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Chapter Text

Stiles felt like she was in some kind of lucid dream as she stepped out of her Jeep, unfolding her usually clumsy, lanky body smoothly from the driver's seat; she ignored the pain that positively throbbed through her skin, muscles, and bones in favor of focusing on the rage and fear and adrenaline that fueled her.

She ignored everyone, especially Lydia proclaiming her undying love for Jackass. She ignored Derek kneeling on the floor, a half pained half furious snarl on his face. She ignored Allison standing by her fathers side, Isaac on the floor, bloody and growling; she ignored Peter, somehow alive, lurking in the corner. 

She only had eyes for the pathetic old man desperately dragging himself across the floor, spewing black gunk everywhere.

There was a deafening roar, then silence.

She reached down and grabbed Gerard's shoulder, forcibly flipping the man over. She reached for the gun hidden in the waistband of her jeans, the metal cool against her palm. She raised it, hand steady, and met Gerard's hate filled gaze.

The old man sneered at her, black goo smeared across his face. Every wound on her body he inflicted ached horribly, but she ignored it. She shoved the memories down deep in her mind, not wanting them to overwhelm her even as the man who had beaten her bloody met her eyes.

"You don't have the guts-" 

The gunshot echoed loudly in the warehouse, Gerard's head snapping back as the bullet slammed into his forehead and burrowed deep into his brain. He fell back, eyes open and glassy, dead. She exhaled softly, tense shoulders relaxing some; the lashes on her back throbbed.   

"Stiles!" 

Scott's horrified shout barely penetrated the vicious satisfaction filling her mind. She turned, staring coldly across the room at Allison, who was white with shock and fear. Chris Argent raised his own gun, looking torn, stepping half in front of Allison.

Stiles stepped forward, raising the gun once again. Argent's voice cracked through the tense silence. "Put the gun down," he barked, cooking his weapon slowly. A snarl echoed behind her, deep and deadly. 

"Do you know what she did?" She asked rhetorically, eyes never leaving Allison's pale face. "As her grandfather tortured Erica, Boyd, and I…she just watched." Argent faltered, gun drooping slightly. "As he whipped me, beat me, electrocuted Erica and Boyd, stabbed them…your darling daughter merely watched." 

Argent looked horrified. "No…" 

"More like Aunty Kate than ever, Ally," she whispered venomously, pulling the trigger. Allison clutched her thigh, crying out in pain, and collapsed. Argent promptly knelt beside her, turning to stare at Stiles in shock. 

She lowered the gun and exhaled roughly, turning to look at the others. Derek had dragged himself to his feet, expression unbothered, no…pleased? Isaac had also stood, standing next to Derek. Peter looked absolutely fucking delighted where he stood, blood dripping from his fingers.

Lydia and Jackson openly gawked at her, clutching one another desperately. She grimaced and looked away, not wanting to see Jackass naked.

Scott stared at her, disgusted and horrified. "Stiles," he said, mouth agape. "Allison wouldn't do that." 

"She's an Argent," Stiles spat, furious. She clutched her ribs, breathing heavily with great difficulty. Some of her ribs were likely broken, and she was becoming more aware of the state she was in now the adrenaline was wearing off. "It's in their blood to be psychopathic killers." 

Argent's breath hitched, and he continued muttering reassurances to a whimpering Allison. 

Stiles swayed, coughing and choking on her breath. Derek and Peter were suddenly by her side, the latter holding her up as her knees buckled. Derek was opening the back door of the Jeep, Peter hustling her inside; Isaac scampered over, crawling into the passenger seat. 

Stiles blinked slowly, her entire body heavy and aching. She went lax against Peter, who was growling subvocally. She could feel it, considering she was practically in his lap, sprawled across the back seat of her Jeep. 

Darkness edged around Stiles' vision. "'M g'nna pass out n'w," she slurred, not seeing Peter's panicked, furious expression as unconsciousness claimed her. 

***

Noah felt as though he had aged twenty years. After Derek Hale had called him, informing him Stiles was in the hospital - in emergency surgery - he had booked it to the hospital like a bat out of hell.

While waiting for news, he'd demanded the fucking truth from Hale. Because it seemed to him that his daughter had begun lying and keeping things from him when Hale showed up, and it was half true. 

Derek had ushered him into an unused room, locking the door, and told him everything in fits and starts; how most of his family had been werewolves and were annihilated by Kate Argent, a werewolf hunter from a family of them, even the human members; how Laura had packed them up and shipped them to New York barely two days later, leaving their uncle behind in a coma; how after six years Peter had begun to finally heal and wake up and killed Laura in his insanity and bit Scott, desperate in his feral need for a pack - Derek explained that Peter likely sensed Scott's asthma and bitten him to heal him - how he'd then gone after everyone responsible for the fire, systematically killing them, in an insane bid for revenge. 

By then, Noah had left disbelief behind and was simmering with rage; Stiles had been the one to discover Scott's new abilities and had tried to warn him, but was brushed off because Scott had bagged a date with Allison Argent. And truthfully, werewolfism was hardly a believable explanation. 

Derek explained everything that had gone down, and Stiles’ involvement - impressing on him how brave she was, especially since she was human - and how Stiles had ended up in the hospital, in emergency surgery, after being held captive and tortured by her school principal. 

"Gerard Argent doesn't care if someone's human, Sheriff," Derek said tiredly, guilt etched across his face. "If you run with wolves, you deserve to be put down like one according to him." 

"Where is he? I'm gonna kill the son of a bitch!" Noah raged, clenching his hands into fists. Derek winced slightly, looking shifty. He demanded, "You killed him?"  

"Stiles did," Derek admitted quietly.

Noah was torn between horror that his baby girl had killed someone and satisfaction that the man responsible for hurting her was dead. He felt somewhat conflicted; he was a man of the law, but also a father. "Am I gonna get a call about his body being found?" 

"No, Peter and Isaac have gone to deal with that," Derek admitted. 

Noah frowned. "I thought you said Peter was dead." 

Derek sighed, looking, truthfully, agonized. "He managed to resurrect himself using an arcane ritual," he explained. 

Noah sighed. "Sounds like Peter, the little shit." 

"You know him?" Derek asked, brows raised incredulously. 

"Oh, yeah," Noah said, snorting. "I had to escort your uncle home several times as a deputy. I could never pin any crimes on him, but he was always mysteriously there." 

Derek's lips twitched. "Sounds like Uncle Peter." 

Conversation finished, they returned to the waiting room. Derek went and got them coffee, which was watery and terrible but needed, and they sat in comfortable silence as they waited for news on Stiles. 

Peter joined them, smelling of worrysatisfactionearth. He greeted them quietly and sat down, nearly leaping up when a doctor came forward and addressed the sheriff. 

"Sheriff," he greeted solemnly, peering at the chart in his hand. "Stiles had several internal injuries, but all have been rectified; a ruptured spleen, four broken ribs, two cracked ribs, a punctured lung, miscellaneous bruising of her internal organs…is the bastard who did this going to be dealt with?" 

"He already has been," Noah gritted out, nodding. 

Doctor Samuel Roche nodded firmly. "You can all go see her, she's in room 234." 

The three men trooped up to Stiles' room, Noah looking seconds from a breakdown when they entered. Stiles lay on the bed, unconscious, with a bruised face, split lip, and an intubation tube down her throat to help her breathe. He gently took her hand, brushing thick curls from her face. "Oh, Mischief," he murmured, kissing her brow. 

Derek took her other hand, and Noah stared as black veins slithered up his arm. "Werewolves can take pain," he explained, and Noah looked at him gratefully.

Derek and Peter excused themselves and loitered in the hall, giving Noah time with Stiles. He glanced at his uncle, whose expression was tight with fury. "Why are you so angry? You barely know her." 

Peter's top lip curled. "I didn't bite McCall because I smelt his illness. I bit him because he smelt like Stiles," he said stiffly, and Derek immediately understood.

"She's your mate," he said quietly, jaw clenching as renewed rage bubbled in his gut. Stiles wasn't just pack, she was family, and she was injured. "Where's Isaac?" 

"Your wayward betas called him, he went to meet them at the loft," Peter explained, hands clenched into fists. 

"She'll heal better with you in there," Derek murmured lowly, heart leaping at the news Erica and Boyd had returned. 

Peter's head jerked slightly. "How do you think Noah will react to his daughter being the mate of a twenty-seven year old werewolf?" 

Derek grunted softly. He knew the sheriff wouldn’t like it whatsoever, but he’d taken the reveal of the supernatural pretty well; hell, he'd taken the news that Stiles killed someone well. He should have been told, as the sheriff of the territory, years ago, but the Hale’s had already been slaughtered by then. He’d meant to talk to Stiles about it, but the Kanima had been more important. 

Time moved sluggishly, and the sheriff - “Call me Noah, son.” - let them back inside. The hours passed agonizingly slowly, Issac, Erica, and Boyd showing up after hour two. Derek was too relieved to see the latter two to be angry that they’d left and hugged them close, scenting them. Erica then practically glued herself to Stiles’ side, hand gently clutching Stiles’ limp fingers. Boyd did, too, guilt and anger flickering across his face. 

Isaac handed out the good coffee he’d had the forethought to stop for, the sheriff - Noah - clapping the teen on the shoulder gratefully, doubly so when Isaac produced a bag of the man’s clothes, shyly informing him that they’d stopped by he and Stiles’ place to grab some things so he didn’t have to leave. 

“Thanks, son,” Noah said gruffly, placing the bag by his feet. He looked at the teens, brows furrowing. “Are you three born wolves, too?” 

“No, sir,” Boyd said quietly. “Derek offered us the bite, and we accepted.” 

Noah gave Derek a Look, which made the alpha want to cringe. It hadn’t been his finest moment, offering the bite to a bunch of sixteen year olds, but teens survived the bite far better than older people; and he’d wanted to offer it to them because it would make their lives much, much better; it was unlikely Erica would have survived much longer with her epilepsy as bad as it was; Isaac had all but jumped at the chance when Derek told him that Pack was like family, the abused teen desperate to get away from his abusive father; Boyd, too had been the same. Ever since his little sister had gone missing on his watch, Boyd’s parents had neglected him and blamed him for not taking better care of Alicia.

“Derek told us everything, the pros and the cons, sir,” Erica said softly, perched on a chair by Stiles’ bed. “I accepted the bite because of my epilepsy, it cured it.” 

Noah nodded slowly in understanding, but still shot Derek a censoring look, making the alpha want to squirm. Peter looked amused from where he stood, arms crossed, eyes glued to Stiles. 

“Can’t you give Stiles the bite, healer her quicker?” Isaac asked, sounding uncertain. Noah looked at Derek, brows raised, but it was Peter who answered. 

“She doesn’t want it,” he said, eyes glowing as he glared at Derek. “I offered when I was alpha, and she refused.” 

Noah scowled at him, but nodded slowly, accepting his daughter's wishes. He leaned forward and took Stiles hand in his, squeezing gently. Derek tilted his head, eyes flashing as he looked at Stiles; her heart rate was speeding up, indicating she was going to wake up. 

“She’s waking up,” he said, reaching over Erica to press the call button just as Stiles’ eyes opened and she began panicking, reaching for the tube in her throat. 

***

Stiles absolutely loathed the feeling of a tube being gently pulled from her throat, and she greatly hoped to never feel it again. Once the tube was gone and she'd finished shuddering and coughing, Dr Roche went through checking her over and explaining the injuries he'd fixed in surgery. 

"We've put titanium plates on your ribs while they heal, so you'll have to take it easy," he explained sternly, peering at her chart. "We had to remove your spleen and close off the tear in your lung; you're going to have to be on bed rest for some months, Stiles." 

Stiles sighed, but nodded in agreement. "Sure thing, doc." 

Dr Roche smiled slightly. "Your kidneys and liver were bruised, and we'll prescribe you some percocet for the pain. You'll need to take antibiotics as well, to ensure no infections in your back; blood thinners to stop clotting and, most importantly, rest." 

"Thanks, doc," her dad said, brushing his thumb over her knuckles gently. 

"Of course. I'll have a nurse bring your medication by soon," Dr Roche said, patting Stiles' shoulder gently. "We want to keep you for observation overnight, but you should be free to go home tomorrow morning."  

Stiles relaxed back into her pillows, grimacing slightly as pain throbbed through her body. Once the doctor was gone, she glanced at her dad and winced at his expression. "I'm sorry, dad," she said, guilt eating away at her. 

"Derek explained," he said, making Stiles' heart jump into her throat. Noah sighed and leaned forward, kissing her forehead. "I'm not mad at you, Mischief. I'm actually really proud of you, but no more secrets. Okay?" 

Stiles swallowed the urge to blubber and nodded rapidly, squeezing Noah's hand. "Promise. I swear." 

The door creaked open, and Stiles turned to see Erica peering inside. "Can we come back in, sir?"

"Get in here, Catwoman," Stiles said thickly, relieved beyond belief to see the girl. 

Erica bolted inside and gently hugged Stiles. "I'm so sorry, Batwoman!" 

"You don't have to apologize," Stiles managed, voice thick. She rubbed Erica's back gently. "I'm just glad you guys got out." 

Boyd, Isaac, Derek, and Peter - okay, wasn't he dead a week ago? - shuffled inside and surrounded her bed, all of them looking relieved. 

Derek grabbed her ankle, and the pain throbbing through her body slowly vanished. She relaxed against her pillows, Erica fluffing them fussily. "Uhhh, s'the good drugs," she slurred, smiling dopily at the alpha werewolf. "Hey, sourwolf." 

Derek rolled his eyes, lips quirking. "Stiles," he said, nodding. 

"Wha - what happened?" She asked, rallying despite feeling exhausted and slightly loopy. 

Derek glanced at Noah, who sighed and nodded. "She won't rest until she knows everything." 

"Jackson stabbed himself with his claws after the lacrosse game," Isaac piped up, clearing his throat lightly. "Everyone thought he was dead, but Peter had a copy of the Hale bestiary and found out that he was actually evolving into the alpha-kanima." 

"That sounds very bad," Stiles said, eyes wide. 

"Yes, it would have been," Peter piped up, "but the bestiary also explained how to save the person beneath the scales of a kanima, so we had McCall and Isaac bring us the body. Argent volunteered to help." 

Stiles pulled a face, waving her free hand for them to continue. "I had known Scott was working with Gerard since the police station." Stiles' heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught. Derek's hand tightened comfortingly around her ankle. "He and Deaton had come up with their own master plan. Turns out the old man was dying of cancer and wanted the bite to heal himself." 

Stiles felt bile rise in her throat and convulsively swallowed it down. Gerard Argent as a human had terrified her beyond belief, but as a werewolf? Well, she was glad she'd put a bullet in his head for what he had done. 

"He had Jackson paralyze me, and Scott dragged me to Argent and forced me to bite him," Derek told her monotonously, and Stiles wanted to hug him; she knew how he felt about the bite, that it was a gift. To be forced to bite an Argent…

Erica growled low in her throat, eyes flashing. Boyd wrapped his arms around her, nosing at her temple. Stiles could relate to their anger, their apprehension. 

"Scott had swapped Gerard's cancer pills with mountain ash, though, so the bite didn't take," Isaac muttered, scowling. "Allison stabbed me a dozen times, so I was pretty useless." 

Stiles scowled fiercely. "Bitch," she hissed in Polish, making her dad choke on a laugh. 

"That's when you and Lydia came in, guns blazing - literally - and saved the day," Peter drawled, eyes flashing supernatural blue. Stiles hesitantly met his gaze, hoping he could see or smell how badly she felt for helping set him on fire. "Lydia's love for Jackson saved him, and Derek and I killing him…rebooted him, I suppose you could say." 

"And…Gerard?" Stiles asked quietly, picking at the blanket over her legs. "He's, like, staying dead, right?" 

"Well, I don't know how he'd be able to come back when I ripped his head off and cut him in half," Peter said flippantly, satisfaction positively thrumming in his words. 

Noah sighed, looking pained, but Stiles merely grinned, viciously satisfied. "Good," she said. "He deserved worse." 

Erica nodded and Boyd bared razor sharp fangs. "Yes," the usually quiet teen growled, "he did." 

***

Stiles was discharged the next day, and Noah - who'd been given a thorough crash course in werewolfism - didn't even try to send the pack away once they got home, not only because they could help Stiles around without breaking a sweat - super strong werewolves, god - or take her pain, which was a bonus, but because Derek explained that being surrounded by pack, even as a human, would mean his little girl, who wasn't so little anymore, healed faster. 

Stiles was gently put on the sofa by Erica, who had carried her easily from the car, and told to stay put while the wolves moved her bed downstairs when it became clear that the stairs would be a problem. 

Noah sat with Stiles, eyes wide, as they rearranged his living room to fit Stiles' queen bed in the corner. They moved the other sofa to the basement, and shifted the one they were on, barely blinking; it was both amazing and troubling. 

"Won't you forget Stiles is human and accidently hurt her?" He asked Peter, who was making Stiles' bed. 

"Derek and I had humans in our pack, Sheriff. The pups will also instinctively know Stiles isn't as hardy as they are and be gentle with her," Peter explained. 

Noah looked horrified. "There were humans in your house…" he trailed off, wiping a hand over his mouth. 

"The youngest was six months old," Derek said stonily, letting Erica and Isaac bully their way under his arms to comfort him. "My cousin, Spencer."

Stiles looked at Peter, who shook his head slowly. "Talia and I had other siblings, a brother and sister, William and Penelope." 

"I'm sorry," she said, reaching out to grip his wrist. 

Peter nodded, twisting his wrist to squeeze her hand gently before releasing her. "Thank you," he murmured, placing the last pillow on the bed. "Done." 

Isaac moved to pick Stiles up, who bit back the urge to whimper when her ribs were lightly jostled. She was placed on her bed, Boyd holding the duvet back, and tucked in meticulously by Erica and Derek. 

"Thanks, guys," she said, relaxing slowly. Her dad handed her a pain pill and glass of water, and she swallowed it down. 

"I can order some food," dad offered, but Derek swiftly vetoed it. 

"I can cook," the alpha said, holding himself awkwardly. "It's, uh, instinct for the alpha to care for a harmed pack member."

"Right," Noah said, nodding firmly. "I have an errand to run, anyway. There, uh, might not be food in the pantry-" 

"It's okay, sheriff," Derek said, hesitantly placing a hand on Noah's shoulder. "I'll take care of it."

Noah nodded and glanced at Stiles, who was curled up on Erica's chest, eyes closed; Isaac was curled up at her back, nose buried in her hair; three days ago he'd have drawn his gun, but he now knew it was important for werewolves to, er, cuddle in order to share scent and promote healing.

"Where are you going?" Peter asked, eyeing him knowingly. 

"I have to have a word with Argent," Noah ground out. 

"I shall join you," Peter said, nodding at Derek. Noah eyed him, so he elaborated. "You're pack-adjacent as Stiles' father, Noah." 

Noah nodded slowly, agreeing. "Let's go, then." 

Stiles cracked an eye open sleepily as Derek, Peter, and her father muttered secretively in the hall, but she was too tired and too much in pain to care. She knew the 'wolves would take care of her dad, so she closed her eyes and snuggled further into Erica, humming when she began to play with her hair. 

When Stiles' heart rate evened out in sleep, Derek asked his betas to keep an eye on her while he went grocery shopping, smiling when they flashed golden eyes and bared their fangs in agreement. 

***

Noah approached the Argent house with his gun in hand, Peter right behind him. He pounded on the door, uncaring if anyone saw him; he was the sheriff, and his daughter was tortured in this house. 

