Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She'd been dead for at least twenty four hours.

Her hair lay in long, matted strands down her back; the once golden blonde waves streaked red with the blood that trickled down from the nails driven through her skull. There was one every few inches stretching from the pale skin of one temple, across the back of her head to the other, each one helping to hold the crown of black raven feathers in place. She was dressed in a long white nightdress that fluttered in the warm breeze, her pale skin unmarred but for the blood and the dark bruising on her neck; the purple standing out in stark relief against the bloodless white of her throat.

She had been positioned on a swing in the park; a terrifying present for the children of the community. The saving grace was that it had been a jogger who had found her, as it so often is, and they were able to cordon of the area and divert everyone away from the park before the children began to make their way to school. Her feet were bare and clean, dangling about an inch from the dirt floor, and her wrists had been tied to the chain of the swing; fingers wrapped around the cold metal and fastened with thin wire to give the illusion she was alive and simply enjoying the park like everyone else.

Everything about the sight in front of him was stomach churning, and yet Detective 'Stiles' Stilinksi had become so hardened to brutal sights like this in the last ten years that he barely felt a slight queasiness. He felt disgust at the image before him, he felt sadness for the girl and for her family, he felt horror that there was someone out there capable of doing something like this; but his stomach had become hardened to it. He hadn't thrown up at a crime scene since he was a rookie and he was pushing forty now.

He continued to sketch what was before him, more out of habit than necessity. There would be crime scene photos taken and they would be of more use, but it helped him catalogue what he was seeing, helped him pick out important factors and keep them in his mind. He could see his partner, Detective Derek Hale, from the corner of his eye speaking to the Sheriff who was shooting looks his way.

Stiles hated when they were called to cases in Beacon County. Not because he disliked working with his father, on the contrary when he was younger it was all he ever wanted and he had enjoyed five years working for Beacon County Sheriff Department under the command of his father, before he was head hunted for the California Bureau of Investigation. His relationship with his father had always been beyond good and watching his father's work at the Sheriff's Department had been one of the primary factors in his own decision to go into law enforcement. No, the reason he always hated coming to Beacon County was that there was always the chance that he would know the victim or their family.

In this case, it was the former.

Heather Custer had been one of his best friends when he was a child. Their mothers had been close and from the time they were born until they attended different high schools, they had been inseparable. He often wished that they had remained close but after the death of his mother, it had been too hard, too painful to remember all those wonderful times spent together whilst she was alive and slowly, he had drifted away from her; breaking their friendship with the weight of his grief. The last time he had been up to his father's for dinner, John has mentioned Heather. She had moved to LA to work in a big marketing firm but she was back in Beacon Hills for her parents wedding anniversary and his father thought it would be nice for them all to get together.

“You should at least go and see her whilst she's staying, Stiles,”his father had said. “Who knows when she might be in town again.”

The chance to make amends had passed him and now Heather would never leave Beacon Hill's again.

He saw Derek heading in his direction, the Sheriff in tow, and tried to ignore the look his partner was giving him.

“You alright, son?” the Sheriff asked, voice heavy with concern and sadness.

“I'm fine,” Stiles replied. “Who was first on the scene?”

Derek shook his head but said nothing. Clearly John had been filling Derek in on the relationship between the Stilinski's and the dead girl exhibited before them.

“That would be Parrish.”

“We'll need to speak to him.”

“Of course,” John said. “Stiles, maybe you should...”

“Nothing like this has ever happened in Beacon County before,” Stiles said, cutting his father off. “Not for as long as I can remember.” He finally turned away from the horrific spectacle before him and met his father's eye. “You?”

“No, never,” John replied, with a sigh that said he saw Stiles diversionary tactics and they didn't impress. “I've never seen anything like this in my thirty years on the force.”

“We have,” Stiles said, more to himself than anything.

“Serial killer down in Yuba,” Derek mused. “Similar, but the symbolism is different.”

“Yeah, no crosses,” Stiles agreed, nodding thoughtfully.

“Killer did claim to be part of some kind of cult uprising.”

“But we never found any sign he wasn't working totally alone,” Stiles said, biting his lip.

“Maybe we missed something. Maybe they moved on, updated their style,” Derek said.

“Maybe. Worth a look, but we shouldn't get dragged down that road. There's nothing actually linking them together at this stage and I don't want to get pulled in the wrong direction from the off.”

“Ok, so we put a pin into it. Maybe get one of the guys to do a bit of digging for us.”

“What's the similarities?” John asked.

“Black feathers, strangulation, the presentation. All the vics we found in Yuba had been set out like some kind of warped art work,” Derek said. “Like paintings or statues. It was like they were instillations and the killer was showing off his style.”

“Maybe he was,” Stiles said. “Maybe he was auditioning.”

Derek nodded slowly.

“Now there's a terrifying thought.”

*** *** *** ***

The drive from the crime scene to the Sheriff's station was almost silent but for the steady thrum of the engine and the occasional creak from the metal shell around them as they sped along the bumpy road. Stiles could see Derek shooting enquiring, probing looks his way but he ignored them. There was a time when Stiles would have crumbled under such scrutiny; a time when he couldn't sit still for more then a few moments, where his mouth sometime ran faster than his brain could keep up and the hatred of silence did nothing but fuel it all. He had changed a lot from the boy he had been, even more so in the last six years. He'd moved out of Beacon Hills, but not the county. Still, putting the thirty minute distance between him and his past had felt like that first gasping breath after holding your head under water just a fraction too long. He got pulled back into his childhood home town more often than he would have liked. Thankfully, it wasn't often for cases; but more that his father missed him and Stiles missed him even more in return. Weekly dinners had been mandatory since he moved out of his childhood home and his father had insisted that just because he was leaving town, did not mean he could skip out on him. Couple that together with his best friend still living and working there, and Derek's family living just on the edge of town and Stiles found he spent almost as much time there as before. But at least he still had his own space, his home, his escape.

Derek spoke suddenly and drew Stiles out of his thoughts.

“You ok?”

“I'm fine,” Stiles said, and it was true. He was fine.

“Maybe we should call the Chief, ask for someone else to take over the case?” Derek said, glancing away from the road and towards where Stiles was sat, still watching the world flash by them.

“I hadn't spoken to Heather in almost twenty years,” Stiles said. “It's a terrible tragedy, and it's gonna be hard but I'll manage. Besides,” Stiles finally turned to look at his partner. “I owe it to her to catch the son of a bitch who did this to her.”

Derek stared at him for a few moments before nodding once as though he was satisfied with what he saw.

“By the way,” Derek said, after a few moments of blessed silence. “My mother has invited you for dinner on Friday night.”

“Derek...”

“I've put her off too many times, Stiles,” Derek said, cutting off any protest Stiles might have made. “She says three months without seeing you is enough and I happen to agree. Plus, Laura is back in town for the weekend and she wants to see you.”

“Do I have a choice?” Stiles sighed.

“Not really,” Derek said, with a smirk.

They pulled up outside the Sheriff's station, a place Stiles had spent so much of his childhood in, just as Deputy Parrish climbed out of his patrol car. Jordan Parrish was a fairly new recruit to the Beacon County Sheriff's Department but Stiles already knew him well.

When a man is dating your ex-wife, moving in to your old home, and becoming a second father to your two children; you tend to know him quite well.

The main thing that kept pulling him back to Beacon Hills were his two daughters. Hannah and Amber were the brightest lights in his increasingly dull life. Hannah was eight and Amber five, growing so fast he was scared that one day he would turn round and they wouldn't be little girls anymore. He video called them most nights before they went to sleep and he saw them as often as he could, all job permitting. In many ways, the dissolution of his marriage had been without malice. He couldn't give her what she wanted anymore and she couldn't stand by and watch him destroy himself any more. Drink had been a heavy prop at the time and her only stipulation had been that he never drink when he had the girls alone. It was a promise he made easily and kept religiously, no matter how much his hands shook. He'd eventually got a handle on it. For the most part at least. The occasional black hole of guilt wrapped around him every now and again; making him reach for the nearest bottle of Jack and sling it down his throat as if it were going out of fashion. But never, ever in front of his girls and in the last year he'd only had two episodes like that. He was getting there.

He may feel somewhat resentful towards Jordan Parrish; the man who tucked his little girls in at night, whilst all Stiles was was a picture on a small screen; but they were both professional men and neither one of them had anything against the other on a personal level. On the contrary, Stiles thought Parrish was one of the best men his father had and John had often told him that Jordan spoke highly of him in return. They were also civil towards each other when it came to picking up and dropping off Hannah and Amber; but they would never be the best of friends.

Derek greeted Parrish with a handshake and Stiles nodded in the man's direction, earning a small smile in return.

“Guess you'll be wanting to hear my report?” Parrish asked, hands on hips.

“If you would,” Derek said, following the Deputy into the station. Parrish led the way to one of the disused offices that Stiles and Derek had used in the past. As they were about to close the door, Deputy Liam Dunbar appeared with coffee. Stiles held his hands up like he was praying and took the coffee with a grateful smile at the young Deputy. Derek got out his notebook and gestured for Parrish to start.

“Dispatch received the nine-one-one call at about six am and radioed though a possible one-eight-seven. I was in my cruiser on main, real close, so I accepted the shout. Pulled up at the park about five minutes later and the jogger was waiting for me. Guy was as white as a sheet and his shoes had vomit on them, luckily he'd managed to move away from the scene before he hurled. Pointed me over to the swing set and I found the girl as you saw her. Called in for back up and a forensics team. I also suggested calling you guys because, we may not get many of them around here, but I recognise a statement killing when I see one. Whoever did this has a serious message.”

Derek looked up at Stiles from where he was scribbling in his notebook and raised an eyebrow. Stiles nodded, giving his agreement. He'd long ago mastered the language of Derek Hale's eyebrows. Derek was often a man of few words and he had a mean poker face when he wanted, but if you spent enough time with the man you leaned that you could read him like a book if you just looked at the eyebrows. It sounded cliché, but they seemed to have a life of their own; revealing Derek's true thoughts without his consent.

“We're thinking cult killing of some kind,” Derek said, looking up at Parrish.

“Well, it would explain the crown. It had the look of being symbolic,” Parrish mused.

“Do you know of any cults operating in the area?” Derek asked.

“No, none on our radar. Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean they're not out there.”

“Any new faces in town? Or any weird behaviour being reported?” Stiles asked.

“There's always weird behaviour. Just last week, girl vanished, turned up two days later, butt naked in the middle of the preserve; and there's been a few more admission to Eichen House than normal. As for new faces, a few. Couple of new teachers up at the school, new doctor at the hospital, and about three new families with kids at the highschool."

“Interesting,” Derek said. “Can we get backgrounds for all of them?”

“Sure,” Parrish replied with a nod. “I'll get Tara to help me.”

“Thanks, Jordan,” Stiles said, finally taking a seat opposite Derek and signally that the conversation was done.

“No problem,” Parrish said. He crossed over to the door and then paused with his hand on the knob. “I understand you knew the vic?” he said, not fully turning to look at them but keeping his attention on Stiles' reflection in the glass.

“Once. I did once,” Stiles replied.

“Sorry man,” Parrish said, before pulling the door open and leaving the two detectives alone.

There was a moment of silence before Stiles huffed and pulled out his own notebook.

“Is that how this case is gonna be? Everyone giving me sidelong looks and asking me if I knew her? All thinking I'm breaking up inside over it? I knew her a long time ago.”

“But you were close once,” Derek said, voice almost gentle.

“Yeah, but we hadn't spoken in years for God's sake.”

“Doesn't matter, Stiles. She was part of your history, someone you spent a huge chunk of your childhood with...”

“And none of my adulthood,” Stiles said, cutting his partner off. “I am fine.”

“Are you?” Derek said, bluntly. Stiles fixed him with a hard glare that Derek barely acknowledged. “All I'm saying is we've all seen how you dealt with loss before and if you need to take some time...”

Stiles pushed back his chair with a harsh screech that echoed around the office. He stormed out of the room without a backwards glance, ignoring the shouts of his name that followed him.

Chapter Text

The harsh ringing of his cell woke Stiles from his deep, much needed sleep.

“Yeah?” he answered, voice rasping through his sleep clogged throat.

“It's me.” Derek always announced himself this way when he called. Like he knew that the timbre of his voice was one that Stiles knew better than his own. “We've got another body.”

“Are you serious?” Stiles growled, rolling over and looking at the clock beside his bed. Almost three am. The universe hated him. “Where?”

“You're not going to like it,” Derek warned.

“Hit me,” Stiles said, pushing himself up from the bed and trudging towards his wardrobe.

“The Sheriff's station,” Derek said, voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

Stiles came to abrupt halt with one leg in his trousers and the phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder.

“Is it...”

“It's not your dad,” Derek said, quickly. “But it's...Stiles, I'm sorry...It's Tara Graeme.”

Stiles almost dropped the phone. He stumbled backwards and practically fell onto the bed. It took him a few moments to realise he was mumbling 'nonono' like mantra whilst Derek spoke words of comfort that were incomprehensible in his grief, becoming nothing more than a soothing hum in his ear.

Tara Graeme had been one of the few constants in his life. The strongest woman he had ever known; the woman who helped pull him and his dad through the haze of grief after his mothers death; the woman who sat with him at the station and helped him with his homework; the woman who had his dad's back every day. For the vast majority of his youth the two mother figures in his life, the women who had taken it upon themselves to shelter and guide him after his own mother was gone; were Melissa McCall, his best friend Scott's mother, and Tara Graeme.

“I should call the Captain.”

Derek's words finally pushed through and Stiles stopped his gasped pleading instantly.

“Don't you fucking dare,” he said. “I'll be there in thirty.”

He hung up before Derek could say another word and let the phone drop from his hand. He grasped his hair for a few moments, letting his head sink towards his knees as he fought to keep his grief contained.

This was worse. This was so much worse than Heather.

This felt personal.

*** *** *** ***

The Sheriff looked wrecked. He strode towards his son and pulled him close and Stiles knew that they were both fighting off tears. Fuck, Tara was practically family. He pulled away from his father and mentally squared his shoulders. Derek appeared at his side like a ghost and together they approached the cordon, where Liam stood looking paler than Stiles had ever seen him.

She was on a white, wooden chair that had been placed outside the Sheriff's office window. The dress wasn't white this time, it was a deep sapphire blue, but it was clearly the same handiwork, the same madman's design. Her throat was bruised, the same crown of raven's feathers nailed onto her skull, her dark hair set loose and flowing to her shoulders, feet bare. She had a book open in her lap, wire had again been used to fix her hands in place to make it look like she was cradling the book in her lifeless hands. Another length of wire stretched from the back of the crown to the chair back, the length just right to tilt her head down towards the book without letting it flop against her chest.

Stiles stomach turned and he looked away.

“Who found her?” he asked.

“Your dad,” Derek said.

“Jesus fuck,” Stiles said. “What is this?”

“I dunno man, but we'll figure it out, we always do.”

“Two bodies in two days, Derek. We have to get a lid on this, quick.”

“I know,” Derek assured him.

“We've got a fucking serial killer on our hands.”

“I know,” Derek repeated.

“A cult of serial killers maybe,” Stiles rambled, running a hand through his already tousled hair.

“Stiles,” Derek said firmly, voice forcing Stiles to turn to him. “I know. We're gonna figure this out. Ok?”

Stiles found himself nodding. He took a deep breath and gave himself a little shake.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Shut up,” Derek said, without heat, gripping Stiles' shoulder fleetingly.

Stiles' shoulder seemed to burn with the contact long after warmth of Derek's skin had faded from his own.

Liam came and stood beside him, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from Tara's horrifying corpse.

“They must have dropped her here pretty quick,” Liam muttered. “No one saw a damn thing.”

“Probably why she's on the chair. She was all prepped and ready to go. Why risk it though? Why risk coming to the station? Even if they managed to avoid everyone, there's still the chance of CCTV.”

