Chapter Twelve: Kalma

"Lo! thy brother too has perished,
Dead he lies within the forest,
Manalainen's trumpet called him;
Home return and do him honor,
Lay him in the lap of Kalma."

"Lo! thy sister too has perished,
Perished in the crystal fountain,
Where the waters flow in beauty,
Like a silver serpent winding
Through the valley to the ocean;
Home return and do her honor,
Lay her in the lap of Kalma."

"Wrap her in the robes of ermine,
Tie her hands with silken ribbon,
Take her to the grave of ages,
Lay her in the lap of Kalma.
Bury her with songs of mourning,
Let the singers chant my sorrow;
Cannot leave the fields of battle
While Untamo goes unpunished,
Fell destroyer of my people."

x.

In the back of Allison's car, speeding down the road, Cora put her fingers desperately to Stiles's neck, searching for a pulse. "He's not breathing," she said, the fear frozen in her voice.

"We're almost at the hospital," said Scott, sitting in the passenger seat beside Allison, twisted around to watch his best friend. "Just another couple minutes, he'll be fine. He's gotta be, he'll be fine." Turning to Allison, he hissed, "Go faster." Without replying, she pressed down on the gas, her eyes focused on the darkness before her, the mist coming in dense and wet.

Cora pressed her hands against Stiles's chest, stricken. "Come on," she murmured urgently, kneeling over him, swaying and jolting with the movement of the car. She pumped down hard above his heart, and then took his head in her hands, tilting it backwards and then lowered her mouth down to his. He tasted of blood and bile and something sickly sweet, something she could not identify but which burned her lips like fire. Whipping away, she wiped her mouth with one hand, and the tingling burning intensified. "Dammit," she swore, turning her head, coughing aside. "Wolfsbane." Eyes watering with the stinging pain, she looked at him again, and whispered, "Come on, Stiles. Come on." The moisture in her eyes spilled over, and she closed them tightly, refusing to allow her tears to drop onto his face. "I didn't – waste – all this time on you-"

"Cora," said Allison, glancing back at her through the rearview mirror, "don't stop. We're almost there, just keep going for a few more minutes."

She nodded, jaw clenched tightly, and she pressed her hands against his chest again, pumping hard. There was a cracking sound so sharp that even Allison heard it, and Scott said, "Cora, stop, you're gonna hurt him-!"

"Scott, stop," said Allison tightly. "A few broken ribs are nothing compared to the alternative."

Cora lowered her mouth to Stiles's again, giving him three long breaths, and then lifted her mouth away again, wincing in pain, wiping her lips. "What is it?" asked Scott; he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, almost in tune to Cora's own frightened, erratic beat.

"Wolfsbane," she breathed, pointing at the blackness around Stiles's mouth. "But I'm OK, I'm OK, I'm OK, just keep going."

Suddenly, a loud siren began to wail, and red and blue lights flashed behind them. The car began to slow and, panicked, Scott shouted, "Don't stop, Allison!" but she pulled over abruptly, knuckles white on the wheel. "Allison!" began Scott, but then she cut him off.

"It's his dad," she said harshly.

Scott stared at her for a second, then twisted around to look out the back of the car; without a second thought, he threw himself out the door, running back to where the Sheriff was just exiting out of the squad car. "Scott?" asked the Sheriff, squinting through the mist. "Do you have any idea how fast you were going?"

Breathlessly, Scott said, "It's Stiles, he's in the back, he needs to get to the hospital right now, please, he doesn't have much time-"

The Sheriff gaped at Scott, and then glanced towards the car before him. Then he nodded, and got back into the police car. "Go," he said. "I've got you, go."

The sirens went back on, and Scott dashed back to the car and got in, slamming the door behind him; the Sheriff's car took off before them, leading the way. Allison followed him, and Cora continued to give Stiles CPR, even as the tips of her fingers tingled and she could no longer feel her lips.

As soon as they made it into the hospital, Melissa appeared, eyes wide when she saw Stiles's prone, unmoving body on the gurney. Before she darted after him, she stopped and grabbed her son's arm and, lowly, she asked, "What happened?"

"I don't know," replied Scott, eyes wide in fear, his mouth open and lip trembling noticeably, "I don't know, he was just there and then he threw up blood and that black goo stuff and-"

"Blood?" she asked, holding on to him. "He vomited blood?"