The door opened, Christopher Argent startling upon seeing him. "Sheriff-" 

Noah pushed him inside, cooking his gun, and slammed the man against the wall by the door; he was vaguely aware of Allison appearing in the archway that lead to a kitchen, but she recoiled at seeing Peter. 

"You and your daughter will stay away from my child and her pack," Noah began, jamming his gun under Argent's jaw. "Do you understand me?" 

"Yes," Argent said tightly, glancing at Allison. Peter was snarling at her, fangs and claws out. 

"If I get one complaint that you're targeting the Hale Pack, I'll be the one to stop you," Noah growled, sounding quite wolf-like himself. "You're lucky your father is dead, and Stiles already warned Allison." 

"They're monsters!" Allison protested, flinching at Peter's snarl.

"The only monsters I see are you and your family, Allison," Noah snapped. "Your aunt, a mass murderer and rapist; your grandfather, a mass murderer and torturer of teenagers; your mother, also a mass murderer and attempted murderer. You, who attacked two teenage classmates unprovoked." 

Allison had paled and was trembling, but Noah didn't care. This girl had hurt people, and had allowed his Mischief to be hurt. "Derek killed my mother." 

Noah and Peter scoffed in unison. "Stiles told me about that. Derek only bit your mother because she was trying to kill Scott with aerosol wolfsbane." He faced Argent, who was pale. "What color were her eyes before she killed herself?" 

"B-blue," Argent ground out, eyes closing in despair. 

Allison shook her head. "No…" 

Noah released the man, sneering. "Stay away from my daughter and Derek Hale's pack. You won't like the consequences if you don’t." 

***

Stiles woke up some time later to Derek holding a tray of food that smelt absolutely divine. Isaac helped her sit up, not so subtly taking her pain as he did so, and the alpha - her alpha?! - placed the tray on her lap. 

She eyed the bowl of hearty looking soup, the crusty buttered bread, and glass of iced water and felt her stomach rumble and mouth water. She dug in slowly, knowing she would throw up if she didn't, and moaned at the taste of the soup. 

Derek's ears were pink, eyes red. "It's venison and vegetable soup," he told her, digging into his own bowl. 

"It's the best thing I've ever tasted," she said through a mouthful, grinning slightly at Derek as he preened, eyes returning to their human hazel. 

They all ate in silence, the wolves going back for seconds and thirds. Derek's shy pleasure made Stiles' heart positively ache for him, but she merely leaned against him once Peter took her dishes away. Her alpha turned and nosed gently at her temple, mindful of the multitude of bruises on her face. 

"I didn't know I was pack," she mumbled sleepily, once again tired. 

"You've been pack since you saved my life at the pool," Derek told her, putting his empty water glass on the coffee table by her bed. He took her hand and leeched her pain, veins turning black. "You managed to hold me up for close to two hours, Stiles, without super strength." 

Stiles shrugged. "I wasn't about to let you drown," she mumbled, embarrassed.

Noah looked proud, too, smiling at her over the rim of his glass of water. She huffed and pressed her face against Derek's arm, feeling fuzzy and warm, the feeling growing when Derek shifted and wrapped his arm around her, tucking her firmly against his side. 

"So, the touch thing is important for wolves?" Noah asked curiously. 

"Mhm," Derek hummed, gently scratching Stiles' scalp. "Werewolves are tactile. It solidifies bonds, reduces stress, promotes healing and comforts. Wolf pups play-fight to learn what limits each other have pain-wise, much like actual wolves." 

"Is that why you kept throwing me against walls?" Stiles asked, voice half a slur. 

Derek flushed, especially at the looks Noah and Peter shot him. "Yes, I'm sorry," he said quietly. 

"It never actually hurt, now I think about it," Stiles said, sitting up slightly. "Can you turn into actual wolves?" 

"Yes," Peter said, amused. "It's exclusive to the Hale line, born or bitten, but difficult to learn. My parents taught Talia, Will, Penny, and I when we were pups." 

"Your wolf form…wasn't right, though," Stiles said slowly, brows furrowed. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Is it because you weren't, well, sane?" 

"Yes," Peter murmured, glancing approvingly at Stiles. "My form is as it once was, now." 

"What about you, sourwolf?" She asked, smiling slightly. 

Derek sighed and stood, exiting the room briefly before a huge, black wolf with red eyes trotted back inside. Stiles gaped as he leapt on her bed, groaning softly as he lay down, his front legs draped over her shins. 

She reached for him, grinning slightly when he leaned into her palm, almost purring when she scratched behind his ear. "Adorable," she said, snorting when Derek bared his teeth, growling softly. 

Noah gaped at wolf-Derek. "Well, I feel as though Stiles will be protected well enough with you here while I'm at work." 

"Ohmygod, puppy piles!" Stiles nearly shouted, grinning widely. 

Erica beamed and crawled onto Stiles' bed. "We're still learning how to fully shift, but I'm more than happy to cuddle!" 

Derek groaned a wolfy groan and slopped onto his side, resting his huge head on Stiles' thigh. She ran her fingers through the fur on his forehead, marveling at the sheer size of him. 

"Right," Noah said, knees cracking as he stood. "I need to go into the office for a while, but I'll be back." 

Stiles smiled slightly as he leaned over the bed and kissed her forehead. He even hesitantly stroked Derek's head, chuckling when wolf-Derek licked his wrist. 

Stiles settled back down, gently shifting so she could curl up on Erica. Boyd spooned her from behind, Isaac tucked against Derek's back. She waved Peter over, who looked surprised for a moment, before he ducked from the living room, returning as a brown, cream and black wolf; he looked almost exactly like a typical grey wolf. 

He jumped on the end of the bed and nuzzled at everyone, pausing to snuffle at Derek's muzzle and Stiles' cheek and throat. She wasn't afraid, merely pet his soft cheek and smiled before he curled by Derek's hind legs and rested his head on huge paws. 

Stiles closed her eyes, warm and feeling safer than she had in a long, long time. 

***

Peter didn't sleep.

He remained awake and vigilant, ears pricked for any sound that didn't belong. The night life, mostly raccoons and owls, were out and as noisy as usual, the former rummaging in trash cans and the latter catching squealing mice or other such prey. But there were no other, suspicious sounds. The neighbors to the right having sex, a guy two doors down shouting at a football game…there were no enemies about, but with an injured human pack member and her being his mate, well, Peter didn't want to risk it. 

Close to dawn, the Sheriff returned smelling like angerexhaustionhunger and peeked into the living room. His shoulders relaxed upon seeing them, eyes lingering on Stiles. He tilted his head, and Peter loped to the floor and through to the downstairs bathroom where he'd left his clothes. 

After shifting back and dressing, he joined Noah in the kitchen. The man nursed a mug of tea, another steaming on the counter. He quietly thanked the man and sat next to him at the island, cradling his mug. 

"I've seen how you look at Stiles," Noah said quietly, sipping his tea. "You look at her how I looked at Claudia. Is…is it a wolf thing?" 

"Yes," Peter said honestly, tapping his fingers against the scalding mug in his hands. "Werewolves have mates, the perfect person for them. Several things factor in that we, our wolves, latch onto." 

Noah glanced at him, brow raised. "Like what?" 

"Loyalty, strength, how far they're willing to go to protect the pack." Peter sighed, grimacing slightly. "And how fertile female mates are." 

Noah glared. "My daughter is eighteen, Hale," he snapped. 

Peter blinked. "I thought she was seventeen?" 

"No," Noah sighed, rubbing his brow. "She missed too many months of school when she was younger, being diagnosed with ADHD…and when her mom died. She repeated two years, so she's always been older. She has enough credits and a good enough GPA to graduate early, but she wanted to stay with Scott."

"Loyalty," Peter said dryly, sipping his tea. 

"She does some college classes through Beacon Hills community College to keep herself challenged," Noah murmured, huffing a small laugh. "She got her intelligence from her mom." 

"She's…remarkable, sir. I'd never, ever do anything she was uncomfortable with. Mates cannot hurt one another, at least not physically," Peter explained, sighing softly. 

"The only reason I'm even entertaining this is because you missed six years, Hale," Noah said, snorting softly. "I'm sure you know what Stiles is capable of, now, after seeing what she did to Argent." 

Peter's lips quirked, eyes flashing. "She's amazing, Noah." 

"That she is," Noah murmured, taking their empty mugs to the sink. "I'm hitting the hay. Make sure Stiles takes her meds and takes it easy when she wakes up. You're all welcome to stay, I understand enough about this werewolf thing to know she's important to you all." 

Peter nodded, stiffening slightly when Noah clapped him on the shoulder before stumbling upstairs to bed. He smiled to himself and stripped again in the bathroom, trotting back into the living room on four paws. 

Derek nuzzled him as he curled against his alpha, and Peter whined lowly at the strengthening of the bond they shared. 

***

Stiles tried not to feel betrayed when Scott didn't text, call, or visit. The betas kept her distracted, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd chatting with her as they got ready for school. Derek even made them lunches, making Stiles want to coo at him; Peter lay in wolf form at the end of her bed, sleeping, and she alternated between stroking a hand down his side, unable to help herself, and helping Isaac, Erica, and Boyd with last minute homework. 

Derek woke Peter before he left to take the pups to school, and Stiles felt slightly awkward alone with Peter, what with her having helped set the man on fire.

When he was once again on two feet, she blurted a slightly panicked apology, only to find herself bundled into his arms. 

"It's all right, sweetheart," he murmured, stroking her shoulder length hair. She needed a haircut. "You did what was necessary. I was too far gone." 

"I am sorry," she whispered thickly, tears stinging her eyes. Her arms subconsciously tightened around him.

Peter kissed her forehead. "I forgive you." 

Stiles sniffled and slowly sat up, grimacing. "Ugh, I really want a shower," she grumbled, wiping her face. 

"Dr Roche gave you some of those shower wipes," Peter said, standing smoothly from the bed. He knelt and rifled through her hospital bag, pulling out a packet of what looked like wet wipes, and a change of clothes. "Do you want help going to the bathroom?" 

She nodded, slowly swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She took Peter's hand and pulled herself up, legs trembling like a newborn fawns'. He gently wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her up as she walked forwards. 

Peter gently put her on the closed toilet lid, hands hovering as she panted softly. "I'm okay," she said, exhaling roughly. "I'll call once I'm done." 

"Okay, I'll get you your medication and something to eat," he replied, brushing a hand over her arm before leaving, shutting the door behind himself.

Stiles sighed softly and opened the wipes, pulling one out. She put it on the vanity and slowly stripped out of her baggy shirt and sweat pants, dumping them in the hamper. She grabbed the wipe and, wincing at the cold, began cleaning herself off. 

She bundled the wipes up and chucked them in the bin by the toilet, reaching for her toothbrush and paste by the sink. She pulled herself onto her feet and leaned against the vanity, grimacing at her reflection. 

Her face was black and blue, her bottom lip split. There were hand-size bruises around her throat, where Gerard had throttled her intermittently, using asphyxiation in the hopes of getting her to talk. It hadn't worked. Stiles was a stubborn little shit, and she hadn't wanted to give Gerard the satisfaction. 

Her ribs and stomach were a myriad of blues, blacks, and purples. She shuddered, remembering Gerard's fists hitting flesh and Allison's blank stare. She turned and grimaced deeply at the stitched lash marks on her back. 

Stiles hastily finished brushing her teeth and vetoed mouthwash, not wanting to make her lip sting. She slowly redressed, grimacing as she bent over to pull a fresh pair of sweats on. Her shirt was more difficult, especially raising her arms. 

"Peter," she said, resting her hands on her lap. The door opened, and she gave the man an exhausted look. "I need help with my shirt." 

Peter padded inside and took her shirt, eyes flashing supernatural blue when he saw the extent of her injuries. She was just glad she'd had Erica help her into a soft, comfortable bralette; not that there was much for Peter to oggle. 

Stiles bit the uninjured corner of her lip as Peter helped her into her shirt, groaning as her ribs throbbed and back ached. 

"Sorry, sweetheart," Peter murmured, gripping her forearm to take her pain. 

"It's okay," she said breathlessly, yelping softly when he scooped her into his arms. "Thanks."

Peter absently pressed his nose to her temple, inhaling softly, as he carried her back to the living room. He settled her on her bed and made sure she was comfortable. He put her laptop next to her so she could entertain herself, and handed her the TV remote. 

He slipped from the room silently, returning with her meds and some trail mix for her to much on. "Thank you," she said, offering a smile. Peter ran a hand over her hair, gently tugging one of her curls. 

She opened her laptop and grimaced at the sight of the Argent bestiary still open. She closed the file she'd copied to her laptop and forcibly ignored it, not wanting to think about anything to do with that family for now.  

She opened Netflix and hit resume on Brooklyn-99, her happy show, relaxing back onto her bed. Peter joined her, and she subconsciously leaned into his side as they watched. 

Derek returned not too long after they started the episode, a frown on his face. Peter sat up slowly, as to not jostle her too badly. "What is it?" 

"I saw Deucalion at the grocery store," Derek said, confusing Stiles. 

Peter, however, looked bemused. "Deuc? Why is he here?" 

"The North American Council sent him because of everything that's happened," Derek explained, voice fading slightly as he went to dump the bag of groceries he held in the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of water in hand, perching on the edge of her bed. "He told me that the council wants and in-depth report of the supernatural goings on and review of the Pack here, but understands that with an injured pack mate, especially a human, we'll be out of commission for a while." 

Stiles was fit to bursting with questions, but managed not to blurt them out at a hundred miles a minute. She paused her show and closed her laptop, more interested in the conversation than anything else. 

"Why was Deuc sent?" Peter queried, brows furrowed.

"He and four other Alphas formed a pack," Derek explained, and Stiles only had more questions. Alphas could form a pack? How did that work? "At the failed summit with -" he glanced at Stiles apologetically, " - Gerard several years ago, Deucalion was blinded with flash arrows infused with wolfsbane and his pack turned on him, and in his injured, rageful state he killed them." 

Peter snarled, flexing claw-tipped fingers as though he wanted to tear into Gerard again. "The other Alphas with him?" 

"Kali and Ennis," Derek replied, expression tightening some. "They also have some new Alphas with them, twins Ethan and Aiden." 

Peter exhaled roughly. "For them to have killed their packs, or abandoned them…" 

Stiles frowned deeply. "Why would they do that? I mean, I understand why Deucalion did, but the others…" 

Derek sighed softly. "Deucalion did so as self defense, as his beta's attacked him for his power after his injury, sensing it as weakness. Most of Kali's pack were taken out by hunters, and the rest by her after her Druid emissary when the woman became a little too power hungry and became a Darach, the opposite of a Druid, and turned the remaining wolves against Kali. Ennis' pack was one of Kate Argent's victims. He had to kill several to put them out of their misery." 

Stiles swallowed roughly, gripping Peter's hand when he growled lowly, viciously, at the mention of Kate Argent. She also squeezed Derek's shoulder, the alpha giving her a small, grateful smile before continuing. "The twins were at the bottom of their pack, practically omegas. According to Deucalion, their alpha was an affront to all Alphas, ignoring his instincts and pack members until it was too late and he went feral. Ethan and Aiden discovered that they could…merge into one, huge, wolf and took him down, inheriting the alpha spark." 

Stiles gaped. "They merge?!" 

"Yeah," Derek said, chuckling at her expression. "Deucalion wants to meet informally." 

Peter huffed. "I suppose we'll have to, if the Council sent them here. Did he say when?" 

"As soon as possible," Derek said, sighing. 

"They can come here," Stiles offered, frowning at Peter when he growled, eyes flashing. "What? It would be easier if they did, considering I can barely walk." 

"Stiles is right. The whole pack has to be there, Peter," Derek murmured, sounding somewhat reluctant. 

Peter sighed, the sound half growly. "Fine." 

Stiles grinned slightly before turning to face Derek. "What's the North American Council? Why did they send the Alpha pack? How can Alphas be in a pack?" 

Peter and Derek shared an amused, fond look over Stiles head as she rambled on, hands flailing. They answered all of her questions patiently, growing only more amused when she began typing all the information into a document on her computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. 

"So this council is made up of supernatural people and they, what, police the supernatural world?" She queried, brows raised. 

"Yes, usually. With America being so large, it's no surprise that some incidents pass through the cracks. There used to be a representative from each state, but that fell out of practice during World War Two," Peter explained, peering at her computer screen, brows furrowed. "You speak Polish?" 

"Er, yeah," Stiles said, eyeing him oddly. She pointed at herself. "I'm Polish. My great-grandparents left Europe during World War Two." 

"Huh," Derek uttered, head. "Your last name is Russian, though." 

"I'm also Russian and Lithuanian," Stiles explained, amused. "My name isn't actually Stiles, Derek." 

"What is it?" Peter asked curiously, their conversation totally off topic. 

Stiles sighed. "Mieczysława."

Derek's brows flew upward in surprise. "That's…a mouthful." 

Noah snorted as he shuffled into the room, sleep rumpled and cradling a huge mug of coffee. "It was Claudia's fathers name." 

"How come you don't have a European name?" Derek asked.

"He does," Stiles said, grinning. "Noah is his middle name. His first name is Wojchiech."

Noah rolled his eyes fondly. "Stiles couldn't pronounce her name as a kid, only managing to say 'mischief'," he explained. 

"Oddly fitting," Derek muttered teasingly, making Stiles pout. 

Derek and Peter turned and explained things about the Alpha Pack and Council to her dad while Stiles began researching Druid's and Darachs on her laptop, scowling at the limited information. She reluctantly opened the Argent bestiary, skin crawling, and scrolled through it until she found the right section, almost crying in relief when she saw it was written in French, which she actually knew. 

The druid ("Wise Oak") was a member of the high-ranking class in ancient Celtic cultures. Druids were religious leaders as well as legal authorities, adjudicators, lorekeepers, medical professionals and political advisors. Druids left no written accounts, preferring to share their knowledge and wisdom verbally. 

Druids are known for concerning themselves with nature and considered trees sacred, especially the oak. Their ancient order has maintained the balance for many centuries. They have been known to worship at groves called "Nemeton", a sacred copse of oak trees connected to the earth on a spiritual level, and often telluric currents. Some druids have shared stories of these trees being sentient. 

When the King Lycaon of Arcadia was turned into a wolf by Zeus, he sought the assistance of druids to learn how to return to human form; since then druids have been known to assist werewolves as advisors and magic users, joining their packs as emissaries. 

Though usually benevolent, druids have been known to walk a darker path, leading them to become what is known as "Darach", meaning "Dark Oak" in Gaelic. These Darach ignore the balance of nature in favor of their own desires, using many sacrificial rituals to boost their power. Once a Druid has become Darach, they may never again become a Druid. 

Stiles pulled a face and ignored the personal additions after the more educational explanation, not wanting to hear Argent rhetoric about how to kill druids for being abnormal. 

She continued to scroll, brows raising at just how many magical users were in the world; witches, who harnessed magic they were inherently born with, unlike druids who harnessed power from nature. Sorcerers who used the power of words, many having Fae ancestry (Fairies were real?!). Mage's, who used talismans and artifacts to perform magic, and lastly Sparks, allegedly the most powerful kind of magic user. Sparks merely had to believe something would happen, and it would. Many claimed this as "wish magic" and didn't fully believe it to be real. 

Stiles sat back and stared at her laptop, mouth agape, as she remembered what Deaton had said to her. 

You need to be that spark, Stiles. 

Was that some kind of hint that she was…more than just human? But surely she was human….wasn't she? 

