The morning sun filtered through the broken windows of the cabin, casting pale light over the wreckage of the previous night's battle. Stella sat on the edge of the couch, wrapping her knuckles with gauze. Her hands trembled slightly, the adrenaline long gone but the weight of what they had done still heavy on her chest.
Across the room, Scott was quietly cleaning the floor, wiping away the last traces of the fight. Derek leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes watching everyone as if waiting for something else to go wrong. Stiles emerged from the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee and moving with exaggerated caution, clearly sore from his own bruises.
"Well," Stiles said, setting the mug down in front of Stella. "Good morning to the champions of 'Let's Not Die in the Woods.' How's everyone feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck," Stella muttered, flexing her bandaged fingers.
"Same," Scott said, offering a tired smile. "But we did it."
Derek's voice cut through the room. "Don't get comfortable."
Stiles groaned. "Of course. Why would we celebrate surviving a psychotic Alpha when we could just… not?"
Derek ignored him, his gaze locked on Stella and Scott. "The Alpha is dead, but that doesn't mean the threat is gone. If he had any loyal pack members left, they'll be coming for answers—or revenge."
The room fell silent, the reality of Derek's words sinking in.
The group spent the day repairing what they could. Stella worked alongside Stiles to fix the splintered door, her body aching with every movement. Despite the soreness, there was something calming about the mundane task—something grounding after the chaos of the last few days.
"You did good last night," Stiles said, breaking the silence as he handed her a hammer. "Really good."
"Thanks," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You weren't so bad yourself."
"Not bad? Stella, I was amazing," he said, grinning. "Did you see that swing? I'm pretty sure I saved your life. Twice."
She rolled her eyes but laughed, the sound lightening the heaviness in her chest. "Okay, fine. You were amazing. Happy?"
"Very," he said, his grin softening into something quieter, more sincere. "But seriously, Stell. You were incredible. You're stronger than you think."
Her smile faltered, her gaze dropping to the hammer in her hands. "I don't feel strong," she admitted. "I feel like I barely held it together."
"But you did hold it together," Stiles said, his voice steady. "That's what matters. You didn't give up."
She looked at him, his unwavering belief in her sparking something she hadn't felt in a long time: hope.
By evening, the cabin was as secure as it could be. Derek called everyone together around the table, his tone as serious as ever.
"We have a decision to make," he said, looking at each of them in turn. "We can stay here, knowing there's a chance the Alpha's former pack might come looking. Or we can move to another safe house I know of, further from Beacon Hills."
Scott frowned. "If we leave, it's like admitting we're scared."
"It's not about being scared," Derek said. "It's about being smart. We've already drawn attention to this location. Staying here is a risk."
Stella glanced at Stiles, who shrugged. "I mean, I'm not exactly attached to this place," he said. "But moving again isn't exactly appealing either."
"What do you think, Stella?" Scott asked, his voice quiet.
She hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing on her. "I think Derek's right," she said finally. "If there's even a chance of more wolves coming, we should move. Better to be cautious than caught off guard."
Scott nodded, his expression reluctant but understanding. "Okay. We'll move."
Derek leaned back, satisfied. "We leave tomorrow."
That night, Stella sat outside on the porch, staring up at the stars. The cool night air was a welcome relief, but her mind was anything but calm. She replayed the events of the battle over and over, the Alpha's red eyes burned into her memory.
"You're doing it again," Stiles said, stepping outside and sitting beside her.
"Doing what?" she asked, not looking away from the sky.
"Beating yourself up," he said, his tone gentle. "I can see it all over your face."
She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest. "I just… I don't know if I'm ready for what's next. What if this was just the beginning? What if I can't handle it?"
"You will," he said simply. "Because you're not alone in this."
She finally turned to him, her chest tightening at the earnestness in his eyes. "Thanks, Stiles," she said softly. "For being here. For everything."
"Anytime," he said, his voice just as quiet. "You're kind of stuck with me, you know."
She smiled, the knot in her chest loosening just slightly. "Good."
