A Brokered Peace

by enigmaticblue

Summary:

There’s finally movement on the Argent front, and they have a new magical creature to deal with in Lydia. Plus, there’s always the issue of the Nemeton.

Notes:

This work is complete in 5 chapters, and will update each Sunday.

Chapter 1

Stiles glances at Moira, drumming his fingers on the gray formica table. “You know I’ve had a crush on her since, like, third grade, right?”

 

Moira chuckles. “Is that past or present tense?”

 

“Well, I’m certainly going to continue to admire her from afar if she’s not nice to the rest of the pack,” Stiles replies. “I can admire a pretty face without needing to do anything about it.”

 

Moira gives him a sideways look. “Now, I know that’s true.”

 

Stiles tries to fight his blush—unsuccessfully. They’re meeting Lydia at the local diner for lunch. Moira has been doing some research, and she thought she’d be able to diagnose Lydia’s problem with a few questions.

 

Stiles feels a little wary about this whole thing, but he remembers how uncertain everything had been after Scott was bitten, when they’d been trying to figure out what was coming next. If Lydia is manifesting new gifts, Moira is probably the best person to help her—or know where she can get help.

 

He and Moira are sitting side by side in a red vinyl booth. The decor is old fashioned, but Stiles likes it, and they have the best milkshakes and curly fries in the state.

 

Lydia enters the diner in a swirl of red hair, wearing a pair of very tight jeans and a t-shirt that’s falling off one shoulder. Stiles still finds her wildly attractive, of course, but he also understands that his first duty is to his pack. A casual relationship is one thing, but a serious one is going to require buy-in from others.

 

Stiles has made a study of Lydia Martin for years, and he knows that in spite of her carefully applied makeup, she’s feeling some strain. The dark circles under her eyes aren’t easily hidden, and there are new lines around her eyes and mouth. 

 

Lydia sits down across from them and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Stiles. Thanks for meeting me.”

 

That’s a lot more polite than Lydia has been in the past, and Stiles responds by saying, “Of course. This is Moira Keynes. She has some expertise in weird stuff. Moira, this is Lydia Martin.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Lydia says politely. 

 

“Likewise,” Moira replies. 

 

Their waitress comes over, wearing a teal uniform dress with a white apron, with a name tag that reads, “Abbie.” 

 

“Hi, everyone,” she says cheerfully. “Can I get you anything?”

 

“I’ll take a Coke, and a club sandwich,” Moira says when Abbie looks at her first. 

 

Lydia is next. “A Cobb salad with the house dressing on the side, and a Diet Coke.”

 

Stiles has krav maga later, so he knows he’s going to need the fuel. “A cheeseburger, curly fries, and a Coke,” Stiles says.

 

Batman is sitting under the table, leaning heavily against Stiles’ leg, for which he’s grateful. The diner isn’t terribly crowded right now, but any time he’s in a public space, he feels like he has to be hyper vigilant. 

 

And the fact that whatever had been imprisoned in the Nemeton has broken free has Stiles’ anxiety fairly high. Granted, they’re pretty sure it’s a nogitsune, but it has yet to manifest itself.

 

Stiles is pretty sure that the key word there is “yet.”

 

“You got it,” Abbie says cheerfully. “I’ll have your food right out.”

 

“Do you know what’s happening to me?” Lydia asks once they’re alone.

 

Moira inclines her head. “I might. I have a few questions. Answer them honestly, and I should be able to help you.”

 

Lydia nods. “I don’t have anything to gain by lying.”

 

“No, you don’t,” Moira replies bluntly. “First, when did you first start noticing the change?”

 

Lydia takes a deep breath. “The first was when Stiles’ friend, Heather, died. I felt it. I felt the other deaths, too, and I knew where the bodies were going to be found.”

 

Moira nods, as though she doesn’t find the information surprising. “And have you screamed for the dead?”

 

Lydia blinks. “Yes, how did you know?”

 

Moira smiles. “Because you, my dear, are what we call a banshee. They sense death, particularly supernatural death.”

