The Argent Estate was the same as always. The winter had stripped many of the leaves from the trees, and the ground looked hard packed, but despite the weather change, Stiles recognized it all. He knew the spot that undoubtedly had a half frozen puddle by now, and he knew where the servants would be at this exact moment, regardless of the temperature. The empty, soulless windows of the building still stared out at the world, undaunted, while the shrubbery was looking worse for wear.

Stiles felt a pang in his chest at the familiar front yard and the bit of side garden he could see. That garden was where he and Derek had shared many breakfasts and stolen kisses. This was the house where they had fallen in love. This was also the house that almost killed them, but that was a less important note. He was trying not to dwell on his trauma.

There was an older servant chopping wood in the yard, shivering in the cold winter air. At least it wasn't snowing. He was middle-aged, with his hair uncombed and an old dog face. He was the head gardener, in charge of keeping the fields presentable, even in the cold of winter. Normally this was fine, but his coat seemed to have developed a few new holes since the last time Stiles saw it. Stiles frowned, shimmied off his over-coat, and walked up to the man. Without a word, he dropped his coat over the man's shoulders. The servant startled, and then startled again when he saw who was standing beside him.

"Biles? What the hell are you doing back in a place like this?" he asked with an incredulous look that almost mimicked a glare. He glanced over Stiles, head to toe, then startled a third time and started to bow. "I mean-! B-Baron Goodwater, sir."

Frowning perhaps harder, Stiles touched the man's shoulders to ease him back to standing. "Please don't, Finstock. That is beyond weird. Just go back to getting my name wrong." The two of them had never had a great relationship, but not due to any animosity.

Bobby Finstock was a hard worker most days, and he got really passionate about his shrubs and fields. This was part of the problem. He was insanely passionate about gardening but couldn't be bothered to care about really anything else. How Stiles was treated by the Argents had likely gone unnoticed for the whole first year by the man. He only showed a modicum of notice when Stiles first showed up in the gardens, hiding from Gerard, sniffling and tending to a black eye and a split lip. Finstock had gotten him to his feet and ushered him around to where some other gardeners were pruning bushes. He got Stiles set up trimming a rose bush, taught him all about it in annoying detail, and worked him until he wasn't thinking about his bruised face anymore. It was a nice distraction.

But then Finstock had never bothered to remember Stiles' moniker, always calling him Biles, which just sounded like a sickness. In retaliation, Stiles never called Finstock by his first name, keeping it painfully formal. Also Finstock always lit up maniacally when he saw Stiles, delighted to drag the scribe off to do more yard work and 'toughen him up'. It was frustrating and the last thing Stiles wanted to do, so he often just avoided Bobby Finstock like he carried the plague.

Even so, Stiles didn't want the man to freeze to death. Plus, he was reliable.

When the older man was standing again, Stiles said, "You're going to freeze to death in that coat. Borrow mine until you can afford a new one."

Finstock fiddled with a button on the coat and glanced between it, Stiles, and Derek. He did narrow his eyes then, suspicion taking over. "Hey. Seriously. What are you boys doing here?"

"Come to pay our respects to the lord of the house," Stiles answered before Derek could even work up a good arched eyebrow. "Could you go find the maids and take them to the kitchens for me?"

"But-"

"Please?" Stiles stressed, not wanting backtalk. Finstock had a bad habit of asking too many questions. That was another reason why Stiles liked to avoid him.

Finstock pursed his lips, clearly debating the order, but eventually he nodded. "You better have your head on straight, Biles. I'm not taking the fall for this if things go sideways."

Then he clutched the coat tighter to himself and hurried off into the house. Stiles doubted he'd ever get the coat back, but he couldn't just sit by and watch the man freeze either. Even if he was a weird guy.

"Okay. Finstock is good on his word. He'll get the servants to the kitchen, so if things go wrong, no one will get hurt," he said, turning to Derek and their small army of militiamen.

The look on Derek's face was not that of a man about to sneak into another lord's house to arrest him for abuse and fraud. It was an amused sort of fond look that threw Stiles' entire mood off, because he couldn't account for it being there.

"What?" he asked.

"All of the servants really respect and admire you. You have a way with people, even if you claim not to. I'll bet they all noticed you were gone, even though most didn't know who you truly are." Derek brought his hand to his chin in thought. "You're… magnetic, in a way."

"Yeah, well-" Stiles could feel himself beginning to blush. "Look, now is not the time for saying silly things. We're here to catch a murderer, remember?"

"I do," Derek said simply, still clearly amused by Stiles. He did, however, take Stiles seriously. He motioned for the militiamen to split up. Parish led two men around the side of the house to check for Kate in the backyard or sneaking in through the back door. This left Derek and Stiles with the remaining officer, a Hispanic woman.

Stiles sort of wished they had more backup, like five other people, but he wasn't going to be picky.

They gave Finstock a moment's head start before they made their approach. Stiles didn't knock, just opened the front door. There were no servants visible, neither maid nor manservant, which meant Finstock had probably just grabbed everyone he'd passed. That was fine too. Hopefully he grabbed Jared too, or hopefully Jared was with the horses and stayed that way.