"Yes," said Cora, moving forward, unsteady on her feet; Allison reached out and took her arm, supporting her. "He stopped breathing, I don't think he has a pulse."

"We're prepping the defibrillator right now," she told Cora, eyes wide and honest.

Scott reached out, his hand shaking. "Mom." She stopped, looking at her son, taking his hands. Tears filled Scott's eyes, overflowing, dripping down his face. "Mom," he said, his voice choked, "make sure he's OK."

Melissa nodded, and pulled her son close to her, holding him tightly. And then she let him go and left, heading back to where Stiles still lay.

The rest of the ER was eerily calm, and as they stood there waiting for him, it seemed quiet and still. Behind them, Sheriff Stilinski leaned against the wall, hand held over his mouth. He said nothing for a moment, and then looked up at the three of them.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

Scott wiped his face, and Allison held onto him. "We don't know," said Cora. "That black stuff just came from his mouth, and then he stopped breathing."

The Sheriff glanced back down where Melissa had left. He hesitated for a long moment, then, painfully, he asked, "Did he do this to himself?"

"What?" asked Cora, shocked at the question. "No. Of course not. How would he even-?"

"I don't know," he said gruffly, shaking his head. "I had to ask. I don't know – I don't know what's been wrong with him, lately." He blinked, sniffing slightly, and Cora stood there alarmed, awkwardly unsure of how to deal with the display of emotions.

Derek appeared, slipping in and running forward to meet Cora, and something seemed to change in the Sheriff's expression when he saw the other man.

"Scott," he said, shuffling away from the Hale siblings. "This was – he's not sick. This isn't an illness, this is some-" he glanced at the Hales, and lowered his voice, "-some crazy werewolf thing. Right? Is that what this is?"

"Yeah," replied Scott, nodding. "We don't know what yet, I'm sorry, but-"

"Fine," said the Sheriff, tearing his gaze away from Scott, staring down the hall. "Fine. Listen to me, Scott. I know he's your best friend and I know how close you two are. But if this-" he broke off, clenching his jaw, then turned back to Scott. "If this is what happens when he's around all of this," he said, his voice very low, "all of you – then don't. Then stay away from him. Let him be. All right?"

Scott stared at him, eyes still wet. Confused and hurt, he began, "But – I, I can help him, as soon as we-"

"Scott," interrupted the Sheriff loudly, shaking his head, holding up a hand. "I need to be with my son now." He paused, lifting his eyes to meet Scott's heavily. "My son. He's all I-" he broke off, glancing away, teeth clenched.

Without another word, he headed away, to find Stiles in the ER. Scott reached out and said, "Mister Stilinski-" but before he could continue, the Sheriff whipped around, staring him in the eyes, red and scared and full of tears.

"He's human, Scott," he whispered, watching them. "He's not like you, he doesn't heal like you, he doesn't have – he doesn't have claws and fangs and whatever the hell else. He's a kid. And if being around any of you puts him in danger then you should just – you should all just…"

He broke off, looking around at them all. Derek held on to Cora, but it seemed more for his benefit than hers, as she watched the Sheriff darkly, almost angrily. Allison stood behind Scott, shocked at the Sheriff's words. And then he shook his head and turned around, heading away from them.

None of them said anything. Scott didn't move for a moment, then turned around, face contorted into a silent sob. Allison immediately took him in her arms, holding him tightly. Cora didn't look away from the spot where the Sheriff had been standing, her face pale but expressionless. Derek still held her by the arm; he let out a deep exhalation, then his hand slid downwards to meet hers, clasping their fingers together. She allowed him to hold her hand loosely. The only indication of her emotion an odd, irregular blink in her eyes, she said, "He's the third sacrifice, isn't he?"

"He can't be," said Allison quietly, pulling slightly away from Scott but still holding him. "The Morrigan requires a bloodline sacrifice, there's no way he qualifies."

Her voice harsh and bearing down on Allison, Cora replied, "He coughed up the black slime, it's taking him-"

"No," insisted Allison. "The bestiary said-"

"Then the bestiary is wrong!" shouted Cora, and then she broke her gaze, pressing her lips together tightly, her eyes fluttering shut. There was a silence, even deeper due to the sudden dulling of sound around them, people trying not to stare at her outburst.

