Notes: Well here we are, folks. My weird bastard child has finally grown up and left for college. Or whatever. Special thanks go to Dusty, whose merciless eye ensured that this fic wasn't nearly as terrible as it could have been. Also thanks to Poicephalus, for moral support/pinch-hit betaing/heckling. God forbid you two be brought in as character witnesses at my war crimes trial.

Chapter Twelve: Now You Will Find Peace

Lydia has been parked outside the Argents' house for the last twenty minutes.

They rushed Allison back here, after the incident at the school. Lydia wishes she'd planted a bug on Allison's dress when she had the chance. Or maybe bluebugged her phone. She really wants to know what they're talking about in there.

Chris Argent emerges from the house, carrying a small suitcase. Pink piping. Probably not his. He stows it in the back of Kate's SUV and returns to the house.

Shortly after, Kate appears, carrying a bow case, and obviously trying to ensure she isn't seen. She puts it in the trunk of her car, next to the suitcase, and heads back inside.

Finally, Allison comes out of the house, her father leading her by the arm. Kate follows along behind them. Kate and Allison get into Kate's SUV.

Chris put a packed bag in the car. Kate put Allison's bow in the car. One thinks she's leaving. The other is taking her hunting.

Kate pulls out of the driveway. Once they're almost at the end of the block, Lydia starts her own car and follows.

ʘ

Stiles pulls up outside the Hale house and kills the engine. From here, the house looks empty.

He needs to be sure.

Stiles reaches into the back and grabs the bag marked "Plan B," setting it on the passenger seat. He grabs what he thinks he'll need, then gets out of the jeep.

The door creaks at a frankly annoying volume when Stiles shoulders it open. Nobody comes running. The house looks more or less the same as it always has, disregarding the bullet holes.

Nobody's here.

"Fuck," Stiles mutters under his breath. So Jackson dropped his fucking phone.

In the distance, a wolf howls, loud and long.

There aren't supposed to be any wild wolves in California. Stiles heads for the door. If that's the Alpha—

A second howl echoes through the house. Close. Very close.

Coming from beneath him.

ʘ

Something red flashes across Lydia's rear-view mirror. Normally that wouldn't bother her, only she's seen that exact same red three times now.

She's being tailed.

"Oh, you sneaky little bastard," Lydia hisses.

She's still following Kate's SUV. If Lydia tries to shake her tail, she'll lose track of Kate.

Well. Wherever Kate's going, her brother will want to see it, too.

Kate's SUV pulls up outside the Beacon Hills preserve. Lydia pulls over by the side of the road, far enough away that they won't see her. Kate and Allison get out, and Kate circles around to the back, tossing Allison the bow. They head into the woods together.

Lydia waits until they're past the treeline, then parks behind Kate's SUV, boxing it in. Stiles has the Plan B bag. She'll have to make do.

Reaching into the glove compartment, she grabs a spare magazine and shoves it into her pocket.

Then she gets out of the car and follows Kate and Allison into the woods.

ʘ

Really, Stiles should have guessed there were tunnels under the Hale house. The place is, quite literally, a wolf den.

The trap door in the basement dropped him into a network of winding, red-brick tunnels. There aren't any sharp turns down here. Stiles can't proceed as cautiously as he'd like to, so he keeps his sidearm drawn.

Stiles hears something moving in the tunnel ahead of him, just past the curve of the wall and out of his line of sight. Stiles creeps forward, gun raised.

Scott's standing in front of a big metal door. He sees Stiles and frantically waves at him to lower the gun, a finger to his lips.

Stiles holsters the gun. "What are you doing here?" he whispers frantically.

"This is where Derek's howl led me," Scott whispers back.

"That was you howling?"

"Yeah," Scott says, looking pleased with himself. Then he shakes himself out of it. "Derek's in here. I can smell him. But there's somebody in there with him."

"Is this person armed?"

Scott shrugs.