Voices, loud and angry, drifted down the hall from Gerard's study. The three infiltrators had barely set foot in the hall when another door opened and a butler came out. Not just any butler – Reddick, the head butler. He froze when he saw them, then glared when he recognized two of them.

"You-," he began, but the officer behind them stepped up.

Speaking softly, she said, "Sir, my name is Officer Valerie Clark. I am here to see the Earl and his daughter. However, if you say another word or cause a scene in any way, I will not hesitate to drag you before the queen for obstruction. Am I clear?"

Reddick's mouth shut so fast it looked like a bug had flown in. He stared past the officer at Stiles, but he said nothing. Then he slowly inched his way, crab-like, around them. Stiles did his best not to laugh, but he must have been grinning because Reddick's glare was intense. Then he was gone, begrudging and probably contemplating murder himself.

The trio continued down the hall, Officer Clark leading them this time. She paused outside the door to the study and pressed herself up against the wall. Stiles and Derek did the same. Kate was definitely inside there with her father, though his words sounded muffled compared to hers. They could barge in, but Parrish had suggested trying to hear if the Earl or Kate confessed to anything else when they thought they were alone.

Mainly, they were trying to see if she confessed to killing Baron Goodwater five years ago to someone besides a seriously poisoned and dying Stiles.

"-your daughter!" Kate was seriously pissed off. She wasn't even attempting to keep her voice low.

Earl Gévaudan's voice rose up to meet hers, finally loud enough to make out through the door. "A daughter of mine would not have failed so spectacularly!" Something slammed into his desk. "You guaranteed me an increase in wealth, in power! But the Hales still outstrip us in both! What have you to show for your efforts, daughter? Five years of work and all you've managed is to lose a scribe and any claim you had to his lands!"

"Don't pin this on me!" Kate growled back. "I did everything necessary! I paid all the right people to put the Goodwater estate into a state of flux. I got the Baron out of the way. I got the second Baron out of the way! You didn't do anything to help with the lawyers, with the paperwork! An Earl? You could have forced their hands. Instead you left me to look like a fool!"

Gerard laughed sourly. "You have always been a fool. Flirting with men to get what you wanted, and yet here you are, forty and unwed. You are a parasite to my fortune and good name. I helped you secure the poison for the late Baron Goodwater. I even employed Ms. Monroe to help you when you believed Stiles to be dead. I knew your brother didn't look gloomy enough to suggest the boy had truly died."

"Monroe?" Kate scoffed derisively. "Your pet intercepted some letters. A lot of good that did us both. Derek still went to Posey! Stiles still got his title!"

"And if you had killed them both, as you'd promised to, we wouldn't be in this position. Now I have officers visiting my house every few days! My name is a joke and my business partners are pulling back. You've ruined this family! I want you out of this house, now and forever!"

"You're disowning me?" Kate didn't sound like someone about to leave. They heard a click. "You think you're innocent in this, old man?"

Officer Clark burst into the room, rifle up and aimed. Lady Katherine Argent stood at the end of the barrel, but she barely spared the officer a glance. In her hand was a finely decorated dueling pistol, the hammer drawn back, the barrel aimed at her father. The two lords hung back, not about to get between several people with guns. Stiles may have followed regardless, but Derek had him by the bicep.

"Lady Argent, lower your weapon," Officer Clark demanded. "I am here to take you both into custody for the murder of Lord Noah Stilinski and the attempted murder of his son, the Lord Baron Goodwater." Ha, she didn't even try to pronounce Stiles' name. He found some amusement in that.

Gerard laughed. "You've come to arrest the both of us? Her, I understand. She poisoned the poor boy. But me?"

Officer Clark did not lower her weapon from Kate, who in turn kept her pistol aimed at her father's heart. "The royal family is well informed of your treatment of Lord Stilinski," she said and Gerard's face fell into a deep frown. "You will both be escorted to the capitol, where you will stand trial for your actions."

"I am the Earl of Gévaudan!" Gerard shouted.

"You are the beast of Gévaudan," Kate spat. "And you have given me up in every possible way. You're not a father, not an Earl. Soon, you won't even be a person. You're an animal."

"Lady Katherine," Clark warned.

"You don't have the gall," Gerard snarled. "Give me the pistol and I'll show you how you should have dealt with the Stilinskis! Give me that pistol and I'll make sure you pay for every wasted effort you spent on that brat, Derek Hale, only to have him chose your servant over you."

"Lady Katherine," Clark tried again. "Don't take the bait."

A shot rang out, loud and piercing through the house. Derek dragged Stiles to the ground, as though dodging afterward would help. But no second shot went off. There was barely the sound of a scuffle. Stiles jumped to his feet and nearly flung himself through the door to see what had happened.

Officer Clark was restraining Kate's arms behind her back, her rifle re-holstered. Kate's pistol was on the desk, the barrel still lightly smoking. And there, barely visible around the desk, was a limp arm and hand. Gerard Argent lay dead on the floor, shot in the heart by his own daughter.

"I said not to take the bait," Clark grunted.

