Second fic in this little collection of mine, this time taking of from the beginning of the season 2 finale! I've always wanted to write a fix-it for this episode, hope you'll like it.
So, as might or might have become clear by now, while I mostly try to follow TW canon, at least up to the point where my fic happens, I do take liberties with a few things. One in particular is Stiles's age and birthday. For this collection I follow that his birthday is on the first week or so of September. Also, he was held back a year (for reasons that are at least vaguely referenced in several of the fics), which makes him at least a year older than everyone else in his class (and a few months older than Allison).
That's it for now, enjoy the fic!
Choices
"I've got to meet with the medical examiner and try to figure out what happened with Jackson." Noah Stilinski, Sheriff of Beacon County and father of one Stiles Stilinski, states. "I've got an APB out on Stiles. His Jeep is still in the parking lot, so that means…" He lets out a defeated sigh. "The hell, I don't know what that means." He might suspect… things he'd rather not think about, because if any of his suspicions come any close to being right… yeah, he'd rather not focus on that. "Um, look, if he answers his phone, if he answers his emails, if either one of you see him…"
"We'll call you." Isaac assures him.
Isaac's a good kind. Noah might not have any idea what went wrong, not just with his dad getting killed but… everything else he's involved in… which is probably the same stuff his kid's involved in… and yeah, he's not thinking about that, not yet!
"Look, he's probably just freaked out from all the attention or something." Scott says somewhat dismissively. "We'll find him."
Noah blinks because, is he for real?!
"Yeah... I'll see you, okay?" He has to go, He Has to, otherwise he's going to shake that boy until he confesses what exactly is going on!
It's… Scott's supposed to be such a good kid (he's a shit liar, always has been), his son's best friend, and yet he doesn't seem worried about his absence at all. Almost like it doesn't matter and… now that he stops and actually thinks about it, Noah cannot remember when the last time was that he actually saw Scott and Stiles together… And for that matter, what about Mel? He doesn't think he'd seen Melissa at all before tonight, not since the shootout at the station… or was it before that? Has she been avoiding him for some reason? Or is it just that everything else going on is making him paranoid?
And on that front, is there any hope that he might actually be able to find his kid before They find out that he's missing? Somehow he doesn't think so… Then again, his son being who he is, chances are it's all connected so… Noah better get an explanation once and for all when it's all said and done!
xXx
"Ow, ow!"
Stiles lands at the bottom of the stairs in a sprawl. Stays immobile long enough for the door at the top of the stairs to close. Then he's moving, slowly but fluidly. He knows he's not alone, and not just because of the slight panting and the whimpering he can hear coming from somewhere in the darkness of that basement, but because he can sense two auras, with the wildness he connects with shapeshifters. He knows it's not Derek, Derek's aura is… he knows it's not him, which means it's probably two of his betas… a thought that's confirmed the moment his wandering hand finally finds the light switch on the wall behind him and the lights get turned on. Erica and Boyd are both there, tied up, with live-wires attached and industrial tape covering their mouths.
Stiles's mood does a 180 almost instantly. It's not that he wasn't angry already, he was. But until that point he was more annoyed than anything else, keeping a mental running commentary regarding how stupid the Argents' goons were, and how they clearly have no idea who Stiles is, how they'd be absolutely terrified if they just knew… but that was when he was the only one in 'danger', and not even serious danger; because truly, he's more capable than people give him credit for, and has more power than most can comprehend so really, being manhandled and thrown down a flight of stairs was nothing more than a minor annoyance. Truth is, the only reason he even allowed it to get that far, allowed the goons to actually take him, to get to the Argent basement was because he wanted to see where they were going, if the Argents had truly fallen as far as he suspected. It'd seem Kate's psychosis is the norm in their psycho family, rather than the exception, and even Argent… Chris Argent, wasn't exempt. Well… he's not quite sure on that front yet, but either the man is weak and useless, letting anyone and everyone go over him while insisting on their so-called Code; or he's just as much of a sadistic, psychotic bastard as the rest of them. Whichever the case, Stiles no longer cares, he's going down, they all are! With that thought, he purposefully rubs the thumb of his right hand over his left wrist. A small symbol, a rune, appears very briefly, glowing white, before seemingly being wiped away. It's the signal, his people are coming…
The beating was definitely not in the plans… but it's not like it's the worst one he's gotten either so… Truly he's had a worse beating from a twelve-year-old girl! Still, he makes a point of hunching upon himself, of whining, whimpering, even half begging (even though he hates that part); in other words, he acts exactly the way someone like Gerard Argent would expect a teen-aged human kid (like he's supposed to be) to act.
The complication comes when Gerard decides he's done working on the 'message' and it's time for Stiles to actually go and be the messenger… He supposes he could do it. He could let Gerard take him out of the basement, out of the house, but seeing Erica and Boyd hanging there… what will happen to them? Will Gerard, or another of the Argents let them go too, or will they kill them once he's gone? There's something in the two wolves' expressions, something Stiles recognizes, it's surrender… they're giving up. They've stopped fighting, like they believe their deaths are a given, like it's guaranteed. Stiles cannot stand it. So he refuses to go.
That gets him beaten up a bit more, before one of the goons finds a length of cable (thankfully not connected to anything) with which he ties Stiles's hands together, and then to a beam. He's almost close enough to the wolves to touch (and get electrocuted by) them.
"Maybe when I get back you'll have thought better of my very generous offer Mr. Stilinski." Gerard says in a self-satisfied tone.
"Fucker," Stiles waits until he's gone, the door closed again, to mutter under his breath.
He can practically sense Erica's dismay, as well as hers and Boyd's confusion. It's clear they do not understand why he'd refuse to go, why he'd choose to stay with them… Stiles says nothing, he just keeps count in his mind, long enough for Gerard and his goons to get out of the house, on his car and away, then a little longer just in case. Then he's on the move.
"Fucking idiots, like something like this could ever hold me." He mutters, mostly to himself.
Erica's eyes go very wide as she sees the boy she used to have a crush on, the boy she always saw as a nerd, a geek… as the whole opposite from someone with any sort of physical ability, she sees him essentially pull his body up, holding his whole weight on his wrists.