Derek squeezed Cora's hand, although she did not look up at him. "She's right," he murmured to his sister. "This isn't how sacrifices are made. If he were a sacrifice, we'd be finding him on the Nemeton, not rushing him to the hospital."

"He knew something," muttered Scott, wiping his eyes. None of them spoke, looking at the boy as he sniffled piteously, then looked up at them with abject anguish. "Didn't you hear him? He said he was wrong. He must've figured it out, and the Morrigan wasn't going to let him tell us what it was."

"The Morrigan," said Allison, glancing away from Scott, her hand still softly stroking the back of his neck. "You mean Laura."

"Laura wouldn't do this," said Derek, without a beat.

Without looking back at her brother, Cora said simply, "Peter killed his own niece to become Alpha. Don't act like our family isn't capable of destruction."

Derek whipped his hand away from Cora, retracting it as if he'd been burned. Despite himself, his eyes glinted blue, and he demanded, "You think I don't know that, Cora? All I've managed to do since she died is destroy things-"

Turning to him, words punctuated by a low snarl, Cora said, "Shut up, Derek. You realize he's dying, right? And our family is responsible. Right now, you don't get to think about anything but helping him. Neither of us do."

Eyes glinting blue - Allison glanced around nervously - Derek demanded quietly, "What do you want me to do?"

Cora watched her brother for a moment, then dropped her gaze back to Allison and Scott. "Leave," she said, addressing Derek. "Find Laura. She's got to be out there now, waiting." She paused, the steel look in her eye hardening. "Find her. And stop her."

Derek was silent for a long moment, as if struggling with this. And then he shook his head almost imperceptibly, and said, "Fine."

"I'll go with you," said Allison, letting go of Scott.

"No," replied Cora firmly. "It's too dangerous."

Skeptically, Allison asked, "So you're going to send your brother out alone?"

Cora watched her, considering this. Genuine doubt snuck its way onto Cora's face, an expression Allison had seen on the other girl so rarely, if ever.

"Besides," added Allison confidently, "who better to find and kill a crazed, murderous ghost-werewolf than a werewolf hunter?"

Narrowing her eyes as if in concentration, Cora began, "OK…crazed, murderous ghost-werewolf is, like, at least three steps above wherever you are right now-"

"I'll call Isaac," said Derek, but then Scott finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

"You can't," he said. "He's out cold at my place. He's been hallucinating all night, there's no way you'd be able to bring him down enough to help."

"We're wasting time," said Allison impatiently. "Derek, you should check your home, the loft, and wherever Peter's body is. I'll head out to the woods."

"Alone?" asked Cora.

Allison's gaze slid over to the other girl. "Deaton said the Morrigan doesn't take women," she told her, almost reassuringly. "If worst comes to worst, I can call backup." Cora nodded, without looking away from Allison's eyes.

Scott wiped his face again, shaking his head, trying to come back to the moment. He began, "I'll come with you-" but Allison cut him off.

"No," she said, placing a hand on his chest. "If you need to be anywhere right now, it's with Stiles."

They met one another's gaze for another second, and then Scott reached out and held her tightly. As Allison let go of him, leaving one last kiss on his lips, Derek's grip on Cora's hand loosened, and then she turned around, hooking her arms around his torso tightly, pressing her head into his chest. "I love you, Derek," she murmured, her voice muffled. "Be safe."

He looked down at her, almost as if surprised. And then, slowly, he returned the embrace, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and gently brushing his hand down the length of her hair. "I love you too," he said, very quietly. "I will be." He let her go and planted his hands protectively on her shoulders, leaning down to meet her eye. "Don't leave the hospital," he said. "Don't leave Scott."

She began, "Like he can protect me any better than-"

"He doesn't need to protect you," replied Derek patiently. "If anything, you both need to protect Stiles. If you have to, you work together. You fight together. A True Alpha and a daughter of the Hale family?" He gave a small, tired smile. "There's nothing that could get past the two of you."

She looked at him, and then threw her arms around him again. After a few moments, without another word, she pulled away. "Go," she said, looking around to Allison. "If you need us, call."