Kate scoffed. "He wanted me to shoot him. That man would rather be dead than be humiliated. We both wanted that bullet to go through his heart." She glanced at the new arrival and rolled her eyes when she saw Stiles. "Oh of course you're here, sweetheart. The terrible irony wouldn't be complete without my greatest failure here to see it. Now you can recount it to your army of servant informants."

"Don't worry," Stiles said, feeling a little empty on the inside. "Your father didn't have a heart to begin with. All you pierced was an organ."

Kate snorted and let her head sag down against her chest. Parrish and the other two officers stomped into view then, the handsome man's face looking white with worry. When he saw the situation, he calmed immensely and let out a sigh of relief. He put his weapon down and came to help Clark.

"Katherine Argent, we hereby place you under arrest in the name of Her Majesty the Queen." Parish tightened the bindings a bit more than necessary. Kate didn't react, but Clark's face winced. "You will be tried in a court of your peers for the murder of Lord Noah Stilinski, Baron of Goodwater; Lord Gerard Argent, Earl of Gevaudan; and the attempted murder of Lord Mieczyslaw Stilinski, Baron of Goodwater. You will be found guilty and be stripped of your inheritance and public standing. Then the Queen and the court will decide your penance."

Kate snorted again. Then she began to laugh, and laugh, and they could hear her ironic laughter all the way through the house as Clark pushed her out and Parrish held her firmly by the bicep.

Stiles watched the door and the empty hall until long after the sound had faded. One of the officers was speaking, saying something about the two lords being needed in court for the trial, about how they'd be summoned. Stiles wasn't listening. Or, he couldn't listen. His ears felt stuffy, filled with the echo of Kate's laughter and a sick sort of static.

Slowly, as Derek's deep voice muffled its way in response to the officer, Stiles turned on the spot just enough to see Gerard's arm lying in view on the hardwood floor.

Gerard was dead. He couldn't scream orders or threaten or call Stiles disgusting names. He couldn't slap Stiles or slam him into the walls or break his bones or push him down the stairs. He couldn't inhabit the shadows of places he'd never been, haunting Stiles even when miles away. He was gone. He was dead.

Kate was in custody, under the eye of the only officer Stiles knew and trusted. She was going to lose everything. She'd have no power, no influence. She'd be locked up at best, never to see society again. She'd be sentenced to death at worse, unable to hurt anyone ever again. No more sweet words and flirty looks to cover up her threats and her violence and her manipulations.

No more.

"-iles?"

Derek's hand was on his arm. Stiles felt the pressure like a bruise. His legs felt weak, and not from the poison, so he clung to Derek as the older man tried to lead him out of the house. Derek was saying something, but Stiles's brain just kept hearing the same thing.

It's over. It's over. It's over. They're gone. They can't hurt you anymore. They're gone. It's over.

He hiccupped and grabbed at his hair, feeling light headed. That's when his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees in the hall. He hiccupped again and then gasped for air.

"Stiles? What's wrong?" Derek asked, kneeling beside him, arm still trying to support him.

"I-" Stiles pressed a hand to his chest, where his heart was beating hard against his ribs. "I don't know. I can't- I can't stop. I just-" He felt them, hot and wet on his face, and it was true. He couldn't stop them. The tears came, and they only got worse. He was choking on them.

His father, paralyzed and dying in his own home, then burned alive just for good measure. His own back, scarred from trying to fight through the flames. His lands, abandoned for years with no reason. His family name, forever covered in rumor and gossip. His body, beaten and mangled every other day for trying to be who he was raised to be, for trying to be himself. His mind- His anxiety and paranoia and distrust-

Five years. It was going to be with him for the rest of his life. But it was over.

He couldn't believe it. Neither could his body, apparently. It shook and cried, and he couldn't make it stop so he'd just have to ride it out.

Derek held him with one arm around his shoulders while the other hand gripped Stiles', trying to ground him, trying to anchor him. Stiles loved that. But Stiles was causing a scene, even in the empty hall, and they weren't alone for long.

Stiles didn't know where the officers had gone, but servants surrounded the pair soon enough. The hall flooded with them, drawn to the sounds. Caitlyn and Emily and Finstock and Jared and every servant of the house, whom Stiles all knew by name, were approaching – slow at first, but then quickly. Some knelt by him, embracing him and Derek both. Some stood nearby, offering their solidarity in silence.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said through another hiccup. "I don't know-"

"It's alright, Stiles," Caitlyn assured him, gripping his other hand. "You're going to be alright."

The irony was that, for only the second time in five years, Stiles was ready and willing to admit that he was not, in fact, fine. He was a mess. He was having a breakdown over being free from his abusers. He was going full on mental. Yet he was surrounded by twenty people, who all knew full well how not okay he was, and who were all there to tell him he would be alright. He would, one day, be fine.

He buried his face in Derek's chest as his breathing became bearable. When he was under control again, he'd be properly embarrassed and mortified and probably try to joke away the awkwardness. For now, he let himself be coddled, because it had been so very long since he'd been allowed the luxury of enjoying anything like this. He hid his tear stained face in Derek's fancy shirt collar.

And he just breathed.