For Claire Watson, whose amazing fic "Judgement and Justice" was, in many ways, the inspiration for this piece (and more yet to come). I loved the idea of a higher power judging everyone after their actions especially when, as we all know, so many never pay for them in canon. Of course, I didn't want to just make a repeat of her work, and it was while I was working on this series/collection that I realized the premise here gave me the perfect way to do it, finally!
I'm very proud of this piece (as of all of them), it fought me more than I ever expected it too, but truth is that I went into it with just one scene in mind and then I had to build around it so it'd all make sense. I like how it turned out. More elaborate, and a bit darker at one point than I ever imagined it to be. But still, deeply satisfying in many ways.
IMPORTANT: This fic takes place after the S2 finale, only, for the purpose of things here imagine that the Alpha Pack didn't make it to Beacon Hills in time to capture Boyd and Erica when Chris let them go (the reasons will be explained in the fic itself) so they're with the pack from the start. For those worried about the Minor Death, it's all bad guys, and not graphic, if you really want to know who before reading, head to End Notes. Also, a little warning, for one character who ends being punished in what I'd define as cruel and unusual. It's not violent in any way, I promise, and I don't think it to be triggering, but if you wanna make sure, there are more details in the End Notes for that too.
Dreamcast for the OC's (in order of appearance): Álvaro Morte as Oroitz, Shradda Kapoor as Maya, Sebastian Koch as Helmut, Tomasz Kot as Arek, Nina Dobrev as Sophia.
Having said all that, on with the fic!
Faceless Vengeance
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Scott asks softly.
They're in an empty warehouse very close to the preserve. He, Allison and Lydia. There's a circle drawn in chalk on the cement ground, big enough for the three of them to to be sitting cross-legged, with plenty of space around them; the circle is lined with white candles, while in the middle there's a crystal bowl, a short dagger, a paper tissue package, a crystal and matches.
"You want this too, don't suddenly pretend like you don't." Lydia hisses at him.
"I want him to pay." Allison practically snarls. "I want them all to pay, for all the things they've done." She turns to her boyfriend. "To all of us Scott, don't you want that too?"
"Yes, of course." He answers, automatically. "There should be justice…"
"I want more than justice," Allison hisses. "I want vengeance! I want Derek Hale to pay for what he did to my mother!" She takes a deep breath. "And Peter Hale should pay for what he did to Lydia… and to you."
Not for the first time Scott wonders if perhaps he should tell his girlfriend the truth. The fact that Derek didn't bite her mom just because, that she was trying to kill Scott, because she found out that he and Allison were still together… then again, it's not like Derek had to bite Mrs. Argent. That's on him. Scott might not remember it all very clearly, as all his focus was on breathing. Derek saved him, and it's not that Scott isn't grateful for that, but he didn't ask the alpha to bite Allison's mom! He had to have known how that'd go. Hunters don't just turn! So clearly that had to have been his plan. He just wanted to get rid of an Argent, just like Peter when he killed Kate and then tried to kill Allison! Also, Allison really loves her mom, Scott doesn't want to say or do something that might damage the memory she has of the woman. That wouldn't be fair.
"Okay," he finally nods. "Lets do this."
"First we're going to ensure that this place is protected, and that the power we need will answer to us." Lydia explains. "This is very important since, from all three of us I'm the only one with a spark that is inclined towards magic."
"Then how can we do… this?" Allison asks, confused. "If we're not magical."
A part of her wonders if perhaps she should have asked Lydia for more information regarding this spell… summoning… magic-thing. But Allison's just so… eager, ever since Lydia first offered it to her, what she wants most: the opportunity to make her enemies pay. To make Derek Hale and his stupid pack pay for all her hurt. She'll ensure they never forget the name Argent!
"Well, the summoning itself is something anyone can do actually." Lydia explains. "According to my research, in ancient times anyone could call the Faceless One to demand justice… or vengeance. Not that great a difference between the two, really." She shakes her head. "The first spell we're doing, it's both to ensure that the summoning will go right, and to protect ourselves from any possible magical backlash." She doesn't give either of the other two the chance to ask what kind of backlash. Instead she just passes each of them a piece of paper. "Scott, you start."
"Guiding Spirits I ask your charity, / lend me your focus and clarity." Scott recites his two lines, brow furrowed in confusion at what any of that is supposed to mean exactly, he doesn't ask though, Lydia might just kill him if he interrupts the ritual.
"Brick and mortar, wood and stone, / protect our center, protect our home." Allison recites her own lines without any prompting.
"In this night and in this hour, / we call upon the Ancient Power." Lydia says the last part.
There's something that could almost be called a light breeze, except for how there are no windows or doors open, and only them and the things inside the circle feel it at all. Lydia takes it as a signal that it worked and decides it's time to move on to the next part of the ritual.
"For Vengeance," The redhead declares as she picks up the bowl briefly, tracing the edge with the tip of a finger: "for Justice," she takes the crystal and places it in the center of the bowl, "and for Death." She lights a match and throws it in.
The contact of the match, or rather the flame, with the crystal, causes a reaction, almost like a small explosion; suddenly the bowl is filled with a white smoke-like substance.
"Allison," Lydia calls. "You need to add the token of your request. As you do it make sure to focus on what happened and why you deserve your vengeance."
Allison nods silently and picks up the dagger. It's her mom's, the one she used to kill herself, as Argent honor and tradition demanded, and to avoid a much longer and far more painful death. Her dad hid it away but she found it. Originally she intended to use it to carve Derek Hale's heart out of his chest, to make him pay for what he's done to her, to her family. Now… she might not get to do it physically, but the blade will still serve its purpose. She'll avenge her mom! The dagger seems to almost vanish or melt or something like that into the bowl.
"Scott, your turn." Lydia orders.
He doesn't hesitate this time, using one of his own claws to cut open his palm. He focuses hard, both on stopping his healing long enough for some blood to gather and drip into the bowl, and on what Peter did to him. He never wanted to be a werewolf! It's done nothing but ruin his life. He just wants to go to school, play lacrosse, be with his beautiful girlfriend. He wants to be normal. And because of the Hales he cannot. Because Peter bit him against his will, and Derek stole his only chance at a cure (he might insist it was a myth, that it was never real, but Scott knows better, it could have worked… for him it would have worked!). They need to pay for that!
Lydia says nothing else, but when Scott finally pulls back she picks up the object enveloped in paper tissue. It's a piece of gauze, bloody. Her own blood. From when Peter bit her. That man… no, that monster, needs to pay for what he did to her. He bit her, but more than that, he used her. Her brain, her most important attribute, he invaded it, turned it upside down. He made her believe she was going crazy! And then he used her to bring himself back from the dead! Lydia will never forgive that. Regardless of how many times he, or Derek, or Stiles, or anyone else tries to insist that it was an accident, that he didn't mean to hurt her. They may say he wants to make amends, but Lydia's not interested in that, she's not interested in forgiveness. She wants revenge! She wants to make Peter Hale pay for what he did to her! For using her. She is the one who uses people as convenient, not the other way around! So she throws the gauze into the bowl, telling herself the time has come. She's going to make them all pay!
"On the back of the paper I gave you first is the last spell, we need to all say it in unison." Lydia says quietly as she extends her hands to the sides. "Now close the circle and recite with me."
Scott and Allison turn to look at each other, just for a moment, but say nothing as they flip the papers around and, after making sure they can read them no problem, extend their own hands, closing the circle. Lydia doesn't have a piece of paper of her own, she doesn't need it.
"Past, present, future, all / the time has come for us to call, / We call upon the one who rights, / the wrongs of those beyond our might, / By our blood and by our need, / come to us, we summon thee!" They recite the spell in relative unison, voices growing louder with each word.
The smoke-like substance in the bowl seems to almost bubble as they chant the spell, a column of it forming and going higher and higher with each verse. When they reach the end of the spell it's like some kind of explosion, the white-smoke disperses abruptly, going in every direction until suddenly there's nothing left. There's also no gauze, blood, knife or crystal anywhere in sight, only a bowl, which seems to now be cracked right down the middle.
"Is that all?" Scott blurts out after several seconds.
"Now what?" Allison asks almost at the same time.
"Now we sit back and watch the show." Lydia announces with a self-satisfied smirk.
"Wait what?" Scott clearly wasn't expecting what.
"What?" Lydia retorts. "You think we'd get something like this underway and not want to watch the fireworks ourselves?"
For the first time Scott actually wonders what he's gotten into. When Lydia and Allison went looking for him he was surprised. When they offered him a chance to make the Hales pay for all they've done to him… he liked the idea. When Lydia told him that they would be doing some magic, to summon some kind of… of being that'd get their vengeance for them… he won't lie, he did wonder if they shouldn't call Stiles, get his help. Except Stiles wouldn't have helped, would he? He actually likes the Hales, for some reason Scott cannot comprehend. He's been spending so much time with them since school let out. It's ridiculous! He's supposed to be Stiles's best friend, not the Hales', or his minions! But when he tried to tell him that, Stiles yelled at him. Accused Scott of being an idiot, of betraying Derek and the pack. But he didn't! It cannot be betrayal if he was never really one of them, can it? Not really. Like he told Derek in that warehouse, he might be an alpha, but he's not Scott's alpha. He never will be. Scott doesn't need an alpha anyway. He's fine on his own. He has his mom, and Allison, and… and he'll have Stiles again. Once the Hales are out of the picture Stiles will see the truth and he'll come back and everything will be fine in Scott's world again!
xXx
They're in a clearing in the preserve, just a few minutes away from the Stilinski home. With the puppies (as Stiles keeps in calling them) training with their alpha, while Stiles himself sits at the foot of a tree, studying one of the books Peter put at his disposition. Danny's not too far from him, sitting on a log and with a laptop in his lap. He's working on setting a paper-trail for Peter so they might be able to explain how he went from being in a coma for six years (with horrific burn-scars), to missing, and now back healthy and with no scars at all.
