All But The Brightest Stars (Stiles/Derek) - Chapter 2
Title: All But The Brightest Stars
Author: useyrwordsderek
Rating: Explicit for later chapters
Genre and/or Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinksi
Spoilers: Through Season 2
Warnings: underage for later chapters, canon compliant character death, angst, WIP, canon compliant violence/gore,
Word Count: 4100 for this chapter, approx 9000 so far.
Summary: Derek comes back to Beacon Hills looking for Laura. He meets up with Stiles for the first time in years. Feelings ensue. Past told in flashbacks.
Notes: OMG I promised you guys an easier ride than last chapter, but I’m afraid this is NOT THAT AT ALL. IT IS NOT MY FAULT THE WRITERS INSIST ON GIVING THESE CHARACTERS SUCH TRAGIC BACKSTORIES, OKAY.
This chapter and the whole story started out in my head really canon compliant, then diverged quickly and violently as I wrote. Oops? I have come to realize that this story is going to be nothing more and nothing less than my own personal expression of fix-it-with-fic, or in other words, this is the story I wish the show Teen Wolf was telling. Hope you like it!
***
Derek stood in the clearing, hands in his jacket pockets, and looked up at the ruins of the house. His jaw clenched, but no other expression crossed his face.
’I’ll only be gone a couple of days,’ Laura had said. She’d stood there, in her waitress uniform, his sister, his brilliant, beautiful sister who would have, should have gone to college and studied journalism and become a world famous reporter, stood there in her polyester uniform and pantyhose and cheap white sneakers, her expression stern. ‘I’m going alone.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Derek said instantly.
‘You don’t get a say in this, Derek. I’m going and you’re staying here and that’s final.’
Derek looked around at the shabby one-bedroom apartment they shared, in the grimier section of Seattle. He slept on the pull-out couch, Laura in a narrow single bed in the tiny closet of a bedroom. There were stains on the wallpaper, and the pipes knocked loudly whenever anyone in the building used the water. ‘Why would I stay here, Laura? Why should either of us stay here? We should stay together. We always have...it’s safer if...’
‘Look, I have something I need to do, and I have to...I have to go alone. I would feel so much better if I knew you were here, safe. Please. Just...don’t argue.’
‘I’m arguing! This is not okay!’
Suddenly, Laura had her arm across Derek’s neck, slamming him up against the wall. Her eyes bled red. She snarled in his face and he automatically turned his head to the side, baring his throat to her. ‘You will stay here,’ she said, each word measured and enunciated.
‘Laura-’
The snarl rose in pitch.
‘I-’
The pressure on his neck increased. He had to submit. His body screamed at him to do it.
‘All right,’ Derek choked out.
She released him. ‘Good,’ she said shakily. ‘Good.’ She sat heavily on the couch. ‘God dammit, Derek, you know I don’t like doing that.’
He sat beside her. He didn’t say anything, but after a minute he put his hand in hers and leaned his head to the side until it rested on her shoulder, like he had when they were little. She squeezed his hand, then released it.
‘I’ll be back before you know it. Lock the door behind me.’ And she got up and walked out.
That was the last time he’d seen her.
He found himself standing on the crumbling porch of the house. His jaw worked minutely and he breathed heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring. Then he opened the door.
The first thing his eyes alighted on was a dark, flaking patch of ash and soot ground into the floor just inside the door. He averted his eyes and moved further into the house.
The refrigerator and deep porcelain sink had survived. Almost nothing else in the kitchen had.
’Eat your breakfast, Derek. You want to grow up to be big and strong, right?’
He shuddered, turning away.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor. His room on the left, Laura’s across from his, then gaping doorways without doors extending down the long hall, to the room at the end that had been his parents’. Clouds of dust and ash stirred at his footfalls.
He poked his head into Laura’s room. Nothing was disturbed; she hadn’t been here.
His feet pointed him in the direction of his parents’ room, though the rest of his body was unwilling. He shuffled down the hall, ignoring all the other rooms. The doorway loomed before him, murky darkness beyond.
He entered the room.
The bedstead had partially survived; his dad had made it for his mom when they’d been married. Derek supposed both he and Laura had been conceived in that bed. It was sturdy oak, a four-poster, although only two of the posts remained.
’No eating in the bed! This quilt was your grandmother’s! Come on, come downstairs and we’ll have a snack together.’
He forced himself to walk down the stairs, although all he wanted to do was run until his lungs gave out.
***
Days passed. Derek searched the preserve by day, curling in on himself in a sleeping bag on the floor of the living room by night to not-sleep. Sometimes he not-slept in the Camaro just to escape the oppressive silence of the house.
