Epilogue: Pele

Na-maka-o-ka-hai saw enduring clouds day after day rising with the colors of the dark dense smoke of the underworld, and knew that her sister was still living. Pele had gained strength and confidence, therefore she entered alone into a conflict unto death.

The battle was fought by the two sisters hand to hand. Na-maka-o-ka-hai tore the body of Pele and broke her lava bones into great pieces which lie to this day along the seacoast of the district called Kahiki-nui. The masses of broken lava are called Na-iwi-o-Pele (the bones of Pele).

Pele was thought to be dead and was sorely mourned by the remaining brothers and sisters. Na-maka-o-ka-hai went off toward Nuu-mea-lani rejoicing in the destruction of her hated enemy. By and by she looked back over the wide seas. The high mountains of the island Hawaii, snow covered, lay in the distance. But over the side of the mountain known as Mauna Loa she saw the uhane, the spirit form of Pele in clouds of volcanic smoke tinged red from the flames of raging fire-pits below.

She passed on to Nuu-mea-lani, knowing that she could never again overcome the spirit of Pele, the goddess of fire.

x.

The light of the day was white and blinding, clouds covering the sun, refracting its rays across the sky. Cora stood alone before a grave, the earth below her fresh and recently overturned. Her eyes were fixed immovably on the letters engraved in the stone, spelling out a name. She was draped in black, down to a thin lace veil over her eyes, elegant and so seemingly out of place on her rough brow.

She did not reach out to touch the grave, but held herself very still, each beat of her heart colliding painfully against her ribcage.

Someone reached out and, coming to stand beside her, slid their arm around her shoulder.

"Cora," he said, his voice very quiet, his eyes glancing towards her, "please don't tell me I'm the only one who thinks it's really weird to throw a whole funeral for Peter."

Without glancing over at Stiles beside her, she replied, "He was family. It's the absolute least we can do, after what I did to him."

"What you did to him?" echoed Stiles dubiously. "Peter was an evil, manipulative creep. If anyone deserved to die, it was him."

"If I hadn't killed him," said Cora, "none of this would have happened."

Punctuating his words with a short nod and a small shrug, Stiles said, "Yeah, and you wouldn't have your sister back. Your sister who he killed, by the way." When Cora did not look up from the gravestone, he continued, "Look, if you hadn't killed him, he would have just figured out a way to take Alpha from you, and then he'd go back to making you and Derek do things that hurt people. Peter never cared about you or Derek or your sister. You did a favor to your family by getting rid of him."

There was a silence. And then Cora turned, her vision dotted and hazy by the veil across her eyes. "I know," she said. "But I don't know why that doesn't make me feel any better."

Stiles watched her for a moment, and then he tucked his arms around her, and she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder. "Hey," he muttered, "that's OK, too. That's the difference between him and you. Killing someone isn't supposed to be easy."

They stood with each other for a second, and then she pulled away. Stiles reached out, tugging at the thin lace over her eyes. "What's with the veil, anyway?" he asked. "It's a funeral, not a nineteenth-century Victorian wedding."

"I don't know if you've noticed," replied Cora, taking his hands, "but my family is pretty traditional."

"Is it, though?" asked Stiles, with a small, sly smile. "With a seventeen-year-old girl as the head of the family?"

She gently pressed her lips against the side of his jaw. "Eighteen," she murmured. "My birthday was in October."

He grinned, pulling away from her. "You're eighteen?" he asked, and she nodded. "This just got statutory. I still have a year to go." Their fingers intertwined, holding their hands up in between them, and she finally returned the smile, small and, if he didn't know any better, he would have thought shy. "I didn't know you were older than me."

"There's a lot," she said quietly, "that you don't know about me."

"Yet," he said pointedly, and then she reached up and they kissed, lips warm and soft and safe. He looked into her eyes, and she watched him without a word. And then he reached out and touched the lace veil at her face, pausing to glance at her. When she nodded, he lifted it over her eyes, smoothing it back across her hair. "Sorry," he said. "Too marriage-y for me. Kinda weird for a second there." He glanced back at the grave before them, then away across the cemetery. Stepping away from her, he leaned over, picking up a small mason jar he'd left on the ground, filled halfway with water holding a bouquet of flowers.

