1.
She hasn't slept a wink in the past forty eight hours, and yet sleep continues to evade her; it doesn't matter that her body is worn to the point of exhaustion, numb and sore from her battles - her mind continues to restlessly replay the events of the past few days… the past few weeks really.
Ever since he arrived.
It doesn't matter that she was right all along, she just keeps asking herself where she had gone wrong. She'd been so sure she could stay a step ahead of Theo, just because she saw through his wall of bullshit. But he won. He got what he wanted. He'd weaseled his way into their pack, and sown seeds of discord and mistrust among them.
Stiles asks herself if being honest about Donovan from the start would have helped. But then she remembers the way Scott looked at her, in his right hand her wrench with Donovan's blood dried on it. It's no mystery to her how it fell into his possession - and there's no doubt in her mind that he didn't hear the real story, her side of the story. Because he'd already made his decision. And Stiles doesn't know what hurts more: the fact that he rejected her and couldn't find it in himself to forgive her - the girl who's been his best friend, stuck by him through everything, sacrificed and suffered just as much as he has without the luxury of his enhanced healing - or the fact that he chose a stranger over her, that he wasn't even willing to listen to her.
In the end she supposes it doesn't matter.
She could care less about him at the moment; all that mattered was her dad. He'd still not woken from the surgery - the second in less than twenty four hours. But he was finally stable; Melissa had said it would take a few days up to week for his respiratory distress to resolve. But he'd be fine. He'd survive. Stiles could see it in his face; his complexion was clearer, his breathing easier; the bruising would take some time fade, but it would eventually fade. And yet it still hurt to look at him, seeing him like this, with wires and IVs and monitors attached to him. She closes her eyes and tries to will away the dark thoughts, the anger and the guilt and the absolute craving to shed blood that she knows makes her more of a monster than the others.
She imagines the green grass, the cool autumn breeze; she recalls the fresh dirt that clung to her knees and her pretty black frock on that day. Her mind really is a cruel place - she'd realised that after the Nogitsune incident. She feels a hand on her shoulder but it takes her a moment to realise she isn't imagining this. No, there is a very real, very tangible hand grasping her shoulder. Lifting her head from the soft bed sheets, her gaze follows the arm back to the man lying there, her eyes meeting his. They're tired but sparkling with life. "It's okay Stiles, you've still got me." And maybe, maybe she's frozen in silence, questioning whether this is real or not - because those are the same words he'd used that day, eight years ago. But then he squeezes her arm again, and his grip is sure and gentle, albeit a little weak, and he's smiling at her…
His face blurs a little, but it's only because of the tears, but they're tears of relief, tears of joy. Noah raises the hand resting on her shoulder, gently cupping his daughter's face and brushing the tears away; the last time he'd seen her, she'd been crying too, but her expression had been morphed in nothing but sorrow and heartache as she'd cradled his bleeding figure. He never wants to see that look on her face again; he knows it's wishful thinking when they lead the lives they do, but he prays to God that she'll never experience hurt like that again, least of all because of him.
She chuckles breathily, her eyes glistening with tears but that's okay, because he's alive. "I'm making you a big fat kale and celery smoothie when we get home."
"Oh God, are you trying to kill me?"
She laughs again and it's like music to his ears.
Stiles manages six hours of sleep, mostly due to Melissa threatening to drug her with sedatives if she doesn't. The nurse can't however convince Stiles to leave her father's side, so she settles for the somewhat comfortable armchair in the corner. Her dreams aren't exactly pleasant, but she doesn't wake up kicking and screaming so she calls it a win; the rumbling of her severely starved stomach is the perpetrator of her awakening. Stumbling out of the chair and onto the floor, she quickly looks up gladdened that her clumsiness hasn't woken her dad. Quietly, Stiles shuffles out of the room, coming to a stop at the sight of a pair of the werewolf on the bench across from her; the corners of her lips tug upwards only slightly. She was angry at him only a few days ago, but after everything that's happened since, she's starting to realise that her grudge - while not entirely unwarranted - had perhaps gone on long enough and her anger was beginning to wane.
"Stiles?" Now that voice, isn't one she's ecstatic to hear. Not right now.
Scott watches Stiles carefully, noting the way she'd tensed when he'd said her name, and the way she reluctantly meets his gaze, a look in her eye that absolutely kills him; she'd had that same look when she'd held a gun to him and shot him in the shoulder. Subconsciously he rubs at them spot, noticing the tiny flicker of guilt in her eye at the action. Crossing her arms over her chest, she ask, "What are you doing here?"
He raises the bag in his hand. "I brought you breakfast."
"I'm not hungry." It's a lie. But it's not her heart that gives it away, it's her stomach rumbling. She covers her stomach, shooting it a look of utter betrayal before looking back at him.
"Sounds like you're hungry," he tries to jest, but she doesn't take to it and he feels his grin slip away.
"I'm on a diet."
Scott quirks his brows. "A diet?" Because in all the time he's known her, Stiles has never really been one of those girls who's overly self-conscious of her body image, not that she has anything to worry. Sure she may be like a sister to him, but even Scott can admit that she's pretty attractive, especially since Lydia and Allison sunk their claws into her wardrobe back in sophomore year.
"Yes, a diet."
"So what you skip breakfast now?"
"Yes."
"What about lunch?"
"That too."
"Dinner?"
"... I'm fasting."