Chapter Text

For so long, it had slumbered. Ever since it had been cut down by the one who should have protected it, it had weakened further and further, its abilities barely there. The protection it would usually spread through its territory weakened to the point it may as well not be there, leaving the land ripe for enemies to enter and hurt the supernatural beings within.

The prisoner within its roots lent his power when he could, his abilities weakened, too, due to having been captured. He had begun his sentence angry and plotting revenge against the kitsune who had reneged on their deal…but from his prison he looked back on his memories and realized the monster he had been. 

Nogitsune were not inherently evil, but after many years of being yōkai and unanchored, it had left his mind fractured; he had spent many centuries in his human form, traveling the world until a vengeful witch had trapped him in his spirit form. Then Noshiko had called him from the stars, ending the curse upon him…he may have gone overboard in his desire to feed, to fill the void within, to carry out the young kitsune's wishes. 

The Nemeton had relaxed the stifling power around his prison, allowing him to travel with it when it used its weakened power to see through the eyes of the beasts that called its woods home; birds, mountain lions, foxes. 

It was during one of those travels that they saw her for the first time, the young untapped Spark whose powers were bound. They had sensed an older female Spark, but where her power had been an ember the young ones power was a roaring inferno. 

Ever since she stumbled upon their grove, they watched her when they could through the eyes of beasts. The Nemeton lamented the state of the Hale Pack, the wolves that had, for centuries, protected them and been protected by them. They had fallen far, starting when Talia trusted the wrong emissary. 

The roots of the Nemeton spread all throughout the preserve, so when Laura Hale was killed by her feral, uncontrollable uncle they soaked up her lifeblood and accepted it as a sacrifice, boosting their power. 

The power helped them watch their Spark. How she subconsciously tapped into her abilities without knowing what she was doing, for how else could a seemingly human girl hold a two hundred pound paralyzed werewolf up in six feet of water? How could she close a mountain ash line with not enough ash? How could she survive the same torture as werewolves? 

The longer they watched, the angrier they became at how their Spark was treated. How her power was bound.

Then the sacrifices began, and he watched as the Nemeton took advantage of the blood spilled in their name, drawing the power in for itself and ignoring the Darach demanding the power. He watched as it sent pulses of its newfound power throughout the territory and that power reached their spark.

He watched and he waited, showing the Nemeton what he wanted to do to accomplish his penance fully, and to finally, after a thousand years, rest. 

***

When Stiles was younger, she had sleepwalked almost every night. Noah remembered he and Claudia finding her in odd places; sometimes curled up on the kitchen floor, sprawled in a pile of dirty laundry in the bathroom, or, during one rather terrifying moment, wandering down the street. If not for his co-worker, Tara Graeme, being on patrol and seeing Stiles she may have ended up god knows where. 

Stiles hadn't sleepwalked in years, having grown out of it years ago. But when Peter woke the entire household with a furious roar and an exclamation of "Stiles is missing!" well, Noah didn't immediately think that Stiles had wandered off in her sleep, her anxiety likely the cause. 

After being told everything that had happened recently, Noah's mind jumped to some enemy snatching his daughter. But how could someone do that in a house full of werewolves with supernatural senses? It didn't make sense. 

Derek and Peter shifted into their wolf forms, noses to the ground, and began trotting down the street almost immediately. Clearly they had Stiles' scent. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac followed, their noses tipped to the wind.

Noah took up the rear, gun loaded and ready to be used. The wolves led the way down the street towards the preserve, Peter's fur bristling and teeth bared. 

Erica recoiled, eyes flashing. "Oh, that smells weird."

"What is it?" Noah asked, glancing at Derek. The alpha's eyes were blood red and fangs bared, a deep, rumbling growl coming from his chest. 

"It…like electricity and fire," Isaac mumbled, nostrils flaring as he inhaled. He shuddered. "Cold…"

Erica gripped Issac's hand supportively, glancing at Derek and Peter, who seemed to steel themselves before entering the preserve. Boyd followed silently, fully in his beta shift. 

Noah sighed, his concern for Stiles far stronger than anything else, and plunged into the woods without another word. Erica and Isaac growled lowly before following, glowing eyes darting all around.

Noah turned his flashlight on and spotted Derek and Peter quickening their pace, ears pricked and noses raised. He picked up his own pace, heart pounding. 

Usually the woods of the preserve didn't bother Noah; he had been an army ranger and was now a sheriff, but tonight the shadows seemed almost alive. Any creaking of the trees was an enemy, and the sound of leaf litter and twigs cracking under foot and paw were as loud as gunshots. 

It was disquieting and nerve wracking, but Noah forced himself to remain calm. For Stiles. 

After what felt like forever, but was likely only ten or fifteen minutes, they stepped through a line of trees into a dusty, almost half-dead clearing of trees. Noah lowered his gun, eyes wide, as he spotted the huge tree stump in the center. 

And Stiles kneeling next to it, bloody palms pressed against the graying bark of the stump. 

He lurched forward, but a silent, invisible burst of power had him staggering backwards. Wind howled and whipped through the clearing, sending the trees rustling loudly. The wolves crouched, fangs bared and eyes shining brightly in the gloom.

Noah shook his head, eyes wide, as Stiles threw her head back and gasped loudly, convulsing slightly. He wanted to run to her, to grab her and take her away from all of this, but how could he when he couldn't even reach her?

Shadows on the edges of the clearing coalesced and shifted towards the stump, meeting the shadows that rose from the cracks in the remnants of what would have likely been a huge oak tree. The shadows buzzed like a thousand bees, shifting to take form into what looked like a huge, shadowy fox with…nine tails? 

The shadow-fox, with eyes of molten silver, stepped toward Stiles. Peter snarled something fierce, entire body tense where he crouched. The fox ignored them, pressing its forehead against Stiles' before its form seemed to melt away and the shadows engulfed Stiles' body.

Derek roared, and Noah raised his gun…but how did one fight a shadow in which his daughter knelt? 

***

Stiles had always had weird dreams and nightmares, but this one was by far the weirdest. Not only was there a tree wearing the face of Derek's dead girlfriend, but a one thousand year old fox spirit willing to sacrifice itself so she could break the bind on her alleged magical powers. 

Apparently they'd been blocked years ago, but her power was so strong that the bind had slowly been unraveling over time. The Nemeton and Nogitsune had been showing her proof, which was a trip.

The memories of the Nogitsune were overwhelming, and the Nemeton's even more so. They were ancient beings with hundreds of years of memories, and Stiles was only human…or was she? 

"Sparks are human and inhuman," the Nemeton said unhelpfully. "None in your modern times know of their origins." 

Stiles stared at the sentient tree wearing Paige's face, heart pounding. "So I'm magic?" 

"In a way," the Nogitsune said, amused. He was unfairly attractive, looking like a Japanese model with long, black hair and a beard. His eyes seemed bottomless; they were so black. "Sparks are believed to be descendants of the gods." 

Stiles spluttered. "I'm a demigod?!" 

The Nemeton loosed a soft laugh that sounded, oddly enough, like rustling leaves. "One of your ancestors was, yes; the bloodline has become diluted, but that does not make you any less powerful, Mieczysława Stilinski." 

Stiles glanced between them. "What happens if I accept this? I'll be a Spark and Nogitsune?" 

"Yes," the Nogitsune said softly. "Your power shall ensure the Nemeton's strength. It is a symbiotic bond." 

Stiles swallowed and glanced at the decaying stump next to them. She had seen what the oak had been before it was cut down. It had been massive and beautiful, leaves green and power beyond that of anything else in the world. Druids worshiped before it, and many left sacrifices at its base. 

But then it was cut down when it refused to bow to a Darach's whims and desires. 

Stiles turned and nodded. "I'll do it." 

The Nemeton and Nogitsune smiled. "Will it hurt?" 

"No," the Nogitsune said, approaching. He was so tall, god. 

He reached for her hand, and she gulped, blurting. "What's your name?" 

The Nogitsune froze, bottomless eyes boring into hers. "It has been ages since someone asked me that, Mieczysława." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I am Inei." 

Stiles closed her eyes and exhaled, heart pounding. She gasped as pressure built in her chest, eyes flashing open to reveal swirling silver irises. Inei was gone, leaving only writhing shadows behind. The Nemeton watched, hands wrapped around Stiles'. 

"Let the power in, Mieczysława," she whispered. "Do not fight it, my Spark." 

Stiles inhaled deeply and tightened her fingers around the Nemeton's, forcing herself to relax. She wasn't in danger. They didn't want to hurt her. 

She closed her eyes and let the power in. 

***

The Shadow seeped into Stiles' skin, the wind slowly dying down. Peter pressed against the invisible hands holding him away from his mate, growling. 

Stiles' hands fell from the tree stump and she listed to the side, only for a ghostly figure to catch her before she hit the ground. The invisible power holding him back vanished, and he bolted forward. 

The ghostly figure looked up, and Peter felt himself - and Derek at his side - falter when familiar brown eyes met theirs. "She is well," Paige said softly, a sad smile on her face. 

Derek whined. 

"I am not her," the voice murmured regretfully. "I am Nemeton. Paige has allowed me to use her body to appear to you." 

Peter looked at Stiles, who seemed to be asleep…and fully healed. He nosed at her temple, inhaling her comforting scent. It had changed, but she still smelt like herself. 

Noah and the pups rushed to their sides, the former pale and beyond terrified for his daughter. "What happened?" 

"Mieczysława's power was blocked," the Nemton murmured. "Now it is not. We unbound her abilities and gave her more." 

Noah stared. "Power?!" 

"Yes. Mieczysława is a very powerful Spark," the nemeton stared at Noah with intelligent brown eyes. "As was your wife, though her abilities remained bound. It is what made her ill." 

Noah flinched and looked at Stiles, whose brow was furrowing as she woke up, arms and legs twitching slightly. "Will Stiles be okay?" 

"She will now," the Nemeton reassured, glancing at the stump with a smile. A new, green shoot was slowly growing from the cracks in it. "She will save these lands." 

The Nemeton gently handed Stiles to Noah, who held her close, and turned to Derek. "Paige wants you to know that she does not blame you, Derek Hale. She wishes you every happiness."

Derek's ears flattened on his head and he whined, lowering his head. The Nemeton brushed a hand over his head before vanishing. 

Stiles groaned and mumbled nonsensical gibberish under her breath as she woke up. She blinked rapidly, wincing and cringing. "Oh, hell, enhanced senses really are the worst." 

Noah stared at Stiles. "Magic enhances your senses?" 

Stiles dragged herself into a sitting position, hands covering her ears. "No, but having a Nogitsune perform Kanyū does." 

Peter barked incredulously, staring at Stiles. 

"What the hell is kan-yoo?" Erica demanded, gawking at Stiles. "What's a Nogitsune?!" 

Stiles grimaced and rubbed her forehead. "Kanyū," she corrected, sighing. "And a Nogitsune is a Void Kitsune. He was imprisoned in the Nemeton as punishment for crimes he committed during World War Two. Ugh, his memories are very intense." 

Peter whined and nosed at Stiles' hand, worried. Derek pushed his way under her arm, nudging her chin. She smiled and petted them both, pressing her forehead against Peter's. "I'm okay, it's just overwhelming. The memories and senses…my Spark…it's a lot."

Noah sighed, relieved, and kissed her temple. "Thank God."

Erica heaved a breath and leaned against Boyd. Issac stared at the Nemeton, eyes narrowing as the new shoot of the tree seemed to grow even more before his very eyes. 

Noah stood, knees cracking, and helped Stiles to her feet. Peter pressed against her side, rumbling happily when she buried her fingers in his fur and held onto him for support. 

"We'll talk about it when we get home," Noah muttered, looking exhausted. "You need a shower, Stiles, you're covered in mud and twigs."

Stiles' arm flailed, and she gave her father an indignant look. "It's not like I could control the whole sentient tree and ancient fox spirit leading me here, dad!" 

Noah snorted. "Sentient tree and ancient fox spirit," he echoed, shaking his head incredulously. "What is our life, kiddo?" 

***

Stiles could have wept with happiness when she was able to climb the stairs without help and properly shower for the first time in days. She took her time, lathering her body up with her favorite body wash and trying not to sneeze at how strong it was. She washed her hair and begrudgingly shaved her pits and legs, knowing they were severely overgrown. 

After she was shaved and clean, Stiles took a moment to herself and leaned against the cool, tiled wall; what was her life? First, her best friend became a werewolf and began dating the daughter of a known werewolf hunter. Then Stiles found out that the infamous Hale fire wasn't an accident but genocidal annihilation. Peter Hale was an insane werewolf driven by vengeance and she helped kill him by throwing a Molotov cocktail at him…God, eat had she been thinking? 

Truthfully, she hadn't, really. She had been running on fumes, adderall, caffeine and fear at the time. All she had wanted was everything to stop. She didn't particularly care about the murderers Peter killed, or Kate Argent, but she cared about her best friend and father. She hadn't wanted them to get hurt.

Then, of course, another Argent waltzed into town and declared war against all werewolves. Not only that, but Jackon became the Kanima and was used by Matt Sociopath Daehler until Murder Grandpa killed him and became Jackson's new master. 

God, her life was a mess. But apparently she was always supposed to end up entrenched in the supernatural mess, because she was supernatural. As her mom had been, before her magic was bound and her Spark turned inward and drove her crazy. 

Stiles squeezed her eyes shut and stifled a sob. Would she have ended up the same if the Nemeton and Nogitsune hadn't helped her? Would she have gone crazy and left her dad all alone? All because one Darach wanted unlimited power and control? 

It made her feel sick to her stomach.

Stiles straightened and scrubbed her face, wincing as the water, now cool, washed over her body. 

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel and brushed her teeth leaning against the vanity, eyeing her reflection closely; she didn't look any different. Still the same old Stiles with riotous curls, moles dotting her pale skin, eyes that were almost identical to her mother's, straight teeth people paid thousands for…she didn't look like an all powerful Spark and Nogitsune. 

She looked like herself. 

Stiles crossed the hall in her towel and ducked into her room, grabbing a pair of comfy track pants and her favorite sweater. She towel dried her hair half-heartedly and pulled it into a French braid to let it dry. 

Downstairs, dad was helping Derek - now human shaped - with breakfast and coffee. Erica was leaning sleepily against Boyd, whose dark eyes tracked her closely. She smiled and hugged him as she passed. 

"Good?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah," she replied, giving him one last squeeze before letting go. 

Derek wrapped his arms around her tightly, though not too tight it hurt, and buried his nose in her hair. It was almost like reflex to hug him back, her nose twitching as leather, sugar cookies, and something that screamed Dereksafewarmalpha filled her nose. 

She leaned back, inhaling deeply. "Woah," she uttered, eyes wide. "Everything smells so…"

"Yeah," Derek said, amused. "It'll take some getting used to." 

Erica grinned and glomped onto her, sniffing her loudly. She smelt like sunshine and cinnamon and vanilla. Stiles decided she liked it, and the smells suited Erica well. Isaac smelt like fresh laundry and freshly cut grass and rain on a warm day with an undercurrent she didn't like; what was bothering him? Boyd's scent was cool and crisp, like a winter's day, with a hint of mint, and lemonade. 

When Peter sauntered into the room, she immediately stuck her nose in his neck and felt her entire body melt as his scent flooded her senses. He smelt like all of her favorite things; petrichor and lavender and, unironically, a bonfire. He smelt like the air before a thunderstorm and fresh bread all at once. 

Peter rumbled, and Stiles hummed. "Sweetheart, what are you doing?" He asked, amused.

"Testing out my new super sniffer," she mumbled, inhaling his scent deeply. "You smell good." 

The looks leveled at Peter over Stiles' head would have made a lesser man squirm, but he merely scented Stiles in return, smirking. "Thank you, sweetheart." 

Stiles stepped back, flushing when she realized what she'd done - sniffed Peter as though he was a Bath & Body Works candle - and claimed the seat next to her dad, absently noting he smelt of gunpowder and oil and warmthsafetydadfamily as she dished herself up some pancakes, bacon, and eggs.

Dad poured her a coffee, an amused expression on his face. "You okay, kiddo?" He asked. 

"Yeah, everything is just a bit - overwhelming," she said, tilting her head curiously. She turned and stared at her dad's chest, blinking rapidly. "I can hear your heartbeat." 

"Stiles," Derek said sternly, making her look at him. "Breathe. Focus on something that anchors you. Block out the scents and sounds and focus on my voice, okay?" 

Stiles did so, breathing deeply through her nose and out of her mouth. Slowly her father's heartbeat dulled and so did the sound of cars being turned on and voices chattering. The overwhelming scents in the kitchen slowly dulled as she forcibly slowed her heart rate. 

The memories of the Nogitsune helped her calm down and control her senses, Inei having done so when he had been but a child centuries ago. She focused on that memory and Inei's father's lessons as well as Derek's. 

Once she was calm, she opened her eyes and met Derek's red gaze. Her new instinct had her baring her throat even if foxes didn't usually have alphas, but she had accepted Derek as hers when she had still been human and that wasn't about to change. 

Derek growled in approval and nodded. "Good. It's overwhelming and it'll take time for you to fully control your new senses, but with an anchor it'll be easier." 

Stiles sighed and sipped her coffee, blinking at how good it tasted. "This is gonna be rough, isn't it?" 

Erica grinned. "Why do you think I took four days off after Derek bit me?" 

Isaac nodded, curly hair flopping about. "Yeah, it took a while for me to stop making faces at gross smells. Derek had to help us get over it." 

Boyd deadpanned. "He had us smell dumpsters."

Noah snorted, almost spilling his coffee. Stiles merely stared at Derek, aghast. "Dumpsters?! I can already smell the fridge. It really needs to be cleaned out."

"Yes, but you also have the memories of the Nogitsune," Peter murmured, eyeing her as though he wished to ask more about the kitsune that had performed Kanyū with her. 

"How does that work?" Noah asked, brows furrowed. "You have the memories of the, uh, Nogitsune…?"

"There's a legend that Nogitsune and a Spark can join their souls to become one. Usually it is done in life threatening moments, if one of those joining is dying. But that doesn't seem to be the reason with this Nogitsune," Peter explained, glancing questioningly at Stiles.

"Inei was called upon by a Celestial Kitsune imprisoned in a Japanese internment camp during world war two," Stiles said, scowling. "She wanted his help to break herself and others free, but Inei had been cursed into his spirit form for five hundred years by a witch. He had remained bodiless for five centuries, starving and anchorless. When he possessed one of the soldiers, he went a bit far in his hunger…" 

"Camp Oak Creek," Derek muttered, scratching at his beard. "My mom was friends with an Alpha, Satomi, who was imprisoned there." 

Stiles nodded slowly, images of a middle aged Japanese lady with glowing golden eyes flashing through her mind. "I saw that memory. She had only been newly bitten at the time. She struggled with her abilities." 

"So the Nogitsune isn't some evil being possessing Stiles?" Isaac asked, making Noah splutter. 

"No," Peter reassured, glancing at the beta. "While Nogitsune can possess people, Kanyū is different. Is a mutual agreement to become one; one power, one soul. That's why Stiles has enhanced senses, she has absorbed Inei's abilities, memories, everything." 

"Kitsune are spirits and can grow in power enough to form humanoid bodies, but those bodies can die," Derek explained, glancing at Stiles. "I'm guessing Inei's body was killed?" 

"Yeah," she said, closing her eyes and tilting her head. "A vengeful witch killed his body and trapped him in spirit form. It wasn't until Noshiko called upon him that he was able to possess someone." 