It takes some effort but Stiles eventually manages to reach the sole of his shoe, pulling out the small but pretty workable blade hidden in there. It's not his best concealed weapon, but then again, it's harder to conceal anything in tennis-shoes than in boots, for example. Still, he knows better than to be without a weapon of some kind on his person at all times. Having been taken from the field, right when he'd actually been playing means he didn't have his jacket, bag, or anything else where he tends to conceal weapons and all sorts of useful knick-nacks. Still, he's been taught better than to ever be completely unarmed.
It takes almost a full minute (twice as long as it'd have with any better blade!) for him to saw through the cables. It's not perfect, he gets himself cut a few times, nothing bad or dangerous, but still. The moment he manages to get through the last cable he drops to the ground, where he actually has to take a moment to get his breath back. He's about to finally push himself back on his feet when Stiles hears the door open again, he reacts instinctively, rolling to a side, to hide in the shadow of a table, instead of getting up. He has no idea who's coming (he was so sure Gerard and his goons would have gone already!), but whoever it might be, he'll have a very small window of opportunity to fight back and…
And then a voice he recognizes starts talking:
"You know, my family's done this for a long time. Long enough to learn things... like how a certain level of electric current can keep you from transforming. At another level, you can't heal. A few amps higher, and no heightened strength... That kind of scientific accuracy? It makes you wonder where the line between the natural and the supernatural really exists."
Chris-Fucking-Argent… "Blah, blah, blah…" Stiles calls in a drawl as he slides out from under the table and to his feet in a smooth, sinuous motion.
"Stiles…?!" From one moment to the next the hunter looks beyond shocked. "What are you doing here?"
"Really?!" Stiles snaps. "What do you think?!" He waves a hand at his face and his body in general. "The blood and bruises not obvious enough for you?"
"But you're human!" He blurts.
He actually sounds surprised, and Stiles just cannot for the life of him…
"Not shit Sherlock!" He snarls. "When has that ever mattered to you psychotic murderers!"
"We're not killers, we exist to protect innocents from the monsters!" Chris snaps.
"Really, and what sort of innocents does the beating up of a human and two werewolf teenagers protects, huh?" Stiles demands. "What innocents were protected by the murder of two six year old boys? Joshua and Jeremy Hale? They were human, you know? Or how about the baby? Peter's newborn son! Is it any surprise he went off the deep end?!"
He can practically sense the growing horror in the wolves behind him. It's clear they didn't know. Then again, not many do. Stiles though… he's read everything in the file of the Hale Fire. More than once. He knows every name, of the victims, and the those responsible (even tangentially); he knows everything there is to know about the fires… all of them, not just the one of the Hale Pack.
"And how about all the others?" He pushes.
"What others?" Chris's eyes narrowed.
"Please!" Stiles hisses. "Are you that willfully blind? Or completely stupid? I'm talking about all the packs your family has annihilated, all the people, wolves and humans they've murdered in the last decade? The Hales were neither their first nor their last!"
Chris looks honestly shocked, shocked and horrified. Stiles doesn't care anymore. He's tried giving the man the benefit of the doubt. Not anymore. Chris had his chance to put a stop to his family's crimes and he chose to look away. Stiles isn't so inclined.
There's a strange sound all around, a moment before the lights all go out in unison, and not just that, the generator the two wolves are connected to fails at the same time, which should have been impossible. The only light left is what comes in through the windows, one beam hitting Stiles just right that the hunter cannot miss the way the human just… smiles.
Stiles has every reason to smile. The cavalry's arrived!
xXx
The scene they find upon arriving to the warehouse is… in one word: hell. Derek and Isaac are down, injured, the beta is still bleeding, while the alpha actually seems to be paralyzed, probably due to the kanima; which is holding Allison, using her as hostage to keep both Chris and Scott compliant. Though it's soon made clear that there's more going on with Scott… and with Gerard.
The bastard of a hunter is dying, which, Stiles knew there was something off about him, about his aura, but couldn't tell what it was exactly. The man didn't 'feel' like most people close to dying, like there was something making him… fuzzy, somehow. In any case, it's made clear he has cancer, he's dying; only he has no plans to let that happen, and since human science doesn't yet have a supernatural cure, he'll use a supernatural one: the werewolf bite…
"Hypocritical bastard…" Stiles hisses under his breath, lightning sparking, very briefly, from his closed fist.
He forces himself to get back under control. The time may come for him to let loose, but just not yet. First he needs to make sure those who're innocent (or as innocent as a bunch of supernatural creatures can feasibly be) survive. He also knows Peter is around, can sense his undead-aura in the building, though he's clearly staying out of things… probably for the best.
"You monster." Chris curses his father.
"Not yet." The old bastard's actually amused by the comment.
"What are you doing?" Allison demands, clearly not understanding what's going on.
"You'll kill her, too?" Chris is horrified.
"When it comes to survival...? I'd kill my own son!" Gerard retorts.
Which surprises Stiles not at all. No, the true surprise comes when the old hunter then turns to call Scott's name…
"Scott, don't." Derek pleads, as the younger wolf pulls him to his feet, forcing him into a specific position. "You know that he's gonna kill me right after. He'll be an Alpha."
"That's true…" Gerard shrugs. "But I think he already knows that, don't you, Scott? He knows that the ultimate prize is Allison. Do this small task for me, and they can be together. You are the only piece that doesn't fit, Derek. And, in case you haven't learned yet, there is just no competing with young love."
Stiles wants to be horrified, he is in fact, what he isn't, is surprised. He's known, from the very first time Scott canceled on him to go do something Allison wanted, he knew where they were headed. Granted, back then he thought the worst that would come of it would be one ruined friendship, and Scott failing several subjects (because he and Allison sure as hell weren't studying whenever they got together, regardless of what they might claim!); he never factored her hunter heritage, her hunter family, into the equation. Not because he didn't know about them, or how bat-shit crazy at least one member of her family was; but rather because, well, he supposes he wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. Not necessarily believing they were good people, but he at least wanted to believe that they weren't the kind of monsters that Kate was. Innocent until proven guilty, right? Well, lesson learned he supposes.
