shot, if it turns out he hasn’t been brainwashed.”Derek smacks O’Neill lightly on the arm. “Dude.” He jerks his chin toward the Sheriff.O’Neill winces apologetically. “Sorry. Too soon?”The Sheriff sighs and shakes his head. “This isn’t really our battle to fight. Cora’s the one being targeted; she gets to decide how we handle it.”“So that’s not a no, then,” O’Neill mutters under his breath, eyes dark with barely-contained rage as he stares at the wall of information in front of him.“I just don’t understand how things could’ve reached this point,” the Sheriff says, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “What could possibly make him think any of this was a good idea?”“He’s the ‘True Alpha,’” O’Neill says, doing finger quotes for emphasis and rolling his eyes, “whatever that means. He thinks he’s this town’s savior, the Chosen One. And Cora being here, as a rival Alpha, is a threat to all of that.”“She’s not his rival,” Derek says with a confused frown. “She’s done nothing but try to support him and work with him to save this town since she first got back here, even if she doesn’t get along with him personally.”“Apparently Scott doesn’t see it that way,” O’Neill says. “He’s stuck on the fact that people have left his pack for hers.”“But she didn’t even want them to,” Derek argues. “She didn’t want any of this.”“Doesn’t matter,” O’Neill says, shaking his head.“It doesn’t matter?” Derek growls. “It doesn’t matter to Scott that all of us would fall apart if we lost her? It doesn’t matter to him that she’s the only thing holding back everything that keeps trying to corrupt the Nemeton?”“Scott’s not really a ‘big picture’ kind of guy,” the Sheriff says with a grimace. “He either doesn’t know or doesn’t care about the real-life consequences of what he’s doing.”“Or,” O’Neill adds, glaring at the printed-out still from the video he’d pinned to the board, “he knows exactly what the consequences are, and that’s the entire point.”The Sheriff sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know, I’m not really buying it. Scott isn’t stupid, but he’s also not much of a planner. Masterminding a scheme like this doesn’t really seem like his style.”“We already know he’s not working alone,” Derek points out. “Masterminding this scheme would have been child’s play for Peter, and Deaton definitely has the knowledge and resources to orchestrate this whole thing. We just don’t know which one of them started it.”The Sheriff groans and rubs his temples. “I don’t think we’re making any progress with this right now. Feels like we’re just talking in circles.” He straightens up, grabs his jacket off of the back of his chair, and walks around to his office door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob as he gets ready to leave. “I need a minute to process all this, and to figure out how the hell I can explain it all to Melissa. Stay here if you like, but you may want to go to stop whatever harebrained scheme Cora and Stiles are surely concocting before they get themselves hurt.”“Right, good point,” Derek says, exchanging a look with O’Neill. Neither Cora nor Stiles have the best track record for self-preservation, and neither of them will be in a particularly rational state of mind at the moment. Whatever impulsive plan they come up with now will surely end in disaster.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Cora’s phone chimes in her pocket with another incoming text. She scowls and keeps walking.“Shouldn’t you answer that?” Stiles asks, jogging a little to catch up to her.“No,” she says, walking faster.“Could be important.”She rolls her eyes. “It’s not.”“How do you know? You didn’t even check it,” he points out.She waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t need to. It’s O’Neill.”He raises an eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”“He thinks we shouldn’t do this,” she grumbles.“Oh. Well, screw that, then,” Stiles agrees with a firm nod. “What does he expect us to do? Wait around for them to attack us again?” He scoffs. “Hell no.”“Glad we’re on the same page here,” she says, clapping him on the shoulder, ignoring another chime from her phone. If O’Neill wants to help, he knows where they’re headed. But she won’t be waiting passively anymore. She’s taking this operation apart, starting with—for lack of a better term—Scott’s berserker factory. O’Neill can either get onboard or stay out of her way.They round the corner to see Jackson waiting for them, arms crossed, glaring at the front entrance of a building, and they come to a stop next to him. “So, this is the place?” Stiles asks, eyeing the building skeptically. “You’re sure?”“This is the place,” Jackson confirms, eyes still fixed on the door.Cora tilts her head and narrows her eyes at the building. It certainly doesn’t look like much from the outside. There aren’t even any scent trails leading into or out of the building, so it’s no surprise they couldn’t find it until now. But there’s a faint buzz of something in the air, from whatever magic they’re using as camouflage, that she can’t possibly ignore now that she’s noticed it. It’s starting to give her one hell of a headache, actually. “Wow, okay, maybe I’m giving Scott too much credit,” she says, rubbing her forehead. “If I was hanging out around this all day, I might wanna kill someone, too.”“Hanging out around—what?” Stiles asks, and she looks over to find both boys frowning at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”“The—” she gestures vaguely at the building and its magical aura, unsure how to put what she’s feeling into words. “Can’t you feel it?”“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jackson says, a concerned crinkle forming between his eyebrows. “I haven’t felt anything weird, the entire time I’ve been here.”“I swear, I’m not making this up,” she says, bristling a little defensively.“I never thought you were,” Jackson says, turning to look at her more directly, frown deepening. “What does it feel like?”She shakes her head, the gesture a combination of an expression of uncertainty and an attempt to dislodge the sensation sticking in her brain. “Hard to describe. The masking spells they’re using are creating a kind of sensory deprivation effect, but there’s something else to it, too. Like, the building is one big block of evil magical static. Stiles, can you seriously not feel any of that?”“I can’t, but…” he tilts his head and looks at her curiously for a moment, then lifts his left hand. “Can I try something?”She shrugs. “Sure.”Stiles points the crystal on his palm at the back of her head, linking his mind with hers. Whatever it is he’s looking for, it doesn’t take him long to find it. He hisses and pulls his hand away. “Okay, yep, this place is hella cursed. Dude, is that how you see things all the time?” He shakes out his hand a little and flexes his fingers, squinting suspiciously at the building.“Why? Is it weird?” She’s really never put much thought into what she can sense that others can’t. Hadn’t seemed important enough to be something she’d need to care about. But now that she’s thinking about it, it might explain a lot. Could the reason no one in her family believed her about the curse be because they literally just couldn’t feel it?“Is there anything about you that isn’t weird?” Jackson mutters with a smirk.“Well, I should hope not,” Cora smirks back at him. “Weirdness is part of my mystique. That’s what makes me so cool.”Jackson snorts in amusement. “Sure. ‘Cool,’” he repeats, doing finger quotes around the word. “Keep telling yourself that.”“Ohh,” Stiles breathes, eyes widening as he turns to look at her, “dude. Derek’s place really is haunted, isn’t it?”“I mean, yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying,” she confirms with a frown, though she’s not sure why Stiles would be bringing it up now.“No, but, like,” he flails his arms in emphasis, “you can actually feel it. There’s an actual, literal ghost haunting Derek’s loft, and you’re the only one who noticed. What else have you—”“I feel like we’re getting off topic here,” she interrupts. As fascinating as her brain may be, at least to Stiles, now is not really the time to discuss it. “The point is, I can’t tell what’s going on in there. We’ll be going in blind.”