“That's the thing, though...they knocked it out.”

“What?”

“There's no CCTV, Stiles. Somehow, they got into the system and shut it all down.”

*** *** *** ***

Stiles fought the urge to slam the door at the last moment and instead kicked his chair with as much vehemence as he could. The door banged open again behind him and Derek closed it quickly behind him, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“You fucker,” Stiles hissed and Derek didn't even have the decency to look chastised. Instead he looked understanding and sympathetic. “Why would you call him?”

“Are you kidding me? You're telling me that if we were working a case and I knew all the victims you wouldn't do the same?”

“I'm fine,” Stiles stressed.

“It's not about that. It's about you being too close to this case in ways that are freaking me out. You were close to both the victims, you look like you haven't slept properly in a month and you know what? I could let all that go. I could. I trust you and if you say you're fine, I'll believe you and go along with it until you admit that you're not. But I can't ignore this.” Derek pulled a flask shaped vodka bottle from the inside of his jacket and set it on the table with a deafening thump. “I found this in the car and it sure as hell ain't mine.”

“I just...”

“It's happening all over again, Stiles. You can't see it but I can and so can everyone else. Your dad called me last night. He said that since you've been staying with him two bottles of Jack have vanished from his liquor cabinet. He's worried sick.”

“I'm ok.”

“You are not ok!” Derek roared and through the blinds, Stiles could see people looking over at the noise. “You are drinking again and I get it. With everything that's been happening and...look I know this is hard but the bottom of the bottle is not the answer, you know that.”

Stiles couldn't think of a damn thing to say. The truth was that the two bottles of Jack were sat under his old bed at his dad's house, unopened. He got them out at night and set them on the desk like a challenge. For three days he'd resisted. There hadn't been any more bodies, which was a plus, but the investigation was moving too slowly. The only link anyone could find between the two victims was that they knew Stiles and the Sheriff. But then practically everyone in the county knew the Sheriff and his son. Was it really so surprising that in a county as small as this one, the Stilinski men personally knew the victims? Stiles didn't think so but apparently everyone else did. And now Derek had called the Captain because he didn't think Stiles could handle it, that he wasn't up to the job, and that hurt more than anything. He felt like a failure. With no witnesses, no CCTV, no solid leads, and jack shit to show for the many hours they'd put in; it was an uphill battle that Stiles felt they were loosing. He'd started staying at his dad's because he was too bone tired to keep making the trip home and Derek watched him with knowing eyes every second of the day, making Stiles' skin itch.

Still, he didn't want anyone else taking the case. Especially not Jackson fucking Whittemore. And to top it all off, the Captain was here. Stiles hated the man.

When Stiles had joined the CBI, he'd been beyond excited. The excitement had soured quickly when he was introduced to his new Captain. Rafael McCall, his best friends father. The man who had walked away from his family leaving Melissa heartbroken and Scott lost and angry. The man who had made no secret of his contempt for John Stilinski and the way he ran his station, looking down on the man like he was beneath him and treating the whole station as though they were incompetent.

And now he was here. Talking about taking Stiles off the case, setting up shop in the station like he owned the fucking place.

“Let Jackson take your place on the case,” Derek said, softly, almost pleadingly.

“No.”

“I'll work it with him, I'll keep you in the loop, you know I will.”

“No.”

“Stiles...”

“I said no, Derek.”

“Well, it might not be your choice anymore,” Derek snapped.

“And whose fault is that? I told you I was fine, Derek. You should have trusted me.”

“I'm just trying to do what's best for the case and for you.”

Stiles snorted and shook his head. Derek sighed angrily and looked away. He sucked the inside of his mouth between his teeth, biting down on the anger that was trying to break free. Stiles had watched him do it a thousand times, a little coping mechanism he'd picked up though the years.

“If McCall wants me off this case, he's going to have to drag me kicking and screaming,” Stiles said, heading for the door.

“Stiles...”

“What?” Stiles snarled.

“Don't forget about dinner tonight.”

“Are you serious?” Stiles said, looking at Derek like he was crazy.

“Yes. You said you'd come, you made a promise to my mother and damn it, you will be there. Even if I have to drag you there myself.”

With that, Derek strode straight past him and slammed the door behind him.

*** *** *** ***

Stiles rang the doorbell and took a step backwards, down off the doorstep. He worried at his bottom lip with his teeth, reaching up to run a hand quickly through his already mussed up hair. It was getting too long again but he couldn't find it in him to give a shit. Too on edge to do anything more than work the case, try not to keel over from exhaustion and fight the now daily battle of resisting the somewhat dire urge to drink. When he lay in bed at night, mind racing with questions and the terrifying prospect that somehow these murders were all linked to him, the bottles of Jack under his bed called to him. He'd started a crime board on the walls of his childhood bedroom to give his mind something else to focus on but he longed for the sweet, numbing bliss of alcohol to send him to sleep when his frantic mind could not be silenced. Red string just wasn't the same. He opted for sleeping pills instead and a little voice in his head that was horribly familiar and only referred to Stiles as 'Batman', insisted that wasn't really any better. They didn't really help anyway. Ever since Derek suggested Stiles may be the common link in Heather and Tara's murders, he woke up in a cold sweat most nights, dreams plagued with images of loved ones posed in horrific caricatures of their living selves, though no breath fell from their lips and their hearts were still.

The door swung open suddenly and Stiles was broken from soul destroying thoughts, unsure if it had been two seconds or two hours since he rang the bell. Derek looked him over, a small crease between those tell tale eyebrows betraying his concern even whilst he fought to keep his face impassive. He was still angry, Stiles could see that, but he was too drained to care about the fight anymore. He felt betrayed but tiredness and fear where winning out and the anger was seeping away. Derek stood aside without a word and Stiles entered the Hale house.

He'd been there before, quite a few times in fact. When Derek had first invited him over, Stiles hadn't wanted to come. Heart still too heavy with grief and mind clouded by drink. But Talia Hale had insisted and the more she badgered Derek, the more Derek badgered Stiles until he had not choice but to relent. It had been awkward that first time, perhaps more so the next, but Talia had persisted and slowly but surely, Stiles warmed to her and the rest of her family.

Now, Talia greeted him like he was her own son, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tight. She pulled back and cupped his face in her hands, peering into his eyes and into his soul in a way that made Stiles want to shudder. Her forehead creased the same was as her son's when she was concerned and her eyes looked troubled, but she offered him a smile.

“Come on into the dining room,” she said. “Dinner's almost ready.”

Stiles made his way through the familiar hallway to the dinning room, Derek at his heel. He had barely stepped into the room before he was engulfed in another pair of arms. He huffed in surprise but returned the hug as soon as he recognised the dark head of hair that brushed across his face. Laura's hair was shorter but he knew it was her all the same. She too stepped back and looked him over, before cocking an eyebrow and giving him a decidedly unimpressed look.

“You look like shit,” she said, bluntly and it shocked a laugh out of Stiles. Trust Laura to be brutally honest.

“Laura,” Derek chastised.

“What? He does,” Laura said, taking a seat at the table and pouring herself a glass of wine. Stiles' eyes lingered slightly too long on the crimson liquid as it cascaded into her glass. The only thing that stopped him reaching for the bottle himself was the liquids striking resemblance to blood.

The three of them sat at the table and a thick silence fell amongst them. Laura's eyes flicked between the two men, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched questioningly; a look that both men ignored. The silence stretched so long that Stiles felt a long since dead urge to fill it with aimless babble, just to spare them from the choking thickness of the tense air. It was a relief when Talia brought the food out and took a seat opposite Derek.

“Dig in,” she said, and her soft voice was like a thunderclap in the quiet. “How was your day?” Talia aimed her question at the two men in front of her and when Stiles met her gaze it was like she was seeing far more than he wanted her to.

“It was tough,” Derek said.

“Having trouble with the case?” Laura asked.

“Yeah, we're hitting a lot of dead ends,” Derek said. “We might have to bring someone else onto the case.”

Stiles kept his gaze firmly on his dinner and continued to push his food aimlessly around the plate, trying to ignore the anger that was simmering anew in his chest.

“Sometimes it can help to have a fresh pair of eyes looking at a problem,” Talia mused.

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” Derek said. “I called the Captain today to ask him about...”

Stiles slammed his fork down with a clatter, pushed his chair back angrily and got to his feet.

“Thanks for dinner, Talia,” he said, voice oddly calm even as his hands trembled. “I'm not feeling great so I'm gonna head home.”

“Stiles...” Derek said, getting to his feet beside Stiles and reaching out.

“I should go,” Stiles said, glancing up at Derek. “Before...”

“Stay,” Derek said, cutting him off. He grabbed Stiles' arm and pulled him towards the living room. “Mom, give us a minute.”

“Take your time,” Talia said, eyes boring into their retreating backs.

“Well, this is awkward,” Laura said, the rest of what she might be about to say cut off as Derek snapped the door shut behind them.

“Stiles, listen,” Derek began, hands held out in a placating gesture.

“No, you listen,” Stiles seethed, “You can dress up what you did all you like. You can tell your mom and yourself that calling McCall was all about a fresh pair of eyes, but we both know you did it because you don't trust me to stay off the drink.”

“That's not true,” Derek said. “I'm worried about you, Stiles. I think you taking a step back from the case is best for everyone.”

“You betrayed me,” Stiles said. “That's the bottom line. You stabbed me in the back and you can't seem to understand why that would piss me off.”

“I did not stab you in the back. I'm trying to...”

“Trying to what, Derek?” Stiles asked and for the first time since they came into the living room, Derek avoided his gaze.

“I'm trying to protect you.”

“I don't need you to protect me,” Stiles replied softly. “I need you to trust me. I'm fine. I'm not drinking. I can do my job.”

Derek sighed and finally looked back up at Stiles.

“I need you to be totally honest with me, Stiles. Are you drinking again?”

“No.”

“The bottles of...”

“Under my bed. I just...I guess I just needed to know they were there. I'll put them back.”

“And the Vodka?”

“Just throw it. Derek, I promise. I'm sober.” Stiles looked Derek square in the eye and held his gaze for a long moment before Derek nodded, seemingly satisfied with what ever he'd seen.

“Ok. I'm sorry,” he said.

“If I get thrown off the case, Derek...”

“I'll talk to the Captain tomorrow.”

*** *** *** ***

Stiles would never be able to explain exactly how Derek managed it and he'd never be able to remember the logical arguments Derek gave as he fought Stiles' case, but he would never forget looking at him and seeing a man that was fiercely in his corner. He felt a huge surge of affection for his partner and it stung; guilt souring the edges of the warm feeling of realising Derek was one of the best friends he'd ever had and he hadn't even noticed it happening.

The Captain seemed pissed at the thought of letting Stiles stay on the case but when Jackson spoke up in his favour, a move that shocked Stiles so much his mouth may have actually hung open for a fraction of a second; McCall reluctantly agreed.

“Fine. Stilinski you can stay on the case but Whittemore is joining the investigation. I want the three of you working this together and I want you to work it fast. Jackson will report back to me with your progress,” Rafael McCall said, fixing the three of them with a steely glare.

“You got it, Sir,” Derek said. Stiles said nothing but McCall seemed to take his silence as acquiesce and left the office without another word.

“Stilinski, look, I know you're not happy about me being on the case but I couldn't give a rats ass. All I care about is finding the sick son of a bitch that's doing this and throwing their ass in jail,” Jackson said. He held out a hand to Stiles, who eyed it as if it were a hissing, writhing snake. “Truce?”

It wasn't a secret that Stiles and Jackson weren't exactly the best of friends. They'd been on opposite sides since they were in highschool together. Jackson was the popular guy, head of the lacrosse team and grade A jock. Stiles was the complete opposite. They clashed on a primal level and with Jackson's snide comments and general doucebaggery, they were never going to be friends. Throughout the time they'd both been Deputies in the Sheriff's department, they had constantly tried to out do each other and when Jackson showed up at the CBI two years ago, Stiles had been less than thrilled. But they were both professionals and if Stiles had to suck it up and work with the guy to bring this horror story to an end, he would.

He took Jackson's hand and shook it firmly.

Chapter Text

Stiles rang the doorbell and took a step back, thrusting his hands back into the depths of his pockets. It took a few moments for the door to open, but when it did Stiles was hit with that familiar and yet muted burn of regret.

Lydia Stilinski stood in the doorway and crossed her arms over her chest with a sigh. Her long red hair was tied back in a plait that draped over one shoulder, her hazel eyes seemed more green as the last rays of the setting sun caught the emerald flecks in her iris' and her full lips curved into a soft smile. She was as beautiful now as she had been when Stiles had first set eyes on her and part of him still hated himself for letting her slip through his fingers.

“You look like crap,” she said.

“I've been told,” Stiles replied, with a smile and a shrug.

Lydia stood aside and Stiles walked past her into the house that had once been his home. He toed off his shoes and slung his jacket over the bannister, just like he used to, and made his way into the kitchen.

“Daddy!” Hannah shouted, abandoning her dinner and vaulting off her chair to race around the kitchen table and into the waiting arms of her father.

“Hey Sprogg,” Stiles laughed in greeting, holding his eldest daughter tightly to his chest.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” Amber chanted, holding her arms up and pouting as if she was afraid she had been forgotten. Stiles swept her up easily into his arms and pressed a kiss into her dark curls.

“Hey Munchkin,” he said, giving them both another squeeze before plonking Amber back into her chair and releasing Hannah, who scuttled back to her seat and pulled herself up. “You better finish your dinners or Mommy is gonna be mad at me.”

“Yeah, you don't want Daddy to get into trouble do you,” Lydia teased and they both laughed as the girls quickly began to eat again. “Have you eaten?” she asked, turning to Stiles.

“Not yet, I was gonna grab something when I got back to dad's. He's working the night shift so I'll probably just make a sandwich or maybe grab a burger on my way home.”

“Or just have some of this,” Lydia said, piling pasta onto a plate and holding it out to him.

“Thanks Lyds,” Stiles said, gratefully. He was starving.

Eating at the table together like old times was a strangely enjoyable experience. On the one hand, it stung to be reminded of what he'd lost but on the other it filled him with a little bubble of happiness to know that although he'd destroyed their marriage; apparently he'd managed not to destroy their friendship completely; and finally they were in a place where the damage he had done to it could start to be repaired. Once the girls had finished their food, they became restless so Lydia put Frozen on and the two of them each settled into a chair, eyes glued to the screen from the opening note of the first song.

“So, Jordan told me that the case your here for isn't going so well,” Lydia said, sitting back in her chair at the table and taking a sip of her wine.

“He really shouldn't be telling you anything about that,” Stiles said.

“Oh, don't worry, he didn't go into specifics. I only know you're looking into a couple of murders. Do you have any leads?”

“No, not really. It's just dead end after dead end,” Stiles sighed. “I'm just hoping we find whoever is responsible before we have any more bodies on our hands.”

“You think it's a full blown serial killer then?”

Stiles couldn't help but smile. This was the sort of conversation they'd had when they were together. Lydia always used her big, innocent eyes and her apparently nonchalant questions to glean as much information as she could. It was a ploy she often used on her patients when they struggled to open up and was part of what made her such a brilliant psychiatrist.

“I'm wise to your ways,” he said. “You're not getting anything out of me.”

“You mean, anything else,” Lydia replied, with a smirk that made Stiles laugh.

“This is nice,” he said.

“It is.”

“You know I'm sorry, right?”

“Of course,” Lydia said, gently. “If I didn't know that, you wouldn't be sat at my table eating my food. I want us to be friends and not just for the girls sake.”

“I've missed them...and I've missed my friend,” Stiles said.

“I've missed mine too. It's nice to have you back in Beacon Hills. The girls can see more of you when you're right on the doorstep. You know, if you moved back to town permanently, you could come over some evenings, have dinner with them, put them to bed...” Lydia gave him an innocent smile that didn't fool him for a second.

