For Shell And Safety

by JessieJay13

Leah never wanted to be a werewolf or get caught up in anything dangerous but she didn't have a choice in either of those things. All she wanted to do was help a stranger. But when that help involved delivering a message to The Emissary, the legendary protector of Beacon Hills, maybe that should have been a clue that danger was coming. (Sterek, apocalyptic future fic, oustider POV)

3. Chapter 3

The three of them set off toward Headquarters as soon as the sun began creeping over the pines, throwing long, slanted sunbeams across their faces to nudge them out of their sleep. Derek lingered at the edge of the clearing, smelling of old sadness and a hint of longing, but he just pulled the jacket he'd borrowed from Leah—his own was deemed too holey to be effective anymore and Leah was the one of them least affected by the chill in the air—tighter around his shoulders and stepped into the shade of the forest with a quiet sigh.

It was deemed unnecessary for them to take the downtown route on the way back. Time was no longer of the essence and they could afford to take the slower but safer route, heading north to skirt the edge of town before cutting east again through less populated areas.

The only problem was Derek's stamina: he didn't have any. His steps were slow and heavy compared to the rest of them, even though they all carried supplies and he didn't, and he was struggling for breath after just a few city blocks. He tried to push on, stubborn as anything, but eventually even he seemed to accept that he wasn't well enough for a prolonged slog like this. When the group stopped for yet another "water break," far sooner than could be argued away, he didn't voice any complaint, just slumped against the nearest wall to get his breath back.

The trek out had been made largely in tense silence, but that tension had been worried, almost anticipatory. This one was...awkward, but the painful kind of awkward that bordered on truly uncomfortable. Allison led the way, scouting ahead and making sure the path forward was clear of any hostile parties. Stiles stayed by Derek's side, close but never touching like some strange, overprotective bodyguard despite Derek's increasing frustration with the hovering.

Leah trailed along behind them, ostensibly guarding the rear against potential attack but mostly just trying to stay upwind of the storm of chemosignals that centered around the two of them. She found that she much preferred the pervasive undertone of dried blood and fear that was sunk into the city streets; at least that was familiar and, best of all, uncomplicated.

Sometimes, when he had the energy for it, Derek asked questions. He really had missed a lot in the last four years and the way he stared at the broken-down buildings all around him said that they had probably still been standing when last he had seen them.

Leah tried to remember what Beacon Hills had looked like four years ago, how Derek must remember it, but at that time Leah had still been trying to find a way to get across the border to safer territory, to Nevada or Arizona. It had been seven months before she had admitted defeat and let the Hunters chase her northward again. She couldn't recall much of that time. She didn't want to.

Stiles answered all of Derek's questions in much the same way he and Allison had Leah's the day before. He explained about their organization, about what they did for the city and what was left of its population. He told Derek about the barricade around the region and the Hunters manning it without governmental mandate. He spoke with pride about Agent McCall and his sympathetic contacts, and about Christ Argent working both sides of the conflict to provide them with what they needed to keep going.

Stiles did a lot of talking, very convincing talking, and it wasn't until she caught sight of the heavy scowl on Derek's face that Leah realized what he wasn't saying.

He made no mention of his—their—pack. No matter what question Derek asked or how he phrased it, Stiles found a way around and around, talking in circles until it felt like he had answered even though he hadn't. Damn, he would make one hell of a politician with slick verbosity like that, but Derek had known him for a long time and he wasn't as easily fooled as Leah was. Derek knew all Stiles' tricks, and his scent was growing stormier and stormier the longer Stiles avoided giving him any straight answers.

Nothing Stiles had said in the last hour was a lie, strictly speaking, but even with her limited social interactions in recent years Leah knew well enough how effective half-truths and omissions could be against werewolf hearing. If she hadn't known for a fact that Stiles was sidestepping the truth, she would never have guessed. But she did know that he was hiding something, and Derek knew it too.

Leah fell back another step, longing heartily for the days of old when she could have popped in a pair of headphones, queued up a playlist on her iPod, and blocked out the world. Alas, that time was long gone and there was nothing to stop her from hearing every word of the soon-to-be argument ahead of her.

"—past the batty banshee on the south side to make it out to Melissa's," Stiles was saying, scanning every side street and every rooftop in the vicinity, though Leah didn't doubt he was a hundred and ten percent aware of Derek no matter where his eyes were focused. "Liam and Mason can handle it, though. And Melissa's always been able to hold her own."

"Yeah, she has," Derek said pointedly. "She was training with Kira, wasn't she? How's that going?"

"She doesn't need training anymore, that's for sure," Stiles said. "Just a few weeks ago, I saw her round-house kick a werecoyote in the face and he went down. I tell you, it was something to see, and—"

"That is impressive," Derek interrupted. "Werecoyotes are tough. Malia can always take a hell of a punch and come back swinging. Isn't that right, Stiles?"

"This one certainly couldn't. He turned tail the second Melissa pulled her knife. It wasn't even one of the charmed ones, either, just plain silver. The charm isn't easy, but I picked it up from this witch I ran into a few years back and it's really nifty. Ingredients are hard to find, though. You wouldn't believe what I had to go through to get a hold of—"

"For god's sake, Stiles, stop."

Derek stopped in the middle of the street, making Stiles pull up short and turn back to face him.

"Do you need another break?" Stiles asked, already pulling off his backpack and rummaging around in it. "I've still got some jerky if you're hungry. How are you feeling, anyway?"

"I'm feeling a lot less stupid than you seem to think I am," Derek said boldly.

Stiles' heart rate picked up, though his expression of simple concern remained steady.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Derek growled, "that you're handling me with kid gloves."

"Of course I am, Derek," Stiles said readily. "You've been through an ordeal. You can't blame me for being a little overprotective right now."

"I've been through plenty of ordeals before," Derek reminded him. "But being physically weakened doesn't make me an idiot, Stiles."

Stiles frowned, dropping his backpack to dangle from one hand.

"I never said you were an idiot, Der. I would never say that."

"Well, you're certainly treating me like one! You think I don't know what you're doing?"

"I'm not doing anything," Stiles argued. His tone was light, innocent-sounding, but the hand that wasn't holding onto his backpack strap had tightened into a fist at his side.

"Bullshit," Derek shot back. "You're playing me."

Stiles forced a laugh, but it wasn't very convincing. The grip on his pack was white-knuckled now and the rapid thump of his heart was loud in Leah's ears even as she plastered herself against the nearest building and tried her damnedest to become one with the brickwork.

"Playing you?" Stiles repeated, no doubt going for surprised and disbelieving. "You really think I would do that?"

"That's not a denial!" Derek said, throwing his hands up. "And I know you would!"

"Oh really? You know, do you?"

Leah cringed; Stiles hadn't even made an effort to sound innocent that time. His scent was edging away from anxiety and toward anger, the charged lightning smell of it sharp and clear and easily matched by Derek's agitation.

"Yes!" Derek said. "I know. Because I know you, Stiles, and I know how you work."

"No, you don't," Stiles snapped, eyes flashing in the sunlight until they almost looked like the unnatural gold of a beta.

Derek wasn't impressed. He pushed forward into Stiles' space, ignoring the gritted teeth and the clenched fists and every other warning sign that Stiles was nearing the end of his rope.

"You're lying to me," Derek insisted. "I don't need your heartbeat to tell me that. I never have, Stiles. I know you better than that."

"You don't know a damn thing about me," Stiles said, harsh and cutting as he jerked away from Derek's approach.

Derek stopped, a hand outstretched like he had meant to touch Stiles but didn't dare to now. Leah couldn't see the look on his face from where she was, and she was grateful for that. She put her hands over her ears, but it wasn't anywhere near enough to block out raised voices so close.

"Of course I do, Stiles," Derek said, his hurt obvious even in his heated tone. "I know you better than anyone. You're the man I—"

"But I'm not, Derek!" Stiles shouted, the sound of it echoing off the walls all around them.

Leah flinched, pressing her palms harder against her ears. Even Derek stepped back from the force of it, and again when Stiles advanced on him, red-faced and furious.

"I'm not that man anymore, don't you get it?" Stiles demanded. "You have no idea who I am—who I've had to become! I hate to break it to you, Derek, but the sweet, clever, innocent kid you knew and loved all those years ago is long gone."

"I don't believe that," Derek said, shaking his head.

"That doesn't make it any less true. I—"

A shout rang out down the street, followed by running footsteps. When Leah lowered her hands from her ears, she heard more pairs of feet slapping against the asphalt, several more of them, and other voices heading their way.

Allison skidded into view with her bow in her hand, arrow nocked, and called out, "Guys, I really hate to break up the lovers' spat, but we've got incoming. Three werecoyotes and a wendigo."

Stiles cursed fluently under his breath. He had his extendable metal staff in hand a second later, then he was throwing his backpack at Leah's feet and giving Derek a shove in her direction as well.

"Watch him," he told her. "Keep him safe at all costs."

Leah nodded obediently and took hold of Derek's arm, trying to drag him back into the shadow of the building. Derek didn't come easily, though.

"Wait, what?" he said instead, alarm all over his face as he watched Allison scale her way up to a rooftop vantage point and leave Stiles standing alone in the middle of the street, right in the path of the group of hostiles, near enough now that even he could hear their approach.

"Derek, come on," Leah said, tightening her grip on his arm. "Stiles and Allison have got this."

"No!" he said, trying to tug himself free, fighting to get back to Stiles' side.

Leah grit her teeth, hating herself just a little bit as she wrapped an arm around Derek's chest and held him back. It wasn't difficult. He was bigger than her by a good bit, yes, and fueled by his sudden panic, but he was also underfed and exhausted and human.

"No, you don't understand," Derek tried to tell her. "One human can't take on four of them, and Stiles isn't a fighter!"

"Oh boy, are you in for a surprise," Leah muttered.