The Camaro was new. Derek had saved all the money he’d made working at the mechanic’s in Seattle, and Laura had saved everything from her waitressing job and the occasional temp secretary placements. She’d been determined to send Derek to college, adamant in the face of his protestations that she was the smarter one and deserved it more. He’d taken a few classes at the local community college, but there was never enough time or money to devote himself to it. And then he’d gotten older and got promoted to senior mechanic and it got less important, somehow, to get an education. It had all just gotten away from them, the years passing by in a blur of cheap food and cheap apartments and long silences, Laura shut up in her bedroom while Derek stared at the television without seeing the show. The money piled up and they were both too afraid to spend a penny of it beyond essentials, never knowing when they might need to run, to hide, to disappear.
When Laura had disappeared, Derek had waited two weeks for her to come back. When she hadn’t, when there’d been no word from her, he’d emptied both their bank accounts, bought the Camaro with part of the money, and driven to Beacon Hills. He knew that was where she’d gone. He’d known all along. There was nowhere else that she wouldn’t have taken him with her.
He knew it was stupid to buy such an expensive car, knew he never should have done it. But he was so tired of shabbiness and dirt, old things that had been used hard by their previous owners, deprivation. He knew he was never going to college. He pictured Laura’s face when she saw it, how she would be both delighted and furious with him. Laura loved fast cars.
He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that he would see her face again.
***
Derek was in the most densely-wooded part of the Hale property, scenting the air to try and catch Laura’s scent somewhere, anywhere, when something else made his head turn sharply and his fists clench at his sides.
There was another werewolf, nearby, someone whose scent he didn’t know.
He moved silently through the trees and circled around behind where his senses told him the werewolf was. There was someone else with him, a human with a jittery, erratic heartbeat. Derek spotted something half-buried in the leaves and reached down to grab it. It was an asthma inhaler. He shoved it into his jacket pocket.
He got closer and closer, until he could hear their conversation.
“--hear stuff I shouldn’t be able to hear...smell things...” the werewolf said.
“Smell things?” the human asked. Derek caught his scent too, mostly teenaged boy with a sugary chemical tang that set Derek’s teeth on edge, but something else too, something familiar...
They were talking about gum, for some reason, as Derek tried to work out what he was hearing. The werewolf had just been turned, and he...he didn’t know what was happening to him. How could - who had turned him? Where was his Alpha? Why wasn’t he or she explaining what was going on to this kid?
He tuned back in when the human said the word “Lycanthropy”, clearly and calmly. Derek blinked. He moved swiftly through the trees, keeping them in range, while he tried to think how the human could possibly know about them, about their kind.
And, wow, this werewolf was not too bright, was he? “Is that bad?” he asked, his voice cracking. Seriously, who the hell picked this kid to turn?
The boys kept moving, joking and shoving each other playfully, and it became clear to Derek that the human had been kidding, especially when he gave a little howl and curled his fingers into claws, then broke up laughing.
I know that kid. How do I know that kid?
“Maybe the killer moved the body.”
What? What body? Derek’s body moved toward them before his brain caught up, and then he was out in the open, standing right behind them.
“--inhaler, those things are like 80 bucks...”
The human spotted Derek and shoved his friend, so that the werewolf turned and looked at Derek. Derek strode over to them, filled with an unreasonable anger.
“What are you doing here?” he asked coldly. Body, what body? They can’t be talking about...
They didn’t answer, looking scared.
“This is private property,” he continued, glaring at them both. The young werewolf was short, dark haired and dark-skinned; the human was taller, all arms and legs in motion, with pale skin and moles on his...
I know this kid.
“Sorry man, we didn’t know,” the human said. He was someone from...before, someone Derek had...
“--looking for something, but...” the werewolf’s words intruded on Derek’s thoughts. The inhaler. That’s what they were looking for. But what had they said about a body? He retrieved the inhaler from his pocket and tossed it to the werewolf, noting his preternaturally fast reflexes. Derek turned and started to walk away, his mind still racing. What. Fucking. Body?
But the other question ran in tandem with that terrifying thought. The kid, the human kid, he was. Someone from...he would have been a little kid back then...he was-
“Stiles.” he said aloud, turning back around. And then he couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to figure it out. Stiles’ eyes were the same, his skin, his moles, everything. He was staring at Derek, mouth open, brow slightly furrowed, and then he reeled back in shock as if he’d been hit in the face.
“Jesus Christ. Derek. Derek Hale.”
He moved closer as if drawn to Derek by a magnet. The younger werewolf held back, watching his friend warily.
“Derek.” Stiles reached out a hand, then dropped it back down to his side. He looked at the ground, then his eyes came back to Derek’s as if he couldn’t help himself. “I can’t believe...it’s you. What the hell are you doing here, man?”
“I’m,” Derek cleared his throat. “I’m looking for Laura.” He felt a huge confusing rush of emotions, looking at Stiles, who had grown from that skinny little kid into this...well, he was still skinny. But he was tall and rangy and had a sharp intelligence behind his eyes.
“Laura,” Stiles repeated. “Your sister? She’s...she’s in Beacon Hills?”
“I don’t know. I think so.”