“Are you sure we shouldn’t wait for backup?” Stiles asks. “We don’t know how many of them are in there. And O’Neill—”“I’m not waiting,” Cora says, shaking her head. “I won’t let Scott do this to anyone else. And the souls he’s already destroyed deserve release. Leaving them to rot in their bodies like that—” she suppresses a shudder at the thought. “It’s just cruel.”“Come on, Stilinski,” Jackson says, reaching across behind Cora to lightly punch Stiles on the arm, “you in or out?”Stiles scowls over at Jackson. “Of course I’m in.”“Let’s get this party started, then,” Jackson replies, waggling his eyebrows at both of them as he starts to jog toward the building.“Oh, this is gonna end so badly,” Cora mutters as she jogs after him. They may not have to deal with Scott yet—he’d snuck out sometime after O’Neill’s snooping this morning—but she’s certain they’ll find more than just the one new berserker. This may end badly, but at least it’ll end. She doesn’t plan on leaving anything behind for Scott to use to continue his reign of terror.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“What—” a voice says from the doorway. Stiles glances up briefly at the shocked faces of Derek and O’Neill, then returns his attention to his healing device. “...the…” O’Neill continues, voice faint as he takes in the scene. “Fuck,” he finishes on a slow exhale.“Nice of you two to finally show,” Cora grumbles, still scowling down at Jackson.“What the hell happened in here?” Derek asks, and Stiles can hear the faint edge of panic in his voice.Cora heaves a frustrated sigh. “Stiles, can you deal with that, please?”Stiles raises an eyebrow at her. “You sure? Shouldn’t I finish—”“He’ll be fine,” Cora growls, flashing her eyes at him angrily. Stiles’ other eyebrow rises to meet the first, refusing to be intimidated. Cora grimaces, then closes her eyes and takes a slow breath to compose herself. “He’ll be fine,” she repeats, more gently this time, when she opens her eyes again. “I’ve got him.”Stiles pauses a moment longer to check that she’s sure—and to give one final boost to the healing—then nods and pushes himself to his feet, slipping the healing device off his hand and into his pocket. He squeezes Cora’s shoulder gently and leans down to speak quietly into her ear. “Don’t be too hard on him, okay? He was just trying to help.”Cora growls again, but readjusts her grip on Jackson so she can run her fingers through his hair reassuringly. Jackson doesn’t respond beyond curling further in on himself.Stiles takes a breath to brace himself, then walks over toward the door, raising his hands placatingly. “Okay, so, I know this looks bad—”“Bit of an understatement, don’t you think?” Derek asks incredulously, gesturing at the mess around the room.“Cora and I are fine,” Stiles tells them, as reassuringly as he can manage. “Jackson… will be fine.” Probably. He hopes. If he keeps telling himself that, it may even become true. “And, hey! Scott can’t make berserkers anymore! So, y’know, mission accomplished!” He half-heartedly does jazz hands in the hopes of distracting them from the disaster. It doesn’t work.Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “Stiles—”“Derek,” Stiles says, matching Derek’s exasperated tone. He sighs and takes a step forward, placing one hand on either side of Derek’s face so he has no choice but to meet Stiles’ eyes. “Seriously. Everything is fine.”Derek closes his eyes and tilts his head forward to rest their foreheads together. “It’s not fine.” Stiles grimaces; he’d been hoping Derek wouldn’t call out the lie. “But we can discuss that later. What do you need us to do?”Stiles strokes Derek’s cheekbones with his thumbs, then pulls away and straightens up. “Help with cleanup? Not the—” he gestures vaguely at the mess. “I mean, there’s magic stuff still around here, messing with things. We need to clear out as much of that as possible.”Derek nods decisively. “On it.” He presses a kiss to Stiles’ cheek, lingering for just a moment, then steps further into the room to start gathering anything that might look vaguely magical.O’Neill, however, stays where he is, hovering around the doorway. Stiles watches O’Neill watch Cora and raises an eyebrow. “Dude,” he says quietly, “you okay over there?”O’Neill blinks a couple times, clears his throat, and shakes his head as if to clear out whatever thoughts had him stalled. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”“No, you’re not. C’mere.” Stiles grabs his elbow to guide him out of the building, and out of earshot of the werewolves.“Stiles, what—” O’Neill starts.“This is about Cora, right? All of whatever this—” Stiles gestures vaguely at O’Neill’s face— “is?”O’Neill turns to him, brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you—”“Dude,” Stiles says, leveling him with a look.O’Neill sighs, shoulders slumping. “Okay, yes, it’s about Cora.”“Right, so, here’s the thing about Cora,” Stiles says once they’re far enough away. “She sees a lot more darkness in the world than we do, and she doesn’t know how to accept help in dealing with it.”“I know,” O’Neill says, frowning in confusion. “She’s not used to working with people.”“She’s not used to being believed,” Stiles corrects him. O’Neill opens his mouth to speak again, but Stiles holds up a hand and shakes his head to stop him. “No, listen. All of this? Us having her back, unconditionally? She doesn’t know how to deal with it. Her family not believing her about the curse seriously messed with her head. But, turns out? She actually can sense curses and other magics. She knew something was working to destroy her family, could sense the curse eating away at all of them, and none of them believed her.”“But she must know by now that we—” O’Neill starts, frown deepening in consternation now.“What reason would she have to trust that anyone would ever believe her?” Stiles argues. “Her entire family—the people she should’ve been able to trust most in the world—told her to her face that she was wrong about the curse. Every day, for most of her life. They couldn’t see what she sees, or feel what she feels, so they decided she was making it all up. But she wasn’t, and it almost killed them all. So when someone actually believes her now, she doesn’t know what to do with it.”O’Neill groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’ll never truly trust us, will she?”“See, that’s the thing, though,” Stiles says. “She does trust us. She’s just been conditioned to think that no one she trusts can do the same for her.”“Oh, for cryin’ out loud…” O’Neill sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’d thought her independence stemmed primarily from, just, the fact that she hadn’t been around people for so long. But that’s not it, is it? She’s been isolated for far longer than that, because of this.”Stiles nods grimly. “Her upbringing taught her that she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself. Her years on the run simply taught her how to do that and survive.”O’Neill’s expression hardens into grim determination. “Well, I’m not gonna let her settle for mere survival anymore.”“Good,” Stiles says, nodding once decisively and patting O’Neill’s shoulder. Because he is of the firm belief that both Hale siblings deserve everything good this universe can give them, and he's glad to have an ally in providing that for them.“What can I do, then?” O’Neill asks. “How do I convince her that I do believe her? That I would do anything for her, if she’d let me?”“Well,” Stiles shrugs, “you start by knowing that when she tells you something is cursed or haunted, she’s absolutely not kidding, and she’s almost certainly correct.”“Wait—haunted, as in ghosts?” O’Neill asks, eyes widening. “Since when are ghosts a real thing?”“Since Cora says they are,” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes at O’Neill.O’Neill holds his hands up in surrender. “Right, of course. Go on.”“See? Now you’re getting it.” Stiles grins and claps O’Neill on the shoulder, then sobers as he remembers what the world looked like through Cora’s eyes. “Look, it’s… Cora is stronger than you could ever imagine. Quite honestly, with all that extra stuff she can sense, it’s a miracle she manages to be functional at all most days. It’s definitely no surprise to me now why she’s so easily overstimulated.”