"Fasting?"
"Yes, Scott. Fasting. Giving up food. It's supposed to be spiritually enlightening."
"How is starving yourself enlightening?"
"I don't know. It was the only the excuse I could think of to end this conversation, but clearly you're not taking the hint," she snaps at him. Yeah, he's a little slow on the take, but he does catch on. He'd be an idiot not to, although Scott had hoped that helping her find Noah might have earned him some brownie points. Evidently it was too much to hope for. Scott's not sure what his expression is, though he can imagine he probably looks like a kicked puppy, because the hard look in her eye falters again but only fleetingly.
She tries to turn away and retreat back inside the room, but he won't let her. Despite her shooting him last time, Scott still reaches out for her again. "I just want to make sure you're okay."
"Well I'm fine-"
"No you're not." They're glaring at each other; well no, she's glaring at him with a level ferocity and irritation that would make Derek Hale proud, but Scott doesn't waver. Which Stiles hates. She hates that he's looking at her like he cares. Of course he cares… but things are too messy between them right now, and she can't deal with it. She doesn't want to. Not right now. Not when she's still hurt and guilt-ridden, not when she knows that he still believes whatever lies Theo fed him regarding the events that led up to Donovan's death. "Why didn't you tell me?"
She shakes her head. "I'm not getting into this with you right now."
"Stiles, please just talk to me," he begs her.
"There is nothing to talk about, Scott," she snaps. Rather loudly because a few passersby look at them oddly, muttering as they go on about lovers' spat, which only makes Stiles roll her eyes and cringe at how predictable people can be. Lowering her voice, she says, "It happened. That's all that matters."
His grip on her arm tightens, but not painfully, but more like it's a desperate plea. "No it isn't."
"That's not what you thought the other night," she replies bitterly.
Scott winces at her words, recalling the way she'd begged him, not unlike he's doing with her now, pleading with him for help. In retrospect, she'd looked so lost and afraid; she was looking to him, her Alpha, for guidance. And he'd sent her away. Swallowing down his guilt, he answers emphatically, "I made a mistake."
"No," she breathes, shaking her head a little; for a split second it gives Scott hope that maybe she'll forgive him… his hope is crushed by her next words, "I made a mistake. You made a choice." She pulls out of his grasp easily. He stares at her stony face, her expression and the look of utter betrayal etched upon her features just like it had been the night of the clinic. The hard edge to her expression wavers as the seconds quietly traipse by. Blinking away non existent tears, Stiles looks away from him, her gaze returning to her dad's sleeping figure through the doorway.
"Stiles I-"
"Should go."
"But-"
"Please, just leave." She''s pleading with him now, begging him to leave her be; that's what he gathers from the exasperated tone of her voice. She doesn't want to keep arguing with him, too exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally to do it. Scott knows he's got nothing to lose if he keeps baiting her to talk to him - he's already pushed her away from him that night at the clinic - but for now he decides to respect her wishes, despite every fibre in him telling him not to walk away from her this time. But before he can make a move, he puts one last question to her: "Just tell me something... Do you hate me?"
That gets her to look at him again. It feels like an eternity though it really only takes less than a second for an answer - "Yes," she pauses as if surprised by her own answer, but then with a steely gaze and almost indiscernible nod to herself, Stiles continues, "Yeah, I hate you. Because if I don't hate you for ruining our friendship, then I have to hate myself for ruining it. And I think that I deserve better than that." And wow, doesn't that just makes Scott feel like someone's reached inside his chest and squeezed the life out of him.
Crossing her arms, Stiles tears her gaze from Scott, fixating it once again 9n her father's slumbering figure. A silent dismissal, a final one, that Scott humbly acquiesce. He leaves the wrapped breakfast behind, offering her one last wistful look, those puppy eyes bleeding with regret as he whispers, "I'm sorry," before disappearing down the corridor.
It's not very long before the werewolf pretending to sleep through hers and Scott's conversation, finally decides to pitch his two pennies' worth. "A little harsh don't you think."
"You said the same thing, last night, when I shot him. I thought you'd have preferred this."
"I'd prefer if you both talked it out, like Scott wanted to, just then."
Stiles glares down at him, but it's more out of annoyance than fury… something she's noticed lately with the former Alpha. "Scott had an opportunity to talk the other night. He missed it."
"And now he's trying to make amends."
"There is no amending this!" she shouts in his face, pointing at her father's sleeping figure. They garner the disapproving looks of a few nurses from the station down the hall. Stiles lowers her voice, though Derek can hear still the sob caught in her throat when she speaks, "He trusted Theo more than he trusted me and now we're all suffering for it. I don't see what difference it makes now."
Derek moves to before her. "Theo thought that breaking our pack and killing Scott would automatically make him our Alpha. He underestimated us."
"I wouldn't say he entirely underestimated us," Stiles grumbled, looking at her feet.
Derek nods, sombrely, in agreement. "You're right," he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "He broke us apart. But just because we won't follow him, doesn't mean he's going to stop. We need to figure out his next move."
Stiles frowns, nodding along though he can see the wheels in her mind turning. "There's also the Dread Doctors. We still have no idea why they were experimenting with chimeras. There has to be an MO."
Derek stares at her, suppressing a smile at the familiar expression on her face - her 'detective look' as Malia has dubbed it. "You'll need Scott." He realises almost immediately that he'd said the wrong thing, because her expression turns bitter, as if insulted by the notion.
