Chapter Three: Medeina

Unwilling to get married, a voluptuous, beautiful huntress, girl or she-wolf with an escort of wolves – "greyhounds" – Žveruna-Medeina does not protect hunters, but rather hinders them from killing... Each year the first kill was sacrificed to Žveruna-Medeina, as well as offerings for protection of domestic animals from wolves.

x.

They were sitting at lunch. Stiles's head was laid on the table, his chin on his hands, staring moodily up at the teenagers passing by. The skin underneath his eyes was shadowed and translucent, the ugly, sallow purplish-gray of sleep deprivation. Across the room, his eyes were focused on Cora, sitting at a table alone with another girl. His lip curled slightly in an unhappy grimace, and Scott nudged him. "Dude," he said, "you're being creepy."

Stiles looked up at his friend dazedly, as if he hadn't realized Scott was there. And then he let out a defeated little breath, burying his face in his arms on the table. "I hate everything," he said, his voice muffled.

"You're cranky, man," said Scott, shaking his head. "You need to get more sleep. What are you even doing all night?"

"Nothing!" said Stiles angrily, looking up again. There were pink veins in his eyes, bloodshot and exhausted. "I swear to God. I'm in bed like sixteen hours a day and I'm friggin' beat." He let out a fake sob – at least, Scott thought it was fake – and said emphatically, "Help."

"Are you sleeping?" asked Scott, with a crooked little grin. "Or when you say in bed do you mean-" he glanced over at Cora, "-are you guys finally-"

"No," said Stiles, making a face. "God, no. Gross."

"You like her," said Scott knowingly, grinning at his friend.

"No. I mean I am, like, full-on pajamas, eyes closed, those stupid nature white noise CDs playing. Sleep is just making me more tired."

"Maybe you're sick," replied Scott, shrugging. "Didn't Lydia have mono over the summer?"

"That would make sense," murmured Stiles. "If I'd been anywhere near Lydia's mono-ridden lips in the past six months." Stiles didn't move for a moment, and then leaned back, letting out a groan. "Maybe it's Cora," he remarked, yawning. "Maybe just being around her is making me go crazy."

"I knew it! You like her."

"No," said Stiles, scandalized. "I didn't mean the good kind of crazy."

He opened his eyes slightly, and they slid back over to where Cora sat with the girl she'd rescued from the fire. It had been over a week, and, to everyone's surprise, she was back in school, and did not seem especially traumatized. Cora had hardly left her side since she showed up. Rationally, Stiles couldn't blame her – he knew that the whole house fire thing was something Cora could relate to – but there was something about this girl. Something he couldn't name, but hit him with an intense dislike.

Leaning in towards Scott, Stiles asked lowly, "Doesn't that bother you, though? She won't even look at us, but this random girl-"

"Who cares?" asked Scott seriously. "If she's making friends, I say we leave her alone."

"Friend. Singular. She has one friend. One trauma-friend, at that."

"Stiles," said Scott, looking up at his friend. "Why does it bother you so much that she doesn't like you?"

Stiles's jaw dropped slightly in indignation. "What?" he hissed. "I don't-" his eyes wandered back to where Cora sat – he saw the softness in her face, and trailed off. "Ugh," he sighed. "Whatever. I don't care. I don't like her."

"Right," answered Scott dubiously. "Just like you don't like Derek."

"I don't like-" he broke off, rolling his eyes. "OK, so the guy grew on me."

"Give her a chance. And stop obsessing over her."

"I'm not obsessing."

"Dude, you're kind of-"

Abruptly, a loud scream broke through the dull chatter of the lunchroom. Recognizing the particular timbre of the wail, Stiles and Scott immediately looked around, hearts pumping: Lydia was on the floor, cowering, shielding herself from whatever was around her, screaming ferociously. The upturned plate of school lunch she'd dropped covered the floor beneath her, dirtying her clothes, but she didn't seem to notice – she was in some sort of fit, eyes rolling around the room desperately.

Immediately Allison was kneeling beside her, taking hold of her arms, trying to get her under control – Scott rushed to his girlfriend's side as the entire lunchroom watched in awe and discomfort, an odd mutter spreading around. Stiles didn't move for a moment.

He glanced around. Cora was staring at Lydia as well, something that Stiles couldn't quite recognize on her face. As Stiles stared at her, she glanced up, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.

And then Lydia's screaming started to form into words, and Stiles's head snapped back to look at her. "No no NO NO." She began to sob, great heaving, weeping cries. "NO STOP LEAVE NO! Oh – oh God, no, no…"

"Stiles!" shouted Scott. "A little help!"

He blinked and then something clicked in his head; he got up and went to Lydia, helping them, taking hold of her arms; she was, Stiles thought, significantly stronger than he thought she'd be. His limbs seemed loose and weak, out of his control, and Scott shot him a confused look before someone pulled at his shoulder, shoving him away, and Isaac took firm hold of Lydia's right arm, where Stiles had been. Scott and Isaac managed to get her to her feet, and Allison took Isaac's place, wrapping her arm around Lydia's waist, and together they extracted her from the lunchroom, bringing her out to the hallway. Stiles, feeling supremely useless, ran ahead of them and found the nearest unlocked classroom, which they brought her into. Allison tried to sit Lydia down at a desk, but she would not let go of her friend, sharp, scrabbling fingers clinging onto Allison, scratching at her neck, babbling and sobbing incoherently.