Danny being read-in was done at Jackson's insistence. After the absolute mess in the warehouse the blonde was given a choice: to be part of the Hale pack, or not. Derek was even willing to give him time to make up his mind, just insisting that he at least attend some training sessions to make sure he was in full control of his wolf. By the last day of classes Jackson was ready to join the pack. The next day he went looking for Stiles, asking for help. He'd heard his parents talk about leaving Beacon Hills. Jackson was affected enough that he didn't even notice the sheriff standing right there in the kitchen when he began ranting about his parents making insane plans to uproot their whole lives to the other side of country, and right when he was finally regaining his balance, (nevermind his self-confidence, that'd take much longer!). It was Noah who phoned David Whittemore and requested a meeting to discuss something very important, telling him that it concerned their sons was enough to get the DA to clear his schedule immediately.
It probably would have never occurred to Jackson to tell his parents the truth. Though truth is that things have been so much easier since then. The restraining order was canceled, the whole mess being explained publicly as a 'prank war that got out of hand'. Whatever plans there might have been at one point to move were never spoken about again. Jackson's happier and more at peace than he's ever been: his adoptive parents love him, his birth-parents didn't abandon him, they died; what's more, he still has a biological father who, while he didn't know he had a son before, has no problem accepting Jackson as such, and is happy enough for the boy to see him as an uncle rather than his dad (as he already has one of those), he has a pack that accepts him as he is. Things are so much better, they can hardly believe it sometimes!
That was also when Derek and the pack realized that not only the sheriff knew about them, but both Stilinskis were aware of the supernatural long before Scott got bitten. And then the Stilinskis had to explain how exactly, and why Stiles never mentioned it. They talked about the Servants of Death, about what they wereabout, their duty to see justice done, especially for those who might not be able to defend themselves, because those attacking them had too much power (social, political, economical); they also talked about the Wójcik, their place in the Order, and Stiles's as the sole heir of the bloodline. Finally they talked about Scott and why he doesn't know:
"Scottie… I love him, but he just doesn't know how to keep a secret." Stiles told them. "If I'd ever told him about my magic, or my mom, of Dziadek and the Order… He'd have claimed to be so excited, then blurted it out somewhere very public at the first opportunity. Also, considering how utterly against the supernatural he is, I'm not sure how he'd have reacted to my own supernatural status, exactly."
"Wow…" Erica whistled a bit. "I thought you were best-buddies and all that."
"Scott was my best friend, yes." Stiles nodded, a hint of melancholy in his voice. "But more than that, for the longest time he was my only friend. After my childhood friend: Heather, had to move because of her dad's job, and my mom died, I didn't really have anyone. Until I met Scottie. He didn't mind my oddities, or the fact that I was older…"
"Older?" Isaac cut him off.
"I'm a year older than you all." Stiles clarified. "I'm seventeen right now, will be eighteen in September. I'm in your grade because between my ADHD, my mom's sickness, then her death, and all the ways I did not handle that right I missed a lot of school and had to repeat the grade."
"I didn't know that." Erica pointed out.
"Why should you?" Stiles replied. "I don't think you actually lived in town back then, Isaac and Boyd went to a different elementary school so…" He shrugged. "Anyway, my point is that, Scott was there when no one else was. He became my friend and for a long while he was even my only friend. It's not… there are other people I know, who are dear to me, but none of them actually live in Beacon Hills. Most of them I only see once or twice a year so…"
"Scott was your anchor." Derek finished for him.
"Yes, exactly." Stiles agreed. "Though even then, as much as I might love Scott, I've always known he has his faults. Granted, I didn't know how bad some of them were… Like, I knew he was stubborn, but I'd have never expected him to go as far as… as… what he did to Derek, that kind of betrayal… I just…"
"That's not on you Stiles." Peter pointed out quietly.
"He's right." Derek agreed immediately. "Scott made his choice. And you made yours."
Yes, they did, and only the gods may know where those choices will lead them eventually.
That wasn't the last important conversation the new Hale Pack found themselves having. There were several others. Like the one were Jackson requested, vehemently, and insistently, that Danny be brought in. It was… no one understood, exactly. Lydia was the one to bring Jackson back when he was still trapped as the kanima; they all thought it was her love for him that saved him. Yet less than a week later he and Lydia were on the outs again. Apparently when Jackson told her about Derek's offer she rejected any thought of it, she refused to have anything to do with anyone with the surname Hale, and she expected Jackson to follow her lead. She clearly didn't like it when Jackson didn't; and more than that, chose to join the Hale Pack.
Back then the Whittemores hadn't been read in yet, and Jackson really needed someone he could talk to, someone he could trust. He ended at Danny's place. The boy didn't hesitate, he received Jackson, listened to him, helped him deal with his insecurities, his fears. Danny was there for Jackson, like he's always been. It was that which made them both realize that as strong as the friendship that existed between them was, it could be more… if they just gave themselves a chance. And they did.
Jackson and Danny's brand new relationship, and seeing how close they were, how quickly, made it necessary for the pack to talk about mates. About what they were, what they meant, exactly.
"Mates like soulmates?" Erica asked, curious.
"Yes and no." Peter, the one with the most knowledge stated. "It's not quite how the stories show it. There's no destiny, no absolutes. There's potential. Anyone in this world can find someone that fits them perfectly, but until they actually make the choice, it's all just potential. With those of us who are supernatural, we have a bit of an advantage in that we can sense that potential, through things like scents, or auras. Still, a choice needs to be made. A bond can be formed, different supernaturals do it in different ways. It's… a bit like a wedding. Except divorce is very rare, because the stronger the bond is, the more painful it is to break. Then again, the stronger the bond the less likely you are to ever want to break it so…"
"And what about humans?" Isaac asked. "Can a wolf find their mate in a human?"
"They can." Peter answered immediately. "It's… not the easiest thing. Where supernaturals tend to be fixed in their ways, humans are flexible. They're far more capable of change than we are. So there's always the possibility that where they might be a good fit at one point, that could change. That's not to say they couldn't be a good fit, and remain that way. But still, it's important that you're very careful, because unless they have some gift for magic, the bond will not be fully equal. They will be able to walk away, you won't."
That certainly sobered them all up. It also brought about the bets. All the betas are pretty sure that Derek and Stiles are mates, or potentials, or whatever, even if neither of them talk about it. What they are betting on is how long it'll take them to say something about it, to say something to the pack, to go public, and to 'seal the deal' so to speak. Peter's the one keeping the books regarding those bets. Erica also tried to start another bet, this one only with the other teens, about Peter and the sheriff being mates as well, though no one was willing to even consider the idea. Not that they have anything against it, but they all see both men as parental figures in some way, so they really don't want to think about such things (Erica's never had much shame so…)!
The first sign that something is off comes when the book falls from Stiles's hands. While they're all well aware that Stiles can often be clumsy, he's much too careful with those books, well aware of the honor it is to be allowed to read them; and beyond that, they're so old, they need to be handled with care. In others words, everyone in the pack knows without a doubt that Stiles would never be careless with that book, so for it to have fallen… something most definitely isn't right.
"Stiles…?" Several of them call to the boy at the same time.
"S… sa… sou… sourwolf…" It takes several tries but Stiles eventually manages to speak.
"I'm here Stiles." Derek's by his side in an instance.
"Call… Sofiya…" Stiles requests.
The wolf fishes the cellphone out of Stiles's jean's pocket when it becomes obvious that the teen doesn't have enough control of his body to do so himself. He finds the number in no time at all, Sophia's right there, listed as 'sister', number three in Stiles's speed-dial (after his dad's personal phone, and Derek's own, and just before Peter's and the sheriff's office… in that order). He makes the call, getting an answer before the second ring.
"Mieszko?" Sophia's immediately on alert.
"Sophia, this is Derek," The alpha speaks up.
"Derek." The young woman on the other end of the line acknowledges him. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know." Derek answers honestly. "He's having trouble moving, and talking. He asked me to call you."
"Sofiya…?" Stiles calls, very, very softly. "I hear the Call…"
"Call…?" She echoes, until she suddenly seems to understand. "That's what this is?!"
"Y… You f-feel it t… too!" Stiles blurts out as best he can.
"We all do." Sophia answers honestly. "Clearly not as strongly as you do. We didn't know what it was." She pauses. "How is this even possible Mieszko? I thought… we all thought the Ancient spells of summoning had been lost to time."
"This isn't a C-Call to the S… Servants, or even to… the Seneschal, not really…" Stiles forces the words through gritted teeth.
"No…" The tone of voice of the woman changes abruptly in ways even the wolves cannot fully describe. "They didn't… they couldn't have…"
"The Call is t… to the Faceless." Stiles states.