Derek yelled Stiles' name as the makeshift pack came pelting out of the same alleyway Allison had, tripping over each other and scenting the air with relish. Stiles didn't so much as flinch. He spun the staff over his head and brought it down in a ready stance, a feral grin on his face that all but dared them to give him an excuse to kick their asses.

Stiles was every bit as quick as he had been the day before and twice as vicious, taking all his aggravation out on the poor, unsuspecting saps who had made the terrible mistake of challenging him. Werecoyotes were ferocious by nature, typically much less tightly controlled than the average werewolf and therefore more dangerous in a one on one fight, but Stiles put one after the other on their backs and made damn sure they stayed there.

In the end, Allison didn't need to fire a single arrow, not even at the wendigo when he tried to catch Stiles from behind. The staff's silver blade tore through his neck like tissue paper, leaving a spray of pungent red across the pavement, and Stiles was left standing over four unmoving bodies after only a few minutes.

Derek had gone still in Leah's hold, too stunned to fight anymore, and he stayed that way when Leah let go. His heart thudded out of rhythm, seeming doubly loud after all the clashing and shouting of the fight was gone. He swayed on his feet, the strain of his own struggle catching up to him now that the adrenaline surge had passed, and Leah steadied him with a hand on his back.

Stiles stayed where he was, breathing hard from exertion but largely unharmed, as Allison clambered down from her perch. He didn't look up from the dead wendigo as she checked on Derek and Leah to make sure they were alright.

Leah waited for him to drop to his knees again, to take out his knife and open a cut on his wrist, to whisper obscure words of power for an even more obscure purpose like he had after his fight the day before, but he didn't. Instead he sent Derek one quick, sidelong look and turned his back on the bodies. He wiped the blood off his staff's blade with Allison's red-stained rag, collapsed it, and tucked it into his backpack when Allison handed it to him.

"Let's go," he said gruffly, already moving off down the road as if the battle had been nothing more than a nuisance, "before all the fuss attracts more party-crashers."

Leah frowned at Stiles' back, and then at Allison when the former predictably yielded no answers. Allison just shook her head, her eyes too darting almost imperceptibly to the still pale and wide-eyed Derek before she strode forward to walk at Stiles' side, leaving Leah to take up Stiles' former position at Derek's.

Apparently whatever magic it was that Stiles worked on the people he killed, it was even more of a secret from Derek than it was from her.

---

Leah volunteered to keep watch that night in the hopes that she could patrol the block around the mostly-intact building where they had holed up and thereby escape from the oppressive atmosphere, but that plan got vetoed almost immediately. In the mid-city like this, surrounded by half-feral supernaturals spoiling for a fight, it was far too dangerous for one person to be out on their own, even if that person were a werewolf or a lethally trained human with lots of weapons.

Apparently this was one of those "important things" that Stiles saved up his magic for. He laid down wards that would hide them from view and block their scents from getting out to attract anyone who might prey on them, but the spells only worked so long as they all stayed within the boundaries of the camp. Which mean that the four of them were trapped together in close proximity until sunrise.

Stiles paced around the perimeter, checking over and over that his spells were holding and ignoring the way Derek was staring a hole into the side of his head from where he sat, silent and shivering even in Leah's jacket, against the far wall. Allison sat cross-legged between them and took to sharpening her various knives, the shing of a whetstone over the blades loud in the absence of conversation, and studiously pretending not to notice the tension.

As soon as she had finished off the last of her rations, Leah lay down as far away as she could get from the rest of them, tucked under a large hole in the northern wall that Stiles assured them no one could see through as long as the wards held. She wrapped herself up as tightly as possible in her blanket, pulling it up over her head so that all she could smell was herself and the old-worn scent of the fabric, and counted her own heartbeats until sleep blessedly overtook her.

Again, they set off as soon as it was light enough for safe traveling, wending their way through mostly empty streets toward their goal. They made it to the center of the city without encountering any more roving packs looking to test their mettle. Only one stray omega crossed their path, but he turned tail and ran before Stiles could say "scram." It was probably for the best, even though Stiles looked a little disappointed at losing the opportunity to blow off more steam.

He and Derek hadn't said a single word to each other since their fight the day before. They both obviously had more to say but couldn't seem to bring themselves to say it just yet, both too angry and hurt and whatever the hell else they were, so they bit their tongues and averted their eyes and let Leah and Allison walk in between them whenever possible.

The girls exchanged uncomfortable looks and let the two of them stew in their angst, since there wasn't much they could do about it themselves. Stubborn boys would be stubborn no matter what anyone else had to say about it.

They made it to Headquarters before the sun reached its zenith the next day and Leah had never been so relieved. Even the awful whine of the wards in her sensitive ears wasn't enough to discourage her when there was a building with a roof and real beds and actual showers on the other side of it. And also, hopefully, enough room to get away from the drama that was Derek and Stiles, at least until they had worked out their shit. When they crossed the line of ward-stones and the buildings reformed themselves in front of her eyes, Leah heaved a sigh and picked up the pace.

Stiles pressed his palm to the door and the symbols all around it glowed to life. That was a relatively new feature too, judging by the way Derek's eyebrows rose at the sight of it, but Stiles didn't stop to explain how it worked or chatter on about where he had learned the spell and how much effort it had taken to implement, or anything like that. He just pushed forward into the building, expecting the rest of them to follow in his wake.

Leah was barely over the threshold before she was struck by the sheer muchness of it. When she had been here last, it had only been from late at night until early morning. The most people she had seen there at one time had been in the upstairs conference room where she had first seen Stiles, and that had only been a dozen at most. Now, though, there were at least twice that on the first floor alone, scurrying back and forth, carrying crates of supplies, calling out as they squeezed past each other in the narrow hallways. It was just...it was a lot.

Stiles was immediately waylaid by Mason, who waved his clipboard in the air and fired off a spiel about some necessary preparations that had been thrown off schedule and how much it would push them back. His voice was loud enough on its own, but there were at least three other conversations going on in the hallway at the same volume, and too many heartbeats to count, and someone was stampeding up the stairs like a goddamn elephant, and the air was thick with sticky-fruit smell and gun oil and sweat and old wood and ozone-magic.

Too fucking much.

Leah shoved her way through all the people, away from the excruciatingly loud shouts that rang out as those who had known Derek from before finally recognized him. She tripped her way into the dormitory and collapsed on the nearest bed, fighting back the shift as it clawed at her insides. It was quieter in here, calmer, and the overwhelmed feeling ebbed after a few long minutes to leave her with a pounding head and a fervent hope that none of this would happen again.

Only it did, over and over.

It wasn't just that Headquarters was busy. Sure, it was noisy and crowded and there was always someone doing something somewhere, but Leah could have adjusted to that if only it were constant. But the warded doors, the ones that had been put in place to prevent those with supernaturally enhanced hearing from eavesdropping on conversations they weren't meant to be a part of, didn't just block intelligible words, they blocked out everything: voices, footsteps, heartbeats, scents, chemosignals, everything.

And that meant that every time someone opened one of those doors, all of it came flooding out at once to smack Leah in the damn face like a hammer, and then it would all get cut off again the next time someone closed the stupid door. And there were doors like that all over the place, little hidey holes for the transmission of sensitive information, which there seemed to be a lot of. She had only been there for less than eight fucking hours and she already had sensory whiplash.

By the time the dinner hour had come and gone, Leah was ready to scream. However, she knew from personal experience that that would only exacerbate the situation, and so she did the next best thing: she ran. Only she couldn't run outside because it was getting dark again and darkness in the city meant danger, so she ran inward. Or, well, upward.

The first floor was the most crowded. It was where the up-for-grabs beds and showers were, as well as where the majority of the heavier, harder to transport supplies were kept. The second floor housed the more permanent residents, like Stiles and Allison, Mason and Liam, and had more storage spaces filled to the brim with stuff that was constantly being taken out and replaced as more shipments of goods came in. There were still people in and out of there on the regular.

The third floor, though, was made up almost entirely of warded conference rooms that were rarely used.

It took some doing for Leah to get up there unnoticed—honestly, she wasn't entirely sure she was allowed to be in any of those rooms, and normally she wouldn't dare to trespass but this was an emergency situation and she would worry about possible consequences later when her head didn't feel like it was about to explode—but she managed it. She picked a random warded room, threw herself inside, and shut the door with a snap.

The general hustle and bustle of the other floors disappeared in an instant and the sudden silence rang in her ears almost as loudly. She slumped forward to press her sweat-damp forehead against the wood in the hopes that it would chase away the smothering heat that had come over her, but it wasn't enough and she couldn't seem to stop the way her hands shook and her fingertips itched. Her eyes were burning with the need to shift and it was stupid that she reacted this way, for fuck's sake, just because of a little noise?

She tried to take deep breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth, and focus on the taste of the air in here, blessedly free of other people's scents and chemosignals.

But not completely free of it, she realized belatedly. There was something there, something besides the smell of the building itself. A scent she recognized, when it filtered through the haze enough for her to place it: earth and forest and still waters.

No, no, no, he couldn't be here. She was supposed to be getting away from everyone, away from all the heartbeats and scents that took over her senses and drove her mad and sent her wolf into a frenzy. Away from anyone she could hurt if the wolf broke free.

She spun around to see Derek sitting on the floor across from her.

He had showered, obviously, and someone had attacked his hair with scissors and gotten him new clothes. Even his facial hair had been trimmed down into something that looked less like a small woodland creature had died on his face and more like a respectable beard. He looked almost civilized again. He also looked justifiably taken aback at her sudden entrance.

"Are you okay?" were the first words out of his mouth.

Leah would have said yes but her breath was coming too fast, too irregularly, for her to manage it. She pressed herself back against the door, turning her head away so he wouldn't see the gold in her eyes that she couldn't force out. She couldn't make it stop, couldn't make the wolf under skin stop clawing at her and howling for release, for a chance to lash out when everything around her felt like a threat.