“This sense she has…” O’Neill starts, frowning thoughtfully. “Does it work on people, too?”“Uh,” Stiles blinks a few times in confusion. “Work on people, in what way, exactly? To know if they’re cursed? Because, yeah, that’s—”“No, I mean,” O’Neill shakes his head sharply, then pauses and shrugs one shoulder. “Actually, I don’t know. Maybe. I’m just trying to figure out if the way she’s reacted to Scott could have anything to do with him being cursed, or magicked, or… something.”“Oh.” Stiles furrows his brow at the suggestion. “I hadn’t considered… I mean, she’s never gotten along with him, though. Wouldn’t whatever she feels toward him be newer, if that were the case?”“Right, no, of course.” O’Neill nods, though the thoughtful wrinkle in his brow only deepens. “Never mind, it’s probably not relevant, then.”“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, ignoring the sick feeling that sticks in his gut as he shoves the thought aside. “Anyway, we should get back in there,” he says, gesturing at the building.“Yes,” O’Neill nods again and claps Stiles on the shoulder. “Yes, we should. And, uh. Thanks for this. Seriously, thanks.”“Of course,” Stiles replies, smiling wryly. “Oh,” he adds, stopping O’Neill just as he starts to move back toward the door with a hand on his arm, “and, one more thing? Don’t do things for her. Do them with her.”O’Neill narrows his eyes. “I’m trying to—”“No, I know. Just—” Stiles takes a breath and scrubs a hand down his face. “You have to approach things differently with her. She doesn’t need you to be her champion, and she definitely doesn’t need another follower. She needs a partner.”O’Neill looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, then glances ahead at the door. “With her, not for her,” he echoes. “Interesting distinction. I think I can do that.”“I know you can,” Stiles assures him. If anyone can, it’ll be O’Neill. The two of them will be good for each other, if they can figure out how to navigate all their various issues together.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Are you sure you want me here for this?” Derek asks, watching Cora warily as she sits, quietly seething, next to a still-unconscious Jackson. He’d have thought she’d want Stiles for this, or to be alone with Jackson as he wakes up. But instead she’d asked Derek to stay, once he’d gotten Jackson settled on her bed for his recovery.“I’m gonna need someone to restrain me once he starts in on his lame-ass excuses,” she growls as he pulls her extra chair over from the corner of the room so he can sit beside her. “And besides,” she adds, turning her accusatory gaze up to him with a cold smile that shows far too many teeth, “given the stunt you pulled recently, I thought you two might bond over your shared stupidity.”Derek clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m, uh,” he winces slightly, “not sure you can really equate the two situations—”“Oh, can’t I?” She raises both eyebrows incredulously. “No, sure,” she shrugs sarcastically and waves a hand dismissively, “he just decided being dead was an acceptable outcome for a tricky situation. Nothing for you to relate to there, certainly.”All the air rushes out of Derek’s lungs in one surprised whoosh. “Stiles told you…?” he asks faintly.“He didn’t have to. I know you. And you’ve just confirmed it.” Cora’s gaze snaps back over to Jackson. “Stop pretending to be asleep, jackass,” she orders brusquely. Derek hadn’t even noticed the slight change in Jackson’s breath and heart rate, but apparently Cora had.Jackson grimaces, but keeps his eyes shut. “I’d rather not, thanks all the same,” he grumbles quietly.“Jackson, I swear to God—” Cora growls, starting to lean forward. Derek places a hand on her arm to hold her in place and, hopefully, attempt to calm her somewhat.Jackson sighs heavily and opens his eyes only so he can roll them dramatically, scooting up into a seated position against the headboard. “Shouldn’t you be letting me rest? I hear that’s important after—”“You can rest after I yell at you,” Cora snaps, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “If you thought I’d be taking it easy on you because you’re hurt—”“Cora,” Derek warns gently, squeezing her arm. She scowls at him, but sits back, crossing her arms. “How about you tell me what happened?” Derek suggests, eyes bouncing between the two of them. “Because I feel like I’m missing some pretty important context here.” He saw the aftermath of the fighting, but neither Cora nor Stiles had wanted to talk about any of the details of what had happened.“The context,” Cora snarls, “is that this idiot tried to get himself killed for no good reason.”“No good reason?” Jackson repeats incredulously. “Saving your life isn’t a good reason?” Derek raises an eyebrow at Jackson’s choice to address that half of the accusation and ignore the other.“I didn’t need you to save my life,” Cora says, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I was fine. Which you would’ve known if you’d paused for even a second before throwing yourself at—”“Oh, well, I’m sorry I didn’t stop for a strategy session in the middle of saving your life,” Jackson says mockingly, returning Cora’s glare.“That’s not what I—” Cora cuts herself off and drops her head into her hands with a frustrated groan. “Is it a revenge thing? Are you trying to get back at me for making you think I was dead for a few years? Because, dude, if that’s—”“Okay,” Derek interrupts, placing his hand on Cora’s arm again. “Maybe we should give Jackson a chance to explain himself before we jump to any more conclusions?” Cora growls, but sits back again, picking at the edge of the cushioning on the arm of her chair. “Jackson? Can you tell me what happened?”Jackson scowls down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if testing the range of motion. It’s an impulse Derek knows all too well, after healing from particularly bad injuries. “I’m not entirely sure,” Jackson admits eventually. “I mean—actually, no. I know what happened. I just… don’t know how. Or—or why.” He grimaces as he splays his fingers wide and stretches his palms.“You don’t know—” Cora starts angrily, stopping when Derek squeezes her arm again.Derek frowns at Jackson in concern, cataloguing the joints he tests and the pain he tries to mask when he finds a still-tender spot. “What do you mean? What did you do?”Jackson glances at Cora briefly, then clenches his jaw and looks at Derek defiantly. “You saw the blood, right? And the… everything? Do I really need to spell it out for you?”Derek’s eyes widen. “All of that was yours?” If that’s the case, it’s a miracle there was anything left of Jackson to save. No wonder Cora is so angry. “Okay, wow. Were you trying to get yourself killed? Because if not, what the hell were you thinking?”Jackson looks away from Derek, glaring down at his hands again. “I wasn’t,” he answers through gritted teeth. “Thinking. I saw them charging at Cora, and the next thing I knew, I was—” he stops, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “I don’t think dying was the goal, but… honestly, I don’t think I cared.”“See?” Cora says, pointing an accusatory finger at Jackson. “You see what I have to deal with? Seriously, do either of you have any sense of self-preservation? Why do I even—”“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Jackson says with an exaggerated eye roll. “Stiles told me about you getting shot by those hunters—”“That was a completely different situation,” she says, expression stormy. “My life wasn’t the one in danger there—”Derek raises an eyebrow incredulously. “You got shot in the chest with a wolfsbane bullet, and your life wasn’t in danger?” O’Neill had told him about the incident, and her reasoning hadn’t made sense to him then, either.“It wasn’t,” she repeats firmly. “I knew Stiles would be able to heal me, and I did that meditation thing you taught me to buy him extra time. I only would’ve been in real danger if Stiles had given up on me. And you know he never would.”