Allison half-sat on a desk, Lydia holding her tightly, burying her face in her chest, still crying loudly. Warily, Allison looked at the three boys before her then, carefully, she began, "Lydia…? Are you OK?" More crying. "Lydia? Can you hear me?"

The sobbing lessened slightly. Lydia's fingers, clenched around Allison's body, loosened slightly. Slowly, she looked up.

Her face was pale, the makeup around her eyes streaming down her cheeks, mingling with salty tears. Her gaze passed over them, then drifted behind the boys.

Her voice so quiet it broke into a whisper, she asked, "Can't you see them?"

Allison stiffened, meeting Scott's eyes. "See who?" she asked gently.

"Them," she pressed, her eyes wide and afraid. "They're everywhere. Oh, God. Oh, God oh God oh-"

"Lydia," said Scott, looking down to look back at her. "What do you see?"

Lydia stared at him, her gaze flickering in between his eyes. Tears welled up again in hers, and she covered her mouth with her hand, pressing her face to Allison again. Allison put her arms around her friend and said lowly, "Maybe we should just go to the nurse-"

She was interrupted by a shrill, piercing sob from Lydia.

"You," she cried.

They froze. Scott and Isaac exchanged glances.

Lydia sobbed, "All of you. You're dead. Everywhere. I – everywhere I look – you're – I can see…" she dissolved into tears again, unable to finish her thought.

As her four friends stood there helplessly, puzzled, Lydia kept her eyes shut tight, closed against the awful visions in the room: Allison, pierced by a dozen arrows, hanging from the wall, mouth wide open, pinned by the soft palate at the back of her throat. The vitreous humor of her eyes burst on her cheeks and slowly slid downwards from where the tips of the arrows punctured her cornea, sliding in all the way back to the nerve of her eye. Scott, his naked corpse lying in two pieces on the floor just beneath where he stood, intestines and internal organs splayed out between the two halves of his body, throat viciously gouged out, covered in blood. Flies buzzed around his body, darting in and out of his open mouth, swollen and black and pulsing with maggots, spilling out onto the floor. Isaac's lifeless body was propped limply against the door, chest crushed so that ribs pierced out of his flesh, the glistening white bone grotesque and bizarrely beautiful, out of place with the ugliness of the destroyed bones of his face, visible and so white they could have been his skin if not for the unnatural, warped shape of his face, if not for the gleam of viscous blood and fluid sliding down his neck, bent at a sharp and perfect ninety degree angle. His heart lay in his pale palm beside him, and a cockroach scuttled over it, antennae waving sacrilegiously, ugly and profane as it spiraled up Isaac's arm.

Directly behind Scott, on the desk behind which a teacher would sit, a small, emaciated body crouched, arms holding his knees tightly to his chest.

The dead – or dying, or whatever it was – version of Stiles lifted its small, brittle skull, hollowed cheekbones, shrunken lips, and stared at her with empty, white eyes. It peered over Stiles's shoulder, a vacant, mocking echo of his own face, beleaguered and clammy, like a prophetic vision of what was yet to come.

Allison looked up at Scott. "I'll take her home," she said, her voice hushed.

"I can do it," said Stiles suddenly, stepping forward. "I have a free period."

Instantly, emphatically, Scott said, "No," and it was the kind of no that you don't question, the kind that could make Isaac flinch – that of a True Alpha. Stiles didn't move. Allison glanced between the three of them, and then she got up, Lydia still clinging tightly onto her.

"I'll help," murmured Isaac, and he took Lydia's other side, guiding her out of the school, to Allison's car. Stiles and Scott were left alone in the room.

There was nothing for a moment, and then Stiles looked up at Scott with heavy, dark eyes. "What was that?" he asked, but his voice was frailer than it should have been.

Scott eyed his friend for a second, then said, "Dude, you're not even up to driving yourself right now."

"I'm fine!"

"You're not," insisted Scott, taking Stiles's arm. "This is Lydia we're talking about, I know you'd do anything for her. And you froze, man. You choked. Lydia's not the only one who's messed up right now." He watched Stiles, slow and warily, still holding firmly on to his arm. "Get better," he said, his grip loosening slightly. "I can't handle seeing you like this.

Hovering for a moment, glancing between Stiles's eyes, he left the room, leaving Stiles standing there, his friend's words still slowly going over and over in his head.

After school, Cora walked along the halls; Sam was beside her. They'd hardly been apart since the girl came back to school, and it comforted Cora to have someone there who could understand her, although there was, to a certain degree, something not-quite-there with this girl that she couldn't precisely explain.

"Was that your friend?"

Cora's head snapped up, looking at the girl beside her. "Hm?"