Cora watched him hold the makeshift vase. "Are those for Peter?" she asked, sounding almost amused. Stiles shook his head and held out his hand; Cora took it, and they headed down, through the graveyard.

"So," he began, without looking up at her, "I really don't know about this whole can't-live-without-you, mates for life type thing – and, by the way, for the record I kind of like being in Scott's pack, no offense – I mean, at least his family doesn't use my druid-powers to bring dead women back to life – but my point is," he continued, glancing up at her anxiously, "I was just wondering…do you want to go to the winter formal with me?"

Letting out a small half-laugh, she shook her head, unable to hold down the warm smile on her lips. "Yes," she said, looking at him very seriously. "Stiles. I would love to go to the winter formal with you."

He grinned. "All right," he sighed. "You know what that makes you, right?"

Barely glancing at him, her eyes spreading out across the cemetery, she offered, "Extremely gullible and victim to a few terrible judgment calls?"

"No," he replied, "I mean, maybe, I dunno. But, no, Cora, that makes you-" he grinned, "-my first official date. Ever."

"Really?" she asked, and it seemed like there was more genuine surprise in her voice than disdain. "Your very first?"

"Well," said Stiles fairly, "I took Lydia to the last winter formal I went to. But only because she was kind of blackmailed into it. So."

Cora let go of his hand, taking the veil off of her head, shaking her hair back. "Mine too," she replied. "Unless you count cowering in a bank vault for two months an overly-long, really, really terrible date."

Stiles made a face. "So…I mean… you and Boyd, you guys were…"

Cora nodded, her eyes on the path before them. She said nothing.

"Oh, man," said Stiles, letting out a long sigh. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged, still walking with him, but refusing to meet his gaze. "Thank you."

There was a silence, and then he slowed down. "OK, well," he began, "speaking of painfully awkward, obtrusive dead people." He gestured to a grave before them, holding the jar with both hands. "Cora," he said, "I want you to meet my mom."

Cora's eyes flashed wide, and she looked at Stiles cautiously. He smiled at her, although it was a small, humble smile, so very much unlike the broad, grand grins she was used to, and then he leaned over and placed the jar of flowers at the base of the grave.

"Mom," he said, his voice very quiet, kneeling down to reach out, brush his fingers along the letters carved into stone. "This is Cora." His fingers trailed down to the date of death. As always, an echoing, aching pain beat through his body, in tune to the beat of his heart. Softly, he whispered, "I think you'd like her."

Beside him, Cora knelt down as well, dropping a knee to the ground. Eyes on the grave, she said, "Hello, Mrs. Stilinski."

They left the cemetery together, heading out to where Derek and Laura stood, both dressed neatly in black, leaning against his car. As they approached, the two Hales stared them down, and Stiles felt supremely uncomfortable, glancing around anywhere to avoid their gaze. Derek leaned over and muttered something to Laura, and a smile broke out on her face, broad and wolfish, so much like that of her brother's. When Stiles and Cora reached them, Laura asked, "Did you have a funeral for me?"

"No," replied Derek, without looking at his older sister. Stiles stared at the ground, wondering why the Hales seemed so hell-bent on maintaining perpetual eye contact. "There was no one around to mourn."

"And tell me," said Laura, turning to her brother, arms folded across her chest, "who exactly is it that's mourning Peter?"

Derek let out a small breath, then turned his head. Stiles glanced up. There was something he was sure he had never seen in Derek's expression, a mixture of affection and irritation and amusement. "Look," he said. "The last time I actually enjoyed his company was when I was fifteen-"

"OK, Derek," interrupted Laura, her voice full of teasing derision, rolling her eyes. "That's why he convinced you to get that stupid tattoo like, two weeks before the fire."

"It's not stupid," protested Derek, but Laura waved him off.

"Regardless," said Laura, her voice cutting through the crisp winter air, "we're done now. Cora." She nodded towards the car, and Derek opened a door.

Cora glanced from her siblings to Stiles, then asked, "I think that…I'd like to be with my friends for a little bit, right now."