"I don't need anybody," she snaps. "I'll figure it out myself."
Before she can either walk away or continue arguing, Derek's fingers wrap themselves around her left arm; with little more than a tug, he pulls her closer to him so that barely an inch separates them. It wouldn't take much to close the distance between their faces, to brush his lips against hers. It's so tempting when she's worrying them they way she does so often when she's distracted.
Stiles can feel his breath on her face, the soft heat of it warming her cold skin. Had she been cold before this? She hadn't realised. Shaking these thoughts she keeps her gaze locked on his, not wanting to think too much about the way his eyes flickered down; she tells herself he'd probably just been listening to her heart, but of course it only makes her panic that maybe she'd had a reaction to his touch. Fortunately Derek says something before she cans tart to over-analyse their proximity and her feelings (though it wouldn't be the first time she's done it, nor would it be the first time that she comes up inconclusive). It doesn't help, however, that what he says does make her feel… feelings, because he's telling her that she doesn't have to do it on her own, that she can't do it on her own, that he's worried she'll get hurt; well no, he's not using these words specifically, but after two years Stiles figures she knows exactly what he's trying to tell her when he tells her "Don't be an idiot," and then half a second later, his voice a little more broken, his plea a little more tangible, "please, Stiles."
Stiles stares back at him, back at those pools of shimmering green. It's too much. She hates how easily he can make her feel like this even after walking out on all of them, on her. She hates that her father almost died, again, because of her and all this supernatural bullshit. She hates that Scott was an asshole to her and that she's returning the favour because, yes, she is that immature and will hold a grudge (just ask Derek). All these feelings… it's not like a fog clouding her judgement, it's like a storm inside her head. Stiles remembers the last time she felt like this, so disjointed, so hopeless, so full of self-loathing… it's not a time she likes to remember. Why is she even thinking about that? Because her ADHD mind hates her and likes tormenting Stiles, making it all the more harder for her to even make a conscious effort at a clear and concise thought process. Closing her eyes, she massages her temples as she pulls away from Derek. Stiles doesn't notice the subtle fall in his expression, as his hand falls to his side. Huffing out a breath, she says, "Right now my dad needs me. That's all that matters. And if keeping him safe means staying clear of all of this… then that's what I'm going to do."
He lets her go, return back to her father's side ignoring her rumbling stomach. He watches her for another minute, as she carefully takes her dad's hand in her own, resting her chin on the bed. Then he leaves silently.
You. All of you. That's what she'd meant when she'd said she wanted to steer clear of this supernatural mess. He knows it. Even if she won't admit it. Derek doesn't blame, as much as he wants to be angry at her. For one, he knows she's way too curious for her own good; for another matter, she's driven by guilt and pain, just like him. She'll go looking for answers, if for anything to stop Theo and probably make good on her threats to the bastard.
Scott stares helplessly at the pile at his feet. He'd spent the better part of the last hour working on his murder board.
"Well that's an improvement," the snarky remark comes from the former Alpha, lounging on his bed, nose buried in a book from Scott's summer reading.
"At least I'm doing something. You're not even trying to be helpful!" Scott whines irritably. Derek doesn't acknowledge him, his attention so rapt on the paragraph he's on, that Scott actually thinks maybe he hadn't heard him. Just before he can start bitching again, Derek sets the book aside and throws his legs over the edge of the bed. His expression reads calm, collected and maybe even a little smug (underneath all the usual angsty, brooding crap that Scott's used to); it's a look Scott's seen several times, the one that tells him Derek is going to school him - either by kicking his ass or pointing out Scott's flawed actions.
"You want help?" Scott stares at him bemused by the question. Derek's answer is only to raise his brows, prompting Scott to stutter out a yes. "Ask Stiles."
Scott's jaw drops with indignation. "That's it? Ask Stiles."
"You wanted me to be helpful. This is me being helpful."
"You're not even doing anything!"
"Scott you need Stiles. You need your pack."
Scott drops his sad puppy eyes to his feet. After a short moment, he replies softly, sombrely, "They don't want me. They don't need me."
Derek rises from the bed, coming to stand before the younger man. "Look at me." Those words have an instant effect, brown puppy eyes meeting his own, with all the same fear and sadness, anger and awe that Derek saw in them the night of Scott's first full moon. "You need them. And they need you."
"What if it's too late?"
"It isn't. You could feel the pack bonds, couldn't you? When we were looking for that Noah kid."
After a moment's thought, Scott offers a stiff nod. "You left your sigil for Theo to find. Why?"
Scott didn't think Derek knew about it. But then again, it is Derek. If anyone was going to know about the mark, it would be him. "It was a promise wasn't it?" Derek prompts.
Scott nods, running a hand over arm where beneath lies his own tattoo. "To reunite the pack. Stronger than before," he finishes.
"Then do it."
"How? I don't even know where to start."
Quirking a brow at him, Derek raises Scott's left arm. The tacked red string still hangs limply from the sleeve's hem. Tugging on it, Derek pulls the string loose, but continues to hold it in the air between them. "I think you know where to start."
"I already tried her. She doesn't even want to look at me, let alone talk to me."
"Remember what I told you. If you don't give up, she'll eventually listen. Stiles is good at that. Listening," Derek says offering the kid a hopeful smile.