Allison nodded, and then she left, heading out to her car, Derek right behind her. Cora and Scott watched them go, and then she turned around to head into the ER. "Wait," said Scott, stopping her. "He's still in critical condition, until my mom comes out and tells us something else. That means only family with him, for right now."

Cora stared past him, at the hall down which she knew Stiles was still fighting, struggling to hold on. The intense look in her eyes cut Scott deeply, and he had to look away, unable to bear it. "You think he's in pain?" she asked, her voice faint. "We could take it away. I could…I could save him, what Derek did for me."

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to be using that power right now," replied Scott steadily. "Plus I'm not sure that would even work at all on a regular human." When she turned again, looking back, straining to hear some indication of Stiles's condition, Scott reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her back. "Cora," he said. "Just let the doctors take care of him now. You've done all you can."

She said nothing, her face pale and cold, lips still tingling from where her mouth had touched the acrid wolfsbane poison lining his.

Allison went to the Hale house alone. Derek, although he'd barely said a word to her, agreed to follow her direction and took off, his small, dark car speeding through the night. Without returning to her home, Allison took the car down into the woods, stopping before the broken-down, burnt home. When she turned off the engine, everything became deadly quiet. The typical sounds of the forest, of organic, natural life surrounding her, were completely still. No breeze blew through the trees, stirring leaves at her feet. She opened the trunk of the car, breaking the fake bottom, revealing an array of weapons. Taking them out one by one, she loaded them onto her body, clipping a holster around her waist and thigh, taking her bow and testing her vision, pulling the wire taut and peering into the night. Tucking a crossbow into the quiver on her back, she glanced through her weapons, searching for anything else she could use. Behind her, the red door of the house swung open, creaking loudly in the darkness.

Allison didn't move.

Then, immediately, she turned on her heel and shot an arrow into the house, through the frame of the door. She heard it clatter to the ground inside the house, without a specific target in which to sink its tip.

Without bothering to close her trunk, Allison moved forward swiftly, holding her bow before her. There was no fear in her voice as she called, "Laura? Laura Hale?"

Silence.

She reached the steps before the porch. Shadows shuddered and molted inside the house, and Allison could make out no distinct shapes, no definite figures. Quickly, her fingers cold and bone-white, she lowered her bow, retrieving a different arrowhead from a pouch at her waist, and replacing it on the arrow, which she nocked again, holding it up.

"Derek doesn't believe it's you," she continued, her voice loud, calling into the empty house. "He doesn't think you're capable of hurting Stiles, or killing your sister."

Allison licked her lips, her mouth dry.

"I know what it feels like to find out your family is so much worse than you could have imagined," she muttered. She did not think whatever was there in the shadows could even hear her. "And I feel sorry for him," she continued, pulling the wire of her bow tight, "but I'm not about to underestimate you."

She shot the arrow, and it sailed into the house. When it collided with the wood, it burst with a great explosion of light, red and yellow and white, and whatever it was that was inside screamed so loudly that it split through Allison's head like someone had cleaved her skull in two. She stumbled away, hands pressing against her ears. She tripped and fell onto a hard patch of ground, densely packed dirt, and there was a small crack and a painful jabbing beneath her. Scrambling to her hands and knees, she realized she had fallen directly on her bow, and the fine details at the lower tip had snapped off, rendering the wire loose and useless.

For the first time that night, fear began to rise in her belly. Behind her, from the house, she heard the crackling of footsteps crunching autumnal leaves, and she turned around, eyes wide.

A woman advanced towards her, hair matted and stringy and twisted. Her skin was bloodless, her teeth bared in a furious snarl, and the shining glow of her pure-white eyes betrayed her as something so far removed than human. Body barely wrapped in cloth like a funeral shroud, Laura Hale stalked towards Allison, bathed in the light of the full moon, and howled, "Fire?"

Allison's horrified gaze slid behind the woman, to where a flickering light glowed in the house. Even as she watched, it grew, engulfing the front room, the red door.

As Laura crossed the distance between them, Allison tried to get to her feet but she didn't have time; she crawled away, shuffling as best she could, heart pounding in panic, and she heard the snap of her bow breaking in two as Laura brought her heel down on its middle, hard, and howled in rage.

"You," snarled Laura, reaching out with clawed fingers towards Allison. "How dare you."

