Chapter Four - We Wear Our Grief In Silence
"No. Please, no..." Scott yells, stumbling over a body in his haste to get somewhere safe, "Derek, help me!"
Braeden blasts away the oversized bug-monster with her shotgun and takes Scott's hand.
"Get ahold of yourself! Derek can't protect you anymore. You have to look after yourself now. Do you hear me? Your brother's dead. He can't help you!" Braeden berates him.
She's knocked back by another monster, Scott nearly getting hit alongside her. "Braeden!"
More of the monsters swarm them, and Scott is surrounded. Braeden lies still on the ground.
"You want him?" a man's voice cuts through the din of the battle, "Then you're gonna have to go through me!"
Jordan Parrish lands in the dirt in front of Scott, and though he seems familiar Scott can't immediately place him.
"Get up, Scott."
"You were in my dream. I saw you."
"Save it for later," the man says, handing him a familiar looking katana, "Can you fight?"
Scott takes the blade reluctantly, "If I have to..."
"You're gonna have to. One more thing..." he says as he draws his own weapon, "Don't ever lay down and wait to die!"
-x-
The old man forces her to her knees in front of Peter Hale. He doesn't quite fit what she remembers from the pictures Stiles had shown her. His face doesn't fit right. She doesn't know how to explain the sense of wrongness that the man is exuding, only that it is.
"Vulture. What vile creature have you brought me? She stinks of coyote and fear," Peter asks, and her skin crawls.
"I'm not afraid of you," she lies, staring straight up at him without flinching back like she wants to.
"Oh, you're a brave one aren't you? What's the brave little bitch's name?"
"Didn't ask. Caught her sneaking out of the Stilinski house using the window," the old man-Vulture?-answers. Malia can hear the amusement in his tone and she hates it.
"Leave us. Don't interrupt unless my boy returns from his hunt." Peter grins down at her, and it's as if he has a thousand pointed teeth in his mouth even though that's impossible.
She can hear Vulture leaving, but she refuses to look away from her father.
This is a test. This is her trial and if she loses, she knows she won't survive.
It might be her body on the clocktower next.
"Who are you?" he asks her with obvious interest.
She takes a long minute, tries to place why he disconcerts her so.
"I'm not supposed to talk to you," she says and it's true. Stiles told her it would be a bad idea, a dangerous one.
But it might be the only thing that saves her now.
"You're going to anyway. Curious," Peter says, reaching out his hand to take hers.
She lets him.
"Malia... Malia Hale."
-x-
He isn't used to being alone. He hadn't been alone in so terribly long that the loss of someone nearby made him feel disconnected from the world, from himself.
He'd separated from Isaac a few days before at Isaac's request. He feels like he should have asked, prodded Isaac for an answer to where he was going off by himself, but in the end he hadn't.
He doesn't understand wanting to be alone, but he knows based on the past few weeks that Isaac did. Isaac is used to silence, to being by himself. Sometimes the kid craved company, but mostly he liked his solitude. He could respect that, even though he didn't get it.
Chris hasn't been this alone since he was eighteen, freshly graduated and away from his parents for the first time. And anyway, as it were, he'd met Victoria that summer at the compound in France. She was beautiful and funny, but there wasn't a spark between them that would spawn a lasting relationship. They both knew that.
They'd been married the next summer, falling into line with his father's commands like the soldiers they'd both been trained to be. He grew to love her over the years, of course, but it was never the kind of love that marriage was supposed to be, never the kind of love that meant forever. She was his best friend, but they were never lovers.
Chris hadn't wanted to be a hunter. He had always been obsessed with planes and dreamed of becoming a pilot. His father had other plans, of course, and he tried to push back what he wanted in order to be the perfect soldier his father wanted. Most of the time, he felt more like they were best friends who were never meant for more, and sleeping next to her felt natural but never sexual. Victoria had admitted to him once before they'd married-when they were friends and nothing more-that she was asexual (though at the time, they hadn't the words for it), that she would never want to sleep with him. So with their marriage, they played up their relationship for the sake of his father's will and it was okay.