Stiles stares at the body of Donovan; it's strange how… still he is. Would she say at peace? She doesn't know. She doesn't know if she wishes it on him, but that very thought brings on the stabbing guilt she's been feeling, reminding her of what she told Theo about how she felt when Donovan died. But now, when she looks at him she realises how similar they are. Both so young, both in such unusual, such unfair and heartbreaking circumstances. She realises how easily their roles could have been reversed. Maybe in some alternate reality, it would be him standing with his father staring down at her corpse.
She feels so detached despite her father's reassurance and forgiveness only moments ago. For weeks she'd been trying to cling onto the fact that it was self defence. But in her heart, she feels it doesn't really matter. Even if she as Derek's and her father's reassurance, in her heart all she can hear is Theo taunting her that she killed Donovan because she could, dredging her through the memories of all the red in her ledger. "You've still got more blood on your hands than any of us.'
"Does it go away," she hears herself whisper.
There's a beat of silence, then a sigh. "Not for you." Her heart breaks a little. Her dad tells her that she has to learn to bear it, just like he has. "Sometimes it doesn't truly feel okay again until there's a kind of counterbalance." Curiously, she meets his gaze; his face is soft with empathy and pity for her.
"Like what?"
The corners of his lips tug upwards, "Like instead of taking a life, you manage to save one. Something like that can help, but maybe only for a moment." Of course nothing good could ever last for her.
Noah lays a gentle hand on his daughter's shoulder. Learning to compartmentalise her emotions, definitely something she picked up from Argent; in some ways it's helped Stiles, in other ways, Noah knows she's only hurting herself. But unfortunately she's as stubborn as he is, and less than willing to let anyone know about her problems let alone help her. But if she thinks she can school her emotions from him, she's got another thing coming… He tells her that she needs to let her heart catch up to her head.
Stiles tries and fails to smile at the comment. But she can no longer deny the part of her that's dead inside. Exhaling, she looks to her hands, remembering the blood that stained them. "I feel like it's more than guilt though. I feel like… I feel like I lost something." Clenching her fists, she tiredly adds, "I feel like I can't get it back."
"You won't," the sheriff sighs. "Not entirely." Stiles keeps her watery gaze focussed on her clenched fists, still seeing the blood there. It doesn't matter how much she blinks, she can still see it. The hand on her shoulder, shifts to her chin, gently pulling her gaze to her father's sympathetic face. "But you get a little bit by forgiving yourself. And since that's not always the easiest thing in the world to do, then maybe you start by forgiving someone else. Someone who probably really needs it."
After a short while, the father and daughter pair find themselves back in the Sheriff's room. She helps him into bed when her phone buzzes. "Who is it?" the sheriff asks, noting the soft smile on Stiles' face.
"Jane. She says she and the gang are headed back from London next week."
"And your uncle?"
"She didn't say. But if he were off doing shady government stuff, she would have mentioned it."
"He really should learn to use a cell phone."
"I'm pretty sure that contradicts the whole laying low, staying off the grid, trying to be normal thing he's going for. Besides dad he's like ancient compared to you."
He rolls his eyes at her playfully, but catches her lingering gaze on the message. "What is it?"
Stiles shoots him a look as if she'd been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. "What's what?"
"What else did she say, that you aren't telling me?"
"Nothing we can't talk about later. You need rest."
"Stiles," he pushes, ignoring her hands on his shoulders trying in vain to force his head back onto his fluffy pillow. Crossing his arms adamantly, he glares her into admitting defeat.
"Fine, fine," she groans. "She, uh, she wanted to know if I wanted to if I wanted to come stay with her in New York."
He raises his brows at this. "New York?"
Stiles hums, nervously tugging at the hem of her skirt. "Yeah," she clears her throat.
"She's not headed back to Culver?"
Stiles shoots him an unimpressed looked. "That's what you got from that?" Rolling her eyes at his blank expression, she reaffirms, that yes Jane is headed back to the Big Apple. "She's been contracted full time at the Tower's R&D."
"The tower?"
"Yes, dad. The Tower."
It takes a moment for it all to click for him. "Oh that tower. Wow. I'm impressed." He then looks at her, noting the way she nods absentmindedly, not really looking at anything in particular. "Do you want to go?"
Stiles freezes a moment, but then continues on with her idle fidgeting. "I'm not really into the whole science, R&D stuff."
"But?"
She looks at him and he can see the sleep circles beneath her eyes, the weary tilted smile she forces on her face for his benefit. "But nothing. I'm not going to run away."
"You wouldn't be running away."
She shakes her head with a sad smile. "There's still too much going on. I can't leave."
A long silence draws out between them. "What about when it's over?"
Shafts of sunlight peek through the curtained entrance, crawling their way across the sand floor towards her. Kira rolls away, shielding her tired eyes. Her entire body feels sore. She doesn't ever remember being in a fight or training session with the girls that's left her this bone weary. The Skinwalkers are allowing her some hours to rest herself, but she's finding it difficult to really slip into a blissful sleep; she can feel the fox's spirit, like a thrum of energy, a gentle hum beneath her skin. It keeps her on the brink of wakefulness. Sighing she rolls over again onto her back. A pair of familiar boots enters the tent. Coming to stop a foot from her. Kira looks up at her mother, offering her a tight smile.