“That’s…” Derek blinks a few times as he processes that, “actually a good point. Still a stupid idea, but I see where you’re coming from.”“It was the best I could come up with on the spot,” she grumbles, sinking further into her seat and crossing her arms defensively. “O’Neill would’ve been dead if I hadn’t, and others might’ve gotten hurt too if I’d waited any longer.”“Am I hearing this right?” Jackson asks, eyes wide in disbelief. “Did you seriously get yourself shot on purpose as a motivational tool?”Cora scowls at him. “Well, it sounds bad when you say it like that.”Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a slow breath. “My god, do we need therapy,” he mutters. He’s pretty sure just the three of them would be able to keep an entire team of therapists gainfully employed for the next century, at least. And that’s only taking into consideration their current issues, not even any new ones that might pop up. Maybe he should talk to General Landry, see if they can find someone trustworthy and set up a similar deal to the one he has with Dr. Lam. He needs to talk to the General and Dr. Lam anyway about getting Jackson the same career path support they’ve given Cora.“Dude,” Jackson scoffs, “I don’t think there’s a therapist on Earth who could handle all our issues.”“Good thing we’re not limited to the ones available on Earth, then,” Derek says, smirking at Cora and nudging her with his elbow. She snorts, then buries her face in both hands, shoulders shaking with poorly-suppressed giggles. He grins at the sight; he knows her laughter in this moment is more of a stress response than actual amusement—his joke was barely even funny—but honestly, it’s just good to see Cora laugh for any reason at this point.Jackson narrows his eyes at Derek. “Guys, if this is another deep space radar telemetry thing… You know no one is buying that as a cover story. What the hell are all you weirdos into?”Derek reaches over to pat him on the leg reassuringly. “You’ll find out soon enough.”Cora lifts her head to look at Derek and raises her eyebrows. “Will he, really?”Derek shrugs. “Dr. Lam would be thrilled to have another one of us on her team, so, yeah. Sure. If he’s interested.”“Yet another reason why you don’t get to die yet,” Cora says to Jackson, leaning forward to punch him lightly on the bicep.“Ow,” Jackson complains, rubbing his arm and frowning. “What the fuck are you talking about?”“A job opportunity,” Cora says, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Dude, seriously, you’re gonna love it.”“Don’t get too excited yet,” Derek says, placing his hand on Cora’s arm again. “I do still have to run it by Dr. Lam and the General.”“Please,” Cora scoffs, rolling her eyes. “As if they’d say no to you about this.”“Still. Best not to get ahead of ourselves.” Derek clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “Cora, how ‘bout you go check on dinner? I’m sure Jackson must be starving, after all that healing.”She sighs and scowls a bit, but pushes herself to her feet. “Fine. I still have more to say to you, mister,” she says to Jackson, leaning over to poke his shoulder hard with one finger, “but we can do that after you’ve eaten and rested. I’ll see you down there when you’re ready.” She doesn’t wait for a response, just pats Jackson’s shoulder twice, squeezes Derek’s arm as she passes him, and walks out, shutting the door behind her.“I’m gonna be paying for this for a long time, aren’t I?” Jackson asks with a grimace.“In a lot of ways, yeah, probably.” Derek takes a breath and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Look, I know you probably don’t want to talk about this, but I have to ask—”Jackson groans. “You really don’t.”“I really do, actually,” Derek says firmly, holding his gaze. “You said you weren’t thinking, when the fighting started. Do you think you had any control over your actions at all?” He asks it gently, not intending to sound accusatory or judgmental.Jackson shrugs, then winces as the movement pulls at one of his tender spots. “Dunno.”“Yes, you do,” Derek guesses, and he can tell by the way Jackson clenches his jaw that he’s guessed correctly. “You don’t think you had control over anything, and you’re afraid it means you’re turning back into the kanima.”Jackson’s eyes widen as Derek speaks, revealing some of the fear he usually keeps thoroughly masked and cocooned in anger. “How did you—”“Been doing a lot of research, recently.” There was actually a fair bit of information on kanimas in the materials they’d borrowed from offworld.Jackson sits up a little, eyes panicked. “Please, you can’t tell Cora, I only just got her back. If I turn into that—that abomination again, and she kicks me out of the pack—”“Woah, hey,” Derek raises a placating hand and shakes his head. “Cora would never. She doesn’t care what you are. Werewolf, kanima, hellhound—whatever. She doesn’t care about any of that. She only cares about who you are. But, you’re not, by the way,” Derek adds, “turning into a kanima again.”“I’m…” Jackson starts slowly, the panic in his eyes fading away into shock, “...not? You’re sure?”“You’re not,” Derek assures him. “And you never will. But something is going on with you, and I think I can help, if you’ll let me.”“Please, yes, anything,” Jackson says, sitting up straighter. “I don’t want what happened today to—” he stops, clenching his jaw and looking down at his hands.“You’re worried you could hurt someone, if you lose control like that again,” Derek finishes for him. “We won’t let that happen. I’m only here for another week, but I’ll be visiting more often now, and Stiles can help, too.”Jackson stares at him for a moment before speaking again. “Why?” he asks quietly. “Why would you do this for me? I didn’t think you’d care, after the way things went down before.”Derek sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “I know. Wasn’t an easy time for any of us, and I handled things poorly. I was—I had no idea what I was doing, and I just ended up hurting everyone around me. I am truly sorry about that whole situation, and all the ways I ended up making things worse for you. But I want to be here for you now.”Jackson blinks a few times in surprise, and Derek realizes that’s probably the most amount of words he’s ever said to Jackson all at once. “Not just because Cora told you to?” Jackson asks eventually, one corner of his mouth twitching up.Derek huffs an amused breath with a half-smile. “No, not just because Cora told me to. Turns out I care, too, crazy as it may seem.”“Too weird,” Jackson agrees, wrinkling his nose in mock-distaste. “I think I liked it better when you hated me,” he lies.Derek snorts. “Me, too, buddy,” he lies in return. He pushes himself to his feet and offers a hand to Jackson, to help pull him up as well. “C’mon, let’s get you something to eat.”Jackson takes the offered hand, moving a little stiffly, wincing occasionally as the motions pull at his sore spots. “Sounds good. I’m starving.”“And I can show you some exercises for that shoulder,” Derek adds, pointing at the injured joint, “if it’s still tender after you get some rest.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Do you really think he’d come out here?” Allison asks, stepping carefully over a root protruding from the path.“I don’t know,” Cora admits, “but I want to check on things anyway. Been a few days since I was last out here, and a lot has happened since then.”Allison’s eyes widen in concern. “You think one of them could’ve sabotaged it?”“Anything’s possible,” Cora mutters. She wouldn’t put it past Scott to poison the Nemeton again, especially in response to her destroying his berserker-making capabilities. It’s just the sort of short-sighted, reckless unintentional-self-sabotage she’s come to expect from Scott. She also wouldn’t put it past Deaton, since she suspects he was the one to trigger its decline in the first place.“Then shouldn’t Stiles be here, if this is a magic thing? Are we really equipped to deal with this ourselves?” Allison adjusts the positioning of her quiver’s shoulder strap, releasing a small amount of tension from her jaw as the strap settles more comfortably.