“Did my dad ask you to say something?” Stiles asked with a smirk.

“He mentioned something...but it would be lovely, wouldn't it?”

“Yeah, it would. But wouldn't Jordan mind me hanging around all the time?”

“Not at all. It was his idea for me to invite you over tonight.”

“Really?” Stiles asked, a little taken aback.

“Really,” Lydia said, nodding. “He knows the girls miss you and he also knows, that even though me and you will always be friends, we could never be anything more...not again.”

Stiles nodded. He knew that too and even though he still loved Lydia, he couldn't love her in that way anymore. Too much had happened between them for them to ever get back to that.

His phone rang suddenly, vibrating loudly against the wooden table. He sighed as he grabbed it and saw Derek's name flashing on the screen.

“Derek, what's up?” he said in greeting.

“We've got another body,” Derek said bluntly.

“Shit,” Stiles breathed, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Where?”

“The Preserve, the old hunters cabin.”

“Ok, I'll be there in ten.” Stiles hesitated for a moment but then asked the question that was hanging in the air. “Has the victim been identified?” As much as he didn't want Derek to be right about him being the link between the murders, he couldn't help but be a little worried about it.

“It's Chris Argent,” Derek said softly. He didn't ask Stiles if he knew the man. They both knew he did.

*** *** *** ***

Stiles arrived at the Preserve and found Derek and Parrish deep in conversation, the trees behind them painted alternate shades of red and blue under the flashing lights of the patrol cars lined up in front. As he approached, Derek looked over at him with understanding eyes; but it was Parrish that spoke first.

“How was Lydia when you left?”

“She was ok, I made sure she locked all the windows and doors before I left,” Stiles said. He knew that they had both arrived at the same conclusion: if Stiles was what was linking all these murders, how long before they targeted his ex-wife and daughters. “I spoke to Dad on the drive over and he's sending
Clark and Cordova to watch the house.”

“Thanks Stiles, I'm glad you were there. I...I felt better knowing she wasn't on her own when this happened,” Parrish said. “With all these murders...whether it's linked to you or not, I hate leaving them alone when I'm on the night shift.”

“Of course,” Stiles said. “For what it's worth, Parrish, I'm glad that when I can't be there, they have you to look out for them.”

Parrish gave him a small smile which Stiles felt himself returning, before he remembered why he was here and what he was about to see. He sighed deeply and then turned to Derek and asked the question that was twisting his stomach into knots.

“Has anyone called Allison yet?”

Derek nodded.

“Your dad. Her and Scott are on their way to the station.”

“Ok, let's see this and then get over there.”

Derek lead the way inside the hunters cabin and Stiles saw Chris Argent's body for the first time.

He'd be arranged as if he was cleaning his gun, parts of it scattered across a rotting, wooden table that sat in the middle of the derelict cabin. He held a cloth in one lifeless hand and the main barrel of the gun rested in the other. Thin wire once again held his fingers and head in the desired position, but the crown of raven feathers was different; not as flamboyant and only resting on his head rather than nailed into his skull. Maybe they decided enough blood had been spilt, because Chris hadn't been strangled, he'd been butchered. His shirt was soaked in blood, deep gashes peeking out from the tattered remains of his shirt. Stiles took a closer look, flicking his notebook out of his pocket as he did so and beginning to sketch. The gashes were grouped into sets of three and it almost made them look like claw marks but they were too clean, to precise. The ones on his face, neck, arms...they were different. They looked raw, bloody and frayed; like nails had dug into his flesh and tore as much as they could away with them. His eyes travelled across the grotesque tableau before him and he noticed bruising around his wrists. The smell of polish filled Stiles' nose and he took a closer look at the gun. It had been thoroughly cleaned, as if an unpolished gun would have ruined the realism of the scene.

“He was tied down...tightly,” Stiles mused. He used his pen to pull the shoulder of Chris' shirt aside. There were similar bruises around the top of his arms and chest. Stiles would bet good money that there were bruises on his ankles as well. “From what I can see, none of the wounds look deep enough to be the cause of death.”

“Nah, I'm guessing he bleed to death,” Jackson said and Stiles noticed him for the first time, stood in the corner with Deputy Donati. He'd been so caught up, he hadn't even seen them.

“Looks that way,” Derek said. “But he didn't die here.”

“None of the victims were killed where we found them,” Stiles agreed. “Who did find him, by the way?”

“We don't know,” Jackson said, with a shrug. “Whoever called it in didn't leave a name and there wasn't anyone here when officers arrived.” He looked meaningfully between Stiles and Derek.

“Wow,” Stiles muttered, understanding exactly what Jackson was suggesting. “They called it in themselves.”

“They want to make sure we don't miss any of their artwork,” Derek said, voice laced with disgust.

*** *** *** ***

Stiles pulls up short in the entrance of the Sheriff's station at the sound of someone calling his name. He turned to see Lydia hurrying across the parking lot towards him.

“Lydia? What are you doing here? Where are the girls?”

“My mom came over to watch them, the Deputies you sent are still there...I had to come, Stiles...it's Allison,” Lydia finished as if that explained everything and in many ways it did.

“Ok,” Stiles said, shaking his head slightly. “Just wait outside until we've had a chance to speak to her, ok?”

“Ok,” Lydia agreed readily, nodding her head vigorously.

The two of them entered the Sheriff's station and Lydia was accosted almost immediately by Parrish who began to the same conversation with her as Stiles had just had. Stiles left them to it and caught up with Derek and Jackson who were talking to John just outside the Sheriff's office.

“Hey Dad,” Stiles said, gripping his dad's shoulder swiftly. “How you doing?”

John and Chris had been good friends for years. They'd become close after the Argent's moved to Beacon Hill's back when Stiles, Scott and the rest of them had been in highschool. Scott and Allison had begun dating and so Stiles and Allison had become friends. Once Stiles and Lydia started dating, Allison and Lydia became inseparable. The four of them spent practically every waking hour together, drifting between each others houses until their parents basically began to think of them all as their children. It was only a matter of time really before the parents themselves began to become friends. John and Chris had bonded quickly and all these years later, they had still made time to see each other once a week; be it a night out at their favourite bar, dinner at each others houses or sometimes even an evening playing poker. Stiles could only imagine how that would feel. He thought about how he'd felt when...well, back then and how much worse it could have been if he'd lost Scott. He'd imploded as it was, losing Scott probably would have killed him.

“I'm ok,” John said, and it was so obviously a lie that Stiles just wanted to pull him into a tight hug and never let him go. “Allison...damn it.” John cleared his throat and rubbed a hand across his eyes swiftly. “Breaks my heart,” John muttered.

Stiles took a deep breath, offered his dad a sad smile and then looked up and caught Derek's searching gaze. A quirk of one bushy eyebrow asked Stiles if he was sure he was ok and Stiles replied with reassuring nod and then led the way into the office.

Scott and Allison looked over as the door opened. Stiles took two steps into the room and then Allison was falling into his arms, sobbing into his chest whilst Stiles held her close.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “Ally, I'm so sorry.” He looked over at where Scott was standing, eyes filled with helplessness and sorrow, and tried to give his best friend a comforting smile.

“You have to find them,” Allison said, her voice muffled from where her lips where pressed into his shirt. “The monster that did this. You have to.”

“I will,” he said, with as much conviction as he could. He gently pulled her away from his chest and led her back to her chair. He quickly grabbed Scott in a tight embrace, rubbing his hand soothingly across his friend's back as he tried to ease some of the tension there. With one final squeeze, he let him go and then took a seat beside Derek. Jackson was perched on the edge of the desk with his notepad in his hand and for perhaps the first time, Stiles was glad he was working this with them because Stiles didn't need to be sitting there trying to make notes. He wondered if it was weird for Allison; to personally know all three of the detectives working her dad's murder. One of her best friends, someone she'd known throughout highschool; and the man that she'd cornered at their first meeting and begged to help them save her friend from drinking himself to death.

“We have to ask a few questions,” Derek said, almost apologetically.

“It's ok, I understand. Can I ask something first?” Allison asked.

“Of course,” Derek replied, nodding.

“Is it linked to Tara's death?”

“What makes you say that?” Stiles asked.

“Well, it just seems like a really strange coincidence, both of them being killed with a couple of weeks of each other.”

“Did your father know Deputy Graeme?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, they were dating. They'd only been out a few times, but my dad was really cut up when he found out she'd been murdered. He really liked her.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles said, looking over at Scott who just nodded as if the relationship was common knowledge.

“Your dad introduced them,” Scott said.

Stiles and Derek shared a look.

*** *** *** ***

Lydia was out of her seat and running towards her best friend as soon as Stiles led Allison and Scott out of the office. The two women clung to each other tightly, as Lydia whispered soothing words meant only for Allison.

“Do you think it's connected?” Scott asked Stiles quietly.

“You know I can't answer that,” Stiles sighed.

“Well, what about Heather?”

“How do you even know about Heather?”

“Stiles, this is Beacon Hills. When someone gets murdered, people notice. Word travels fast, you know that,” Scott said, incredulously. Yeah, Stiles did know that. “Because if they're all linked...”

“Look, Scott, trust me, I know what you're thinking and we've already made that link.”

“We could all be in danger.”

“Maybe...but I'm starting to think it's something else. I have to get back in there. Go home, take care of your wife and your son. Let me take care of the rest.” Scott nodded reluctantly and then pulled Stiles into another hug. “Give Josh a big hug from his Uncle Stiles, alright?”

“You got it,” Scott replied.

Stiles clapped him on the back and released him, throwing Lydia a sad smile before heading back into the office. Jackson gave him a hard stare as soon as the door closed behind him and Stiles sighed.

“This is not good,” Jackson said. “You're way to emotionally involved in this case, Stilinski. You know all the victims, you're friends with their families...Jesus, I'm starting to think this really is about you. We need to call the Captain...”

“No we don't,” Derek interjected. “If Stiles says he's good, he's good.”

“Wait a minute,” Jackson said, hotly. “You were the one that...”

“It doesn't matter,” Stiles said, cutting the argument off before it could get rolling. “Because I think we've been coming at this all wrong. Remember at the first crime scene, when we said we shouldn't get pulled down the wrong road by trying to find a link between this and Yuba?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, forehead creased in a frown.

“Maybe we should have. I think they're linked. I think we were right when we said Barrow was auditioning for something.”

“What, like a murderous cult?” Jackson asked.

“Exactly,” Stiles said.

“So, now they're coming for you through the people around you? The people you love?” Jackson asked.

“I don't think this is about me at all. We got fixated on the fact that I knew them all, we forgot that someone else knew them all too. Someone who would be more affected by their deaths than me.”

“The Sheriff,” Derek said, realisation dawning on his face.

“Heather was like a daughter to him when we were kids. I couldn't face seeing her after my mom died, but my dad stayed friends with her family, he still saw Heather whenever she came back to town; Tara wasn't just my dad's deputy, she was one of his oldest friends; and Chris was basically his best friend. Whoever's doing this, they're not coming for me...they're coming for my dad.”

Chapter Text

Stiles and Derek pulled up at Eichen House and Stiles stared up at the imposing building with trepidation. He'd been here a few times and every time it made him feel cold to the pit of his stomach. They got out of the car and made their way up to the towering black gates. Derek pressed the buzzer and Stiles looked behind them whilst Derek spoke to the man who answered. The gates swung open and Derek walked through them, but Stiles couldn't stop staring behind them down the street.

He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.

“Stiles? You coming?” Derek asked.

“Yeah...” Stiles said, still not moving. “Yeah.”

Finally, he turned back to Derek and followed him into the grounds of the mental health facility. At the reception they were met by a doctor who introduced himself as Dr Fenris.

“If you'd like to follow me,” he said, heading down a corridor on their left. “I must warn you, the ward I'm taking you to is where we keep our most violent patients.”

“The criminally insane, right?” Stiles said. His eye caught that of a young girl with short, curly brown hair and wild eyes. She stared at him for a second and then looked down, quickly walking away from them, throwing a look that Stiles could only describe as terrified, over her should at them.

“If you want to call them that,” Dr Fenris replied. He opened a set of double doors on their right and led them down a flight of stairs. At the bottom there was a locked metal door and Dr Fenris pulled out his keycard, swiping it to let them through. As soon as the door opened, Stiles felt the air change; it felt like it became thicker, more oppressive and for a second he didn't want to go in. As if he could tell what his partner was thinking, Derek touched his shoulder with a steadying hand and then walked through the door without a backwards glance, as if he knew Stiles would be right behind him. With a sigh, Stiles followed.

Every cell was occupied. A woman with long black hair that partially covered her face, stood in the corner of her cell, motionless. A man with horn rimmed glasses sat reading a book of Grimm fairytales. Another woman stood at the window of her door and stared at them as they passed. Stiles could feel her eyes burning into his back even after they had turned a corner.

“He's in the cell at the end,” Dr Fenris said. “I'll leave you to it.” Without another word the doctor turned and strode away from them back the way they'd come, leaving them to stare after his retreating back for a second before turning in unison towards the last cell.

William Barrow looked much the way he had when they'd arrested him for the murders in Yuba. His face was gaunt; skin pale and waxy looking; and his green eyes were murky and dead looking. But he fixed them with a cold stare; cold only due to the lack of emotion in his eyes, and then smiled as if he suddenly realised who was in front of him. The smile more than the stare sent shivers down Stiles' spine.

“Hello William,” he said.

“Detective Stilinski. What a pleasure. And Detective Hale, too. How nice.”

“We need to talk to you about Yuba, William,” Derek said.

“I thought that was all over and done with?” Barrow looked between the two of them, confused.

“Yuba is,” Stiles conceded. “But it looks like someone is a fan of your work.”

“Oh I know,” Barrow said and he was beaming at them, face full of pride. “They came to see me.”

“They?” Stiles prompted.

“Yes, two of them. They said they wouldn't let an artist like myself rot in here.” He glanced to the side and edged closer to door. “They're going to free me,” he whispered.

“Who are 'they', William?” Derek asked.

“Oh Detective Hale, I may be a little crazy but I'm not stupid.”

“We know that,” Stiles said, quickly. “I gotta say, William...I'm a little surprised.”

“Surprised?”

“That they'd want you. I mean, you got caught pretty quick in Yuba. I'm guessing there were supposed to be more than just the two bodies right?”

“Well...yes,” Barrow said, and now he looked embarrassed. “Yes...I didn't get them all...not all seven.”

Stiles kept his eye on Barrow but he could see Derek scribbling everything in his notebook.

“Why seven?”

“It's what The Mother wants.”

“Who's 'The Mother'?” Stiles asked.

“I don't know,” Barrow snapped and he had switched from embarrassed to angry so quickly, Stiles was taken aback for a second but he quickly composed himself.

“Well, the two people that came to see you, did The Mother send them?”

“Yes, yes she did. She told her messenger to save me because she was impressed with my artistry,” Barrow said quickly, nodding his head vigorously and the anger was gone, replaced with pride. “She said it was a shame I didn't finish. She wants them to get me out so I can finish.”

“I see. Are you going to help them with what they're doing in Beacon Hills or are you going to start again?”

“I have to prove myself. They're going to let me out and let me do The Heart.”

“The Heart?” Stiles asked, honestly confused.

“Yes, it's part of the big finale. You start with The Innocent, then The Protector, The Hunter, The Healer, The Ward, The Heart and then it all ends with The Father. He ties them all together, he's the link and when all seven are sacrificed, we can become pure.”

“How does it make you pure?” Derek asked, looking a little horrified.

“It does in her eyes,” Barrow said, as if that was all that mattered in the world. “Once you're pure, you can join her. She welcomes you with open arms and brings you into the fold, into the warmth of her family.”

“Don't you have to kill all seven yourself though,” Stiles asked. “Isn't working with others kind of like cheating.”