Noshiko gazes down at her beautiful daughter, her heart aching for the trials the young girl has to face. Sitting down next to her, she runs her fingers through Kira's long hair. She remembers Kira as a little girl, sitting in her lap while she'd braid the mass of dark locks.
"I miss dad."
"Me too."
"I miss them."
"I know you do, sweetheart."
Kira sits up a little, allowing herself to lean into her mother's side and be enveloped her maternal warmth. She always loved the feeling of her mum running her fingers through her hair. It made her feel calm, safe. "I'm scared."
"The skinwalkers will help you Kira. You may get hurt but they mean no real harm to you."
"I know that. That's not what bothers me."
"Then what does?"
Kira sighs, absentmindedly drawing shapes in the sand. "I'm scared I'm never going to see them again. Dad. My pack."
Noshiko presses a kiss to her head. "I know. Believe me, I know how you feel." She can't offer anything more reassuring, she's not foolish enough to give her daughter false hope. As kitsunes, loss is a perpetual thing. Noshiko has rarely loved anyone as she had Rhys and her husband, knowing all too well the pain that will come with time and age. But alas, somethings come to pass, feelings get in the way, but in the end she tells herself the love and life are worth the pain and grief. Especially when she's gifted with a daughter like Kira.
It's quite some time before Kira drifts to sleep on her mother's shoulder, swayed by a soft melody her mother would hum. Gently laying her back down, Noshiko brushes the dark locks from her daughter's peaceful face. She carefully exits the tent after several more minutes of watching the girl's breathing even out more.
The skinwalkers are there. Waiting patiently. But not for her. They stare patiently, out across the plains. Noshiko follows their gaze. The winds pulls up the sand, making small dust tornados. Nothing abnormal about that. But as she watches the spiralling winds, she begins to see shadows emerge from within them. Figures. Two women. At least she can only assume they are women, though there is nothing earthly about them at all. Their skin shines with an ethereal glow, golden and bright. Noshiko feels the fox spirit within her shy away from them. It is only once they draw to a ner enough distance, that something within the old Kitsune recognises them. "Mother of wisdom. Mother of the hunt," she says sagely, bowing to them. From the corner of her eye, the Skinwalker also bend the knee, though their chins remain high, their gazes unwavering from their new guests. "Kitsune, rise," the women speak as one.
Noshiko obeys silently, finally bringing her gaze to meet theirs.
"Noshiko," the younger of the two says. She wears armour of a silver that shines like the moonlight, not unlike her silver-blonde hair braided carefully like the paintings of shieldmaidens.
"Artemis," the kitsune nods at her old friend. The goddess smiles sweetly, then looks to her sister. "Athena," Noshiko greets her, earning her a small smile. Athena is not unlike her sister in looks, save for the long golden tresses the flow down her back like a molten waterfall. "It has been long, Noshiko."
"It has. I did not think to see either of you walk these mortal plains again."
"Can you blame us? The Renaissance was a good time."
Noshiko smirks slightly at the memories. But it's replaced with a frown all too quickly. "I take it this is not a social visit."
The two sisters smile at her sadly, knowing exactly what Noshiko will say next. "We cannot help her. Kira belongs with the Skinwalkers."
"Then why have you come?" Noshiko snaps at them; they take no offence, knowing the love she has for her daughter.
It is Artemis who answers her, "To ask permission."
"Permission?"
Athena nods. "We would like to take her to Olympus."
"You have more power than I, why bother asking my permission?"
"Courtesy for an old friend," Artemis replies. "You can come too, should you wish. We will return her to the skinwalkers. But there are some truths, some lessons we hope to share with her."
Noshiko assesses the sisters for a few quiet moments. She is not ignorant of the fact the skinwalkers are too assessing her; she knows they have already permitted the excursion, now they wait for her. Silently she nods.
Athena smiles broadly. "Very well."
The last thing Noshiko remembers is a blinding light.
There's a pounding in his head, dulling his senses while at the same time electrifying them. It's an odd sensation of feeling everything and nothing all it once; so much light and colour and noise, the odd feeling of cool water running over his skin while at the same time feeling a spreading heat over his limbs that Scott can only compare to sunbathing on the seashore at Santa Cruz - his mum used to take him and Stiles there for at least a week every summer when they were kids.
"Scott!" He hears a voice call out.
"Mum?" he slurs tiredly.
"Scott wake up!" And then suddenly it's like being dragged out of the water; everything becomes clearer in a moment as he's throwing himself into a sitting position, gasping desperately for air. His mum's on her knees in front of him, Derek standing behind her. Concern and relief are etched onto both their features.
"Mum?"
"You okay, sweetheart?"
He nods slowly, though truth be told is a little unsure of himself. Taking a glance at their surroundings does nothing to help his confusion. "Where are we?"
"No idea," piques up a familiar voice. Scott turns to his left, finally realising that they're not alone. Argent is bracing himself against the rugged caved wall, Parrish at his side to steady him. He hears another groan. Before he can look, Derek's already disappeared from his sight. Pushing himself to stand up, Melissa at his side, Scott takes in that Stiles and the Sheriff have also joined them in this nondescript cave.
