i. element one: water
The rune that marred the door of the old Hale house had a distinctive nefarious aura surrounding it; at least in Stiles' opinion. Maybe it was its striking familiarity to the Nazis' swastika with its angular design or the fact that someone had bothered to deface the rotten wood with their claws which didn't speak much for their mental health, but when Stiles looked at it he couldn't help but shiver from the sheer evilness that seemed to ooze of it, clinging to it like a thin sheen of oil.
"Do you know when this happened?" Stiles asked as he stepped closer to inspect the door.
"No," Derek replied. "Probably when we went to help your friend." He was just standing there in front of the house, hands in the pockets of his pants, his expression undecipherable as he relayed everything to Stiles. He didn't look like he was feeling anything faced with the fact that somebody had disrespected his family´s final resting place like that; or if he did he was really good at hiding it. Maybe after everything he had gone through there wasn't much that could unsettle him anymore.
"What does it even mean?" Stiles continued to ask as he crouched down to take a closer look at the ground. Since the fight against Kate and Peter many people had come and gone from the house, more than in the last few years combined, which meant that there were a lot of tracks that had swirled the dust up. Most of them had already a thin sheet of dust covering them again, but there was one that seemed to be newer than the others.
"That looks like someone came here barefoot," Stiles remarked. "And those scrapes…they´re too symmetrical to be random. Look, one in front of every single toe. If I didn't know it any better, I´d say a human with claws on its feet has been here." He furrows his brows. "Do werewolves grow claws on their feet, too?" Stiles didn't think so; he would have noticed some shredded socks and shoes if it were so.
"It´s possible," Derek told him. "If you train it long enough. But there´s no practical application for it, so most just don't bother. Laura tried for a while, but after her third pairs of expensive shoes got shredded she gave up." Stiles just hummed nonchalantly, realising the importance of what just had happened: Until now Derek had never offered any personal information if Stiles hadn't pestered him for it. But this little piece of information had been given freely which meant that Stiles would only cherish it more. Bit by bit Derek was trusting him more and Stiles felt like that was an accomplishment on its own.
"I know that sign," Derek continued.
"Let me guess, it isn´t an invitation to a friendly get-together," Stiles joked. Hope dies last and all that.
"No, not really," Derek replied. "It´s the emblem of the Alpha Pack."
"I don't like the sound of those capital letters," Stiles murmured. He stood up, brushing the dirt from his pants. "Are they, like, a pack of alphas? How does that even work? I thought packs were only supposed to have on alpha each? How do they not end up just battling each other for dominance?" Stiles could remember very well how difficult it had been to hold back when it had been just Scott, a beta on his way to become an omega, so how would his reaction have been like with another alpha. Not very friendly, probably.
"I´ve only heard rumours and the like," Derek told him. "They wander the country looking for alphas that they deem worthy of becoming part of their pack."
"And what happens to all those that don't make the cut?" Stiles asked, even though he already knew the answer to that question. Derek just raised his eyebrows at him, which on itself was answer enough, Stiles supposed.
"They´re probably already here," Derek continued. "Observing you from the shadows, trying to discern the bonds that tether you to Beacon Hills." A chill ran down Stiles' spine as he remembered the two new students in his English class and his reaction to their presence.
"I think I already know where two of them are," he said to Derek. "At my school."
"What are you going to do about it?" Derek wanted to know, not a single twitch in his face giving away what he was thinking.
"I don't know," Stiles replied frustrated. "What do you think I should do?" Derek seemed to think about for a while before he replied.
"Nothing," he finally said. "There´s just not enough information to act on. What do they want? How do they want it? How many are there? What are their strengths; their weaknesses? If you provoke them too early then you maybe won´t even survive long enough to regret it."
"So, I should gather intel first?" Stiles repeated. "That´s good; that´s something I can do, something I´m good at." Even if it probably wouldn't amount to much, it was still calming to know that there was something he could do, even if it wasn't much. Everything was better than sitting around and just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"You don't have to do this, you know?" Stiles spoke. "If they´re coming for me, the safest place for you would be anywhere else but here. You don't owe me anything; hell, I probably owe you a lot more."