 

Lydia frowns at her. “What do you mean, ‘supernatural?’”

 

“You know exactly what I mean,” Moira replies evenly.

 

Stiles is watching the byplay with interest, but without interruption. He knows he’s entirely superfluous to the conversation.

 

Lydia grimaces. “I was never one to believe in ghosts.”

 

“It’s not ghosts you need to believe in, but yourself,” Moira counters.

 

Abbie turns up with their food just then, and that silences the table. They murmur their thanks, and Stiles is starving, so he falls on his food, although he makes an attempt to utilize good manners.

 

Lydia begins to eat her salad, but she’s picking at it more than anything else.

 

“You should eat, dear,” Moira says. “You’ll need your strength. You never know what’s going to happen in Beacon Hills.”

 

“Will there be more deaths?” Lydia asks, sounding fearful.

 

“Not from the same source,” Moira replies. “But there’s a reason this town was called Beacon Hills, and that’s because it tends to draw in the supernatural.”

 

Lydia stabs her lettuce with some force. “How do I make it go away?”

 

Moira’s expression is sympathetic as she says, “You don’t. A gift, once awoken, is not so easily suppressed. You can train it, though.”

 

Lydia takes a deep breath. “How do I do that?”

 

“I have a few contacts,” Moira replies. “I’m waiting to see if they’ll be able to come here or if they’ll need to train you remotely—or even have you go to them.”

 

Lydia grimaces. “Am I dangerous?”

 

“Just as much as anyone can be,” Moira replies. 

 

“What does that mean?” Lydia asks.

 

“It means that anyone can be dangerous, under the right circumstances,” Stiles inserts. “Even me.”

 

Lydia actually cracks a smile at that. “Oh, I figured that out for myself. The rumors are that you managed to escape a kidnapping. You have to be a little bit dangerous.”

 

“Why, Lydia, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Stiles replies. 

 

Lydia gives him a look. “Don’t think that makes us friends.”

 

“I would never presume,” Stiles replies.

 

Lydia nods. “What do you need from me?”

 

“Your phone number,” Moira says with a smile. “So I can stay in touch.”

 

“That’s easy enough,” Lydia replies. She pulls out her cell phone, unlocks it, and hands it over to Moira. 

 

Moira, in turns, programs in her name and phone number, and then sends herself a text. “Let me know if you have any issues.”

 

“I will, thanks,” Lydia says. “I know you didn’t have to do this.”

 

Moira shakes her head. “It’s my pleasure. And I’ll cover lunch today.”

 

Lydia nods. “I appreciate it.”

 

She finishes up what’s left of her Cobb salad and says, “Sorry, but I have something else, so I need to run.”

 

Stiles is still cleaning up the rest of his curly fries, so he and Moira stay. “That went well,” he says brightly. “We didn’t even have to mention the rest of it.”

 

Moira snorts. “She was too focused on her own problems today. Give it time, and she’ll start to ask questions. Are you comfortable with her knowing about the pack and your magic?”

 

“Just because she knows, doesn't mean she’s pack,” Stiles points out. “She can be pack adjacent, like Danny.”

 

“True,” Moira agrees. “How are you doing?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “The thing in the tree is no longer in the tree. We don’t know what it’s going to do, or if it will target anyone. It’s just this silent threat.”

 

Moira grimaces. “I have an idea for that, but I’m not sure that anyone is going to like it.”

 

“What, are there anti-possession wards?” Stiles asks with real curiosity.

 

“There are,” Moira confirms. “But they need to be tied to that person’s magical signature, and they’re of a rather permanent nature.”

 

Stiles can feel his eyebrows go straight up. “Like a tattoo? Because I am 100% okay with a tattoo if it means something can’t take over my brain.”

 

“It’s more that it will allow you to sense when something is trying to take over your brain, and steps can be taken after that,” Moira cautions. 

 

“I’ll take it,” Stiles says. “As an anxiety management tactic, it seems relatively mild.”

 

“Permanently altering your body is mild?” Moira asks.

 

Stiles shrugs. “The anxiety is always going to be there, right? But not worrying about something taking over my brain would be a step in the right direction.”

