"Keep Deucalion away from me ..." she said, with a naive smile. "And you'll get your sheriff back."
They had done this. Deucalion was gone, at least for that night.
It hadn't matter how, when, but only why they had to do that: Jennifer Blake was the Darach. Jennifer Blake was keeping his father alive. Jennifer Blake was supposed to be - and at that time there was no word most disgusting- protected, because if she was going to die, John Stilinski would have to die too. If Deucalion had taken Jennifer, his father would died anyway. But none of this seemed to happen.
They were walking, all of them. Along a corridor, endless, dark, disgusting. Stiles' legs were shaking, his lips were trembling, his heart trembled. The only thing he could hear were his own heartbeats and the muffled sound of slamming the ground by Jennifer's fucking stiletto heels, who was leading them into the room where she had locked up his father. Scott was close to him, Allison close to Scott, Lydia behind all of them, Derek's paled face fixed on the woman who was walking without flinching.
Jennifer suddenly stopped, and all of them along with her. He opened a door on her left, walking in. It was the same place where Allison and Isaac had found the professor, that afternoon.
Jennifer Blake went still in the middle of the room, a small closet. John was hanging on to a rope, by the throat, dangling. Dead. The laughter of the Darach did freeze every single corner of the room, while Stiles - eyes and mouth wise opened - fell to his knees. The tears which were running down his face seemed actually made of ice, definetely cracking his face in a thousand folds of blood. He couldn't breathe, his hands now on the cold floor, his eyes squeezed shut.
"Did you really think I would let him live?"
Of course not, Stiles should have known. His father was the last of the series, how could she ever gave up on that? Stupid, naive, all of them who had hoped. And now his father was dead, sacrificed to any fucking thing that the Darach wanted to make honor.
Stiles found the strength to stand up, blurred vision, to lash out at Jennifer. Stiles wanted to torn her apart twice, to rip her dead heart from her dead chest. But he fell for the second time. Jennifer Blake had disappeared.
{• • •}
Stiles was shaking, still, taking refuge in Scott's arms. His eyes ached, his stomach ached, his heart ached. He wanted to tear it away, make it stop beating, to stop the tears that won't never leave his eyes. Scott held him tight, there against that wall, on the floor. He murmured something, but Stiles didn't understand, the words seemed spoken in an unknown language.
Steps, slow and guilty. "Stiles ..." whispered a voice, low, slow, guilty. Stiles shut his mouth, stood up abruptly. "I ..."
The first hit was heavy , settled, angry. Derek fell backward, Stiles seated himself and the second punch was first loaded then launched, with even more anger on his face.
Derek didn't object when the third came, and then the fourth and the fifth, and the sixth. "You ..." the seventh. "Got laid ..." the eighth. "with her ..." the ninth. ''You bastard" he thundered, loading the tenth and hitting Derek's face, now stained with blood . He held on to his shirt, Stiles' arm without stopping anymore. "You fucked her while she was planning the murder of my father," he yelled, and new punches were coming. Derek still offering no resistance and Scott remaining motionless with his own arms on his own knees, mind away from that mess.
{• • •}
Stiles found the strength to stop, Derek found the strength to encircle his arms around Stiles' waist and tighten him. But neither of them found the strength to stop their own tears instead.