Derek's at the Sheriff's side first, helping him sit up against the cave wall. He doesn't have to hold the man's hand to know that his wounds are still causing him quite a lot of pain. Derek watches the older man's face, waiting for the tell tale signs of relief, ignoring the searing pain through his veins. When the grimace of Noah's face dissipates, he offers the former Alpha a gentle pat on the arm and a grateful smile. But it's only after a short battle of raised brows does Derek finally decide to let go and turn to the younger of the Stilinskis. By this point Stiles has already managed to push herself up to sit alongside her father. Her head's between her knees, her ragged breaths loud for all to hear. Her heartbeat is steady, so Derek's assured she isn't having a panic attack. Breathing in her scent he can sense her nausea. Behind him, the other shuffle closer to them.
"Stiles- how… you weren't there a minute ago," Scott stammers bemusedly.
The girl scoffs. "No shit, dumbass."
Derek gently threads his fingers through his matted hair that's creating a curtain between them. His fingers brush over her temples as he carefully threads her hair back away from her face, revealing more and more of her features to him. Slowly and gently, he curves along her cheek and under her jaw, tilting her head up. When those blue eyes finally meet his, he softly whispers, "You okay?"
She doesn't say anything, only nods fervently, her lips tight. She breaks away from his gaze and looks to her dad, who smiles at her gently, nodding to her that he's fine for now. Only then does Stiles acknowledge the others with them. "What are we doing here? How did we all get here? Where the hell is here?"
"That's what we were wondering too," comes Malia's voice. She stumbles out of the shadows, Braeden at her side.
Parrish looks behind the newcomers. "How far back does this cave go?"
Neither of them know. They say back their way there was no sign of an entrance... "I sort of just followed my instincts and it led us here," Malia finishes.
"So what do we do?" Parrish asks again. He points out that there are several exits from this cavern they're in, tucked away beyond the shadows of the cave, which Stiles is only just realising is alit by firelight. Scrambling up, she approaches one of the torches along the wall, her face screwed in bemusement.
"What is it?" Argent asks, approaching the girl.
Hesitantly she raises a finger to the flame, ignoring the comments and protests of those around her. Her finger passes through, then her hand. She withdraws and does it again, slower, letting the flames settle around her skin. Argent snatches at her wrist, bringing the limb up to examine it, shocked to find her unscathed. "It didn't burn," she whispers.
"What did it feel like?"
She's quiet a moment, thinking through the odd sensation. "Sunshine," she eventually answers.
Before anyone can question it, more footsteps can be heard approaching them, louder and faster than Malia and Braeden had been. "Friend or foe?" Argent quickly throws to the shifters but none offer an answer. He takes in Scott, Derek and Malia's tense stances, and quickly nudges Stiles behind him. Drawing his gun, he takes aim at the passage where the sound seems to ricochet most. Parrish falls in line with him, weapon drawn while the werewolves and werecoyote bear claws and fangs.
The stampede grows louder with every second. Then suddenly a figure emerges from the shadows. Two figures actually. Stumbling out of the shadows really. The shorter one seems to trip on his feet, and the second isn't fast enough so ends up collapsed on top of his friend.
Scott quirks a brow at the pair. "Liam? Mason?"
"Hey Scott," the two boys groan, awkwardly struggling to untangle themselves. They eventually manage to scramble apart. Liam looks ready to say something but freezes the moment his eyes land on Scott again. Mason takes over, "Woke up with a pounding headache and no idea how you got here or where you are?" Everyone nods. "Same as the three of us."
"I know I'm bad at math, but I'm pretty sure there's just two of you," Malia points out.
The two freshman share a bemused look then glance behind them, before looking back at one another with accusation slapped across their faces. "You were supposed to keep an eye on him!"
"No you were!"
"No you!"
"I was sniffing out these guys! How was I supposed to keep an eye on him?"
"You're the one with claws and fangs. If he acted up, you're the one who was supposed to fight him!"
"Shut up!" Derek barks, silencing the two freshmen. "Who the hell are you talking about? Theo?"
Liam shoots him his confused puppy face. "No. Why would Theo be here?"
"Why would any of us be here?" Malia snarks.
Rolling her eyes, Stiles clarifies, "Whoever you were with, you clearly didn't trust them. Why would we not assume it's Theo?"
The freshmen wear sheepish looks. "That makes sense," Liam replies, rubbing the back of his neck. He can feel his Alpha's (can he still say that?) eyes on him but is too afraid to look at Scott. Truth be told, he's afraid to meet any of their gazes, except maybe Stiles (though if he's being honest with himself, she does scare the shit out of him at times).
"Liam!" Stiles snaps at him impatiently.
"Oh right. Well he uh, we ran into him back there. And when he found out that we knew you guys-" he really is afraid to say he's pack, mostly because he's afraid to face Scott's rejection, "he said he was a friend."
Mason adds, "Yeah but we've never seen him before, and from what Liam told me, you guys made a lot of enemies in the past, so..."
"So you didn't know whether to trust him and assumed he was lying?" Stiles correctly finishes their train of thought. "And then you lost him. This potential bad guy and threat to our lives?"
"Yes, maam?" Liam squeaks.
If eye rolls were a sound, the entire cavern would be thunderous.
"Who was he?" Derek asks.
"Why don't you ask me yourself?" A voice calls from within the shadows. Seconds later a face no one had expected to see again emerges.