"You´re right," Derek replied. Stiles heart skipped a beat. "I could be anywhere else, but I chose to be here. I chose to teach you and I now I´m choosing to stay, because I can´t let a barely realised alpha and a beta who thinks that getting into a relationship with a hunter is a good idea stand against the Alpha Pack on their own."
Stiles felt kind of pathetic at how completely and overwhelmingly relieved and grateful he was when Derek spoke those words. He had meant it when he told Derek that he didn't owed him or Scott to stay, but that didn't mean that he wanted Derek to leave. The man was the only one who seemed to know at least a little bit what he was doing and without him Stiles didn't think he would be able to navigate the new world he had found himself in. Derek was like a steady rock amidst the stormy sea and Stiles knew that it wasn't fair, clinging to the other werewolf like that, hinging his survival on an already troubled individual, but he was desperate and would do anything to survive.
"Thanks," he whispered, but he knew that Derek had heard him.
"You need something else to focus on," Derek told him. "Something to take your mind off things and I know exactly the right thing." And without waiting for Stiles' reply, he had already taken off into the preserve.
"Hey, wait!" Stiles exclaimed as he scrambled to follow Derek, but there was no answer. The other werewolf had vanished into the forest and the only things that reached Stiles' ears were the rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the birds in the trees around him.
Well, if Derek wanted a chase, Stiles would give him one.
He took a deep breath as he slowly allowed his inner wolf to resurface and with it all the sensation that were otherwise barred to him. The sounds around him became sharper, the smells more intense and even the air currents around him suddenly felt different. It was as if the world around him was suddenly…more.
Derek´s scent stood out from the others, not because it was more odorous or special in any way, but simply because unlike the other smells it didn't belong in the forest. Like a single misplayed note in an otherwise melodic orchestra. Stiles knew that the other werewolf could – if he wanted to – hide his scent better, but since he didn't really want to throw Stiles off his scent he didn't bother with it.
So, Stiles started to run. He ran and ran and ran and felt the air flowing through his hair, the earth shift underneath his feet. He ran like he could leave all his troubles behind, never able to catch up. He ran as if by just exerting his body he could will all the negativity away.
He ran and felt like he was free.
He ran until Derek´s trail suddenly turned cold.
A single rock loomed in front of him, nearly twice as high as the Hale house, nearly piercing through the forest cover. Beneath the rock there was a pond with the clearest water Stiles had ever seen. He could see every single pebble at the water´s edge, could see small fish moving through the water and little frogs hiding underneath the stones. The deeper the water the more turquoise it became until it shone in bright blue in the middle of the pool. Not a single wave disturbed the calm, not a single speck of dirt tainted the water.
"It´s fed by an underground well," Derek suddenly spoke up. Stiles hadn't heard him coming. "I discovered it when I was eight and fancied myself an explorer of a yet undiscovered world. My mother probably knew about it as well, but it´s been always a place where I went when things in the real world got too…intense."
"Then why are you showing me it?" Stiles asked, his throat suddenly dry.
"Because you have a lot on your plate and I think this might help you," Derek replied. Stiles closed his eyes and tried to hold back the emotions that were trying to overwhelm him. He hadn't though that such a simple gesture of understanding and compassion would be able to nearly make him cry, but now that he was here, surrounded by silence, subsumed into a kind of serenity he hadn't felt before, he really just noticed how many things were pressuring down onto him. Fighting for his life, killing Peter, turning into a werewolf, handling Scott, Lydia and the Argents, the discovery of a new body, lying to his dead and now the coming of the Alpha Pack…He didn't know how he was supposed to deal with it all. He had barely managed to get Scott through his werewolf ordeal and they had almost died several times.
It was all too much. He sank down to the ground, bending forwards, hands on his knees and just tried to breath.