Stiles knows he could just… stay out of it. No one in that warehouse is calling to him, not for justice or for death. Gerard Argent won't live past tonight, but that's his own business and in no way connected with the mess taking place in that moment and yet… Derek's there. And as much as the alpha werewolf might claim and posture otherwise, he's been hurt, badly, he doesn't deserve to be hurt again. Especially in such a way… Scott's not going to stop, that's clear. Which means that the only way to protect Derek is for Stiles to do it himself…
"STOP."
There's no shout, and no need for it. Still, there's such power behind the voice, behind that single word that everyone seems to freeze in place.
Gerard is the first to be able to move, dropping the jacket he'd just taken off and reaching for a weapon by his waist. At the same time the kanima shifts, as if preparing for something.
"Don't you dare." The newcomer orders.
The voice is still no louder than a normal conversational tone, and yet the power behind it is such that Gerard does, in fact, stop moving; and not just him, but the kanima as well, though whether that's because of Gerard, or for some other reasons nobody knows.
Wolves and hunters just stare at the newcomer, cataloging what they see: a tall male with wide shoulders and a slim built, in an off-white v-neck, dark jeans, combat boots and a hooded leather jacket of a blue so dark it looks dark except when under the direct light. He has thigh-holsters on both legs, the one on the right holds a couple escrima sticks made of a dark wood inlaid with shiny silvery metal; on his left is a dagger, about the length of an open palm, made entirely of rowan wood, with no guard and a symbol that looks like a strange looking M, with the outer legs much shorter than the ones in the middle, over a wide D carved into the handle. The strangest part though, is the fact that the man's hood is up and his face… even in the darkness of the warehouse the wolves should be able to see his face, yet they cannot. There's something, some kind of magic, making it so while they know the face is there, regardless of how long they stare, their minds don't register anything, no eye color, hair color, no specific characteristics. Most of them didn't even know such magic existed! Stiles cannot help but wonder what they would say, what they'd think, if they knew it's him standing there…
"Who the hell are you?!" Gerard demands.
"I'm an envoy of Justice." Stiles states evenly. "I am a servant of Death. I am the one who speaks for those persecuted, for those misunderstood, those hunted…"
"You will defend monsters?!" The old man snarls, self-righteous.
"I destroy monsters," Stiles retorts, unaffected by Gerard's volume and tone, his own voice and serenity unchanged. "Though most of them I'll admit look human enough. I care not for things like claws or hands, fangs or teeth, supernatural, human, the forces I serve exist beyond all that."
"And what forces are those?" Scott finally seems to feel confident enough to ask.
Stiles turns to him, he knows his once friend cannot recognize him and it makes him wonder what ever made him believe he and Scott had anything in common. And it's not just about the shitshow Stiles has just stepped into but just… Scott never listens, and he's proving that very graphically right then, asking a question about something he already said.
"Tonight I will see Justice done." Stiles states, not looking at anyone but encompassing all with his words. "The gift of Death will be delivered to one who has betrayed all…"
"I am a Hunter! An Argent!" Gerard knows it's about him. "You have no authority over me!"
"Titles and names matter not, Death comes for us all in the end." Stiles states. "However fast or far you might flee, catch you it will. Your time has come Gerard Argent, and neither you, nor anyone else in this world can change that."
Gerard opens his mouth to say something else but before he can there's a flurry of motion. In the time it takes a human to take a breath, everything changes: Gerard's mouth opens but no word comes out, and then he's falling. Only those with superhuman senses (those actually capable of using them) notice that the hooded man has moved at all. He's fast and precise enough that he makes it back to almost the exact same spot and position he was in before the humans can so much as notice him moving. Derek's the only who not only realizes he's moved, but he also notices the slight spark at the tips of the hooded man's left index and middle fingers…
"Grandpa!" Allison shrieks, horrified.
"Father!" Chris blurts out in shock, before turning to the newcomer. "What did you do?!"
"I gave him a gift." The man states in a perfectly even tone.
"You killed him!" Scott snarls. "Why would you do that?"
"He was trying to kill us, and you ask why someone would kill him?" Isaac blurts out in clear disbelief. "Then again, you were on his side…"
It's like it just hit him, the depth of the betrayal.
Derek recovers his mobility right then, taking advantage of Scott's distraction to throw the beta as far as possible. He turns briefly to look at the hooded man, his nostrils flaring as he catalogs everything about him, not just looks, but his scent: cinnamon, peppermint, petrichor and a hint of ozone, he recognizes that mix… He pushes it aside for the time being instead heading to his beta, who's just then sitting up, having finally healed from the knife wounds caused by Allison.
Chris Argent for his part seems to have finally recovered his senses… or perhaps he's lost it entirely, as he raises his gun, pointing it straight at the hooded man.
"Are you sure that's wise?" Stiles isn't at all worried about the gun, or Chris.
"You killed my father." Chris says for all explanation.
"I was the hand of Justice, I served Death." Stiles declares. "Nothing more."
He tilts his head to a side, and Chris can almost feel as if the man were looking not just at him, but through him, it makes him shiver; makes him want to step back, to walk away, to go hide, somewhere where the man will never find him… he has a feeling no such place exists. That even if he were to go to the ends of the earth, the hooded man would still find him.
"I'm going to leave now." Chris announces. "I will take my daughter and we will leave, now."
"I won't go!" Allison snaps. "He killed my grandfather! I'm gonna kill him!"
Stiles doesn't respond to that, doesn't even deign to turn his attention to her. He doesn't see her as a threat, she doesn't matter to him. It's almost enough to make Allison shriek all over again.
"We're Hunters, we follow a Code," Chris begins, probably trying to sound self-righteous, yet only managing to sound patronizing.
"Do you?" Stiles cuts him off. "Then tell me, Christopher Argent, what Code were you following when you allowed your father and sister to get away with murdering men, women and children, innocents, for the only crime of being something other than human? And at times not even that! Sometimes simply for being in their way. Tell me, what code were you following when you not just allowed but assisted your wife in killing herself, only to then lie to your daughter about it? What Code were you following when you fostered in your daughter the hate, racism, and speciesism that lead to her attacking innocent classmates, children, merely for being Hale Pack? What Code was Allison Argent following when she did exactly that? Or when she buried her knives in another innocent boy's torso, repeatedly? He'd have died if he weren't a werewolf, you know? Then again, I suppose she wouldn't have attacked him if he weren't a wolf. Does that justify it in your head Christopher Argent? Does someone being something other than human mean they're less worthy than others? Than you?"