There's a sharp inhale, and Derek comes close to dropping the phone in shock. He knows who the Faceless are… or at least, who the stories claim them to have once been. An ancient religious guild of assassins that existed in a time before any known human records. They were said to venerate Death as a deity, claiming that in all religions there was a god of death or, in the case of monotheistic religions, death was still revered in some way. They seemed to believe that death was a gift, one they'd 'deliver' as they saw fit (even though no one seems to know how they chose the recipients, exactly). Most of those who believe the Faceless to have existed at some point (which aren't many, actually) believe them to have become extinct at some point. Derek, and his pack, know better. They know that a lot has changed for the Order since Ancient times, from their way to handling the 'Gift of Death' to their priorities in everyday life; also, they no longer call themselves the Faceless, preferring to be known as the Servants of Death…
"Who is Calling?" Sophia wants to know.
"I don't know." Stiles admits. "They… they're not far." He inhales sharply. "Sofiya…"
She knows already what he's going to ask, and doesn't wait for him to say it:
"We're on our way." She assures him. "Alpha Hale, I'd like to request permission for me and mine to enter your territory. I know not the exact numbers we might be able to muster fast enough to be of any help, though there's a dozen of us already in Sacramento right now…"
"You have it." Derek cuts her off. "You and all in your Order who seek entrance into my territory, as long as you mean no harm to my pack, you will always be welcome."
"Thank you." Sophia's reply is honestly heartfelt. "We'll be there soon."
The call ends and all attention returns to Stiles, who seems to be having some trouble keeping his breathing somewhat steady.
"What do we do now, Stiles?" He asks the teenager.
"I… I need…" Stiles begins, haltingly.
"We." The wolf cuts him off. "I'm not leaving you alone in this."
"We." Peter reiterates, the betas aligned behind. "We're not leaving you alone, either of you."
Stiles opens his mouth, probably to try and refuse, but either he realizes it's pointless to try and stop, he decides to pick his battles or… or maybe deep down he does want the pack with him. He might not know for sure who's calling just yet, but he has his suspicions, and if he's in any way right… he knows it's not going to end well.
"We," The young man concedes. "Need to get going."
"What direction and how far, do you know?" Peter inquires.
"East-Northeast from here." Stiles answers, pointing in the right direction. "About 15 miles."
Peter cocks his head to a side, contemplating things.
"We'll probably get there faster if we run, as opposed to taking the cars." He points out.
"You know what's in that direction?" Jackson asks, curious.
"A lot of woods, our land, to be precise." Peter answers. "And after that, the edge of what used to be the Business District in Beacon Hills. Now it's mostly filled with warehouses. A company retrofitted a few, had this whole plan to have businesses in the lower floors and loft apartments on the upper ones; it was a good plan, but they went broke before they could finish." He turns to his nephew. "We actually own at least one of those buildings, you know?"
"So, lots of empty warehouses, great." Isaac mutters.
"Is there anything we can do to help?" Erica asks nervously as she looks at Stiles.
She can see the trouble he has even just to stand, the way his hands tremble, just slightly, when he holds them away from his body. It probably brings her bad memories, about her epilepsy and how vulnerable and weak she used to feel, all the time…
"Not really," Stiles admits. "I… it's the magic, the Call… I'll get better once I answer it."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Jackson asks.
Everyone agrees. Derek scoops Stiles into his arms. The teenager tries to complain about being carried like some kind of damsel in an old novel, (or a bride! Erica interjects), but truth is that he probably wouldn't be able to hold on to Derek on his own if the wolf tried to carry him on his back. Also, while he might not admit it out-loud he doesn't actually mind being carried like that… there's a part of him that even enjoys it, or would if it weren't for the tension he still feels, knowing that whatever might be waiting for them on the other side of the metaphorical force pulling at him, things are about to change, forever.
xXx
"Ally? Scott? Lydia?" Chris calls, confused, as he enters the warehouse to find his daughter, her boyfriend and best friend in the middle of a circle of candles. "What's going on here?"
"I'm making things right!" Allison announces strongly, with a smile that looks a bit too sharp, a glint that doesn't look quite right, on the edge of her eyes.
"Right?" Chris cannot help but feel worried.
He's been feeling plenty worried for his daughter recently, he'd like to say that it's because of her mom's death, but if he's honest with himself, it started before that. Perhaps for as long as she's known about the supernatural.
"I'm making justice for mom." Allison elaborates. "Derek Hale and his pack of monsters will pay for killing her! And Aunt Kate!"
Chris pales as he hears that. This is much, much worse than he imagined. Chris never wanted his daughter to be a Huntress. He and Victoria fought long and hard about it, about what kind of skills they could teach her, how much they could train her, and especially about when exactly to tell her the truth about the supernatural, and their family's place in it. It was always Chris who insisted on them waiting. He was always afraid that knowing the truth, that becoming a Hunter would change his little girl. And he was right! She used to be such a gentle, happy, loving girl and now… where did that girl go? When everything came out back in February, when the truth about his sister's crimes was revealed Chris could hardly believe it. Though not for the reasons some might expect. It's not that he didn't know what Kate was capable of. He knew how much she enjoyed hunting. More than he ever has. But there's a difference between enjoying hunting, and killing innocents! It's… he's always believed that wolves aren't human, that even the ones said to be peaceful are just one step away from going feral and having to be put down; even then, he's never felt comfortable with the idea of a 'preemptive attack'. Their code is 'We Hunt those who Hunt us' for a reason!
When he found out that Scott McCall was a wolf he didn't like it. He's honest enough, at least with himself, to admit that. But even then, they were young, what were the chances their relationship would last? Also, while he might not have been willing to go after a boy who hadn't hurt anyone, he knew his father wouldn't be so restrained; he was aware of it and didn't care to say or do anything about it. And that's a problem, isn't it? He prides himself on following the code to the letter; all while knowing that his father doesn't, and he's done nothing to change that. He might not have killed any innocents himself, but he didn't protect them either. Didn't stop others in his family, his daughter included, from attacking wolves who hadn't done anything wrong. Is he any better than his father? Than Kate?!
And now, now here's his beloved daughter, the only person he has left, and she's talking about vengeance, about making Hale and his pack pay for her mother's death… And that might be his fault too. Maybe if he'd told her the truth about how Victoria died, about why, they wouldn't have come to this. Now… it's too late now.
Several more cars arrive and at least a dozen men and women enter the warehouse through the building's various doors and windows. Chris recognizes several of them as Hunters, a couple of his own, one from Victoria's family and at least one of his father's men. He has no idea what they're doing there. Then again, he doesn't know what he himself is doing there. He just felt this imperious need to get in his car and drive all the way to this particular warehouse… Oh God what did his daughter and the other two do?!
He doesn't get the chance to ask the all-too-important question, for right then the big metal curtain-like gate at the back of the warehouse opens abruptly, drawing all eyes in that direction. The teenagers look off, nervous maybe, the blonde girl seems to be almost vibrating in place, and Peter… Chris hates the smirk on the older wolf's face, the way it seems to communicate that he knows something Chris himself doesn't. And there in the middle stands Derek Hale, with none other than Stiles Stilinski, the sheriff's son, right at his side. He's so close to Derek Hale that, if he didn't know already that the younger Hale is the one to hold the rank, he would have trouble guessing whom of the two is the alpha of that pack.
Stiles takes a moment to breathe deeply, squeezing Derek's hand (behind their legs, where no one except perhaps their own pack can see it) quickly before he starts walking. The way he moves, it's less walking and more stalking, like a predator approaching prey, it puts everyone in the warehouse on alert.
"Stiles…?" Scott begins.
"You've no idea what the fuck you've done, do you?" He asks, in a perfectly conversational tone, except for the sharp edge to his voice.
"My mom's dead!" Allison snaps. "Derek Hale killed her! I demand vengeance for that!"
"You've no idea what you've done." He insists instead.
"We used magic, to summon someone who might be willing to right the wrongs done to us, because it's been made clear that no one here is willing to do it." Lydia says with a dramatic huff as she turns her head away from him.
"Yes, but you didn't summon just anyone." Stiles retorts.
"We summoned an assassin." Allison states, sounding more than a little bloodthirsty herself. "One that will do what no one else dares to."
"Maybe, but see, it's not that simple." Stiles replies. "The Faceless were assassins, that much is true, but they weren't servants, they were acolytes. You cannot order them to kill a specific individual, that's not how this works…"
"That's how assassins work, isn't it?" Scott tries to sound all sure of himself, yet he cannot help but hesitate at the end.
Stiles exhales at the confirmation that they really have no idea what they've done. Or well… at least he doesn't. Allison and Lydia… he's not so sure. It's too late to turn back though, it was too late the moment the very first drop of blood was shed…
"That's not how the Faceless work." Stiles says solemnly. "Something you'd know if you had any idea what you all just did…" He shakes his head. "It's too late for that."
"What do you mean by that?" Scott demands, eyes going wide as he finally seems to notice something's very, very off. "Stiles…?"
"The Faceless used to be assassins, that's true enough, but even if they existed as such still, you wouldn't have wanted to face them, the kind of price they'd demand of you is not one you'd ever want to pay." Stiles points out evenly.
"My mother was murdered, she deserves to be avenged and I will pay whatever price is required to make sure it happens." Allison practically snarls.
"Really?" Stiles arches a brow. "Would you kill Scott's mother for that? Lydia's? Or maybe you'd prefer to kill your own father?"
"What…?" The huntress blanches.
"That's the kind of price the Faceless would demand of you." Stiles points out simply.
"That's not fair!" Scott intervenes. "Our moms have nothing to do with that! And Ally already lost her mom!"
"True." Stiles nods, then adds: "Though was it truly murder?"
Allison's wordless shriek of rage drowns out Lydia's questions and Scott's shock.
"Is it murder when the person in question died by their own blade, and their own hand?" Stiles re-frames easily enough.