She clamped her hand around Allison's neck, lifting her into the air so that her feet no longer touched the earthy ground, dangling helplessly, as if tugged by a noose.

"Fire?" hissed Laura again, and the flickering light from the house was hot enough that Allison could feel it now, sucking the moisture from the air. The woman snarled once more, tightening her grip on Allison's throat.

Desperately, Allison's hand clung to her thigh, fingers extended. And then, at last, she curled her fingers around what it was she reached for, and whipped her hand up, shooting six times point-blank into Laura's face.

A second later, when the smoke cleared, Laura leered at Allison, the bullets clinking as they fell out of her face, her skin healing perfectly.

"You think you can hurt me?" whispered Laura, her eyes empty and shining white. She bared her teeth at Allison and snarled, "They're only going to kill me once."

With immense force, she swung around, throwing Allison towards the burning house. She skidded along the wooden floor, through the threshold of the door, into the burning house. Gasping for breath, spots appearing in her vision, Allison laboriously got to her hands and knees, and then her coughing intensified and it became no easier to take a breath. Jolting through her body like electricity, she suddenly realized that the stinging in her eyes and the acrid smell in her nose was the fire before her, razing what little was left of the Hale home.

A figure stood in the flickering flames, and Allison stared up at her in abject horror.

Kate cocked her head slightly, staring at Allison with wide eyes. Her face was marked with ash, lining the bones of her cheek, creating a skeletal mask over her skin. Embers from the fire landed on Allison's hands and face, burning her before they disappeared, and she tore her gaze away from the ghost of her aunt. "No!" she shouted. "No!"

Shaking, she managed to get to her feet, but then someone took hold of her wrists, holding her immobile, unable to run. Before her, the woman in the fire flickered, and something changed, and the skeletal lines on her face became more prominent even as her features shifted, her eyes darkening, her jaw widening.

Allison had to close her eyes against the stinging heat of the fire as a mirror image of herself stared back, wrapped in fire, emerging from it unscathed. Struggling against the woman holding her tightly, she turned her head, but Laura's clawed fingers shot out, grasping her chin and forcing her to face straight ahead.

Laura's whispering voice tickled Allison's ear as she murmured, "Do you know what you did to my sister, Argent?"

Allison could not reply, only squeeze her eyes shut tightly and try to choke down the sob growing in her throat, the fire so close she thought she could feel her skin blistering in the heat.

The hand at her chin slid down to her throat, pressing the back of Allison's head tightly to the crook of Laura's neck. "Nobody found her," hissed the woman. "I didn't get to weep over her corpse because there was none. The bodies burned so hotly that it was impossible to identify remains. All they had was my count of the dead."

She pressed her claws into Allison's neck. The fire danced along the wooden floor before them, melting the soles of Allison's shoes.

"Cora," she whispered, "my eleven-year-old sister. She shifted, and she limped out to the forest to heal. Because that's what we're supposed to do. Let your instincts take over, hide and heal." She bared her teeth. "So much easier to do when you're not human. But then again, hide too long, and animal instinct overtakes you, and you forget to come back."

Laura threw Allison onto the ground, and Allison screamed; fire licked up at her, catching at the tips of her hair. Around them, the fire roared, and the wooden beams of the house groaned and creaked in rumbling protest.

"She became a wolf," shouted Laura, over the crackling of the fire. "For six years, she refused to be human because humans get hurt. Because humans can be killed."

The shining tear tracks down Laura's cheeks disappeared as soon as they fell, the heat of the fire instantly evaporating them.

"You killed her," wept Laura hatefully, advancing on Allison with those shining white eyes. "It killed her. She is barely anything but wolf because your family burned the human right out of her, out of an eleven-year-old girl-"

Laura snarled and raised a clawed hand, but then Allison's hand shot back, and she tore the crossbow out of her quiver. Raising it, she released a bolt straight into Laura's forehead and launched herself to her feet. Through gritted teeth, her gaze venomous and hate-filled, Allison replied, "No. Your sister was never just human."

She slipped a long hunting knife out of her belt and stabbed it through Laura's throat, wide, dead eyes staring at her.

Cruelly, Allison said: "She is so-" she wrenched the knife sideways, splitting open the dead woman's throat, "-much-" she sliced upwards, lodging the blade into the bone of Laura's chin, " -more."