"That girl," clarified Sam. "Who was screaming at lunch today. Do you know her?"

"Oh," said Cora. "Yes. Kind of. I mean, she's not my friend or anything, I guess, but I know her."

"Huh," replied Sam vaguely. "That one kid kept staring at you, so I thought maybe they were your friends."

They headed out of the school building and Cora glanced around, searching for Derek's car. Distractedly, she asked, "What kid?"

"Um, the cute one," continued Sam. "He was helping that girl. He looked pretty tired."

"Stiles?"

"I don't know," replied Sam. "Is that his name?"

"No," said Cora, shaking her head, making a face. "I mean, yes, that's his name. But no. I'm not his friend. I don't like him." Sam was silent for a moment. Cora was still searching the parking lot. "OK," she said. "I don't see my brother. I can walk you to your aunt's, I guess." Sam's aunt had come in from somewhere, apparently her only living relative. They were staying in Beacon Hills, but Sam didn't seem to have an answer about how long they'd be there.

"That's OK," sighed Sam. "If you're going home, it's kind of out of your way, anyway."

"It's fine," replied Cora, looking back at the girl. "I really don't mind."

"That's all right," said Sam, with a shy little smile. "It's not far. And, I mean…" she paused, and shrugged. "I guess I could do with a little time alone."

Cora considered this for a moment, and then nodded. "If you say so," she said. She knew, at a visceral level, how deeply someone like Sam might need to be alone. Looking around for Derek's car once more, she began to say goodbye, then turned back around, saying, "Wait."

Sam looked up at her, blinking with big brown eyes. "Yeah?"

For a second, Cora said nothing; something seemed to pause in Sam's gaze, on hold, as if on the edge of a precipice. Clearly and calmly, Cora asked, "So are you going to try out for cross country?"

At this, Sam blinked. Then she said, "Um, maybe. Are you?"

"Yes. I think so."

"OK," said Sam, with a splitting smile. "Then I will too. See you around, Cora."

Cora nodded, said goodbye to her, and Sam headed off, away from Cora. She stood there outside the school for a moment, feeling strangely lost without her brother there looking for her. Walking down past the parking lot, she took out her phone, dialing Derek's number, then holding it up to her ear. After one ring, though, she hung up, heading towards a familiar car.

Striding up to the Jeep, she raised a hand and knocked on the window; the teenager in the car jerked awake, sitting up straight, blinking blearily. Stiles peered out through the glass at her for a full ten seconds. She waved expectantly, then tapped the glass with her fingernail again. Shaking his head, he quickly rolled the window down. Squinting at her, he asked, "Am I dreaming?"

Cora raised an eyebrow. "Am I usually in your dreams?"

A distinct blush rose to his cheeks, and she felt at once offended and also slightly flattered. "Do you need something?" he asked, blinking. He leaned out the window, glancing around them. "Did Derek send you over here for something?"

"No," she replied, stepping back as he hung out the window. "Derek's not here. Can I get a ride?"

For a moment, Stiles said nothing, and then he looked to the passenger seat beside him. He jerked his head inwards and said, "Fine. Get in."

She crossed around the front of the car trailing her hand across the hood, and got in, shutting the door behind her with a loud squeaking noise. Her eyes slid across the dashboard towards Stiles and she said, "I thought you had a free period."

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, then turned the key in the ignition, starting the car. "I did," he replied. "I was gonna go home."

He turned in his seat, watching behind them as he reversed out of the parking space. A spark of amusement in her eyes, Cora asked, "But?"

"But," continued Stiles, annoyed, "I got distracted."

"You mean you fell asleep."

"I'm a high school senior, I'm sleep-deprived."

"It hasn't even been a month."

"Oh my God, Cora," he snapped, exiting the parking lot. "Can you hold off on the third degree until you're, like, out of my general vicinity?"

"OK," she said coolly, relenting, leaning back in the passenger's seat. "Fine."

There was a silence between them.

And then Cora asked, "Did something happen? Between you and me?"

Stiles didn't glance at her, but did look into the rearview mirror. "What?"

"Did I do something?"

"When? What are you talking about?"

"I don't know," replied Cora, looking out the window. "Just in general." She didn't say anything, and then continued, "It's not like we were friends or anything. But. I don't know." She paused. "You did save my life, that one time."

"Oh, right," said Stiles, his frustration clouding his voice. "Because basic human decency is a declaration of love now, is it? You and your stupid brother wouldn't know somebody trying to be your friend if I hit you in the face."

"First of all," she replied pointedly, without losing a beat, "you're a complete jerk if you think I can't make friends just because I never made friends with you. Second of all, go ahead and hit me in the face. I'd really like to see you try."

"Yeah?" retorted Stiles. "You know what, if I wasn't driving this car right now-"

"Pull over. Really. Anytime."

Angrily, Stiles muttered, "I can't believe I put my mouth on your big dumb face."

"It almost makes up for you being totally unbearable."

There was a silence.

Then Cora asked, "Where are you going?"