"She did what she had to do!" Allison snaps.
Stiles's expression shows exactly what he thinks about that, but he just shakes his head. It's pointless to try and insist on that front. He takes one more step forth, crossing the line of candles… that's probably when Lydia realizes she doesn't know as much about what they just set into motion as she thought she did.
"My name is Mieczyslaw Jan Stilinski, only son of Noah Janusz Stilinski and Claudia Gajos Stilinski, formerly Klaudia Sabina Wójcik, only daughter of Mieczyslaw Wójcik." Stiles states in a formal, almost ceremonial manner as he pulls his rowan knife from its sheathe, on his thigh. "I am the blood of the Faceless." He draws the blade across the palm of his hand, letting blood pool. "I am Death's Servant… I am Death's Seneschal…" He isn't, not yet, but he has no doubt that with what's been set in motion someone will be dying by his hand before it's all said and done. "For Justice and Death." He concludes solemnly as he turns his wrist, letting his blood fall.
"For Justice and Death." Voices all around the warehouse echo.
That's when Chris knows, for sure, that those teenagers have no idea what they've just done. Regardless, it's too late to turn back.
The moment the blood lands in the bowl there's again an explosion of some kind, the bowl turns into dust, the blood disappears, the candle-flames rise abruptly, just for a moment, consuming the candles almost entirely, before vanishing, along with everything else that formed the circle. The only light left is the one that filters from the high windows and a couple of sky-lights.
The first thing Chris notices is Stiles. The boy seems to be almost, glowing… it's not, not too obvious, except for how it's easier to see him than anyone else in the warehouse in that moment. He doesn't look any different from before, the slash on his hand has closed, nothing left but a thin scar; but his eyes… his eyes are entirely black, Chris feels like recoiling. Only, as he realizes right then, he cannot. He cannot move, cannot speak… judgment has begun.
"Scott Gregorio McCall, step forth and be judged." Stiles's voice no longer sounds quite like his own, it's deeper, harder, and there's something almost like an echoing quality to it.
"What…?!" The young wolf asks, shocked, even as he cannot help but give a step forth. "Judge me? But why? Peter Hale is the one that needs to be judged! I'm the victim here!"
"The blood in the ritual is the blood being judged." The Faceless (for that is who's speaking, through Stiles) states. "We judge rights, and we judge wrongs, done by and to."
"Wha… what the hell does that mean?!" Scott asks, beyond confused.
"It means that they'll judge things you've done, as well as things that may have been done to you." Chris offers.
"Oh… okay." Scott nods. "I've done nothing wrong, so I should be fine."
Chris says nothing, though he cannot help but wonder if the boy has truly forgotten so quickly his betrayal to the Hale Pack…
"You were working with Gerard Argent, against the Hale Pack." The Faceless states, simple, to the point, and with not a single ounce of emotion in his voice.
"He threatened my mom!" Scott snarls defensively.
Silence greets his answer, almost like the Faceless is waiting for something… Chris sees it then, the way Scott's face twists and turns, as if he's fighting against something, trying to hold something back. Yet another proof that the kid has no idea what he got himself into. They're in the middle of a ritual, an ancient ritual for judgment, one cannot lie during such things, not outright lies, and not lies of omission either.
"… and he said I could have Allison." The teen-aged wolf finally blurts out. "What…? I didn't mean to say that!"
"I'm not a possession!" Allison shrieks, furious. "You cannot just have me!"
"I didn't… I didn't…" Scott blabbers, flushed and flustered.
Chris thinks it's rather telling, that he cannot finish that sentence. He probably would like to say that he didn't mean it like that, yet the fact that he cannot say it… well, it speaks for itself, as far as the Hunter is concerned.
"You forced Derek Hale, alpha of the Hale Pack to give the bite to a man he would have never chosen to give it to, while being well aware of this, is that correct?" The Faceless is clearly stating rather than asking.
"I… I just… it wasn't like that!" Scott tries.
"Did you or did you not force Alpha Derek Hale to give the bite to someone?" The Faceless demands an answer.
"Yes, but…" Scott begins.
"Did you or did you not know that Derek Hale would have never chosen to give this man the bite, had it been his choice?" The Faceless asks next.
"Yes, but…" Scott tries again.
"Were you or were you not aware of Gerard Argent's plans, once he turned?" Is the next question.
"I… he never told me." Scott insists, and that at least has to be true.
It's clear he's trying to avoid admitting to some things. Chris also thinks that the fact that the Faceless can remain so completely calm and emotionless despite all of it shows how much Stilinski is not in charge of his own body in that moment. He has no doubt that the teen's reaction to some things would be very different…
"Did you ever hear him say what he wanted?" The Faceless asks next.
"Yes, he wanted to be Alpha." Scott cannot help but admit.
"Are you aware how one becomes alpha?" The Faceless is clearly guiding him to the answer, no matter how hard Scott McCall might fight him, as an affirmative answer brings the next question immediately: "How?"
"By inheriting the power or… or… t… taking it!" The teenager tries like hell to hold back, but in the end he cannot.
"The obvious conclusion of this, is that after turning Gerard Argent would have killed Derek Hale to become the Alpha." The Faceless pieces it all together easily enough. "Did you know this when you chose to betray the alpha?"
"It's not betrayal!" Scott insists. "Derek Hale might be an alpha, but he's not mine! He will never be my alpha! I don't even want to be a werewolf!"
It's like some kind of bell has rung, the silence that follows that statement almost echoes.
"Is that true?" The Faceless questions, though for Scott to be able to say it, it has to be. "Tell me, Scott McCall, what has being a wolf taken from you exactly?"
"Everything!" Scott snaps. "Wolves are beasts, animals, monsters, I don't want any of that. My girlfriend's family won't let us be together. My mother can barely even look at me! I don't want to have anything to do with any of this! I just want to be human!"
"And what has being a wolf given you?" The Faceless asks, seemingly completely unaffected by Scott's dramatic tirade.
"Nothing!" Scott snaps. "It's given me nothing! It's only ruined my life!"
The Faceless man nods. When he next moves he does so faster than anyone, even the wolves, can follow. One moment he seems to be standing in the very center of the circle where the three teenagers started the ritual, the next he's right before Scott, his hand buried inside the body of the somewhat younger boy.
"Scott!" Allison shrieks, horrified.
The Faceless pulls back a moment later, letting the teenager fall like a puppet with its strings cut. For a moment it looks like Allison's truly considering going after the Faceless and attack, but in the end she chooses Scott instead, dropping to her knees beside him. She starts checking him over right away, turning his body and pulling him half onto her lap. It's then that she, and everyone else in the warehouse seem to realize that there's no visible wound on him, no blood, nothing at all. That makes all eyes go to the Faceless. The shock is great when the see him standing there, holding what looks like a translucent, slightly-glowing form… a wolf. He's holding the 'spirit' (for lack of a better term) by the scruff of the neck. The wolf looks thin, almost sickly so. All in the Hale Pack have a visceral reaction to it, to the implications. The understanding of how badly Scott treated his own wolf for it to be in such condition.
"Peter Hale…" The Faceless calls.
The older wolf visibly swallows but he steps forth nonetheless, going to stand in front of the Faceless. Fighting like hell not to show any fear, not to him, and not to anyone.
"While you were an Alpha, you bit two teenagers against their will." That part is not a question but a fact, what comes next though, throws them all for a loop: "Why?"
It's almost funny, in a way that nobody laughs. Everyone has criticized, or even outright attacked Peter for his actions at one point or another, yet not at any moment have any of them asked him why he did any of it…
"I needed a pack." Peter says simple after considering it for a few moments.
"Tell us how you came to be the Alpha," The Faceless requests.
"I lost the majority of my original pack in a fire, where I was also badly burnt." Peter explains. "My new alpha abandoned me in a human hospital, under my real name; she sacrificed me to any Hunters still in the area, to give herself and the only one she cared to take with her, time to flee. It was her abandonment that left me trapped in a body that refused to heal. The doctors called it a coma, but I was aware in there. For six years all I had was the company of my own thoughts, the memory of my family's screams as they burned alive." Was it any wonder he went insane? "I woke up when my nurse tried to kill me, in such a way that she ended accidentally kick-starting my healing instead. The first thing I knew I wanted was justice, justice for my lost pack, for my own abandonment. I was insane, thought most of the time I wasn't aware of that. All I knew was that I wanted justice, wanted to make those that hurt me and mine pay for their crimes… I didn't care if I lived or died. I had nothing to live for anyway."
"You prayed for Justice, and when No One answered, sought to make it yourself." The Faceless concludes in an even tone.
"I know I made some wrong choices, many of them even." Peter admits. "I do not begrudge my nephew, and the others who were involved, for killing me. I… I was insane, and was never going to stop. When I came back later…"
"It wasn't your time yet." The Faceless cuts him off.
Peter opens his mouth, then closes it, clearly taken aback by that little revelation. In the end he just bows his head respectfully, having nothing to say.
"Peter Hale, you've been wronged, and you've wronged others." The Faceless states. "Two wrongs do not make one right, yet punishing you for actions taken while you were insane, or in pursuit of your vengeance, would not be justice." He exhales. "We've decided that you shall never be alpha again. Enjoy your pack, respect it, be loyal to it. Be at peace."
He lets go of the spirit-wolf he's still holding, the 'animal' seems to dissolve into a cloud of sparks, which go straight for Peter, slamming against him and either disappearing on impact, or perhaps it'd be more accurate to say he absorbs them. The wolf is, in a certain way, a part of him after all, it's only right that it return to Peter.