That still-water scent hit her again, harder, closer. She opened her eyes to see Derek right in front of her and tried to jerk back, out of range of the fragile human that would break so easily when she really lost it, but there was nowhere for her to go with the door at her back.

"Leah," Derek said, his voice soft and unafraid. "You need something to focus on. You need an anchor."

"I don't have one," Leah growled, her gums prickling with the need to drop fangs. She didn't have anyone or anything. She was completely alone, lost in the storm and slamming against the metaphorical rocks with every tidal wave, and there was nothing she could do about it but wait to drown.

"Use me."

Leah whimpered. She turned away again but she couldn't close her eyes this time, not when she knew what face she would see when she did: brown eyes bright with concern until fear took over, the upturned nose just like hers until it was broken and bent, blond hair darkened with blood, blood dripping down, blood everywhere and the screaming, so much fucking screaming—

"Leah, look at me!"

Derek took her face in his hands and everything in her pushed to attack but she was frozen in place, every muscle locked up tight by her own fear.

"Listen to my heartbeat, Leah," he said. "Just look me in the eye and focus on the beat of my heart, can you do that? You are safe here. You are the one in control, not your instincts. Just focus on me and let my presence anchor you."

Derek's eyes weren't just blue like she had thought. There was blue in them but also green, some brown around the center, even some almost gold mixed in. They were so different from the eyes that stared back at her from her memories, nothing like her brother's plain brown, and they held her gaze steadily when everything around her was spinning like a top. The wide, warm palms on her cheeks held her in place and kept her from spinning with it while the thump-thump of his heart sounded in her ears.

He wasn't afraid, not like Justin had been. Justin's heart had raced like a jackrabbit's, his scent acid-sharp and terrified, but Derek was still just earth and water and worry as he shushed her, talking low and easy like he knew the tone was far more important than the words.

Thump-thump.

There was no threat here, nothing to fight and nothing to hide from. She was safe and her instincts were wrong.

Thump-thump, thump-thump.

That itch in her fingertips and gums was fading, the creepy-crawly heat of the shift receding with every second that passed. Her eyes didn't burn anymore.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.

Her lungs expanded smoothly, slow enough that the oxygen made it to her brain. The spinning room finally came to a jerky stop, and everything around her went still. There was nothing but the mish-mash of color that were Derek's eyes and the beat of his heart, calm and constant.

"Feeling better?" Derek asked.

Leah nodded weakly, dislodging his hands. Not trusting her legs to keep her upright for much longer, she let herself slide down the door until she hit bottom and Derek followed her to the ground, sitting cross-legged in front of her.

"Do you know what set you off?" he asked.

He just sounded curious and not like he was demanding that she tell him, which was good because she wouldn't. She didn't think she could stand to tell him about Justin, not him or anyone else, not when the full moon was less than two weeks away. She wanted to be allowed to stay here as long as she could.

"You're really good at that," she said instead. "How did you know what to do? You were a born wolf. Somehow I doubt you were ever affected like this."

Derek shrugged, picking idly at a loose thread on his new-old cargo pants.

"Stiles used to have panic attacks," he said. "I don't know if he still does. But I do know that, as bad as they are for humans, panic attacks can be even worse for werewolves, what with the keener senses and the stronger fight-or-flight response."

Leah let her head fall back against the wall with a thump, too tired to keep it upright anymore.

"Well, that's what I'm doing up here," she said. "Hiding. What's your excuse?"

"Also hiding," Derek said with a wry smile. "Just for the exact opposite reason."

"What do you mean?" Leah asked.

"You're hiding from the noise, aren't you?"

She nodded, and Derek shrugged again.

"The noise I'm used to," he said simply. "It's the silence that I'm hiding from. At least in here, I can pretend the wards are the reason I can't hear or smell anything."

There was nothing Leah could say to that, at least not anything that could make it better. It was terrible, what had happened to Derek, and the only thing that could get him through it was time. Time to adjust, time to accept his new circumstances, time to learn how to exist as something he had never been before. Heartfelt condolences wouldn't do him a damn bit of good and no one in pain ever wanted pity.

Leah cleared her throat, wishing she could blame her awkwardness on how drained she felt from her freakout but knowing damn well she was just always a little bit awkward. She nudged the toe of her boot against Derek's shin.

"Are you sure that's all you're hiding from?" she asked.

Derek looked stubborn for all of two seconds before he broke, looking down and scratching at his stubbled chin with an aggravated sigh.

"I swear to god, if one more person tells me to take it easy or have another nap, I'm gonna start bashing heads," he grumbled. "I'm human, not an invalid."

Leah started to say something about how, when she met him, she had thought he was sick, what with the unnatural scent that hung around him, but she stopped.

A discreet sniff—or what she thought was discreet, but Derek's raised eyebrow told her wasn't actually very discreet at all—told her that the scent was almost gone. There was barely a hint of it now, fading and leaving nothing but his natural scent behind. It must have been a remnant of whatever spell the Warlock had performed on him, the one that had taken his spark from him, and now that Derek was adjusting physically and had had a good wash, it was disappearing fast.

"They're just worried about you," she said instead. "You're their friend and they want you to be okay."

"Scott is their friend too, though! And he's still out there—" Derek gestured vaguely at the door, off toward wherever the Warlock had been keeping them. "—while we're in here doing nothing! And every time I say something about it, Stiles waves me off like it's not his best friend getting the life sucked out of him to power some megalomaniac's pipedream of immortality. We should be doing something, not waiting around here and taking fucking naps."

"Stiles said he would handle it," Leah tried, even though she knew that Stiles hadn't left headquarters all day. He had been running around non-stop, giving orders and hearing reports and making sure that everything his organization did for what was left of the community was running smoothly, but that was it. There had been no super secret strategy meetings, no brainstorming sessions on what to do next, not even another talk with Derek to see if he could tell them anything else of import.

Derek was right in that Stiles didn't seem in much of a hurry to do what he had claimed he would.

"Stiles said a lot of things," Derek muttered, yanking the loose thread off his pants and tossing it aside like it was the source of his irritation.

Leah pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. She wished she could tell Derek what he needed to hear, but it wasn't her place. She didn't know the whole story or even a fraction of it, and what she did know, she wasn't supposed to. She certainly didn't want to be the one to break the news that most of his pack was lost to him.

Of course, considering how upset Derek had gotten with Stiles yesterday for skirting around the subject, it would probably just be confirming his suspicions by now anyway. That wouldn't make it hurt any less, though.

"I think Stiles is just focused on you right now," she said. "He wants to make sure you're okay before he takes any big risks. He really cares about you."

Derek glanced up at her without raising his head, then went back to picking a new thread loose without responding.

"You two…" Leah said, hoping she wasn't pushing her boundaries too hard. Just because Derek had held her hand and was talking to her like maybe he trusted her, that didn't mean they were actually friends or anything. But what did she have to lose? The worst he could do was tell her to butt out, right? It was worth asking. "You're…together?"

"We were," Derek said with a thin, unhappy smile. "I don't know anymore. Everything's changed so much since I was taken."

Leah bit her lip.

"You mean, he's changed so much?"

"He says he's changed," Derek said with an impressive roll of his eyes. "And yeah, maybe he can fight better now than he did then. But he's still pulling the same shit he did years ago. Pushing me away for whatever bullshit reason he's thought up this time to convince himself he doesn't deserve me. It's not like I don't recognize the signs; I did it to him first. But then I got over myself."

"Was he your anchor?" Leah asked. "You said it used to be anger, but you don't seem all that angry. I mean, obviously you're kind of angry right now! But about something specific, not just angry in general."

Derek laughed softly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Yeah, he was," he admitted. "Long before I let myself realize it. He was just always there for me, you know? Even when I didn't deserve it so much. And this whole time, under that spell...all I could think about—when I could think anything—was getting out and getting back to him."

"It sounds like you two had something really special," Leah said, staunchly ignoring the jealous clench in her chest. "Just give it a little time. Everything's messed up and stressful right now, but he'll come around soon enough."

"But until he does, Scott is the one suffering," Derek said. "And everyone else the Warlock has locked up in there. Every minute Stiles puts this off is another minute for the Warlock to grow stronger. Every day he gets that much closer to being unstoppable. If we don't act soon—"

"If the Warlock is as powerful as you say, then what is Stiles supposed to do about it?" Leah asked. "If he's that close to...to becoming immortal, then how can anyone expect to stop him?"

"If anyone could manage it, it would be Stiles."

"You really think he can do it?"

"Stiles always comes out on top," Derek said. "It's just what he does, no matter the odds. One way or another, he always finds a way."

His heartbeat was strong and steady, his scent clear and head held high. He believed every word he said. It was a stark contrast to the way Stiles had radiated fear and doubt back in that clearing. That hadn't exactly engendered a lot of confidence in Leah, but Derek knew Stiles better than she did. Derek truly believed in the Stiles he had known four years ago, and he could only have gotten stronger in the intervening years, right?

And besides, it wasn't like there was anyone else jumping at the chance to face off with the Warlock. At this point, Stiles was sort of their only hope. So he was going to have to get over his issues, get off his ass, and at least try. For all their sakes.

Leah put a hand on Derek's knee, squeezing.

"We'll all find a way," she said with far more surety than she felt. "Together."

Derek covered her hand with his, smiling, but also raised an eyebrow at her that looked almost teasing.

"You're in?" he asked.

"What can I say? I'm emotionally invested," she said lightly. "Can't change the channel halfway through the movie."

Derek laughed and Leah laughed with him, and it was nice and warm and companionable and everything she had been missing for so goddamn long.

Emotionally invested was an understatement. She couldn't possibly leave, not now that she knew these people and what they were facing. She would worry about them, if nothing else, about whether they would make it through whatever came their way in the next few days. And if they didn't make it through, she would always wonder how much of a difference she could have made if she hadn't run away.

She had been running away from things for a long time, always running, always alone. The perennial omega.