"Where am I going?" repeated Stiles, still irritated. "Where do you think I'm going, I'm going to where you live."

"Where? The loft?" she asked doubtfully. "Derek and I are living in town now. We have an actual place."

"What?" asked Stiles, his voice high in surprise. "But I liked your wolf den."

"Wolf den?"

"You know, dark, dingy. Highly unhygienic."

"Go left here," directed Cora. "We're renting an apartment downtown."

"Derek Hale," mused Stiles unbelievably. "Living in an apartment downtown. These truly are the endtimes."

Despite herself, perhaps a little reluctantly, she let out a small laugh. "You know," she said matter-of-factly, "I really don't think Derek is who you think he is."

"What do you mean?" he asked, and his question was punctuated by a yawn. "He's big, aggressive, angry all the time, and shockingly inadequate."

"OK," replied Cora fairly. "But you treat the both of us like we're werewolves and that's it. We're more than that." She considered this, then added, "He's more than that, anyway."

"Sure," said Stiles. "You have feelings. Wow. What a revelation."

"Derek drives a Camaro," she shot back, a little smirk on her lips. "I play sports, and I like math."

"You like math-?"

"My point is," continued Cora, speaking over him, "we're a lot more like regular people than you give us credit for. Turn in here," she added, pointing to a building.

Stiles didn't reply to this, only pulled over and stopped the car. Other than pulling her backpack onto her shoulder, she did not move immediately, looking at him. He looked over to meet her gaze. "Yeah, well," he replied gruffly. "I guess I haven't had the luxury of being able to see either of you that way, what with all the ridiculous monsters trying to kill me lately."

She watched him, but patiently, almost as if he were a child, and then she got out of the car. "Thanks for the ride," she said, shutting the door behind her, patting the hood of the car again as she walked around.

He rolled down the window and called, "Cora."

She turned around.

"You know what might help me see you as an actual human being?" he asked. There was a dopey look on his face, and he was all but slurring his words in exhaustion.

Good-naturedly – maybe a little amused – she asked him, "What?"

He turned his face sideways, tapping his cheek. "A kiss," he said. "When your heart is actually beating, that is."

She actually laughed at this, and the sound was more glorious than Stiles had anticipated; he clung to the car window, suddenly feeling unsteady. With a few short strides, she'd crossed the distance between them, and her face was close to his.

Pityingly, gazing into his eyes, she murmured, "I would. But Scott said you might have mono or something, so. Maybe some other time." She shrugged, grinned at him, then turned around, quickly disappearing into her home.

When Cora finally found her brother, it was the middle of the night. Moonlight filtered in through the trees as Cora pushed gently on the door, swinging it open with a loud, long creak.

She stared into the dark house, then dropped to her knees, kneeling beside the body sitting loosely against the wall by the door. She watched him with eyes that were not unkind, and then finally she tucked her arm around her brother's back, tugging him upwards. "Come on, Derek," she murmured, sounding tired. "Let's go home."

It sounded like he tried to mumble something in reply, but he could not quite form words, and she didn't ask how long he'd sat alone in the empty, burned-out husk of a house.

Cora led her brother all the way to his room, dumping him on the bed. For a moment, she hesitated – it occurred to her that she should say something, make sure he was responsive, try to decode whatever the hell was making him shiver so bad, what made the blood drain from his face and turned his voice into a panicked whisper.

She did not. Cora left him in the room alone, and closed the door behind her.

When she slipped back into the kitchen, there was someone waiting for her.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. And then, quietly, every syllable soaked with fury, Cora asked, "What did you do to him?"

Grace's eyes were dark and round and she watched Cora intently, as if waiting for something. Her voice hushed, she replied lowly, "I didn't do anything to your brother. I don't care about him." She paused, sliding towards Cora, sweeping the tips of her fingers along the table, but her gaze never tore away from Cora's eyes. Voice hardly more than a breath, she added: "I want an answer."

Cora pulled away from where Grace reached out to touch her, to brush along her shoulder. She had to break eye contact, and hated herself for it.

"I said I'd help you," replied Cora, and no matter how quiet she could be, she knew that, if he were listening, Derek would hear her. "But our family doesn't owe anything to you."

Grace watched her, unblinking. "Yes," she said. "You do."

There was a silence.

"Cora," said Grace, cocking her head slightly, dropping her face to catch Cora's gaze again, dragging her back up. Cora watched her defiantly. Grace seemed apathetic. Slowly, she opened her mouth and she said, "You lost a sister. I lost…everything."

Neither of them moved. And then, eyes glinting with moonlight through the window, faster than should have been possible, Cora lifted her hand and struck Grace hard across the face; the force of the blow threw the other woman off her balance, and she hit the wall, the thrill of malice in her eyes evaporating, turning into snarling, hateful shock.

Without hesitation, Cora grabbed the woman's long hair, hooking her foot around the back of Grace's knee, bringing her down to kneel. Then she pulled Grace's long, sleek black hair backwards, throwing Grace's chin into the air, exposing the flesh of her pale throat, the dotted marks along the bottom of her jaw.