"Derek Samuel Hale, Alpha of the Hale Pack." The Faceles intones.
Derek takes a deep breath, reminding himself of Stiles's last words and actions before they went into the warehouse:
"Trust me?" Stiles asked quietly as he stood beside the wolf, their fingers brushing together.
"Always," Derek's response was automatic, practically instinctual.
The smile that took shape on the teenager's face was short but big and so bright… and then he did the last thing anyone could have ever expected: he threw himself at the wolf and place a brief, tender kiss on the very edge of Derek's mouth.
"For luck," the seventeen-year-old said with a cheeky smile.
Really, is it any surprise that his betas were barely keeping in control when they went in?
"As Peter Hale has been judged and he carries the blood of the Hale wolves all of you shall be judged." The Faceless announces.
"So be it," Derek goes to stand before him, projecting an image of stoicism and serenity, he knows he has his faults, has done wrong, he can only hope his pack won't be punished for his wrongdoings.
"So much guilt is in you," The Faceless states. "For actions not your own. Your hands may have been the ones to end Paige Krasikeva's life, but only at her request, her death was a mercy, and the fault for her loss does not lay at your feet. The deaths of Talia Hale and the majority of her pack are not on you either, they are on Katherine Argent, Gerard Argent, Alan Deaton, and the rest of her accomplices. By sunset tonight, all involved will have paid…"
"Thank you," Derek bows respectfully, and there's something in his voice, something different, like some intrinsic part of him just changed…
The guilt Derek's carried for so long… it was something that nothing could take away, not the forgiveness of his uncle, or the insistence of him, Stiles, and most of his pack that what happened was never his fault. And yet the pronouncement of the Faceless of that very thing… it's changed things. He doesn't know if it's the power the being holds (even as it currently is, ensconced in Stiles's body), or the fact that, it being what it is, the Faceless is an outsider, entirely neutral, objective, and truthful. Whatever it is, in that moment Derek feels at peace, in a way he hasn't felt since the loss of most of his birth-pack…
"Return to your pack, Derek Hale." The Faceless instructs. "Lead them, guide them, be at peace. And know the future of the Hale Pack is bright…"
Derek bows his head slightly in respect before turning and walking away, back to his pack, all his betas reaching to touch him and scent mark him briefly upon his return.
"What…?" Allison's obviously not expecting that.
"No!" Lydia cries out in denial. "That's not justice! He needs to pay! They must pay! For what Peter did to me! They all need to pay! I deserve my vengeance!"
"Lydia Lori Martin…" The Faceless states formally as he turns to face her.
"No!" Lydia cuts him off. "No, you're not going to judge me! Not when you haven't even given me what I asked for in the first place! What I deserve!"
"And what is it that you deserve, Daughter of Morrígan?" The Faceless questions.
"I deserve my vengeance." Lydia snaps, either too far gone to realize what she's saying exactly, or just not caring anymore. "People don't leave me, I leave them! Jackson left me! And it was all their fault! The Hales, and their pack of stupid animals! They must pay!"
It's almost sad, truly. To realize that everything going on. That the huge mess they're all in, was caused by a girl throwing a tantrum because a boy left her.
"Lydia Lori Martin, you refuse to step forth and be judged, yet the moment you gave your blood to the ritual, you were already being judged." The Faceless informs her. "You've seen fit to manipulate those around you in order to put things in motion. You believed Death to be as easy to manipulate as the children around you, but you were wrong."
"Everyone can be manipulated, you just need to know what buttons to push." Lydia retorts, not sounding the slightest bit repentant. "Even you… I've been doing it for years!"
"It is true you've manipulated my Seneschal, there were times when he chose to allow it, and others when he was unaware." The Faceless points out. "But I am not him. I am not human. You cannot manipulate me. What's more, you're one of mine, a child of death… It is, in a certain way, what first drew my Seneschal to you." He exhales. "But you've proven yourself undeserving of the power in your blood. And so I'll take it from you." Before she can move, can even think about doing so, he places a hand on her neck, loosely around her throat. "May the blood of the Morrígan go dormant once again, until someone more deserving of it, and its gifts, comes."
Something that sounds almost like the beginning of a scream… or not a scream, it's longer, and sharper than that, a wail, escapes Lydia's throat, only to trail off shortly afterwards, as the banshee power that was only awakening in her, goes fully dormant once more.
"What… what did you do to me?" Lydia asks, voice sounding strangely hoarse.
"I gave you what you wanted, justice." The Faceless stated. "I took away the power you never asked for, nor wanted. Erasing the wrong done to you when Peter Hale bit you; and at the same time, made you pay for the wrong you tried to do, in calling me to punish other people for decisions that were made and were never about you, at all."
Lydia drops to her knees in shocked silence. She cannot help the profound sense of loss inside her. The realization that she's just lost something. Something she never understood, never really wanted, yet now that it's gone she cannot help but think it's a tragedy… What did she do?!
"Allison Argent, step forth and be judged." The Faceless intones.
"No," The huntress replies, even as she leaves her boyfriend on the floor and stands, as tall and straight as she can make herself, and going as far as jutting her chin out in defiance. "No, I will not let you judge me Stiles! This isn't how it was supposed to be! Maybe… maybe Lydia did the spell wrong. But I'm not going to let you use it as an excuse to hurt me."
"I told Lydia Martin, and I'll tell you now, little girl, you made the choice, committed yourself to this path, the moment you added your blood to the ritual." The Faceless states.
"It wasn't my blood." Allison cuts him off. "It was my mother's. Shows how little you know, stupid fool…"
"Your mother's blood is your own, little girl." The Faceless states, still in a completely even tone. "Trying to back away from things now will achieve absolutely nothing. I am not my Seneschal. Fully aware he might remain, but what happens now is not in his hands to decide. He made the choice to surrender all control to me, believing it would make things easier, not on himself but on you all. He could have handled matters himself, as was his right as one of mine, yet you children would have never accepted the judgment due, not coming from him. Because you still see him as the human he's not, rather than my Seneschal, my mouth and hand in this plane of existence. Nothing would have been in any way different, had he been the one to fulfill the ritual. But my Seneschal is human, and a very empathetic one at that, he might have pitied you. Me? I feel nothing. I am all about Justice and Death, nothing else matters."
"Where is my justice then?" Allison demands. "Where is my mother's justice?! Derek Hale murdered her and he needs to pay for that!"
The Faceless opens his mouth, clearly having something to say about Allison's insistence on believing things were a certain way, when he's unexpectedly interrupted in a most unexpected manner: by Chris Argent prostrating himself at the Faceless's feet.
"Your Grace," The hunter speaks up. "I plead for mercy for my daughter."
The Faceless has nothing to say about that, though his arched brow is probably answer enough.
"Please, Your Grace." Chris pleads. "Allison… she's not a bad person, just misguided. If you'd just show some mercy…"
"You want me to show her some mercy?" The Faceless questions.
Chris can hear the challenge, yet what can he do other than nod?
"The same mercy she showed Derek Hale when Katherine Argent used him as a live example of a werewolf and Allison not only kept his location secret while knowing people were actively looking for him, but she even participated in his torture?" The Faceless questions. "The same mercy she showed two of her own classmates: Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd, when she lead the hunt for them? When she strung them in your own basement to be tortured and eventually killed? The same she showed Isaac Lahey when she buried her knives in his kidneys? Neither of those three have ever hurt anyone, certainly not her, and yet your daughter went after them for no other reason than them being Hale Betas… The same mercy she showed my Seneschal when she saw him being thrown into your basement that same night and did nothing to help him?"
It's the last one that breaks the older Argent's composure. The Sheriff's son was in his basement? And his daughter knew? Allison allowed a human boy to be hurt?! It's perhaps rather telling of his own beliefs, his own racist views, that nothing really affected him until that.
"Or perhaps, perhaps you want me to show her the same mercy she showed Henry James who, in case you were unaware, was a lone wolf who came to Beacon Hills looking for a pack." The Faceless continues speaking before Chris can interrupt with the obvious comment. "He wasn't an Omega, not yet, he was perfectly rational, and had never hurt a single person in his life. Your Allison helped Gerard Argent capture him and it was she who killed him. Her first kill."
"If mercy… if mercy is beyond what's possible, I can still take her place." Chris tries. "Give me her punishment and release her."
"You're a hypocrite, Christopher Argent." The Faceless states. "You care very little about all the things your precious child might have done to the wolves, even my Seneschal matters very little to you. You believe that taking her place will somehow make you a good father. But truth is you had the opportunity her whole life to be a good father, and you weren't…"
"I was just trying to protect her…" Chris murmurs, half defensive, half-hesitant.
"You were a coward, like you always have been." The Faceless retorts bluntly. "It's never been a matter of you not being aware of your sister's, sins, or your father's, or even your wife's. It's that you never wanted to know. Because if you knew, and you admitted it. You'd then have to do something about it. You'd have to fight them, stop them, and you didn't want to do that. You were far too happy with your life to want to alter the status quo. And, as far as you were concerned, what was the point? You've never seen werewolves as people, you've never cared about them, or even about humans. That's the failing of so many people, mundanes and supernaturals both, you just do not care…" He shakes his head. "You think that you taking your daughter's place will somehow show you love her. But it won't. It will just reinforce her own belief that her actions were right. That she can get away with killing innocents. And why shouldn't she, when her parents, grandparents, and all her other ancestors have been doing exactly that for generations?!"