"And…is he, like, in your head?" Erica asked, staring at Stiles. 

"No," Stiles said, laughing. "He, well, it's hard to explain. Kanyū is the joining of two souls into one. He is me, and I am him. His power broke through the bind on my own abilities, and now we're one person."

"Why would he volunteer to do that?" Noah asked, a nonplussed expression on his face. 

"As a form of penance for the pain and chaos he created at Camp Oak Creek," Stiles explained, mouth turning down into a frown. "The Nemeton can sense trouble coming, and needed me to bond with it to strengthen the territory. But with my magic bound, I couldn't have done that. Inei offered to perform Kanyū to rectify that." 

"For a Nogitsune to offer Kanyū…you must be extremely powerful," Peter said, an awed expression on his face.

"The Nemeton said that mom was an ember, but I'm an inferno," Stiles said quietly. 

Noah squeezed her hand. "Your mom had magic?" 

"Yeah," Stiles said coldly, irises flashing a swirling silver. "Her magic was bound by the Darach who cut the Nemeton down over a hundred years ago."

"Who." Noah's voice was rough and full of cold fury. 

"Alan Deaton," Stiles stated. 

***

Chris exhaled roughly as he hung up the phone. He felt like a chastised kid every time he spoke to his mother, and this time it was for good reason. After telling her everything that had happened these past few months, well, hearing it all aloud he wanted to punch something. 

Angelique Argent was a formidable and extremely terrifying woman, which is probably why she had been tasked with leading the French branch of the Argent family for the past several years. She was not impressed with the goings on in Beacon Hills and had informed Chris she was on her way, ordering him to tell the local Alpha of her imminent arrival. 

Angelique was also determined to correct Allison's behavior, something Chris knew his daughter would chafe against. She was stubborn and recalcitrant like her mother. Gerard had done a number on Allison, though, and whenever Chris looked at her he couldn't help but be viciously, terrifyingly reminded of Kate. 

Ever since they had returned to Beacon Hills things had gone increasingly wrong. He found out about Kate's involvement with the Hale fire - conveniently forgetting his many doubts about her innocence for years before - Victoria became colder and more angry, and had even tried to kill an innocent werewolf, something that had stunned Chris beyond belief. 

Victoria had always seemed loyal to the code, hunting 'wolves who hunted humans only. But for a brief moment before she died….her eyes had turned a bright, electric blue proving his thoughts wrong.

How could he have been so blind? His sister, a mass murderer. His wife, too, it seemed, had killed innocent wolves. Had she helped Kate? It was too late now, as they were both dead. So was Gerard, because Stiles had killed him. 

God, and wasn't that a mess? A teenage girl taken by Gerard and tortured. A human. That went so against the code it wasn't funny; he was sure that if Stiles hadn't killed Gerard his mother would have.

Was Chris the only Argent to follow the code, other than his mother? But he'd attacked Stiles, too, in the hospital the night of the dance. He'd wanted answers, and he had done whatever it took; Stiles may have been almost the same height as him, but she was still a teenager. 

Chris stood and opened a kitchen cabinet, pulling the whiskey and a glass down. He poured himself a generous amount and downed it. He poured another and nursed it, making his way upstairs to talk to Allison. 

She was sitting on her bed cleaning her crossbow and arrows. His gut clenched at the sight. Her bandaged leg was elevated, the bullet having been removed and the wound cleaned and stitched by him. 

Allison looked up, brow raising in question. "Your grandmother is coming over from France," he told her, leaning against the wall. "She will be taking over as matriarch for a while." 

"I'm to be the next matriarch," Allison said, bemused. 

Chris huffed a humorless laugh. "You've proven unable to follow the code, Allison. Angelique has put you on probation; she will likely confiscate your weapons and re-educate you." 

Allison's face twisted. "I don't need to be re-educated or put on probation, dad." 

"You allowed three of your classmates - innocent teenagers - to be tortured!" He shouted, making Allison flinch. "One of which was human, Allison! You allowed Gerard to use Jackson to kill people, you put dozens of knives into Isaac Lahey, god, Allison, I don't even recognise you!" 

"It's their fault my mother is dead," Allison snapped. 

Chris shook his head. "No, it isn't. Your mother was trying to kill Scott, Allison, and Derek saved him. He was taught how to fight like a beta wolf, not an alpha. Alphas are warned against using their teeth as they can turn people. Your mothers death was her own choice." 

Allison glared at him, a sneer on her usually pretty face. "How can you say that?!" 

Chris downed his whiskey. "Only the American branch of Argents suicide if bitten, Allison." She blinked, shocked. "At least half of the French and British branches are werewolves. So is my mother. It's why she and Gerard divorced. You may want to change your attitude before she gets here. You won't like the consequences." 

Chris shook his head and left Allison's room, tears of frustration and anger pricking at his eyes. What was he going to do about his daughter? 

***

With the revelation that Beacon Hill's local vet had bound her mother's magic, leading her to getting sick, Stiles' dad was prepared to storm the vet's office, guns blazing, and likely unload a clip of bullets into Deaton. 

"Noah," Peter began, hands up placatingly as Noah paced. "If Deaton is a Darach who's been around for over a hundred years, it won't be so easy to kill him." 

Boyd eyed Noah and leaned toward Stiles, muttering, "I see where you get your murderous tendencies from." 

Stiles snorted humorlessly. "Yeah. I want to kill him, too." 

"For a Darach to achieve the illusion of immortality, he has to be performing some serious sacrifices…" Peter's eyes widened incredulously, Derek's eyes flashing as his nostrils flared. "No…" 

"What is it?" Derek demanded. 

"The fire," Peter snarled, flashing fang in his fury.

Noah abruptly paused his pacing and stared at Peter, horrified. "You think he helped kill your family?" 

Erica put a hand over her mouth. "He - Ohmygod." 

Stiles growled, blinking rapidly at the noise that came from her throat. Her dad looked at her, brows raised. "Sorry, uh…" she trailed off before launching into the train of thought that had her growling in the first place. "If Deaton needed such a large sacrifice to fuel his - immortality? There'd be evidence, right? Mass murders, that sort of thing? I mean, he can't have lived in Beacon Hills all this time, getting away with multiple murders?" 

Noah frowned deeply. "He only moved here a little over fifteen years ago. I remember when the vet's office opened. We used to take your snake there," he said, jaw clenching. 

Isaac eyed Stiles. "You had a pet snake?" He asked, adorably bemused. 

Stiles nodded absently. "Yeah, his name was Slytherin. How do we go about this? Any ideas?" 

Peter's eyes flashed and he growled. "I'll contact the council. Perhaps Deucalion and his pack can assist us." 

Noah ran a hand through his hair, collapsing into his seat next to Stiles. "I can do a background check at the station," 

"Be careful," Derek murmured, eyes still red and watchful, glancing at the pack as though to reassure himself they were all okay. "He could have some kind of alert on his name, if it even is his name, or someone at the station on his side." 

Noah grimaced and nodded. "I will." 

Stiles squeezed her eyes shut as the Nemeton sent her yet another memory, this time of a tall, solidly built man with red eyes and a pack of wolves with golden or blue eyes standing around the Nemeton's Grove. She blinked her eyes open and looked at Derek. "There's a ritual you have to do at the Nemeton as alpha of the territory. She's showing me how…you need an emissary…"

Derek looked amused. "Emissaries have been advisors to werewolf packs for centuries, ever since the first werewolf. Usually they're magic users." 

Stiles gaped, pointing at herself when she realized what Derek was saying. "Me?!" She squeaked. "I've only known about my magic for less than four hours, Derek!" 

"And you have the memories of the Nogitsune and a bond to a Nemeton," Derek said easily, lips quirking in amusement.  

"I don't even know how to use my magic!" Stiles protested. 

"Sparks are limited only by their belief," Peter mused, smirking. "If you believe something will happen, it will. Like being able to hold a very heavy, paralyzed werewolf up in six feet of water." 

Derek and Stiles stared at one another, eyes wide. She'd subconsciously used her Spark to save their lives? To save him from drowning? 

Erica bounced in her seat, beaming. "Try it! Try and use your magic." 

Stiles huffed and bit her lip, eyeing her plate with a furrowed brow. I want curly fries, they'll appear on my plate. I want curly fries..oh my god! She gaped at the pile of perfectly golden, crisp curly fries on her plate before her, heart thundering in her chest. 

Boyd snagged a fry and bit down onto it, humming. "They're the good ones from Angelo's," he said. 

Erica perked up and stole a handful, Issac shyly doing the same.

Noah snorted. "Only you'd use your magic to get free curly fries," he muttered, trying to snag one. Stiles smacked his hand, frowning.

"You've got real bacon," she said, pulling her plate out of her dad's reach. "No fries." 

Noah heaved a put-upon sigh and eyed the fries mournfully. "Bacon is superior." 

Stiles gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "How dare you!" 

Erica guffawed. "Bacon is better than curly fries," she said, high-fiving Noah over the table. 

Stiles pouted and shoved some fries into her mouth. "Rude," she mumbled.

"Deucalion is ready to meet," Derek said, staring at his phone. "He's offered to meet us at a neutral location." 

"Is that important?" Erica asked, munching on a fry. "Meeting at a neutral place?" 

"Mhm," Peter hummed, cradling his mug of coffee as he eyed the curly fries in amusement. "Neutral locations even the playing field, so to speak, should a fight break out. It'd also be security for the pack setting the meeting, especially if it's a public location. The place usually reflects what one pack thinks of another. A restaurant means trust between packs, as it's not exactly a place where one can wolf out and fight. Non-public places mean the pack is gunning for a fight -" 

"He wants to meet at Angelo's," Derek interrupted, glancing up from his phone. "Which tells me this is an informal, peaceful meeting between old friends and possible new allies." 

Stiles blinked. "I never knew there was politics behind werewolfism." 

Peter chuckled. "Oh, there is. It is often tedious and involves a lot of posturing, but it's important to peacekeeping or, well, not." 

Stiles' phone buzzed on the table, and she peered at it only to growl, again. Derek was immediately alert, watching her with red eyes. "It's from Chris Argent," she said, only for her eyes to widen because ohmygod she had fangs! She prodded her now sharp teeth with her tongue and frowned; they were smaller than a wolf's, but extremely sharp. 

"What does he want?" Peter demanded, snarling. 

"He says that his mother, Angelique Argent, is going to be entering the territory," Stiles lisped slightly, reading from the message. 

Peter's brows flew up. "Well, well. Looks like Christopher is bringing in reinforcements." 

Erica and Boyd growled, eyes glowing. Derek stood and clasped his hands around the back of their necks, making them relax. Peter glanced at them, brows furrowed. "Not in the Hunter sense, pups." His words had them and Isaac relaxing further. "Angelique Argent was made the head of the French branch of the family almost twenty years ago. Three years into her tenure she was bitten by an alpha werewolf." 

Stiles openly gawked at Peter. "She didn't kill herself?" 

Peter made a derisive noise. "That part of the Argent code is only enforced by the American branch after Gerard Argent's brother, Alexander, killed himself after being bitten by Deucalion in the seventies. The French and British branches don't adhere to it. Angelique demanded a divorce when Gerard tried to insist she kill herself honorably." 

Noah made a face. "So if Angelique isn't coming as a hunter, why is she coming?" 

Peter smirked, and it was only slightly malicious. "Re-education, most likely. Young Allison went off the rails, easily manipulated by Gerard, and it seems that Christopher has contacted his mother to assist in rectifying that." 

"She didn't need much manipulation," Erica spat, sneering. "She put dozens of arrows into Boyd and I easily enough."

"She went along with Kate easily enough, too," Stiles hissed, glancing apologetically at Derek when he flinched slightly. "Sorry, sourwolf." 

"What time does Deuc want to meet?" Peter asked, smoothly changing the subject. 

"Six," Derek said stiffly, beginning to clear the table. He glanced at Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. "You three have school." 

Isaac groaned, reluctantly standing. Erica and Boyd followed, likely to get dressed as they still wore their pajamas. 

Stiles went to stand, but Noah tugged her down. "You might be healed, kiddo, but it'll look weird if you go to school when you're supposed to have had major surgery a few days ago." 

"Oh, right," she muttered, sighing. "Guess we'll have to move my bed back to my room." 

"You should also rest," Peter said, eyeing her worriedly. "You likely used a lot of energy earlier. You'll begin to feel it soon." 

Stiles muffled a yawn in her palm. "I think I already am," she admitted.

Noah kissed her head and stood, grumbling. "I have to head into the station, kiddo. I'll make sure I'm home for this meeting with Deucalion tonight. Take it easy today, okay?" 

"Sure, daddio," she said, muffling another yawn. 

"Send me Argent's number," Derek said as he stacked the dishwasher. "I'll give permission for Angelique to be in the territory so long as she doesn't cause any issues." 

Stiles did so, forwarding Chris Argent's number to Derek. She then deleted Argent's message and frowned at Scott's contact. 

Erica, now dressed and ready for school, noticed and gave her a side hug. "You okay?"

"Was Scott at school yesterday?" She asked. 

"Yep," Erica murmured, at least managing to sound apologetic. "He was acting as though nothing was wrong. He kept scowling at us, though." 

"He could probably smell Stiles on you," Peter said, rolling his eyes at the thought of Scott. 

"What do I smell like?" She asked no one in particular. 

Derek smirked and glanced at Peter, who was cutting a piece of bacon in half and studiously ignoring everyone. "Like old books and fresh coffee; talcum powder, nutmeg and apple pie." 

Stiles gawked. "Really?! That's cool." 

Noah entered the room, tightening his gun belt around his hips. "Kiddo, go take a nap." 

"Yes, father," Stiles said loftily as she stood, grinning at Noah's fondly exasperated eye roll. 

Erica turned pleading eyes on Derek, but their alpha remained unmoved. "Go get in the car, pups, I'll drive you to school." 

Isaac groaned, head tipped back dramatically, but acquiesced when Derek flashed red eyes. Erica yelped and followed Isaac, Boyd leading them from the house. 

Stiles snickered, groaning as she yawned again. "Bed time," she mumbled, hugging Derek as he passed. She kissed her dad's cheek and hugged Peter from behind before stumbling into the living room. 

Stiles face-planted on her bed, sleepily humming as the scents of the Pack filled her nose and made her feel warm and fuzzy. She rolled herself into her duvet and curled up on her side, inhaling the warmthpackhappiness that surrounded her. 

A few moments after Stiles' heart rate slowed in sleep, Peter padded into the living room on near-silent paws and jumped onto Stiles' bed, curling up against her back. He'd watch over his mate as she slept.

Chapter Text

Angelo's was the favorite diner of everyone in Beacon Hills. It had always been there, offering good food and awesome service. The current owner, José D'Angelo, was best known for his authentic Mexican food and laid back attitude. The diner itself was cozy and had a homey feel to it that drew customers in like moths to flame. 

Stiles and Noah had been going to Angelo's since she was little, especially when her mom was working. For a while after her mom died, they stopped going because the memories were too fresh. Claudia had worked at Angelo's part-time for years, ever since she was a teenager. She'd taken time off when she had Stiles, but José's dad, Deigo, the owner at the time, had welcomed her right back after her maternity leave ended. 

Stiles grew up doing homework at the counter while munching on snacks made for her by Diego and José. She'd learned Spanish from José's mom, Letitia, and his sister, Sofia, becoming fluent by the age of ten. The D'Angelo's were like family to the Stilinski's, and after Claudia died they'd brought food over for her and her dad, understanding that the diner was hard for them to go to. 

The D'Angelo's had even let Claudia make and serve traditional Polish dishes that were a hit with the towns people. Stiles had learnt most of those recipes in the diner's kitchen after school, coming home with a plate of Gołąbki or Pierogi for her dad that looked a bit, well, mangled. He always insisted they tasted good, though.

Stiles can't remember the last time she cooked Polish food. Probably before her mom got really sick. 

Angelo's remained the same despite the years passing. Diego had retired with Letita years ago, though they still came in sometimes. José was married with kids and Sofia had moved to San Francisco to become a hotshot lawyer and lived with her girlfriend there, visiting whenever they could.

When Stiles entered the diner just before six with the pack, she was nearly bowled over by José's three girls; Ana, Letty, and Maria. She laughed and crouched down to hug them all, forcing herself not to become overwhelmed by their scents or hug them too hard with her new super strength.

"Missy!" Ana shouted gleefully, using the nickname she'd given Stiles years ago. "I missed you!" 

Letty and Maria nodded so hard Stiles was worried their heads would pop off. "I missed you guys, too," she said, kissing their heads. Ana was eleven, Letty was eight, and Maria was six; all three of them were adorable. 

"Sherrif!" Ana greeted, hugging Noah around the waist. 

"Hey, kiddos," he greeted, chuckling. 

"Did I hear our little trouble maker?" An aged voice asked, and Stiles beamed as Letitia burst out of the kitchen, a beaming grin on her weathered face. " I thought I heard your voice, Trouble !" 

Stiles hugged Letitia tightly, mindful of her strength. " It's good to see you, Miss Letitia ." 

"Psh." Letitia swatted her arm, expression full of affection. "None of this "miss", Trouble. Noah, come give me a hug!" 

Stiles grinned and glanced at the pack, all of whom looked amused but puzzled. "Mom used to work here," she explained briefly, Erica linking arms with her. She smiled. 

"Who are your friends, Missy?" Letty asked, peering at the pack curiously. 

"Oh, right," Stiles muttered, knowing Letita would chastise her for her lack of manners. "Derek and Peter Hale and Erica, Boyd, and Isaac." 

"Hi!" Letty, ever the social butterfly, chirped. "D'you want a booth, Missy?" 

"Sure, we're also expecting some other guests," she said, grinning at Letty. 

Ana rushed to the counter to grab menus and bounced back over excitedly, thrusting them into Derek's hand. "Here you go!" 

Peter eyed Letita closely, nostrils flaring. Stiles frowned at him and raised a questioning brow when she caught his eye. He pulled her closer. "Your friends aren't entirely human," he murmured softly, making her blink, shocked. 

She looked at Letitia, eyes wide, and gaped when she smirked and winked, eyes shining bright green for a split second. Stiles immediately wanted to ask questions, but valiantly refrained. 

The pack piled into one of the larger booths at the back of the diner and opened the menus given to them. Stiles and Noah didn't, already knowing what they'd get. 

José's wife came over to them, grinning, and Stiles jumped up to hug her. "Hi, Hannah," she murmured. 

Hannah cupped her face, smiling. "Look at you, cariña ," she said, tucking Stiles' hair behind her ears. "All grown up. Come, let me take your orders. José will likely shout the place down when mama tells him you're here-" 

Stiles grinned when he did just that, José's distinctive, boisterous voice bellowing from the kitchen. " TROUBLE IS HERE?" 

Noah snorted, shaking his head, as an extremely tall, muscular and tattooed man burst from the kitchen and made his way over. Stiles braced herself, yelping when he picked her up and swung her around in his signature bear hug.

He put her down, beaming at her. "It has been too long, Trouble. Do you want your usual? Ah, Noah! It is good to see you, my friend."

Stiles brushed her hair from her face and sat down, chuckling. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac eyed José with wide eyes, likely surprised by just how tall the man was; that, and how many tattoos covered his arms and throat from what they could see. He didn't at all look like the typical diner cook and owner. 

"José," Noah greeted, laughing. He shook his hand firmly and waved to their guests. "Derek and Peter Hale, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac." 

José nodded, smiling. "Welcome, welcome. Hannah will take your orders and they'll be out very soon." 