"I don´t think I can make it through this," Stiles whispered. "I just can´t…I can´t do this." Stiles knew that he was about to have a panic attack, recognising the symptoms from previous experience, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had long learned that. At least that was until he felt a sudden pressure on his shoulder and when he turned his head he saw that Derek was now standing next to him, one hand on his shoulder.
He didn't say anything, but his steady presence was grounding in a way words could never be.
"You´ll make it through because you have to," Derek broke his silence. "You make it through because you don´t have any other choice. You make it through because there´s no alternative. You make it through because you have to."
And maybe that was all the reason Stiles needed.
"You need to start getting some allies," Derek continued. "Building a pack."
"I can´t pull anyone else into this," Stiles retorted. "Not if it means they´re going to die."
"Then start building on what you already have," Derek pressed on.
"I have you and Scott," Stiles pointed out. "And only you seem to be knowing what to do."
"What about the girl?" Derek inquired. "Lydia? She was bitten by my uncle, but she didn't turn. She definitely is something, even if we don't know what." Stiles kept silent, so Derek continued. "She´s already suspicious and if I have learned anything, then that sooner or later the supernatural always rears its head. Better you guide her than leaving her on her own."
"But what if that puts her in danger?" Stiles asked.
"She already is," Derek replied. "The only thing we can change is how prepared she will be. And, wouldn't you have wanted someone to help you when Scott got bitten? More than I did?"
And really, what could Stiles say against this truth that spilled from Derek´s lips?
ii. element two: fire
There laid a certain satisfaction in the knowledge that it no matter where you went or who you met, people would always defer to your authority. That they instinctively knew that it was in their best interest to subordinate themselves to you, that they didn't even question it; a primordial instinct that had seen a great many leaders rise. People had seen Caesar, Genghis Khan or even Hitler and had known that those men had been designated for greatness in one form or another. There had been no questions about it, no discussion; no, they had simply come and taken what they wanted.
Gerard looked around the office that he had commandeered from his son with its old oaken furniture and the rows of bookshelves and scoffed derisively at the family pictures that littered the place. A man should always keep work and private life separated and not put it out for everyone to see like his son did. It only showed weakness.
He would need to change that if he planned to stay longer.
And he certainly didn't intent to leave any time soon. This town was in disorder, supernatural pests crawling out of their nests everywhere and only a strong and stable hand could bring back order and prosperity. Gerard had though that he had archived that aim with the extermination of the Hales, but recent events had proven that his job wasn't done yet.
It never was.
His carelessness had cost him his most precious possession: His Kate, who unlike her brother, had proven herself to be a ruthless and cunning hunter who accepted the harsh and grim truths about the way the world really worked. Now she laid buried in this godforsaken town, her life cut short by one of the monsters that paraded its streets disguised as human.
But Gerard would take revenge. For Kate, but also to show that nobody and nothing could dare to go against the Argent family and come out of it unscathed. He wouldn't allow anyone to turn away from this thinking that the Argents were an easy target.
The whole world thought silver was a werewolf´s weakness because of a translation mistake. He would remind everyone of the reasons for that.
And the first piece of his strategy laid in front of him: Four densely scribbled pages full of confessions and information.
The letter had caught Gerard´s gaze the moment he had noticed it lying on the commode in the foyer with only Allison´s name hastily written on the snow-white paper. Who would write his grandchild in such an old-fashioned way, even going so far as to personally deliver the letter to the house for there was no post stamp on it? But why wouldn't they give it to her personally then?
It reeked of conspiracy and secrecy, both things Gerard couldn't abide in his house, so he took the letter with him for later perusal. And what kind of gold mine it turned out to be!
Whoever this Scott was, Gerard would need to remember to thank him for his unintended gift. Everything that had happened ever since his son and his family had come to town neatly wrapped up on four pages – and even with names! His own son hadn't given him that, always evading the question or claiming that he didn't know, but Scott had talked about everyone freely as if it just hadn't come to his mind that his letter could end up in the wrong hands.