Maybe she didn't have to be that all the time. Maybe just this once, she could stay for a while, even if it was only to see this through to the end. After that…well, she had survived on her own this long. She hoped knowing something else wouldn't make it harder when she had to move on.

"We can't hide up here forever, can we?" she asked.

"No," Derek agreed easily, but his grin edged toward mischievous and the wink he sent her was even more so. "But I think we deserve a few more minutes of peace, don't you?"

---

Leah stared at her hand, held up in front of her face by Derek's larger one, with all the intensity she could muster up. She tried to imagine the tips of her claws poking through, forcing their way up through her nail beds and into existence by whatever mysterious, mystical mechanism allowed that to happen, but her fingers stayed firmly clawless and human.

Derek watched quietly, his face completely free of judgment or expectation, and damn if that didn't make Leah want to show him what was what.

She grit her teeth and stared harder, trying to conjure up claws without the creeping heat of the full shift. She had never managed one without the other, not intentionally, but there had to be a way. She had seen plenty of werewolves pop claws just to carve up apples and open cans for dinner, so why could she only do it when engulfed in heart-stopping fear or murderous rage? It wasn't fair that she was so goddamn bad at this.

Heat pricked at her eyes as her frustration mounted, beta gold overtaking them even as her stupid fingers refused to produce the stupid fucking claws like she wanted and, fuck, there was the creepy-crawly feeling on the back of her neck. It chased down her spine and all over, too strong and too fierce, out of control and dangerous and she was gonna lose it right there in the middle of the dorm and—

"Hey."

Derek's thumb found her palm, gentle pressure and the soft sweep of it in circles. Leah took a deep breath and held it until it hurt, then let it out in a slow stream. She unclenched her other hand from where it was fisted in the patchwork blanket of the cot where they both sat, cross-legged across from each other and largely ignored by the people going about their business around them. When she opened her eyes—no longer glowing—Derek offered her a half-smile.

"You're thinking too hard," he said.

Leah made a face at him.

"You know, I really hate when people say that," she said. "How do you think harder, anyway? What does that even mean? It doesn't make any sense."

"You just like being contrary, don't you?" Derek accused her.

"Very contrary," she said with a smirk. "My parents made a mistake when they decided not to name me Mary."

"Let me rephrase then," Derek offered, though he was obviously fighting back a laugh. "You're thinking about the wrong things, spiraling into panic, and working yourself up too much to function properly. So you need to find less distressing things to think about that can keep you calm."

"Like an anchor, you mean?" Leah asked, sighing now.

Derek nodded, apparently pleased that she was catching on so quickly.

"I told you, I don't have anything like that," she told him yet again.

"Something will work for you," Derek said, steadfast as anything. "We just have to find it. Now try it again, and remember: it doesn't have to be as scary as you're making it out to be."

Leah let Derek drag her hand up between them again, maybe pouting a little bit. This was important, she reminded herself. If she had to be a monster, then she could at least be a better one.

A knock sounded behind them and Leah abandoned the impromptu training session gratefully despite Derek's exasperation. Allison was leaning in the open door to the dormitory, watching them with a fond and mildly amused look on her face.

"Newbie wolf training?" she asked knowingly.

"I've been a werewolf for six years!" Leah protested, just on principle.

"And I've seen newly bitten preteens with better control," Derek countered, reaching over to poke her in the ribs. She slapped his hand away with a half-hearted glare.

"Well, I came to check up on you both," Allison said, "but it seems like you're doing alright."

"We're fine," Leah assured her.

"Derek?" Allison asked. "You're feeling okay? You've eaten, you're not tired or anything?"

"I'm fine," Derek insisted, probably more strongly than was necessary. He wouldn't have been half as harsh if it hadn't been the fifth time in the last three hours that someone had asked him those same questions.

Allison held up her hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay. Just making sure," she said. "We've never known anyone else to be affected like you were. Stiles just wants to keep an eye on the fallout."

"There is no fallout," Derek said. "I'm fine. And if Stiles is so concerned, then he should come see that for himself. Where even is he?"

Allison crossed her arms over her chest, pulling back momentarily to let someone else squeeze past her through the narrow doorway.

"He's on a body run," she told them finally.

Which meant absolutely nothing to either of them, if the blank look on Derek's face was anything to go by.

"A...body run?" Leah asked. "What's a body run? Do we even want to know what that is?"

"It's an unpleasant but ultimately necessary task," Allison said. "One that we took on because no one else was going to: cleaning up the streets."

"You mean cleaning up the carnage," Derek clarified, catching on much quicker than Leah was.

When it clicked, Leah's hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh, god, you mean—"

Allison nodded, rocking back on her heels and letting her hair fall into her face.

"There are fights to the death all the time," she said, her tone more dispassionate than the rest of her manner, closer to the all-business attitude of the Archer. "And the winner doesn't usually stick around to see what happens to the loser. Someone has to take care of it or there would be bodies piled up on every street corner. Disease would skyrocket, it would be horrible."

"No kidding," Leah said weakly.

She thought back to all the fights she had borne witness to in the last week alone: the bodies she had stepped over without a thought on her way to find the Emissary, the wolves Stiles had fought off on their way to and from retrieving Derek, the omega she herself had killed. At least a dozen dead people in the span of three days, and yet the four of them hadn't come across a single corpse in any of their travels that they hadn't made themselves. Why had she never thought about that before?

"We used to give them all proper burials," Allison said, shrugging. "As best we could when we didn't even know their names, at least. Then there were just too many of them. We ran out of places to dig pretty quick. We try to do right by them, but they have to go somewhere. So now we burn them all."

Burning human flesh was one horror Leah had yet to encounter, and she very much wanted to keep it that way. Just imagining the stench of it was enough to turn her stomach. That was a hell of a way for a person to go, no matter how well done by they were.

Maybe that was what Stiles had been doing, though, to the bodies of the people he had killed: doing right by them. Maybe it hadn't been magic at all but some kind of last rites. Not any kind of last rites that she had ever seen before, but that made more sense than some kind of ritual, didn't it?

"We send out a party every day," Allison went on. "We've got informants all over the city, people who let us know where fights have gone down so we know where to concentrate our retrieval efforts. Stiles goes with them whenever he can, but they never stay out too long. They're due back right about now, actually."

In a remarkable show of convenient timing, the shuffle of footsteps and messy thumping of multiple heartbeats reached Leah's ears right before the creak of the front door swinging open. Voices filtered down the hallway toward them, followed shortly by the speakers as they headed further into the building for the showers and yet another conference room that functioned as a mess hall.

Stiles trailed in behind his people and stopped in the doorway when Allison called his name, both hands buried as deep as possible in his pockets.

Derek stiffened, his hand slipping out of Leah's even though Stiles wasn't even looking at them. He shifted to sit properly on the edge of the bed, jaw working like he was chewing on his tongue.

"Any trouble?" Allison asked.

Stiles shook his head absently, still watching something over her shoulder.

"What was the count?" Derek asked.

Stiles head snapped around, like he was just realizing they were there. Or like he had been fully aware of their presence the whole time and had really hoped that he could get away with not acknowledging it. He swallowed, clearly wrong-footed as much by the topic of conversation Derek had chosen to engage in as anything else, and looked to Allison. She nodded that, yes, they did know what he had been doing and what exactly was being counted.

"Uh...seventeen," he said. "Most of them from the south side. There's a new pack trying to make a name for itself down there."

"I hate when they make that much of a mess," Allison sighed. "I'll have to pay the alpha a visit myself soon if the area doesn't stabilize, let the Archer give him a good scare."

Stiles didn't agree or disagree, just said, "Tom and his crew took the haul out back. They're taking care of the disposal."

He scuffed the toe of his boot along the floor, rubber squeaking against the wood. He wouldn't look Derek in the eye, but at the same time he couldn't seem to keep his eyes away for more than a second. They kept flicking back to Derek, running over him from head to toe before darting off again.

Derek, for his part, never looked away. He leveled Stiles with such a direct, expectant stare that even Leah squirmed a little in her seat, sympathetically shamed.

Neither of them really smelled angry anymore, so that was something. Derek was calm enough, with just a low level irritation that was mostly subsumed by something wistful and sad. Now that Leah knew for sure the two of them had been a thing, it made sense; Derek missed Stiles, missed what they used to have together and didn't seem to anymore. Not in the same way, at least, when Stiles was so determined to keep him at arm's length.

Stiles' scent was...weird, and not just because of the whole muted-and-distant thing. There was guilt there, several flavors of it that Leah's relatively untrained nose couldn't pick apart, and the same kind of longing as Derek. But there was something else too, something sweet. She knew she had smelled it before, back when Stiles had taken down that pack a few days ago, after he had done whatever it was he did to the bodies.

But that wasn't what bothered her about it.

Leah tried to sniff subtly—more subtly than the last time—to get a better whiff of that scent. There was something niggling at the back of her mind, something that felt like it should be important. Or concerning, maybe. Sickly sweet and ill, like decay, but with a sizzle to it that felt like magic. She had definitely smelled it somewhere else.

Derek's hand landed on her knee. He was frowning at her, curious and a little worried. At some point in her sniffing, Stiles and Allison had picked up their conversation again, discussing something or other that didn't mean much to her or Derek, but they were still near enough for that scent to nag at her.

"Do you smell something?" Derek asked, keeping his voice low.

Leah couldn't stop herself from glancing at Stiles. Derek followed her line of sight and his frown deepened.

"Something on Stiles?" he pushed. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Leah said, though she doubted her delivery was very convincing. "It's probably nothing, don't worry about it."

"Leah," Derek said. "It's something. You wouldn't have that look on your face if it wasn't."

He sounded almost disappointed, of all things, like he couldn't even bring himself to be surprised that she was keeping things from him now as well. That tone hurt more than Leah would have expected it to.

"Just tell me," he said. "Please. What do you smell?"