Silence was the only response to that, no one in that warehouse seemed to know what to say.
It was the wolves who picked up on the movement in the shadows first, a fraction of a second before some kind of dark hit the kanima in the side of the neck; whatever was in it enough to make it not just collapse but revert into Jackson once unconscious. Allison reached for a weapon immediately but there was no point as a figure stepped out of the shadows right behind her and restrained her in a fraction of a second.
With a glance around Derek soon realized they were surrounded, by figures dressed similarly to the hooded man; though most of their hooded jackets and sweatshirts were much more… basic, than what the first man was wearing. All their faces were also as impossible to make out.
"Who the hell do you think you are, threatening us?" Chris demanded.
"I have answered that question, twice, I will not do it a third time." Stiles replies, the hood hiding the rolling of his eyes. "You were given an opportunity tonight Christopher Argent. One last chance to make things right… and you failed. You failed your daughter and you failed yourself, just like you and your whole Clan have failed the Shadow World time and time again."
"You…" The hunter breathes out as he realizes… something.
"Now it's too late to turn back." Stiles finishes, there's actually a hint of sorrow in him, just for a moment, before he goes ramrod straight, his voice dripping power (even more so than ever before). "I declare that the Argent Clan has broken faith with the Shadow World. They have hunted peaceful supernaturals, have spilled innocent blood, have gone against the peace and the balance, time and time again."
"What…?!" Allison cries out, shocked and confused. "What does that mean?"
Chris only exhales, closing his eyes, like he knows what's coming.
"It means that from this moment on the Argent Clan exists no more." Stiles announces.
"What?!" Allison shrieks in absolute denial. "You cannot do that! We're Hunters! We exist to kill the monsters! You need us!"
"The world needs true hunters to keep the peace, to keep the balance, that is true." Stiles agrees. "We don't need hunters like you, so willing to go off the rails. To go after wolves who've never hurt another being in their lives because of some self-righteous belief that they have a right to."
"Derek Hale killed my mother!" Allison wails.
"No he did not." Stiles loses him composure for a moment. "Victoria Argent had a choice, and she made it. She chose to die as a human rather than live as a wolf. Just like you, Allison Argent, chose to follow a man you knew to be vicious and bloodthirsty, and most importantly, who you knew to want not peace but death and destruction; you chose to follow him because he allowed you to be petty and vindictive. You are not a child. Your choices have consequences. All of our choices have consequences. Just like my choice to be here, before you, to take on this mantle…"
"The Seneschal of Death…" Peter speaks out as he finally steps out of the shadows.
"Impossible." Chris blurts out.
"Why?" Stiles turns his attention to Chris once again, a hint of derision in his voice. "Because Argents did their best to destroy us?"
"That's… that's not… I wouldn't…" The elder Hunter is practically babbling.
He wouldn't. That's true. The Servants of Death… they're highly venerated in the supernatural world, almost more myth than reality. And their leader… Chris turns to his fallen father, because he has no doubt that if any Argents were involved in such a mess, it was him. He cannot believe his father could ever be so stupid… Then again, there was a time when he wouldn't believe that Kate could ever be behind something like the Hale Fire, the complete annihilation of a peaceful pack… And he now knows they weren't the only ones. He has no idea how many (doesn't know, doesn't want to…)… maybe the Seneschal is right, and that Stilinski kid, maybe he truly is blind and stupid… He wanted to believe that he was meant for something, that his family was special, they had a purpose… hunting monsters, protecting humans… turns out they've been the real monsters all along.
No one says a word when the Argents are lead away by several of the hooded individuals. Scott tries to follow them, only to be stopped.
"What…?" He looks around confused. "What are you doing? You cannot keep me here!"
"Business with you isn't over just yet, Scott McCall." The Seneschal announces.
"I have nothing to do with you!" Scott snaps.
"He's the Seneschal of Death, all the supernatural answers to him!" Peter says derisively.
"Yeah well, I never wanted this!" Scott snarls. "Never wanted to be a wolf! I didn't choose this!"
"That is true." Stiles agrees quietly. "But tell me, Scott McCall, has it truly been that bad? Your sudden skill at sports? Your popularity? Getting the girl? Being cured of your asthma?"
"I don't need to be a wolf for any of that!" Scott insists. "Allison and I are soulmates! We're meant to be together!"
More than one person in that warehouse just… stares at the boy, wondering if he's truly missing everything else the Seneschal just said, or if he just doesn't care. It's one thing for a boy to be obsessed with a girl, even a psychotic huntress, but still…
"So, if you could, you'd choose not to be a wolf anymore?" Stiles questions.
There's a sharp inhale from both Hales, and even Isaac stares in shock, eyes very wide, like he cannot believe what he's hearing.
"Yes!" Scott says immediately, not even stopping to think about it.
"You'd give up your wolf, even if that means your asthma would come back?" Stiles insists. "Even though you'd be giving up your physical prowess, your popularity…"
"YES!" Scott practically snarls. "Didn't you hear anything I just say?! I want to be human again! It's my choice!"
"It is, indeed." Stiles agrees.
His hands start glowing a green color and, before anyone can think to ask what's going on, he slips them under the young wolf's shirt, touching his bare skin. Scott's whole body seizes and he lets out a howl, which cuts off just a moment later, right as the Seneschal pulls back his hand, pulling with him a ghostly wolf-form. It looks… wrong, unhealthy. So awful the rest of the wolves cannot help but whine low in their throats.
Stiles takes a step back, and as if that were some sort of signal two of the figures that remain mostly in the shadows step out of them, reaching for the now unconscious Scott.
"Wait!" Isaac cries out, more on instinct than anything else.
"He's alright." Stiles assures him. "Just… it'll take a while, for his body to grow used to not being a wolf. He's sleep through most of it."
"What will you do when he wakes up, realizes how awful things truly are and decides he wants to be a wolf again?" Peter asks, curious.
