Hi! Another drabble:)
Cora took a deep breath. In through her nose, out through her mouth. Leaving Beacon Hills for the last time was the first good decision she'd made in a long time. The first decision she'd made that didn't make her feel like she was drowning. Traveling cross-country to find the alpha was terrifying in-and-of itself, seeing that Derek was still alive after all these years was heart stopping. But she played it cool. She acted snarky, and calculating. She avoided telling Derek how glad she was that he was alive by pummeling him with her disdain, with her disapproval at his attempt to be Alpha. She protected herself by telling him he should have been Laura. Because Cora Hale loved telling other people she didn't care.
She threw a pack of slim jims in with the bandages and ace toothpaste, and smiled at the man at the register. She knew it looked odd for a young girl to be alone in a seven-eleven in the middle of the night, and even worse when you looked young for your age, but she didn't have the energy to tell him she was buying for someone. His leering stare at his realization at her being unaccompanied did little to assuage her discomfort, but with Derek bleeding out on the seat of his car she couldn't very well just leave. She protected herself from his perverted gaze by reminding herself she was loved, and so very at home. Because Cora Hale hated being uncomfortable.
"GO!" the words reverberated off the walls along with the resounding crash of glass on concrete. Cora felt herself flinch, not because of the harsh words being yelled at Isaac, but because of the pain she knew such a simple action brought back. She folded herself against the wall as Isaac stormed from the apartment, and waited to be berated for eavesdropping, but she heard the last thing she expected. Muffled, choking sobs that only got more painful to hear the longer she stayed hidden. But she couldn't bring herself to move into the other room, to comfort the older man. His pain was her weakness, and she hated being weak. She hated being scared. So Cora protected herself in the only way she knew how. She let herself crumble one last time; she crumbled so she could be built back up, better, stronger, than before. Because Cora Hale hated being defenseless.
Shaded from Derek's view by the arm of her ratty sweatshirt Cora felt a tear roll down her face. She had never felt like she fit in, not really, but Beacon Hills was a place where she was accepted, where she respected. And throwing that away seemed foolish. But Cora wasn't someone to take a good thing for granted, she knew nothing good ever lasted. So she let Derek drive her (crazy) around the world, searching for some unattainable dream of sanctuary. Because Cora hadn't done a very good job of protecting herself and Derek thought he could do better. So she let him try. Because it made Derek smile, and Cora Hale loved to make her brother smile.
The house was burning. The house along with everything and everyone she'd ever loved. And she was powerless to stop it. Despite being a tiny ten-year-old girl without any control of her powers, she had managed to escape the house. She had tried to get far enough for warn Derek, to warn Laura, but one of the people her mother had warned her so much about caught her. The bullet hit her straight in the thigh, a clean entry that only made it harder to extract later. Her scream of pain echoed through the woods as she fell onto dew-dampened leaves, loud enough to wake the dead, but not loud enough to stop those still living from dying. So Cora lay still on the ground, whimpering so quietly she could barely hear herself. Because her only protection was feigning death, and pretending was better than really being killed, and Cora Hale didn't plan to die at the hands of someone who could was too busy laughing to notice her prey was escaping.
A shaky hand covered hers. A silent promise between siblings that everything would be alright, an agreement to always be there for each other because they were the only family left. She was crying so hard she couldn't tell if the shaking was her hand or his. The car screeched to a halt at the side of the road so quickly she was thrown against the door. But Derek's hand never once left hers, and she felt closer to him than she had in months, years. His gaze landed on her, the helpless, pitying look on his face worse than it had ever been. Worse, even, than the time he caught her on her science teachers office couch, paying for a late assignment in more ways than extra credit. She hated when he looked to her to tell him what to do, she never had an answer he wanted. So she stayed silent, watching her older brother plead with her to tell him how to help her. But she didn't even know where to begin.
Begin with an ending. Her adoptive father had told her. Often the closing of one door is really the opening of two more. But she couldn't believe that when all her life had been was one slammed door after another.
South America was nice. She had convinced her adoptive family to move there, so as not to be so utterly alone, but the feeling of emptiness remained long after she left. Having a pack again, for however brief a time, had been blissful. And she'd thrown that away to save her own skin. Skin she wasn't really sure was worth saving. She got the occasional call from Derek, a message from Stiles, email from Boyd. But all that did was make her long for a home that hadn't been hers for almost a decade. But Cora Hale wasn't one to leave her defenses down by acting lonely. So she protected herself from everything by narrowing her eyes, raising her hackles.
Cora lay still as her adoptive mother kissed her foster siblings good night. The small two bedroom flat was quite a step down from the enormous left Derek had resided in, but it felt safe nonetheless. She tensed up at the unfamiliar feeling of lips on her forehead. A mother tucking her in had been the last thing on her mind, but was welcome, albeit strange. Her inner Derek sighed. Such a child. It told her, scared of not being loved, not being good enough. Always worried that when things are divvied up, they'll realize that there isn't enough for you, that there was some mistake and they don't want you. That the only person who really wanted you was Mr. Harris. A small voice deep inside said timidly, But you chased him away. He wanted me, and you made him leave. It's your fault! She clenched her fist in preparation for another night spent screaming. Some part of her wondered if she wasn't still that little girl crying on the forest floor, whispering for someone to help her, because she wasn't strong enough to save herself.