"Isaac!" The blonde werewolf barely blinks before he finds his arms full with the sheriff's daughter. Stiles' arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him in a tight embrace and Isaac can't help himself but wrap his arms around her waist, drawing her closer into him. He relishes in her warmth, in her touch, in her scent. Stiles had always been one of the more touchy feely of their pack and her hugs always reminded him of his mother's. Burying his nose into her blonde locks, he inhales deeply and is enthused to discover her scent hasn't changed much either; she still smells of motor oil and peppermint intermingled with the earthy scent of old books though he concludes she no longer drinks coffee eight times a day given the distinct lack of caffeine; there's still her cloud of anxiety, which in some ways feels stronger than it had been in the time he had known her but now that she's in his arms, her utter joy is like sunrays breaking through the cloudbank. He almost doesn't want to pull away from their embrace. The familiarity, the acceptance, the friendship... it epitomized the all he'd been aching for this past year. It felt like home... it felt like pack. Stiles pulls away first, startling him with the angry expression on her pretty features. "What the hell's matter with you!? Do you realise how worried I was? Seriously, one email every few months is not enough to placate my anxiety!" Before he can say anything his defence, he's drawn back into her arms. "Oh my god, I missed you so much."
"I forgot your hugs could bruise," he chuckles.
With one final squeeze, she pulls away from him with a broad grin. Stepping to the side, she allows his eyes to wander to the others. Derek is the first he makes contact with. They hold each others gaze a moment, all the love, the respect, the hurt, the grief they experienced passes between them in less than a second. Then Isaac throws himself at him in what Stiles would call a 'lingering bro hug'. Scott is next and it's much the same, though Isaac does manage to slip in a reassurance that he's not mad at Scott, that he never was. You'd have to be an idiot to not see the guilt that wracked Scott's body when he first saw Isaac. Melissa steps up to hug her 'second son', fondly ruffling his locks. Argent pats his cheek and pulls him in for a very fatherly hug, revealing to the others just a little of how close the two had become when they left Beacon Hills together almost a year ago now. Braeden offers a kind nod, while the Sheriff supported by Parrish, shakes his hand. "Good to have you back, son."
"Good to be back... sort off..." he trails off looking at their surroundings.
"What do you remember?" Derek asks.
Isaac's face pinches in concentration. "I was driving across the border and then... nothing."
"The border? To Beacon Hills?" Scott asks.
Isaac nods. With a soft smile, he explains, "I figured I'd been away long enough. Missed my home. Missed my pack."
Scott slaps his shoulder gently but doesn't let go; Isaac can see something behind his Alpha's eyes. Gratitude. Hope. But he can also see the pain, the anguish. Scott may try to hide it now, but he wears the look of defeat, of failure that Derek had once worn. Clearly he's struggling with his responsibilities. Looking around, he can see the slightly haunted look in everyone's eyes. He'd once worn that, but a year abroad had given him time to heal. But while he's been taking care of himself, they had been suffering. He'd heard some rumours about assassins and Kate Argent but those had been few and far between.
A girl with short brown hair and a look that screams 'I'm going to eat you and not in the fun way' look in her eye, raises her hand awkwardly like a schoolkid asking to go to the bathroom. "Uh, not to ruin the reunion party you guys got going on, but mind filling us in on who new guy is," she gestures to herself and the two kids he'd bumped into and followed here.
Derek slaps an arm around Isaac's shoulders, shooting the three of them one of those proud big brother grins and wow, doesn't that throw Isaac through a loop, because since when does Derek Hale smile? Damn, he missed a lot. "This is Isaac Lahey," Derek introduces. "Isaac you might remember Malia, and you
Ve already met Liam and Mason," he gestures to the three respective figures. Just by observing them earlier, Isaac could tell Liam was a beta and Mason was human. Something about the way they interacted reminded him all too much of Scott and Stiles, that he'd been tempted to laugh if it had not been for the fact that he enjoyed their wariness and fear of him - Derek would have been so proud. Speaking of, the Hale continues to introduce him... "Isaac was my first beta-"
"Wait you were an Alpha?"
"Yes," Derek huffs, glaring at Liam who's been the one to interrupt. "But after I gave up my Alpha spark, he became Scott's beta."
"Why'd you give up being an Alpha?"
"And why'd he leave Beacon Hills?"
Before anyone can answer or reject the questions posed, Stiles steps up to Isaac's other side, looping her arm through his, saying, "Those are stories for another day. The important thing is that my favourite puppy is back."
Liam pouts, "I thought I was your favourite puppy," he mutters kicking the dirt. Stiles rolls her eyes.
Braeden is the one to bring them back to the real issue at hand, reminding all those present that they still have no idea where they are or how they got here. It's briefly debated that the 'why' can be a solved later, though Stiles continues to grumble about it. They argue over how to get out. Going back isn't a real option, and trying each tunnel would most likely take too long, since caves systems like these could stretch on for miles.
"Someone's coming," Derek says after what feels like hours but has truly only been minutes. From the shadows four figures materialise. The light that surrounds them is too bright for humans and supernatural beings alike to gaze upon, brighter than the sun.
From behind her hands, Stiles feels the warmth of the light recede. Paring back her raised hands, she peeks at the four figures. "Kira?"
The kitsune looks dazed for about half a second before throwing herself at Scott. Their kiss is short-lived thanks to Isaac awkwardly coughing. It earns him a bashful grin turned into a confused but excited smile when she looks at him. The look fades all too quickly and recognising where her emotions are taking her, Isaac quickly reaches over to her shoulder and offers her a reassuring squeeze. "I don't blame you," he says.