"Look, I don't know, okay?" Leah admitted, leaning in closer so she didn't have to speak above a whisper and risk drawing Stiles' attention. "I don't know what it is. Some kind of magic, I think, but I'm not sure. It's just...it's familiar, but I can't remember from where."

"What does it smell like exactly?" Derek asked, following her lead with the whispering.

"Like...like sugar," Leah came out with. "But also not. Sort of like rotten cotton candy, if that makes sense. It's not a good scent, not at all. It smells like..."

She rubbed her forehead, casting around in the jumble that was her sense memory for anything that could fit the bill, but there was so much of it. The world was a pungent place and she spent every hour of every day being assailed by one strong odor after another; it was hard not to get lost in them. Just focusing on one sense so intensely was making her head hurt, making her nose twitch and burn with everything around her now.

Derek took her hand. The touch was grounding and she clung on, turning all of her attention on him. He was familiar, his heartbeat steady and even, his scent soothing and earthy and clean now that the sick magic scent had f—

"...like you!"

The words came out before the thought was even fully formed, before it could sink into her head that maybe—just maybe—she should not give voice to it. The hand that flew up to cover her mouth was too late and Derek had already heard, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"What?"

Leah tried to backtrack, but nothing really coherent came out, just a stuttered, "O-oh, my god—"

"What do you mean, it smells like me?" Derek asked, his grip on her hand tight enough to hurt just a little bit. "Like magic and me, you said. Leah, tell me."

Leah cursed vehemently and pulled her hand away to rub at her nose. Now that she recognized the scent, it was every bit as cloying and sticky as it had felt to her the first time she had smelled it, back when she had met Derek on the side of the road. It was just as strong on Stiles, even muted, and she was sure it would linger in her nostrils for hours this time too, inescapable.

She told Derek just that, one eye on where Stiles still stood just outside the doorway, he and Allison now fielding questions from a young werecoyote with another of those omnipresent clipboards. With every word she spoke, Derek's face paled that much more. In the end, it was obvious that he had reached the same conclusion that Leah was desperately trying to explain away.

Derek had no such rationalizing tendency. From one instant to another, Derek was on his feet and shouldering the werecoyote out of the way. He'd still had a hold of Leah's hand and he didn't let go, dragging her off the cot with him until they both stood before a very taken aback Stiles.

"Why do you smell like what he did to me?" Derek demanded.

Jesus, the man wasted no time, and he didn't even bother to keep his voice down.

If Stiles had been taken aback before, he looked downright stunned now, and his heart rate skyrocketed. Any doubt in Leah's mind was wiped out as the scent of fear wended its way through the sickly-sweet. She would've stepped back, gotten as far away from Stiles as she could get, but Derek was gripping her hand like a lifeline and still holding his head high. Abandoning him now would make her both a coward and an asshole.

She swallowed hard and held her ground despite the weak feeling in her knees and the way she could hear her blood rushing in her ears.

"Derek," Stiles said carefully, "I don't know what you think you—"

"Don't," Derek broke in. "Don't you dare."

It was sharp and angry and not at all discreet.

Stiles immediately cast a look around, panicked. There were a number of people in the dorm peering over at them curiously, at least half of them werewolves who would be able to hear every word they said no matter how quiet they tried to be, and more passing through the hallway. At least a dozen witnesses that Stiles clearly didn't want.

Before Derek could get another word out, Stiles had his arm in a vise grip and was towing him down the hallway. Leah got hauled along too, Allison following close at her heel, and Stiles led them all into the nearest warded room, empty but for a table with what looked like a map of the city tacked onto it.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, sealing them away from prying ears, Derek yanked free of Stiles' hold. His hand fell out of Leah's in the same motion and she took the opportunity to fall back a ways, out of the line of fire. Allison too was keeping out of it, hovering by the door with her hand over her mouth.

"Well, at least it's not just me you're keeping things from," Derek said. "No, you're lying to everyone around here. That's good to know."

"I'm not lying to them," Stiles said. "I'm just not—"

"You're just not telling them the truth," Derek finished for him. "Yeah, that's kind of how you work, isn't it? Just like you've been not telling me a damn thing for the last three days and I am pissed about that, trust me, I am, but this?" He shook his head helplessly. "For god's sake, Stiles, tell me you haven't been messing with dark magic. Tell me you're not doing the same thing that he is."

Stiles licked his lips, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides as he searched for an escape route, some way to deflect or reroute the conversation.

"Why would you even think—"

Stiles' eyes found Leah over Derek's shoulder and widened in realization. For a split second, she thought he would fly at her, break out his staff or start throwing spells or something, anything to punish her for daring to make the connection and blow his cover. But he didn't. He cursed under his breath, turning away from them all as both hands came up to rub across his face.

"What else was I supposed to do, Derek?" he asked, facing them again and holding his arms out only to let them drop limply to his sides. "He's too strong. He is so goddamn strong, Der, how else am I supposed to counter that strength? I can't take down a grenade launcher with a pistol."

"So you stoop to his level?" Derek asked, disbelieving. "You fight fire with fire and give no heed to the consequences. Nevermind how fucked up it is to use and discard people for your own gain—to hurt them—but I've seen what that magic has done to him, Stiles. He's not even human anymore! You've said yourself that magic like this is an incredibly corruptive force, Jesus, it's going to eat you a live!"

"How stupid do you think I am, Derek?" Stiles snapped. "Do you really think I would just dive into this without thinking it through?"

"I wouldn't put it past you."

"Oh, come on, you should know me better than that," Stiles said. "I did my research, like I always do. I found loopholes, okay? I exploit those."

"Loopholes?" Derek asked, skepticism clear.

"Yes, Derek, loopholes. Even magic has a few."

Stiles was pacing now, making short circuits around the small room like he was just too wound up to stand still. The dark magic scent was stronger, more concentrated in the enclosed space, and Leah thought she knew now why Stiles went out of his way to dampen his scent: to lessen the chance that anyone would do exactly what Leah had done, put two and two together to realize what methods he was using to achieve his own power.

"I know this magic is dark no matter how I spin it," Stiles said, talking quickly like he thought Derek might interrupt him again before he could get his explanation out. "But the corruptive part comes from drawing power from an unwilling source, from using force to drain a living being against their will. It's that act that will corrupt your own soul, destroy you piece by piece, but I found away around it."

"How?" Derek demanded.

"The body runs," Stiles told him. "You see, when people die, the energy from their spark doesn't dissipate immediately. It takes time. If I get there first, I can siphon that power off for myself, and I'm not hurting anyone that way. I get a boost—albeit a much smaller one than it would be otherwise—but because the person isn't alive anymore, they technically can't be an unconsenting party."

"They can't consent to it if they're dead!" Derek argued.

Stiles threw his hands up with a noise of aggravation.

"Well, they can't not— Look, that's not the point, Derek! I don't have to fight them for it, I don't have to use force, and it doesn't damage my soul like it does the Warlock's."

"That's a damn fine line to walk, Stiles. And how do you know that anyway?" Derek asked, his tone not conveying half the concern his scent was; there was anger there, of course there was, stormy and sharp, but it was undercut by a fear so pungent it almost made Leah whine. "How do you know for sure that this isn't hurting you?"

"Look at me, Derek!"

Stiles held his arms out wide, spinning around in a circle to make a proper spectacle of himself.

"You've seen the Warlock," he said. "You've seen what it's made of him. Do I look anything like that? I've been doing this for years now and I'm no different than I was before."

"I wouldn't exactly say that," Derek said on a growl.

"Jesus fuck, Der," Stiles laughed, entirely unamused. "You're going there? We're really wanna talk about that now?"

"I don't know, Stiles," Derek said with exaggerated patience. "Talk about what? How you've avoided every other question out of my mouth since you found me? How you'll talk yourself in circles to avoid telling me anything at all? How you don't seem to trust me anymore?"

"Of course I do, Derek! It's not about—"

But Derek cut him off, pushed forward into Stiles' space and making him take a step back, talking over his stuttered excuses.

"Or maybe I'll just stick to the topic of your newly acquired necromancy skills instead," Derek said harshly. "How about that, Stiles, does that sound like a good topic of discussion?"

"Oh my god," Stiles bit out, gripping his own hair tight in his fists as frustration edged more toward panic, "it's not like that, it's not necr—"

"How did you even get this far, Stiles?" Derek interrupted again, ignoring the strangled, pained sound Stiles made as he stumbled another step back in the face of his condemnation. "I mean, really, who ever thought this was a good idea? Lydia at least should have known better. How could she let you take this kind of risk? Why didn't she put a stop to this befo—"

"Because I killed her!"

Stiles outburst was so loud and the room so clouded with chemosignals that it took Leah a few seconds to parse the meaning of the words themselves. Honestly, she might not have needed to at all, not with the gasp that tore its way out of Derek's throat and the way he swayed like he might collapse, not with the scents of Stiles' grief and self-loathing so strong in her nose that her lungs refused to inflate and let them in.

The moment felt suspended, like time had paused itself, and yet it wasn't still. Stiles was rocking on his heels, full of frenetic energy that was probably the urge to run, to escape, to get away from Derek and his own words, but he didn't do any of that. He was pallid and his labored breathing was the only sound besides the pounding of four hearts, but he stayed.

"I—" His words stuck in his throat, the half-formed sounds that fell from his lips loud in the stunned quiet. "She's g-gone," he forced out. "They're all… Derek, they're all gone. I'm s-sorry, okay? I didn't want… I'm sorry, Derek. I didn't keep them safe. I tried and it wasn't enough. I failed them, and now we're all that's left, and Lydia…"

Stiles stopped and swallowed hard, the thick scar on his throat rippling with the movement, and the guilt he was broadcasting was almost enough to bring Leah to her knees, even secondhand and muted by magic.

"I—I killed her," he said again, quieter this time, like he could barely choke the words out.