“No!” Barrow shouted and he was back to be furious, spraying the glass cell door with spit in his anger. “You don't understand! You could never understand! She loves us, all of us! She wants us to be pure, she wants us to work together to reach her! As long as the sacrifice is done in all our names, we are purified!”

“Ok, ok, let me ask you this, William, when was the last time they came to see you? The two people that The Mother sent to rescue you?”

“They've only been once.”

“When was that?”

“I...I'm not sure,” Barrow said.

“Did you tell them everything you told me.”

“Yes.”

“Don't you think, if The Mother had sent them, they would have known all that already?” Stiles asked.

Barrow stared at him with uncomprehending eyes for a second before everything seemed to click into place. His angry, tortured scream followed them all the way back to the stairs.

*** *** *** ***

The board in their borrowed office was covered with pictures of the victims, notes and wild theories, suspects (which consisted of a picture of Barrow and two big question marks) and in the centre of it all, linked to each victim with a length of red thread, was the Sheriff. On a separate board, Jackson was writing down the seven titles that Barrow had given them.

“So Heather is The Innocent, right?” he asked.

“I guess,” Stiles said. “She was first...Tara definitely fitted The Protector role and Chris was a hunter way back when. He made a living out of it. Allison used to hate it. They had a massive row about it when we were about nineteen. I don't know what she said to him, but he never hunted again.”

“He still sold guns though, right?” Jackson said.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed.

The door opened and Derek came in, pocketing his phone.

“I just spoke to Heather's parents. Get this; she was a virgin.”

“What?”

“Well, that definitely fits with being innocent,” Jackson said.

“Apparently she had a purity ring and she didn't believe in sex before marriage and she never got married, so...”

“Good work,” Jackson said. “Seriously, getting this out of Barrow is probably the first decent lead we've had. I'll make sure the Captain knows, help get him of your back.”

“Thanks, Jackson,” Stiles said, genuinely a little surprised.

“Now we can try and think of people that are close to your dad that might fit these titles,” Jackson said, tapping the pen against his finger as he stared at the list. He'd already written Heather, Tara and Chris against their moniker and Stiles felt his stomach twist as he realised what was next.

“Well, I can think of someone who would fit The Healer...his wife,” Stiles said and Derek looked at him quickly.

“Of course, Melissa,” he said.

“McCall? As in Scott's mom?” Jackson asked. “I didn't know they got married.”

“Well, you weren't exactly on the friends list for an invite,” Stiles said, without missing a beat.

“Right...I'll get Parrish and Dunbar to go over there,” Jackson said, hurrying out of the room.

“I'll tell Dad,” Stiles said.

“Do you want me to call Scott?” Derek asked.

“Yeah...and would you do me a favour? Call Lydia? Make sure her and he girls are ok?”

“Sure,” Derek said, with a soft smile.

Stiles made his way to his dad's office, wondering how to break the news to him. He'd told him about the list but he hadn't told him that they thought it was him that was tying it all together. He knocked once on the door and entered the office without waiting for an answer.

“Hey Stiles,” John said, and he looked tired as hell and Stiles wanted nothing more than to just tell his dad to go home and get some sleep.

“Dad, I need to fill you in on a few things.”

*** *** *** ***

“So, they're all dead because of me,” John said, looking wrecked.

“No, they're all dead because some mad fuckers have decided you're like...The Father of Beacon Hills. It's not on you, Dad,” Stiles stressed.

“Now they're going after Melissa...I mean, who else are they gunning for? Have you figured out anyone else that fits the list?”

“Not yet, but we're pretty sure they have to be done in order. We'll stop them getting Melissa and we'll find them before anyone else dies, ok?”

“Could you be one of them? Or the girls?”

“I...I don't know, maybe. But it's not gonna come to that, Dad.”

“Oh God,” John breathed.

“It's gonna be ok. We're gonna solve this.”

John nodded but there was fear in his eyes.

*** *** *** ***

“Parrish and Dunbar are heading over to the hospital now,” Jackson said, meeting Stiles outside his dad's office door.

“Why? She's not on shift, she's at home,” Stiles said, confused.

“They went to the house but there was no one there and she's not answering her phone,” Jackson said and then gave Stiles a horrified look.

“Shit, call them, send them back. Me and Derek will head over there now,” Stiles shouted, already running towards their office. “And fill in my dad!”

“You got it,” Jackson said, already on his phone.

Stiles flung open the door making Derek jump to his feet.

“We gotta go. Now,” Stiles said. They ran to the car, Derek throwing it into drive and speeding out of the parking lot with a screech of tyres and a grim face. They made it to the Stilinski house in record time and Stiles was out of the car before it had even come to a stop. Dimly, he registered he'd left his door open; Derek was clambering out of the car two steps back; and the sound of sirens filling the air as Parrish and Dunbar flew round the corner. The door was unlocked and Stiles flew through it without a seconds thought, gun drawn and safety off. He motioned the Derek and Dunbar to take the upstairs, whilst Parrish headed in the direction of the living room before heading for the kitchen.

A soft thump and a muffled cry forced him into a sprint and he burst into the kitchen with his gun raised, taking in the image of Melissa bound to one of the chairs at his dad's kitchen table, blood on her forehead and eyes terrified; whilst a man towered over her; tall, muscular and brandishing a knife.

“Freeze!” Stiles yelled, knowing the sound of his voice would bring the others running. The man looked at him and let out an angry howl, drawing his arm back and launching the knife towards Stiles.

Stiles ducked but the knife still caught him, nicking him just above the eye as it soared past him. He fired two shots but the man had already turned over the kitchen table to use for cover, sending Melissa crashing to the floor.

At least that's what Stiles thought had happened. Then he noticed the table wasn't on the floor anymore. The man was holding it as if it weighed nothing and as Stiles fired another shot, the man charged. The table slammed into Stiles and knocked the gun from his hand. He tried to throw the man off him, but he was a lot stronger than Stiles and simply pressed back, crushing him against the wall. Another shot sounded, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass, and the man screamed out, dropping the table onto Stiles and spinning towards the window. Stiles crumpled to the ground, desperately trying to catch his breath as he scrambled to where his gun lay beside the oven. He caught sight of Parrish outside, running across the lawn towards the kitchen window. The man limped through the kitchen door and out into the hall, making a bid for the front door.

“Freeze!” Derek yelled, and Stiles pulled himself through the kitchen door in time to see Derek facing off with the man in the hallway, blocking the front door with his gun trained squarely on the spot between his eyes. Stiles' heart leapt up into his throat.

“Put your hands above your head,” Stiles demanded. The man threw an angry glance over his shoulder before complying and Dunbar suddenly appeared beside Stiles, slapping the cuffs on and tugging him towards the door and Parrish, who immediately took his other arm and helped to force him towards the patrol car.

“Melissa,” Stiles breathed, rushing back into the kitchen. He quickly set about untying Melissa who pulled her gag off and tumbled off of the chair and into Stiles' arms, sobbing loudly. He slumped back against the cupboard and pulled her tightly to his chest. There were more sirens outside but Stiles ignored it all, trusting the others to have it under control. The pounding of feet announced the Sheriff's arrival and he might have called out but it didn't register in Stiles' somewhat shocked mind. The only thing that did register was the weight of his dad's arms wrapping tightly around himself and the trembling, sobbing form of Melissa.

*** *** *** ***

It felt like hours later before Stiles was finally discharged from the hospital. He'd been checked over thoroughly by Dr Geyer and aside from a shit tonne of bruises and a few scrapes, it was only the cut above his eye that showed how close he'd come to death at the hands of a murderous maniac. The cut did require a few stitches and Stiles resolutely did not think about the sight of the knife slicing through the air towards his eye. Thank God for quick reflexes.

He walked out of the examination room and stopped short when he saw Derek leaning back in one of the hard plastic chairs, eyes closed and coffee dangerously close to slipping from his fingers. Stiles glanced at the clock and saw it was almost midnight.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked.

Derek shot up in his seat, coffee sloshing out of the cup to trickle over his fingers and onto his wrinkled, white shirt.

“Jesus, Stiles,” he said, shaking the liquid of his hand and fixing Stiles with a half-hearted scowl.

“Sorry,” Stiles said, with a soft smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. “I thought you would have been long gone.”

“I'm just following orders.”

“Orders?”

“Yeah, specific orders, about you,” Derek said, jabbing a finger in Stiles' direction as he pulled his rumpled suit jacket on over his wrinkled shirt.

“About me?”

“What are you, a goddamn parrot?” Derek joked. “I have strict orders, from the Captain himself, not to let you out of my sight from the moment you left Dr Geyer's care.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. After we say goodnight to your dad and Melissa, I'm taking you home where we are going to sleep and let the others take care of it for a bit.”

“You mean, I'm still on the case? I thought the Captain being here would have meant I was long gone,” Stiles said as he followed Derek down the corridor.

“Jackson fought your case. I don't know what you did to make him like you so much lately, but keep doing it. He told the Captain we never would have got to Melissa in time if you hadn't made the link and then realised what was happening. Obviously, the Captain still wanted to haul your ass off it.”

“Obviously,” Stiles muttered sarcastically.

“But Jackson was very adamant that you stay on.”

“And the catch is?”

Derek sighed as they came to a stop outside a private room with two deputies outside the door.

“The only way the Captain would allow it, is if Jackson took over as lead investigator.”

“Ok,” Stiles said, simply.

“Ok? That's it?” Derek said, incredulously.

“Let's be honest...you were right.”

“Wow...can I get that in writing?”

“No, you can't.” Stiles sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I should have accepted that I was too emotionally involved in this from the start. Jackson could have taken over as lead and...”

“And the result would have been the same. Don't worry about it now, ok? What's done is done. Get your ass in there and say good night so we can go home.”

Stiles slapped Derek's shoulder as he walked past, nodded at Deputy Donati and went into the room. His dad was on him in seconds, pulling him into a bone crushing hug that made Stiles wince.

“Sorry, sorry,” John muttered without pulling away, but he did loosen his grip slightly.

“It's ok. Just some bruising, I'm fine.” He extricated himself from his dads arms and took two steps towards the bed and into the waiting arms of Melissa McCall. It took him a second to realise she was crying, so quietly he wouldn't have noticed if not for the tear that slipped down the nape of his neck. “Hey,” he said soothingly, “It's ok. I'm fine, you're fine. We're good.”

“Stiles, you saved my life,” she breathed before pressing a firm kiss to his temple. “I don't even know how to begin to thank you.”

“You don't need to thank me. You're like my mom, Melissa. I love you.”

“Oh Stiles, I love you too.”

Stiles reached out blindly and pulled his dad into the embrace, holding on to the two of them as tightly as he could.

Chapter Text

It took Stiles a lot longer than he'd care to admit to realise where they were going.

“So, I guess when you said home, you meant...”

“Well, your dad's house is a crime scene; there's no room at the inn at Scott and Allison's as they've already got the girls bunking with Josh, Lydia and Jordan in the guest bedroom, plus the two on duty deputies camped out in the lounge; and I didn't think you'd want to head all the way back to yours. Plus, remember I have orders not to let you out of my sight,” Derek explained, pulling into the parking lot of his apartment building.

They took the lift to the top floor and Derek pulled open the big door to his loft apartment. If Stiles had to describe the space in one word he would go with 'sparse'. There was a sofa and a TV; a table with six dining chairs near the window which took up most of the far wall; a small kitchenette; and the spiral staircase that led to Derek's bedroom and the bathroom. Derek headed straight to the kitchen whilst Stiles made a beeline for the window, his favourite place, bracing himself against the glass and looking out over the balcony to the street lights beyond. He sensed rather than heard Derek come up behind him and turned to face him. Derek was looking at him with wary concern and Stiles suddenly felt the urge to wipe that look away.

“I'm fine,” he said.

“I never said you weren't,” Derek replied, with a shrug that aimed for casual but didn't quite reach it.

“You didn't need to.” He let himself slide down to the floor, resting his head back against the glass and sighing. “I very nearly wasn't.” Derek sat down beside him but said nothing. “I'm actually really glad you brought me back here because I think if I wasn't with you right now I would be drinking. Do you know the worst thing though?” He could see Derek out of the corner of his eye, staring at him. The concerned look was now downright worried as he shook his head. “It isn't because of what almost happened to Melissa or the fact that I could have been killed tonight.” Derek tensed beside him. “The real reason I could drink a whole bottle of Jack right now is because I feel so fucking guilty.”

“These murders are not your fault,” Derek said, firmly.

“I know and that's the thing.”

“I don't understand.”

“When we figured out that it was my dad that was tying everyone together, I was so relieved. How shitty is that? I still knew these people, it's still tied to me in a way and don't think I don't know exactly why you've been told to keep an eye on me. You've figured out that I'm the Heart and don't pretend you haven't.”

“It's a possibility.”

“It's a certainty. Come on, Derek. The Heart is going to be the person he cares for most and if it wasn't Melissa, it's definitely gonna be me. But it's not that that makes me want to drink. It's just...I feel this overwhelming guilt.”

“Because you were relieved that your dad was the link and not you?”

“Yeah.”

“Stiles...”

“I know, ok. I know it's stupid...”

“That's not what I was going to say.”

“I also feel pretty shit about how I've been to you recently.”

“Stiles...”

“I said you betrayed me but you didn't, you were just looking out for me. Like you always do.” Stiles finally turned his head to he was looking at Derek properly. He said nothing for a while, just stared into Derek’s compassionate eyes and let an overwhelming surge of affection wash over him. “God, I wish you'd known me before,” he said, eventually. “I wasn't always like this, Derek. I didn't used to be so full of self-hatred and anger. I didn't always used to be so fucking weak.”

“You are not weak, Stiles,” Derek said, anger slipping into his voice.

“Every time things get a little hard, I reach for the bottle.”

“I think what we're dealing with right now would be a higher class than 'a little hard'.”

“When Erica died...”

“You don't have to...”

“I want to, ok? When Erica died, I just...I just couldn't cope because no matter how much everyone told me it wasn't my fault, all I knew was that when she went into that building I should have been at her side.”

“It would have blown the whole case.”

“Maybe. But the case got blown anyway and if I’d gone in with here, maybe she'd still be here.”

“Or maybe you’d both be gone. She made the choice, Stiles. It was her case.”

“That's not the point...”

“It's exactly the point,” Derek said, he turned his whole body to face Stiles and fixed him with a hard stare. “Look, when I transferred in, the Captain sat me down and explained everything to me. He told me you were struggling because of the death of not just your partner but one of your best friends and he explained the case to me in intricate detail. So I know that Erica was the lead investigator and I know that she made a contact on the inside of Monroe's trafficking ring. I know that she had a plan to use that contact, to go undercover to gather intel and I know that she followed all the appropriate rules and got all the permissions she needed. I know you didn't like it from the start and I know you sat in a van a block away and heard them figure out she was a cop. Stiles, I know you heard the shot and I know you tried to save her. She made the choice and she knew the risks. She would hate to think that all these years later you're still blaming yourself for what happened.”

Stiles blinked a few times and swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“I...I'm so sorry that you got stuck with me.”

“You're the only person I'd want as my partner, Stiles. I mean, sure, I'm probably gonna go grey early from all stress and worrying I do about you; but you're still the best detective the CBI have, myself included; you're a good man and even with all your issues and your baggage, I still...” Derek cut himself off abruptly.

“You still what?” Stiles said, and he was aware that his heart was thumping wildly in his chest.

“It doesn't matter,” Derek said, looking away.

“Derek, you know what I've realised since the beginning of this nightmare?” Derek looked back at him and shook his head. “I've realised that the only two things that keep me from sinking are my family...and you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Stiles laughed. “You pull me up on my shit; you confront me about my drinking before it even happens like you can sense when I'm about to lose control; you forced me to get back to some semblance of normal and probably saved my daughters from losing their father and...and you care. Derek, I never realised before all this why my stomach flipped whenever I looked at you, but I get it now. I finally get it. You're my anchor and as corny and terrifying as it sounds, you're probably the only person that gets me enough to save me from myself. If you let me, I'll work at trying to be someone better, someone you need...someone you want.”