Hannah rolled her eyes fondly when he kissed her cheek on his way back to the kitchen. "What can I get for you?" 

"We'll just get drinks for now, Hannah, we're waiting for five more people," Stiles explained, smiling. 

"Ah, I see," Hannah said, pulling an order pad and pen from the pocket of her apron. "Strawberry milkshake for Trouble, and coffee for Noah. What can I get everyone else?" 

"I'll have a coffee, too, thanks," Derek said, nodding. 

Erica glanced at the menu briefly. "Can I get a cola float?" She asked.

Hannah jotted it down. "Of course, darling." 

Isaac shyly ordered a coffee milkshake, and Boyd politely requested a soda with ice. Peter also ordered coffee, eyeing Hannah speculatively as she walked off to the kitchen.

"What is it?" Stiles asked him, leaning across the table. 

Peter hummed. "I'm not sure yet."

Stiles jumped when a cultured, British voice spoke up beside the booth. She glanced up, blinking rapidly at the man standing next to them. "I believe they are werejaguars," the man said, smiling faintly. 

"Deucalion," Derek greeted, standing. He'd taken the aisle seat of the booth to easily stand to greet their guests. 

"Derek Hale," Deucalion murmured, nodding respectfully. 

Did werewolves not shake hands? Stiles stifled the urge to ask and merely watched the exchange, eyes widening when a man even taller than José approached, a smaller, beautiful woman by his side. 

"Alpha Hale," the woman greeted, inclining her head. 

"Alpha Clarke, Alpha Williams," Derek greeted, motioning to the pack. They shuffled down the large booth to make room for the alpha back, Stiles blinking when Deucalion sat beside her; he folded the cane he held and placed it on the table. 

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Alpha Hale," Deucalion said politely, not removing his sunglasses. 

"Of course," Derek murmured, sitting back down once Kali and Ennis had taken their seats. "My pack; Peter Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Isaac Lahey, and Noah and Mieczysława Stilinski." 

Stiles almost gaped at Derek when he perfectly pronounced her name, but managed not to. She merely blinked at him, shocked, and glanced at Deucalion. 

"Were you responsible for the surge of power early this morning, Spark?" Deucalion asked, angling his head towards Stiles. 

Stiles' eyes widened, and she looked at Derek,  panicked. "Uh, yes. Sorry about that." 

Deucalion smiled faintly, amused. "I have not felt power like that in an age. You must be very powerful. To have such an emissary, Alpha Hale, is a gift." 

"A Spark hasn't been seen in North America for decades," Alpha Clarke, Kali, said smoothly. She sounded impressed. 

"Indeed," Deucalion murmured, looking at Derek - well, Stiles thought he was. With him being blind, it was hard to tell. "The reason for our presence here is because the Council is concerned by the possibility of exposure following all that has happened. We are here to discover what has occurred and how it was dealt with before we make any judgements." 

Derek nodded, inhaling deeply. "Very well." 

"Start at the beginning and leave nothing out," Alpha Williams said, speaking up for the first time. 

Stiles looked at Derek, who nodded firmly. "It began when my sister and Alpha Laura left our apartment in New York and stopped returning my calls…" 

***

Barely through the beginning of what had occurred in Beacon Hills since Laura's death and Derek's return, Hannah approached with their drinks and, seeing they were in the middle of something important, swiftly took their orders with a kind smile - Stiles had told Deucalion what was on the menu without thinking about it, earning her shocked but appreciative glances that she didn't see - and retreated back to the kitchen. 

Derek had managed to talk for a shockingly long period of time, saying more than Stiles had ever heard from him in the months knowing him, but she could tell he was flagging. 

So Stiles did what she did best: talk. 

"I realized Scott was a werewolf after he was bitten while we were in the preserve," she began, smiling when Derek shot her a grateful look. He'd mostly spoken about how Laura had received a letter that had shocked her and mentioned going to Beacon Hills, and how, after a week, Derek himself had followed her. "It was a pretty huge leap, but he was doing things no normal person could. He smelt gum in my pocket, and could suddenly play lacrosse perfectly, and his asthma was gone…so I did some research and tried to tell him, but he didn't believe me." 

"Understandable," Kali murmured, amused. "Lycanthropy is a huge leap of logic." 

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, then he, uh, went to a party with Allison Argent." She tensed when Deucalion growled lowly, but managed to continue. "Derek found him in the woods and they were attacked by hunters." 

"Who was the alpha that bit Scott?" Deucalion asked. 

Stiles looked at Peter, who sighed. "It was me. I had survived the fire only to end up comatose in Beacon Hills long-term ward for six years. Around the time Laura arrived in town, I had begun waking up though I was more wolf than man. My nurse, somehow, found out what I was and began letting me out at night. One night I smelt an unknown alpha on Hale territory and reacted before I realized who it was." 

"Laura," Deucalion murmured. "Of course, your wolf would not recognise her scent. She had inherited the Alpha Spark, her scent would have changed significantly." 

Peter nodded, looking pained. "I only realized who it was when the Alpha Spark transferred to me, clearing my mind for the first time in years. It did not last long, and I returned to the hospital. My nurse…trained me," Peter ground out furiously. "To return when she used a dog whistle." 

Deucalion, Kali, and Ennis growled lowly. "What occurred after?" Deucalion queried. 

"I knew, instinctually, to stabilize myself further I needed at least three betas. The next night my nurse let me out, I found Scott McCall and bit him," Peter explained, ignoring the look Derek gave him. "It helped, though not by much. I was still very much insane." 

"Understandable," Deucalion murmured, frowning. "You experienced the breaking of the majority of your pack bonds and were abandoned by your new alpha; not to mention severely injured…" 

Peter's jaw twitched. "Trapped in my own mind, reliving the fire, for six years," he added stiffly.

Derek looked pained and guilty, and Stiles kind of wanted to bundle them both in warm blankets and force feed them hot chocolate. Her dad, too, looked tempted to do the same. 

"I remembered the scents of the people involved in the fire," Peter explained, upper lip curling. "So it was easy to track them down and exact pack justice." 

Stiles continued explaining what happened, even after their food was delivered and they all ate in silence for a brief moment. She tried not to laugh when she explained handcuffing Scott to the radiator in his room and giving him water in a dog bowl (Erica nearly snorted her cola float across the table) after he'd made out with Lydia while dating Allison. 

She avoided her dad's gaze when she admitted to stealing the Hale Fire case file and looking through it, realizing the connection between the murder victims of the alpha and people involved in the investigation, like the insurance investigator Garrison Meyers or persons of interest like Reddick and Unger, both of who were known arsonists. 

"You are quite intelligent, aren't you?" Deucalion murmured, sounding impressed. 

Stiles stammered, flushing when her dad smiled proudly. "She had her IQ tested when she was fourteen and scored 154." 

Stiles shrank in her seat when everyone turned to stare at her. "Uh, moving on…" 

Likely smelling her discomfort, they allowed it and Stiles continued to explain to the Alphas just what had occurred in Beacon Hills throughout the past months.

***

When the young Spark, Stiles, mentioned Gerard and her part in his death Deucalion wanted to howl victoriously that the hunter who had blinded him and killed so many innocent wolves was dead. And he had reached his end so ignobly, too. It was karmic justice, he thought. 

The events in Beacon Hills worried him, however. He also sensed that it worried Kali and Ennis, too. How had so much strife been allowed to happen? Was there no Druid in the area, as there usually was when supernatural creatures took up residence? He knew the history of the Hale family; how they had practically built Beacon Hills, residing here ever since. 

But why was there no protection against hunters? Against a creature like the Kanima? Usually there were safety measures against such things. Whom had Talia trusted with her pack and territory? 

"Her emissary was Alan Deaton," Stiles said, her scent souring. "He was the Darach to cut down the Nemeton."

Kali made a strangled noise of shock and horror. "He cut down a sacred oak?" 

"Yes," Stiles ground out, a growl echoing from her throat. Deucalion paused, confused. He had thought the girl was human. "I - the power surge you felt last night…I bonded to the Nemeton in the area and a Void Kitsune performed Kanyū with me." 

Deucalion inhaled sharply, stunned beyond belief. "For such a thing to happen…danger must be coming. Nemeton only bond so thoroughly with a magic user in times of strife." 

"And for a Void Kitsune to perform Kanyū…" Ennis trailed off, shaking his head incredulously. "It hasn't been done in centuries." 

Deucalion nodded slowly. "Something must be coming to Beacon Hills," he murmured, thoughtful. 

"How would the Nemeton know, though?" Erica asked, nonplussed. 

"Nemeton are all over the world and connected through telluric currents, or ley lines," Kali explained patiently. "They can sense danger approaching their territory and act accordingly. Most Nemeton are protected by and protect supernatural creatures. One in England is protected by a coven of witches. One in Romania has been protected by vampires for centuries." 

Deucalion smiled faintly when the young Spark spluttered. "Vampires are real?" She demanded. 

"Yes, Stiles, vampires are real," Peter said dryly. "The Drăculești family has been the ruling clan since the fourteen hundreds." 

"Dracula?!" Issac asked, stunned.

Deucalion chuckled. "Bram Stoker's novel was mere coincidence, I'm afraid. He wasn't a vampire himself. Vladimir found it quite humorous, rumors say." 

"What other creatures exist?" Noah asked, sounding somewhat exhausted. 

"There are many supernatural creatures in the world," Ennis said, amused. "Some keep to themselves, others mingle with the human population - like werewolves - and many were hunted to extinction, like the dragons of the east." 

Deucalion could smell the young Spark's excitement and eagerness to learn more and smiled slightly. She reminded him of Kali, when she was younger and less jaded from life in the supernatural world. He did not want that for the young Spark, but oftentimes it was inevitable. 

He sincerely hoped that her inner fire was not dulled by whatever darkness was coming to Beacon Hills. 

He knew, deep down, that it was a fool's hope. 

***

Stiles felt uncomfortably full and beyond drained once she'd finished recounting the events that had gone down since the Hale fire. In that time, she had nervously eaten an entire plate of curly fries and two burgers as well as her shake; her dad had stared at her, mystified and pained, the entire time. 

Deucalion, Kali, and Ennis weren't so bad. They listened attentively, emitting low, angry growls and snarls whenever the Argents were mentioned. Stiles understood, she wasn't a big fan of the family herself. 

Once she finished talking, voice slightly hoarse, she slumped and scrubbed her hands over her face tiredly. "So, to be blunt, it's been a bit of a shitshow for months," she concluded, smiling when the Alphas chuckled. 

"It sure sounds that way," Kali murmured, a thread of sympathy in her voice. "And with the Nemeton bonding with you, it seems as though it isn't over yet."

"Joy," Noah muttered sarcastically. 

Isaac sniffed, looking derisive. "And now another Argent is coming to town." 

Deucalion's head tilted. "Another Argent? May I ask who?" 

"Angelique Argent," Peter told him, his tone respectful. 

Deucalion smiled faintly. "Ah, yes. I have met her. She is one of the few good Argents in the world. She shan't cause trouble." 

"Well, that's a relief," Erica said, sighing. 

"What are your plans for the Darach Alan Deaton?" Ennis asked. 

Stiles scowled deeply. "He hasn't left Beacon Hills. I don't think he felt the surge of power; I think Nem's blocking him from feeling it so he won't bolt. Peter has a theory as to what he's been up to since he cut the Nemeton down decades ago." 

"For a Darach to obtain immortality, or the illusion of it, they have to absorb the life force of other supernatural creatures," Peter began, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward. Stiles tried not to ogle his biceps and how they strained against his t-shirt and ultimately failed. "But the more dark power they use, the swifter the life forces drain. He would have to commit mass murders every ten years or so." 

"The Hale fire," Ennis snarled, eyes flashing red. 

Peter nodded stiffly, the tendons in his neck straining. Stiles kind of wanted to smack herself. "My thoughts exactly." 

Derek straightened. "Pack Justice will be enacted as swiftly as possible." 

Stiles looked at her dad, who looked both resigned and determined. Deaton's actions had led to her mom's death, so she knew he'd want justice. But as a man of the law, obtaining said justice with murder likely went against all of his morals. Though he had let Stiles get away with Gerard Argent's murder, so maybe not. 

Stiles shook her head slightly, absolutely incredulous. What had her life become that she'd be sitting in D'Angelo's thinking about murdering the town vet? A small part of her wished she'd never stumbled upon the supernatural, but the larger part knew, somehow, this is where she was always meant to be.

***

After leaving D'Angelo's - with a promise on Stiles and Noah's part to go to their house for dinner soon - they returned to the Stilinski house to further discuss the possible evil coming, made evident by the Nemeton and Nogitsune bonding with Stiles. 

Deucalion made a swift phone call to the Council to inform them of what had happened and what was continuing to happen, expounding on the belief that Alan Deaton was a Darach. Stiles went to the kitchen to make drinks, mostly coffee and tea for Deucalion, as they would need it. 

Stiles pulled mugs down from the cupboard, raising her brows questioningly at her dad, who watched her from where he stood leaning against the kitchen island. "What?" 

" I'm proud of you ," he murmured in Polish, making Stiles squirm. She never did take compliments well. " Your mom would be proud of you ." 

Stiles swallowed thickly, staring at the coffee machine blankly. " I know me being involved in all this…this shit is probably not what you want for me…" 

Noah pushed off the island and approached, pulling Stiles into one of his famous bear hugs. " No ," he said softly. " But you're determined to help your friends. This has always been part of you, and likely we'd have known sooner had your mom -" 

Stiles tightened her hold on him slightly. " He's going to pay for what he did to her, dad. I promise you." 

Noah pulled back, squeezing her shoulders. "I know," he said in English, lips a hard, determined line. "I'll be with you every step of the way, kiddo." 

"Dad…" Stiles bit her lip, hard, and tasted blood. "Please ask Derek to bite you if you're ever badly injured. Please. I can't - I can't lose you, too." 

Noah kissed her forehead and pulled her into another hug. "Okay, honey. Shh. You won't lose me, hm? I'll be around for a long time." 

Stiles buried her face in his shoulder, back bent awkwardly because she'd been taller than her dad since she was fourteen, but she didn't care. She still felt as small as a kid whenever he hugged her like this, arms engulfing her and chin propped on her head. 

"You better be," she mumbled, sniffing. She pulled back, smiling as Noah wiped her face and reached for a tissue. 

"Such a snotty crier," he joked, scrunching his nose in mock disgust. 

"Hey!" 

***

Angelique Argent was not a woman someone wished to argue with. This was the reason why she had been made head of the French council. She had reformed the council as a whole over the years, and the French community of supernatural beings had thanked her for it. No longer did hunters go rogue and kill indiscriminately, no longer did tyrant Alphas oppress their packs, no longer did vampires starve…you get the idea.

Angelique had left America shortly after she had been bitten. Already her ex-husband had spread the word that any hunter bitten by a "beast" must suicide out of honor for the code, especially since that's what his brother Alexander had done, but what Gerard failed to realise was that Alexander had been bitten by an Alpha and had killed said Alpha.

Becoming an Alpha so soon after being bitten, becoming uncontrolled and feral, would have been…catastrophic. Alexander had done what he was trained to do, and it had been the honorable path. If he let himself turn, an Alpha with no control, he would have slaughtered countless people. 

But Gerard hadn't seen it that way.

When Angelique was bitten, he handed her a gun and told her to do the right thing. To put yet another beast out of its misery. In reply, she had dismantled the gun and walked out, leaving a letter for Chris and Katherine and sending divorce papers before returning to her native France. 

Now, however, she was on American soil for the first time in over a decade. It was odd to be back, and even more disquieting to be in Beacon Hills. She had only ever been there once, many years ago, to meet and form an alliance with the Hale Alpha of the time, Talia's mother Annette. 

Now, she was there to re-educate her granddaughter. 

She pulled into Christopher's driveway and cut the engine of her rental car. The door opened, and her beloved son stepped out looking exhausted and weary. She climbed from her car and embraced her son, cupping the back of his head. 

" Oh, my son. You should have called sooner," she said gently, wishing fervently that she had been able to take her children all those years ago, but she had been a new wolf and learning how to control herself. 

Christopher pulled back and smiled weakly. "I thought I had it under control." 

Angelique tsked. "Asking for help is no weakness, my son. Help me with my bags. Where is Allison?" 

"Her room," Christopher told her, opening the back-seat of her car to grab her bags. "She's barely left since I told her you were coming." 

"Mm," she hummed, shrugging her handbag onto her shoulder. "A stubborn girl, then?" 

Christopher slanted a look at her. "She gets it from her mother." 

Angelique grimaced slightly at the thought of Victoria Calavera. She had not agreed with the arrangement made by Gerard, but by then her opinions had not mattered to him, and Katherine had been made interim matriarch. 

She had not wanted her children to be forcibly married to their allies like she had been, but Angelique had all but been excommunicated from the American Argent branch by then. 

Perhaps her daughter would have turned out differently if she had raised her. 

But perhaps Katherine had always been…wrong. There had been signs, but Angelique had blinded herself to them. 

Perhaps it was her fault.

Christopher led her inside and through the foyer to the kitchen,  where he began making coffee. "Allison will be difficult," he warned, handing her a mug. 

Angelique smiled. "I anticipate she shall, Christopher. She is not the first, nor the last, hunter I must re-educate." 

Christopher grimaced. "I have confiscated her weapons and phone and prepared her for what is to happen." 

Angelique sipped her coffee, humming thoughtfully. "I shall begin immediately. Then I should meet with the local alpha." 

"Derek Hale despises our family," Christopher murmured.

"He has good reason," she replied sharply. "What your sister did was monstrous. And Gerard….well, he should be glad he is dead or I would have done worse." Christopher's lips turned down, and Angelique sighed. "Oh, my son; you always were a gentle soul. This life…I wished to save you from it, truth be told. It has hardened you, and that I regret more than anything. You were always my sweet son." 

He looked away, throat working. " This life is what I was born into. I do not regret stopping uncontrollable wolves from harming people." 

"You regret not knowing if some of the wolves you have killed are truly guilty," she murmured.

Christopher nodded stiffly. 

Angelique cupped his stubbly cheek. "If you dwell on that, son, it shall destroy you. Let the past go, and focus on being better in the future. Now, take me to my granddaughter." 

Chapter Text

Stiles hadn't heard from Scott since before the championship lacrosse game. Even though they'd been in the warehouse together, she had barely spoken a word to him before she collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. 

He hadn't visited her while she was in the hospital, or called or texted, and with everything that had gone down, well, Stiles was distracted; she had bonded to an ancient, sentient tree and had a thousand year old Void Nogitsune bind their souls and also found out her mother was murdered by the town vet, so sue her if she was a bit busy. 

When she finally saw Scott, it wasn't because he called or answered her texts or showed up at her house, no, it was at the grocery store. 

Stiles had volunteered to go with Derek and Peter to stock up on essentials and other such things, seeing as the pack spent most days and nights at the Stilinski house and they definitely didn't have the resources to feed a pack of wolves and one Nogitsune's ravenous appetites. 

She was arguing with Derek over the meats he wanted to get when her alpha tensed and loosed a low growl, making her own hackles raise. Peter had left them to argue over lean meats to grab vegetables, which was probably a good thing considering Scott looked ready to tear Derek's eyeballs out; Stiles didn't want to think of what he'd do to Peter. 

"Scott," Derek greeted neutrally.

"What are you doing here?" Scott demanded. 

Stiles stepped out from behind Derek, whose bulk and height had hid her, and smiled sardonically. "Grocery shopping, Scotty. It's what normal people do in a supermarket.".