Allison stepped up until her shoulder brushed against Leah's, and Leah had to turn her face away from another wash of chemosignals, had to step sideways out of range and breathe through her mouth to keep control of herself.

"That's not what happened," Allison said, her voice thick with the tears already on his cheeks. "Stiles, that is not what happened and you know it."

"Yes, it is, Alli," Stiles snapped at her. "That's exactly what happened. I ended her life. That's on me, it's that simple."

But Allison just shook her head, like they'd had this fight before too and she knew there was no convincing him otherwise.

Derek made a noise in his throat, soft and dismayed, and Leah would've taken his hand if she thought she could get that close without collapsing from the force of his emotions too. He looked nothing short of devastated, so betrayed, so lost and confused that Leah's heart clenched in sympathy, and he smelled even worse.

His eyes, wide and wet, darted back and forth between Stiles and Allison, searching their faces at first and then looking to their chests. The pinch between his eyebrows got more and more pronounced by the second, his distress growing as he realized that he couldn't heart their heartbeats, couldn't gauge their truthfulness like he could before. With another noise that was almost a whine, he looked to Leah.

She gaped at him, helpless in the face of his helplessness and the faith he was putting in her. He was trusting her to be his ears, to tell him the truth when he couldn't trust his friends to do the same. And yet all Leah could do was shake her head, every bit as lost as he was; neither of them had lied.

Derek's face crumpled. He gasped in another breath, ducking his head as he struggled to get a hold of himself. His fingers were curled against his palms, flexing like he felt the phantom press of claws that wouldn't come anymore. When he lifted his head again, his face was blank and shuttered and his heart rate had slowed to something deliberate, carefully controlled in a way Leah had never managed.

In that moment, in his face and the cold sharpness of his eyes, Leah could see the old anger that had given him such strength in years past, the way fury could calm and anchor him. When he spoke again, his voice was steady.

"Explain," he said. "Everything."

All of the energy seemed to drain out of Stiles in an instant and he slumped back against the far wall. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes for a moment, just breathing into the expectant silence, and then dropped them again with a sniff. He didn't raise his eyes from the floor.

"She lasted longer than most, you know," Stiles said lowly. "Most of ours, I mean. Jackson and Peter had already taken off, and Cora was long gone. We lost Isaac; first one taken, but you were there for that. And my dad. We lost the twins, separately, which sucked. Then it was you, a-and Scott."

His voice hitched on Scott's name, but he didn't stop.

"Then Malia," he said. "Or, at least, we think she got snatched. Might be she just went native again, we'll never know for sure. Kira was— It wasn't the Warlock that time, but we still couldn't save her. And then it was just us."

Stiles sniffed again, reaching up to drag the back of his hand under his nose. The scent of salt was unmistakable even before he raised his head to show the tears on his face.

"There was just so much death. All around, everywhere you looked," he said, shaking his head with a weak smile on his face that didn't fit there at all. "And you know how Lydia was with death. It was kind of her thing, you know?"

Derek didn't respond, as unmoving and unreadable as a statue, and Stiles' attempt at a smile faltered and fell. He looked away and cleared his throat.

"The Nemeton explosion," he went on. "It did something to the banshees, all of them. Blew their minds wide open to whatever the hell is out there. There's a reason we steer clear of them when we can; they're all a little off-balance, and Lydia was always the most talented of them all."

Stiles looked at Derek directly now, held his heavy gaze without blinking.

"It was killing her," he said baldly. "Even before we lost you, we knew how badly it was affecting her, and it only got worse. It got so much worse, Derek."

Stiles' eyes went unfocused, distant like he was seeing something play out that was no longer there, some unhappy memory.

"It was the screams," he said, quiet enough that Derek and Allison probably had to strain to hear him. But Leah heard every word loud and clear, and they sent chills down her spine.

"Every dying shriek, every wail of the damned, she heard it. And she couldn't make it stop, couldn't turn it off or escape it. Even the strongest wards weren't enough to shield her. All day and all night, everything she heard was death. She was drowning in it, little by little, that much deeper in the darkness every day."

"Lydia was strong," Derek said staunchly, but he crossed his arms over his chest like maybe they could block out what he was hearing, what he was about to hear. "She never let what she heard break her, not like the other banshees we met."

"Yeah, she was always something else," Stiles said with another smile, this one more genuine, fond even through his tears. "She was stronger than anyone I've ever known. But even the strongest of people have a breaking point, Der. And she may have been unusually powerful but that also made her exceptionally sensitive. She heard things the rest of them never could, not even if they tried, and sometimes…"

Stiles had to stop, his heart stuttering in his chest, until he could get the quaver in his voice under control.

"Sometimes we would lose her. To some kind of trance. Do you remember when she would do that? Just disappear for a while, mentally?"

Derek shifted on his feet, his jaw clenching, but he nodded.

"It got worse," Stiles repeated, grim. "Sometimes she would disappear for hours, sometimes for days, so deep in that other place that we couldn't reach her no matter what we did. And every time we got more and more scared that she wouldn't come back the next time. She was more scared than any of us. Of what she heard and saw there, of getting stuck, of not coming back from it."

Stiles shrugged helplessly.

"She was losing her damn mind, Derek," he said, "and you know her mind meant more to her than anything else. What could possibly be more terrifying to an intellectual like Lydia than insanity?"

Derek rubbed a hand over his mouth, looking a bit like he might be sick. Leah couldn't blame him; she hadn't even know this girl and she was fighting back tears of her own just imagining what she must have gone through.

Leah didn't know a lot about banshees, but she knew the feeling of voices and sounds pounding in her ears, constant and inescapable, until she thought she might lose her mind from it. To have screams like the ones she had heard mostly from a distance, ringing out in the night, inside her head every minute of every day? It sounded like the worst kind of torture.

"So you, what?" Derek asked, his voice breaking. "You put her out of her misery?"

Stiles shook his head, but he didn't actually deny it. Allison said his name, low and chiding, and he let his gaze find the floor again.

"The Warlock was taking over everything," Stiles said, holding up a hand to forestall the complaint on Derek's lips about changing the subject. "Beacon Hills was his hunting ground and he fed indiscriminately. I was doing what I could, what Deaton taught me before we lost him, what Lydia and I had figured out on our own. But it wasn't enough.

"Someone had to do something," Stiles insisted, "and I was the only one here, but there was no way. There was no way for me to match his power without using his methods and sacrificing my soul in the process. No one was okay with that risk, Derek, but it was only a matter of time before the Warlock snatched up every man, woman, and child in the city, and then what? I had to do something, and Lydia—"

Stiles pushed himself off the wall, wiping furiously at the tear tracks on his face. The tension in his shoulders was back, in every line of him from head to toe, pulled taut like a bowstring and ready to snap. He came to rest with his hands on the table, elbows locked and staring down at the map like he could still see the battlelines there, like he was watching the Warlock's territory grow ever larger in real time instead of years in the past.

It was a long moment before he spoke again. Leah held her breath, counted the careful beats of Derek's heart and the soft sighs of Allison's breath beside her as she waited. She thought she knew where this was going and she ached with it, but something else in her understood. She understood.

"The warlock gets his power by stealing people's sparks, taking their souls against their will," Stiles said. "But the only thing more powerful than a stolen soul is one given freely."

Derek made another of those sounds, like the air had been punched out of him, but Leah just closed her eyes and let out a breath slowly.

"It was her idea," she said, looking at Stiles and him alone so she wouldn't have to see Derek's reaction.

Stiles nodded.

"It was our only chance, and we all knew it," he said. "The only way I would be strong enough to take him on without destroying myself in the process."

"And you were okay with this?" Derek asked, the heat of his grief breaking through the cold facade once more. "With using her as a sacrifice?"

"She didn't give me much of a choice!" Stiles bit out, his grip white-knuckled on the edge of the table. "She made it very clear to me that she would be dead soon, one way or another. By my hand or by her own. At least if I did it, then her death wouldn't be meaningless."

Derek reared back with a low curse, turned away and ran shaking fingers through his hair.

"We were desperate," Stiles went on with a new desperation of his own, begging for Derek to understand. "We all were, and Lydia more than anyone. She wanted peace, Der. She wanted an end to the suffering and the dying and the fucking voices in her head. An end to the fear. She would've done it herself if I hadn't, and it would've been cruel to stop her, to force her to keep living in her own personal hell until she finally got lost so deep in the screams that she couldn't find her way back. So I did it. I killed her and I used her spark to face the Warlock."

Stiles let out a laugh, a sharp and bitter sound that scraped at Leah's ears like claws on a chalkboard. His head hung low between his hunched shoulders, like he couldn't find the will to lift it again.

"And it still wasn't enough," he said. "Humans are weak. Compared to supernaturals, their spark is next to nothing. That's why the Warlock doesn't bother with drawing from them. Banshees aren't much stronger; they're mostly just more psychically sensitive humans.

"Because it was a willing sacrifice, it was enough for me to match him in the moment, to force him out of the city and set up some roadblocks to keep him there for a while, but it wasn't enough to take him down permanently. God, I murdered one of my best friends and it didn't do us a damn bit of good."

"Damn it, Stiles, it wasn't like that!"

Allison pushed past Leah to brace herself against the table across from him, shaking with emotion.

"You didn't murder her. How many times do I have to say it before it gets through your thick, martyr skull?"

"I killed her!" Stiles shouted, the sudden slam of his fist against the table making Leah jump. "I ended her life, Alli, what else do you call it?"

"I call it mercy," she told him. "You did what she asked of you. You honored her wishes and respected her decision. You set her free and you saved a lot of other lives in the process."

"Did I?" Stiles demanded. "Because it looks to me like we're right back where we started. The Warlock is gaining in strength, he's closing in. More people are dying every day, I'm doing everything I can without crossing a line I can't come back from, and I'm still not powerful enough to stop him. Don't you get it? Nothing I do is good enough! I couldn't help Lydia, I couldn't protect my pack, I can't bring down the Warlock, I can't fucking do anything to—"

"You could."