 

“We’ll have to talk to your father about it,” Moira replies. “Since you’re a minor, he’ll have to agree, as will the other parents and/or guardians if that’s something they want to consider. Well, other than for Isaac and Boyd, of course.”

 

“How do you tattoo a werewolf?” Stiles asks suddenly, thinking through the ramifications.

 

Moira smiles. “Very carefully. We’ll talk to your dad. For now, try not to worry too much.”

 

“That’s easier said than done,” Stiles admits.

 

Moira pats his cheek. “I know, mo chroi. Still, I’d like it if you’d try.”

 

Stiles nods. “I’ll try.”

 

~~~~~

 

Derek sits on the hood of the Camaro and watches as the last of the debris from the old house is cleared away. There are another couple of trucks standing by, loaded with supplies to start the rebuilding process.

 

Noah sits next to him and passes him the thermos. “It’s tea, not coffee.”

 

“Thanks,” Derek replies.

 

“This is probably a question for Jack to ask you, but how are you feeling?” Noah asks.

 

“We’re tearing down the old to make way for something new,” Derek replies. “I’m happy. I think we’re building something good.”

 

“It’s okay to be sad, too,” Noah says quietly. “That’s a perfectly normal emotion.”

 

Derek shakes his head. “This is where Stiles was tortured, where my family died. Cora wouldn’t even agree to come see this place before it was torn down.”

 

“I can’t really blame her,” Noah says. “She’s found a sense of belonging and purpose. Seeing this place in ruins might jeopardize that. But in some months’ time, she’ll see that she has her pack house back.”

 

“I agree,” Derek agrees. “Until then, I’ll watch over the building process. How is everything else?”

 

“Fine,” Noah replies. “Quiet. I don’t trust it.”

 

Derek snorts. “This is Beacon Hills. The quiet doesn’t last long.”

 

“Exactly,” Noah replies. “How’s school?”

 

“Nearly done with the second module,” Derek says. “Parrish and I are second and first, respectively. I think he’s a little put out with me, especially given my—special gifts.”

 

Noah laughs. “I think Parrish has a few things going for him, and he just doesn’t know it yet.”

 

“Well, he’s ready to get started as a reserve officer, and so am I,” Derek admits.

 

Noah pats him on the shoulder. “Just a few more weeks. I know I said I was going to pair you with Mark, but after discussing it with Tara, we both think you’ll do better with me or her, at least to start. Mark is going to take Parrish.”

 

“I do really appreciate everything you've done for me and Cora,” Derek says quietly. “This wouldn’t be possible except for you.”

 

“And you,” Noah points out. “We all have a role to play.”

 

Derek figures that’s true. Everyone in the pack has something they bring to the table, but he can’t imagine what his life would look like right now if Noah hadn’t become the Alpha. 

 

He wouldn’t be on the road to becoming a deputy. Deucalion might have managed to kill some of the pack members. Who knows what the Argents would have done?

 

As if Derek’s thought had summoned the news, Noah’s cell phone rings, and he picks up. “Stilinski.”

 

There’s a long pause, and then he says, “I guess that saves the cost of putting him on trial. What does that do for the case against Kate Argent?”

 

There’s a longer pause, and Noah sighs. “Got it. All right, I’ll let Stiles know. Thanks.”

 

Derek keeps his silence, knowing that Noah will fill him in.

 

“Gerard Argent finally kicked the bucket,” Noah says. “The DA thinks they’ll probably throw him under the bus, blame him for the murders and her escape attempt.”

 

Derek knows enough about procedure to know what that means. “So, you’ll have to nail down where they both were at the times of the murders.”

 

“That’s about the sum of it,” Noah says. “So, if you could finish up the second module sooner rather than later, I’m putting you and Parrish on it.”

 