They were as happy as they could be, given the circumstances.
His father had gotten suspicious when Victoria had not gotten pregnant despite several years of marriage, and they were both a little afraid of what might happen to their carefully constructed lives if he found out.
Ultimately, they'd found an answer that satisfied them. Allison was conceived via in vitro fertilization, and Chris felt for the first time like something had gone right in his life.
After she was born, Victoria threw herself back into hunting with fervour, and it was Chris who spent most of his time raising her.
Victoria loved their daughter, but she was incredibly detached. He didn't know the reason why, if there even was one. He hadn't asked her, almost afraid to find out the answer. Some parts of Victoria had been that way as long as he'd known her, clinically detached-perhaps compartmentalized was more appropriate. He hadn't known Victoria as a child to know if she had always been that way or if...
It was a blessing in their line of work, but perhaps a curse in their relationship.
The older Allison grew, the more time Victoria spent with her. Once Allison was able to start taking martial arts classes and pulling back a bow, Victoria seemed to get along better with her.
Chris had always been proud of her ability, of what she could do. But he didn't want to raise her like the two of them had been raised. Sometimes he wasn't so sure that Victoria agreed.
Sometimes, even with his daughter, the loneliness crept up on him until he felt like he was being strangled. Victoria allowed him his indulgences as long as he never endangered their lifestyle or risked his father finding out about it. He wasn't a perfect man, and Victoria knew that. He knew that.
He fell in love for the first time when Allison was sixteen years old, feeling out of his depth and somehow okay with it. She hadn't stayed, and neither of them had expected the relationship to last. Too many differences in their lives.
And then a few weeks later, Victoria told him they were moving to Beacon Hills and his life drastically changed.
His girlfriend had left him on Christmas Eve the year before, and early in the morning a year to that date he's coming back into Beacon Hills, back to where he'd lost the rest of his family entirely.
He's so alone and he feels it like an ache through his bones.
All he has left are memories of a life before, and he hopes they'll be enough to find peace.
-x-
He's exhausted by the time he gets home. The house is dark, but he knows Stiles isn't alone. Derek Hale's car is parked behind the jeep, and Stiles had warned him hours before anyway.
It's early in the morning, the sunrise peeking through trees enough to cast a faint glow into the living room. He takes off his shoes and collapses on the couch, not willing to take the energy to traverse up the stairs yet.
The television flickers on after two failed clicks of the remote, and an infomercial about banana bunkers plays in the silence of the room.
He switches through a few channels before he settles on an early morning episode of Criminal Minds and kicks his feet up on the coffee table.
Claudia had bought the coffee table from a garage sale a few weeks before she started getting ill. They'd taken it in the backyard and sanded the bright yellow paint off until only wood remained, then they'd stained it together while Stiles was in school.
It felt like the last good memory he'd had of her, giggling into her elbow after she'd swiped her brush on the wood into a phallic shape. He'd looked at the smile on her face and fell in love with her all over again.
He misses her so much. Some days are harder than others.
He focuses on the television again, listens as the characters on screen speak.
"Promise me that you will tell him how we met, and how you used to make me laugh."
"Haley..."
"He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron. I want him to believe in love, because it... it is the most important thing... but you need to show him. Promise me!"
He turns off the tv and heads upstairs.
Some days are a lot harder than others.
Stiles' door is open, and he steps a few inches inside. His son is asleep on his bed, quiet and still. Derek is asleep beside him on the floor, back pressed against the edge of the bed.
He shuts the door behind him when he leaves, satisfied.
-x-
It's dark when she opens her eyes. The curtains are still tightly shut from the last night she'd been able to sleep in her own bed without being interrupted by a night shift, probably close to two weeks ago.
Her bedroom is empty and cold, though even without the expectation of a warm body beside her she feels a keen loss.
It's been a long time since she had someone. Dating hadn't been a priority in a long time, and before that it was difficult to spend any actual time with Rafe. She doesn't count the aborted date with Peter Hale, because she can't. Even if they'd actually managed to go out, she wouldn't be able to make herself count it now.