Stiles faced worked, moving through a range of expressions quickly. “Oh...oh, jesus, Derek. But - you don’t know...they found a body here last night. A - a young woman. Have you...have you heard from Laura? Do you know-”
Derek felt a lance of anguish go through his heart as he understood was Stiles was suggesting. “No,” he mumbled, looking down, trying to rein in the fear. “I haven’t heard from her.”
Stiles sucked in a breath, then let it out in a rush. “I’m sure it’s not - I mean, it can’t be.” He stopped, and looked at Derek, and his eyes were filled with regret. “You better come with me.”
***
The Jeep rattled violently; Derek could feel his back teeth clattering together as they sped over the bumps and potholes in the road that led out of the preserve. He sat in the passenger seat; Stiles was driving and Scott, that was the werewolf’s name, was in the back. No one spoke. In fact, other than Stiles introducing the two of them, no one had spoken a word since Stiles had told Derek to come with him.
Derek looked out the window. The last time he’d seen Stiles had been the night of...that night. Laura and he...well, they’d gotten the hell out of Beacon Hills the next day, with absolutely nothing except the clothes on their backs, Laura’s debit card to her checking account that amounted to about two hundred bucks, and her eight year old Ford Escort. They had run as far and as fast as that money took them, knowing nothing except that their family, their entire family was dead. Derek had known one other thing, had known it really all along but had had it confirmed when they’d crept back to the house in the hazy dawn of the morning after the fire, when he’d seen the message left just for him, a message no one else would have noticed or been able to understand. It had taken him over a year to finally tell Laura.
’You have to talk to me, Derek! I never know what’s going on with you!’
‘Don’t want to talk,’ he grunted, feeling his triceps start to burn as he began another rep of push-ups. It felt good, the ache, burned the thoughts right out of his mind and sometimes, if he exhausted himself enough, even let him sleep.
‘I don’t give a shit what you want. You’re going to tell me. Whatever it is.’
‘Tell you what?’ His arms kept flexing, pushing his body back up, then down. He lifted his left arm, put it behind his back. Down, up, down, up.
‘If I knew that, we wouldn’t be - Derek, stop a second.’
He stopped, rolled onto his back, looked up at her from his prone position on the floor. ‘What?’
She sighed and sat down beside him cross-legged. ‘Der-bear.’
He flinched at the old nickname. She never called him that anymore, hadn’t called him that once since...
‘I don’t want to make you talk about it, little bro. I wish we could just never talk about it. But this is...you’re not getting better and I’m not getting better. We have to talk about it. I know there’s something...something you’re not telling me. I can’t let you - just - I can’t let you just sit here day after day, dying in little tiny increments. You’re my brother. You’re my,’ she inhaled sharply. ‘My only family. I need you.’
He squeezed his eyes shut.
‘Please.’
He felt his breath coming in shorter pulls, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew she could hear it.
‘Tell me,’ she whispered.
He opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling.
‘Before the...before. There was a girl. A woman. I was seeing her.’
‘Okay,’ Laura breathed.
‘She was...older. I didn’t really know her.’ He fisted his hands. ‘I was so stupid. I thought she cared about me.’
Laura’s hand moved closer to his.
‘I told her...she asked me, Laura. Asked me all these questions about our...about us. And I told her. I told her about the house, who lived there, the kids. I told her everything. I would have told her anything.’ His voice was higher than normal, slightly hysterical. ‘It was her. She was a hunter. She set the fire.’
Laura was motionless, frozen. Her voice was below a whisper, would have been sub-vocal for a human. ‘How do you know?’
He rolled over, got to his feet, and walked over to the old army chest they used as a coffee table. He lifted the lid and rummaged through his things until he found a small cardboard box. His fingers closed over the small cold object inside and he dropped the box back into the chest.
He walked back to Laura and held the object out to her. She reached up from her position on the floor and took it.
‘It was hers,’ he said, watching Laura examine the gold pendant on the chain. ‘She left it there, hanging in a tree right next to the house. She knew I would find it. She wanted me to know.’
Laura’s eyes rose to meet his, and they were filled with such sorrow that Derek wanted to break everything in the world. ‘It was my fault, Laura. I killed them. I killed our family.’ He sank to his knees in front of her, gripped her hands. ‘I killed them.’ He felt tears prickling at the back of his eyes, but he wouldn’t let himself cry. He didn’t deserve to.
She stared back at him, grief-stricken. Then her head shook once, sharply, violently. ‘No.’ She let go of his hands, gripped the sides of his head. ‘No, it fucking wasn’t. It was not your fault.’
He shook his head, trying to get away, to dislodge her grip, but she was stronger than he was and she wouldn’t let him go. ‘Derek. It was not your fault. It was hers. I am going to - where is she? Who is she?’
‘Kate,’ he choked out. ‘Her name was Kate.’
‘What was her last name?’
He shook his head again. ‘She never told me,’ he whispered, and the shame washed over him like a thick, viscous liquid.