Argent who'd been ignoring the extended reunion, fixes Noshiko and her companions with a firm look of suspicion. "I'm guessing you had something to do with this," he directs at the kitsune.
She shakes her head. "No. I am a guest here as much as you are."
"Guest? Feels more like we're captives," he retorts.
"Guests. Captives. Whatever the hell we are, where are we?" The Sheriff questions, his suspicion directed more so at the two women behind Noshiko. They level their gaze with that of the pack.
"The tunnels beneath Olympus," the silver-haired maiden replies cooly.
Stiles gawks. "Olympus? As in Mount Olympus. Home of Greek gods and champions Olympus? That Olympus?"
The golden-haired woman smirks at her. "Yes that Olympus."
As if well aware their guests are about to spew forth a conundrum of questions, the golden haired figure raises her arms, silently compelling all to still their tongues for now. "I am Athena. This is my sister Artemis. We have brought you all here to prepare you. The battles you fight now are nothing compared to the wars you shall face in the years to come."
Artemis gestures to their dim surroundings. "These tunnels were forged by our brother Hephaestus. But it's true powers lies therein the flames that light these paths - they were forged in my brother Apollo's blood. Once meant as a safe haven for his Oracles, this is where they gathered from all ends of the then known world," at this Artemis nods subtly toward all the passageways. "This is where they congregated to scribe the secrets and histories of men." Reaching out to touch a wall, the silver-haired goddess draws her eyes closed. "Their power has practically bled into these walls."
"That's a beautiful story, but mind getting back to the whole preparing us for terrible, horrible wars," Stiles quips up when the silence had stretched too long for her liking (three seconds).
"Be patient, we are waiting for our brother to return with your Oracle. This cannot be done without her," Athena answers.
Right at that moment, a light like before consumes the cavern and from it emerges a single figure. A tall man who skin and hair shines molten gold like Athena's but eyes are an electrifying green like his twin's. Apollo. "Greetings mortals, I apologise for my tardiness. I had to contend with another banshee to retrieve your own."
"You mean Lydia?" Malia questions. "Where is she?"
"Here," a soft voice rasps. Stepping out of the god's shadow, Lydia smiles back at her pack. Stiles instantly makes for her, but her hands pass straight through her friend. Flailing back she almost trips over, if not for Apollo's steadying hand. He throws her and the others a sheepish look. "Forgive me. I should explain. When I went to retrieve your friend here, I really only needed her blood." At this he raises a small vial filled to the brim with blood. "Don't worry, her spirit will become tangible unto you all soon."
Melissa looks at him skeptically. "Aren't you the god of healing? Couldn't you just heal her and bring her here like the rest of us?"
"I could, but Lydia needs to be where she is now. Even if it pains her, she has important things to learn. But I have brought an essence of her spirit, so she too may participate in the proceedings. When her spirit returns to your mortal plane and merges with her body, she will remember all she has seen here."
"And what exactly are these proceedings?" The sheriff questions.
But it's not the deities who answer, it's Argent. "Visions. You're going to show us visions. Specifically visions that affect this pack, otherwise you wouldn't go to the trouble of procuring Lydia's blood when you can choose anyone of your own oracles who you have at your disposal, am I right?"
Athena smirks at him, impressed, as does Artemis. Apollo just pouts as if insulted to have his air of mystery stolen from him. Huffing in a rather childlike manner, the god affirms Argent's theory, "You are right. Though be not mistaken. We do not intend to show you of your wars. That would only spur you to attempt to prevent them, which would have far more dire consequences. You must know these wars will come, there is no avoiding it no matter what path you choose."
Derek scoffs at this, "What's the point of all of this then?"
"To guide you towards the safest path, the one which ascertains the better outcome for the greater good," Artemis replies without missing a beat.
This is met with various responses, all of which more or less questions the probable success of this fate when they, the pack, are not allowed to see what the future beholds them to prepare them. It's one voice alone that whispers, "History." All eyes turn to Kira, once they notice that is where Apollo has fixed his gaze. Despite being tucked away in the safe warmth of Scott's arms, she still can't help but fidget with the attention on her.
From the corner of her eye, she catches her mother's proud smile. "Go on, Kira," she encourages.
Fiddling with her sleeve, the thunder kitsune nervously explains, "Well, they say war is a product of mankind not learning from it's mistakes. So I figure, even if we can't prevent this war, there must be something in the past that we can learn from to hope for a better outcome."
Athena smiles at her sagaciously. "Correct, young kitsune. Spoken like a true warrior." Her gaze then extends across to the all the pack and it's allies. "You are broken. You have allowed another to sow seeds of discord and distrust among you. You have forgotten your ties. You have forgotten your anchors. And each one of you-" as she says this her eyes slowly pass over each individual's face, "... have forgotten yourselves. It is time to revisit your pasts. The beginning of your story. Where your wars first began." She then nods to her brother. He unscrews the cap off the vial, and ever so slowly, tips it, swirling it gracefully within the air, forming some sort of hieroglyph. The mortals watch in awe as Lydia's blood forms the delicate shape. Apollo's eyes close briefly as he begins chanting quietly in ancient greek. With every second that passes by, a single drop of Lydia's blood falls from the airborne sigil to the cave floor. As the last few drops draw nearer, the god opens his eyes, now glowing a glorious molten gold in their entirety. "I suggest you all take a seat. We have two years to catch up on."