Scott frowned at her. "I thought you were hurt," he said, almost accusing. 

"Yep, I was," she replied casually, dumping pork steaks into the cart Derek held. "And you'd know what happened if you answered my texts." 

Scott had the grace to look slightly chagrined, though it didn't last long. "I've been busy," he defended, scowling. "You shot Gerard and Allison." 

"They deserved worse," Stiles muttered, crossing her arms. 

"You're a murderer," Scott accused, all self righteous anger. 

"So was Gerard," Derek all but snarled, the cart handle creaking as his hands tightened around it. 

Stiles placed a hand on Derek's arm comfortingly, and Scott's eyes tracked the movement. He scowled at her, having the audacity to look hurt. "You're friends with him now?" 

"Why wouldn't I be?" She demanded. "Derek took me to the hospital, made sure I survived what Gerard did to me. He was there when he didn't have to be, Scott. Where my best friend and brother should have been." 

Scott flinched minutely. "Allison-" 

"Of course." Stiles laughed humorlessly, an ugly bark that made Scott flinch. "Poor Allison needed you. I nearly died, Scott, and you were too busy salivating over a girl you've known for five minutes compared to the best friend you've had since we were seven?" 

Derek gripped the back of her neck, making her relax slightly. Scott eyed her, a grimace on his face. "What about you, Stiles? You're with Derek, who tried to kill Lydia!" 

"Because he thought she was a murderous lizard killing people!" Stiles whisper-shouted, stepping forward angrily. Her top lip curled. "He wasn't doing it for fun, Scott! He was doing it to protect people! You worked with Gerard, the man who beat me half to death as a message for you!" 

Scott paled. "He said he was protecting you." 

Stiles stumbled backward into Derek's chest, shaking her head. "You knew he took me?" Her voice shook, and she cursed herself for it. 

"Stiles-" 

"That's enough." Peter stepped into the aisle, eyes glowing bright, icy blue. Scott snarled at him, but looked very unsure. "Leave, McCall, and be grateful I don't rip your throat out." 

Derek turned Stiles in his arms and hugged her, even though she didn't reciprocate. Her best friend, her brother, had allowed Gerard, a man known for hating werewolves and people who associated with them, to take her to keep her safe? 

She had never felt so betrayed. 

***

Noah was grateful he had his badge back, but he also wished he was home with Stiles despite her having healed - by a sentient tree, what the fuck was his life? - and perfectly safe with the Hales - who were werewolves, what the fuck. 

With several of his deputies dead because of Daehler and Gerard's attack on the station, Beacon County had been sending some officers in to help out, for which Noah was grateful. One of those officers was Jordan Parrish, a baby-faced deputy who seemed far too young to be a cop let alone have spent time overseas in the army. 

Another was Valerie Clark, a no nonsense young woman who had come in ready to help out and already formed a close bond with Tara Graeme, a long time deputy and close friend of Noah's. 

Despite the extra help and Noah getting his badge back, things were still shot to hell because of everything that had gone down. Daehler was posthumously charged with the deaths of the kids and coach from the swim team, and Gerard had been charged with Daehler's death; the man's DNA had been found on his body, which closed those cases. 

But Gerard's murder was a mystery, and Noah expected it to stay that way. Peter had torn him up enough it looked like an animal attack so the case was handed over to Fish and Game, but many deputies were suspicious; the former school principal's body had been found, which made Noah furious, as the man had been completely innocent, but the murder wasn't likely to be solved; he knew it had likely been Gerard to have killed him.

State Police and the Feds were pleased enough with Noah's actions now he was sheriff again. It had been him and Stiles to tie Daehler to the swim team and coach Lahey; to tie Daehler's murder to Argent. They were apologetic about firing him, and his deputies had welcomed him back warmly.

With everything that had happened in Beacon Hills, and whatever danger was coming, Noah wondered if Derek would agree it was a good idea to rope his most trusted deputies into the secret of the supernatural. It was something to think about, especially if the deputies could help protect the unaware citizens of the town. 

Noah's whole perception of life had changed in a very short amount of time, and he had to force himself to not look back at unsolved cases he'd worked, scouring the files for hints of the supernatural. He already had enough on his plate, adding to it would make Stiles worry even more about his health, and she didn't need that stress right now. 

Stiles had always been Noah's pride and joy. For a while after Claudia died, he'd gone off the rails and found solace in the bottle; but his deputies had banded together to get him help, forcing him to open his eyes. Claudia may have been gone, but he still had Stiles; his little Mischief. 

To learn that Claudia had been murdered was a punch to the gut. For so long he'd been in limbo, unable to blame the disease that took her, wondering why bad things happened to good people. But now he knew a man he'd considered a close acquaintance had killed his wife by binding her power, he wanted nothing more than to pull a Stiles and put a bullet in his head. 

Noah had always known Stiles had a mean streak within her, but more often than not her heart of gold won out. Hearing that she'd killed the man responsible for torturing her, Erica, and Boyd and most likely also behind the Hale fire…well, he couldn't help but be satisfied the monster was dead. 

His phone went off, and he picked it up to see a message from Derek. His brows furrowed as he read it, lips thinning. He stood and stormed from the office, pausing by Tara's desk. "Stiles needs me. I'll take this paperwork home, Tara." 

"Go on, sheriff, we've got it from here," Tara assured, nodding. "Tell Stiles I said hello."

"Will do," Noah murmured, returning to his office to grab the paperwork and his keys before leaving the station. 

Scott McCall would rue the day he fucked with his daughter.

***

Stiles barely made it to the car before she broke down. The only thing that kept her from collapsing completely was Derek’s arm around her waist, holding her up as her knees gave out. 

Her best friend had handed her over to a psychopathic killer. He’d trusted Gerard fucking Argent of all people, allowing the decrepit old man to take her away to safety when Scott knew damn well what he was capable of. Scott had choked out an explanation of how Gerard had cut an innocent, golden eyed omega wolf in half for no reason other than he was a vulnerable wolf.

Derek helped her into the car, bundling her onto his lap, and rumbled soothingly as she curled into him. Her alpha. The man who had protected her even when he seemingly hated her. But she knew better now. He hadn't thrown her around like a ragdoll because he hated her; it had been wolfy instincts. He’d been playing with her the only way he knew how. 

Stiles hiccuped, burying her face against Derek’s throat. “How could he do that?” 

“I don’t know, Stiles,” he replied, running a hand through her shoulder length hair.   

The driver's side door opened, and Peter slid into the Camaro smoothly. Derek passed him the keys, hand returning to where he'd been rubbing Stiles back. 

Peter was silent, but he smelt like cayenne pepper and ash. Stiles lifted her head, realizing the scents wafting off of him were anger. His hands were clamped around the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, his nostrils flared with every breath, and his eyes were icy blue. 

Derek shifted beneath her, and she curled up tighter on his lap, which was a miracle in itself; she was nearly six feet tall and mostly all limbs. He held her tightly, keeping up a rumbling in his chest that made her entire body go lax. 

"Are you purring?" She mumbled, sniffling. 

Derek huffed. "Maybe." 

"S'nice," she muttered, rubbing her cheek against his chest. 

Peter snorted faintly, grip loosening on the steering wheel as they neared Stiles' house. "It's instinct for an alpha when one of their pack is upset." 

A fresh wave of tears filled Stiles' eyes, and her breath hitched. Derek tugged her closer, holding her close as Peter pulled the car into the driveway. 

Before Derek could even open the door, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were tumbling from the house and hurrying to the car. Erica opened the door and helped Stiles out, eyes flashing when she saw the tears. 

"What happened?" She asked, her voice a deadly snarl. 

Derek and Peter climbed from the car, the former growling. "Scott," he said simply, which made Erica sneer. 

Stiles let herself be bundled into the house and plopped on the sofa. Her bed had been moved back into her room, and the furniture rearranged. Besides Deucalion, Kali, and Ennis, there were two new wolves in the room who looked nearly identical. 

Stiles let Erica and Boyd sit close to her on either side, arms around her, and Isaac happily sat on the floor in front of her, leaning back against her legs. She blinked at the twins. "Hi," she muttered, only slightly mortified to be crying in front of them and the other Alphas. 

"Hey," one twin said, smiling faintly. "Ethan, and this is Aiden." 

Deucalion's head tilted. "Are you quite all right, young Spark?" He asked, a threat of real concern in his voice. 

Stiles wiped her face, breath hitching. "Fine," she murmured, leaning more heavily against Boyd. He put a hand on her head and began scratching her scalp, making her go boneless. 

"You don't look fine," Kali said bluntly, but not unkindly. "What happened?" 

Peter stalked into the room, looking seconds away from ripping heads off. "The failed beta I monumentally screwed up by turning handed Stiles over to Gerard," he growled. 

"What?" Dad demanded, aghast. He stood behind Peter, looking decidedly ruffled. 

Stiles forced herself not to begin crying. "He thought he was protecting me." 

Dad looked ready to storm to the McCall's house to shoot Scott. "He - that -" 

"Dad, I'm fine," Stiles interrupted, standing. She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. 

He hugged her back just as fiercely, all but dragging her into the kitchen for a modicum of privacy, even if they both knew the wolves could hear them. He kissed her head and rubbed a hand up and down her back. 

"How are you really, kiddo?" He asked in Polish, shifting to hold her by the shoulders. 

Stiles' lip quivered slightly. "I think I knew I wasn't Scott's top priority a long time ago, dad, but I ignored it. He -" she swallowed, " - I can't believe he'd think I was safe with that - that monster." 

Dad cupped her face and wiped away her tears. "He never deserved your loyalty, Mischief." Stiles sniffled at the nickname, all but falling into her dad's embrace. 

Stiles wasn't stupid. She knew she had always been a lot more loyal to Scott than he was to her. She had ignored all the ways he'd proved it in the past, but her time of ignoring those things was long past. A lack of loyalty when there were things out there that one's worst nightmares couldn't conjure up, just waiting to kill you - well, a person needed loyal friends. 

Stiles had that now. She had Erica, Boyd, and Isaac; no matter their interactions in the past, she could feel their loyalty. She felt how worried they were, how they cared for her. She, Erica, and Boyd had grown close through their shared experiences, and she was sure she and Isaac could be closer friends, too. 

Derek was her alpha, and her friend. He had saved her life. And Peter, well, Stiles didn't know how she felt about Peter. On one hand, he was slightly terrifying; on the other, he was pack and had helped Derek save her life. 

Stiles made a promise to herself, standing in her dad's arms, that she wouldn't be so swift to hand over her loyalty in the future. That she wouldn't allow anyone to betray her like that. 

Never again. 

***

Kali often lamented the fact that she was born a werewolf and not a Druid. Many over the years had assumed she was the latter and not the former, due to her interest in the histories and politics of the supernatural. But she was what she was, and she did love being a wolf. She loved pack life and the closeness of everything.

She lost it all in the blink of an eye. 

Being part of Deuc's pack helped. Meeting her mate in Ennis had helped, even becoming some sort of a mother figure to Aiden and Ethan was slowly healing the hole in her heart where the love she'd had for her pack once lived.

Kali also knew that the young Spark would also help her. She was so bright and eager to learn. Stiles reminded Kali of herself in so many ways, without any of the bitterness and pain; yes, Stiles had gone through hell…but she was still fighting despite that.

Kali found herself admiring her.

She was also highly amused at how Peter acted around the young woman, clearly knowing they were mates but not knowing what to say. Hale acted as though Stiles was the centre of his world, and he was the sun orbiting her. 

Kali watched, amused, until it began to annoy her. So she utilised Stiles' thirst for knowledge and told her about mates, struggling not to laugh as Peter glared at her throughout her explanation. 

"So mates are pretty much perfect for one another?" Stiles asked, typing frantically on her laptop. It was a perfect way to distract the girl from the betrayal of her friend. 

"Mhm," Kali hummed, lips quirking when Peter exhaled sharply. 

"How do you know you've found your mate?" Stiles asked, peering up at Kali eagerly. The girl was truly adorable.

Kali smirked faintly as she met Peter's gaze while she explained. "A sense of rightness. Their scent will call to you, and likely be scents you find comforting. The animal within will urge you to be around them, protect them." 

Stiles was staring at her laptop, blinking rapidly. Kali stifled the urge to laugh when she looked up at Peter, who stilled beneath her gaze. The girl turned away, a faint flush on her cheeks. 

Deucalion chuckled softly, and Kali snorted at the besotted look Peter was giving the girl; why hadn't he told her? 

Kali gave him a challenging look, brow raised. He scowled at her half-heartedly, shaking his head. She sighed, rolling her eyes, but acquiesced; he'd tell her soon enough, or she'd find out herself. 

"What else do you want to know?" Kali asked Stiles.

She beamed. "Everything." 

Yes, Kali quite adored the girl. 

***

Chris sipped his well earned Irish coffee as his mother and daughter glared at one another over the kitchen island. Allison hadn't been welcoming to her grandmother, nor had she been very happy with him ever since Angelique had arrived. 

"As stubborn as your mother." Angelique sniffed derisively, delicately sipping her own coffee. "Your re-education begins with an unbiased lesson on werewolves and all manner of supernatural creatures and indicators they have mercilessly hunted humans." 

Allison's face twisted. "I know what werewolves are," she snapped, and a part of Chris balked; no one snapped at his mother like that. "And werewolves who have blue eyes have killed people." 

Angelique's expression was cold. "Werewolves with blue eyes are 'wolves who have killed, yes. But there is a difference between those who had mercy for that kill, and those who do not." 

"Werewolves who kill people should be killed," Allison retorted hotly. 

"I see," Angelique said coldly. "So a werewolf turned and unguided by their alpha, who has no idea what is happening to them, who happens to accidentally kill while out of their mind on their first full moon should be mercilessly killed?" 

Allison opened her mouth to reply, but Angelique continued relentlessly. "Your friend Jackson should be killed, then, for those murdered by his hand?" She asked, voice hard. Allison flinched. "His eyes are blue. As are Derek Hales, though it is known he mercy killed someone close to him through bite rejection, as it was reported to the council." 

Allison was pale, jaw trembling. Angelique went on, uncaring if she hurt her granddaughter's feelings. It was necessary for Allison to realize how wrong she had been. "Many alphas, under the hue of red, have blue eyes due to the lives taken to protect their pack from threats, as is perfectly legal in the supernatural world, child." 

Chris turned to pour himself more coffee, foregoing the whiskey this time around. He remembered this lesson of his mother's, even if Gerard had vetoed most of it years later. 

"Werewolves are not inherently evil, Allison," Angelique said, sipping her coffee. "They are predators and yes, quite dangerous. But many know how to control themselves. Those who are born moreso than those bitten, it is true, but many bitten wolves have the guidance and teachings of good alphas; those unfortunate enough to not regretfully harm humans on their first full moon, but that does not make them monsters." 

Chris brought the coffee pot to the counter and refilled his mother's cup. Allison was staring at her hands, silent and pale. "Many omegas without guidance are found and placed in packs willing to help them learn control. Those who are not and do not deign to learn are dealt with." 

"And those who kill indiscriminately are also dealt with," Chris murmured. "After thorough investigation and oftentimes a trial before the council." 

Allison looked up. "Is that what you would have done with Peter? Taken him in for trial?" 

Chris nodded. "Yes." 

"It is different with other supernatural creatures, such as Kanimas who rarely have control over those they kill. They are used as slaves by unscrupulous people, like your grandfather." Allison flinched, looking away. "Wendigo's are usually led by their insatiable hunger, but many find ways to control it. They will feed on animal organs rather than humans. Vampires have willing blood donors, or will take from blood banks. Very old vampires who can control their hunger will harmlessly feed off people and wipe their memories." 

Allison looked up. "The council let's vampires feed on people? What about the Code? We hunt those who hunt us." 

Angelique scoffed and rolled her eyes. "That abominable code was thought up by Gerard," she remarked, huffing. "It is no true code, child." 

Chris looked away, guilt eating at him. He'd known that, but he'd told Allison anyway. He'd hoped the code would help her realize that they only hunted those who had willingly spilled human blood. 

"Did your father ever tell you of the Argent family origins?" Angelique asked, brow raised. Allison shook her head. "La bête du Gévaudan." 

"Kate told me about that," Allison said, nodding slowly. "She said it was family history…" 

"It began in seventeen-sixty-four, in the town of Gévaudan," Angelique began. "A rumored beast had been mercilessly slaughtering the townsfolk, and the death-toll was beyond two hundred. A hunting party was sent out, led by Marie-Jeanne Valet, after her town was attacked; she was nearly killed by the beast, but was saved by Henri Argent." Allison leaned forward, enraptured by the story. "Henri explained that the beast was a werewolf and able to hide in plain sight as a human; he taught her all he knew of the supernatural, taught to him by his mother. They concocted a plan to draw the beast out. 

"Several nights later, Marie-Jeanne offered a toast of remembrance for those killed by the beast in the town." Angelique smiled slyly. "She had laced the wine with mistletoe, which is poisonous to werewolves. She noted the odd behavior of her brothers friend, Marcel, and followed him; it was discovered that he had been aiding the beast by hiding the bodies of those he hunted for sport." 

Allison gasped. "He wasn't the beast?" 

Chris shook his head. "No. The beast was Marie-Jeanne's own brother, Sebastian. He had always been cruel and unkind, but becoming a werewolf only heightened that. Marcel was in love with him, and covered up his many crimes. Sebastian had no remorse for what he had done, so Marie-Jeanne and Henri planned to kill him for his crimes." 

Angelique nodded. "For three years Henri and Marie-Jeanne worked to find and end Sebastian's life. They forged a steel-tipped spear in the shape of a fleur-de-lis mixed with mountain ash, wolfsbane, and her own blood under the light of a full moon." 

"Did they find him?" Allison asked, sounding somewhat breathless. 

"Yes," Chris said. "Marie-Jeanne managed to kill Sebastian after hunting him for three years, and vowed that history would remember him only as a beast. Later, the townsfolk initiated damnatio memoriae to ensure no trace of Sebastian's name remained, but the Argent family never forgot." 

"So Marie-Jeanne and Henri Argent married?" Allison asked, biting her lip. 

"Yes," Angelique said. "The first werewolf our family killed was a merciless and remorseless serial killer who murdered over five hundred people for sport. And ever since we have vowed to continue Marie-Jeanne and Henri's actions; to kill remorseless beasts who terrorize the innocent." 

Chris eyed Allison and hoped, beyond anything, that she would change. That she would allow Angelique and Chris to help her understand the true cause of being an Argent. 

***

Stiles blearily eyed the coffee machine, blinking slowly as she loosed a jaw-breaking yawn. She was the only person awake, and the snores of those still sleeping comforted her as she poured herself a large mug of coffee and clutched it, guzzling the mana down happily. 

She almost leapt out of her skin when a pounding knock came at the door. Growling lowly, she put her cup down and stormed to the door; elsewhere in the house, those with supernatural hearing scrambled awake, alarmed. 

Stiles wrenched the door open and glared at those on her front porch; Jackson and Lydia stared imperiously back. "It's six in the fucking morning," she snarled. 

Jackson's eyes flashed electric blue, and he shifted protectively in front of Lydia, who'd leaned back, alarmed, when Stiles had snarled. "What the hell, Stilinski?" 

Stiles relaxed, but barely, when she felt Derek's presence behind her. "What do you want?" She asked, tired and beyond annoyed. 

"Information," Lydia snapped, nose in the air. Well, it seemed she was back to her normal self. 

"And that couldn't have waited until later?" Derek growled. 