Laura screamed, loud and guttural; no blood spurt from her wounds, no pulse to fuel it, and she reached out and took Allison's face in her hands, forcing her downwards to the fire. Sneering at Allison, the arrow still lodged in her forehead, her claws slit into Allison's skin, lowering her to the floor. A scream rose in Allison's throat, joining that of the other woman, as the fire came so close to flicker across her, the smoke heady and powerful as the flames singed her hair.

With one hand, Laura reached up and tore the arrow from her skull, then lowered her face to Allison's. "Do you know," she hissed, "how alone you are in death?"

"Hey!"

Laura's white, filmy eyes blinked, and she spun around, baring her teeth. Before she could do anything else, an axe swung through the smoke and collided with Laura's torso. She dropped Allison to the floor, screaming in pain.

Burning, her lungs desperate for breath and eyes streaming water from her tears and the acridity of the smoke, Allison stared behind Laura, at whoever it was whom had swung the axe. Panting, Lydia stood there, her perfectly curled hair frizzing in the heat of the fire before her, remarkably steady even in her four-inch pumps.

"Sorry," spat Lydia at the ghost before her, "but she isn't either of those things."

Through the sheets wrapped around her body, stark redness bled through in a ring around her waist like a belt, where the axe had torn into her. Chest heaving, her eyes wide, Laura held up her clawed hands, reaching out to tear at Lydia's face, but Allison took an arrow in her hands and scrambled to her feet, stabbing it into the spot below Laura's neck, marred by a symbol outlined in raised black lines, like veins.

With one more hateful scream, Laura disappeared, leaving a haze of smoke that mixed with that of the fire.

Taking no time to gape at her friend, Allison shot forward, taking hold of Lydia, tugging her out of the burning house, stumbling down the steps, stopping on the earth outside, holding each other tightly by the arms as the house went up in smoke before them. With a great creaking, the second floor collapsed, smothering most of the fire.

They stared at the wreck of a house for a moment, and then Lydia said, "Cora is going to be so pissed."

In shock, Allison turned to look at her friend. Gaping, she glanced down at the axe Lydia still held in one hand.

"Oh," she said, holding it up uncertainly. "I was-" she gestured behind them, to the trunk of Allison's care, still open. Looking down at the axe, she said, "This was the only thing I had any idea how to use. Besides," she added, with a sly smile, "it's kind of appropriate." She made a face, feigning gruffness, wielding the axe. "Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?"

Allison stared at her, and then, despite herself, she laughed, her throat dry and painful. Throwing her arms around Lydia, she hugged her tightly. "Thank you," she said. "You saved my life."

"But not your hair," said Lydia bitterly, drawing away, gingerly touching the burnt ends of Allison's long hair.

"It's fine," replied Allison, shaking her head, grinning back at her. "I've been meaning to cut it anyway." She reached out and took Lydia's wrist, the grin sliding off her face. "You can get out of here, if you want."

"What?" asked Lydia, as if offended. "No way. She broke your bow."

"I can take care of-"

"With your bow, sure," said Lydia, cutting her off, "you're unstoppable." Her lips, bright pink in the dark night, slid back in a smile, and she held Allison's hand tightly. Leaning her, eyes wide and lashes long and perfect, she said lowly: "Let me be your bow."

Allison watched her intensely for a second, and then said, "OK. It's good that you're here, then." She turned around, the light burns on her skin cold and shivery in the night air, now that the fire was all but gone. Staring into the trees, she told her friend, "You can get me to the Nemeton."

It was hours later that Scott and Cora were still outside of the room where Stiles now lay. Scott's mother had informed them that he was breathing again, but he had not regained consciousness. "There's no medical explanation for it," she'd told them, shaking her head. "He's got this huge wound forming around his waist. Necrosis is setting in and nobody can tell why, it's like a phantom wound, coming from nothing."

Scott and Cora exchanged glances. "Laura," she said, her voice hard. "From where they cut her in half."

"That's not all," added Melissa. "Fluid is filling his lungs, and he keeps coughing up blood. He's effectively drowning in it." She'd glanced behind her, and leaned forward towards her son. "Here's the scary part," she muttered. "I took a sample of the blood…" she looked between Cora and Scott, fear reflected in her eyes, "…and it isn't his."