Derek glances at him. “Would that compromise the evidence if they ask about chain of custody?”

 

“No, because I’m putting you on Gerard’s whereabouts and Parrish on Kate’s,” Noah says. “Financials have already been pulled, along with whatever cell phone or other electronic records we could come up with.”

 

Derek gives him a look. “According to my instructor, I shouldn’t be anywhere near this case.”

 

Noah nods. “Ordinarily, I’d agree with you and your instructor, but we have a small department. The FBI has federal charges pending against her for the other murders, but we’re going to have to figure out where Gerard was, and whether he was funding her murder spree.”

 

“How did he die?” Derek asks.

 

“The cancer finally killed him,” Noah says. “And good riddance to bad rubbish.”

 

They’ve already started to frame the walls, and Derek is a little surprised at how quickly everything is moving. He’d been promised that the house would be done in nine months, and he’s beginning to believe them.

 

Of course, they’re getting paid enough, with a bonus if they finish on time or earlier.

 

“At least they can’t blame us for that,” Derek comments. 

 

Noah snorts. “Not that they wouldn’t try, but I think they’ll be too busy trying to save Kate.”

 

“Not Allison?” Derek asks.

 

Noah shakes his head. “Allison will save herself by testifying against Kate.”

 

Derek figures that Noah knows what he’s talking about, and they’ll have those machinations to look forward to as the trials move forward. “Will that paint a target on Allison’s back?”

 

“Her father is an arms dealer,” Noah counters. “That’s on him to figure out.”

 

And that’s the thing about Noah, Derek thinks. He puts the pack first, and he’s very good at compartmentalizing.

 

Derek finishes his thermos of tea, and he asks, “Are you ready to head back? I told Stiles I’d cook tonight, since he’s got krav maga this afternoon.”

 

Noah nods. “Sounds good.”

 

Derek has become practiced at making enough food for an army—or a werewolf pack—as has Stiles. He usually has some idea of who’s showing up just based on the pack’s shared Google calendar, a necessity for the modern pack. The calendar had been instituted by Stiles, and has work shifts, lacrosse games, cross country meets, and other events.

 

Boyd, Erica, and Isaac all have evening shifts, but will be hungry when they inevitably stop by later. Stiles and Moira will be there, along with Noah. Parrish said he’d come, and Dave and Paul will stop by before they start the night shift. Tara had begged off, but Scott will show. Cora is also planning to be there, although she said she planned to study in the library that afternoon.

 

Derek spatchcocks four chickens as Noah cuts up the potatoes and vegetables. He plans to roast the chickens on the bed of veggies, and he has a bag of frozen rolls in the freezer.

 

It’s a hearty meal, but it is fall, and the temperatures are dropping.

 

“God, that smells good,” Stiles says as he comes in, his clothing sweat soaked, and he smells like satisfaction tinged with something else. Batman is walking right by his side.

 

“How did things go today?” Noah asks, looking up from the report he’s reading.

 

Stiles shrugs. “Good, I think. I mean, Lydia at least got some answers and some direction.”

 

Moira comes in behind him and says, “You should tell him how your krav maga session went.”

 

“I managed to put my opponent on the ground today,” Stiles admits. “And it was Leah, who’s been training for years, so that was pretty great. Sensei OB even told me I’d done well.”

 

“That’s high praise coming from him,” Noah comments with a smile. “Good job, son.”

 

Stiles shrugs. “It’s been fun. I’m going to get cleaned up before everyone starts to arrive.”

 