“Stiles is busy with something else today.” Something to do with his Goa’uld research; Cora had known better than to ask for specifics. “If it is poisoned again, or cursed, or whatever, and it turns out to be something we can’t fix ourselves, then I’ll come back later with Stiles. But we can at least see what we’re up against, even without him.”“But why me, then?” Allison asks, a small crinkle forming between her brows. “I’m not magical, or—or even any type of supernatural, and I don’t know any more about all of this than any of the others. I’m just good at stabbing things and shooting arrows, and you have plenty of others in your pack who can—”Cora frowns at her in consternation. “I don’t keep people around just for what they can do for me,” she says. She really hopes she hasn’t been giving that impression to her packmates. She’ll have to put a lot more work into being a good friend to all of them, if that’s the case. Looks like she’ll have many long, exhausting hours of socializing to look forward to, once they’re all out of crisis mode again. “If you don’t want to hang out, then, fine. You don’t have to. I can do this by myself. I just—” she sighs and shrugs— “thought this would be more fun with company.”“Oh. No, I didn’t mean—” Allison huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “Of course, I love hanging out with you. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”"Oh, good,” Cora breathes a sigh of relief. “Although, while I have you here, I do want to ask you about—” she stops as they reach the edge of the clearing. “Ah, crap.”“What?” Allison’s gaze bounces between Cora and the Nemeton. “What is it?”“Should’ve come out here sooner,” Cora grumbles to herself as she walks up to the stump. She places both palms flat on the top and closes her eyes. “What did they do to you?” she asks the stump in a whisper. She’s not expecting an answer, but she feels something within it shift in response to her presence. She climbs up onto the stump and positions herself so she can place one hand directly in the center of the tree’s rings, settling into as comfortable a seat as she can manage and gripping her amulet in her other hand.“What happened? What’s wrong?” Allison asks, frowning in concern. “Did—did Deaton do something to it? Or—or Scott?”Cora furrows her brow as she settles in, taking stock of all the layers she can reach. “Dunno. Maybe both of them.” A lot of this has the same signature she’d felt on the magics at the berserker factory.“What can I do? Can I help?” Allison shifts a little in uncertainty, adjusting her grip on her bow.“Just—keep an eye out, I guess?” Cora quickly glances around the clearing. “We don’t have to worry about berserkers anymore, but I’m still being targeted. I can’t give this the focus it needs if I’m also worried about something attacking me.”“Of course.” Allison smiles brightly, cheeks dimpling. “I’ve got your back.”Cora gives her a brief half-smile in return. “Thanks. And just… wake me if anything really bad happens? I don’t know how long this is gonna take. Sorry, this might get boring for you.”Allison waves a hand in dismissal. “Don’t even worry about it. I’ll do some target practice while I wait.”Cora nods once in approval, then closes her eyes, focusing inward. She knows she won’t be able to connect as deeply with whatever’s in there by herself as she would if Stiles were here to help, but given the way it had responded when she’d arrived, she suspects there’s still some residual bond from when they’d cleared out the curse before. She should be able to accomplish quite a bit, even on her own.She takes a slow breath and relaxes her mind, gripping her amulet tightly until she can feel the lines of the carving pressing into her palm. She’s lucky; whatever Scott and Deaton were trying to do here, they didn’t do a very thorough job of it. The poison, or whatever it is, hasn’t sunk in very deep. And the Nemeton itself is fighting back against the infection. All she’ll need to do is give it a boost.She takes another breath and summons the feelings of love and support she’s found in rebuilding her pack, in letting people know her, in holding onto hope instead of falling into despair in spite of all the bad that keeps trying to consume her. She gathers all of that and shoves it into the Nemeton, feeling the way it burns out the tainted magic Deaton and Scott had left behind. She keeps going until the last of the poison has been burnt away. Something still feels a bit off; she’ll need to come out here with Stiles later to check on that. But for now, she feels like she can breathe again.She blinks her eyes open slowly, just as Allison fires another arrow into the trunk of the tree she’d chosen as a target. The arrows are grouped into a tight cluster around a knot in the trunk. “Nice shot,” she observes.“Oh,” Allison startles a little, lowering her bow as she turns to look at Cora with a soft pleased smile. “Thanks. How’d it go? All better?”“Mostly better,” Cora reports, releasing her grip on her amulet and leaning back to rest her weight on both hands. “But it’s stable again. Won’t be summoning anything evil today.”“Good,” Allison nods in approval and takes a seat on the edge of the stump. She sets her bow down and leans back with a sigh.Cora studies her in concern for a moment. “How about you? How’re you doing with all of this?”“I’m fine,” Allison says, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.“You’re not,” Cora says, leaning forward toward Allison, bracing her forearms on her knees. “Tell me.”Allison sighs and tucks her hair behind her ear. “I just—this whole situation, with Scott… I don’t understand how things could’ve gone this far. How could he do this to us?”Cora grimaces. “That’s one of the things I wanted to ask you about today,” she admits. “I’ve heard Stiles’ perspective on Scott, but things between them have been complicated and tense for a while now. Your relationship with him is completely different. Is this… out of character for him? What do you think could drive him to do this?”The corners of Allison’s mouth turn down, a wrinkle forming between her brows. “I don’t…” she trails off and pauses, deep in thought, then shrugs dejectedly and fidgets with the zipper on her jacket. “I’m not entirely sure it is out of character, actually,” she admits reluctantly, voice soft. “When I first met him, I thought he was so sweet, so—so thoughtful. I loved him, right from the start, and it was intoxicating, how devoted he was to me. To us. It was easy to get lost in that, to—to forget about everything else, especially once my parents forbade us from seeing each other. The act of defiance became part of the appeal, and for a while there, nothing else mattered. It made me blind to so much, for so long. Even to things in my own family.” She sniffles a little and rubs the heel of one hand across her eyes. “I think… part of me will always love him, in some way. That sweet boy I first met. But I’m not in love with him anymore. I don’t think I ever could be again, after all of this.”Cora frowns, pausing for a moment to process that. “What changed, then?”Allison pulls her feet up onto the stump and wraps her arms around her knees. “I changed, after the Nemeton, and the Nogitsune. I woke up to a lot of things, after that. It’s like I could finally see things clearly, see all the harm I’d done as a result of giving so much of myself over to Scott. All the ways my entanglements with him left me vulnerable to the plans my aunt and grandfather had for me. I almost lost myself, in all of it.”“You changed, but he didn’t?” Cora asks for clarification, brow furrowing. “Or you both changed?”