"That's not possible." Surprisingly enough it's not the Seneschal who speaks up, but another of the hooded individuals, a woman, who's wearing a long dress and her hood comes from a veil arranged as such rather than a jacket. "Choices have consequences. It's why our Seneschal repeated the same question time and time again. Scott McCall will never again be a wolf, nor any other supernatural creature." She turns to the Seneschal. "We'll get him to his home and keep guard until he wakes up."
Stiles nods his thanks and lets them go.
"The kanima…" Derek murmurs, turning to look at Jackson.
It's clear just by his posture that there's a part of him that wants to just go and kill Jackson. End the threat of the kanima once and for all. He knows it's not… good, that it's not right, but he just doesn't know what else to do. If the kanima were to finish evolving…
"You need not worry about the kanima anymore." Stiles informs him.
"What?!" It's clear no one was expecting that.
"There's no cure for what he is." Peter blurts out.
"No, there isn't, but he doesn't need to be cured, just like a werewolf doesn't need to be cured." Stiles points out. "It's just a matter of balance. The kanima exists when it is needed. Once that need has passed…" He exhales. "He will need some help, a lot of help in fact. But Jackson Whittemore doesn't need to die." He shakes his head. "We'll take care of it."
Two more figures slip out of the shadows, one's actually carrying a blanket, which they use to cover Jackson, before carrying him away.
"Peter Hale."
Peter isn't even surprised when the Seneschal calls his name next. He's been expecting it since he first realized who the man was. He just takes a deep breath, closes his eyes briefly and steps forward. He thinks he knows what's coming, with all the things he's done, the crimes he's committed… he still believes his revenge-spree to have been entirely justified; Laura though… He thinks he knows what's coming, he has no idea.
"Tell me, Peter Hale, have you gotten your justice?" The Seneschal inquires.
"No one ever gives me anything, what I have I made for myself." Peter probably knows it's not a good idea to antagonize the one who's, arguably, the most powerful man in the room, but he also cannot help himself. "I made my own justice."
"That you did," Stiles agrees, not at all affected by Peter's confrontational attitude. "And has it brought you peace?"
For several moments there's only silence, and then:
"No." The wolf finally admits after what seems like forever.
There's suddenly such sadness in his voice, defeat, the other two werewolves react before they're quite aware of what they're doing, flanking Peter on each side and scenting him, wolves seeking to comfort a packmate…
"That's because only the dead will ever find peace in death." Stiles points out. "Do not deny yourself what you truly need, Peter Hale, your pack."
"Will I ever see him again?" It takes a huge effort for Peter to ask the question, but once he does, it's almost as if some kind of weight has been lifted from his body.
"You will, when the time comes." Stiles tells him, a certain kindness in his voice that wasn't there when he spoke to either the Argents, or Scott. "But that time hasn't come yet. You're still needed in this world, Peter Hale. Your current pack needs you. Know that the day will come when you'll be called to the Other Side, and all those you've lost will be there, waiting for you, with their arms open; but until that day comes, you have a pack here, a purpose."
"The things I've done…" Peter murmurs.
"The things you did while in the throes of insanity are not on you, but on the ones who pushed you into that state." He makes a pause before adding, in a quieter tone. "Too long did your cries for justice go answered. It was in lieu of that silence that you eventually turned from justice to vengeance. The two are not so different in the end, you know? In the end, the guilty shall be punished. We understand that all too well."
"I'm no saint." Peter presses, unable to help himself.
"No, you're not, but this world doesn't need any more saints." Stiles replies. "You committed crimes, and paid for them, with your life. Know this, Peter Hale, you wouldn't be standing before me, now, alive, if the gods did not will it be so."
Peter can do nothing but blink at that, left completely speechless.
"Now, I have something for you." Stiles continues, voice gaining a certain cadence, common in magic-users. "Let what for one was an unwanted gift, be for you that which you need most. Wolf to wolf, may Mother Moon heal you…"
As he speaks the Seneschal raises his hands and the ghostly wolf he was still holding onto, the same he pulled out of Scott, jumps straight out of his hands, to Peter, and into him. Then it's the older wolf's turn to seize, just briefly, before his head raises to the sky and he lets out a howl, long and strong. A call of power, of victory…
Derek and Isaac rush to him, disbelieving smiles on their faces. The Seneschal smiles at them, glad to see that a night that started in such a terrible way, could turn to the better, at least for the Hale Pack. As for him… he decides to take advantage of the fact that the wolves' attention is away from him to step back, vanishing into the shadows.
xXx
It's past midnight when Stiles finally steps into his room, taking a moment to rest against his closed bedroom door, face tilted up, eyes closed and pressing the back of his head to the wood. Then he straightens up only to shrug off the blue-black leather jacket he's still wearing, throwing it somewhat carelessly in the direction of his desk-chair. Arek would probably have an aneurysm or something, go into a rant about Stiles treating such a fine, enchanted, piece of clothing like that but Stiles just… he just wants it off, he just wants to forget about it and all it represents, if only for a few minutes…
"Well, I suppose if I had any doubts this would do away with them."
Stiles freezes, completely. He doesn't reach for a weapon, doesn't debate between a fight or flight response, there's no need for that. He knows the owner of the voice is not a threat, he also knows any attempt at fleeing to be completely pointless at this point. So in the end he chooses to ignore his visitor entirely, instead giving a couple more steps and letting himself fall on his bed, face down. His visitor lets out a sound that is half-scoff half… something that almost resembles a chuckle. Stiles lets out a groan before finally turning his head to a side, freeing his face, though he still doesn't turn in the direction of his visitor:
"What are you doing here?" He finally asks.
"I came to see what's wrong with you." Derek answers stoically, though with an undercurrent of what almost sounds like actual worry.
"I'm fine." Stiles is completely thrown by Derek's attitude.
"You smell of blood and pain, those are not signs of being 'fine' Stiles." The alpha mutters with a low, barely audible growl.
"Ah…" Stiles exhales. "I'd actually, mostly, forgotten about it?"