Laura stared at him. ‘Oh god, Derek.’ She reached for him and wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
The tears were stuck in his throat, choking him. ‘I didn’t want you to...to hate me.’
Laura let out a short sob. Then she swallowed hard and leaned back, her hands on the side of his face again, tears running down her cheeks. ‘I could never, ever hate you. You are my brother and I love you more than any other person on this earth, do you understand me? Do you hear me?’ She shook him a little.
He stared at her, and then he felt his face crumple and the hot salty tears suddenly burned in his eyes and spilled down his face. He buried his head in Laura’s neck and held on, her arms around him the only thing keeping him anchored to the whole damned world. He cried like a child.
He felt the Jeep jounce and refocused to see that they were pulling into the police station parking lot. He looked over at Stiles, who looked back grimly. “Come on. We’re going to talk to my dad.”
They exited the Jeep, all three of them, and went in. Stiles moved around Derek and led the way to an office in the back.
The Sheriff sat behind a desk, and looked up as they entered the room. “Hey Stiles, Scott. What brings you-” He broke off as Derek entered and peered at him. “Sorry...but don’t I know-”
“Dad, you remember Derek? Derek Hale?” Stiles interrupted.
Derek didn’t miss the flash of sadness and pity that crossed the Sheriff’s face. “Yes. Yeah, of...of course I do. Derek,” he said, rising from his chair and holding out his hand.
Derek reached out automatically and shook it. “Sheriff.”
“It’s been a long time. What brings you back to Beacon Hills?”
“I’m looking for my sister. Laura.”
The Sheriff looked between Derek and his son. “Is she missing?”
“I...yes. She is.”
Stiles broke in. “Dad, you know the-the body they found.”
The Sheriff flinched. “Stiles, you shouldn’t even know about...and you think...oh.” He sank back into his chair and covered his eyes with his hand for an instant, then removed it. “Derek, have you heard from your sister?”
“No, sir. Not for almost three weeks. She was supposed to be back, to Seattle, that’s where we live, a couple of days after she left. I came here looking for her.” He could hear the edge of desperation creep into his voice.
The Sheriff looked at him. “Look, there’s no reason to believe that the body we found is your sister. But...”
“But we should check and make sure, right?” Stiles asked.
“Stiles,” his father warned.
“I’m just saying! He has to know, Dad. One way or the other.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and moved a little closer to Derek.
The Sheriff sighed and rose to his feet. “All right. Let’s go.”
***
Derek’s feet moved without conscious thought, following in the wake of the Sheriff’s shoes and Stiles’ sneakers. Scott had excused himself back at the police station, promising to call Stiles later. They’d driven in a patrol car to Beacon Hills hospital, and taken an elevator down to the basement floor, walking past a sign marked “Morgue”.
Derek’s entire inner being consisted of a single endless loop of words that played over and over again, a loop of please no please no please no please no please no until he thought he might just scream, shriek the words out into the air. But he was silent; his expression never wavered, mouth tight and jaw clenched. Stiles looked back at him continually, and his hand reached for him and dropped back down again several times.
They stopped outside the door. The Sheriff turned to Derek and gestured to a door to the left. “There’s a viewing room, there. I’ll have the coroner-”
“No,” Derek cut him off, more forcefully than he meant to. He started again, quieter. “Just...I’ll just go in, okay?”
The Sheriff studied his expression for a moment, then nodded. They entered the room. It was freezing cold, and three walls were lined with big stainless steel drawers. The Sheriff tried briefly to prevent Stiles from following them in, but Stiles jutted out his jaw and stepped around his father, hurrying to catch up with Derek.
“All right.” The Sheriff took a deep breath. “Are you ready for this?”
I will never be ready for this. “Yes.”
***
’Lock the door behind me.’ The last words she’d ever said, would ever say to him.
He came back to himself in the hallway, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. The Sheriff was a short distance away, talking on the phone. He became aware that Stiles was sitting next to him, his left leg pressed against Derek’s right. He looked at Derek when he saw Derek’s head turn.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
Derek felt numb, nothing, empty. There were no words.
“Derek? Are you...I don’t mean are you all right, obviously you’re not all right, but are you...are you still breathing?” Stiles put a hand on his arm.
Derek didn’t move, speak.
Stiles stayed quiet after that, but he kept his hand on Derek’s arm.
The Sheriff approached them, sliding his cell phone back into the holster at his side. He crouched down in front of Derek. “Where are you staying, Derek? I’ll drive you back. We can talk about...the arrangements later.”
Derek opened his mouth, tried to speak, and failed. He cleared his throat, hard. “At the house,” he croaked.
“The-” the Sheriff looked shocked, then dismayed. “The old house?”
Derek nodded, looking down at the floor.
There was a silence.
Then Stiles and his father spoke at the same time:
“You can’t stay there,” the Sheriff said.
“You can stay with us,” Stiles said.
They looked at each other. The Sheriff held his son’s gaze for a moment, searching his face, then nodded and turned back to Derek. “You can stay with us.”