The sun was warm for the first time in days, the golden light streaming through the trees and casting soft shadows across the forest floor. Stella tied her boots, glancing out the cabin window where Stiles was busy fussing with a basket he'd somehow found during their recent supply run. His face was set in exaggerated concentration, his tongue sticking out slightly as he tried to fit a blanket into the already-packed basket.
She smiled to herself, the tension of the last few days melting away. Stiles had insisted on taking a break—just the two of them. "We need a 'we survived an Alpha' celebration," he'd declared that morning, waving off Derek's disapproving grunt. Stella hadn't argued. She needed the escape as much as he did.
The clearing wasn't far from the cabin, but it felt like a different world. A wide patch of grass was framed by wildflowers and shaded by towering trees. The sound of a bubbling creek nearby added a peaceful backdrop to the scene. Stiles spread out a worn plaid blanket, patting it with a flourish. "Behold: the ultimate picnic spot."
Stella laughed, setting the basket down and sitting cross-legged on the blanket. "I'll admit, this is pretty nice."
"Nice?" Stiles scoffed, pulling out two sandwiches wrapped in foil. "This is perfect. The ambiance? Unmatched. The company? Incredible. The food? Well, let's call it adequate."
Stella chuckled, unwrapping her sandwich. "Adequate works for me."
They ate in companionable silence for a while, the light breeze ruffling Stella's hair as Stiles fumbled with the bottle opener to crack open a pair of cheap beers. "I present to you," he said, holding out one of the bottles, "the finest brew that a guy on a budget can afford."
Stella took the bottle with a grin, clinking it against his. "To surviving psychotic Alphas."
"And to being total badasses while doing it," Stiles added, taking a swig.
The beer was cold and slightly bitter, but it felt like a victory toast. Stella leaned back on her elbows, staring up at the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. For the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself relax.
"So," Stiles said after a while, lying back beside her. "If you had to rate my picnic planning skills, what's the verdict?"
She tilted her head, pretending to consider. "Hmm… I'd say a solid nine out of ten. You lose a point for not including dessert."
"Dessert?" he exclaimed, sitting up dramatically. "Stella, this is a survival situation. Do you know how hard it was to find sandwiches that weren't suspiciously expired? I'm basically a hero for pulling this off."
She laughed, nudging his shoulder. "Fine, fine. Ten out of ten."
"Thank you," he said, flopping back down with a satisfied grin. "Finally, some recognition."
The quiet laughter faded, replaced by the gentle sounds of the forest. Stella glanced at him, his face softer and more relaxed than she'd seen in days. The tension that usually followed them seemed to have evaporated, leaving only the two of them in this little pocket of peace.
"Thanks for this," she said quietly.
He turned his head to look at her, his eyes warm. "You needed it. We both did."
She nodded, her gaze dropping to the grass. "It's been a lot. I feel like I'm always bracing for the next fight."
"Hey," he said, his voice softer now. "We've been through a lot, yeah, but look at us. We're still here. And as long as we're here, we've got each other."
Her chest tightened at his words, but in a good way. She met his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes grounding her. "You always know what to say," she murmured.
"It's a gift," he said with a lopsided grin. But the humor faded quickly, replaced by something quieter, more serious. "Stella, you're incredible. I know you don't see it sometimes, but you're one of the strongest people I've ever met."
Her breath caught, the words hitting deeper than she expected. She didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything, letting the warmth of his gaze and the weight of his words settle over her.
They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about everything and nothing—old memories, ridiculous what-ifs, and the kinds of dreams they never had time to think about anymore. By the time the sun started to dip below the trees, painting the clearing in hues of gold and amber, Stella felt lighter than she had in weeks.
As they packed up, Stiles slung the basket over his shoulder and turned to her with a grin. "So, how about we make this a thing? You know, when we're not fighting off werewolves or running from hunters. Picnics, cheap beer, and sandwiches."
"I think I'd like that," Stella said, her smile soft but genuine.
As they walked back toward the cabin, Stella glanced at Stiles, her heart fuller than it had been in a long time. For once, the future didn't seem so daunting. With him by her side, maybe she could handle whatever came next.