"It's still my right to do this." Chris insists. "She's my blood."
"She is, but it still would change nothing, not in this." The Faceless retorted. "For I am not judging Allison Argent alone, I am judging her blood. Which means that my judgment concerns not one Argent but all. The entirety of the Argent Hunting Clan."
"You cannot judge me!" Allison finally speaks up again. "You cannot judge us! You have no right! We Hunt those who Hunt us!"
"You understand nothing, little girl." The Faceless states. "If the wolves followed your so-called Code Derek Hale would have every right to go into your house and kill every single Argent for Katherine's murder of his family! Your Code has ever been your Clan's excuse for murdering unchecked: wolves, magic-users, mundanes. You care not who you kill as long as your thirst for blood is satisfied. No more. You made a demand for justice and it will be fulfilled."
"Derek Hale needs to die!" Allison insists. "He murdered my mother!"
"You make claims, make demands, of things you know not." The Faceless says evenly. "You have built a reality in which you've been wronged. In which Victoria Argent was a martyr. You know not the reality you live in. But you will…" He steps back. "Oroitz… Maya…"
Two people, a Spanish man and a Hindu woman step forth from the loose line of those standing on the edges of the warehouse. He looks to be in his late thirties, has tanned skin, dark brown shaggy hair and equally dark eyes, with facial hair obscuring his features some; wears a blue-gray button-up with rolled-up long-sleeves and the top couple of buttons undone as well as dark-blue (almost black) slacks and dark polished shoes, a pair of glasses hooked to the pocket of his shirt. She looks like she might be in her mid to late twenties, smooth bronze skin, with dark hazel eyes and long, shiny black hair falling down her back; she's wearing a two piece floor-length sand-colored dress with a v-neck, sleeves to her elbows and which leaves her mid-riff bare. A translucent long scarf going around her back and twisted around her elbows.
Unknown to most who might be seeing them, the glasses and the scarf are the pieces that hold the magic which would usually render the Servants of Death, faceless. It's that magic which protects them, which allows them to fulfill their duty without putting themselves, or their own, at any undue risk. It's also something none of them would dare wear in the presence of Death itself…
"Show her what she's missing." The Faceless instructs the two.
These two Servants are very particular. They don't belong to the half of the Order that serves as warriors, that actually goes and sees justice done physically, usually by killing those guilty of any number of crimes (who traditional justice will never reach); they're instead among those who work behind the scenes, due to their gifts. They're both psychic, though their abilities are completely different: Oroitz Salazar is a cognitive, his specialty being post-cognition, or seeing the past; all he needs is an anchor, it can be an object, a place, an event, and he can throw his consciousness back to it; he also has perfect recall (though if that's supernatural or entirely human, who knows?). Aside from his work as a Servant of Death, he works for Interpol, where he uses his gifts both in supernatural and mundane crimes. Maya Devi for her part is an illusionist, anything she can see in her mind (whether real or imagined) she can project. She's an artist, painting and sculpting and while she has art exhibitions fairly often, once a year she has one that is popularly known as her 'magic show', only supernaturals can even get tickets to that one, as she's known to mix illusions with her art; it's said to be a breathtaking show.
For a handful of seconds no one seems to know what to expect and then it happens. It begins with random colors, like some kind of painter making careless brush-strokes onto thin air. Only those seemingly randoms blotches of color soon enough take shape, the background looks similar enough to where they are at present: a warehouse, but it's the two ghostly figures suddenly right there that draws everyone's attention: Scott McCall (whose real, physical self is still lying unconscious on the cement floor behind Allison Argent) and Victoria Argent…
"What…?" The two remaining Argents are equally shocked.
And then the real shocker, when it's no longer just images, but sound as well:
"What… What are you doing…?" The projected Scott sounds weak, so very weak…
"Isn't it obvious?" The huntress on the other hand sounds triumphant: "I'm killing you."
"No!" Allison shrieks in denial, shaking her head violently. "Nononononono… this is not true! It cannot be true! Mom wouldn't… She wouldn't…"
It doesn't end there. The scene goes on to show Scott weakening, Victoria's satisfaction, until Scott finally manages to howl a call for help. Derek's arrival, his confrontation with Victoria, and the fateful bite… It goes even further to show Victoria finding her husband. The talks with Gerard and then, the moment when it happened, in Allison's bedroom, with Victoria's favorite dagger, held by both her and Chris…
The sound that comes from Allison's throat at that is absolutely inhuman.
"Why…?" Chris pants, tears falling down his cheeks. "Why would you do that? Why torture her… us, like that?"
"Because she needed to know the truth." The Faceless states emotionlessly as the illusion finally vanishes and the two Servants return to their original spots on the edges of the warehouse. "You failed to be honest with your daughter when it would have made a difference, and at this point mere words would have never convinced her. She needed to see…"
Allison continues her wordless shrieking until it apparently becomes too much and she blacks out entirely, her dad catching her just before her body hits the ground.
"I never wanted to hurt her…" He tries to explain.
"No, you'd rather the entire world burn as long as your daughter remain unhurt, isn't that right?" The Faceless says, pointedly.
The older Argent winces somewhat but has no words with which to deny it.
"What happens now?" Chris asks quietly.
"The Argent Hunting Clan is no more." The Faceless announces. "What's more, all Hunters currently in Beacon Hills will be remanded to the Sheriff's Department, who will probably end up handing them to the FBI."
It's until then that Chris remembers he and Allison weren't the only hunters inside the warehouse when the 'judgment' began. It has been made clear that quite a few of the individuals he saw and didn't recognize weren't in fact hunters, but Servants of Death. And yet he knew at least some of them. As he looks around he realizes they're all restrained in some way or another, some even unconscious; clearly the doing of the Servants.
"Katherine Argent, Gerard Argent and Alan Deaton will die before the sun sets." The Faceless announces next.
Chris's head snaps up sharply, biting his tongue to keep from blurting about his shock at the Faceless knowing his father is alive, while at the same time wondering if he's being honest and his sister is alive as well. Does it make any difference? He isn't sure if he ought to be angry, the Faceless is talking about killing members of his family (there are so precious few of those left…) or relieved, he knows they're monsters. Perhaps it is like the Faceless said: he's a coward, has always been… As for Alan Deaton, he knows the man is a druid, or something like that (most druids are weak and basically useless, so he's never cared much about them), he's also the one who sold huge quantities of mountain ash to his sister (he saw that in her diary), the very same that was used to seal the Hale House, and probably others; so there's no doubt he deserves whatever's coming to him.
"Regarding your own sins," The Faceless continues. "I cannot punish you anymore than what you've punished yourself already, and will continue to do so, for the rest of your life. Which leaves us with Allison…"
"Don't…!" Chris blurts out. "Don't take her from me… please!"
"She will not be a Huntress, not ever again." The Faceless informs him. "There is no negotiating that. The Argent Hunting Clan is gone, and gone is how it'll stay. And while vassals can be sent to prison, even a mundane prison and that may be enough, no prison will ever be enough to stop a Hunter from the Old Lines. We also both know that your daughter will not give up hunting willingly. She's much too proud of it, of her own actions, has no regrets. One cannot redeem someone who has no interest in being redeemed."
"I…" Chris swallows. "Can you take it away? Take away what makes her a Hunter. I just want my daughter… my little girl…"
Silence greets the request, as the Faceless says nothing, just studying Chris carefully, as if looking for something.
"Is that truly what you want?" The Faceless presses. "You must know, she will not be as you know her now. She will lose all that makes her an Argent and a Huntress: supernatural skill, memories, instincts, all gone. That will have consequences, some that will never go away. We will also ensure that whatever might happen, nothing will ever be able to bring her back."
"Do whatever you think needs to be done, just leave me my child…" Chris murmurs quietly, holding the unconscious Allison tight.
"It will be done." The Faceless announces. "Allison Argent, no more a Huntress, no more an Argent, never again. Helmut…"
The man that steps forward then is tall (an even 6 ft.), about fifty, with an oval face, dark brown eyes and hair, and some facial hair that's peppered with gray, wide-shoulders; he's dressed in a sand-colored three-piece suit with a pale blue shirt with the top two buttons undone and tanned-leather shoes on his feet. His name's Helmut Fromm, he's German, a psychiatrist with his own practice and international renown; he's also a psychic, a telepath, he specializes in memories, either helping his patients access them, blurring them; he's also capable of erasing them entirely, though as he's always reminding everyone: doing so has consequences.
"My liege," He bows respectfully to the Faceless as he goes to stand by the two Argents.
Derek cannot help the impression though that he's not actually (or at least, not just) bowing to the entity in control of Stiles right then, but to Stiles himself.
"The Faceless was called, Judgment has been passed, Sentences announced." The Faceless declares in the strongest, most powerful tone yet, the voice almost echoing across the warehouse. "It is done. For Justice and Death."
"For Justice and Death." The Servants echo.
Black eyes close briefly, having gone back to dark-amber with a hint of gold when they open once again. He sways a bit in place and in seconds his pack is all around him, holding onto him, for his benefit as much as for their own.