Cora lowered her face level with the other woman's chin and, calmly, she said, "I died in that house, Grace. Don't you ever forget that."

There was a moment, and then Cora let her go, stepping back.

Grace knelt there, and Cora hoped with all her heart that her hesitation was due to pain, and then she got to her feet again, shaking her hair out of her face.

She bared her teeth at Cora in shameless smile, and she said, "I'm glad to see you've honored your birthright, Cora. You're the only Hale daughter left." She wiped her mouth, saliva dribbling pink with blood. "You deserve it."

She left, and Cora did not blink until the door had latched shut behind her.

The next morning, Cora didn't bother waking her brother, only glanced at the door behind which she imagined he still slept. She called Stiles and waited outside on the sidewalk until the Jeep drove up, slipping in beside him. Gruffly, she said, "Thanks."

"Yeah," replied Stiles, yawning. "Where's your brother?"

"He's here. Maybe he's sick or something."

"No kidding," murmured Stiles, heading back on the road. "Something's going around."

She glanced at him; his skin was pale, and the bags under his eyes had never been darker. "How sick are you?" she asked. "You look terrible."

"Thank you," he said pointedly, and there was no trace of exhaustion in his voice, at least. "Seriously, though, thanks for needing a ride. Or thank Derek, I guess." Peering out the windshield into the misty morning, he added, "I would not have gotten out of bed this morning if you hadn't called."

"Oh?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do I really get you that excited?"

"N-" he glanced at her, eyes narrowed slightly, but in something more than confusion than anything else. "I…" he trailed off suspiciously, then finished, rather lamely, "I didn't say that." She let out a little chuckle and, defensively, he added, "I think I actually do have mono."

"Then you're infectious," she said, looking out the window at the trees lining the side of the road. "I should've called Lydia."

"Right, because you and Lydia get along so well." At this, she did not reply, and then she turned and looked at him, something curious on her face. It took him a moment, and then he glanced over at her. "What?"

Shrewdly, she asked, "Why wouldn't Lydia and I get along?"

"Oh," replied Stiles, glancing at the rearview mirror. "I mean. You know."

Cora watched him. "No," she said. "I don't."

He made a face, obviously uncomfortable. "You're just…not like most girls, I guess."

"Really?" she asked. "What's wrong with most girls?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Dude, I like Lydia, I have since I was, like, nine-"

"Then what's wrong with me?"

He didn't answer this immediately. He glanced at her, concern knitted across his brow. "Nothing," he said, and she was taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Only the sound of the car's running engine broke the silence.

"Except for the whole werewolf thing," he added mildly. "And your whole angry dark brooding Hale schtick. And the fact that your social skills are even worse than Derek's."

"OK," she said loudly, cutting him off. "I get the point."

The awkwardness settled between them like an animal, alive and humming. He blinked, sniffed slightly, then, attempting a significantly lighter tone, he asked, "So you going out for cross country?"

She didn't reply right away, as if deciding whether or not to deign this with an answer, and then finally she said, "Yes. A gym membership doesn't quite cut it when you need to burn off full moon energy."

"Full moon energy," he repeated cheerfully. "That's cute. Better than transforming into a homicidal monster, right?"

"You could say that," she replied dryly.

"I'm on the team too," he added. "Off-season lacrosse stuff."

She glanced at him. "You play lacrosse?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Kind of." There was a pause, and he could tell she was watching him. He glanced over and asked, self-consciously, "What?"

"I know you're on the lacrosse team," she said, and she almost sounded amused. "I was making fun of you."

"Oh," he said. "You're not really good at that sarcasm thing yet, are you?"

She rolled her eyes, looking away from him again, but satisfaction at the would-be smile on her lips lifted some of the tiredness out of his head. They got to school in silence, and he parked, turned off the engine.

"Let me know if you need a ride again," he said. "Otherwise I'm going home early to take a nap."

"I'll work on my social skills," she said coolly. "And get a ride from Lydia. Sweet dreams, Sleeping Beauty."

He looked at her with mock-surprise. "Look at that," he marveled. "A pop culture reference. And here I was, thinking you were a real-life Steve Rogers."

Rolling her eyes, she opened the door of the car to get out. "I saw Disney movies as a kid," she told him. "Just like literally everyone else."

They got out, and as Cora walked around the car, heading towards the school building beside Stiles, he said, pretending to be stunned, "No way. You were never a kid. I can't picture it. You've always been almost-legal and totally friggin' terrifying."

"Don't start with me," she sighed, shaking her head. He grinned.

Somebody called Stiles's name, and Scott appeared. The look on Cora's face changed, but only to a miniscule degree; Scott said, "Hey, Cora," and Cora nodded at him.

"I'll see you around," she said to Stiles, and then she left.

There was an awkward pause as they watched her leave, and then Stiles reached out and punched Scott on the shoulder. "Ow," said Scott, rubbing his arm. "Dude, I didn't even do anything!"