“Oh, he definitely changed, too,” Allison says, resting her chin on her arms. “But I don’t know if anything he’s become wasn’t already inside him in some way.”Cora sighs heavily and leans back to rest her weight on one hand, wrapping her other hand lightly around her amulet again. “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.” She’d so been hoping—for the sake of everyone who loves Scott, and everyone who will be heartbroken by the person he’s become—that Scott’s behavior could be explained away by some extreme outside influence. But every new thing she learns about him just seems to lend credence to her initial instinctive aversion to him. That’s not to say that he’s not still being led down darker paths by forces with bad intentions. But the seeds of all of this have been inside him all along. Dormant, perhaps, just waiting to be awakened, but present nonetheless.She wonders just how far down this path Scott has truly fallen, and how much of it was consciously and intentionally done. There’s still a chance for him, still a possible path to redemption if he’s just a pawn in someone else’s game. But even if that is the case, he’ll have to face a reckoning on everything he’s allowed himself to become. He’ll need to own up to his mistakes and work hard to break out of toxic patterns. And that, Cora fears, might be beyond his capabilities.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“What’re you gonna do, just ask him?” the Sheriff asks incredulously.Argent adjusts his grip on his electric baton, clenching his jaw. “I wasn’t planning on asking nicely.”The Sheriff presses his mouth shut into a tight line. “Torture so rarely yields accurate intelligence.”“I say we let him do it,” Derek says with a shrug. The Sheriff looks at him in surprise, so Derek clarifies, “At least once. Electricity, right? In case someone used the nish’ta on him somehow?”The Sheriff sighs, shoulders dropping. “Alright, fine,” he concedes, “but just once.”“And when that doesn’t work,” Derek adds, “Stiles gave me a little something we can try.” He pulls the memory recall device out of his pocket and shows it to the Sheriff.The Sheriff raises an eyebrow at him in approval. “I’m guessing Stiles made a few… improvements?”“You know Stiles,” Derek says with a smirk.“Say, Chris,” the Sheriff calls, and Argent pauses his approach on Deaton and turns to look at the two of them, “remember that NDA you signed, a few months ago?”Argent tilts his head curiously. “What about it?”“You cool with seeing a few more things you never get to talk to anyone about?” the Sheriff asks. “Or would you rather go home?”“Oh, no way am I gonna miss this,” Argent says with a predatory grin.“Sheriff, please,” Deaton says, the tiniest hint of fear sneaking through his usually-impassive veneer—though Derek suspects even that could be an act, carefully calculated to play to their sympathies. “You’re an officer of the law. You can’t let them do this to me.”The Sheriff’s expression shifts into something cold and dangerous, and he stalks toward Deaton, grabbing the baton out of Argent’s hand as he passes by. It’s a side of him Derek has never seen before, and it sends a shiver down his spine to be reminded that this man, usually so fatherly and warm, is, in fact, a trained killer. The Sheriff leans down, bracing his hand on the back of the chair Deaton’s tied to, and speaks in a low, even voice. “No. You’re right, I can’t let them do this to you. But I’m not here today as the Sheriff.” He uses the end of the baton to tilt Deaton’s chin up. “I’m here as a father, and you’ve threatened my family. Now, I’ll give you one chance to cooperate. Tell us everything you’ve done and how to stop it.”“Honestly, Sheriff, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Deaton tries again, doing his best impression of a truly innocent, entirely clueless man. Derek doesn’t buy it for one second.The Sheriff straightens up with a disappointed sigh. “Yeah, figured you might say that.” He repositions the tip of the baton to Deaton’s thigh and activates it briefly. The Sheriff ignores Deaton’s agonized scream, flipping the baton around to hand it back to Argent handle-first. “Derek? D’you mind?” He holds his hand out, palm up.“Uh,” Derek blinks, then exchanges a slightly stunned look with Argent. “Right. Yeah, here.” He steps forward to place the memory recall device into the Sheriff’s waiting hand.The Sheriff crouches down in front of Deaton, placing one hand on the top of his head to hold him still. “This’ll probably sting a bit,” he says clinically, and he presses the device firmly into Deaton’s temple, ignoring Deaton’s pained grunt as it latches in. He pushes himself upright again and steps around to stand behind Deaton. “Alright, now, let’s get started.”“I have nothing to say to any of you,” Deaton says, once again schooling his expression into its default neutral state.“Good thing we don’t need you to talk, then,” the Sheriff remarks coolly, crossing his arms. “Now, how did you become the Hale pack Emissary?”“I don’t know what you…” Deaton starts, then trails off into shocked silence as his memories appear, unbidden, in a holographic image projected in front of him. Derek and Argent reposition themselves for a better viewing angle, and Derek sucks in a pained breath as his mother’s face appears.“First my husband dies,” the image of Talia Hale says, “and then my Emissary just disappears. I don’t know, my husband always thought his family was cursed. Maybe he was—”
“Curses aren’t real,” the Deaton in the memory replies. “And the sooner you accept that fact, the better off you’ll be. I won’t work for a pack ruled by superstition and fantasy.”
“No, I know, you’re right. It was just a silly bedtime story for the kids anyway.” Talia sighs. “What we really need is someone to help us figure out what’s going on with the Nemeton. And everyone says you’re the expert—”
The memory fades. “What was that?” Deaton asks, genuine fear creeping into his voice this time. “What did you do to me?”The Sheriff ignores him and nods thoughtfully. “The Nemeton. Alright. Tell me more about that. What happened to it? Why’d it get cut down?”The projector displays a montage of mini-scenes, all focused around the Nemeton. A giant oak, seemingly in full health; Deaton performing some sort of druidic ritual in the root cellar over the body of a man Derek vaguely recognizes from his childhood; the tree now with browning leaves and branches cracking off; the conversation with Talia; another ritual, this time with Talia present, at the trunk of the Nemeton; the tree being cut down, wood harvested; Deaton with a small smug smile as he stands alone in the root cellar, looking down at the traces of blood and blackness left behind by Paige; Deaton advising Talia to remove the memory of the Nemeton’s location from anyone in her pack who knows where it is; more rituals performed throughout the years, in secret, unsupervised; ashes harvested from the remains of the Hale pack painted into symbols on the stump and absorbed in a flash of light.“He’s been planning this for that long?” Derek asks faintly as the images fade out. It looks like Deaton has had a hand in every bad thing that’s happened to his family for nearly his entire life.“Longer, I’d suspect,” Argent says, and Derek releases a slow breath, scrubbing a hand down his face.“Why, though?” Derek asks, stepping forward a bit and turning toward Deaton so he can see the man’s face. “Why us? What did we ever do to you? Or were we just… collateral damage?”Deaton shoots a glare at Derek, clearly seeing the futility in denying his involvement in the conspiracy. “Just like a Littlefield, to think this has nothing to do with you.”Derek’s eyes widen, and he exchanges a brief glance with the Sheriff. “What—what the hell is that supposed to mean?”“We thought we’d ended your line when we killed the Littlefield Alpha and no one inherited,” Deaton says, eyes cold with fury. “But then one rose from the dead, and we had to start all over again.”“We?” Derek asks, and a series of faces are projected before them. Derek commits each of them to memory before they vanish again.“And then,” Deaton continues, “we thought the fire had finished you off. But you came back again. You Littlefields are like cockroaches. Why won’t you die?”Derek feels fury build within him, and he takes a step toward Deaton so he can wrap a clawed hand around the man’s throat. “You think you can kill us off?” Derek growls, feeling his teeth sharpen. “When the Argents failed, and the Darach, and the Alpha Pack? Even a curse from an actual god couldn’t end us. We’ll outlast all of you, and we’ll dance on your graves long after you’re gone.”“Derek,” the Sheriff warns. Derek snarls, but lets go of Deaton’s throat and takes a step back. Small drops of blood well up on Deaton’s throat where the tips of his claws had been.