Chris had probably thought that he could protect the boys by holding back their names, but his son was a soft person and failed to realise that their lives had already ended the moment they had been bitten by the rabid alpha. They had been walking corpses ever since then.
Gerard could feel the pressure building in his chest that announced another of his coughing fits. He was barely able to pull a tissue out of his pocket before it wracked his body, temporarily making him unable to feel anything but the pain exploding behind his temples.
It never lasted long, but to Gerard, who despised feeling helpless and not in control, those moments when his own body betrayed him, felt like small eternities. Eternities which offered the perfect opportunity to the countless enemies he had made over the course of his life.
When the coughing finally stopped, the tissue was sprinkled with red dots. A small but damning sign that he had finally encountered an enemy that he just could not stop. At least not as human.
Another reason to come here: A young and naïve Alpha who Gerard could easily manipulate or coerce into giving him what he really wanted. Life.
Nothing would stop him, certainly no such insignificant thing as a brain tumour.
While a small smile settled on his face, Gerard stood up and walked over to the barely used fire place, shaking his head at his son´s waste of money. Why even install one in the first place when you didn't plan to use it?
He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and watched with fascination as the bloody tissue caught flames. They danced across the white fabric and left behind nothing but black ash; erasing every trace of his weakness. Only when the flames were about to reach his fingers did Gerard throw the tissue into the fireplace and watched as it was slowly consumed by the fire.
He would put the letter back and let Allison have it. And then he would use it to destroy the supernatural in this town once and for all.
iii. element three: air
It was Prada´s barking that tore Lydia out of her reverie. She was sitting in her garden swing, a Jane Austen novel – a guilty pleasure of hers, which she would deny possessing with her dying breath – in her lap, wearing one of her favourite summer dresses. Yellow with blue dots and a white collar. Not a combination that sounded like it worked well together, but Lydia could make everything fashionable.
Usually, Prada was a very well-behaved dog, so it was quite a shock for Lydia when he suddenly sprang up and began barking while he ran towards the hedge that separated the Martin's garden from the rest of the world.
"Prada!" Lydia shouted after him, but her dog just wouldn't listen. "Prada, come here!" The dog continued to pace in front of the hedge. Lydia let out a frustrated huff, set her book aside and stood up. Pursing her lips, she straightened her dress and walked towards Prada who by now had placed himself in front of the garden gate and was staring at it with an intensity Lydia had never observed before in her dog.
There was someone standing behind the gate.
"Who´s there!?" Lydia called out while she picked up Prada off the ground and pressed him against her chest. He was shaking. "Show yourself!"
"Geez, Lydia, relax," came an all too familiar voice from behind the gate. "It´s just me."
"Sti…les," Lydia replied, correcting herself just in time. After all he did say that she should start calling him his first name. "Why are you loitering outside my garden?"
"I´m not loitering anywhere!" Stilinski – Stiles defended himself. "I was on my way to ring your doorbell like any well-adjusted human being would when your menace of a dog started to bark at me."
"Prada isn´t a menace," Lydia retorted, pressing a chaste kiss atop her dog´s head.
"Anyway, will you let me in?" Stiles pleaded. "It feels kinda awkward talking through a garden gate. I think one of your neighbours is watching me? An old lady with a serious stinky eye?" Lydia rolled her eyes.
"That´d Mrs Rogers," she replied. "Don´t mind her, she´s noisy but harmless." And was now probably thinking that Lydia had an illicit tryst with the Sheriff´s son behind her mother´s back. By tomorrow the whole neighbourhood would know.
Putting Prada back on the ground – the dog instantly running back towards the house – Lydia opened the garden gate and allowed Stiles entry into her little paradise.
"You´ve got a pool?" the boy exclaimed as he looked around the premise.
"As if you didn't already look it up on Google Maps," Lydia just retorted, satisfied when Stiles flushed red and started to stammer unintelligibly. "Do you want something to drink?"
"No," Stiles shook his head. "I´m fine, thanks." He paused for a moment. "Is your mother around?" Lydia narrowed her eyes at him.