***
Previous chapter
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Author: useyrwordsderek
Rating: Explicit for later chapters
Genre and/or Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinksi
Spoilers: Through Season 2
Warnings: underage for later chapters, canon compliant character death, angst, WIP, canon compliant violence/gore,
Word Count: 4100 for this chapter, approx 9000 so far.
Summary: Derek comes back to Beacon Hills looking for Laura. He meets up with Stiles for the first time in years. Feelings ensue. Past told in flashbacks.
Notes: OMG I promised you guys an easier ride than last chapter, but I’m afraid this is NOT THAT AT ALL. IT IS NOT MY FAULT THE WRITERS INSIST ON GIVING THESE CHARACTERS SUCH TRAGIC BACKSTORIES, OKAY.
This chapter and the whole story started out in my head really canon compliant, then diverged quickly and violently as I wrote. Oops? I have come to realize that this story is going to be nothing more and nothing less than my own personal expression of fix-it-with-fic, or in other words, this is the story I wish the show Teen Wolf was telling. Hope you like it!
***
Derek stood in the clearing, hands in his jacket pockets, and looked up at the ruins of the house. His jaw clenched, but no other expression crossed his face.
’I’ll only be gone a couple of days,’ Laura had said. She’d stood there, in her waitress uniform, his sister, his brilliant, beautiful sister who would have, should have gone to college and studied journalism and become a world famous reporter, stood there in her polyester uniform and pantyhose and cheap white sneakers, her expression stern. ‘I’m going alone.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Derek said instantly.
‘You don’t get a say in this, Derek. I’m going and you’re staying here and that’s final.’
Derek looked around at the shabby one-bedroom apartment they shared, in the grimier section of Seattle. He slept on the pull-out couch, Laura in a narrow single bed in the tiny closet of a bedroom. There were stains on the wallpaper, and the pipes knocked loudly whenever anyone in the building used the water. ‘Why would I stay here, Laura? Why should either of us stay here? We should stay together. We always have...it’s safer if...’
‘Look, I have something I need to do, and I have to...I have to go alone. I would feel so much better if I knew you were here, safe. Please. Just...don’t argue.’
‘I’m arguing! This is not okay!’
Suddenly, Laura had her arm across Derek’s neck, slamming him up against the wall. Her eyes bled red. She snarled in his face and he automatically turned his head to the side, baring his throat to her. ‘You will stay here,’ she said, each word measured and enunciated.
‘Laura-’
The snarl rose in pitch.
‘I-’
The pressure on his neck increased. He had to submit. His body screamed at him to do it.
‘All right,’ Derek choked out.
She released him. ‘Good,’ she said shakily. ‘Good.’ She sat heavily on the couch. ‘God dammit, Derek, you know I don’t like doing that.’
He sat beside her. He didn’t say anything, but after a minute he put his hand in hers and leaned his head to the side until it rested on her shoulder, like he had when they were little. She squeezed his hand, then released it.
‘I’ll be back before you know it. Lock the door behind me.’ And she got up and walked out.
That was the last time he’d seen her.
He found himself standing on the crumbling porch of the house. His jaw worked minutely and he breathed heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring. Then he opened the door.
The first thing his eyes alighted on was a dark, flaking patch of ash and soot ground into the floor just inside the door. He averted his eyes and moved further into the house.
The refrigerator and deep porcelain sink had survived. Almost nothing else in the kitchen had.
’Eat your breakfast, Derek. You want to grow up to be big and strong, right?’
He shuddered, turning away.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor. His room on the left, Laura’s across from his, then gaping doorways without doors extending down the long hall, to the room at the end that had been his parents’. Clouds of dust and ash stirred at his footfalls.
He poked his head into Laura’s room. Nothing was disturbed; she hadn’t been here.
His feet pointed him in the direction of his parents’ room, though the rest of his body was unwilling. He shuffled down the hall, ignoring all the other rooms. The doorway loomed before him, murky darkness beyond.
He entered the room.
The bedstead had partially survived; his dad had made it for his mom when they’d been married. Derek supposed both he and Laura had been conceived in that bed. It was sturdy oak, a four-poster, although only two of the posts remained.
’No eating in the bed! This quilt was your grandmother’s! Come on, come downstairs and we’ll have a snack together.’
He forced himself to walk down the stairs, although all he wanted to do was run until his lungs gave out.
***
Days passed. Derek searched the preserve by day, curling in on himself in a sleeping bag on the floor of the living room by night to not-sleep. Sometimes he not-slept in the Camaro just to escape the oppressive silence of the house.