"What?" asked Scott, gaping. "Whose is it?"

"The results make it look like a woman's," she said, glancing down at a clipboard before her. "This is so impossible, but it's like a blood relative, like maybe-"

Voice low, Scott finished her sentence. "His mother's."

Melissa looked at him, eyes wide and worried, and then nodded.

It felt like something hot and sharped sliced right through Scott's insides. Peering behind his mother, voice pained, Scott asked, "Can't we see him?" but Melissa shook her head.

"No," she said, "I'm sorry. I would, but…" she looked behind her, towards the room where Stiles lay unconscious, his father at his side, "…not without his father's permission."

She had left, and they stayed, unmoving, for hours. At first they kept watch, but Cora had fallen asleep, her head resting on the wall behind her. Scott almost drifted off as well, curled up in his seat, leaning his head on Cora's shoulder. He shifted slightly, and then his eyes fluttered open, a frown on his face. For a moment, he did not move, and then he started awake, sitting up straight, his hands flying to Cora, shaking her. He hissed her name and she almost jumped out of her seat, eyes flashing scarlet for just one moment. "What?" she demanded, placing her hands around his wrists as he held onto her shoulders. "What is it?"

Scott didn't meet her gaze, staring down at the floor in deep concentration, listening intently. His voice low, he asked, "Do you hear that?"

She narrowed her eyes, lifting her head, her gaze flickering to the room before them, and then back to Scott. "Yeah," she said. "A heartbeat."

Scott clenched his jaw, staring at her. Barely above a breath, he said, "One heartbeat."

Something deep and heavy ran between them. Then, instantly they were both up, and Scott wrenched open the door of the hospital room. The Sheriff was out cold, lying uselessly in the seat beside the bed. The bed, with the sheets half uncovered, and red and black stains on the pillow from the blood and fluid that had streamed from Stiles's mouth. The bed, which was completely empty.

Scott staggered into the room, horrified, hands shaking as he approached the bed. Cora stood at the door, lips tight, eyes wide and all but unable to breathe.

Deep in the woods, Derek moved forward carefully, peering through the trees. He had been creeping through the forest for too long, and he knew it, but something moved him, propelled him forward, deeper into territory with which he was not totally familiar. Something powerful and dangerous thrummed through this part of the forest, and he advanced forward with caution, inexplicably drawn towards something.

The trees broke into a clearing. The ground beneath him turned from a dense layer of leaves into sandy, dry dirt, and he stood by the trunk of a thick, wide tree, almost hiding behind it, staring at the image before him.

Silvery light from the full moon streamed down onto the surface of the stump of a giant tree, ringed with lines innumerable. There was a body lain out on the Nemeton, arm thrown out deliberately, almost ceremoniously. Derek's heart froze as a beam of moonlight passed over the figure's face, and he shot forward, panic bubbling in his chest.

"No," he muttered, reaching the tree, tugging at the body there, pulling him down, trying to control the roaring of his own blood pumping in his head enough to hear a heartbeat. "God no, Stiles, no-"

Before him, the boy's chest lifted and fell as he took a breath, and Derek could have cried in relief. Stiles's fingers moved very slowly, curled around something, clutching it tightly.

"I've got you," said Derek, holding him breathlessly. "I'm gonna get you out of here, Stiles, and back to Cora and, and Scott, and your father, and the others, and you'll be fine."

Without opening his eyes, Stiles shook his head barely. "No…" he murmured. "Derek…"

"You're not a sacrifice," said Derek, and then, holding Stiles, pulling him up, close to his chest, he looked up and around. "Do you hear me?" he shouted. "I don't care who you are or what you want. He is not your sacrifice!"

A sharp, fiery pain slit through Derek's chest, and he gasped, eyes widening. Slowly, he looked down at his body, where a stake of mistletoe pierced through his heart.

Stiles did not look up from where his hand was wrapped around the stake. "You're right, Derek," he said, his voice low and exhausted. Finally, his gaze flickered up to meet Derek's shining, shocked eyes. Expressionless and ashen, Stiles stared back and him and whispered: "You are."

!

one last chapter and then an epilogue; i want to post the next chapter before Teen Wolf returns on the 6th, but the epilogue will likely be posted afterwards. enjoy!