Cross country tryouts were after school; Cora and Sam headed out of the changing rooms together, wearing sweatshirts due to the cold fall air. By the end of practice, Cora had stripped off her sweatshirt, sweat glistening on her body, something raw and animalistic in her panting breaths. Sam was less affected, but had performed nearly as well. As they headed back to the locker rooms together, Cora had a grin on her face, and she pulled the ponytail out of her hair with a beaming enthusiasm. "You were so good," said Sam, in awe, as they opened their lockers. "You'll get varsity, no problem."

"I don't care, really," said Cora, shrugging. "Just feels good to be out there."

Sam sat down on the bench between the two rows of lockers, tugging the cloth headband out of her short hair. "I wish I had your endurance," she sighed. "I'm beat."

"You were fine," said Cora, shooting a glance over her shoulder at the girl. "You're a great sprinter."

"I guess," sighed the other girl, peering down at her locker.

Cora began to take things out of her locker, then paused, noticing the stillness beside her. Sam hadn't moved. For a second, Cora didn't know what to do, and then she stopped and sat down on the bench beside her friend. She watched her carefully, and then asked, "Are you OK?"

Sam didn't look up from her hands. She mumbled, "I'll be fine."

There was almost a full minute of silence; Cora hardly moved, struggling internally with what to do next. And then, awkwardly, she reached out her hand and patted Sam on the shoulder.

Immediately Sam responded, relieving Cora of any duty to attempt more physical comfort by leaning sideways onto Cora, so much that Cora slid her whole arm around the girl's shoulders. She leaned heavily against Cora, and her eyes were shut tight. Her voice a tight, strained whisper, she said, "Sorry. It's just…" she hesitated, finding the words, "…every time I think I'm OK…"

Something stung, hard and sharp like glass, in Cora's heart. She wrapped her arms around the girl, patted her back again. "I know," she said quietly. "I get it." Sam didn't quite move in her arms. Cora held her tightly. "You're fine," she said, sincerity seeping out of her lips, anointing the other girl. "You're better now, Sam. They can't hurt you anymore." She looked down at the girl. "Nobody could hurt you anymore," she said, very quietly. "If you didn't want."

A few more moments passed in silence. And then Sam sat up, sniffling slightly. "Sorry," she said, standing up. "I just…"

"It's fine," said Cora, shaking her head. Sam turned to her locker, took out a towel, shower supplies. Cora didn't move for a second, then got up; as she began to do the same, her phone buzzed and she glanced at it, then let out a little sigh. "I have to go," she said to Sam. "Do you need a ride?"

"No," replied Sam. "My aunt's gonna come pick me up."

"All right. I'll see you tomorrow."

"'Bye, Cora."

Sam headed to the showers, and Cora collected all her things in her backpack and athletic bag, then headed out of the locker room. She held her phone in her hand, watching it, texting something out with her thumb as she opened the door with her hip, slowly heading out; she hardly noticed when the door opened the rest of the way, letting her out easily. Finishing her text and hitting send, she glanced up at whoever had opened the door for her, beginning to murmur thanks, until she noticed who it was.

Stiles smiled at her sheepishly. "Hi," he said.

She watched him skeptically. "What are you doing here?" she asked, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

"Um," he began, mind functioning uncharacteristically slowly, "I was at home and then I remembered that cross country tryouts were today and I knew Lydia wouldn't be sticking around and you made it sound like Derek would be out for a while so I thought maybe you'd need a ride? I guess?"

Her gaze shifted slightly, glancing to the floor, and she couldn't hold back a smile. "Thanks," she said, turning to head towards the doors to the school. "But I'm OK."

"Are you sure?" he asked, scrambling to follow her. "Because it's already pretty dark. And it's pretty cold outside." He nodded pointedly to her body; she was wearing only her athletic sports bra, her skin still too warm for the sweatshirt.

She rolled her eyes. "I think I'll be fine," she said. "I'm hot."

"No kidding," said Stiles, and then he cringed, unable to see the smile Cora was now actively working to keep hidden. "I mean – like in Twilight?"

She glanced at him questioningly. "What?"

"The – werewolves. Their body temperature is…" he trailed off, realizing the reference was probably lost on her. "Are you sure you don't need a ride? I mean, I'm already here."

They were almost at the door; she stopped and let out a little sigh, looking over to meet Stiles's gaze. Cocking her head to the side slightly, she asked, "Did you really come all the way back here to make sure I had a ride home?"

He jerked his body awkwardly, in an almost-shrug. "I guess," he muttered.

She shook her head, and the smile finally appeared. "Did you forget the fact that I'm a werewolf?" she asked simply. "And that I am really capable of taking care of myself?"

Another odd, jerking shrug. "I dunno. I…" he trailed off, intimidated by the look in her eyes. Lowering her voice, he finished, "…could've texted you first, probably…"

"That's right," she said patiently, the corners of her lips turned up, a gleam in her eyes. "You probably should have texted me first."

She smiled at him, then turned and headed towards the door. He stepped forward – but did not reach out to touch her – and said, "Wait!" She paused; glanced back at him. "I, uh." He cleared his throat. "I have some good news."