Derek watched her, then looked to Laura, who considered this. "As your Beta," she began, taking the car door from Derek, "I guess I can't really question your decision." She shut the car door. "As your older sister," she continued, looking at Cora with an almost-smile on her face, "I say go have some fun." She nodded towards Stiles's car. "You deserve it."

Taking Stiles's hand, the two of them headed towards the Jeep. Glancing over his shoulder, Stiles said, "So is it just me, or is your sister way too well-adjusted to actually be related to you?"

"I told you," she replied, grinning at him, going around the car to slip into the passenger's side. She turned to look at him. A hint of red threaded through her irises. "There is a lot," she said, "you don't know about me."

They met at Lydia's house; Scott, Allison, and Isaac were already there, waiting in her living room, a movie on the big television. Stiles shed his jacket and the tie he'd worn for the little funeral, and Scott leapt up, greeting him with a hug, beaming at his friends. Cora took off her shoes and settled in on the floor, between Lydia and Isaac. "So?" asked Scott, sitting back down with Allison, whose hair was cropped short in the back, bangs hanging down just past her jaw. "What's the plan now?"

Everyone looked to Cora. She met their gazes for a second, then admitted, "I don't really know. As far as the pack goes, it's really unusual that both my older siblings are my Betas. I don't know if I can keep it, or if it'll bleed over to Laura. She's the natural Alpha."

"Natural?" echoed Isaac. "What's natural about coming back from the dead?"

"Valid point," said Lydia sympathetically, nodding.

"Besides," added Stiles, "I'd say you're pretty damn capable. Not only did you stop the Morrigan, but you kept it from taking your sister too."

"Maybe," she said fairly, nodding her head. "But the rules about who's an Alpha and who isn't are blurring. I can feel it." She glanced up and around and them, then said, "We'll see where it goes."

Lydia leaned in towards Cora, taking hold of her arm, settling in happily. Almost uncertainly, Cora glanced at the other girl as Allison asked, "And what about your family? Not the pack, but the three of you. Are you staying in Beacon Hills?"

Distractedly, Cora looked back to Allison. "Yeah," she replied blankly. "I have school to finish."

"And a school dance to attend," added Stiles, grinning.

"The apartment's a little small for the three of us," added Cora. "That reminds me. Stiles, Laura wants to talk to your dad."

"My dad?" he asked, blinking down at her. "I haven't even really introduced you to my dad yet, unless you count that one time you passed out in front of him in my room-"

The rest of the group exchanged looks as Cora rolled her eyes sharply and responded, "About the house, getting it back from the county." She looked at them, and then said, "Derek and Laura want to put it back together."

"Your house?" asked Allison dubiously. "That thing's totally wrecked. It's been burned to the ground twice now."

Isaac added, "You'd have better luck taking the whole thing down and building up from nothing."

Cora did not reply immediately, only shook her head. "I think that's the point," she said, her voice softer than most of them had ever heard it. "To take what's left of it, and build it back up around what we lost." She looked down, and then finally returned the pressure of Lydia's body, leaning back towards the other girl. "And it's not like we'll do it alone," she continued. Her gaze flickered up to Allison. "I'd say you and your father owe it to us to help out a little."

At first, Allison didn't know what to do. Guilt reared in her chest just as strongly as deep, sudden affection for the girl. A smile won out, tugging at her lips. "Yeah," she said. "I'd say so too."

"I'd help," sighed Stiles, shrugging. "But I'm not very good at carrying heavy things. Or, like. Any form of manual labor."

"That's good," said Isaac, "because I am."

"Me too," added Scott.

They all glanced around, and their gazes landed on Lydia. "Mmm," she began. "I'll help with the redecorating."

They laughed, and Cora smiled, and the TV droned on behind them, and everyone breathed easy.

Later, when Cora's pack waited in the forest, only Grace came. Before she moved, Laura had to pause and glance back at her sister. For a moment Cora didn't understand why, and then Derek nudged her gently, and she blinked and nodded and said, "Go! Go. Go ahead." Laura smiled gratefully, and then she followed Grace away from them, slipping into the forest. As she disappeared between the trees, Grace glanced over her shoulder at Cora, her head bowed so slightly, as if in thanks.