Leah didn't realize the words had come out of her own mouth until Stiles and Allison both turned to look at her at once. The weight of their gazes combined made her want to tuck tail and flee, but she couldn't move with them pinning her to the spot.

"I—I mean, just...you could, if…" she stammered, trying to think through the pounding of her own pulse loud in her ears, to put words to her nebulous thought.

She pressed her right thumb into her left palm, rubbing circles there like Derek did. Derek whose spark had been taken from him by force. Derek who was still alive, who had survived the draw and come out the other side human. Derek who was watching her now with just as much intensity as the others.

"You could defeat him," she said, steadier this time. "If you had another sacrifice, a stronger one. Like me."

Derek and Allison both shouted her name, but it was Stiles that Leah was concerned with. He stared at her for a long minute with his mouth hanging open—and this probably wasn't the time for her to feel proud that she could shock the famed Emissary, but she had to wonder how many other people had managed that—and she waited, rubbing her palm and counting her own heartbeats to drown out the frantic voices around her.

"No," Stiles said, the simple word cutting through the other's protests with ease. "No, I can't do that again. I can't murder anyone else for my cause."

"Stiles, what did I just—" Allison tried to say, but Leah spoke over her.

"It's not just your cause. It's all of ours," she said, firm in that belief. "The Warlock made me what I am. He ruined my life, and I hate him for that. I want to help bring him down in whatever way I can. If this is what it takes, then so be it."

Stiles shook his head again, harder.

"No, I can't ask you to die for me," he said, hoarse.

"You're not asking," Lea pointed out. "I'm offering. That's the whole point. And besides, who's to say it'll kill me? We know now that it isn't always fatal."

"No, Leah, it's too dangerous," Stiles said again. "We can't pin our hopes on the slim chance that you might survive. I need all the help I can get in this fight, I can't afford to throw away my allies like that."

"Then use me."

It was Derek. His head was down, fists clenched tightly by his side, but his voice was steady. His heartbeat was another matter, thudding out of rhythm, but he didn't back down when Stiles turned wide, disbelieving eyes on him.

"You can't afford to lose fighters," Derek repeated. "Well, god knows I can't fight anymore, but I could do this. I can still do something to help. And I know I'm just...just humans now, so it may not be enough to stop him completely, but if it's enough for you to deal him some damage and rescue Scott, then it's worth it."

Leah was hit with a wave of angry chemosignals so strong that she staggered backward with a whine, covering her nose on reflex. Stiles had gone red in the face and it felt like the air was sparking around him, crackling with magic that was every bit as furious as he was. He shoved the table out of his way with a screech of wood on concrete and advanced on Derek.

"No the fuck it's not! Are you fucking kidding me, Der?" Stiles demanded. "In what universe would that ever be worth it?"

Derek held his ground, jaw clenched, and said plainly, "The one where you're running out of options. Looks like I'm your best one."

"No!" Stiles shouted. He took Derek by the arms, grip hard enough that it would probably leave bruises on his now-human skin, and shook him. "Goddamn it, Derek, I already lost you once!"

"And you survived four years without me," Derek pointed out.

Stiles laughed, sharp and incredulous, but he didn't loosen his hold. He held on tighter like the very mention of losing Derek was more than he could handle, like he needed to have his hands on Derek to verify that he was alive and well and would stay that way as long as he didn't let go.

"Survived? If you can call it that," he allowed. "But I won't survive it again. I can't do that again, Derek, I would rather take the chance of using dark magic myself."

"Then you're an idiot," Derek snapped, putting a hand on Stiles' chest and shoving him backwards. "It's simple strategy, Stiles. You're a valuable player and I'm not. The pawns are the ones that get sacrificed, not the queen."

"It's not a fucking chess game!" Stiles said, obviously wanting to reach for Derek again, to maintain that tenuous connection, but knowing better than to follow through when Derek was this angry. "And you're not a pawn, Derek. You never have been, not to me."

"Then what am I?" Derek asked sharply, holding his arms out wide. He waited expectantly, but Stiles didn't come up with an answer quickly enough. Derek shook his head and went on, all his careful control from earlier in the argument gone. "What the hell am I now, and what am I supposed to do? Just sit back while Scott gets bled dry and the Warlock gets stronger? Fuck that. You and your fucking martyr complex can sit here and do nothing all you want, but I won't do it with you."

Before anyone could say a word in response, Derek was out the warded door and slamming it behind him. There was a beat of silence, all of them stunned and scrambling to catch up to what just happened. And then Stiles put both hands under the table's end and upended it with a hoarse shout.

Leah flinched at the abrupt noise and shrank even more into the furthest corner of the room, doing everything she could to blend into the peeling wallpaper and not draw Stiles' attention onto her. Not that she wouldn't deserve anything he wanted to dish out; this was all her fault. She should never have brought it up, at least not where Derek could hear, but she had everyone was upset.

Stiles landed a kick to one of the table's legs and it broke off, clattering to the floor. He snatched it up and threw it hard with a grunt of effort. It ricocheted off the back wall, leaving a sizable dent, and then rolled back to rest at his feet.

Stiles stood utterly still for a moment, fuming and surrounded by that uncomfortable crackle of energy again, and then muttered, "Fuck," and made for the door. Leah skittered sideways, away from the door and from him, but Allison caught him by the arm before he could get there.

"Bad idea," she said firmly.

Stiles snarled at her in a way that would make any werewolf proud and would send most humans running.

"You know how he gets, Stiles," Allison said instead. "You are the last person he wants to see right now. You go after him now and you'll only make it worse."

"Someone has to," he said."

"Well, I doubt he's eager to see me either," Allison said, a hitch in her voice, "but you're right. Leah."

Leah halted her slow progression towards the door and cringed; she had really hoped they had forgotten her presence and she could make it out of this unscathed. She was exhausted and strangely empty feeling, like the storm of emotions are her had hollowed her out, and she wanted nothing more than to collapse in a real bed and pretend that none of this had ever happened. She should never have gotten involved with these people in the first place.

Apparently Allison didn't agree.

"Leah, you go after him."

"W-what?" Leah stammered because she could not have heard that right, not after all the damage she had already done.

"Go after Derek," Allison repeated. She kept a tight hold on Stiles' arm like she didn't trust him not to make a break for it, but her red-rimmed eyes stayed on Leah, open and pleading. "He's more vulnerable than he's ever been right now, and for all the talk of Stiles' martyr complex, Derek's got one just as big. I don't know what he thinks he's going to do, but we can't let him get past the wards. A human out alone at this time of night? He'll be dead in an hour."

Stiles made a pained noise and jerked free of Allison's hold, but he didn't run after Derek. Instead he just shoved his fingers through his hair and turned away, fighting for calm.

"But...why me?" Leah asked.

Allison smiled at her.

"Derek likes you," she said. "He trusts you, like he doesn't trust us right now. You're his friend and you might be able to talk him down. Or drag him back, if worse comes to worst."

Leah crossed her arms over her chest, lip caught between her teeth. She didn't have much faith in her own talking-down abilities; Derek had been really, genuinely upset, and what the hell was Leah supposed to say to make any of it okay? But Allison was looking at her so earnestly, like she really believed that Leah could do some good here. And the thought of Derek hurting, alone and in danger, made something in Leah's gut curl up unpleasantly.

And it had been a very long time since anyone had called her their friend.

Finally, she said, "I'll talk to him." She made no promises about the dragging. She would never force Derek to do anything he didn't want to, especially when he was already feeling so helpless.

Allison seemed to understand what she wasn't saying. She bit her lip, but she smiled too.

"Thank you," she said. "Just...keep him safe for us."

---

The front door was standing wide open and half a dozen people were clustered around it, alternating between staring out after Derek and glancing back toward the warded room he had come storming out of with very concerned faces on.

Leah ignored them and their questions, shouldering through the crowd to follow in Derek's wake. He'd made good progress with his head start, but the wardline was a ten minute walk away from Headquarters and Leah made up the difference before it was even in sight.

"Derek!"

He didn't slow down or give any indication that he had heard her at all, just kept striding down the empty street with his head bent and his every muscle held taut.

"Derek, just wait, will you?"

"Go back, Leah."

"No," Leah said as she jogged up alongside him.

He tried to walk faster, refusing to turn and look at her, but his newly-human body could only move so fast for so long. Even driven on by the grief and rage that surrounded him like a physical cloud, he was already flagging. It wasn't hard for Leah to keep up.

"What do you even think you're doing?" she asked, trying not to sound like a scolding school marm. "It's dangerous out here at night, not to mention cold."

Derek shook his head, stubbornly ignoring the shiver that ran through him.

"I'm going after Scott," he said. "He's already been in that hellhole far too long, and if no one else is going to rescue him then I'll do it my damn self."

"Are you out of your mind?" Leah demanded, eyeing the horizon warily; the line of pebbles was just coming into view and Derek wasn't slowing down. "Derek, think about this. I know you want to get Scott out, but how do you plan to do that by yourself? You're going to get yourself killed!"

"The how doesn't matter," Derek bit out, clenching in hands into fists and walking even faster. "I can't just leave him there. I have to do something."

"Then come back to Headquarters," Leah said, jogging forward until she could get in front of him, block his path and make him slow the fuck down. "Come back with me and we can talk to Stiles and Allison again, come up with a real plan, together—"

Derek growled so fiercely that the lack of fangs was negligible, but he did finally stop walking.

"Fuck Stiles," he said. "He's a liar and a coward."

"He's scared!" Leah argued. "He's up against a giant with a slingshot here. He's already lost so much and he's terrified of what else he could lose if he fails. He's still grieving over them too, Derek, can't you at least understand that?"

Derek laughed, but it wasn't anything like the low, warm chuckle Leah had gotten used to hearing from him. It was harsh, tinged with something like hysteria, and the smell of bitterness and pain was thick in the night air around them.