He had. It's not like being in pain is exactly new to him. Back when he first started training with the Order he was in pain All The Time… even when he got better, even when he got really good, essentially the best of his generation, Arek was always there to make sure he didn't grow cocky. Because those who get cocky get careless, and those who get careless get killed! Stiles is the sole heir of his line, without him… well, it's not like the power wouldn't find someone else to go to, but his family has been in power for so long… he's not sure the Order would quite know what to do. And on his end… he's always seen the whole thing as more than just a duty, it's his legacy, and one he's extremely proud of.
"Stiles…" Derek growls, clearly not liking the implications of such a thing.
"It's not that bad!" Stiles does his best to calm him down. "It truly isn't as bad as it looks."
"Someone hurt you." Derek mutters between clench teeth.
He's barely keeping from outright snarling, from shifting, though even then his eyes are practically glowing blue looking, amidst the shadows of Stiles's bedroom, like some kind of freakish supernatural headlights.
"Argent," Stiles nods evenly, then clarifies. "Gerard Argent. His goons took me from the field when the lights went out. Everyone was so busy with Jackson seemingly dying that barely anyone noticed it when I went missing." The team didn't, even coach didn't! Scott did, but even then, it didn't take him very long to decide something else was more important. "They took me to their torture basement. Where the psycho bastard postured a lot, beat me up some…" He rolls his eyes at Derek's low growl. "It's fine! I swear I've met twelve-year old girls who hit harder than he does!" He truly has! "Anyway, he wanted me to be a message, or a messenger… wasn't too clear on that one…"
"Because you're so great at being a messenger…" Derek scoffs, seemingly finally starting to believe that Stiles truly is alright, or at least, will be.
"Hey!" Stiles whines a bit. "I'm a kickass messenger!"
"Of what? Death and mayhem?" Derek snorts.
"Of justice and death." Stiles turns abruptly serious.
Derek says nothing to that. Silence extends for some very long seconds. Eventually it's Stiles who cracks first. Which, Arek will toast his ass for if he ever finds out! He's supposed to be trained to withstand a lot, even freaking torture! Then again, he's not joking right now, he was being entirely serious, and whatever Derek has to say to that… it's too important for Stiles.
"How did you know?" It's what the teenager decides to ask the wolf, after dismissing other versions of the question, which are liable to make him sound way more vulnerable and needy and… freaky, than he'd prefer at this time.
"Your scent, it's… it's pretty unique." The wolf settles for saying in the end.
Right, they actually do have something that nullifies things like scents, just like there's the magic in their hoods that conceals them physically, hiding any and all characteristics that could be used to identify them, and even the specifics of their auras. However, considering that he went from the Argent basement to that warehouse… he didn't exactly have the time to get properly into character. At least Arek had a change of clothes (Stiles's own clothes) for him, there's no way he could have been properly imposing and authoritative in his sweaty, dirty lacrosse uniform! Also, the hooded jacket was a key element, not just for the concealing magic in it, but them being hooded is a signature of the Order.
"Wait," Something occurs to him then. "Does that mean all the wolves know then?"
"No," Derek shakes his head. "I… Yes, we could all smell you. Isaac isn't familiar with your scent though, you've never been close. So, next time he's around you he might realize there's something familiar about it, but it's unlikely he'll make the connection unless there's something else that pushes him into realizing the truth. Peter… he'd probably be able to recognize you, if he were fully recovered, which he isn't just yet."
But he will be soon. Which means next time… yeah. Neither of them mention Scott. Even when he was a wolf he was never good at any of the things that made him one, unless it was convenient to him for sports and popularity and the like.
"What will happen to Jackson?" The Alpha might not much like the teen but…
"That's… complicated." Stiles admits, finally rolling on the bed and sitting up to look at Derek directly. "It's… a bit like I said to you all earlier. A matter of balance. A kanima comes to exist in part because it is needed. They're a tool for justice, and when the world's cries for justice keep going unheard… yeah. Still, for a kanima to even be possible, that means that the person who was bitten lacked balance themselves."
"I've heard that some times the transformation reflects the heart of the person being bitten." Derek points out.
"That sounds… not wrong exactly, but not right either. I mean, the kanima looks monstrous, and it's certainly very dangerous, but their existence isn't about death and destruction, isn't about evil. Like I said before, they're meant to be a tool for justice. Even for vengeance which, where the gods are concerned, isn't that different." He shakes his head, that's not what matters! "In any case, according to Sophia, there's a way to not quite cure but… help a kanima, so to speak. It only works if the individual has potential for a shift, which Jackson does; he has a wolf, it's just that it has been… dominated, by the kanima thus far. According to Sophia, once Jackson finds balance in himself, once he's at peace with himself, his wolf will be able to assert dominance over the kanima."
"That… doesn't sound like it will be easy."
"It won't, at all. Sophia and Arek will be talking to Jackson's parents, explaining everything to them: the supernatural, his situation, and the plan for keeping him safe."
"Shouldn't… should I?" Derek's not even sure how to ask that particular question.
"This isn't your responsibility Derek." Stiles wants to be very clear about that. "Jackson made his choice. He wanted the bite. What's more, he blackmailed you into biting him. Then he refused to go to you, to be your beta. That's not on you but on him. You don't owe him anything at all."
"Why are you getting involved? It's not your responsibility either."
"To a certain point it is. The Order… we're all about Justice for the supernaturals. Jackson deserves justice as much as everyone else. This is the best way to get him that. And I'm not involving myself directly. That… Arek doesn't think it'd be a good idea. He'll find out about me eventually, probably. Once he's in a place where he can understand the truth, about me, and about himself. He could be a huge asset to us, to the Order I mean. Though that'll be up to him, once he's in the right place to make such choices."
"If… if he wants to come back, to… to the pack. He'd be welcome." There's some hesitance as Derek says that, though it's not because he doesn't mean the words, rather he has trouble finding the right words to express himself.
"I'll let the others know that the offer's on the table." Stiles nods.
"What about you?" Derek asks next.
"What about me?" Stiles parrots back, clearly not understanding the question.
"Are you going to leave now?" Derek clarifies the question.
"I… didn't plan to, no…" Stiles measures his words very carefully, more than ever before in his life. "Not unless the Alpha of this territory decides he doesn't want me here anymore…"
"Come on you know that's not what I'm saying!"