Stiles steps back and examines the door. It's a big, rusty, sliding door. It does not look like a quiet door. If the guy inside hears this thing opening, and he has a gun, he'll definitely have the drop on Stiles.

This is what the Plan B bag is for.

Stiles puts his back against the wall next to the door handle, pulling the flashbang from his pocket. "Scott, on three, you're going to open the door a crack, then close it again. Got it?"

Scott nods.

"Okay. Derek, if you can hear me, uh... close your eyes."

Scott grabs the door handle.

"One... two... three!"

The door slides open about a hand's width with a squeak. Stiles pulls the pin and tosses the grenade into the room. Scott slams the door closed.

Bang.

"Open it," Stiles says, pulling the ASP baton from its scabbard next to his holster. Scott throws the door open.

There's an older man in the center of the room, a little on the short side but broad-shouldered and well built, swearing and pawing at his eyes. Stiles flicks his wrist to extend the baton and swings it forward into the guy's thigh.

The hunter screams and drops as his leg collapses under him. Stiles brings his knee up under the guy's jaw.

He drops like a stone.

Scott stares at Stiles. "Wow."

"Don't be too impressed." Stiles kneels and slams the tip of the baton against the cement floor. The baton collapses back in on itself. "In a fair fight, he would've kicked my—oh, holy god."

Derek is chained up to some kind of metal rack, shirtless. There's a mess of wires going from an AC/DC power supply on the nearby table to a set of probes attached to the spot above Derek's hip. He's conscious, but his eyes are glazed over, and he stares at Stiles like he's not sure he's really there.

Stiles rushes forward and gently removes the shock probes. The wounds start to heal as soon as the probes are out.

Oh god, those aren't handcuffs, they're manacles. Who even has those? "Scott, see if you can find the keys, would you?"

Scott appears at Stiles' elbow, holding a keyring.

As soon as the manacles are unlocked, Derek's legs buckle. Stiles manages to catch him before he falls, gently lowering him to a sitting position on the floor. He feels Derek's hands fist in the material of his suit jacket, and tightens his grip, dragging Derek in closer.

"It's okay. I'm here."

Derek clamps onto Stiles like he's a lifeline, burying his face in Stiles' neck, inhaling deeply. Stiles kisses Derek's temple and holds him, babbling, "I've got you, it's okay. I'm here. It's okay."

Stiles doesn't even care that Derek can't hear him very well right now.

Scott hovers, like he doesn't know what to do with himself. Stiles waves him in the direction of the table, where the hunters left Derek's shirt and jacket.

They manage to get Derek back into his clothes, and Stiles loops Derek's arm over his shoulder, heading for the door. Scott moves in to help. "I can carry him."

Derek growls.

"Or not," Scott says. He nudges the unconscious hunter with his foot. "What about this guy?"

"We'll call an ambulance once we're outside," Stiles replies. "Come on. Let's go."

ʘ

Scott leads them out the way he came in; the tunnels let out into the woods near the Hale house.

Derek's healing already, and can more or less walk on his own by the time they get outside. He keeps his hand on Stiles' shoulder anyway.

"Wait, wait... why aren't you keeping an eye on Allison at the dance?" Stiles says to Scott.

Scott shrinks into himself a little. "... Allison found out about me."

"She what?" Derek snaps.

An arrow strikes Derek in the shoulder. He hits the ground hard.

Stiles draws, putting himself in front of Derek. "Scott! Run!"

Scott tears off toward the house. One of the flashbulb arrows goes off by his head. He stumbles.

There are two women at the top of the ridge. Kate Argent advances on Stiles and Derek, pistol drawn, while Allison breaks off and heads in Scott's direction, nocking another arrow.

Kate stops about ten feet away from Stiles. "Hello, Agent Stilinski."

"Ms. Argent," Stiles replies. He can hear Scott and Allison arguing in the distance. "If you put the gun down and come quietly, I can pull some strings to keep your niece out of jail."

Kate says, "Pass," and pulls the trigger.