Noah turns to Moira. “How did things go?”

 

“Stiles is growing into his magic faster than I anticipated,” Moira admits. “And he’s starting to use it instinctively in his fighting practice.”

 

“Is that a problem?” Derek asks, because from his perspective that sounds like Stiles can protect himself in a way that no one knows about.

 

Moira shakes her head. “It’s the opposite of a problem. He displayed control the whole time. Stiles feels a bit like he cheated, though.”

 

“That’s like asking me if I’m cheating in my classes,” Derek mutters.

 

“Maybe you could point that out to him,” Moira replies. “Stiles is worried about it.”

 

Noah hums under his breath. “I think it speaks to your tutelage that he was able to use his abilities and maintain control. That will only help him in the future.”

 

“But also Stiles’ maturation,” Moira says. “Still, thank you.”

 

“There’s some news,” Noah admits, “but I’ll wait until Stiles is here to share it.”

 

The chickens and veggies are in the oven in a large roasting pan when Stiles comes back downstairs. He’s wearing joggers and a hoodie, indicating that he plans to stay in the rest of the night.

 

Stiles has his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, and he asks, “Did Moira tell you, Dad?”

 

“She said she used your magic, and that you exercised a lot of control,” Noah says mildly. “You don’t know what a relief it is to me, Stiles, to know that you can do that.”

 

Stiles blinks. “What?”

 

“You can fight, and you can use your magic to protect yourself, kid,” Noah says. “What part of that wouldn’t be a relief?”

 

Stiles’ shoulders slump. “I thought you’d be mad.”

 

Noah glances at Moira. “You were there; I wasn’t. Do I need to be mad?”

 

“No one knows. Everyone just thought that Stiles had made a breakthrough,” Moira replies.

 

Noah turns an expectant look on Stiles. “So?”

 

“You don’t need to be mad,” Stiles admits. “I don’t know. It just felt weird. Like I was cheating.”

 

“Using your gifts isn’t cheating,” Derek inserts. “It’s called surviving. Maybe even winning.”

 

Stiles nods slowly. “Okay, fair.” He pauses. “You have a look on your face, Pops. What’s up?”

 

“Come sit,” Noah replies. “I got some news this afternoon.”

 

Stiles sits, regarding Noah warily. “Does it have something to do with the Argents?”

 

“It does,” Noah admits. “Gerard is dead.”

 

“What killed him?” 

 

“Cancer.”

 

“Well, thank god for that,” Stiles mutters. “I thought the old bastard would never die. Wait, what does that mean for Kate?”

 

Noah inclines his head. “Exactly my question. The thought is that Kate’s defense will try to pin the murders on him. We’re doing to have to do some serious legwork to determine where Gerard was when the murders occurred. She’s going to have a much harder time wriggling out of the kidnapping charge, of course.”

 

Stiles shoots Derek a sly look. “Good thing you have two new reserve officers coming onboard.”

 

“I’ve already been told we’re being put to work,” Derek admits.

 

“I’m happy to help, too,” Stiles says. “At least at running down the information. I know you’ll have to double check everything.”

 

“Everything will be triple checked,” Noah assures him. “Do you have any specific anxieties?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “Gerard is dead. We don’t have to worry about him now. That’s a good problem to have.”

 

“And Kate?” Noah preses.

 

“She can fuck right off.” Stiles says irritably.

 

“Your language, kiddo,” Noah replies, but it’s a very mild rebuke.

 

Stiles gives him a narrow-eyed look. “It’s language appropriate to the person and the occasion.”

 

“Sorry, Noah, but he’s right,” Moira says.

 

“You’re not wrong,” Noah admits. “Are you okay, Stiles?”

 

Stiles grins crookedly.  “Yeah, I’m good, Pops. We just have one less enemy to worry about.”

 