“I already do,” Derek said, voice hoarse.

“Then I'll work at being worthy of you,” Stiles said.

Derek surged towards him so suddenly, Stiles wasn't ready for it but he got with the programme quickly. He allowed himself to be pulled into Derek's lap and quickly framed Derek's stubbled cheeks in his hands, bending down to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. Derek's arms wrapped around him, strong hands splayed across the planes of Stiles' back and Stiles hadn't felt so safe in years. They kissed for what felt like eternity and Stiles wanted nothing more than to peel Derek's clothes off and explore every inch of skin underneath; but his body decided that it had enough. His head was throbbing, his chest ached reminding him that a few hours ago someone had been trying to squash him like a bug. His hands trembled at the thought and Derek stilled beneath him. He pulled away just enough to look Stiles in the eye; still close enough that when he spoke, their lips brushed together.

“You're ok,” he said, softly. “You're ok.” Stiles was horrified when a tiny sob broke free of his lips and he tried to push himself up off the floor and away from Derek, but Derek held him tightly, pulling him towards his chest and holding him there. After a few long moments, Stiles sighed and pulled back slightly. “You need to sleep,” Derek said, getting up off the floor and holding out a hand to help Stiles up. It felt like more than just an offer to assist in getting his tired, battered body up off the floor. In that moment, Stiles looked at the outstretched hand and saw it as Derek saying Stiles wasn't alone; that they could have something more; that tomorrow was a new day and perhaps they could finally get this whole case under control and maybe even take some time to discover what they could be together.

He took it firmly and allowed himself to be pulled up and into Derek's waiting arms.

*** *** *** ***

Stiles woke the next morning to the sound of Derek's phone ringing insistently on the nightstand. He took a second to absorb the fact that he was in Derek's bed, with Derek's arm around his waist and that it felt so unbelievably right to wake up like this; before he prodded Derek with his elbow. Derek grumbled but rolled away and the arm around Stiles' waist disappeared as he reached over for the phone.

“Hale,” he grunted. Stiles turned to face him and watched Derek's body tense. Stiles tensed in response. Derek pushed himself up suddenly, sitting up with his back to Stiles, slumped over his knees with a hand gripping the back of his neck. “Yes, Sir. We'll meet you there.” He hung up and turned to face Stiles who shook his head and balled his hands into fists.

“No,” he says simply, as if denying it would make it go away.

“Stiles...”

“No. No, we stopped him, so we messed up the order. They can't have...no...”

“I'm sorry.”

“Who? Who is it?” Stiles didn't remember getting out of the bed but they were both stood now, staring at each other across the bed. Stiles hated the distance between them but the cold feeling of guilt was already clawing its way into his body and knowing that someone else was murdered whilst he was smugly sleeping in Derek's arms was almost too much to bare.

“It's Alan Deaton.”

“Deaton? But that doesn't make any sense...”

“The receptionist found him about thirty minutes ago. Same MO. It's definitely them.”

“Him and my dad...I mean yeah they know each other but they're not friends. This doesn't fit.”

“I'm sorry Stiles, but it does. We need to go.”

Stiles couldn't breathe. He'd been so relaxed last night, thinking they'd brought themselves some time to get some answers from the man they'd brought in. Surely it should have taken longer for them to find a backup victim. Unless they had them in place already. Stiles could feel the panic rising in his chest. He couldn't catch his breath. His hand came to his chest. He couldn't see. He could hear a noise, far away, but he wasn't sure what it was.

And then Derek was there, holding his face between his hands, a mirror image of the way Stiles had held him the night before. His thumbs were stroking over Stiles' cheekbones, his voice slowly began to filter through the panic and Stiles could make out soothing tones even if he couldn't grasp the words.

The kiss was sudden and perhaps that was what did it because Stiles' heart stopped for a second and when it restarted he could breathe again. He'd forgotten for a second that kissing was something they did now, forgotten that there was something new between them and so the kiss had caught him off guard. Slowly, he opened his eyes and stared into Derek's deep, green eyes.

Derek really was the only one who could save him from himself.

*** *** *** ***

This one had a different vibe than the others.

Alan Deaton was positioned at his desk in the veterinary clinic he ran with Scott, dark computer screen reflecting the glazed look in his dead eyes. There was no wire holding his hands in a typing position, they just sat slumped on the keyboard; his head lolled forwards and the body only stayed upwards because they'd used his belt to attach him to the back of his chair. It was rushed and sloppy but it was them. There was no feather crown but there wasn't much of his head to put it on. It had been a frenzied attack, no clinical murder, not even the animal inspired attack that Chris had suffered. This was simply a murder fuelled by rage. The coroner declared death by blunt force trauma, a fact that was obvious to everyone in the room; a quick death, but not a painless one.

The ride back to the station was sombre and Stiles could see the way Derek's eyes kept flicking over to where he sat slumped in the passenger seat. They said nothing as they made the way to their office, but Derek paused at the door, reaching out and taking Stiles' hand in his. He gave it a firm squeeze and then led the way through the door.

Jackson looked up at them as they entered and his eyes locked onto Stiles in an instant.

“Before either of you say anything, this is no one's fault.” Stiles slumped into the chair opposite Jackson and closed his eyes. “We all thought we'd brought ourselves some time. None of us could have known they would have a contingency plan so if anyone starts blaming themselves, I'm gonna be pissed. We're detectives but we're not the fucking all-knowing Oracle. Got it?” Jackson was looking directly at Stiles and Stiles didn't know whether to be grateful or angry at what he was saying. Something in Jackson's face that looked oddly like compassion swayed him towards grateful.

“Got it,” he said, and offered the new lead detective a sad smile.

“Did you get anything from him last night?” Derek asked.

“Not much,” Jackson said, with a nod. He pulled a notepad towards him and stared down at it. He looked tired and a little dishevelled, a far cry from the impeccable, handsome visage he normally sported. “His name is Ennis Wade. He’s got a rap sheet as long as my arm but nothing like this before. True, it’s mostly violent crimes; assault, robbery, shit like that; but no murders. He didn't speak much the entire time but the Captain managed to get a few things out of him.”

“Such as?” Stiles prompted.

“Well, he confirmed everything we knew about the Mother so we know that's definitely the motive and he also confirmed that it has to be done in order.”

“That's it?” Derek asked.

“We managed to trip him up a bit and he let slip that there are five others in the cult.”

“Well, at least it's something,” Stiles sighed.

“If you guys want a crack at him you're more than welcome to try, but to be honest, I think it's all we can get at this stage,” Jackson sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You should get some sleep,” Derek said.

“No,” Jackson responded, simply. “Later. Right now, we need to figure out every person that could fit the Ward sacrifice. Obviously they have back up's in place. I want to figure out their primary target, their back up, their back up's back up. You saw Deaton. They're pissed we have one of theirs and anger could make them lash out again quicker than before. I want every single person we can think of safe so that these fuckers can't get them.”

There was a knock on the door and Parrish stuck his head in.

“Sorry to interrupt, but you're gonna wanna hear this,” he said.

“What you got?” Jackson asked.

“A guy just came in and asked to speak to the people investigating the murders. He says he's a member of the cult and he wants to hand himself in.”

Stiles was out of the door before Jordan had finished speaking, Derek and Jackson hot on his heels.

Chapter Text

The man sat in the interrogation room was no more than thirty years old, with broad shoulders and sad eyes. His light brown hair stuck up in all direction like he'd spent the last few hours with his head in his hands, fingers tugging at the short strands. His posture had tensed when they walked into the room but as he began to explain everything to them, his body seemed to relax, as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“My name is Ethan Carver,” he said. “I swear to God, I haven't killed anyone.”

“But?” Jackson prompted from beside Stiles.

“But I knew it was happening and I couldn't...I didn't stop them,” he said, looking down at where his hands twisted together in his lap.

“Why now?” Stiles asked. “Why wait until now to come forward?”

“Look...me and my brother, Aiden, we've had a pretty shitty life. We were orphaned when we were kids, abused by the family that fostered us and we've had to fight and struggle for everything. I'm not making excuses, I'm not, but...it changed him.”

“Him?” Jackson asked. “Your brother?”

“Yeah. He used to be a really nice guy but after we lost our parents and everything that came next, it's like something inside him twisted. When we were teenagers he started being…weird. I couldn't figure it out to start with and then I found all these animal bones.” Jackson and Stiles shared a look. “Then I caught him strangling our neighbours cat. I managed to stop him and we had this whole big, emotional confrontation and I thought I had it under control. When we turned eighteen we got our own place and I really kept an eye on him, you know? I thought it was all sorted.”

“You really thought one conversation could fix him?” Jackson asked.

“He's my brother. I wanted to believe he was ok...that he was normal. But he's not. He's not well, I can see that now. One day I found all this stuff on his computer. Videos of people being strangled or cutting themselves, pictures of dead bodies and human sacrifice rituals. It was really fucking graphic and I confronted him about it and he suddenly got all passionate and told me about this guy he'd been talking to and how he was going to cleanse all the bad shit from our souls and all we had to do, was take the life of a non-believer.”

“A non-believer?” Stiles asked.

“He started talking about The Mother, and how people who believed in God we're blasphemous because they thought God was a man but that The Mother was the one who really made us all. He said she was angry and was closing off the afterlife and only those who truly believed and were willing to risk everything to join her would be allowed in.”

“Well, that sounds...”

“Crazy, I know,” Ethan said. “I know how it sounds. I thought he was crazy too. I figured it was all in his head and I tried to get him to see someone, but he refused. I mean, I made an appointment and tried to physically drag him there but he overpowered me. He told me he was going to meet this guy, begged me to go along. He said I’d understand if I spoke to him. So I went along…I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Why didn't you go to the police?” Jackson asked.

“He’s my brother. I couldn’t do it…I wanted to believe I could save him myself. Stupid, I know. When we got to the meeting, there were four others there and Aiden said we were going with them and, honestly, we were never left alone after that. One of them was always with us. I think they knew I wasn't one of them because they seemed to always be there, always watching me and listening to every conversation we had. You've seen Ennis, he could snap me in two if he wanted and the others are just as terrifying.”

“So, why come forward now?” Stiles asked, again.

“It's the first time I've been able to get away. It's my turn.”

“Your turn?” Jackson said, but Stiles' eyes widened and he nodded in understanding.

“You each get a sacrifice and the Ward is yours, right?” Ethan nodded. “Who is it?”

“Look, I'll give you everything I can; all their names, my target and who killed all the other victims, but there are some things I just don't know. After you guys caught Ennis, the leader got pissed and he packed the whole warehouse up, give me my target and kicked me out. They went in one direction, I went in another and he said he'd send me the address of where they were once I could confirm my kill. He's a paranoid bastard, and he's done taking chances. And I don’t know who the back-up targets are either, only the leader knows that.”

“I'm guessing you want a deal in return?”

“Of sorts,” he said. “I don't want a lenient sentence or anything like that. I know I should have contacted the police sooner, I should have tried to stop them, but I genuinely felt that they would kill me if I did. But those people that died…their deaths are on my conscience and I'll gladly do my time for them. All I ask, is that when you put us all away...don't put me in the same prison as them. Not even Aiden. I have to get away from him, otherwise I'm just gonna try and protect him and do something else stupid. He needs help that I can't give him anymore.”

“We'll do what we can,” Stiles said, finding that he genuinely believed Ethan. He was a good guy that had made some terrible decisions out of loyalty and fear.

“You tell us everything you know, and I'll personally talk to the Captain and plead your case for that deal,” Jackson said.

“Ok,” Ethan nodded. “The guy Aiden met over the internet, the one that arranged the first meeting, is called Deucalion Emery.”

*** *** *** ***

“Ok, fill me and Hale in,” Rafael McCall said, leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled in front of his lips.

“Ethan Carver says his brother Aiden,” Jackson brought up the twins’ pictures on the screen. “was contacted by this man.” a third picture joined them; an older man with hair that was almost blonde and curled around his ears. His eyes were milky white.

“Is he...”

“Blind, yeah,” Stiles said, cutting Derek off. “Don't let it fool you. He's wanted in four states for violent crimes and England have a warrant out against him for attempted murder.”

“He told Aiden all about The Mother and the sacrifices. He also brought in Ennis Wade and this woman, Kali Terrell.” Two more pictures joined the others. “Wade has been in and out of trouble with the law his whole life but nothing that would have hinted this is something he would have been involved in,” Jackson explained.

“And Terrell?” the Captain asked.

“She's a little different,” Stiles said.

“Different?” Derek prompted.

“She's spent a lot of time in psychiatric hospitals. She escaped from one in Baltimore about seven months ago and hasn't been seen since.”

“Why was she committed?” McCall asked.

“She thinks she's a werewolf,” Jackson said, simply.

“She's grown out her finger- and toe-nails long enough they could be considered claws, sharpened her teeth to points and runs bare foot through the woods every full moon,” Stiles said.

“Actually, she's barefoot all the time. Ethan confirmed that she was the one that killed Chris Argent,” Jackson said.

“Which explains the scratches,” Derek supplied.

“Ethan also told us that Deucalion killed Heather and Aiden killed Tara. Aiden has a serious case of hero worship for Deucalion which is why the first two murders were so similar,” Jackson explained.

“Ennis Wade was assigned to Melissa. When he was captured Deucalion killed Alan Deaton as the back-up but he let his anger get the better of him, that's why it didn't match Heather's murder.”

“You said assigned?” McCall prompted.

“Each cult member is given one specific target to kill to achieve this soul cleanse or whatever you want to call it,” Jackson said.

“But there's only five cult member and seven sacrifices,” Derek said.

“Don't forget about William Barrow,” Stiles said, bringing up the man's picture.

“What does Barrow have to do with this?” McCall asked.

“When we talked to him about this whole thing, he said they were going to let him kill the Heart,” Derek said.

“Which would mean they would need to break him out,” Stiles added.

“We'll put extra security at Eichen,” McCall said, leaning forward. “So, who's the seventh?”

“We don't know,” Jackson admitted.

“What do you mean?”

“Ethan doesn't know much about the last member of the cult, except he's the actual brains behind the whole thing. He claims to be a messenger for The Mother and only ever refers to himself as the Herald.”

“They're big into their titles, huh,” Derek mused, with a cocked eyebrow. Stiles couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from tilting up slightly.

“He's the guy who picks all the targets, hands out all the murder assignments, all that jazz,” Stiles said, flopping into an available chair. “Basically, he's the big bad with the serious grudge against my dad.”

“Do we have any physical evidence for any of this?”

“No, they're damn thorough in covering their tracks,” Stiles said.

“Did Ethan Carver give you his target?”

“Yeah, Deputy Dunbar,” Jackson said.

“It actually gives us a pretty good next move,” Stiles said.

“Which is?” McCall asked.

“We could fake Dunbar's death, send the conformation and then go to the rendezvous instead of Carver.”

There was a beat of silence as the four men looked at each other.

“It's crazy,” McCall said. “Just might work.”

*** *** *** ***

“You want me to do what?”

“I want you to let us come to your house and stage your murder.”

“Right...because the killer cult is out to get me.”

“Yep.”

“And so...wait, how are you gonna stage my murder?”

“It's simple. We come to your house, gore you up, position you like the other bodies, snap a picture and then we'll have your fiancé...?”

“Hayden.”

“Right, yeah, we have Hayden come home and find your body, call us in and then we bring you back to the station and keep you here until we stop them, cordon of your house in case someone is watching and send Hayden to a spa for a few nights.”

“Why can't I go to the spa with her?”

“Because you can't.”

“It's a good a reason as any.”

“Liam,” Derek said, cutting into the back and forth between him and Stiles. “I know this is a lot to ask, but this way we keep you safe and we might actually have a way of stopping these bastards once and for all.” Derek and Liam stared at each other for a second.