Cora sat on a fallen log in the darkness, resting her chin on her hands, thoughts racing through her head. Derek stood before her stoically, arms folded, like a stone guardian. A familiar scent, and someone else approached them. Saying nothing, Derek watched her.

Sam said, "Cora," and Cora's gaze snapped up, looking at the girl. Aggressively, instinctually baring her teeth, Cora got to her feet. Sam held up her hands, claws and fangs not yet extended.

The Alpha stared at other girl for a long second. And then, finally, she said, "Derek. Give us a second." Wordlessly, he followed her direction, darting away into the trees.

Sam did not advance towards her. And then she said, "So you got what you wanted."

"Not completely," replied Cora warily. "I want my entire family back. I wanted to grow up here. I definitely never wanted to be Alpha."

Nothing. Then Sam shrugged. "It suits you," she said simply.

The waning moon hung above then, a huge, yellowish orb. Cora took a step forward, and she said, "Just tell me something. Everything you went through. Everything you told me." She paused, staring at Sam's dark eyes. "Was that all made up? All part of Grace's plan to get me to sympathize with you, so she knew what I was doing, where I would be?"

Sam shook her head. "No," she replied. "I wanted out of that house. I wanted power enough that nobody could hurt me. When Grace found me and turned me, I was desperate, and alone, and I didn't know what to do." She stopped, glancing around at the dark, tall trees around them. "Killing them saved me," she murmured. "I'm not proud of it, but I'm not about to deny it either."

Slowly, Cora cocked her head to the side, watching Sam. The other girl's eyes turned suddenly golden-yellow, bright and piercing in the dark night.

"So," said Cora, "it looks like Grace gave you everything you wanted."

"Not completely," said Sam, echoing Cora's reply, an odd, pained expression on her face. Impassive and stark, Cora watched her. "Grave gave me a pack," she said lowly, staring straight at Cora, "but all I wanted was a friend."

Something seemed to constrict in Cora's chest, like wires wrapped around her chambered heart. She glanced away from Sam's face, an uncharacteristic, uncomfortable prickling in her eyes.

By the time Grace returned, Laura with her, Derek stood with Cora once more, but Sam waited slightly behind them, without shame. Grace's eyes slid back to her.

"I don't want to stay here," said Grace. "I'm not going to. I have no allegiance to your family, and I have my own pack now. We have to look out for ourselves."

Derek glanced at Laura, who said nothing, watching Grace with stoic, quiet eyes.

Grace held out a hand to Cora. She looked down at it for a moment, then reached out, offering her own. They gripped one another's wrists, and Grace, raising her voice, said, "Sam. Are you staying?"

Behind Cora, Sam nodded.

Grace let go of Cora's arm. Surveying the remaining scion of the once-great Hale line, Grace said, "It's good that you're together again. It's…fitting."

"You could stay," said Laura suddenly, watching Grace. "Last time we were here, my family was broken, and I left you. Now it feels like we're all better, but one of us is still leaving."

Before Laura had even finished speaking, Grace spoke over her faintly. "You left me, Laura," she said. "That's my point." She fell silent, watching the other woman. "You were the one who left me."

There was a silence. And then, without looking around, Laura strode forwards and took Grace's face in her hands and kissed her deeply, lingering on her lips. The kiss contained all the promise that they had had as girls, all potential they had lost with the fire, and every prophecy and could- and would-have-been, and every expression of adoration, of adulation, of worship and martyrdom and how easily things can fall apart.

Grace pulled her lips away, but did not move her head, and their noses and foreheads all but touched. She whispered, "I'm not leaving forever. I'll be back, sometime, I'm sure." She hesitated, then said, "Just not to join your pack. Not when I have my own."

"Every day," said Laura, her voice trembling, searching Grace's eyes desperately. "Every day for six years, I regretted leaving you."

Looking down, refusing to let Laura look for anything more, Grace replied, "You could have come back."

When Laura didn't reply, Grace pushed away from her, stepping back.

A bitter smile on her face, Grace said shrewdly, "I think you know why I'm leaving, Laura. A lot of what we… what we used to be…was built on the fact that I wanted to be one of you. So badly." Her smile was not unkind as she said, "I don't need that anymore."

Laura watched her. "You don't need me anymore."