The Camaro was new. Derek had saved all the money he’d made working at the mechanic’s in Seattle, and Laura had saved everything from her waitressing job and the occasional temp secretary placements. She’d been determined to send Derek to college, adamant in the face of his protestations that she was the smarter one and deserved it more. He’d taken a few classes at the local community college, but there was never enough time or money to devote himself to it. And then he’d gotten older and got promoted to senior mechanic and it got less important, somehow, to get an education. It had all just gotten away from them, the years passing by in a blur of cheap food and cheap apartments and long silences, Laura shut up in her bedroom while Derek stared at the television without seeing the show. The money piled up and they were both too afraid to spend a penny of it beyond essentials, never knowing when they might need to run, to hide, to disappear.
When Laura had disappeared, Derek had waited two weeks for her to come back. When she hadn’t, when there’d been no word from her, he’d emptied both their bank accounts, bought the Camaro with part of the money, and driven to Beacon Hills. He knew that was where she’d gone. He’d known all along. There was nowhere else that she wouldn’t have taken him with her.
He knew it was stupid to buy such an expensive car, knew he never should have done it. But he was so tired of shabbiness and dirt, old things that had been used hard by their previous owners, deprivation. He knew he was never going to college. He pictured Laura’s face when she saw it, how she would be both delighted and furious with him. Laura loved fast cars.
He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that he would see her face again.
***
Derek was in the most densely-wooded part of the Hale property, scenting the air to try and catch Laura’s scent somewhere, anywhere, when something else made his head turn sharply and his fists clench at his sides.
There was another werewolf, nearby, someone whose scent he didn’t know.
He moved silently through the trees and circled around behind where his senses told him the werewolf was. There was someone else with him, a human with a jittery, erratic heartbeat. Derek spotted something half-buried in the leaves and reached down to grab it. It was an asthma inhaler. He shoved it into his jacket pocket.
He got closer and closer, until he could hear their conversation.
“--hear stuff I shouldn’t be able to hear...smell things...” the werewolf said.
“Smell things?” the human asked. Derek caught his scent too, mostly teenaged boy with a sugary chemical tang that set Derek’s teeth on edge, but something else too, something familiar...
They were talking about gum, for some reason, as Derek tried to work out what he was hearing. The werewolf had just been turned, and he...he didn’t know what was happening to him. How could - who had turned him? Where was his Alpha? Why wasn’t he or she explaining what was going on to this kid?
He tuned back in when the human said the word “Lycanthropy”, clearly and calmly. Derek blinked. He moved swiftly through the trees, keeping them in range, while he tried to think how the human could possibly know about them, about their kind.
And, wow, this werewolf was not too bright, was he? “Is that bad?” he asked, his voice cracking. Seriously, who the hell picked this kid to turn?
The boys kept moving, joking and shoving each other playfully, and it became clear to Derek that the human had been kidding, especially when he gave a little howl and curled his fingers into claws, then broke up laughing.
I know that kid. How do I know that kid?
“Maybe the killer moved the body.”
What? What body? Derek’s body moved toward them before his brain caught up, and then he was out in the open, standing right behind them.
“--inhaler, those things are like 80 bucks...”
The human spotted Derek and shoved his friend, so that the werewolf turned and looked at Derek. Derek strode over to them, filled with an unreasonable anger.
“What are you doing here?” he asked coldly. Body, what body? They can’t be talking about...
They didn’t answer, looking scared.
“This is private property,” he continued, glaring at them both. The young werewolf was short, dark haired and dark-skinned; the human was taller, all arms and legs in motion, with pale skin and moles on his...
I know this kid.
“Sorry man, we didn’t know,” the human said. He was someone from...before, someone Derek had...
“--looking for something, but...” the werewolf’s words intruded on Derek’s thoughts. The inhaler. That’s what they were looking for. But what had they said about a body? He retrieved the inhaler from his pocket and tossed it to the werewolf, noting his preternaturally fast reflexes. Derek turned and started to walk away, his mind still racing. What. Fucking. Body?
But the other question ran in tandem with that terrifying thought. The kid, the human kid, he was. Someone from...he would have been a little kid back then...he was-
“Stiles.” he said aloud, turning back around. And then he couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to figure it out. Stiles’ eyes were the same, his skin, his moles, everything. He was staring at Derek, mouth open, brow slightly furrowed, and then he reeled back in shock as if he’d been hit in the face.
“Jesus Christ. Derek. Derek Hale.”
He moved closer as if drawn to Derek by a magnet. The younger werewolf held back, watching his friend warily.
“Derek.” Stiles reached out a hand, then dropped it back down to his side. He looked at the ground, then his eyes came back to Derek’s as if he couldn’t help himself. “I can’t believe...it’s you. What the hell are you doing here, man?”
“I’m,” Derek cleared his throat. “I’m looking for Laura.” He felt a huge confusing rush of emotions, looking at Stiles, who had grown from that skinny little kid into this...well, he was still skinny. But he was tall and rangy and had a sharp intelligence behind his eyes.
“Laura,” Stiles repeated. “Your sister? She’s...she’s in Beacon Hills?”
“I don’t know. I think so.”