But the more time that passes-the more entrenched she becomes in the life Scott is leading now-the deeper she feels that loss.
Sometimes she lies awake at night and pretends that whatever this tenuous thing between her and the Sheriff is, that's it's real and measured and something.
As much as she would enjoy having regular sex again, what she misses most is that steady companionship.
Maybe it's wrong of her to take whatever the Sheriff gives her. He's still in love with his wife and she knows that, but sometimes he's just there when no one else is.
She's had these daydreams of them married before. Ever since Rafe started to drink heavily when Scott was little, before Claudia got sick, and before she really knew him at all. They always felt more vivid than a daydream, which had always been a ridiculous thought but that never stopped her from having them.
Sometimes Stiles was in those daydreams too, but never Scott and once she realized that she'd put a firm foot down on the brakes and refused to contemplate it anymore. Something she wished she'd had the courage to do when she first started dreaming about marrying the Sheriff.
They've been happening again and every time Scott is gone but Stiles is there and he's still so painfully young and she doesn't get it.
Sometimes she dreams about it at night. Falls asleep curled up and sated next to a warm body only to wake up to reality in a cold bed and totally alone.
And the dream she's just woken from is worse, somehow.
She dreamed of the news reporting a purge of the city of Bodhum, of intense terror and fear for the Sheriff and Stiles. She dreamed of Stiles showing up bloody and beaten, a black brand on his skin, a handful of strangers at his side (not strangers-Derek and Boyd and Isaac).
She loves her husband. That's just a fact. When Claudia was dying, she'd promised her that she would take care of him and Stiles. She never expected to fall in love with him, but she got the impression when she thought back to it, that Claudia had hoped so.
Stiles... Stiles had always been a handful, even for Claudia and his father together. She knew that going in. She also knew that she loved Stiles as if he was her own, with time. She had been married for two years when she realized just how much she loved the family she had made and how much better it could be if Stiles could accept her fully. He was growing up, and with her husband's promotion to a highly ranked Palumpolum Guardian Corps officer, she knew that they only had one more chance to truly spend time together before things changed. She wanted the opportunity for Stiles to finally see her as someone who loved and cared for him, instead of just his mother's friend who loved his father.
She put together a trip for the two of them, begged off joining by picking up a few extra shifts with the chemist, and watched the two of them leave with a smile on her face.
When news of the Purge in Bodhum reached her, it twisted her insides until she felt like she couldn't breathe. Would anyone tell her if Stiles and her husband had still been there? Would anyone else care?
When she finally sees her Stiles again, he's dirty. He's wearing the jacket she bought him for his birthday, but it's stained with blood and grime. There's a cut under his eye that hasn't fully healed yet and there's a knife clipped on his waistband.
Most telling, she thinks, is the twisted metal bar strapped to his back.
His father is not with him.
"Stiles, sweetheart...?" She tries to be calm when she asks but the panic is building.
"He's dead."
She loved her husband, dearly. But she knows that Stiles would always love him more.
He flinches from her touch.
With that, Melissa Stilinski finally falls apart.
The gift of time she'd tried to give her boys turned into a curse.
She never does see Scott in these dreams, at night or otherwise. She doesn't understand why.
She wonders if it has something to do with Scott or if there is a part of her that-no, she refuses to think there is any part of her that would not move heaven and earth to protect Scott, to love him and raise him.
Whatever reason her dreams have for writing him out must be for a reason, right? Trying to tell her something, something important.
The ache of loneliness is replaced by the sudden and terrible fear that something is going wrong, some dark thing is coming upon them and these dreams are some ever increasing portent of it.
She dresses quickly, leaves her hair down in messy curls, and leaves her bedroom to find her son.
-x-
"Derek, no. She's not mad at you, trust me. You were upset and I don't think-"
"I saw her and ran away. She has every right to be mad at me."
The Sheriff sighs as he rubs the sleep from his face, trying to figure out how long they let him sleep before they woke to argue.
"She's your sister, Derek. Laura is alive, and she's not upset that you panicked and left. It's been what, a year since you last saw her? And she wasdead. You were already worked up because Cora's in trouble, and oh my god. Laura doesn't know about Cora, does she?"