Lydia watches them silently for several very long seconds before eventually picking herself up and, making a point to stand as tall and straight as she can, she turns her back on them and walks away. Jackson watches her go with some sadness. He's not in love with her, not anymore; truth be told, in hindsight he's not sure he ever was. Lydia's someone who used to fit him so well, when they were younger, and then they both got lost in their own popularity; but while Jackson heeded his hell of a wake-up call and made the changes needed to be happy and at peace, with his family, friends and most importantly, himself. Lydia insists on holding onto the past, so tightly she's lost sight of the future… Jackson truly wishes he could help her, though it's become beyond obvious that were he to even try… well, it wouldn't be pretty. Danny says nothing, though it's clear he has some idea of Jackson's thoughts, and not only he doesn't begrudge his boyfriend for them, but he understands it. He's still there, supporting Jackson, like he always has, and hopefully always will.
They all hear as arrangements are made to get the still unconscious McCall to the hospital. They don't know how much the loss of his wolf might have affected him, though at the very least he's back to being human, and asthmatic. Also, for their own safety no one from the pack can be involved. Helmut has already dealt with blurring his memories of the supernatural. Not much more than that is necessary; in this case, Scott's stubbornness at denying his own status and pretending to be human will aid them. If anyone ever needs an explanation as to why he was so good at sports for a short time it won't be hard to sell the idea of some experimental medication that didn't work long term. It's hard to tell if they'll need to do anything about Melissa, though considering her own state of denial, maybe not.
Arrangements are also being done to transport the hunters, including Chris and Allison. Helmut will be sticking with them, as what needs to be done to her is much more complex and elaborate than what was done with Scott.
"Can we go home now?" Erica asks quietly.
"Not yet, sorry." Stiles says, apologetically, then revises. "You can head home whenever you want, of course. Though there's something I still need to see through."
"The three that must die." Peter guesses.
"Yes," Stiles nods. "They must die, it needs to happen before sunset and… and I need to be the one to do it."
"Why?" Isaac asks, and it's not an accusation, just honest curiosity.
"Because it's my duty." Stiles explains quietly. "From the start, it was on me…"
"But… the Faceless…?" Erica isn't quite sure how to ask the question.
"The Faceless was necessary because Lydia and Allison, and especially Scott, would have never listened to a word I said if it had been just me saying them." Stiles explains. "All the things They knew, that went into the judgment… I could have done all that. But those three… they'll never see me as anything more than the geeky, spastic, weak, human."
The whole of the Hale Pack, as one, snorts. Truly, even before they knew about the magic, before Stiles used any sort of magic in front of them, when he limited himself to handling things the way someone entirely human would, they'd all respected him, his skill, his bravery. Jackson, even with all the ways he and Stiles didn't get along, knew better than to actually do anything against him, learned it way back in seventh grade! Others though… Lydia was always so focused on her own genius, she'd forget she was far from being the only one; never gave much thought to the fact that Stiles was always second in grades, just a little bit bellow her, despite Harris and all the time he spent involved in supernatural shenanigans. Scott… well, truth be told even before the whole 'being popular' got to his head, he was never one to pay much attention to Stiles, unless he needed the other boy for something (playing, homework, anything). As for the Argents, they seemed to suffer the same kind of tunnel-vision most of their kind (Hunters) did; they dividing beings in three categories: the Hunters, those they hunted, and everyone else, the latter being completely irrelevant. They made the mistake of dismissing Stiles as human and thus irrelevant.
"In any case, we've dealt with the judgment of most those involved, all but three." Stiles continues. "I need to deal with them, personally."
"We have them." Another man announces right then.
He's in his late thirties, tall (taller than Helmut), with a strong build, rectangular face, lightly tanned skin, light facial hair, green eyes and brown hair; he's wearing a black suit with a white crisp shirt underneath with the top two buttons undone and no tie. His name is Aron Franciszek Arkadiusz, better known by some as Arek; Polish, works in the CBS (Central Investigation Bureau, by it's Polish initials), though he's been known to transfer temporarily to other agencies in a variety of countries when necessary; he's also a Hunter through his mother's family: the Kemps. Though they, like most 'Old World' Hunters, tend to focus on creatures greater (and far more dangerous) than werewolves.
"Arek, the Hale Pack, Alpha Derek Hale. Pack, this is Arek, he's a Hunter, one of the good ones." Stiles handles the introductions, only really introducing the Alpha, as is tradition when dealing with outsiders. "I hope all's going well."
"Of course, we have everything under control." Arek assures him immediately. "The condemned are being taken to the Nemeton as we speak. It was Sophia's opinion that you could use their deaths as part of the purification ritual you were planning on doing."
"Good idea, yes." Stiles agrees. "Anything else?"
"Yes," Arek nods once. "A few weeks ago we came across a pack. Five wolves, all of them alphas, three of them absolutely insane. Also, two of those had mundane arrest warrants against them, as the prime suspects of killing sprees; one of them, Ennis, had actually two different arrest warrants, from different states. When they provoked a confrontation we were forced to take them down. The only survivors were the younger members, twins. After determining that they were more victims than criminals we decided to send them to the Johnson-Smith pack in Washington . They're used to taking in lone wolves, even alphas. If anyone can help those two, it's them."
"And if they cannot be helped?" Peter cannot help but ask.
"Then they're also the best equipped to deal with them." Arek answers without hesitation.
"The Johnson-Smith pack is called that because they were originally two packs." Stiles clarifies. "Lead by their alphas: Leah Johnson and Jacob Smith, when they mated they decided to combine their packs, which means their numbers are higher than what you might expect in most tribe-packs. So yeah, I think they're quite well equipped to handle a pair of twins, even if they happen to be alphas. What's more, the rest of the packs in the area submit to them, so they're essentially the alphas of the whole Olympic Peninsula."
Just like the Hales once were The Pack of NorCal… and they just might be again, one day.
xXx
The pack insists on accompanying Stiles to the Nemeton. It's not pretty, and Stiles feels tinges of regret for allowing it more than once, though he knows it's part of his duty, and it might be better if they're well aware of it from the start. After a quick talk with Sophia (the woman is in her thirties, 5' 7" tall, with lightly tanned skin and an athletic figure, wavy short chestnut brown hair and dark brown eyes; wearing a thin-strapped royal blue loose top, dark-washed jeans, blue ballerina flats and a light-blue scarf loosely around her neck and shoulders. She's an emergency nurse for a hospital in Columbus, Ohio, as well as a High-Druidess), they decide to use a triple Celtic knot to perform the sacrifice, as well as a triple-fold-death on each of the sacrifices.
"Three-times-three." Sophia says, as if that ought to explain everything, and perhaps to those well versed in magic, it does.
"It's a powerful number," Stiles adds for good measures.
He's already told the pack, especially Peter, that while he completely understands that they all probably want to be the ones to kill those three, and for very good reasons, it has to be him. The Servants place the sacrifices around the Nemeton's stump, which Stiles climbs upon. Alan Deaton is restrained, physically and magically, voicelessly trying to curse at Stiles; Kate Argent looks to barely be alive, so no restraints are needed, she's still alive enough to count for the sacrifice though; Gerard Argent for his part is tied up, and while he isn't gagged, he cannot actually say a thing, as every time he tries he ends up coughing more black gunk. It's quite disgusting, all things told, so Stiles makes a point to get things done as quickly as possible.
A blow to the head, a garrote around their necks and a dagger through their hearts, the three are dead in a matter of minutes. What's more, the moment the bodies stop bleeding the Nemeton seems to shift, roots emerging from the earth to pull their bodies down into it.
"Well, I suppose that deals with clean-up." Arek says, in a perfectly calm, even tone.
The teenagers (all but Stiles) look like they're not sure if they ought to be fascinated by the development, or disturbed by it. Stiles is just grateful they won't have to either find some way to get rid of the bodies, or concoct a plan that will work with mundane authorities. As it is Kate at least is already legally dead; a couple of Sophia's people are working on creating a believable trail that will make it seem like Deaton decided to up and leave town abruptly, not just to avoid having another suspicious death in town, but in case anyone goes looking for him; the nursing home Gerard was in will have a field-day explaining how their patient went missing to the authorities once one or more of the arrested hunters give up his name, at least that won't be their problem, seeing how the nursing home is all the way in Nevada…
"Things should improve considerably from now on." Sophia announces. "With Deaton no longer corrupting the energies in this place, the energy the sacrifices will have provided the Nemeton, as well as the formal re-establishment of the Hale Pack in the territory… yes, things will be much better from now on."
Derek nods his head, understanding what Sophia isn't saying as much as what she is. How important their pack is for the territory to truly get better. He's sure they all will do their best. It's not in them (in any of them) to do any less.
Sophia, Arek and the others say their goodbyes right there at the Nemeton. The two of them will be joining Helmut to help with the Argents. The rest will be taking off for their own homes, now that the danger's finally past.
Stiles gets a call from his dad complaining about the mountain of work he's thrown their way. Because of course, someone has to take charge officially and be responsible for the newly arrested hunters, at least until the FBI arrives and takes over the case (which will definitely happen, as there's no doubt all of them will have crimes in more than one state; and even if they were extremely careful and hid their involvement in them, hid that any crimes happened from mundane authorities even, the magic of the Faceless' judgment will ensure proof of their guilt is found, and not as if it had just been discovered, but as if it had been found from the moment it happened and they just hadn't found the criminals until then).
"I don't even know how any of it works." Stiles admits when he finishes explaining things to the pack. "It's all part of the Judgment, really. And since that kind of Call hadn't been done since… well, not ever in known history, there's a lot that's not really known."
"But you're sure there will be no trace of the supernatural?" Peter wants to confirm.
"Nothing at all." Stiles nods.