Stiles faced worked, moving through a range of expressions quickly. “Oh...oh, jesus, Derek. But - you don’t know...they found a body here last night. A - a young woman. Have you...have you heard from Laura? Do you know-”
Derek felt a lance of anguish go through his heart as he understood was Stiles was suggesting. “No,” he mumbled, looking down, trying to rein in the fear. “I haven’t heard from her.”
Stiles sucked in a breath, then let it out in a rush. “I’m sure it’s not - I mean, it can’t be.” He stopped, and looked at Derek, and his eyes were filled with regret. “You better come with me.”
***
The Jeep rattled violently; Derek could feel his back teeth clattering together as they sped over the bumps and potholes in the road that led out of the preserve. He sat in the passenger seat; Stiles was driving and Scott, that was the werewolf’s name, was in the back. No one spoke. In fact, other than Stiles introducing the two of them, no one had spoken a word since Stiles had told Derek to come with him.
Derek looked out the window. The last time he’d seen Stiles had been the night of...that night. Laura and he...well, they’d gotten the hell out of Beacon Hills the next day, with absolutely nothing except the clothes on their backs, Laura’s debit card to her checking account that amounted to about two hundred bucks, and her eight year old Ford Escort. They had run as far and as fast as that money took them, knowing nothing except that their family, their entire family was dead. Derek had known one other thing, had known it really all along but had had it confirmed when they’d crept back to the house in the hazy dawn of the morning after the fire, when he’d seen the message left just for him, a message no one else would have noticed or been able to understand. It had taken him over a year to finally tell Laura.
’You have to talk to me, Derek! I never know what’s going on with you!’
‘Don’t want to talk,’ he grunted, feeling his triceps start to burn as he began another rep of push-ups. It felt good, the ache, burned the thoughts right out of his mind and sometimes, if he exhausted himself enough, even let him sleep.
‘I don’t give a shit what you want. You’re going to tell me. Whatever it is.’
‘Tell you what?’ His arms kept flexing, pushing his body back up, then down. He lifted his left arm, put it behind his back. Down, up, down, up.
‘If I knew that, we wouldn’t be - Derek, stop a second.’
He stopped, rolled onto his back, looked up at her from his prone position on the floor. ‘What?’
She sighed and sat down beside him cross-legged. ‘Der-bear.’
He flinched at the old nickname. She never called him that anymore, hadn’t called him that once since...
‘I don’t want to make you talk about it, little bro. I wish we could just never talk about it. But this is...you’re not getting better and I’m not getting better. We have to talk about it. I know there’s something...something you’re not telling me. I can’t let you - just - I can’t let you just sit here day after day, dying in little tiny increments. You’re my brother. You’re my,’ she inhaled sharply. ‘My only family. I need you.’
He squeezed his eyes shut.
‘Please.’
He felt his breath coming in shorter pulls, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew she could hear it.
‘Tell me,’ she whispered.
He opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling.
‘Before the...before. There was a girl. A woman. I was seeing her.’
‘Okay,’ Laura breathed.
‘She was...older. I didn’t really know her.’ He fisted his hands. ‘I was so stupid. I thought she cared about me.’
Laura’s hand moved closer to his.
‘I told her...she asked me, Laura. Asked me all these questions about our...about us. And I told her. I told her about the house, who lived there, the kids. I told her everything. I would have told her anything.’ His voice was higher than normal, slightly hysterical. ‘It was her. She was a hunter. She set the fire.’
Laura was motionless, frozen. Her voice was below a whisper, would have been sub-vocal for a human. ‘How do you know?’
He rolled over, got to his feet, and walked over to the old army chest they used as a coffee table. He lifted the lid and rummaged through his things until he found a small cardboard box. His fingers closed over the small cold object inside and he dropped the box back into the chest.
He walked back to Laura and held the object out to her. She reached up from her position on the floor and took it.
‘It was hers,’ he said, watching Laura examine the gold pendant on the chain. ‘She left it there, hanging in a tree right next to the house. She knew I would find it. She wanted me to know.’
Laura’s eyes rose to meet his, and they were filled with such sorrow that Derek wanted to break everything in the world. ‘It was my fault, Laura. I killed them. I killed our family.’ He sank to his knees in front of her, gripped her hands. ‘I killed them.’ He felt tears prickling at the back of his eyes, but he wouldn’t let himself cry. He didn’t deserve to.
She stared back at him, grief-stricken. Then her head shook once, sharply, violently. ‘No.’ She let go of his hands, gripped the sides of his head. ‘No, it fucking wasn’t. It was not your fault.’
He shook his head, trying to get away, to dislodge her grip, but she was stronger than he was and she wouldn’t let him go. ‘Derek. It was not your fault. It was hers. I am going to - where is she? Who is she?’
‘Kate,’ he choked out. ‘Her name was Kate.’
‘What was her last name?’
He shook his head again. ‘She never told me,’ he whispered, and the shame washed over him like a thick, viscous liquid.
Laura stared at him. ‘Oh god, Derek.’ She reached for him and wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
The tears were stuck in his throat, choking him. ‘I didn’t want you to...to hate me.’