"Actually no, I've no idea what the hell you're saying, dude!"
"Don't call me dude."
"Make yourself clear Derek! Do you want me here or not?"
"I do."
The silence that follows that declaration. A declaration that, in an of itself seems to have been almost ripped straight out of the wolf's throat, is heavy, almost stifling.
"I don't even know what any of… this means." Derek adds, waving a hand at the leather jacket that's still in his lap, Stiles's jacket.
"It… I'm still me, for the most part." Stiles decides to clarify first.
"What does that even mean?" Derek's brows are almost more demanding than his voice.
"Well, first of all, I'm not quite as human as most of you might have believed at first." Stiles tries to begin the explanation with something easy.
"I know that," Derek half-rolls his eyes. "The magic."
"You know!" Stiles clearly isn't expecting that.
"I've always been able to scent the magic in you."The wolf explains. "You never talked about it, but it was clear that you had it under control, so I imagined that it was something you didn't want to talk about. Like, maybe something you inherited from your mom…"
He might not know what the story is, with Mrs. Stilinski, two things are pretty clear though: she's dead, and however it happened, the two Stilinski males are still affected by it.
"Ah… that's not quite…" Stiles scratches the back of his neck, self-conscious. "The magic comes from my dad. We're sparks. Pretty low on the totem, where magic's concerned. My dad uses it to help him with his job. It mostly… sharpens his instincts, one could say. Like how he knows when a suspect is lying, or how when someone gets violent he can tell the best direction to move to avoid injury, that sort of thing. Me… I'm good at elemental control. I cannot conjure elements, but I can control what's already there. Like how I can push oxygen into someone's lungs faster when they're having an asthma attack; or affect a body's natural electric signals just enough to cause a stroke…" It's how he killed Gerard. "Anyway, the magic I got from my dad, my mom…" He takes a deep breath, this is the complicated part. "She was the only daughter of the leader of an ancient order commonly known as the Servants of Death."
"Servants of Death?" Derek isn't quite sure is that sounds arrogant or terrifying.
"According to the oldest records the founders believed that Death was a gift they were meant to give to others." Stiles explains. "It's not quite clear how it was they decided who should receive this gift… but that's how they referred to it."
"Sounds like assassins." The wolf points out.
"You're not wrong," The teenager shrugs. "In any case, it was that belief which lead to the Order calling themselves Servants of Death. Their leader was believed to be a sort of representative of Death itself, hence the title of Seneschal." He pauses, giving a moment for Derek to grasp that, before continuing. "At some point one Seneschal ordered the shift in the Order's purpose. It was no longer about serving death, but also about seeking justice. Rumors have it that said Seneschal was the Alpha-Mate of the Loup-garou pack several centuries ago. That it was a group of rogue hunters going against her mate's pack that prompted her choice to change things. To ensure the changes would be upheld she made an oath, on her line and her blood, that they would seek to serve justice, as well as death. They would work to aid those persecuted, misunderstood, hunted… protect them from those so powerful most would never dare go against them."
"In other words, she swore to protect supernatural creatures from the hunters." Derek summarizes with an expression of awe.
"And supernaturals from other supernaturals, humans from supernaturals, well, you get the idea."
"How did she, do any of you for that matter, know when to intervene?"
"It's part of the magic in the Order. Don't know how it works exactly. We just… know. I've actually asked others, Arek is the one who's been in charge, technically, since my grandfather died and I was too young to join the Order. My mother… she was a pacifist through and through, refused to have anything to do with the Order even… even with the consequences. She made her choice." He exhales sharply, pushing that thought aside. "Anyway, I've asked Arek, and Sophia, she's the head of the scholars in the older, and an absolute genius. Neither of them knows how it works exactly. Just that it does."
If Derek notices that there's something about Stiles's mom, he doesn't comment on it. He knows what it is like, to lose a loved one, to lose family, for the loss to hurt so badly even after years, to just not want to talk about it… so he lets it go.
Stiles briefly considers mentioning Erica and Boyd but… they haven't made their choice yet. Whether to stay or go. After Arek and several of his men got them out of the Argent basement and Chris went on his way (supposedly to 'make things right') Stiles offered to take them to Derek, or to their houses, whichever they chose, but they refused both offers, insisting they'd walk. Erica even mentioned them having left Derek's pack… Stiles thought (and still thinks) that's the worst idea ever, Derek might not be the most perfect of alphas, but it's not like they're ideal betas either; and what makes them think any other alpha, any other pack, will be any better? (That any other pack will be willing to take them in the first place). But still, it's their choice, and Stiles will respect that. Also, it wouldn't be right to mention them to Derek, to get his hopes up, when they might choose not to return…
An indeterminate amount of time passes in absolute silence. Eventually it's Derek who moves, he stands from the chair, laying the leather jacket on the back of it with the care of someone who knows how important the garment is, before heading towards the open window.
"Are we just never going to talk about it?" Stiles blurts out just before he reaches the window.
Derek looks over his shoulder, saying nothing, just staring at Stiles with honest bafflement.
"This… us…" Stiles says vaguely, before taking a deep breath and going for it: "The fact that we are potential mates."
Mates… it's exactly like fiction paints them, and at the same time, nothing like that at all. Each person (human and supernatural) has one perfect match, they can be sexual or platonic, it doesn't matter. At the same time, it's all about the choice. Two people might be a perfect match, might even know it, but until they choose to bond it doesn't mean anything more than a possibility…
Stiles knows Derek is his potential mate. All supernaturals have a way of knowing their potential mate. Werewolves and vampires recognize them by scent, magic-users can see it in their auras (or, sometimes, if the conditions are right, they might even be able to see the ghost of the bond between their souls, what witches call the Silver Cord)… So Stiles knows what Derek is to him, and he has no doubt Derek must know as well.
"Stiles…" Derek murmurs, voice low and so full of something the Spark cannot name.
"If it were just that you don't want me I would accept it." It wouldn't be easy, in fact it would be very, very hard, but he'd do it. "But I don't think that's it."
"Stiles, you're a child…" Derek begins.