“I'm in,” Liam said.

*** *** *** ***

Derek grabbed Stiles’ arm and pulled him into the Sheriff's empty office, closing the door with a soft snap and pulling the blinds closed. He pulled Stiles to his chest and held him, pressing a kiss to his temple and Stiles realised his hands were gripping Derek's shirt like his life depended on it.

“Are you ok?” Derek asked, without pulling away.

“No. I'm not gonna be ok until this is done.”

“Your plan is gonna work. We're gonna catch these bastards.”

“I really fucking hope so.” Stiles pulled away a little, just enough that Derek's hands slipped to his waist. “I need to save him, Derek.”

“Liam? Or your dad?”

“Both of them.”

“Look, as soon as we get that address, me and Jackson are gonna storm the place with every deputy we have, there's no way they're getting away from us. And Deputy Donati is already headed out to Eichen house with a couple of the others.”

“Wait, you and Jackson?” Stiles asked, brow furrowed and shoulders tense. Derek's hands fell away.

“Well, yeah, you didn't think you were coming with us, did you?”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Are you serious? Stiles, you said it yourself; you're the Heart.”

“But we're stopping them from completing the Ward sacrifice. I'll be fine.”

“You don't believe that any more than I do,” Derek said, voice laced with anger and exasperation. “Stiles, you really think I'm gonna take that risk? That I'm gonna let you walk into a group of people that want you dead.”

“Derek, I have to see this through to the end.”

“No. No, you don't, ok? And you can say I'm betraying you or whatever but I don't give a shit. I'd rather have you alive and hating me, than dead. I care about you, Stiles. I...” Derek sighed as his words petered out.

“You what?” Stiles said, heart thumping.

“I've cared about you for years,” Derek said, even though Stiles knew that wasn't what he was about to say. “I finally have a chance for us to be together and I'm not about to risk everything over these fuckers. I need you to be safe, Stiles. Ever since you admitted you knew you were the Heart, I've felt sick and every time I can't see you with my own two eyes, my heart feels like it's living in my throat. I want this to be over just as much as you, the only difference is, I'm not willing to risk your life to do it.”

“Derek...”

“Please, Stiles. Please stay here with Liam when this all goes down. Please.”

Stiles couldn't find his voice. He hadn't realised, hadn't understood the depth of Derek's feelings for him and he hadn't seen what his reckless self-hatred was doing to the older man. He nodded dumbly, grabbing Derek's shoulder and pulling him close.

*** *** *** ***

When Hayden called, her acting was almost too good and for one horrible moment, Stiles thought that Ethan had tricked them and that the cult had gotten to Liam anyway. But when they arrived at the scene, Liam was sat at the kitchen table, eyes wide but body perfectly still. They'd done a good job, there was fake blood anywhere that looked uncomfortably real; copious amounts drenched the front of his shirt and a fantastic bit of make up across his throat made it look as though it had been slit. The same wire that had been used on the other bodies had been utilised in case it came up in the pictures, pictures that Stiles knew had already been sent, and Liam was positioned to make it look as if he was reading a newspaper with a bottle of beer in one hand. They had all the appropriate crews in and, after what felt like hours, they loaded Liam up and left the scene.

Almost as soon as the car's pulled away from the house, Ethan's cell phone chirped in Stiles' hand. He'd been right, one of them had been watching the house. They headed straight back to the station, made sure the coast was clear as best they could and then took Liam down to one of the storage areas.

“Stiles is going to stay here with you. I'll keep him updated on everything that's going on and once we know we got them all, we can send you to that spa to meet up with Hayden,” Derek said with a reassuring smile.

“You better,” Liam said, a half smile on his lips and none of it in his eyes.

“I'll be right back,” Stiles said. He headed up to the main station with Derek beside him. It was a hive of activity. Deputies were gearing up; Jackson and McCall were going over everything with the team leaders and everyone was practically running like they knew they had a limited window. Stiles could see Ethan in one of the cells, arms hanging through the bars as he watched it all with an apprehensive set to his shoulders. Ennis Wade was gone, transferred early this morning under heavy guard and locked securely in his new cell before they'd put any of this into motion. McCall walked over to him and Stiles was surprised to see he was dressed in a bulletproof vest, with a gun on each hip. “You're going with them?”

“I wanna bring these assholes down as much as anyone,” Rafael said with a shrug. “For what it's worth Stilinski, I'm glad I kept you on the case. If we stop these bastards today, it will be down to your plan.”

“Thank you, sir,” Stiles said, genuinely a little stunned by the Captain's words. McCall nodded, looking a little awkward and Stiles wasn't sure, but he thought it could be because for the first time in years, something other than a professional respect but emotional dislike, had been shared between them.

“Have we heard anything back from Donati?” Rafael asked, dispelling the awkwardness.

“Nothing,” Derek said. “He should have radioed in when he arrived at Eichen House but no one has reported anything back to us.”

“I'll chase it,” Stiles offered, keen for something to do. McCall nodded.

“Let us know what you find out.” He turned and began to walk away before pausing and looking back at Stiles. “Oh and Stilinski? No leaving the station, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles sighed. Derek gripped his shoulder and gave him a look that said so much more than the lingering hand and any words could ever have said.

Stiles watched them leave with a leaden stomach, waiting until he couldn't see the car that held Derek, Jackson and McCall anymore and then went to go and find one of the few deputies still at the station.

“Stilinski!” a voice called out as the side door crashed open. Stiles looked over to see Deputy Donati, panting hard and with blood matting his hair.

“Jesus, Donati what happened?” he said, rushing over to him.

“It's Barrow, he escaped.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“When we got there, they were scouring the grounds for him. We decided to help and he just jumped at us from nowhere, killed Maria and Nathan and smashed me through a window. By the time I managed to get up, he was gone,” Donati panted.

“He smashed you through a window?” Stiles asked, brow furrowed. He took a step away from Donati and watched as the other man followed him. Stiles felt tension seeping through his body.

“Yeah, that's what I said.”

“How did he kill Maria and Nathan?” Stiles flicked his eyes around the room, but there was no one in sight.

“What is this twenty questions? He shot them,” Donati shouted.

“With what? Where did he get a weapon? And how did he get the jump on the three of you? I've seen the guy, he doesn't look like he could jump at all, let alone break out of his cell and take on three cops.” Stiles had a sudden brainwave and crossed over to one of the desks on the far side of the room.

“What are you saying? You don't believe me?”

“Why didn't you call it in? Donovan? When you got there and found him missing, why didn't you report it straight back?” Stiles waited us Donati moved towards him. “I better report this to my Captain.” He reached out for the phone at the same time as Donati took a step to stop him.

“Stilinski! That's him! That's the Messenger!” Ethan cried, as finally Donati stepped into a place visible from the cells. Stiles knew it, knew there was something off about Donati's report, knew there was something off about the man in general if he was honest. He reached for his gun at the same time as Donovan Donati grabbed his shoulders and drove his knee into Stiles stomach.

Chapter Text

Stiles doubled over and coughed as Donati's knee forced the air from his lungs. Donati was on him in seconds, wrapping his arm around Stiles' throat and dragging him backwards. He fought against Donati but he could barely breathe from where the other man's arm was pressing against his wind pipe. He saw another pair of legs and went to cry out, but then he caught sight of the feet; the lack of shoes and the long, sharp toe nails that could only belong to Kali. Donati held him in place, seemingly unconcerned at the way Stiles was clawing at him in an attempt to get his arm away from his neck so he could take a breath. Ethan walked in from the front desk. Wait, no that was wrong, Ethan was still in the cell. Aiden walked in, and there was blood on his shirt. A tapping sound from behind him preceded the arrival of Deucalion.

“We're just waiting on one more,” Donati said, as the lights went out. “Oh, that will be him now.”

A few moments later, William Barrow walked in and gave Stiles a terrifyingly friendly wave.

“Hello, Detective Stilinski.”

Donati released him so suddenly, that Stiles fell flat on the floor. He gasped in a lungful of air and then let out a racking cough as his confused lungs refused to cooperate.

“Where's Dunbar, Stilinski?” Donati demanded.

“Fuck you,” Stiles spat, voice horse.

“Maybe later,” Donati leered. He walked over to the cell, pulled out his gun and shot Ethan in the head. It was so quick, so brutal, that Stiles couldn't control the whole body flinch that overtook him. He looked over at Aiden who hadn't moved and seemed totally unaffected by his brother's murder. “He was a traitor to our cause,” Donati proclaimed. “He lost his right to stand at the mother's side.”

Aiden and Kali strode forwards and grabbed Stiles, dragging him towards the cell as Donati opened it. They paused at the door so Donati could retrieve Stiles' cell from his jacket pocket and his gun from his hip, before they threw him inside and slammed the door behind them. Stiles struggled to his feet, hands and shoes slipping in the pool of blood growing around Ethan's body.

“You know the Mother is bullshit, right? There is no saviour, no soul cleansing. You've murdered innocent people and there is no coming back from that,” Stiles spat.

They stared back at him, blankly and Stiles felt a chill in his very bones.

“Spread out. Find Dunbar, I know he's here somewhere,” Donati said. Stiles watched them all leave, even Deucalion who didn't even bother with his cane; an act that was terrifying in a way that Stiles couldn't explain. “Me and you should talk,” Donati said, dragging a chair over to the cell and settling just out of Stiles' reach. “I have a bit of time to kill while I wait for them to find Dunbar. I'm gonna let Barrow kill him. Mostly, because I want to kill you. I’m sure he won’t mind the switch. He still gets to murder someone, am I right? You've been a real pain in my ass, Stilinski. Almost as bad as your father.”

“You're crazy, my dad has done nothing but look out for you. He helped you become a cop, took you under his wing. I mean, Jesus Donovan, you could have fit the Ward sacrifice.”

“That's the way you see it? Because it isn't the way I see it at all. In fact, I've been planning all of this since the moment I joined.”

“What?”

“Did your dad ever tell you about my dad?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, voice taking on a gentler tone. “Yeah, he told me about the accident.”

“It wasn't an accident,” Donati said, angrily. “Stilinski was my dad's partner and he let him go into a building alone whilst he sat in the car and cried for back up. My dad got shot, paralysed from the waist down and spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair. Do you know what that did to him? No? Well, nothing good. He took his own life and your spineless, chicken shit father got to become the goddamn Sheriff. I hate him. I loath him. He might as well have pulled the trigger himself. You know what that's like, right Stiles? I mean, I heard all about Erica.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles said, but he couldn't say it with the conviction and venom he wanted. How could he, when Donati was only saying out loud what Stiles had thought to himself so many time.

“I'm actually really surprised you don't know the whole story between our dads,” Donati mused. “I mean, all that time you were struggling with Erica's death and trying to drink yourself into an early grave, you think he would have used his own experience to help you through it. I mean, obviously he found a way to deal with his guilt...or maybe he just never felt any.”

“He's not here,” Deucalion said, appearing around the corner with the others just behind him.

“Where is he?” Donati said, voice laced with anger and danger. Stiles laughed.

“I genuinely don't know,” Stiles said, delighted. “He must have heard the shot and got out. He could be miles away, he could be just outside somewhere, he could be calling all the others back to kick your sorry asses, how the fuck should I know?”

“What do we do now?” Kali asked. Donati's phone buzzed and his anger was replaced with a horrible, bone-chilling smile.

“We use Ethan as the Ward.”

“But he doesn't fit...” Aiden began.

“He'll do. Besides, Papa S is here.” He waved the phone in Stiles direction and smiled. Stiles thought he was going to be sick.

“No...”

“I'm afraid so, and no Derek to save you. Good work, by the way, getting someone as hot as Derek is quite the achievement. See, I've been watching you ever since you rocked up here and I haven't missed a thing.”

“You didn't watch me close enough to stop me from arresting Ennis.”

“Regrettable,” Donati remarked, coldly.

The sound of the door opening and hurried footsteps had Stiles gripping the bars of the cell tight. He swore when his dad came into view.

“No, no, Dad what the hell are you doing?”

“Let him go,” John said calmly. “Whatever you want to do to me, Donovan, I accept it. I don't care if you kill me, just let my son go.”

“Dad, shut up!”

“Please, please let him go. He has two young children and they need their father.”

“I needed my father!” Donovan roared. “I was young and I needed my dad, but you took him away. He was never the same after what you did and by the time he put a bullet in his head, I didn't even recognise him anymore. You did that. You! You destroyed my family, destroyed my life...and I'm gonna do the same to you.” He drew his gun again and before Stiles could react, it was pointed at him and the deafening crack of a bullet speeding towards him filled the air.

The pain when it came was blinding, searing and all consuming. He took a staggering step backwards; bringing a shaking hand up to his stomach, to press against the rapidly spreading red stain on his pale blue shirt. He was dimly aware of his dad's voice calling his name, but he couldn't quite get it to register. His hand was wet, red seeping into the grain of his palms and under his nails. He sank to one knee and the impact jarred him to the core, sending a shock of agony through his body and a wave of lights across his eyes. Stiles wanted to lower himself gently to the floor but he arms wouldn't obey him and when he reached down to catch himself, his hands slipped in the pool of blood (which could have been his or Ethan's, he wasn't sure anymore) and he slumped painfully and gracelessly to the floor. It took a moment for it all to sink in and once it did, the world came into an unwelcome focus.

“Stiles?! Stiles!”

“I'm...” Stiles paused and huffed out a tiny laugh when he realised he'd almost said he was fine. “Shit...I'm shit. But I'm here,” he said, pressing down on his wound and forcing his words between clenched teeth.

“Donovan, please, please don't do this. Don't let my son die,” John begged. Aidan and Kali strode forward and grabbed the Sheriff, forcing him into a chair facing the cell and tying his arms and legs tightly to the wooden frame. “It's gonna be ok, Stiles,” John said.

“Aww so touching,” Donati mocked. He crouched down beside John and winked at Stiles. “You know what we're gonna do? We're gonna sit here and wait for Stiles to die. I hear stomach wounds take a while, but we have time.” Behind him, Kali glanced over at Deucalion who cocked his head to one side as if he could feel her gaze on him. “We'll get to see every agonising moment and then maybe you'll understand why I did all this.”

“I asked your dad to wait for back up, Donovan. He ran in without me. That was his choice, not mine.”

“Bullshit. You were a coward and let him die...”

“That's not true...” Donati struck him with all the force of his anger.

“Stop lying!” he spat. “You know, before you got here, me and Stiles were talking. I think it's interesting that you never shared your experience with Stiles after what happened with Detective Reyes. I mean, you must feel some guilt about sending your partner into die. Stiles did the exact same thing but you said nothing about how you dealt with killing your partner, you just let him sink.”

“Shut your mouth, Donovan,” Stiles said as forcefully as he could when he could feel his strength ebbing away.

“How did it feel? Watching him try and drink himself to death? I mean, you must have felt like you failed as a father, right? Knowing that no matter what you said to him, he just kept downing those bottles of Jack. You failed as a partner and you failed as a father.”

“Dad, that's not true,” Stiles said, but even through the pain, he could see the sadness in his dad's eyes.

Deucalion stepped forwards suddenly, the click of his stick on the linoleum once more drawing their attention.

“If I might butt in,” he said, calmly. “Perhaps we should finish this before we have unwelcome company.”

“We're waiting on Stiles,” Donati said.

“It could take him hours to bleed out,” Deucalion reasoned. “We don't have that kind of time.”

“We have all the time in the world.”

“But, Deputy Dunbar...”

“Has probably made contact with them by now and they'll be heading this way, I know,” Donati said, finally standing and turning to face the others. “Perhaps you should make a break for it now.”

“I don't understand,” Aidan said, flicking his somewhat panicked and confused look between Donati and Deucalion.