Laura let out a short sob. Then she swallowed hard and leaned back, her hands on the side of his face again, tears running down her cheeks. ‘I could never, ever hate you. You are my brother and I love you more than any other person on this earth, do you understand me? Do you hear me?’ She shook him a little.
He stared at her, and then he felt his face crumple and the hot salty tears suddenly burned in his eyes and spilled down his face. He buried his head in Laura’s neck and held on, her arms around him the only thing keeping him anchored to the whole damned world. He cried like a child.
He felt the Jeep jounce and refocused to see that they were pulling into the police station parking lot. He looked over at Stiles, who looked back grimly. “Come on. We’re going to talk to my dad.”
They exited the Jeep, all three of them, and went in. Stiles moved around Derek and led the way to an office in the back.
The Sheriff sat behind a desk, and looked up as they entered the room. “Hey Stiles, Scott. What brings you-” He broke off as Derek entered and peered at him. “Sorry...but don’t I know-”
“Dad, you remember Derek? Derek Hale?” Stiles interrupted.
Derek didn’t miss the flash of sadness and pity that crossed the Sheriff’s face. “Yes. Yeah, of...of course I do. Derek,” he said, rising from his chair and holding out his hand.
Derek reached out automatically and shook it. “Sheriff.”
“It’s been a long time. What brings you back to Beacon Hills?”
“I’m looking for my sister. Laura.”
The Sheriff looked between Derek and his son. “Is she missing?”
“I...yes. She is.”
Stiles broke in. “Dad, you know the-the body they found.”
The Sheriff flinched. “Stiles, you shouldn’t even know about...and you think...oh.” He sank back into his chair and covered his eyes with his hand for an instant, then removed it. “Derek, have you heard from your sister?”
“No, sir. Not for almost three weeks. She was supposed to be back, to Seattle, that’s where we live, a couple of days after she left. I came here looking for her.” He could hear the edge of desperation creep into his voice.
The Sheriff looked at him. “Look, there’s no reason to believe that the body we found is your sister. But...”
“But we should check and make sure, right?” Stiles asked.
“Stiles,” his father warned.
“I’m just saying! He has to know, Dad. One way or the other.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and moved a little closer to Derek.
The Sheriff sighed and rose to his feet. “All right. Let’s go.”
***
Derek’s feet moved without conscious thought, following in the wake of the Sheriff’s shoes and Stiles’ sneakers. Scott had excused himself back at the police station, promising to call Stiles later. They’d driven in a patrol car to Beacon Hills hospital, and taken an elevator down to the basement floor, walking past a sign marked “Morgue”.
Derek’s entire inner being consisted of a single endless loop of words that played over and over again, a loop of please no please no please no please no please no until he thought he might just scream, shriek the words out into the air. But he was silent; his expression never wavered, mouth tight and jaw clenched. Stiles looked back at him continually, and his hand reached for him and dropped back down again several times.
They stopped outside the door. The Sheriff turned to Derek and gestured to a door to the left. “There’s a viewing room, there. I’ll have the coroner-”
“No,” Derek cut him off, more forcefully than he meant to. He started again, quieter. “Just...I’ll just go in, okay?”
The Sheriff studied his expression for a moment, then nodded. They entered the room. It was freezing cold, and three walls were lined with big stainless steel drawers. The Sheriff tried briefly to prevent Stiles from following them in, but Stiles jutted out his jaw and stepped around his father, hurrying to catch up with Derek.
“All right.” The Sheriff took a deep breath. “Are you ready for this?”
I will never be ready for this. “Yes.”
***
’Lock the door behind me.’ The last words she’d ever said, would ever say to him.
He came back to himself in the hallway, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. The Sheriff was a short distance away, talking on the phone. He became aware that Stiles was sitting next to him, his left leg pressed against Derek’s right. He looked at Derek when he saw Derek’s head turn.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
Derek felt numb, nothing, empty. There were no words.
“Derek? Are you...I don’t mean are you all right, obviously you’re not all right, but are you...are you still breathing?” Stiles put a hand on his arm.
Derek didn’t move, speak.
Stiles stayed quiet after that, but he kept his hand on Derek’s arm.
The Sheriff approached them, sliding his cell phone back into the holster at his side. He crouched down in front of Derek. “Where are you staying, Derek? I’ll drive you back. We can talk about...the arrangements later.”
Derek opened his mouth, tried to speak, and failed. He cleared his throat, hard. “At the house,” he croaked.
“The-” the Sheriff looked shocked, then dismayed. “The old house?”
Derek nodded, looking down at the floor.
There was a silence.
Then Stiles and his father spoke at the same time:
“You can’t stay there,” the Sheriff said.
“You can stay with us,” Stiles said.
They looked at each other. The Sheriff held his son’s gaze for a moment, searching his face, then nodded and turned back to Derek. “You can stay with us.”
***
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