"Understand that?" he repeated incredulously. "I'm the fucking walking incarnation of it. If anyone understands losing pack, it's me. I'm the only one left of my first pack, my family. My second pack is long gone, and god knows that one is my fault. And now I come back to find everyone else is gone too? Jesus, I can't—"

He turned away, a hand over his mouth. There was the scent again, the one of old grief long buried that Leah had gotten off him in the woods that first night, and she thought maybe she understood now why they hadn't scavenged wood from the ruined house there. After all, he had called it home.

"I can't lose Scott," Derek said finally, shaking his head. He took a step back, toward the wardline. "I've already lost everyone too many times. I can't lose him too; he's all I've got left."

He turned away, newly determined, and Leah caught hold of his arm to keep him from going any further. He shot her a sharp look over his shoulder, the muscle of his bicep flexing under her hand as he balled his own into a fist, but she didn't let go.

"He's not all you have," Leah said hotly. "You still have Stiles. And Allison."

Derek immediately tried to jerk out of her hold. She stayed firm, not just because she had promised Allison she would keep him from leaving but because she needed him to understand this.

"They are your pack too, Derek," she reminded him. "They're your friends and they love you."

"They lied to me," he snarled. "They kept things from me. They lied about my packmates being dead, and now they're just gonna leave Scott to die too. Well, if they won't help him, then fine, I'll do it myself. I don't need—"

Anger like nothing Leah had ever felt flooded through her. Not the feral rage of the shift, but a very human sort of indignation that made her throw her hands in the air.

"Who cares if they lied!" she shouted.

Derek stumbled back a step, off-balance now that she had let go of him, wide-eyed and shocked by the outburst, but Leah didn't care.

"Who fucking cares?" she shouted again. "It doesn't matter, Derek! So they kept something from you for a few days, so fucking what? They are your pack. Don't you dare walk away from what you have left just to wander off and get yourself killed!"

Derek looked like he was going to argue. He even opened his mouth to speak, but Leah didn't give him the chance to say anything else stupid. She thought she might hit him if he tried.

"I don't care if they lied," she said bluntly. "Putting aside the fact that they never straight up lied, even with the omissions they thought they were protecting you. And yeah, they were wrong, but they were trying, Derek because they care about you. They're your family. You still have family, Derek! I would give anything to have my family back and fuck you if you abandon what you still have over something so goddamn easy to fix!"

Leah shoved a finger into Derek's chest, claw snagging on his shirt.

"And you know what? This isn't just about you and your bruised feelings," she told him. "It's you and me and Scott and everyone else in this godforsaken city the Warlock has ever hurt. So you are going to get the fuck over yourself, go back to Headquarters, and fucking talk to Stiles, because he can't do this without you. Got it?"

Derek looked away from her. There was a muscle working in his jaw as he clenched his teeth and his eyes strayed to the wardline again, but he didn't move toward it. He just rocked back on his heels, breathing hard and clearly fighting with himself, and Leah dropped the accusatory finger.

"We need your help for this," she said, softer this time, imploring. "And you need ours. We can find a way to get Scott out and take the Warlock down, I know we can, but only if we all work together."

She could see in the slump of his shoulders that Derek knew she was right. The blind rage was leaching out of his scent now, leaving behind just a staticky residue, but the hurt was slower to fade.

It was clear that he didn't want to go back just yet, so Leah didn't push. She just took a minute to get herself under control; it had been a long time since she had last let her emotions have free rein like that and they left her feeling tired and unsteady.

"What happened to them?"

Derek's question caught her off guard, soft words loud in the empty night.

"Them who?" she asked.

Derek wrapped his arms around his middle. It was cold out, sure—Leah would have offered him her jacket by now if she had been wearing one—but it looked like it was more for comfort than for warmth, a defense against the painful candidness of the moment.

"Your family," he said, and Leah stiffened. "You said you'd give anything to have them back. What happened to them?"

Leah almost snapped at him that it was none of his business, almost told him to fuck off and what right did he have to ask. It wasn't something she talked about. Not that there had ever been anyone for her to talk about it with, but in six years she had never told another person and had never planned to.

But here was Derek, upset and vulnerable and looking somehow smaller than she had ever seen. Derek who had just admitted to her that he had lost his own family, and a slew of other packmates after that. Derek who was maybe looking for someone, anyone, to be fully honest with him.

He had opened up to her, and she got the feeling that wasn't something he did often or lightly. Didn't she owe him the same in return?

"I don't know, really," she admitted. "I haven't seen them in years. They could be dead for all I know, or they could be just fine somewhere without me."

"What happened?" Derek asked again, looking at her with such overwhelming sympathy in his sharp eyes that Leah had to turn away from them.

"I wasn't born a wolf," she said, though Derek already knew that. "It was the first wave of the proliferation, all that loose magic from the Warlock. I just woke up one day with claws and fangs. I had shredded my bed completely."

Her bedding, her mattress, the box spring underneath it. Even the headboard had been cracked in half, and she didn't even remember breaking it.

"We didn't know what was happening," she said, words hoarse and raw even to her own ears. "All I knew was that I couldn't make it stop. There were suddenly others like...like me, running through the streets, causing chaos and hurting people, and no one could stop them either. We hid indoors and just tried to keep me calm so I would stay human, but then…"

"The full moon," Derek guessed.

"We should have seen it coming," Leah said with a shake of her head.

The moon above them tonight was waxing, more than three quarters of the way to full, and she could already feel the pull of it like she had then, wild and inexorable. It was a gut-deep, primal thing, one that tugged at the wolf under her skin. She crossed her arms over her chest, wrapping helplessly claw-tipped fingers around her forearms and holding on tight enough to hurt.

She wondered how Derek felt now, staring up at a moon that had always called to him and feeling nothing at all.

"We should have expected it," she went on, "but it caught us off guard. I went nuts. Screaming, howling, clawing at the walls. My parents were terrified, and they were right to be."

Leah had to stop, fighting off the hitch in her chest that threatened to close off her throat. She could still hear the way her mother had shrieked, feel the shards of glass in her palms from the decorative figurines on their mantlepiece that she had destroyed in a rage, smell the stink of blood that was equal parts hers and not. She dug her thumb into her palm, shaking too hard to find the rhythm she needed. She strained her ears for Derek's heartbeat instead, trying to count the beats, to steady herself with them.

"My brother," she gasped out. "He thought he could reach me. Get through to me somehow, talk me down."

"There's no talking down a bitten wolf on their first full moon," Derek said sadly.

"He survived the night, at least," Leah offered, as if that were a comfort to either of them. "My mother got him away from me. My dad managed to lock me in the basement and block the door. The next morning, they threw me out. Said I wasn't their daughter anymore—I was a monster. They had to look out for the child they had left."

"Leah."

"I don't blame them," she hastened to say, falsely bright and reassuring. "I would have left anyway, to keep them safe from me."

She wondered what her heartbeat would have said about that, if Derek could hear it. She had been telling herself that for so long, she couldn't remember if she believed it or not.

"Leah."

"I haven't been back there since," she said, eyes straying south before she could stop them, off toward the place she had called home for the first sixteen years of her life. Her eyes burned—whether from welling tears or from the shift she wasn't sure—and she couldn't make out much for the blur of wetness barely held at bay, but that was better than having to look at Derek, having to see the look of horror and revulsion that she had always feared.

"I don't know if they're still there," she said, "or if they crossed the border to safer territory. I tried to cross, but of course they wouldn't let me through. So I just ran, and then kept running. I run and I spend the full moons alone as far away from anyone as I can get. As long as I do that, I can't hurt anyone else like I did Justin."

"Leah."

Warm fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her hand away from where the claw on her thumb was digging into her palm and drawing blood. Derek wiped it away with the hem of his shirt, waiting for the skin to knit back together before wrapping her hand in both of his larger ones.

"It wasn't your fault," he said softly.

There was no horror, no disgust or fear. There was only sorrow, an empathy that could only come from true understanding, and his heartbeat was perfectly steady. Leah squeezed her eyes shut, tears finally escaping to race hotly down her cheeks. When she didn't respond, Derek reached up to turn her face toward him, saying her name again until she could bring herself to look him in the eye.

"What you did on your first full moon is not your fault," he repeated, more firmly. "I've seen a lot of betas on their first moon and honestly, the fact that you didn't do more damage is a testament to how strong your love for your family is. It may not sound like much of a comfort, but you could've done much worse."

"I clawed up my little brother."

"You could've killed him, but you didn't," Derek stressed. "Your parents too. You let yourself be trapped in a basement that I guarantee you could have broken out of by humans you could have torn apart with a flick of your wrist. Even when you were out of control, you still didn't want to hurt them, and that made a difference."

Derek's hand moved from her chin to cup the back of her neck, wide and solid, and Leah couldn't help but lean into the reassuring touch.

"It wasn't your fault," he said again. "And you don't have to spend the nights alone anymore, Leah. We can help you. We can teach you the control you need to keep anything like that from happening again, even on the full moon."

Leah looked up at Derek's earnest face, at his blunt teeth and plain human eyes, glinting dully in the light of the damning moon that called so strongly to her blood. And she couldn't stop herself from thinking that maybe they wouldn't have to. If she could be the sacrifice, if she could convince Stiles to drain her spark, then maybe she could be human again and she would never have to worry about hurting anyone ever again.

But she knew what Derek would say if she voiced that thought, how worried he would be. She didn't want to scare him, to make him face the possibility of losing another friend so soon after all the rest. She didn't want to be responsible for putting that raw, distraught look back on his face.

She forced a smile on her face, thin and unconvincing.

"Let's just take care of the Warlock first," she said. "Or we won't live long enough to try."

Derek's smile wavered a bit, but he nodded. He didn't let go of her hand all the way back to Headquarters. Leah wasn't sure which of them was taking more comfort in it, but neither of them was eager to let go.