The bullet hits Stiles in his right bicep. His returning shot goes wide, missing Kate completely, and he drops to his knees, pressing his hand against the wound. His gun falls from numb fingers.

Derek tries to struggle to his feet. Kate shoots him in the leg.

"What are you doing?" Allison screams.

Kate darts forward and kicks Stiles' sidearm out of his reach. "Tying up loose ends," she says, training her gun on Stiles.

"He's a cop!"

"And he pointed a gun at me. His laws aren't our laws, honey. We serve the greater good."

Derek grits out, "That would be the 'greater good' where you burn entire families to death in their own homes?"

Allison stares at Derek. "... What?"

Kate doesn't take her eyes off Stiles, glaring at him down the barrel of her gun. "Just an old rumor."

Stiles says, "Where'd you get that necklace, Allison?"

Allison puts a hand to the pendant. "... Aunt Kate gave it to me."

"I've got a witness who can link your necklace to the woman responsible for that," Stiles says, angling his head toward the house.

Allison looks at Kate, eyebrows knitted in confusion. "... You said we just catch them."

Kate raises the gun to Stiles' head. "And that's enough out of you."

Stiles closes his eyes. This is going to suck.

"Put the gun down, Kate," Chris Argent says.

Stiles' eyes snap open. Chris and Lydia emerge from the treeline, guns drawn. Kate's grip on the pistol tightens. "He's working with them, Chris."

"He's a federal agent, and he's human," Chris says. "We have a Code."

Apparently, Lydia's losing her patience. "That's enough of that," she snaps. "Everyone with the last name 'Argent' is under arrest! We'll sort the charges out later, but for now let's go with—"

Something charges out of the shadows behind Chris, knocking him off his feet.

Peter Hale pounces on Kate and clamps his jaws around her throat.

Stiles scrambles back, tripping over Derek as he goes. Derek stumbles to his feet and grabs Stiles' uninjured arm, putting himself between Stiles and Peter.

Kate's spine gives way with a snap. Peter raises his head, muzzle wet with blood, and bays in victory.

Allison lets out a choked sob. Peter drops Kate's limp body and turns on Allison, growling low in his throat.

Scott lunges at Peter. "Stay away from her!"

Peter bats Scott aside easily and pins him, snapping his teeth inches from Scott's face. Derek attacks from Peter's blind side. The three werewolves become a roiling, snarling mass of black fur and claws.

Lydia runs to Stiles. "How bad?"

"I think I'll live," Stiles gasps. "Peter just killed Kate. Jennifer would want to see that. She can't be far."

Lydia nods. "I'll find her," she says, and disappears into the woods.

Out the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Chris Argent train his gun on the three werewolves, still fighting.

"That won't help!" Stiles shouts at him.

"My daughter's in there!" Chris shouts back. Peter is between him and Allison. Stiles can see her, backed up against the porch. Her bow is drawn, an arrow nocked, but she's not firing.

She doesn't want to hit Scott.

Peter backhands Scott, who lands at Allison's feet.

Allison fires.

The first arrow hits Peter in the shoulder. The second misses him entirely and hits Derek instead.

Derek staggers. Peter gets one massive forepaw around Derek's throat, lifting him onto his toes.

"Mr. Hale!" Lydia yells. "I believe this woman's with you?"

Everything stops.

Jennifer Fitzgerald's hands are cuffed behind her back. Lydia's got an arm across her throat, gun trained on Peter.

Turning his head, Peter snarls at Lydia. Derek's arm snaps forward.

Peter freezes, then looks down at Derek's hand buried in his chest up to the wrist. He releases Derek's throat.

Derek bares his fangs at Peter and rips his hand free. A small, mangled piece of meat falls from his fingers into the dead grass.

Peter collapses.

Panting to get his breath back, Derek stares down at his bloody hand.

Stiles says, "Derek?"

Derek looks up.

His eyes glow red.