“Well, you see, Dunbar didn't see who did the shooting. He doesn't even know I came back. If Stiles isn't dead when I hear them come back, I'll shoot him again, then shoot the Sheriff and then lock myself in the cell. So when they come in, all they'll see is me; the frightened Deputy who had to watch the Sheriff and his son slaughtered by the crazy cult people.”

“What about the CCTV...wait...”

“Barrow cut it already, didn't you William?” Barrow nodded happily, not grasping what was happening.

“But...the Mother...” Kali said, cut off by Donati's harsh and mocking laugh.

“The Mother? Don't you understand yet? She's not real. I made her up,” Donati said. “I needed some lunatics to help me finish this and what better way to recruit you all, than to give you something to believe in? I wanted you to want to kill these people, to take pleasure out of it because I knew that that would hurt the Sheriff even more. But this isn't about ascension or pleasing some Godlike power! This is about revenge, my revenge; and you all helped me get it.”

“You lied to us,” Deucalion said, voice low and dangerous.

“Well, yeah,” Donati said with a shrug. He laughed and turned back towards the cell. Stiles couldn't believe he was that arrogant that he would turn his back on these four dangerous killers. He saw it coming, but before he could cry out; Deucalion had pulled a long, thin blade from inside his cane, took a step forwards and driven it straight through Donati's back and out through his chest. There was a moment of stillness, the only sound to break the silence the confused gasps of Donovan Donati as he looked down at his impaled torso. Deucalion removed the blade with a sickening squelch and Donati slumped to the floor, dead before he met the hard linoleum. Deucalion wiped the blood from the blade and stowed it back in his cane, removing his glasses and fixing his blank gaze on the cell.

“Put him inside,” he said, gesturing towards the Sheriff. Kali and Aidan untied him and dragged him over to the cell, throwing him inside. John fell to his knees besides Stiles and pressed shaking hands down on his son's wound. Stiles gasped.

“Stiles, oh God, it's ok, you're gonna be ok,” he muttered as Stiles swore. Aidan crouched over his brother's body and bowed his head, reaching out a hand to close Ethan's unseeing eyes.

“He tricked us,” Aidan said, voice wrecked, as if he was only now registering that his brother was dead and the pain of it was threatening to drown him.

“Yes. But he's dead now,” Deucalion said, calmly.

“Ethan…”

“I know.”

“We killed those people for nothing.”

“Call it a practice run.”

“What?” Aidan asked, getting to his feet and looking at him through the bars. At the cell door, Kali looked over at their apparent new leader and gave a sick, hopeful smile.

“He was lying about the Mother. He didn't make her up, but he did hijack an idea for his own ends. The Mother has been a symbol for centuries.”

“She has?” Aidan queried, not sounding convinced.

“She has. Don't let what this man did here take you from your path, Aidan.”

“What do we do now?” Kali asked.

“We leave. Find somewhere else to start the ritual again.”

“I can't let you do that,” Stiles said, trying and failing to pull himself up.

“You're in no position to stop us,” Kali said, scathingly.

“He might not be, but I can try,” John said but Stiles tightened his grip on his dad's arm.

“No, Dad, don't. Don't...” he closed his eyes against a fresh wave of pain. “It doesn't matter, because if I know Liam as well as I think I do, he's gonna come storming in here with the full combined force of the CBI… and the Beacon County Sheriff's Department… any second now.” Getting so many words out was a Herculean effort and he felt the edge of his vision darken slightly.

“Unless we kill them and leave now,” Kali said.

“No. We're not going to kill them, we're not going to finish that vermin's job for him,” Deucalion snapped, kicking Donati’s lifeless arm away from his foot. He turned to face Barrow who was lurking off to one side, still not fully understanding what was happening around him. “It seems the time has come for us to part ways, Mr Barrow. I wish I could say you could come with us, but as we are near enough strangers, I think it would be safer for all concerned if we simply said farewell.”

“But...what am I gonna do now?” Barrow asked.

“Well, Mr Donati did promise you the Heart, and although it pains me to do anything he would have wanted, if you wish to take advantage of Detective Stilinski's weakened state for your own ends, that is your prerogative.” He'd barely finished speaking, before Barrow was nodding vigorously. “Very well. Kali, stand aside.”

Kali smirked and took a step to one side as Barrow strode forward, the same twisted, friendly smile on his face as he marched across the room intent on taking another man's life. John scrambled to his feet but before he could do anything, Aidan grabbed him from behind, and flung him against the wall, holding him there as Barrow grabbed Stiles' leg and dragged him from the cell. Stiles screamed as the rough motion tugged at the already torn flesh of his abdomen.

Aiden let John drop to the floor and was out of the door, slamming it behind him, before John could find his feet. He scrambled across the still blood slicked floor, using the bars to pull himself up. He screamed at them, calling them every name under the sun, but they seemed unfazed. Even Aidan seemed to have found his composure, as if he had left his grief in the cell with his brother’s body.

None of them said another word, as the three of them turned away and left through the back door; the slam an echoing finality that made Stiles feel sick. So close, so close to stopping them but they had slipped through his fingers.

Barrow was looking down at him, his smile replaced with a cold, deep hatred. Where the fuck was Liam and the fucking cavalry?

“You put me there,” he said. “You and Detective Hale put me in Eichan House with all those crazy people.”

“We...we didn't...” Stiles said. “We...oh, God.” He was dying, he was sure of it now. Even if Derek marched through that door right now, it would be too late. Oh, God...Derek. Amber. Hannah. Three of the four most important people in his life. He hadn't seen his girls in person in almost a week, too caught up in the case and foolishly believing they would be safer if he distanced himself from them. But at least they didn’t have to watch him die like his father.

“He just stopped you,” John shouted. “Stopped you from killing more innocent people. He didn't make the decision on where you went.”

“But I'm not crazy,” Barrow said, voice rising in anger. “And they said I was. But I'm not. I'M NOT!” he roared. He slammed his fist on the table and Stiles flinched, hands slipping in the slick blood around his wound and he desperately tried to hold himself together.

“Please...please don't,” Stiles gasped. He was never going to see his children again. He was going to miss watching them grow up, miss seeing them graduate, miss giving them away.

“I wanted to go with them,” Barrow said, seeming suddenly sad. His emotions seemed to be balanced on a knife edge, tipping from one to another at an alarming rate. He sank to his knees beside Stiles and stroked a hand down his cheek. “I should have gone with them.”

“You...you still can...” Stiles said. He needed Barrow to get away from him and he didn't care how. He thought of Derek, probably tearing back across the county to get to him. He wanted to live so that he could be with Derek, so he could see what they could be together, where they could go and how happy they could be. Barrow's hand slipped down from his cheek until his fingers wrapped firmly around Stiles' neck.

Stiles reached up weakly and tried to prise Barrow off of him, but he didn't have the strength and he couldn't breath and Barrow was staring down at him, face blank and emotionless. His fingers skittered around the floor, trying to find something to help him but Donati's body was too far away and his dad, for all his banging and screaming, might as well have been on the moon for all the help he could give.

God, Stiles didn't want to die.

Barrow released him suddenly and Stiles dragged in a great lungful of air, choking on it almost immediately and coughing violently. If he survived this, he was going to have nightmares about not being able to breath. Barrow was hiding his head in his hands, hitting himself every so often and muttering under his breath.

“Please, please don't do this,” John said, as calmly as he possibly could.

Barrow shot to his feet and marched towards the cell, screaming loudly in the Sheriff's face and banging his hands against the bars.

“Shut up!” he roared. “I'm trying to think.” He turned back towards Stiles suddenly and then ran to Donati's body, grabbing his gun and straddling Stiles' chest, pressing the gun firmly against Stiles' forehead. Stiles swallowed. His heart stopped beating for a second. He was staring down the barrel of a gun and at the other end was a madman.

Distantly, he heard a crashing sound and then, much more clearly, the crack of a gunshot. He flinched but the cold metal digging into his skull stayed cool as it slipped away from his skin and Barrow slumped forwards, effectively pinning Stiles beneath him. Footsteps pounded towards them and suddenly, Barrow was flung to the side and Liam Dunbar appeared above him.

“Liam,” Stiles gasped. “Fuck…”

“It's ok,” Laim said, pressing his hands firmly down on Stiles stomach making him hiss and his back arch as much as his drained strength would allow. “I called Derek, he’s on his way, the ambulance too. You just need to hold on, Stiles. Hold on.”

Chapter Text

“Jesus…Stiles, you with me? Stay awake, buddy, ok?”

“Liam, the keys are in Donati’s pocket. Can you reach them?” Liam carefully reached out and fished the keys out of Donati’s pocket, whilst making sure he kept the other hand pressed firmly to Stiles’ wound. The keys jangled through the air and landed with a clang, before a scraping sound told Stiles his dad had managed to grab them. He heard the whine of the cell door hinge as the door opened and then the pounding of his dad’s feet and then the Sheriff was beside him, sliding Liam’s hands away and replacing them with his own. “I got it, I got it. There must have been a couple of deputies left at the desk, see if you can find them and make sure they’re alive.”

“You got it, sir,” Liam said, taking off in the direction of the door.

“Stiles, look at me kiddo, keep your eyes on me.”

“D…dad…it hurts…”

“I know, son, I know.”

The door crashed open with enough force to slam into the wall and Derek came sprinting into the room, Jackson and Captain McCall hot on his heels. Derek skidded to his knees beside Stiles, swearing steadily under his breath as he grabbed Stiles’ hand firmly between both of his. John’s trembling hands were replaced by a strong, steady pair and Stiles glanced down his body to see his Captain pressing his suit jacket firmly to the wound.

“Stiles, oh Jesus...shit, Stiles. Hold on, baby, ok?” Derek said, ignoring the looks the other three men shot them at the term of endearment.

“Der...fuck…”

“It’s gonna be ok, you just need to stay awake. Just keep your eyes on me.”

“The girls…”

“Are gonna see you real soon.”

“No, no, I…I don’t…please…”

“Stiles,” John said, voice thick but gentle. “Whatever happens, they’ll be ok. I’ll make sure they’re ok.”

Stiles smiled and didn’t miss the wince the others gave. He probably had blood in his teeth or something. Oh God, he was going to die. Derek was talking to him but he sounded a thousand miles away, voice fading even as Stiles tried to cling to the deep timbre. He might have lost consciousness or perhaps he just zoned out for a while, either way he lost a chunk of time and suddenly Isaac Lahey was leaning over him.

“Stiles? Can you hear me?” His voice was oddly both gently and commanding and Stiles found himself humming in response. “There you are. We’re gonna get you to hospital, buddy. You’re gonna be ok. This is Malia, she’s new, so don’t show me up ok? I told her your one of the strongest people I know and that you’re gonna be just fine. Don’t make a liar out of me.” Stiles could hear the fear under his friend’s voice but he appreciated the banter. It was their default setting. Or at least it used to be. When had he last spent any time with Isaac? He’d been avoiding him since Erica died, too scared he might run into Boyd and he had no idea what to say to the husband of his dead friend. Mostly, he’d been avoiding seeing if they blamed him as much as he blamed himself.

He didn’t see anything in Isaac’s face except for determination and a shadow of fear that seemed to underline his entire body, not just his voice. If he pulled though, he was going to fix his disaster of a life.

He’d be a better dad, a better son, a better friend.

He’d talk to Boyd and Isaac again, see if they could salvage some of the relationship they’d once had.

He’d move back to Beacon Hills and stop running away from his problems.

He’d make sure Derek knew exactly how much he cared for him, no, how much he loved him.

He had to make it. If only so he could say those three little words to the man who’d sneaked his way into Stiles’ heart and become a central point of his life, when Stiles was still floundering in the alcohol and self-hatred prison he’d made for himself.

They lifted him onto the gurney and Derek’s face looking worriedly down at him was the last thing he saw before he slipped into the sweet release of unconsciousness.

*** *** *** ***

When he woke up, he felt oddly numb and fuzzy. He drifted for a second, not entirely sure if his eyes were open. Dimly he heard someone say his name, but he was tired so he let sleep claim him again.

The second time he woke up, was much the same, except this time he could feel someone holding his hand. He gripped it weakly and felt someone shift suddenly beside his bed. Derek’s face appeared above him, and Stiles wanted to reach up and rub out the deep, worry lines on his forehead but his hand wouldn’t obey him. Just thinking about moving was exhausting and before he knew it, he was asleep again.

The third time he woke up, his head felt clearer but his body hurt like a bitch. Perhaps they’d taken him off the good drugs. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. His father was asleep in a chair next to his bed, one hand on Stiles’ wrist, the other being used to pillow his head on the arm of the chair. It didn’t look comfortable. Derek was standing looking out of the window, arms crossed and shoulder’s hunched.

“Derek?” Stiles rasped and the other man spun to face him. For a second he did nothing but stare at him and then he was beside the bed, both hands wrapped around Stiles’ free hand and bringing it up to his lips. “Hey…hey I’m ok,” Stiles croaked and suddenly an ice chip appeared in front of his lips. He glanced up at his dad who smiled down at him.

“You will be, son,” he said. “You will be.”

*** *** *** ***

An hour after he woke up, there was a knock on the door and Lydia poked her head around the door.

“Up for visitors?” she asked.

“God yes,” Stiles said, around the lump that was forming in his throat. As the girls came barrelling into the room, he thought back to those moments bleeding out on the station floor where he was so sure he would never get to see them again. Hannah and Amber were on his bed before anyone could tell them otherwise, one on each side. The tucked themselves carefully around his injured body and buried their faces into his neck. For a few minutes, he simply clung to them, willing the tears in his eyes to go away so he didn’t lose it completely in front of his children.

Hannah pulled back carefully and fixed her watery eyes on him and Stiles felt a tear trickle down his own cheek.

“You’re not gonna die, daddy…are you?”

“No, baby girl, I’m not going anywhere.”

As Hannah went back to hugging him as fiercely as she could without hurting him, Stiles met Lydia’s eyes over the top of their children’s heads and saw that she was crying too.

*** *** *** ***

“I’m bored.”

“You said that already. Ten times so far this morning.”

“I could be resting up just as well at home.”

“We are not having this discussion again.”

“Derek…”

“No, Stiles.”

“But…”

“No.” Derek hadn’t even bothered to look up from his book. They’d had this conversation so many times in the past week that his responses were becoming automatic.

“I’ve been here years.”

“It hasn’t even been two weeks.”

“Two weeks is a long time, man.”

“You heard the doctor, Stiles. I’m not dealing with this for the next two weeks as well.”

Stiles fell silent, the thought of another two weeks stuck in this hospital room making his heart sink. Apparently, he was very lucky to be alive and they hadn’t been sure he’d make it for a while. He was still on pretty strong painkillers and yeah, he had a catheter which was pretty gross; but he still just wanted to get out of this damn room. It wasn’t because he thought he didn’t need to be here. He understood he was in pretty bad shape and that they needed to keep an eye out for infections and stuff like that; but the thought of sitting here for another two weeks whilst Jackson and the new recruit Kira were hunting his perps was driving him up the wall.

“Have you heard anything from Jackson?”

“Nothing new,” Derek sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“It’s a shame you’re not still working the case…”

“Stiles, they told me to take some time off and, to be honest, there was no way I was going to be any good to anyone whilst you were laid up in here. How the hell would I be able to concentrate?”

There was a moment of silence where Derek avoided Stiles’ gaze. Stiles knew he was being a pain in the ass and part of him wished he could just shut off his cop side and focus on getting better, rather than worrying about the case. The other part of him was already trying to think of a way he could get involved.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Derek looked up at him with a questioning look. “I’m sorry I’ve put you through all this and I’m sorry I’m being a jerk.”

“Stiles, it’s ok. I know this is hard and it’s hardly your fault that you got shot. You just need to be patient and give yourself time to heal.”

“I know. I just really want to see them behind bars.”

“Trust me, we all do.”

“Can I tell you something?” Stiles asked, after a few moments of silence. Derek nodded., looking earnest. “You look like crap.” Derek stared incredulously at him for a moment and then laughed.