“You won’t be able to stop us all,” Deaton says with a smirk. “Kill me now, and another will rise to take my place. We won’t rest until balance is restored.”“Oh, we don’t plan on killing you,” the Sheriff says, stepping forward to grab Deaton’s shoulder in a white-knuckled grip, leaning close to speak in a low voice into the man’s ear. “But we will stop you all.” He looks over to meet Derek’s eyes steadily. “That, I can promise you.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Where’s Deaton?” Scott roars as he storms in, slamming the door shut behind him. “What have you done to him?”Stiles raises an eyebrow at Cora, and she heaves a world-weary sigh and pushes herself to her feet. “We didn’t do anything to him,” Cora says as Stiles stands and steps up beside her. “But since you’re here, we do have a few things we’d like to talk with you about.”“Oh, fuck off, Cora,” Scott snaps, and Stiles’ eyes widen in shock. “I don’t answer to you. Stiles, what the hell—”“Okay, first of all,” Stiles interrupts, taking a step forward, indignant fury sparking in his chest, “you do not get to speak to her like that. She’s the Alpha of the largest, most well-established pack in all of Beacon County, and you’ll treat her with the appropriate respect. And second—”“Wh—I should treat her with respect?” Scott scoffs hard in disbelief. “When the only reason her pack is so ‘well established’ is because she stole it all from me? Like hell I—”“I didn’t steal anything from you, Scott,” Cora says, in a low, steady voice that brokers no argument. “Everyone who left your pack for mine did so of their own volition, unprompted. Instead of blaming me, maybe you should take a closer look at your own behavior and ask yourself why so many of them were so eager to get out from under your thumb.”“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Scott growls, flashing his eyes red, clenching his fists tightly at his sides.“It means,” Cora says, standing her ground unflinchingly, “that the people of this town deserve a leader, not a dictator. They deserve stability, not chaos. And they deserve support, not—”“Yeah? And what makes you think—” Scott starts darkly, taking a step forward.“Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking,” Cora says firmly, narrowing her eyes at him.Scott gapes at her indignantly. “What—but you literally just—”“And besides,” Stiles says with a thoughtful frown, “only two people actually, officially, switched from your pack to hers. Just me and Liam. Isaac and Allison had already parted ways with you by the time they joined Cora. And the rest of them, you… what, just felt entitled to them? Because you happen to be a so-called ‘True Alpha?’ They were never yours to begin with, Scott.”“But I am the True Alpha!” Scott declares, frowning angrily. “No one had to die to make me Alpha, I did that all by myself. And unlike all of you, I’ve never killed anyone.”Stiles reels back in shock. “You never—” He glances over at Cora to see her looking just as disgusted and disbelieving as he feels. “You—do you seriously not know?”Scott’s expression shifts from pure rage to one of anger mixed with confusion. “Do I not know what? What the hell are you talking about?”“The berserkers, Scott,” Stiles says. “How many of them did you make? At least sixteen? All those people—their blood is on your hands.”Scott scrunches his face in disgust. “No, I didn’t kill them. I created them. Those people were nothing before I came along. I transformed them, made them strong. You two were the ones who killed them.”“Oh, God,” Cora breathes, bringing both hands—slightly trembling—up to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “You really have no idea. Stiles—” she cuts herself off, reaching over to grasp blindly for a handful of Stiles’ sleeve.“Ah, fuck,” Stiles mutters, scrubbing both hands down his face. He’d really hoped he wouldn’t need to be the one to explain this, but Scott needs to know what he’s done. He deserves to know the full extent of the horrors he’s inflicted, in case he’s still capable of learning from this and doing better. “Scott… the ritual—the ritual that turns someone into a berserker… it rips the person’s soul apart. And it—the soul just rots. They die, Scott. When the ritual is complete, and the transformation finishes taking hold—that’s what the smell is. The berserker is nothing more than a rotting corpse.”“No, that—” Scott shakes his head emphatically. “No. Deaton said—”“Deaton,” Stiles says coldly, “has been lying to you, Scott. He’s been using you. He has some sort of sick vendetta against Cora’s family, and you—”“It’s not a vendetta,” Scott sneers. “He’s restoring balance. Just look at how she’s disrupted my pack, just by being here.”“He’s restoring balance,” Stiles repeats incredulously, “by making you kill people?”“He’s not making me kill people,” Scott insists, eyes flashing red with rage again, claws extending from his fingertips. “You’re the ones who are lying to me. You’re the ones who are killing people, and I’m the one who’s going to stop you.” His face shifts, teeth sharpening into fangs, and he charges forward.Cora places a hand on Stiles’ arm as she takes a step forward. “I’ve got this,” she tells him quietly, eyes fixed on Scott. Stiles nods, even though he knows Cora won’t see, and takes a few steps back, giving them plenty of room. And if those few steps also happen to bring him right over to where his dad had stashed his Zat, well. Scott doesn’t need to know that just yet.Scott swings a clawed arm out at Cora, and she dodges him easily. He snarls and swipes at her again, and she catches his arm, pivoting her body around and using his momentum against him to throw him over her side and onto his back on the floor. Scott growls up at her and kicks one leg out in an attempt to take her down. She lifts a disappointed eyebrow at him and steps out of the way.Stiles sighs and grabs the Zat. “Here, Cora—” he tosses it over to her, and she catches it without looking away from Scott. Stiles pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts typing out a message to his dad.Cora briefly closes her eyes and releases one long, slow exhale, then opens her eyes again and presses the button on the Zat to get it ready to fire. “Scott, I really hope that when you wake up from this, we’ll all find out that this wasn’t your choice, that you aren’t really like this. But if that’s not the case, I need you to know this,” she says evenly, meeting his eyes steadily. “Beacon Hills is under my protection. As long as I live, you will never harm another soul here again.”Scott’s expression starts to twist into something dark, something Stiles wouldn’t have thought Scott capable of. “If you really think—”Cora doesn’t wait for him to finish. She fires the Zat, then lowers her arm and deactivates the weapon, watching as Scott convulses briefly before passing out.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Stiles steps into the clearing to see Cora sitting in the center of the stump of the Nemeton, one arm wrapped around her knees, holding her amulet in her other hand. She doesn’t look up as he approaches, just continues to stare blankly into the forest, but he knows she knows he’s there. Her arm around her knees tightens its grip slightly.Stiles sits on the edge of the stump with a heavy sigh, bracing his right hand on his knee, awkwardly swiping at his eyes with the side of his left hand. He flexes his fingers as he drops his hand away from his face, watching with mild fascination as the kara kesh bends easily around his joints. If it weren’t for the oversized crystal on the palm and the overly-ornate wrist coils, the device would be nearly perfect. Maybe if he can get another one to experiment with, he could create a more streamlined version—“So, what’s the verdict?” Cora asks quietly, and Stiles startles slightly; he’d nearly forgotten where he was, and why, for a moment there.“Oh, uh.” He clears his throat and clenches his left fist around the central crystal. “He’s—apparently the nish’ta doesn’t even work on werewolves. If he’s been brainwashed, it’s either magic, or just, like, normal-style.”