Stiles felt a growl building in her own throat the longer Jackson stared at her, his eyes glowing an electric blue; she felt her gums itch as her fangs, though smaller than a wolf's, unsheath. She bared them, vision sharpening as her eyes changed. 

A hand clamped on the back of her neck, a wave of calm, soothing emotions rushing into her that she knew weren't her own. She growled one last time before stepping back behind Derek, allowing him to deal with Jackass and Lydia. 

She turned and stalked into the kitchen, agitated and annoyed. Peter stood by the coffee maker, staring at her with wide eyes. She frowned. "What?" She asked, lisping slightly due to her fangs. 

He merely raised his brows and nodded pointedly. Looking down, Stiles gaped at the dark, shadow-like wisps curling around her legs and waist. "What is happening?" She asked, panicked.  

"It's your Foxfire," Peter explained, approaching slowly. "It manifests differently for every Kitsune; thunder kitsune's Foxfire manifests as lightning." 

"I'm a Void Kitsune," she murmured, recalling one of Inei's memories - her memories. "My Foxfire can be used for Shadow Walking." 

Peter nodded, lips curled into a small smile. "Exactly." 

Stiles inhaled and forcefully calmed herself, her features slowly morphing back into that of a human. The Foxfire slowly faded, the last wisp curling gently around her wrist before dissipating.

"That's so cool," Isaac mumbled where he sat, slumped over the table slightly. 

Deucalion entered the room, walking stick tapping at the floor. Stiles frowned at him for a moment, a passing thought she'd had upon meeting him resurfacing. 

"Uh, Deucalion?" She asked warily. 

His head tilted towards her. "Yes, Stiles?" 

"I, uh, iwanttotryandhealyoureyes," she rushed out, nervous and worried she'd offend him.

Deucalion stilled, hand clenching and unclenching around his walking stick. Silence reigned for several uncomfortable moments, in which time Kali, Ennis, Ethan, and Aiden joined them; they looked shocked at Stiles' offer. 

"Do you know how much anyone in the supernatural world would pay for the healing powers of a Spark, Mieczysława?" Deucalion asked, voice tight. He'd pronounced her name perfectly. 

Stiles scowled. "I don't want your money, Deucalion. I just - want to heal your eyes. I know -" she abruptly paused, swallowing thickly. She continued, forcing the words from her throat. "I know what it's like for Gerard Argent to have hurt you."

Deucalion's throat worked. "I would be honored, Mieczysława," he murmured faintly. 

Stiles opened her mouth, but shouting interrupted her. She turned and bolted to the front door, wrenching it open to see Lydia yelling at Derek. "What the fuck is going on?!" She demanded, storming toward the trio.

"Derek won't allow Jackson in his pack!" Lydia burst out indignantly. 

"And why the hell should he?" Stiles demanded, glaring at Jackass. "Jackson didn't want Derek's help in the first place, why should Derek help him now when the first offer of help was so callously thrown into Derek's face? Because he finally realized he's out of his depth and needs help?" 

"Derek is his alpha-" Lydia began, her expression screwed up with anger. 

"No, he's not," Peter said, leaning against the front door frame. "Jackson rejected Derek before he became the Kanima, ergo Jackson severed any alpha-beta ties." 

Lydia glowered at Peter, hatred practically pouring from her. Stiles screwed her nose up at the smell and took a slight step back. 

Jackson sneered. "He wanted to use me as an attack dog, why would I agree to that?" 

"No, I didn't," Derek replied, eyes flashing blood red. "I wanted to help you learn how to protect yourself from hunters. You only wanted the bite for the power it gave you." 

"Then why did you bite him?!" Lydia demanded.

"Instinct," Derek deadpanned. "I was an alpha with no betas, and a healthy human offered themselves up to me." 

Jackson's nostrils flared, but Stiles beat him to the punch. "Maybe if you both hadn't knocked on my door at six am and demanded Derek take you in, he'd have heard you out. Get off my property," she snarled. 

Lydia shot her a filthy look before grabbing Jackson's arm and practically dragging him over to the Porsche parked at the curb. 

Stiles didn't relax until they'd left, sighing angrily. Derek wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her inside, ruffling her hair. "I hear you're going to heal Deucalion." 

Stiles was abruptly nervous again. 

***

The clear trust and faith Deucalion had in her ability to heal him made Stiles break out into a nervous sweat. He sat at the kitchen island, glasses off, and Stiles felt such a sudden rush of rage toward the very dead Gerard she felt momentarily light-headed. 

Deucalion held a hand out, brows furrowed. "Are you all right?" 

"Yep," she replied tightly, rubbing her hands together nervously. "Okay. Let's do this." 

Stiles didn't know what she was doing. She was completely winging this healing thing, but she knew enough from Inei's memories that a Sparks power was only limited to the belief they had in themselves. 

Deucalion closed his eyes, relaxed as ever, and Stiles gently placed her fingers on his eyelids. Her hands shook slightly, but Deucalion didn't mention it. She'd booted everyone from the kitchen, not wanting an audience, but for some reason she had wanted Peter there; he placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, making her relax slightly. 

Stiles closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. I want Deucalion's eyes to heal. I want the damage to be reversed. 

Deucalion inhaled sharply, and Stiles' eyes flew open. The raw redness around the alpha's eyes had vanished, and she removed her fingers from his eyelids. He slowly, haltingly opened them and her breath hitched as clear, blue eyes met hers. 

Deucalion blinked rapidly, a slack expression of delighted relief on his face. He stared at her, tears lining his eyes though they didn't fall, then all of a sudden she was being bundled into a tight hug and he was thanking her profusely. 

Stiles patted his back, feeling exhausted. "I'm glad I was able to help," she managed before yawning. 

Deucalion stepped back, a fond smile on his face. "Thank you, Mieczysława," he said, squeezing her shoulders. "I can never repay you for this." 

"You don't have to," Stiles protested, muffling another yawn. 

Peter huffed a laugh and steered her from the kitchen, hands on her shoulders. "You need to rest," he murmured. 

Stiles stumbled a bit, and Peter huffed a fond laugh before sweeping her into his arms. She rested her cheek against his collarbone and inhaled his scent, humming softly. "S'nice," she mumbled, half incoherent. 

She was asleep before Peter put her in bed, tucking her blankets around her. 

"You need to tell her," Derek said from the door, arms crossed. "She deserves to know." 

Peter sighed, brushing hair from Stiles' face. Her nose scrunched, hand reaching up to grasp his tightly. "I know." 

Stiles mumbled, all but yanking Peter into her bed as she hugged his arm to her chest. Derek snorted, but Peter ignored him as he joined Stiles in bed, warmth spreading through him as she sighed and relaxed, her scent warm with happinesssafetycontentment. 

Peter wrapped his arms around her and pressed his nose into her hair, basking in her scent. He hadn't felt so calm and at ease since before the fire. 

And it was because of Stiles.

Chapter Text

Stiles slept for five hours after healing Deucalion. Peter remained at her side for two of them before he went back down stairs to be with the pack, smiling at his old friend as he stared at the television, a look of wonder on his face. 

And Derek stared at Deucalion, blinking dumbly. 

Peter snorted softly and sat on the sofa by Boyd, who was watching Erica, Isaac, Ethan and Aiden play Trivial Pursuit on the floor. The game seemed to be getting heated, with Ethan in the lead. 

"Which year did the Olympic Games originate?" Aiden asked, sounding thoroughly amused. 

"How am I supposed to know that?!" Erica demanded, looking annoyed.

"Seven-seventy-six BC," Stiles' sleepy voice came as she padded into the room, a throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

Erica gaped up at her. "What?!" 

Stiles folded herself on the floor next to Erica, nodding faintly. "That's the year cited in historical texts, but many historians don't think it's completely accurate. The Peloponnese in Ancient Greece began the games in Olympia." 

"How do you know that?" Ennis asked, stupefied. 

Stiles shrugged. "I like history," she said, sounding slightly bashful. 

Aiden picked up another card. "Which is the oldest civilisation on earth?" 

"Mesopotamian," Stiles answered immediately, blinking at him. 

Ethan grabbed a card, brows raised. "Which U.S. President had a home called the Hermitage?" 

"Andrew Jackson," Stiles said, stifling a yawn. "The seventh president and all around horrible person." 

Peter smirked at the expressions on the pups faces. Isaac leaned forward, a pleading expression on his face. "Can you help me with my history paper?" 

Stiles snorted. "Sure." 

"Yorkist or Lancastrian?" Peter drawled. 

"York," Stiles exclaimed, looking a little more awake. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Which are you?" 

"York, of course," Peter replied, smirking faintly. "Though Richard III wasn't the rightful monarch." 

"Ugh, I know! Bastard. Though I'm of the opinion that Margaret Beaufort had the princes in the tower murdered," Stiles rambled, waving a hand. 

"What are they talking about?" Isaac asked, looking adorably befuddled. 

"I have no idea," Erica said, blinking rapidly. 

Stiles ignored them and turned to Deucalion. "How are your eyes?" 

Deucalion smiled. "Wonderful, Mieczysława. Thank you again."

“Oh good, I'm glad,” she said, sighing. She stood up and stretched, groaning as several joints popped. Kali smirked at Peter as he unashamedly stared at the pale, mole dotted strip of skin shown when Stiles’ shirt rode up. “I’m gonna make some lunch. Anyone want to help?”

“Sure,” Peter said, making Stiles beam. He preened under her grateful gaze, flipping Kali and Ennis off over his shoulder as he followed Stiles into the kitchen. 

The two alpha’s continued to chuckle anyway. 

***

She needed more power. 

Five alpha werewolves against a Darach was a joke, and she knew it. She had sacrificed two already, but she needed more. The five-fold knot was one of the most powerful rituals she knew of, and she knew there was a Nemeton on these lands…but where? Why couldn't she remember? Was someone - or something - blocking her power?

She needed more information on the supernaturals in this podunk town. She had already planned to infiltrate the school, sending records falsified by one of the best in the business. She knew of the Hale pack, but from what she had gleaned it was made up of an inexperienced, young alpha and a few teenagers. She could deal with them easily if they got in her way. 

There was no sign of Her or Deucalion. It made her want to scream, but she was well aware of her own weakness…perhaps she should speed up the next sacrifice. 

Yes, that would work. Then, she needed to find the Nemeton and utilize its power for her vengeance. She would ensure Deucalion and his filthy pack’s demise if it was the last thing she ever did. 

***

Stiles wasn't stupid.

Technically she was classed as an actual genius, but she rarely advertised that fact. She was already a weird spaz with ADHD and a dead mom, she didn't need to be a certified genius on top of that. So after observing for several days and having Kali not so subtly drop hints, she knew Peter was her mate. 

It made sense, which made her gut roll with nausea because she had helped kill her mate. She had thrown that molotov cocktail and watched as Allison shot her arrow, feeling vindicated for a brief moment that the Big Bad was dead and gone, never to terrorize her or her friends ever again. 

But then the hollowness began, and everything felt grey and dull even while fighting for her and her friend's lives against the Kanima and Gerard. 

For a brief moment throughout it all, brightness seemed to return. And that brightness returning coincided with Peter coming back. 

Watching him now, she realised that them being mates made perfect sense. They were both morally grey and would kill for their loved ones. He had killed those behind his family’s deaths in the name of justice. Granted, he was pretty much insane after spending so long in a coma while mostly cognizant and reliving the fire over and over again. 

Stiles would do the same if anything happened to her dad. Hell, she had killed Gerard for what he had done to her and the Hales. What he had done to Derek and even Matt Daehler, because even if Daehler had used Jackson to murder people she understood why he had done it. 

Revenge was something Stiles understood very well. 

Peter and she were two sides to the same coin, so them being mates made sense. The animal part of her mind fervently agreed. He would protect her and any kits - whoa, what the fuck?! - they ever had. He would protect their pack; their family.

The fact that he was probably one of the most attractive men she’d ever met was a bonus, too. Stiles wasn't shallow or judgy about how people looked. She was used to being sneered at because of her ungainly height and flat…everything. But Peter was one fine specimen of a male, even her fox brain agreed; he was strong and fierce and she loved it. 

Peter looked up from the onion he was cutting, eyes electric blue to stop them watering, and flared his nostrils. She nervously licked her lips and boldly asked, “When were you going to tell me we’re mates?” 

Peter sighed softly. “Soon,” he admitted, laying down the knife. He stepped closer hesitantly, as though she would push him away and tell him to never come near her again. “So much has happened this past week, I didn't want to lump this on you, too.” 

Stiles chewed her lip, thinking. “I’m not opposed to you being my mate, if that’s what you’re asking.” Peter blinked at her, a small, genuine smile forming on his face. “Even when you were crazy, I was never really that scared of you.”  

Peter raised a brow. “I had my fangs at your wrist, Stiles.” Stiles coughed and felt her face warming. Peter’s eyebrows rose as his nostrils flared, likely smelling her embarrassment and, well, her reaction. “Oh, I see.” 

Stiles smacked his chest, which yes, was rock hard. “Shut up, Peter.”

A loud cough came from the living room, and Stiles furrowed her brows as she strained her hearing. “ ...turned on by him nearly biting her?! HA!” Erica all but crowed, highly amused. 

Stiles met Peter's eyes and fervently wished that no one could hear what they were saying. She buried her face in her hands and groaned. “God,” she mumbled, peeking through her fingers when Peter gently grabbed her wrists. 

“Don't be embarrassed,” he said softly, though a smirk played about his mouth. “I’m flattered.”

“Dude,” she blurted, making him snort. “Have you seen yourself?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Have you seen yourself ?" He asked, voice a little rough.

Stiles gaped at the man, utterly bewildered. His brows creased, and he dropped her wrists to gently tilt her face up and run the back of his fingers down her likely flaming red cheek. 

"Stiles, you're beautiful; intelligent, deadly…I could continue, but you're looking an alarming shade of red," he murmured, making her huff. "Believe me, Mieczysława, everything about you I adore."

Stiles' breath hitched, and her eyes unwittingly darted to Peter's lips. She swayed forward, as though she was drawn into his orbit. He cupped the side of her neck, thumb pressed against her jaw, and leaned his forehead against hers.

Boldly, stifling her nerves and the fear of rejection, Stiles tilted her face up and pressed her lips to his, heart lurching when he loosed a pleased, rumbling growl and kissed her back, right hand tangling into her hair and the other gripping her waist. 

Stiles didn't exactly know what to do with her hands, as this was her first kiss, so settled for grabbing his waist and pulling him closer, loosing a muffled, embarrassing moan/whimper when he deepened the kiss and backed her against the kitchen counter.

His lips moved against hers, his grip on her tightening when she forcibly stopped herself over-thinking and let instinct take over, a growl rumbling in the base of her throat when Peter's tongue swiped at her bottom lip.

" Ah-hem ." 

Stiles jumped and turned her head, unfortunately breaking the kiss, only to flush, mortified, as her father - the sheriff - eyed her and Peter intently. She turned and pressed her face against Peter's chest, unable to look at her dad.

"No shenanigans in my kitchen," he said gruffly, not at all sounding mad; maybe a little bit unnerved, which was understandable. Stiles was his kid, and he'd just caught her macking on a guy quite a bit older than her.

"Sorry, Sheriff," Peter replied calmly, though he did truly sound sorry.

Stiles sheepishly peered at her dad. "Sorry," she mumbled. 

Noah sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward, as though praying for patience. "There's a bunch of hungry werewolves in my living room…god, I never thought I'd say that." 

Stiles snorted. "Right." 

Peter stepped away from her, and she fought the pout that wanted to break across her face. He tossed her a sly, knowing smirk; she retaliated by very maturely sticking her tongue out at him. 

Noah left them bickering in the kitchen, a small smile forming on his face. 

He knew Stiles would be safe with Peter by her side. It was a comforting thought.

***

Ever since he was a kid, Derek had waited for the oh my God that's my mate realization, but after… her everything had gone to shit. She had screwed everything up, and his family was dead. 

Well, except Laura but she, for all her bravado and hubris, had been way too young to inherit the alpha spark and hadn't truly known what to do. She had abandoned one of her pack members to years of agony, and all but neglected the other. She had barely listened to her instincts over the years, and pretty much checked out.

Derek blamed himself for years and resisted the urge all wolves had to find a mate. He had gotten his family killed; he didn't deserve happiness. He deserved to wallow in grief and blame for the rest of his life.

Then the worst thing that could have happened, happened. 

He had to go back to Beacon Hills, the one place he swore he'd never set foot ever again, because Laura had gone missing and her phone GPS pinged in Beacon fucking Hills.

He'd faced Her again, been tortured by her; had killed his uncle - his second biggest regret to date - dealt with whiny teen wolves, a sassy, stupidly fearless human his wolf had adored the moment they met - now he knew why , she was pretty much family - then Jackson became a Kanima, Gerard Argent came into town with a vendetta and guns blazing, Scott worked with the madman and, well, everything had been shit.

Then, Stiles shot Gerard in the head and changed everything. His Wolf had positively howled its approval as she killed the man responsible for so much pain. Peter was back and sane ; the uncle Peter he'd loved and been annoyed by his whole childhood. The man he'd admired so much. Not the twisted, insane thing he'd been after he'd woken from his coma.

Then Derek had met Deucalion, and he'd felt what his mother had so lovingly explained she had felt when she met his dad. 

Deucalion was Derek's mate. This almost legendary werewolf was his, Derek Hale's, mate. It was almost inconceivable, but there was no denying it; Deucalion was his mate, and the man knew it.

Deucalion was an attractive man. Derek had never hidden his attraction to men and women, though he didn't openly advertise it, and he was aware of how attractive Deucalion was. He was tall, slim, and his eyes - even before Stiles healed them - had been oddly alluring. Now, what with how clear a blue they were and so full of awe, they were mesmerizing. 

Derek glanced at the man, biting the inside of his lip when he met Deucalion's gaze. He swallowed, feeling oddly self-conscious. He hadn't felt like this in a long time. He'd always been confident, though that had taken a hit after Her.

Deucalion's brow rose, head tilting, and Derek had to clench his jaw. How was that attractive? 

Deucalion smirked faintly, looking pleased. He stood and strode from the living room, pausing in the hall to glance at Derek; he stood and followed, ignoring the snickering of his cheeky betas. 

He followed Deucalion outside onto the patio, pausing just behind him. The alpha inhaled deeply and peered around, a smile curling his lips. Gods, his voice… “To see how green the trees are once more…I can never thank Mieczysława enough.” 

“She'll combust from embarrassment if you do,” he remarked, amused. He'd smelt Stiles’ embarrassment every time someone complimented her. 

Deucalion faced him, blue eyes shining. “And you? Shall you combust if I compliment you, Derek?” 

His breath hitched. “Maybe. I'm out of practice with…things like this.” 

“And what is…this?” Deucalion asked lowly, stepping forward with all the grace of a predator. 

Derek swallowed. “Relationship…things. I, uh, used to be better at this,” he admitted, feeling flushed.

Deucalion smiled warmly. “You're doing fine, Derek. I, myself, have not had many relationships since my…blinding. Trust is difficult to come by when one is missing their sight, even with our senses.” 

“My senses failed me more than once,” Derek said bitterly, looking away. 

A growl rumbled in Deucalion's chest. “Yes,” he murmured softly. “You are a trusting person, Derek; that is not a flaw. The flaw is people taking advantage of your ability to trust so freely.” Derek looked at him, swallowing roughly. Deucalion reached toward him and took his hand, squeezing. “We'll take this as slow as you wish, Derek. I won't do anything you are uncomfortable with.” 