ʘ

Never before had Stiles considered how difficult it is to clear out an office alone and one-handed. Lydia's already on her way to Sacramento, where she and Jennifer Fitzgerald will catch a plane to HQ. He could just leave everything for the local LEOs to clean up, but his mother raised a gentleman.

There's a knock on the doorframe. Stiles' eyebrows shoot up in surprise when he sees Derek standing in the doorway. "They let you in here?"

"I told the desk sergeant I had to report in with my arresting officer," Derek says, stepping into the office. "You weren't at the hotel."

"Checked out this morning." At the look on Derek's face, he adds, "I was gonna come see you before I left town. Honest."

"So you are leaving, then."

"Yeah. Kate Argent's death wraps up the Hale case. Chris Argent claims he didn't know anything about the fire, or your abduction, and we don't have anything that says he did, so that's the end of that. And Jennifer Fitzgerald's on her way to a holding facility in Virginia."

"She'll be tried?"

"Oh, hell yes. She didn't directly kill anyone, but she'll be charged with either conspiracy to commit murder, or murder via dangerous animal. We haven't decided yet."

Derek puts his hands in his jacket pockets. "... And what about me?"

Stiles starts piling up the papers scattered across Lydia's desk. "You killed Peter Hale in self-defense. We won't be pressing charges." He tosses the papers into a box and tries to tape it closed, but the tape gun is not his friend today.

Derek steps in to help. Once the box is sealed, he moves back, hesitant. "How's the arm?"

Stiles waggles his fingers from the sling. "Doctors say I'll retain full range of movement, once it heals."

"That's... good. Really good." Derek still has one hand propped up on the desk.

Stiles covers it with his own. "You okay?"

Derek looks down at the hand Stiles is holding; the same hand that ripped Peter Hale's heart out of his chest. "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Yeah," Stiles says. "When there were no other options." He sighs and rubs his thumb across the back of Derek's hand. "I know what you're thinking. No, killing Peter wasn't right. But it was necessary. You saved a lot of lives."

Derek nods, but doesn't look Stiles in the eyes.

Stiles takes a deep breath and says, "We should probably talk about the thing."

Now Derek looks up, eyebrow raised. "'The thing?'"

"Yeah, the you-kissing-me thing. That thing."

"There's nothing to talk about. You said no."

"To you turning me into a werewolf, not—never mind, let me start over. You already know my track record with relationships a little bit, and I'm kind of a shitty boyfriend, and I talk too much except when it really matters, and then I don't talk at all, and I'm always working, and that's usually a deal-breaker. So, you know, full disclosure there. But if you're still interested after all that then I'd definitely be willing to, you know... oh, fuck it, come here."

Stiles takes his hand off Derek's, grabs the lapel of his jacket, and reels him in.

The kiss is slow, sweet; miles away from the frenzied mauling Stiles had been subjected to last time. Derek slips an arm around Stiles' waist, mindful of his injured arm, and murmurs, "Don't go," against Stiles' lips.

"I have to," Stiles says. "I need to report in at HQ, and then I've got another assignment. But..." Stiles brushes his lips against Derek's again, "I've got a lot of vacation time I need to use up. And I might use some of that time to check in with the new Alpha of Beacon Hills."

"That's good to hear," Derek says.

"What—what is your face doing?" Stiles pulls back. "I've never seen your face do that before."

"I'm smiling, idiot."

"Well be careful, for god's sake. You might break something."

ʘ

The women of Thessaly nest in the branches of the World Tree, where they watch the Earth spin beneath them.

So the wolf and the hunter are both dead, says the youngest. I suppose that's the end of it.

'The end of it?' Hardly. Revenge is a cycle, sister.

And the last scion has drawn the attention of those his greater. Earthly and otherwise.

So what now, then?

You say that as if there is anything we could do. We are gone from the world.

And when the last of Lycaon's blood is spilled? His house will fade, and the Earth will be poorer for it.

Only a little, sister. Only a little.

Ω