“Not magic,” Cora reports glumly, thumb stroking the carving on her amulet.Stiles heaves a resigned sigh and scratches the back of his neck. “Right. ‘Course it wouldn’t be that easy.” His fingertips trace the ridge of his scar for a moment before he drops his hand to his lap.Cora releases a slow breath and lets go of her knees so she can cross her legs in front of her. “So, what next, then?”Stiles shrugs one shoulder and picks idly at a seam on his jeans. “He’s with his dad for now. The NID have resources for this sort of thing.”Cora nods, a wrinkle forming in her brow. “They do a lot of deprogramming, I take it?”“Enough, yeah,” Stiles confirms. He leans back a bit now, resting his weight on his right hand, looking blankly out at the forest. “Did you…” he starts, brow furrowing as he tries to find the words for what he wants to ask. “I mean, you’ve never liked Scott. Is he… has he been like this the whole time? And we just didn’t see it? But you, the way you can sense things… is that what you saw in Scott?”She’s silent for a long moment, but not in a way that makes it seem like she’s ignoring the question. Stiles gives her that moment, lets her gather her thoughts, fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t think it works like that,” she eventually says, voice soft. “I mean, maybe there’s always been something in him. The potential for this. But it doesn’t feel the same way a curse does. Curses don’t have free will; people do. He could’ve chosen a different path, could’ve chosen not to feed that darkness in him.”“Could have,” Stiles echoes, nodding glumly as his heart breaks all over again, “but didn’t.” Scott chose this. Maybe he didn’t mean to, maybe—in his own twisted way—he thought he was doing the right thing. They know he was manipulated, lied to, working with false or incomplete information. Deaton helped steer him toward this, maybe even using what was left of Peter to do so, but Deaton didn’t spark anything new within Scott. He only fed fuel to what was already there.“I’m sorry,” Cora whispers, dropping her gaze down to the rings of the stump.He pauses a moment, then, to really look at Cora. Her shoulders are slumped, the hand holding her amulet gripping a little too tightly, the crinkle in her brow looking permanently etched there. He frowns and swivels his body to face her fully. “Dude, are you okay?” he asks gently. “I mean, I know the Scott situation isn’t great, but—but, dude, you never even liked him. What do you have to feel bad about?”She looks up at him slowly and blinks a few times in apparent confusion. “He hurt you,” she says plainly, as if that explains everything, as if simply stating the obvious.“Well, sure, but,” he shrugs, “it’s not like that was your fault. And dude, you look even more broken up about this than I am. Like, yeah, I’m heartbroken, but—”“No, Stiles, it’s not just—” she huffs a frustrated breath. “I’m your Alpha, and he hurt you. It’s not like I can feel everything you feel, but I do feel some of it. The big stuff. But it’s not just you, either. He hurt your dad, too, and Derek, and Allison and Isaac and Liam. And I feel that pain from all of you.” She rubs her forehead and squeezes her eyes shut tight. “Benefits of being part of a pack that actually functions the way it’s supposed to, I guess,” she grumbles.“Shit, Cora…” Stiles breathes, staring at her wide-eyed. “I had no idea. Are… will you be okay?”She nods tightly and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I will. It’s just… a lot to deal with all at once. Gonna take me a minute to adjust.”“Yeah, no kidding,” he says, studying her face. “Feeling six people’s heartbreak over a person you didn’t even like? Is that… will that happen to us, too? Will we be able to feel what you feel? What each other feels?”“Probably,” Cora confirms. “The closer everyone in the pack gets to each other, the stronger the bonds become. It won’t be as obvious or intense for the humans, but you’ll all feel it, to some extent. When something is big enough, affects you deeply enough, those closest to you in the pack will know.”“Oh,” Stiles says, eyebrows raising as he realizes something, “I think… is that what I felt, when Derek—”The corner of her mouth twitches up, in something vaguely resembling a smile. “Something like that, yeah. But whatever you two have is way beyond the normal pack bond.”He feels something pleased and satisfied fizzling in his chest, and his cheeks flush slightly. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over this, the confirmation that what he has with Derek is real, that what he feels isn’t just something he’s built up in his head. He would love to just sit with this, find Derek right now and sink into his arms and pretend nothing bad in this world exists. But he can’t do that yet; Cora brought him out here today for a reason. “We don’t have to do this now, y’know,” Stiles offers one last time, watching her intently, the way she squeezes her eyes shut against the sunlight overhead, the way she seems to curl in on herself a bit at each noise out in the forest. “If you need to rest first, or—”“No.” She shakes her head firmly. “No, I need to do this now. I need to not have this hanging over me. I need just one less thing to worry about.”“Okay,” he agrees, pulling his feet up onto the stump so he can mirror her position. “Yeah, okay. We can do that. So, what exactly is the issue this time?”She takes a slow breath, then reluctantly opens her eyes to look at him. “I burned out Scott and Deaton’s last-ditch revenge effort, but something’s still off,” she explains with a frown. “Something… I don’t know how to describe it.”“Show me?” he asks, offering his left hand palm-up. She nods once in agreement, and he flips his palm to point the crystal at her forehead. He closes his eyes as the connection forms, bracing himself for whatever twisted new layer of the world her mind will reveal this time.It’s strange, seeing the world through her eyes. Like seeing additional colors, or extra dimensions. Things he never could’ve imagined, even knowing the vastness and complexity of the universe that blending with a Goa’uld had revealed. His symbiote had tried, had treated magic and the supernatural like just another form of science to be dissected and examined. But the more Stiles sees, and the more he learns, the more obvious it becomes that that’s entirely the wrong approach to take. Magic can’t be weighed or measured like matter or energy. It can’t be defined in any meaningful way, cannot be clinically replicated. It’s all so dependent on context that to remove it would be to destroy it. But Cora, somehow, can see that context. She sees the shape of what could be, not just what is.In this moment, what Cora—and, by extension, now also Stiles—can see is an imbalance. It feels as if someone snuck into his room and moved everything one inch to the left of where it should be. A place that should feel safe, should feel like home, has been messed with by some unknown force. “I see what you mean,” he mutters with a frown. “But this isn’t Deaton? You’re sure?”He feels her nod. “I’m sure. This doesn’t have his signature. It’s almost familiar, somehow, but I can’t quite place it.”He hums thoughtfully. “We’ll need to get to the source of this, whatever it is,” he reminds her, “but that can be a problem for another day. For now, we can just focus on putting things back where they belong.”He feels a wave of gratitude from her, and he lets his mind sink into the connection, shifting his palm down to point at the stump of the Nemeton. He starts by finding each patch of wrongness, and giving Cora the space she needs to guide things back into place. They then reinforce the fix together, leaving behind the reminder of the pack’s support, of Cora’s steady presence and the hope they all share for a brighter future.Stiles knows this won’t be the end of their problems. Deaton’s network of co-conspirators will be coming for them, coming for Cora. And whatever or whoever it is that’s messing with the Nemeton now will need to be found and dealt with. But maybe, for today, they can take a breath and just let one less thing in this town be cursed.