“I look like crap? Jesus, Stiles, have you looked in a mirror today?”

“Hey, I was shot. What the hell’s your excuse?”

“You got shot,” Derek said, seriously, pulling Stiles up short for a second. He gathered himself and carried on.

“You need a decent night’s sleep in a proper bed, a proper meal and a shower. Definitely a shower.”

“Hey!”

“Derek. Go home. You’ve been here practically every minute since I woke up and, though I do like you using your badge to flout hospital rules, I think I’ll cope if you have some time away. Like…go and chill, watch a movie and get a good eight hours and come back tomorrow afternoon or something.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me or something?”

“What? No, of course not. Well…look, not that I don’t love having you here, but I could use a little time alone. Donati said a lot of things that keep playing on my mind and they highlighted some pretty serious discussions I need to have with my dad and I could use some time to think it all over.”

Derek looked long and hard at him and then nodded firmly. He kissed Stiles softly, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair.

“Call me if you need me,” he said and then headed out the door.

Stiles picked up the remote and flicked through the channels but nothing could hold his attention. It was true, Donati’s words had been playing over and over in his mind ever since he woke up. He’d been with his dad a lot in the last couple of weeks but almost always with Derek, and if they had been alone it had seemed a little…awkward. They’d always been interrupted before they’d had a proper chance to talk about it all and Stiles felt like if they didn’t, then the growing gap between them would become a chasm they could never bridge.

He picked up his phone and stared at it for a bit, before tapping it against his bottom lip thoughtfully. There was a knock at the door and Mason walked in.

Mason Hewitt was one of the nurses who’d been looking after him since he woke up and he and Derek had become very friendly with the young man.

“How’s my favourite patient?” Mason said.

“Bored out of my mind,” Stiles said, letting his head slump back onto his pillows and drumming his fingers on his phone screen.

“Half way there, man.”

“Yeah, we hope.”

“Where’s Derek?”

“I sent him home for a break. I mean, I have to be here, he doesn’t.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mason said, rolling his eyes.

“What?” Stiles asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You almost died.”

“I remember.”

“No, Stiles. You almost died. I was here when they brought you up and the whole time you were out, Derek was a mess. He has to be here because he still needs to see you with his own eyes to remind him that you’re ok.”

Stiles sighed and closed his eyes for a second.

“It’s just so new between us…”

“But you’ve been friends for years, right?” Stiles nodded. “I bet you’ve been in love with each other for years and been hiding it.” Stiles thought about it. Had he been in love with Derek for years? Probably. But he’d been too drunk and broken to notice.

“Enough about us. How was your date?”

“It was…interesting,” Mason said, perching on the edge of Stiles’ bed. “He took me to Olive Garden. I had the salmon and the pumpkin cheesecake.”

“Ah man, I love pumpkin cheesecake.”

“It’s the best thing on their menu, let’s be honest. So, I get there and for once, he actually looked like his picture.”

“Get out.”

“For real. He was tall, dark and handsome; he had a cute laugh and we had a lot to talk about.”

“So far so good.”

“Yeah…then his girlfriend showed up.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Deadly. There was this whole scene, it was super embarrassing. She dumped his drink over his head and told him he had an hour to pack his shit and get out of her house.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, on the plus side, she joined me for dessert.” Stiles chuckled and shook his head. “Oh yeah, we got on really well. She told me it wasn’t the first time and she was tired of it. Anyway, upshot is we’re getting lunch on Friday.”

“You’re gonna see her again?”

“Oh yeah, she was great. Think I got myself a new gal pal. Who would have thought it, making friends though internet dating! Go me.”

“Yeah…it’s amazing who you can meet on the internet,” Stiles mused.

“You know, you’ve been fiddling with your phone since I walked in here,” Mason said, standing up and heading for the door. “Whoever you’re thinking about calling, I’d just do it already.” He quirked an eyebrow and walked out of the door. Stiles bit his lip, unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He hovered over his dad’s number, before carrying on to the next name in the list and hitting call. It rang a few times, before a somewhat confused voice answered.

“Stiles?”

“Hey, Danny. I need a favour.”

Chapter Text

“You want me to do what?” Danny asked, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at Stiles incredulously.

“Danny, please…”

“Are you crazy? I mean, not only do you want me to go behind my boss’s back, but you want me to go behind my best friend’s back too? Not to mention the fact that you want me to lie to Derek…”

“Not lie just…omit certain truths…”

“And on top of everything, you want me to put you in danger.”

“Come on, how am I gonna be in danger? I can do everything from my hospital bed.”

“And if you manage to arrange a meet with these psychos?”

Stiles paused but knew there was only one thing he could say that would get Danny to agree to his plan.

“Then I’ll tell Jackson and let him go in my place.” Danny fixed him with a hard glare and Stiles shifted uncomfortably.

“You better, because if you don’t, I will.”

“So, you’ll do it?” Stiles asked, hopefully.

“You owe me,” Danny said, grabbing his laptop out of his bag and commandeering Stiles’ table. Over the next few hours, they set about trawling the darker side of the internet until finally, they found the website Ethan had told them about. The whole site was teeming with sick, murderous fantasies and perverted ideology, with threads dedicated to subjects that turned Stiles’ stomach. In the midst of it all, was a post that had a different feel than the rest of them. It seemed almost pious in nature, talking about salvation and human sacrifice in the same sentence and signed off by The Messenger. Deucalion had taken over Donati’s mantle and returned to his tried and tested method of recruitment: the internet.
Danny quickly set up a new email address for a fictitious user and then created an account on the website. They spent a bit of time building the account in to something that looked legit, and filled in the bio in a way that would hopefully convince Deucalion that it was worth his time to reach out.

Because Stiles’ idea was to bait a trap, present a twisted wannabe murderer and hope that Deucalion would pick him for their next run.

Danny wrote down the log in details, closed his laptop and held the note out. He didn’t let go when Stiles tried to take it though, waiting until their eyes met and he could give Stiles a warning glare.

“Do not make me regret this.”

“You won’t,” Stiles said, taking the slip of paper.

*** *** *** ***
After Danny left, Stiles grabbed his tablet and spent almost two hours trawling the site for other posts that could be from the cult or to see if Deucalion had made any links with other users that might give them something to go on. He gave up after reading a post that went into vivid detail about VampireCount783’s sexual fantasy involving murdering a woman and, shock, drinking her blood. There was only so much depravity he could handle in one go. He went back to fiddling with his phone; flicking between ‘Dad’ and ‘Derek’ on his contact list.

He needed to talk to his dad, that much was clear but where to start? How to begin to explain how he felt without making the sheriff feel worse than he clearly already did? And how could he turn around and tell his dad he felt betrayed because he didn’t tell him something so important when he was basically doing the same thing to him and Derek right now? He tossed his phone to the side and let his head fall back with a sigh. He took a few deep breaths, ignoring the twinge in his abdomen, and found himself thinking about how things could be once he was finally done with this shit show of a case.

The first thing he was going to do was sit down with the girls and Lydia and explain all about Derek. He wanted them, and Derek as well, to know that it was serious and that Stiles was in this for the long haul, if Derek would have him. He wanted them to see he was moving on and that he was happy. They’d met Derek already and loved him so that wasn’t an issue. He just wanted them to see he was on his way back to being the dad they deserved.

He was going to get a proper handle on his drinking problem, too. Maybe even start referring to it for what it really was. Alcoholism. Throughout his six-year long battle with booze, he’d never once referred to himself as an alcoholic but maybe if he did that, he could finally admit to himself just how severe the problem really was. He should really talk to someone, about everything. He’d skipped every grief counselling session that the department had set up for him and now that he was seeing things a little more clearly, he really regretted that. Perhaps they could have helped him get a handle on things sooner.

His musing where stopped when there was a knock on the door and Scott poked his head into the room.

“Hey, is it ok if I come in?”

“Dude, of course.”

“How you doing, Stiles?” Scott asked, sitting in the chair beside Stiles’ bed and giving him a soft smile.

And just like that, Stiles was sobbing.

Scott looked shocked for half a second before he shot out of his chair, half climbed onto the bed and wrapped Stiles gently in his arms. He didn’t say anything, just held his best friend close, rubbing a hand up and down his back, as Stiles sobbed into his chest. After a while, Stiles managed to calm his tears and pulled back from Scott, burying his face in his hands for a second before taking a deep breath and looking up into Scott’s worried face.

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered, but Scott shook his head.

“You don’t need to say sorry. Jesus, Stiles, the things that have happened the past couple of months…you’ve had to be strong for everyone. It’s not surprising that now you’ve finally stopped, it would get to you.”

“It’s not just that,” Stiles said. “It’s everything. Everything Donovan said; the mess I’ve made of my life;…Erica.” Scott nodded in understanding. “I just never really dealt with it and I’ve let it corrupt my whole life; my relationships; my work. I’ve become obsessive.”

“You were always a little obsessive,” Scott reasoned, with a small smile.

“I nearly died.” Scott sobered immediately, eyed pained. “I nearly bled to death on the station floor and I know I should be focussing on getting better but all I can think about is the fucking case and everything that is so messed up with my life.”

“Dude, it will get better, you know that right? And you’re not alone. Whatever you need, I’m here. You’re surrounded by people that love you and want to help. Your dad, Mom, Derek, Lydia, Ali, all the kids…even Jordan. Hell, even my dad. We all want to see you get back to you and we’re all here to support you for as long as it takes.”

“I know, I know, I just…I feel like I’ve created this space that separates me from everyone and I don’t know how to bridge it.”

“Well, I can’t speak for the others but there’s no bridge needed for me. You’re my brother and no matter what, I’ve got you.”

Stiles nodded and then pulled Scott in for another, fierce hug. When Stiles finally let him go, Scott slipped back into the chair and propped his feet up on the bed, reaching for the remote.

“Make yourself at home,” Stiles joked, easing himself back against the pillows with a laugh.

“Hey, I wanna be comfortable for this.” He selected a music channel that was playing soft, mellow oldies and turned his attention back to Stiles.

“Comfortable for what?” Stiles asked, a little confused.

“Talk to me Stiles.” Stiles blinked at him and Scott smiled, gently. “I mean, really talk to me. About anything and everything on your mind.” Stiles stared at Scott for a second, wondering how he got so lucky to have such a wonderful best friend and then took a breath and began.

“Honestly, the thing that’s playing on my mind the most at the moment, is this whole thing with my dad.”

“What thing?”

“He didn’t tell me something…something that I really think might have helped my recovery and I think he feels bad about it. When I thought I was going to die, I just wanted him not to blame himself for how I turned out and the drinking and everything, so I said it wasn’t his fault.”

“Now you feel like it is?”

“Not exactly, but I do feel…I dunno, I just feel like maybe, if he’d shared this story with me, I might have been able to use it to kind of claw my way back to the surface and start my recovery sooner.”

“Do you really think that?” Stiles thought for a second and then nodded.

“Yeah I really do.”

“Then you have to tell him.”

Stiles closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

*** *** *** ***
Somehow, he managed to avoid being alone with his dad for the remainder of his time in hospital. Derek was there every waking hour but Stiles managed to convince him to go home to sleep and as soon as he left, Stiles would reach for the tablet and go back to trawling the website and waiting impatiently for Deucalion to make contact.

Finally, after almost two weeks of waiting, he logged onto the website early in the morning before Derek arrived, just to check, and saw there was a message in his inbox.

It seems we share the same ideals, my friend. If you are willing, I would love to meet so that I may discuss with you the beautiful salvation that can be found with The Mother. If you are willing to take a life in her name, she will cleanse your soul and lead you to paradise. My companions and I are about to embark on this quest. If you would like to hear more about The Mother and perhaps join us, please let me know and we shall arrange to meet within the next few days. The Messenger.

Stiles felt like his heart was beating in his throat. It was everything he had hoped would happen and he had typed out a response in moments. He was about to put the tablet aside, but Deucalion’s response was almost instantaneous.

Friday, three days from now. We shall meet you at McKinley Park, Sacramento. Two o’clock.

He had them. He fucking had them. He reached for his phone to text Derek and Jackson, just as the doctor and Derek walked in.

“Mr Stilinski, I have some good news. We’re happy to discharge you today.”

“I can go home?” Stiles said, a little dumbfounded. Derek beamed at him.

“You’re going to stay with me for a little while. I hope that’s ok?”

“It’s perfect,” Stiles said, grinning back at Derek, phone forgotten on the side.

*** *** *** ***

That evening, tucked up under a blanket on Derek’s sofa, Stiles tried to find the words to tell Derek what he’d done. It wasn’t really the meeting he’d arranged with a cult of murderers he was worried about explaining, but more the reasons why he hadn’t told Derek or anyone else his plan.

They were watching Die Hard and although it was one of Stiles’ favourite films, he was struggling to keep his eye focussed on the screen. The more his mind wandered, the more his eyes became glazed and slipped to fix on a point somewhere just below the TV screen. When the room fell silent, he glanced up at the screen to see John McClane paused in the act of dragging his bleeding foot through a bathroom door. He looked over at Derek who was watching him worriedly, brow furrowed.

“You ok?” Derek asked and Stiles nodded automatically, stopping when Derek raised an eyebrow at him.

“I have to tell you something.” Derek sat up straighter. “I did something and I think you’re gonna be pissed.” Derek nodded and his shoulders tensed a little.

“What did you do?”
“I found Deucalion on the website Ethan told us about. I’ve managed to made contact via an alias and arranged to meet up with them on Friday in Sacramento.” The words were rushed but the look on Derek’s face told Stiles he’d caught every one of them. There was a beat of pounding silence before Derek spoke.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles replied honestly. “I’m having trouble letting go of this case and I think I just needed the chance to get some closure. I kinda realised in the last couple of weeks that I really need some proper help with…well, with a lot of things. I know you’re probably pretty mad at me but if you can stick with me through all this, then I promise the man that comes out the other side is one you can be proud of and one you can…well, one you’ll really want to be with.”

“You’re right, I am mad,” Derek said evenly. “But I’m not about to walk out on you or whatever else you think is about to happen. I haven’t gone into us lightly. I want this to work, I want to be with you and I’m here to help you through whatever you need to do. But you have got to talk to me, you can’t shut me out or this will never work.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. Stiles, you need to call Jackson.” Stiles nodded and opened his mouth the reply just as three loud bangs echoed throughout the apartment. Derek glanced at the clock, then at the door before shooting a raised eyebrow towards Stiles as he stood. He crossed the room, opened the door slightly and then stood back as the person on the other side slid the door away somewhat violently and strode into the room.

Jackson looked livid. His hair was ruffled, his shirt sleeves were rolled up and his tie was loose. He looked at Stiles with angry eyes and Stiles sighed as Danny stepped sheepishly in behind him.

“Tell me something, are you fucking stupid?” Jackson said, voice quiet and dangerous.

“Jacks,” Danny said, beseechingly.

“Next time you want to do something behind my back, don’t rope my best friend in to help you. What, did you think he wasn’t going to tell me?”

“I was going to tell you myself but he didn’t give me a chance. I’m assuming you’ve been checking the account Danny? That’s why you’ve run off to tell on me, right?”

“Don’t try and turn this around on him,” Jackson snapped. “That message was sent late last night and so far, you haven’t told me shit.”

“I was going to.”

“Sure,” Jackson scoffed.

“I was! Look, I read the message just before the doctor said he was discharging me and then I just didn’t have time. I’ve just told Derek.” Jackson and Danny shot a look towards Derek who nodded once. “I was planning on telling you in the morning at a more reasonable hour.” Jackson glanced down at his watch and winced as he realised how late it was. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But I promise, I was going to tell you about the meeting.”

Jackson sighed, a deep, bone weary sigh that turned into a strangled chuckle.

“So this meeting…does it mean we’ve actually got these fuckers?” he asked. Stiles nodded with a smile.

“Yeah man, we’ve got them.”