Derek smiled, relieved. “Thank you, Deucalion.” 

He smiled. “Call me Deuc.” 

***

Stiles had caved and was allowing her father to eat take out; greasy burgers and fries that she usually wouldn't let him even think about, but Peter had assuaged her fears by telling her to listen to her dad's heart, and she had. 

Her father was as healthy as a horse, something he smugly took advantage of and requested burgers and fries for dinner. She'd put up a token protest, but ultimately allowed it with all the dignity she could muster.

Which was little, because the whole pack - even Derek - laughed at her for five whole minutes. 

So, Stiles had dramatically stormed from the house with Peter to go pick up their order, which was large .

Unfortunately for Stiles the Argents stood waiting for their own take out in Angelo's. 

Chris Argent's eyes widened in shock upon seeing her, and he glanced at Alison, who hadn't seen her yet. 

Stiles clenched her teeth and swallowed the growl itching at the back of her throat. Peter's hand wrapped around hers helped ground her, but she desperately wanted to lunge at the teenaged girl she had once called friend. 

Alison looked up, dark eyes meeting Stiles’, and paled rapidly, true fear flashing across her face. 

“ Breathe, Stiles ,” Peter murmured, thumb rubbing soothingly across the back of her hand. 

Stiles pressed her lips together tightly when she felt her fangs sharpen and lengthen. She turned, pressing her forehead against Peter's shoulder, and inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself down. 

Peter gently cupped the back of her head, kissing her temple. “That's it, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, gently scratching at her scalp. Her shoulders relaxed, and she prodded her teeth, her human teeth, with relief. 

Stiles straightened and almost wept when Hannah called her name, five bags of food on the counter for the hungry werewolves at home. “Thanks, Hannah.” 

“Enjoy, Mischief,” Hannah said, leaning over the counter to kiss her cheek. 

Stiles smiled woodenly and grabbed a couple of the bags, turning to leave before the Agents actually spoke to her, but was intercepted by an annoyingly gorgeous older woman who smiled at her warmly.

“Are you Miss Stilinski?” She asked, her voice thick with a French accent.

“Yes,” she said, suspicious. Peter shifted closer to her, eyes on the woman. 

“Mr Hale,” she said, inclining her head regally.

“Angelique,” Peter said, sounding polite. “It's been some time.” 

“Indeed it has.” Angelique Argent's eyes snapped to Stiles, her eyes holding a wealth of apology and sympathy. “I would like to organize a meeting with your pack, but I do not have Alpha Hale’s contact information.” 

Stiles swallowed the urge to snap at the woman. She was truly blameless in what her ex-husband and granddaughter did. “I can give you his number,” she offered reluctantly. 

“That would be appreciated, thank you,” Angelique said, nodding.

Stiles rattled Derek's number off from memory, smiling tightly once Angelique imputed it into her phone. “We should go…don't want dinner going cold.” 

“Of course. Have a good evening, Miss Stilinski, Mr Hale.” Angelique stepped to the side, shooting Alison a fierce look that had her glowering look withering from her face. 

Stiles marched stiffly from the restaurant, Peter at her side, and exhaled roughly once they were in Peter's car.

“You okay?” He asked, worried.

Stiles shifted, skin crawling. “I feel like I'm going to burst out of my skin.” 

Peter reached for her hand and laced their fingers. “After dinner, we can go for a run. Burn off some of your pent up energy.” 

Stiles nodded, squeezing his hand gratefully. She smiled at him. “Thank you.” 

He pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of her palm. “Of course.” 

The ‘wolves were delighted to receive their dinner, but were immediately on alert because of Stiles’ likely raging chemosignals. Derek ruffled her hair, tugging her to sit between him and Peter. 

“Angelique messaged,” he told her. “You did well, controlling yourself.” 

Stiles perked up, preening slightly. Hearing her alpha say such a thing made all her instincts squirm happily. “Thanks…I'm mostly angry with Alison, but I can't help the anger-”

“You may have Inei’s memories, Stiles, but you are new to having all of your heightened senses and emotions,” Deucalion said, offering her a sympathetic smile. “It will take time for you to get used to them.” 

Stiles nodded morosely, biting angrily into a curly fry. “I know, it's just frustrating.” 

“I suggested a run after dinner,” Peter said.

Boyd, Erica, and Isaac perked up; even Deucalion looked excited about such a thing. “I have not enjoyed a run for quite a while, I believe it would be quite fun to join you.”

Kali nodded, swallowing a bite of her rare burger. “Even if you Hale wolves can turn into actual wolves.” 

Aiden and Ethan smirked. “We merge when we go for runs.” 

“It's so cool how you can do that,” Stiles said, then frowned. “I think I can turn into a fox.” 

Noah gawked. “ Really ?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, grinning. “Fitting, isn't it? That I'm a fox.” 

Noah sighed. “ Mischief ,” he muttered. 

Stiles merely grinned with too many teeth. 

***

They watched through the eyes of an owl as their Spark and the pack ran through the trees; she had taken the form of a large fox with black fur and golden eyes, leaping through the foliage beside her mate and alpha. 

They were pleased, power pulsing through their roots all throughout the preserve, the pack barking and howling joyfully into the night. 

On the edge of their land, however, they sensed a sickly darkness that had them recoiling; the alpha would have to perform the ritual soon to boost the power of his pack, to protect them from the enemies in his territory. 

They urged the Pack to them, to the regrowing stump, and sent tendrils of their power to the other supernatural being in the town, a rather powerful one at that, one who would be a boon to the pack and them.

A hellhound. 

Chapter Text

Being a fox, Stiles decided, was the most exhilarating experience of her entire life; running alongside Derek and Peter, both in their wolf forms, had to be a close second, the Beta's taking up the rear with the alpha's, Ethan and Aidan's merged form loping along with nearly thunderous footsteps.

Stiles had transformed using Inei's vast memories, all but falling into her fox form, which was as black as pitch save for several spots of pale white throughout her pelt; her dad had watched with wide, awe-filled eyes as she excitedly pranced about, her fluffy tail whipping through the air. 

She wasn't a normal fox, of course not, standing nearly as tall as Derek and Peter both, but not quite. Her fur also seemed to be made of wispy shadows that coiled and twined around her legs and neck, the shadows of the woods reaching for her like old friends, greeting her.

Stiles brushed against both Peter and Derek as she ran, barking joyfully. She darted between the betas and alpha pack, her heart thundering gleefully in her chest. 

Halfway through their run, she felt it. The Nemeton sent a spark of warning down her bond, and she skidded to a stop as a huge, dog-like creature that was made of actual black and red flames stepped into her path, glowing red eyes trained on her.

The Nemeton's warning wasn't one of danger, though, more of anticipation and excitement. Stiles was vaguely aware of the others skidding to abrupt stops, growls of warning erupting from their throats.

All the fiery hound did was chuff in amusement and lay down where it stood, the unbrush beneath it curling and dying under the flames that made up the creature.

Stiles stepped forward curiously, sniffing the air. All she smelt was a bonfire and brimstone, with gun oil underlying that. 

Peter stepped up beside her, glowing blue eyes not moving from the flaming hound. She licked at his muzzle reassuringly then trotted towards the huge, fiery beast. 

It eyed her with glowing eyes, lowering its head once she was close enough. She felt Nemeton's amusement curling around the bond they shared, as well as the identity of the creature in front of her. 

A hellhound. Creatures of fire and ash that dedicated their very, very long lives to protecting the supernatural creatures around them, in their packs. Interesting. 

Stiles sat and cocked her head, eyeing the hellhound for a moment, before barking happily. 

The hellhound stood, pausing when Derek and Peter growled, then approached her, bopping their noses together.

***

Stiles yanked on her clothes, nearly tripping and strangling herself on her hoodie, then bounded outside to meet the hellhound in person, openly gaping at the young man chatting amiably with her dad and the pack.

“ Parish? ” She demanded, stunned. 

Her dad's young deputy grinned a boyish grin, waving dorkily. Her dad had supplied him with a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt, so he wasn't butt naked, thank God, she'd never be able to take him seriously ever again. 

“Hey, Stiles,” he greeted.

Stiles spluttered. “You - you're?!” 

Parish chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, found out in Afghanistan when I didn't explode with the rest of my unit. Figuring out why was hard, but worth it.” 

Derek eyed him. “I've only ever read about Hellhounds, and there's not a lot of information out there. Do you have packs?” 

Parish tilted his head back and forth. “Kind of. Hellhounds are protectors of the supernatural. We, uh, bond with packs and eliminate threats and protect the secret.” 

“So the whole “guardian” thing of the mythology is kind of true,” Stiles rambled, beyond fascinated and excited. She didn't see the fond look Peter shot her, but her dad did. “Instead of guarding the Underworld, you guard the supernatural world. Cool!” 

Isaac feigned a cough. “Nerd.” 

Stiles pouted at him. “Hey!” 

Erica slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning. “You're our nerd, though, Stiles.” 

She huffed. “Derek! Control your pups!” 

Derek snorted, shaking his head. He very rudely ignored her and faced Parish. “You're welcome in our pack, Parish.”

Parish relaxed minutely, inclining his head to show his throat. “Thank you, alpha.” 

Deucalion crossed his arms, an impressed expression on his face. “You are forming a very powerful pack, Derek. Perhaps it’s time for the rest of the world to know that the Hale pack is back.”

Derek’s answering smirk was sharp. Stiles tilted her head as the Nemeton sent her a message, making her shiver with anticipation that wasn't wholly hers. “There’s something we have to do first,” she told them, smiling at the wolves, her dad and Parrish. “We have to go to the Nemeton.” 

****

Stiles led the pack - both of them, and her dad - to the Nemeton. The clearing in which the ancient tree sat was hushed, the air charged with excitement and anticipation. She approached the tree, which was slowly growing back. She placed her palms against the trunk, closing her eyes. 

I want the Nemeton to grow back healthier and stronger than ever, to protect this territory and my pack. 

She felt the sentience of the Nemeton brush appreciatively across her skin, and faced Derek, who approached at her gesture. “Alpha Derek Hale,” she began, ignoring the faint anxiety she felt. “Do you swear to protect this land, and the people who reside on this land, to the best of your ability?” 

“I do,” Derek vowed firmly, eyes glowing blood red. 

Stiles shifted, her claws lengthening. “Whom do you choose as your Second?” 

“Peter Hale,” her alpha said, turning to smile slightly at Peter, who approached calmly, eyes glowing, though she could smell the surprise he felt. 

“Peter Hale,” she murmured. “Do you vow to assist your alpha against all threats?” 

“I do,” Peter all but growled, half shifted. 

“Whom, Alpha Hale, do you choose as your First Beta?” She asked

Derek smiled. “Vernon Algernon Boyd.” 

Boyd startled but stalked over when Stiles gestured to him. 

“Do you, Vernon Algernon Boyd, vow to protect your alpha against any and all threats?” 

“I do,” Boyd said, eyes glowing amber. 

“Whom do you, Alpha Hale, choose as your Emissary?” 

Derek smirked at her. “Mieczysława Claude Stilinski-Gajos.”

Stiles rolled her eyes, gasping when her mother appeared, the edges of her apparition blue-ish, like the force ghosts in Star Wars. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she stifled the urge to sob when her dad’s ragged gasp echoed throughout the clearing. 

“ Se rduszko ,” her mother whispered, smiling at her gently, then she grew serious. “Mieczysława Claude Stilinski-Gajos, do you vow to aid and represent your alpha in all things?” 

“I do,” she choked out, nodding. 

Claudia Stilinski-Gajos smiled. “You three know what to do.” 

Stiles, Derek, Boyd and Peter nodded and slashed their claws across the palms of both hands, blood pouring freely onto the ground at their feet. They knelt and, before their healing kicked in, pressed their bleeding palms to the Nemeton and bowed their heads. 

Stiles was used to the connection with the Nemeton, so didn't gasp when she felt its power prodding and probing her, searching for any deceit; it found none. Derek, Boyd and Peter gasped when it was their turn, obviously not expecting to feel the Nemeton so intensely. 

“Rise, Alpha Hale, First Beta Vernon, Left Hand Hale, and Emissary Stilinski-Gajos,” her mother commanded. “The Nemeton has searched your hearts and deemed you protectors of this land.”

Stiles met her mother’s eyes, tears streaming down her face. “Mom,” she whispered. Peter clasped her hand, squeezing tightly. 

Claudia smiled, gaze catching on something over her shoulder. Her dad appeared on her right, staring at her mom with wide, damp eyes. “ Kochanie ,” she murmured, smiling through her tears. “I don't have long, but I love both of you so much, and I couldn't be prouder of the both of you.”

Stiles loosed a sob. “I miss you.” 

Claudia’s smile widened. “I never left. I’m with you, Mischief, always. Don't forget that.” 

“Oh, Claude,” her dad sighed, pain in his voice. 

“You have to let me go, Kochanie ,” her mom whispered. “I may be gone, but you are not, and you deserve happiness.” 

Her dad sniffed, nodding. “I miss you, Claude.” 

Claudia smiled, her apparition blurring. She looked at Peter and Derek. “Take care of them,” she whispered, vanishing.

“We will,” Derek murmured firmly. 

Stiles wiped her face, looking at her dad. He pulled her into his arms, and she hugged him as though her life depended on it, though let go of some of the grief that had pulled her down for years.

***

Despite the tearful reunion with her mom's ghost, Stiles felt nothing but glee as she and the pack sprinted through the woods back to her house, running parallel to her dad's car on the road. Every now and then, he would glance over and shake his head, as though in disbelief over what their lives had become.

Stiles could feel the Nemeton's glee at having a pack bound to it once more, especially a young pack with such strong and powerful members, though a niggle of worry was twined with the glee and pride; there was some dark force other than the Darach out there, and it needed to be dealt with soon, especially since the dark one was trying to usurp their Spark's bond with them, trying to twist it for their own use.

Their dear Spark's anger at the thought mirrored their own. Such human emotions were foreign to them, but they felt it now. How dare this dark one try to poison their fledgling bond with their Spark? 

The dark one would find themselves regretting their actions soon enough; as would Alan Deaton, their Pack would ensure it.

***

Angelique Argent waited patiently for the Hale Pack to arrive, delicately sipping from her mug of tea. The small, quaint coffee shop was pretty well empty, save for a few young people tapping away at laptops, looking seconds away from falling asleep. 

The bell above the door chimed, and she glanced up from her tea with a small smile as Alpha Derek Hale, Peter Hale, a tall, though young man, and Stiles Stilinski stepped into the coffee shop. She stood, nodding as Alpha Hale approached her table. “Alpha Hale, thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“Of course.” He inclined his head toward his pack members. “I’m sure you know my uncle and Enforcer, Peter Hale; my First Beta, Vernon Boyd, and Emissary Mieczysława Stilinski.” 

Angelique inclined her head at the Pack members. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

They seated themselves around the table she had claimed, though the young First Beta excused himself briefly to go order coffees for himself and his pack, returning after several minutes of tense silence. 

“I understand that my daughter, son, and granddaughter have hurt you and members of your pack, and I apologize for that. I cannot help but think that if I had not left when I was bitten, things would be different.” Angelique pursed her lips.

Alpha Hale hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps, but dwelling on the past is not conducive to the future. The Hale Pack has returned to Beacon Hills, and i and my pack are willing to form a truce with the Argent family here in town, but we do not want to keep looking over our shoulders, wondering whether our allies will stab us in the back…again.” 

Angelique smiled tightly. “Understandable. I am taking Christopher and Allison with me to France for the summer, and it is my hope that during that time they will both be reeducated on what is appropriate for members of the Argent family. If Allison refuses to learn, she will remain in France until she does, and becomes an Argent Matriarch the family can be proud of.” 

“I will be willing to meet with Chris and Allison upon their return, but they better have had a change of opinion when it comes to werewolves, and other supernatural creatures,” Derek told her, eyes briefly flashing red. 

Angelique understood his reticence. Her daughter had massacred the Hale family, even those who were human. She had assaulted - raped - the young Alpha seated before her, and terrorized him upon her return to Beacon Hills. She felt ashamed to admit she was glad Katherine was gone, for she did not know if she would have been able to do what Peter Hale had done. 

Christopher had reluctantly admitted that he’d gotten physical with Miss Stilinski in the hospital some weeks ago, threatening her with a gun. She had not been impressed with him when she learned such a thing, leveling him with a glare that had his shoulders bunching up around his ears as they had when he was a boy. Allison, so far, chafed against her attempts to re-educate her, and thus the idea to take them to France had been born.

“I understand.” She nodded. 

“I will be meeting with the North American Council, as well, and informing them of everything that has occurred since the fire,” Alpha Hale told her, making angelique grimace slightly. “Yes, I believe that your son and daughter will be put on probation for their actions.” 

“They would deserve it.” She met Miss Stilinski’s cool gaze and sighed. “I apologize for what my ex-husband did to you and your friends, Miss Stilinski.”

Miss Stilinski smiled tightly, coldly. “That’s okay. I made sure he wouldn't hurt anyone else ever again.” 

Angelique did not scare easily, but there was something so preternaturally different about Stiles Stilinski that it made her want to shudder and flee. She dipped her chin, silently agreeing with the young woman, though she feared if she vocalised such her voice would actually tremble. 

“I will have Christopher forward you their departure and return dates, Alpha Hale.” Alpha Hale stood, so Angelique did, too. 

He nodded, inclining his head minutely as a show of respect. “Thank you for clearing things up with this meeting, Miss Argent.” 

Angelique watched the pack leave, swallowing roughly. She had to ensure her son and daughter learned from their mistakes, or the Hale pack would undoubtedly destroy them both.

****

Lydia Martin found the body at the pool, screaming loud enough that the were’s and Stiles heard her from the latter’s house, all of them scrambling into clothes and piling into their cars, very nearly beating the cops there. 

The young woman was standing there, trembling and sniffling as she stared at the man slumped in the lifeguard’s chair, blood everywhere . 

Stiles nearly choked on the thick, cloying iron scent of blood, but valiantly ignored it and approached Lydia, who was deathly pale and very clearly terrified. She was wearing pajamas, and her feet were bare and dirty.

“Lydia?” Stiles asked, glancing over as her dad and Parrish began barking orders and cordoning off the area. Her dad sighed grimly as he eyed the body, gently touching the guy’s wrist to check for a pulse. 

“I-I don’t - i just woke up here, and saw him,” Lydia whispered. “What the hell is happening to me?” 

“You’re a banshee.” Peter approached, glancing thoughtfully at the corpse on the chair. 

The sheriff was talking to the coroner on the phone, looking exhausted, and met Stiles’ confused gaze with his own. 

“A what?” Lydia demanded, a thread of haughtiness in her tone. 

Peter raised a single brow. “A banshee, a wailing woman, drawn to death.”

Lydia looked as though she was going to be ill, glancing at the dead guy Derek was currently subtly sniffing, looking confused and annoyed, murder brows furrowed deeply. 

“I’ll have a book on the topic delivered to you later today,” Peter said casually, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist.  

Derek suddenly turned and hurried over, interrupting whatever Lydia was about to say. “Peter.” 

“Hm?” Her mate hummed, looking at his nephew and alpha seriously. 

“It’s a threefold death,” Derek said with no small amount of dread. 

Peter and Stiles stiffened, making Lydia frown at them. “What does that matter?” 

“A threefold death is sacrificial. Someone is sacrificing these people,” Stiles explained.

“For what?” Lydia asked tremulously. 

“That’s the million-dollar question.”