"Fuck," Derek mutters and the Sheriff finds himself agreeing as he walks through the doorway into Stiles' bedroom.
"Good morning boys."
-x-
"You're just going to believe she's your daughter? She consorts with Stilinski."
"Stiles isn't clever enough to plan something like this. And even if he was, I have a test to determine her... conviction. If she fails, then... But I don't think she will."
"Peter-"
"No. No, I think it's past time we got over that insipid human name. It's not my true name, Vulture."
"Your true name? What on earth are you talking about?"
"Oh, I'm not talking about Earth, Vulture. I'm talking about before. You remember it, don't you? Being Orphan, being a fal'Cie in the center of Cocoon. Having thousands worship you? Until Derek's pack and your son destroyed you?"
"That vile man is not my son. He's an abomination that would lie with-"
"Do not forget your place, Vulture."
"Yes... Alpha."
"Oh, I'm past needing that title, Argent. You were a god once... and so was I."
"... Bhunivelze?"
-x-
Isaac shows up just as she and Scott are about to leave for the Stilinski house. He looks better than he had the last time she's seen him. Allison's death still wore heavily in his face, just as it had in Scott's, but he looked better all the same.
"Oh. Are you leaving?" the boy asks, adjusting the strap of his bag as he stands at the front door.
"About to head to Stiles' for Christmas," Scott answers, and Melissa takes note of the fact that Scott is shyly avoiding Isaac's eyes.
"Oh, I can-"
"You can leave your bag upstairs and hurry back down. You're coming with," she tells him, leaving no room for arguing. He hesitates for a minute, before nodding and slipping inside.
Once he's upstairs, Melissa turns to her son.
"Scott, have you forgotten to tell me something about you and Isaac?"
"Mom!" Scott whines in surprise and embarrassment. Which, yes, she may occasionally forget the super hearing aspect.
"You're going to explain later. No arguments."
Scott nods.
-x-
Chris pushes his way through the throng of people last minute shopping, trying to get through to the light bulbs.
He doesn't expect what happens.
There's a woman a few feet ahead of him. Her hair is pulled to the side in a ponytail, loose and soft looking. The color is different.
It's white and silver and brown, somehow looking completely natural on her. The shopping cart in front of her holds three boxes of dark brown hair dye, a handful of shirts and a few pairs of blue jeans.
She's dressed in men's clothing. The sweater she wears is a little too big, though she was tall enough to fit the length. The jeans were mens' cut skinny jeans that didn't quite fit her form well, but she seems comfortable enough.
It isn't until she turns around that he recognizes her. Laura Hale.
Except, Laura was dead. He remembers the last time he'd seen her. She had been wearing some of his clothes then. His flannel shirt hanging loosely off her shoulders, open to show the pale soft skin of her belly and the black lace of her bra. "I love you, Chris," she'd told him, her voice breaking around the syllables of his name. Then she'd thrown her NYU hoodie on right over it and slipped out the door of his hotel room with her heels in her hands.
He'd found the letter wrapped in the tank top she'd stuffed in his bag.
I'm not a good person sometimes, Chris. But know that I love you. Always.
Victoria had informed them of their move as soon as he'd gotten back from New York. "There's been suspicious activity in Beacon Hills."
Of course, he hadn't known that a week after Laura left him her goodbyes she would be dead.
But here she is, her hair the color of clouds and dust instead of the brown he remembered carding his hands through as they lay together in the afterglow.
"Chris..." The way her lips form his name make it look like an agony but the way her breath rasps makes it sound like nirvana.
She stumbles a little in her too big shoes and then she's falling into his arms with no grace at all. It feels like something was clicking into place again.
It doesn't make up for the loss of Allison or even of Victoria. It makes up for the loss of Laura though, having her back in his arms.
"Mr. Argent?" Lydia's voice cuts through the moment, makes his arms around Laura hesitate.
He looks over Laura's shoulder to see Lydia with a hand on Laura's cart, a pink and white box in her other hand.
