Derek can see everything.
The assessing look on Kate's face, the way she watches him go still. Her mouth quirks up slightly. She probably likes him better this way, forced quiet, forced frozen.
Derek can't believe how much he's come to hate that smile.
"You're Team Human," Kate says, relaxing in her metal seat. "Who knew."
"I'm not Team Human," Braeden says shortly. "And I'm not Team You. I'm Team Me. You did a lot of work for the Benefactor lately. That means you've got your hands in deep pockets. Assuming you live to collect it."
"And you want a cut," Kate says. She doesn't bother denying what she's done. Derek thinks of the baby in the woods, the bloodshot eyes, the little fragile face. She'd been wearing a hat with wolf ears. It was the kind of thing Mom probably would've found funny; she and Dad—
"No, I want all of it," Braeden says.
"All of it," Kate says. "And what's in it for me?"
"Hmm, I don't know," Braeden says, like she's talking to an idiot. It makes Derek feel just a little bit better. "Let's see. You'd get to live."
Kate looks at her like she's weighing her options. Maybe she'll say no; maybe the dose will wear off before anything can happen.
"You're not going to get a better offer," Braeden says. "And the clock's ticking. That sedative is spinning through his system right now. You've got minutes. So do we have a deal?"
Kate takes another appraising look at Derek, nods.
"What's the plan?" she asks.
The plan is Laura's collar, slipped from around the cat's neck, from over Derek's paralyzed hand.
Kate looks at it. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
Braeden huffs out an exasperated breath. "It's a totem," she says slowly. "Shift."
"Into a cat," Kate says.
"This is a veterinary clinic," Braeden says. "This is how I get you out of here."
Kate looks down at the collar, wary.
"Tick tock," Braeden says, and holds it out.
Kate takes the collar between her hands.
At first, nothing happens.
Then Kate—shimmers. Her skin stretches, contracts, fighting to fit its new shape. Laura licks Derek's frozen fingers, backs into the open cave of his palm and presses her small body against him.
Kate ripples, goes translucent.
"What did you—"
But she can't speak. There are two many empty spaces in the shape of her, not enough mass to contain her throat.
She starts to shrink, but she can't shrink fast enough to hold herself together. She's as thin as a ghost, a stretched photograph.
Braeden flexes her fingers.
Kate breaks apart, fades into the air like so much carbonated fizz.
Braeden steps back, lays her palm on Derek's shoulder again.
Derek's eyes go clear.
"That's it?" he asks. "It's over?"
"It's over," Braeden says.
The relief will come; right now, Derek can't really believe it.
"Are you sure?"
"She shifted into a temporary burst of energy disguised as a cat," Braeden says. "Physically? You'd have better luck surviving a bomb going off in your throat."
She's explained this three times already. Derek just didn't dare to think it would work.
"Thank you," he says.
"I didn't do it for you," Braeden says.
Her phone is already in her hand; she hits 1 twice.
"It's me," she says. "It's done."
Under Derek's hand, Laura starts to fade.
The real Malia feels like family. Derek's almost forgotten what it feels like, the easy echo, the way your stomach settles, you're home safe now, you'll be okay. It used to flood him easy as breathing. The whole town felt like home because it was Hale territory, because you never got too far from family. He used to have so much he felt stifled, too warm, but now it just makes him hungry, homesick like he's managed not to be, somehow, all through this.
His old house is an empty lot, weeds growing through cracks in the pavement. It hurts to look at; he closes his eyes, tries to breathe in some hint of them, something left behind, even now.
There isn't anything. There isn't even smoke.
Derek presses his face into the crook of his elbow, pretends there's something.
They're just not here anymore. They just moved. They disappeared for their own safety and they didn't tell anyone where they were going because they didn't know who they could trust, and they're out there somewhere, and they're happy. And they're alive.
And they just don't want to see Derek anymore after what he's done, but that's okay. He understands, it's okay. As long as they're okay.
They still love him, they just can't look him in the eyes anymore.
And Cora's with them, and she's happy too. And she'll come see him, maybe, or maybe she won't, because she's too young to remember who he was when he wasn't a murderer, but that doesn't mean she doesn't blame him.
But maybe they think about him sometimes, whoever he used to be before he ruined everything. And maybe, maybe they don't completely hate him, or that part of him, at least.
He gets up eventually, walks aimlessly, wonders where home is supposed to be now.
He ends up back outside the clinic, following the thin thread of family. Malia's there, and Stiles, and the rest of Scott's pack, and Derek doesn't know what he's doing there anymore, what he's doing anywhere anymore, so he just stands at a distance, watches them live.
"You're lurking."
Derek turns to Scott, doesn't say anything, just looks at him.
"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Scott says. "It's just—you're really you."
So this is what older Derek does: he lurks.
That's just great.
"I just mean—" Scott says.
"Don't hurt yourself," Derek says.
"Kate's gone," Scott says.
"I know," Derek says, and he's starting to. There's still an edge of him expecting her around every corner, laughing, or just waiting for him, smiling that smile, but she's gone.
He'll convince himself eventually.
"You didn't deserve that," Scott says. "What she did to you, it wasn't—"
"Okay," Derek says, just so he'll stop. Scott's eyes go soft, sad.
Derek's always been a bad liar.
"Come inside," Scott says.
"Gone," Stiles repeats. "Like gone gone? Like dead?"
"She—" Derek struggles to explain it, gives up. "Yeah."
"I blew her up," Braeden says.
"Oh, of course," Stiles says agreeably. "Those bomb silencers sure are handy, aren't they? Yup, technology's really leapt forward in the past hour."
Braeden grabs his wrist, drops a lit, hissing cherry bomb into his palm.
Derek's heart stops. For a section of a second he forgets what she's doing, and he starts toward them—
"Calm down, cowboy, you know how this works," Braeden says, and blows the little bomb to fragments. It makes no sound as it fizzes into the air.
"Oh my god," Stiles says, staring down at his empty palm. His hand trembles. "Oh my god. What are you?"
"A fairy princess," Braeden says dryly.
"No, really," Stiles says. "An empath? Is this all, like, a mind game?"
"Just a sweet little sprite," Braeden says. If Derek didn't know better, he'd think she was almost enjoying this.
"The tattoo you gave us," Lydia says, and touches her wrist. "Allison and I. The bank logo."
"That bomb was so cool," Kira says. "How does it work?"
"It's a stored image," Braeden says.
"Like a photo," Kira says, awed. "Printed on reality."
"Printed on energy," Cora corrects.
"Printed on—" Kira repeats, eyes shining, but Derek can't hear her anymore.
His eyes are fixed on his sister.