"Why? Because I'm not eighteen yet?" Stiles cuts him off sharply. "Do you know how stupid it is to believe that something like a number will change anything? As if some intangible thing will change from one day to the next simply because that day it's my birthday. Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous! Wanna know how the Order declares you an adult? It's when you serve Justice and Death with your own hands, for the first time; when you first spill blood in Death's name, for a Just cause. Well, the spilling of blood is figurative, not necessarily literal; unless it's my blood. That's literal." He looks down, at the pink line of a healing cut on the palm of his left hand. "Though that was just my own oath of service, a sort-of renewal of the ancient vows our Lady Seneschal made for our line. Necessary seeing how my mom chose to forsake those oaths herself. But anyway!" He shakes his head sharply! It's not the time to go on a tangent! "I killed Gerard Argent tonight. Tonight, for the first time, I delivered the Gift of Death, in the name of Justice, as is our Order's duty and honor. And after that, I went and took my formal oaths. As far as the supernatural world is concerned, I'm now an adult. I'm also the Seneschal of Death…"
"Stiles…" Derek murmurs quietly, not quite knowing what to say to all of that.
"Just tell me one thing Derek, do you really think 3 months to make that big a difference?"
"3 months… what?!"
"Do you really think something will magically change in three months, when I turn eighteen?" Stiles clarifies, sounding more tired than angry now.
"Wait, you're seventeen?" Derek's surprise is evident. "But you're a sophomore!"
"Ah…" Stiles finally understands. "Yes, I'm seventeen. I'll turn eighteen in September. Part of it was my mom deciding I'd do better being the oldest instead of the youngest in my class. And also… the year she got sick, really sick, I skipped school a lot to spend time with her, first at home, and then at the hospital. And after she died… I didn't really care about turning in my homework or doing any of the work, and that's when I even went to school at all, in between my ADHD, the anxiety and the panic attacks I missed a lot of school. So in the end I was held back a year. I didn't mind much, truth be told. By then I'd already met Scott and we were friends, I liked knowing that we'd be in the same class. He… he became my best friend, my brother, there was a time when I would have thought it impossible for us not to be tight and yet…"
"I'm sorry." Derek murmurs.
"It's not on you." Stiles does his best to reassure him. "No, really. It's not your fault Scott's turned out to be such an asshole. I mean, could you have been nicer? Sure, I guess. But you had very good reasons to be as you were. And we didn't make things any better! Truth be told, I think you were far kinder to us than either of us deserved half the time."
And wasn't that the truth! The thing is, Stiles got over himself, saw past Derek's facade and to the real him. And not just that, the teenager also took a good look at himself and saw all the mistakes he made, and sought to make amends. He apologized for accusing Derek of murder, twice, for ignoring Derek's orders, his choices, disrespecting him in so many ways… and like he said, it wasn't like Derek was perfect. The wolf made mistakes, but he'd more than enough reason for those, and he apologized for them. Truth is, by the time the two of them spent those two hours in the pool they were closer to being friends than anything else. It was that same day that Stiles decided there was only one way they'd be able to survive the hell of a mess they were in, with the Argents. It was then that he first called Arek. Good thing too, since otherwise the man wouldn't have been in town already when Stiles ended in the torture-basement, and while the teen knew he could have handled Chris Argent on his own if necessary, he was glad for the backup.
Also, the Argents might now know that there's still a living Wójcik, a new Seneschal of Death, but they don't know Stiles is him… that's the kind of information he'd rather only those he truly trusted are aware of. Really, with those like their Order anonymity is very important. Considering the kind of individuals they tend to go against, their lives can very well depend on it (it doesn't always work out, his maternal grandmother comes to mind, though Stiles would rather not focus on that just now).
"When's your birthday?" Derek's question pulls Stiles's out of his thoughts.
"Wha…?" It takes the younger man a moment to register things. "September 8th, why?"
"Would you like to go on a date with me on the 9th?" Derek asks next.
For a moment Stiles can do nothing but blink. He actually has trouble understanding what Derek is asking exactly.
"You do know we can date beforehand, right?" He finally blurts out. "I mean, us having sex before I'm 18 would be illegal, yeah, and while I usually say 'meh' to such things, I know this is important to you so I'll respect that. But there's nothing wrong with us going on a date, or many, while I'm still seventeen…"
"Stiles," It takes a few tries, but eventually Derek manages to cut in. "Do you believe, truly believe, that we can do that? Go on a date and just, have that be it?"
"Are you calling me easy?!" Stiles exclaims, though he's being far more dramatic than entirely necessary, and he knows it.
And truth is, he completely understands where Derek's coming from. It's not just… it has nothing to do with either or both of them being 'easy'. It's… they aren't normal people. They're two supernaturals who are more than well aware of their compatibility, of their status as potential mates; and they don't just know it, they've embraced that fact. It's very likely that once they do start dating they'll proceed really fast, faster than most people might be comfortable with. But that'll be only because they know already the path they're setting on. Even now, as they stand in Stiles's room, planning their first date, a date that's still more than two months away, they know that they'll be together in the end.
It's… soothing in a way. Not having to contend with nerves, with uncertainty, not having to worry about how things might go. They know they're made for each other. However long it might take them to get there, in the end they will, and that's that.
Derek's finally about to leave when Stiles rushes to him, placing a quick but powerful kiss, right on the edge of the wolf's mouth.
"Stiles!" Derek snaps, not sure whether to laugh or be annoyed.
"What?" Stiles replies. "I needed something to tide me over till September!"
"You're gonna be the death of me…" Derek mutters under his breath.
His mate's laughter follows him as he finally takes off. It might not be official just yet, but one day it will be. It's meant to be…
So, what do you think?
I have one more fic already written and am currently trying to write the fourth, have some vague ideas for one, maybe two more. Not enough to actually write a fic just yet, but I hope we'll get there eventually. I'm still very interested if anyone would like to give me ideas, suggest episodes they'd like to see changed by Stiles's reveal as Death's Seneschal, or anything else of the background in this collection of fics.
As always, I give blanket permission for sequels, prequels, remixes, translations, fanarts, podfics, videos, etc. Just remember to give what credit might be due and let me know so I can go take a look (and why not, give some promotion to your work too)!
Please don't forget to like/kudo and leave comment/review. Thanks for reading!