Grace shook her head. There was silence. Grace and Laura stared at each other, and then, softly, Grace said, "That doesn't mean I don't love you. That doesn't mean I won't always love you. But it does mean that I have to go."

At last, Grace tore her gaze away from the other woman, and she looked to Cora.

"You did good," she said. "You did more than should have been possible."

"We survived," replied Cora, correcting her. "We squeezed through the cracks. It's what our family does." She didn't return Grace's smile, but there was no hostility in her voice as she added, "Everybody acts like we're royalty sometimes, but at the end of the day, we're just a name that's barely managed to scrape by for the past few centuries."

Grace bowed her head in assent. "And you'll do it again," she said. "Death has never really agreed with your family."

She smiled. Without another word, she slipped into the forest and away from them, disappearing into the night.

Days later, the three siblings stood inside the wreck of their childhood home, plans laid across a long table, one of the only remaining vestiges of humanity left in the house. The front frame was still remarkably intact for all the destruction inside. The red door was now too broken even to swing on its hinges, banging in its pathetic frame. Cora lingered by a wall, half burnt-out, as Laura and Derek pored over the plans for the reconstruction of the house.

Staring vacantly into the distance, Cora asked, "You think Sam will get along with Isaac?"

"No," replied Derek, without looking up. "But it's not like we can offer her anywhere else to stay."

"Look at you," mused Laura, patting her brother proudly on the arm. "Paying rent for underage orphans. Buying them cars. I'm touched."

Derek replied, and he and Laura's conversation quickly turned into bickering. Standing apart from them, Cora slowly lifted her hand, reaching backwards to touch the spot at the base of her neck where the symbol of the Morrigan felt burned into her skin. When tattooed on skin, she thought, recalling Deaton's words, it is a mark of inheritance.

"Laura," said Cora suddenly, breaking the banter between her siblings. Laura looked up expectantly, waiting for a question. Cora met her gaze, something in between concern and confusion in her eyes, and then she moved forward, to where they stood around the table. "Lydia and Allison say they can feel it too," she said. "It's not there, but it's like – a slow burn. Every time something touches it, we can tell, but there's nothing there. No tattoo, no mark, no brand, nothing." She watched her sister. "What's happening to us?"

For a second, Laura said nothing. And then she let out a small sigh, looking down at the papers before them.

"What you did with those girls," she said, "was stupid. It was…generous. And I am damn glad you did it, but you brought me back – me and me alone, without the Morrigan – because you tapped into her power. You and…" she trailed off, glancing at Derek.

"Lydia and Allison," he provided, and Laura nodded.

"Thank you – you and Lydia and Allison, you girls completed a spell. But it wasn't the spell the Morrigan wanted to use."

"A spell?" echoed Cora. "Allison's human. I'm barely an Alpha. Lydia is the closest thing to a druid, but she's a banshee-"

"Not a druid," said Laura, shaking her head. "The power of the Triple Goddess is older than that, and much simpler, more primal."

Cora observed her sister doubtfully. "Not a druid?" she repeated.

Again, Laura shook her head. "No."

"Then what?"

The look on Laura's face was almost pitiful. She placed the tip of her index finger on the papers before her, and drew the outline of the triquetra. "One, two, three," she said. "You, Lydia, Allison. Why is the number three so powerful, Cora?"

"It's not," replied Cora shortly. "Three wolves are weak. Including the Alpha, you need at least four to make a decent pack."

"Ah," said Laura, her eyes slowly traveling up to meet Cora's, a satisfied smile on her face. "But you three girls don't make a pack, Cora." She paused, watching the crease in Cora's brow deepen, impatient and perplexed. "You three," said Laura, very quietly, tracing the circle in the center of the triquetra, "…make a coven."

you didn't think I would really kill off Stiles, did you? And yes, that end is totally set up for a sequel. If you have any suggestions or ideas of what you'd like to see in a sequel, let me know in the comments!

Thank you so much for reading! This fic was a total labor of love, and I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you understand my love for Cora Hale now, haha, and I hope you love her too. Follow me at lusilly . tumblr . com (and at uglyteenwolves . tumblr . com, my exclusively Teen Wolf blog), and check out some of my other Teen Wolf stories on my profile.

Here's to a (hopefully) great 3B!