Raising an eyebrow, she said, "Really." It was not a question.

"Uh-huh," he replied, nodding. Suddenly and acutely aware of the awkwardness of his body, he flexed his fingers, hands hanging uselessly at his sides, and he told her, "I went to the doctor's after school. No mono. So."

She watched him. It may just have been the odd fluorescence of the lights, but there seemed to be some uncertainty there, tinged with what could have been affection. "No mono?" she repeated, and he nodded. She returned the nod and then, slowly, she sidled up to him, her hands still on the straps of her bags across her shoulders.

"Yeah," he breathed, as she stood barely inches across from his face. "So…I mean… if you wanna make good on that…kiss…"

For a second she watched him slyly and then, unexpectantly, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his in a simple, chaste kiss. She pulled away with a slight smirk.

"Stiles," she muttered, meeting his gaze cannily. "You want to know a secret?"

"Yes," he said immediately, eyes wide. She didn't look away.

Moving so close he could feel her breath on his face, she whispered, "Werewolves can't get mono."

He blinked at her, confusion knit across his brow. And then, betrayed, he began, "Wait a second, you said-" and she interrupted him by her hot lips on his again, surging forward, intense and unexpected; she lifted a hand away from the straps of her backpack and hovered her palm above Stiles's face and then, out of nowhere, he pulled away.

Breathless, he asked, "So since I'm already here, can I – I mean, my car's like ten feet away, we could literally just-"

She actually laughed, and she kissed him again and he so much regretted pulling away even just for an instant, and the number of time he'd been kissed he could count on one hand, but he had never been kissed like this, and she scraped her teeth along his bottom lip and it was all he could do not to whimper, suddenly burning hot under his clothes.

He tried to follow her mouth when she pulled away, but she spoke: "Sorry," she whispered, "I already have a ride home."

"Wh-" but his protest was drowned in another kiss from which he never wanted to surface. He finally mustered up the courage to lift his own hand, reach out and put it on her waist, but retracted it instantly as if he'd been burned when his palm connected with bare skin. She laughed against his lips and shifted her body, pressing her hip against his stiff, unmoving hand.

The odd creaking sound of the school doors opening: Stiles, lost in the moment, almost fell forward as she pulled away, turning to face the door. As he blinked through the faint haze, he looked up to see Isaac standing there, looking apologetic.

"Um, sorry," he said timidly, his hand still on the door, keys in his hand. Addressing Cora, he said, "You, uh. Weren't answering my texts."

Cora swept her hair back. "Sorry," she said, to Isaac. She glanced at Stiles and didn't smile. "See you around," she said, and then she went to the door, handing her athletics bag to Isaac as she passed him.

Shooting a sympathetic look towards Stiles, Isaac began to follow her, but Stiles said, "Hey," and stopped him. Isaac looked back to Stiles, who seemed speechless for a second, then demanded, "Since when do you have a car?"

Isaac blinked. "Uh," he said, "Derek bought it for me."

"Derek bought you a car?"

"Yeah," said Isaac, with a shrug.

Emphatically, Stiles said, "Dude," and made a face. Isaac glanced around, bewildered, then shrugged again.

Isaac didn't say anything until they were away from the school, driving down a long road. And then, the side of his thumb tapping against the wheel, he began, "So. You and Stiles."

Cora looked at him. He glanced at her and, seeing her expression, nodded.

"OK, right," he muttered. "Nevermind."

She looked back out of the window, at the mist along the side of the road. "Did you ever hear back from Derek?"

"No," replied Isaac. "He's still alive, right? Something awful hasn't happened?"

"I'm pretty sure," said Cora, nodding. "He's just… I don't know. He doesn't like being on his own so often."

"I thought you said he was working for Peter."

"Somehow, yes," replied Cora. "But Peter's pretty far off the grid right now. Hiding, if you ask me." She paused, ran her thin fingers along the backpack in her lap. "So Derek's not around him much."

There was a silence. Isaac took a turn, ducking his head slightly to peer out the windshield. Poorly feigning nonchalance, he asked, "So did you turn the girl?"

The space inside the car seemed to freeze and distill, and it suddenly became very quiet. Cora didn't look around at Isaac, but leaned her head back against the seat. "No," she said, truthfully. "I couldn't even if I wanted to, Isaac."

He turned the wheel and murmured, "I'm not so sure about that."

"Only Alphas can give the bite. And like I said. Peter's not around."

Isaac didn't answer this, only stared out into the night, a troubled look in his eye.

Cora added, "You should get to know Sam. She could use a friend like you."

He said nothing, although he knew exactly what she meant. His line of his lips flattened slightly, and Cora saw his expression but she didn't say anything else. She refused to break the silence, knowing that she was right.