"Good," Peter nods. "I mean, I will never forgive Talia for the Alpha Order that kept me from reading my old boyfriend in, and all the ways that ruined what we had back then… but she was right in that reading in just anyone can be quite dangerous… of course she took it to the extremes with her refusal to even consider reading anyone in at all but…"
"You know, when you first told me that story, when I was in high-school, I remember it going a bit different." Derek comments, more confused than accusatory.
"How so?" Peter asks him calmly.
"Back then you said she didn't let you read in your girlfriend, not your boyfriend." Derek points out, head tilted to the side in contemplation.
"Boyfriend, girlfriend, neither, both, what difference does it make?" Peter shrugs.
No one seems to have anything to say to that.
"What I want to know is why you just let the little Argent bitch go." Erica eventually demands. "After what she did to all of us…"
"Who said anything about letting her go?" Stiles is honestly puzzled by that assumption.
They can all tell by his chemosignals that the teenager is honestly confused by that, which only serves to confuse at least some of them further. The young wolves most definitely do not like being confused.
"Helmut, the man that was called there at the end of the Judgment, he's a psychic, a telepath, to be precise." Stiles explains solemnly. "He's usually called when a mundane has discovered the supernatural and they either cannot deal, or in their learning about it, they have become a danger. Most of the time it's not anything big that he does, in most cases simply blurring key memories is enough, make them less precise. Without a certainty of the existence of the supernatural most people stop being a risk. It's very different when you're dealing with someone who's already part of the Shadow World." He takes a deep breath. "In Allison's case, while she only knew of the supernatural recently, she's been trained for it in one way or another her whole life. Also, her sentence is to not be a Huntress ever again; and like was said before, that's not something she'd just accept. So it had to be forced. The only way to achieve that is to ensure that she Cannot Be a Huntress anymore. Skills, knowledge, memories, it all goes."
"Oh…" Erica's clearly speechless at that.
"It's not just that, is it?" Peter's question makes all eyes turn to him. "I mean, think about it. Our memories don't exactly exist in a vacuum. Like, when you're talking about something, anything, whatever you say might bring to mind something else, and that will remind you of another thing. You may start a conversation about an upcoming movie, which will remind you of the last time you went to the movies, then something else you did with your friends, or your family, then perhaps school, or the last family dinner, and on and on. It's all connected. So how much is little Miss Argent really going to lose? Maybe it'd have been more merciful to kill her."
No one has anything to say to that, but there's something about Stiles's expression that makes it seem like maybe, just maybe, he agrees.
xXx
It takes a few days for Erica to remember about the 'little kiss' Stiles gave Derek just before they went into that warehouse. She makes a huge deal about it, wanting to know just how long the two of them have been mates, have known about it even!
"Since the night of the confrontation in the warehouse." Stiles answers honestly. "Derek dropped by my place after it was all over. He'd smelled the blood and pain on me earlier and decided to go make sure I actually made it home." Which was more than Scott ever did, but anyway. "We talked about a lot of things, including our potential as mates, the obvious difference in our ages; we decided to take it slow, maybe start dating casually during the summer, but nothing serious until my eighteenth birthday."
"You never told us!" The blonde pouts.
"It was none of our business." Peter tells her rather bluntly.
Mostly because he knows that while both his nephew and Stiles might think it, neither of them will ever say it, not wanting to offend her, or anyone else. And while he probably would have liked to know, if for no other reason that he utterly dislikes not knowing things (and okay, it'd have been great blackmailing material!), he truly does believe it wasn't actually any of their business. And it still won't be, not until things are actually formalized… or not. Though he's betting on yes, just considering the way those two look at each other. In any case, it's the same reason why he's kept his own quite serious talks with Noah very private. Of course once they manage to get over the past, over all the ways they hurt each other in the past (with their secrets, their lies of omission, their avoidance of each other) and if they happen to decide to give each other, to give Them another chance. Then the pack will probably be finding out. Until then it truly is none of their business. Still, Peter has a good feeling about things; he has… hope, probably for the first time in a long, long time…
A knocking on the door calls everyone's attention, mostly because no one other than pack drops by anymore, and they've all grown comfortable enough with just walking in without knocking, knowing they're always welcome. All wolves react automatically, the teenagers with low, barely audible growls, making it obvious that whoever is at the door is probably supernatural. The Hales on the other hand look somewhat perturbed, which actually worries Stiles some.
"Down puppies." Stiles orders playfully as he rises from the couch where he's been cuddling with Derek and heads towards the door.
One of his hands is hovering over his rowan dagger, just in case, as with the other one he opens the door. Not too wide, certainly not enough for whoever is out there to see inside the house. At the door is a young woman, around Stiles's age probably, with long dark hair in a loose pony-tail and light-hazel eyes wearing an ash-gray top with jeans, a light jacket and black leather boots. There's a heavy-looking pack at her feet. She reminds Stiles powerfully of someone, though for the life of him he cannot put his finger on who, exactly.
"Hello," She greets him. "Is this the Stilinski residence?"
"Yes, I'm Stiles Stilinski." He replies genially. "What brings you here?"
"I'm looking for a Hale, I was told he lives here." She explains with some hesitation.
That puts Stiles on alert immediately. The girl doesn't look evil, exactly, though he can tell she's a shifter, and she still reminds him of someone and… no… it cannot be, can it?
She sniffs, not at all discreetly, and Stiles can tell when she picks up the scent of the pack because her eyes flash gold just for a moment before she gets herself under control.
"You smell like…" She blurts out, looking straight at Stiles with a mix of confusion, anger, and so, so much hope, that it's almost heartbreaking to watch. "Like…"
"Who are you?" He practically demands, because his mind's still hinting at something that's just not possible, the world isn't that crazy…
"I'm Cora Hale." Because yes, apparently the world truly is that insane.
She's barely finished saying her name when Derek and Peter are suddenly there. The door is wide open and they're holding Cora in between then, tight, refusing to let go, even as they keep scenting each other over and over again. There are a lot of disjointed words being said, apologies and explanations and promises and it makes absolute no sense, but it doesn't have to. The only thing that truly matters is that Cora is alive, and home, finally.
Stiles remembers then what the Faceless said: the future of the Hale Pack is bright; and Sophia's own words: things will be much better from now on… They were right, so very right…
So... what do you think?
If anyone's interested, the spells come from mixing up lines from several different spells used in "Charmed".
I swear my mom's to blame for the sheer amount of delusional that went into writing the opening scene. Always when she's binge-watching something while I'm writing a fic it ends up affecting me in some way. In this case, she was marathoning "Inventing Anna" so... yeah. Also, I'll admit that this fic was the perfect opportunity to explain what's behind my portrayal of some characters, mainly those three. Scott and Allison, I really don't like them. As for Lydia... it depends. If we're dealing with the Lydia from latter seasons, I like her, mostly, not with Stiles, never with him because I think she doesn't deserve him (my only sort of concession is where there's Sterydia involved). 'Early seasons Lydia' though... if it's the her that was absolutely in 'true love' with Jackson, I can see accept her actions, both good and bad as her character evolving, growing, side by side with him. But once you get to the part where Jackson leaves, and then you have her being so manipulative, like, she'll pay attention to Stiles, only to then fall into bed with one of the twins (both before and after knowing the truth about them!); and of course, then they give you that line that Lydia never believed in him (so what? she's easy now? Like, I'm not trying to slut-shame anyone, I swear, but I hate the way they handled her character, they made her be nice, and cruel, and manipulative, and kind and whatever else they wanted as was convenient, and her 'character development' half the time makes absolutely no sense... unless you see her ultimately as a manipulative bitch... which most of the time I don't want to. This time I decided to go with it).
IMPORTANT: The Minor deaths are of Gerard Argent, Kate Argent and Alan Deaton. They're sacrificed to the Nemeton, and while the method is stated clearly, there's no graphic description of the sacrifice itself. As for the 'cruel and unusual punishment' that is in regards to Allison Argent, because she's an evil Huntress who feel no remorse for killing one innocent, and is still willing to kill more all that makes her a hunter is taken away: skills and memories. It's done against her will (it's a punishment) and while she's still unconscious at the time it happens, there's a vague explanation of how bad it'll be when she wakes up, the fact that she will most definitely not be the person she was. Also, it should probably be pointed out that Chris is warned of this fact (not in detail, but still) and he agrees.
So, what do you think? Thanks a lot for reading and please don't forget to comment/review, like/kudo, maybe even favorite/bookmark! As always, con-crit is very welcome, suggestions for future pieces for this series too! And if anyone's interested in doing a sequel, prequel, remix, translation, fanart, podfic, etc., feel free, just remember to give credit where it might be do and let me know so I can go see your work! If you're interested in my original works you can find me in Amazon, I write under the same name I use here!
Finally, regarding future works. I'm currently writing the next piece in this series. It's also inspired by Claire's awesome fic "Judgement and Justice", though a different take on things, place in a very different point in time (anyone wanna try and guess? unlikely as I think it might be for anyone to get it right I swear if anyone does I'll gift that person a fanart with a TW character or pairing of their choice). Finally, that might be the last piece I write for this series, for now (emphasis on that part). This series/collection is nowhere near being over, I still have some ideas, some my own, others that one or more of you have given me. However, none of them are fleshed out enough to write stories just yet. So unless my muse changes her mind abruptly once I finish the next piece, I'll probably be taking a break from TW after that one is posted. Promise I'll come back, and will be writing more with this premise of Stiles as Death's Seneschal. I'm nowhere near ready to call it quits on that, though I do think I might need a break.
Now, after what's probably my longest AN ever... thanks once again for reading and hope to see you around!