"Lydia," he says before swallowing.
"I didn't know you... knew her," Lydia says then, a little softer. She drops the box into the cart and lets a small smile flit across her face.
"Can we get out of here?" Laura whispers, her face still pressed into his chest, her hands tightening where they are fisted in his shirt. He hadn't noticed that, not until then.
They leave together, Laura not letting go of him until it's time to climb into the car. She rides with him, bundles herself into the passenger seat and then fists her fingers into his shirt again. She anchors herself to him.
It makes something feel right again, to have her there.
Lydia drives behind him, careful not to lose him even though she knows the way he's going. It's comforting somehow.
"Did... Did Allison know?" Lydia asks him once Laura slips into the bathroom of his apartment to change. Chris feels raw and the mention of his daughter hurts.
"I... No, Allison didn't know," he answers. It's as much as he's willing to. Lydia isn't his friend. She was his little girl's best friend once but she's not... and she can't be.
He wonders if this is a good idea. Being here, with Laura and Lydia and the past. In this apartment where painful memories circled around him.
Being in Beacon Hills at all.
"I..." Lydia starts to say, but she cuts herself off. Thinking better of it, perhaps. Or just not knowing how to start.
Laura comes out before either of them can continue the awkward conversation, dressed in dark blue jeans and a red flannel shirt. She's wearing it open, over a black tank top and he's reminded of the past.
It's a visceral memory at that.
He loved her, once. Still. Always.
She wasn't Allison, wasn't his little girl-the most precious thing in his life.
But she was alive again, at his side. A lost love returned all the same.
"Lydia is taking me to see my brother again. You... you should join us."
"I don't know if that's..."
"It's Christmas Eve. You should be with family, Mr. Argent," Lydia says and her tone brooked no argument.
-x-
The Sheriff watches Melissa as she shuffles in behind Scott and Isaac. There's honest surprise on her face when she sees Derek pressed against Stiles on the couch, but whether that's because of how they are or the fact that he's there at all, the Sheriff doesn't know.
"I hope it's not a bother that we brought-"
"Not at all, Melissa. I've got my own stray." The Sheriff looks back to Derek and Stiles to see a scathing look on Derek's face at being called a stray. The blushing breaks the effort a bit, but he'll let the kid have it.
"Scott was saying on the way over here that Stiles had something important to tell him that he refused to say on the phone. Are they... Are Stiles and Hale... together?" Melissa asks, and the Sheriff chokes out a little laugh.
Derek's blush deepens, but he's not even looking at the Sheriff anymore so he ignores it.
"Lydia played zombie werewolf again last night. This time it was on purpose. She was trying to bring Allison back to life," Stiles says loudly over Scott's voice.
Everything in the room stops for a moment.
"Is... Is Allison...?" Scott barely manages to get the words out and the Sheriff doesn't think anyone else could manage that if they tried.
"No, Allison isn't alive. But... Laura Hale is."
-x-
Bhunivelze smirks at the lot of them, huddled together like sheep. It's such a beautiful sight. And oh, it would be so easy to pick them off right now. So unbearably easy.
"Peter... Father, can I have one?" The coyote asks once they leave the street to head back and Bhunivelze feels a measure of pride come across him. He didn't much care that he had apparently fathered the little bitch, but she's quick and blood thirsty and that's all that matters for his plans.
And being born of him would make her an excellent sacrifice for more power when the time came.
Her blood would be delicious.
"You can have one of the humans I suppose, Malia. I have plans for the rest of them. Especially Derek and the spark."
"Yes, Father."
Bhunivelze runs his tongue across his lips in anticipation.
Oh, how hard it was to wait.
-x-
He's uneasy as they reach the door to Sheriff Stilinski's house. It feels too intrusive to do this.
He's about to back away when Laura's hand catches the bared skin of his wrist.
"Please," the press of her fingers seem to say.
So he does.
Lydia knocks twice before letting herself in, ignoring a great deal of social manners. They follow her in, Laura only releasing his wrist once they've both breached the doorway.
"Derek," Laura cries a little, and then her arms are full of her younger brother.