A few more minutes in, Cora's phone buzzed loudly in her bag; she took it out, and Isaac could tell who it was from the sound of her heart and the simultaneously irritated and relieved look on her face. She answered like a deep breath of air. "Derek?" Isaac could hear her brother's voice on the other end, but he tried not to, in order to give the siblings some semblance of privacy. "No, I stayed late. Isaac's bringing me home. Stiles took me this morning. No, it's fine. It's fine, it's fine." A pause. "How are you? Yeah? OK. I'll be there in a couple minutes. OK. Yep." She lowered the phone, hanging up.

Isaac didn't say anything at first. And then: "It's good to hear you two getting along again."

Her eyes slid across the car, resting on him cynically.

He didn't look to meet her gaze, but he added, "I don't like it when you fight."

Despite herself, something warm rose in Cora's chest. She slumped slight in her seat. "You don't like it when anybody fights," she replied sourly.

"That's not true," said Isaac, more cheerfully than she would have anticipated. "I like it when I fight."

Although she did not smile and she didn't reply to this, the heavy air inside the car dissipated, and they both breathed easier. When Isaac came to a stop before her building, Derek was already standing there, waiting. As she got out of the car, Derek called, "Thanks, Isaac," and he nodded, then drove away.

Cora dumped both her bags on her brother, saying, "I can walk up a couple flights of stairs on my own, you know."

"I thought you'd appreciate a bellhop," he replied curtly, shouldering her bags – although there was a shine of appreciation in his eye.

"I do," she agreed. "And I know you feel guilty about not driving me, so I'll let you carry my stuff as your idea of some sort of half-hearted penance. But next time, you're buying me a car."

"Not gonna happen," replied Derek pleasantly. "You can't even drive."

"Then you're going to teach me how to drive."

He relented, giving a little nod. "I can do that." They reached their apartment and she unlocked the door, letting them in. As he placed her bags on a table, he asked, "What happened to your clothes?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, fetching a glass of water. "I came straight from practice."

"Practice?"

"Cross country. I told you I was trying out."

"Oh. Did you make the team?"

"Probably. They're posting cuts tomorrow."

"Good luck."

"Thanks," she replied, leaning against the counter, "but you're a little late." She sipped the water, dark eyes focused on her brother. He shifted slightly, but didn't quite move. Certainly he wasn't leaving. She cocked her head, watching him. "What is it?" she asked, gently.

He looked up. It took a while, but slowly, something began to work its way out of his mouth: "Look, Cora…" he crossed the kitchen, lowering his voice. "I know things have been weird lately, but-"

Abruptly, he broke off. She raised an eyebrow as his eyes widened and then his hand shot out, hard and unforgiving, and caught her around the wrist; her glass clattered to the floor and shattered, spilling cool water on the floor. "Derek-" she began, but he cut her off.

Grimly, Derek said, "You've been with Grace's pack."

"What?" asked Cora, wrenching her arm out of Derek's grip. "What are you talking about?"

"Grace," repeated Derek. "Laura's friend. She's back."

"You mean Laura's girlfriend," corrected Cora defiantly, rubbing her wrist. "I know. I talked to her, yeah. She was here, while you were – I don't know, while you were sleeping off whatever was going through your head yesterday-"

"No," insisted Derek. "Her pack. You've been with them."

"What?" asked Cora, the agitation plain in her voice, knit across her brow. "Grace doesn't have a pack, she's Omega-"

"She's not," said Derek, shaking his head. "Not anymore. She built a pack from the ground up, from nothing. She's an Alpha now."

"No," replied Cora, looking at her brother carefully. "No, Derek, you're wrong-"

"I can smell them on you," said Derek impatiently. "I can tell you've been with at least one of them-"

"I haven't," said Cora staunchly. "I didn't even know Grace had a pack. I don't believe you."

There was a tense silence. Then, lowering his voice even more, Derek continued, "I can understand why you might sympathize with them, but Cora, you've got to understand – what Grace is looking to do would only hurt us more-"

"Derek!" she said. "I haven't done anything! I went to school today, I tried out for cross country, Isaac brought me home. That's it. I swear. Grace has… I mean, she's talked to me, but believe me when I say I wouldn't work for her. I wouldn't let her manipulate me."

Derek seemed to consider this for a while, and then he turned away. Taking a small towel from beside the sink, he dropped it on the floor, soaking up where the water spilled. Cora watched him, kneeling before her.

Softly, he murmured, "I can smell her pack on you, Cora. She used them to threaten me, I wouldn't forget that scent. Be careful. Don't trust so easily. OK?"

He straightened up, collecting the larger shards of glass in his hands, looking her in the face. Her dark eyes shone, and, a hint of a smile on her face, she replied just as quietly, "When have you known me to trust anyone?"

Derek didn't answer this, but looked away from his sister, placing the jagged pieces of glass gingerly in the trash.

Happy Thanksgiving, US readers! Unfortunately I don't get to see my family this Thanksgiving, but this chapter is dedicated to them - Mom (my Melissa McCall), Dad (my Sheriff Stilinski), my sister (the Scott to my Stiles), and my younger brother (the Cora to my Derek - or maybe more appropriately, the Derek to my Laura). Love y'all.

Reminder! Feedback, particularly on chapter lengths, is much appreciated.