"Why?" she wanted to know.
"Jesus Christ, no need to look so suspicious," Stiles exclaimed. "I´m not here to murder you or something like that. I just want to minimise the chance of someone listening in." He looked around in suspicion. "Jackson isn't here, either?" Lydia rolled her eyes at him.
"No, you don´t have to worry about him suddenly jumping out of the bushes," she assured him. She walked back to the garden swing and sat down on it while Stiles took one of the lawn chairs. Lydia examined him: He seemed to be more agitated than usual, his eyes always flickering around while he nervously fidgeted with his fingers. There was an alertness to his gaze that hadn't been there the last time she had seen him when he had helped her with that whole dead body mess. His hair was a little bit longer than usual, as if he didn't have the time to cut it short anymore. As if there were more important matters to attend to.
"So, why are you here?" Lydia asked, even though she believed that she already knew why he had come.
"I think you already know," Stiles replied.
"You´re finally going to tell me what has been going on ever since the prom…maybe even longer," Lydia stated. Stiles just nodded.
"I didn't want to tell you," he admitted. "And there´s still a part of me who thinks that telling you is the wrong choice. But –" he continued, forestalling any objections Lydia was about to utter "- I´ve been made aware that you´re in it no matter how much you know and that leaving you utterly unprepared would be irresponsible.
Yet," he continued. "I´m still warning you, Lydia, that what I´m about to tell you isn't something you can just shrug off and ignore if you don't like it. It´s something that´ll fundamentally change your world and your place in it and once unveiled you will never be able to go back. So, I want you to think about it one last time before you give me your answer: Are you really willing to give up the life you´re currently living for some great unknown?"
Lydia opened her mouth to say 'yes', but then she saw the way Stiles was looking at her: His eyes suddenly much too old for a teenaged boy, his lips set into a thin line, his whole posture weighed down by whatever was burdening him. He looked at her and seemed to plead with her to think her answer really through before giving it to him.
But, see, the thing was that Lydia already knew what her answer would be. Something had happened to her, something that no one could – or would – explain to her. Something was going on in this town, something that only a few insiders seemed to know. Lydia knew herself well enough to realise that she couldn't let it go. No matter if she said 'yes' or 'no', the mystery would stay with her, folded in the back of her mind and would keep her awake at night. If she told Stiles to go, she would carry it with her for the rest of her life, always wondering about what would have happened if she had chosen differently. As if the future had suddenly revealed itself to her, she saw this moment becoming her biggest regret in life, even as she grew old and successful. She would always look back, full of bitterness, and regret it.
Lydia couldn't say no. That was one thing she was absolutely sure of.
She looked up, her gaze locking with Stiles'.
"I am," she whispered, a soft breeze suddenly flaring up, playing with her hair and tousling it. "Tell me."
iv. element four: earth
Heather had always liked the forest surrounding Beacon Hills. Her parents had always warned her about going into the woods alone, never growing tired of telling her of all the dangers that lied within the trees, from dangerous beasts to dangerous humans. That hadn't kept her from discovering the preserve on her own, though, exploring every nook and cranny. There was something about being surrounded by nature – the serenity, the tranquillity, the calmness – that gave her something that people couldn't give to her. Maybe a sense of belonging, of acceptance, that she had never felt surrounded by her peers, judging her and always gossiping. Sometimes she even wondered what it would be like to live out here, secluded and yet never alone.
The thought of being surrounded by nature was the only thing that gave Heather a sense of peace as she slowly bled out on the forest floor. As she so desperately tried to breathe and was only meet with a gurgling sound as her blood flowed out of the cut in her throat it was the feeling of fresh earth underneath her fingers that kept her grounded. As she desperately tried to survive even as her life bled out of her she was glad that she would at least die underneath a canopy of leaves instead of dying in a back alley somewhere in the town.
And as the light slowly faded from her eyes and one last tear ran down her cheek, the howl of a wolf was the last thing Heather heard in her life.