~~~~~

 

Noah really can’t wait until the new house is ready, because they just don’t have enough room for everyone. As it stands, he’s already looking into a custom dining table—although he’ll have to make sure it can expand. Noah has no doubt that the pack will continue to grow, even if he has no plans to do so at the moment.

 

For nights like this, they use the heavy-duty paper plates just because they don’t have enough dishes, although Stiles found a mismatched set of tableware at a yard sale to supplement their own.

 

Scott and Cora come, jostling each other. “Look who the cat dragged in!” Cora calls cheerfully.

 

“I gave you a ride!” Scott protests.

 

Derek gives Scott a look. “Did you both wear helmets?”

 

“Of course,” Scott says quickly. “Cora texted me, and I picked her up on my way home from work.”

 

Noah knows that Scott has picked up a job at the local animal shelter; his work at the animal clinic had given him enough expertise to deliver vaccinations and assist with surgeries.

 

“Any great adoptions today?” Stiles asks.

 

“One of our long-term dogs finally found her forever home,” Scott says cheerfully. “She’s an older dog, too, so harder to place, but a little girl came in today and fell in love, which was mutual. And one of our older cats was adopted today.”

 

“I don’t know how you do it,” Cora mutters. “I’d want to bring them all home.”

 

Scott shrugs. “They all belong to someone. They’re just waiting for that person to show up.”

 

The front door opens and Dave and Paul enter, Cocoa and Nibs on their heels. “Now the party can start,” Dave jokes.

 

Derek snorts as he pulls the tray out of the oven and checks the temperature on the chicken. “This needs to rest, and then we can eat,” he announces. He then shoves the second tray in the oven with the other chickens and more vegetables.

 

Noah is glad that everyone is contributing to their food costs, because feeding the pack is a job in and of itself. 

 

“Anything we can do to help?” Paul asks.

 

Derek smiles briefly and shakes his head. “No, we’re good. We just need to carve the chickens in about ten minutes.”

 

“How long before you join us, Derek?” Dave asks.

 

Derek shrugs. “Three weeks before we finish the second module.”

 

As though the words had summoned him, Parrish is the next to arrive. He does knock briefly on the doorjamb, but they’ve at least trained him not to ring the doorbell.

 

“Hey,” Parrish says, still sounding a little tentative.

 

“Hey,” Derek replies, his face lighting up. “Glad you could make it.”

 

Parrish shrugs. “You’re feeding me, and I did bring beer,” he replies, holding up a couple of six packs.

 

“You’re my new favorite,” Dave announces. “Sheriff, I call dibs.”

 

“Mark already did,” Noah says with good humor. “And Tara has dibs on Derek, before you ask.”

 

Stiles comes up from the basement, where he’d been switching out loads of laundry. “Hey, favorite people,” he calls. 

 

Batman is out of his vest, so isn’t working, and he greets his doggie friends rapturously. “I’ll put them in the backyard,” Stiles says. 

 

The dogs happily follow him outside, and Derek starts to carve the chickens. Scott and Cora grab the plates and silverware without being asked. There aren’t so many people here at the moment to not fit at the table, so they all grab their food and sit.

 

“What’s new with everyone?” Noah asks.

 

Stiles shrugs. “I put my opponent on the ground in krav maga today.”

 

Scott grins and offers a fist bump from his place next to Stiles. “Good job, man.”

 

Stiles grins at him. “Thanks.”

 

“What about you, Scott?” Noah asks.

 

They go around the table like that, and it’s a mixed bag. Scott talks about the two adoptions, Cora about mastering her trig problems, Derek and Parrish about their classes, Moira says she’s finished her most recent knitting project—although she won’t say what it is. 

 

Noah knows that Christmas is coming, and Moira likes to knit gifts.

 

When he gets to Dave and Paul, Paul glances at Dave. “Well, it might be something, or it might be nothing,” Paul says slowly.

 

“Let’s hear it,” Noah replies.

 

“We took the dogs for a run in the Preserve this afternoon,” Paul says slowly. “I’ve caught the scent of coyotes there before, but it was stronger today, and—I think there might be a were.”

 

“A were-coyote like you?” Noah asks.

 

Paul nods. “I can’t be sure, but yeah, I think so. The thing is, sir, I wouldn’t have gotten that strong of a scent if they weren’t living in the Preserve.”

 

“And what would a were-coyote be doing living in the Preserve?” Noah asks.

 

Cora clears her throat. “If they’re a were-coyote, they might have gotten stuck in the full shift, especially if the first transformation was traumatic.”

 

That jogs Noah’s memory, and he says, “I’ll go into the station with you two tonight. There’s an unsolved case I want to take a second look at.”

 

Paul frowns. “Wait, you’re not thinking about the Tate girl’s disappearance, are you?”

 

Noah shrugs. “I don’t remember when the accident occurred, but if it was during the full moon…”

 

Stiles perks up at that. “Malia Tate?”

 

Noah knows that Malia had been about Stiles’ age when she disappeared, and he nods. “Did you know her?”

 

“I knew of her,” Stiles replies. 

 

Scott nods slowly. “I remember her, too. Wasn’t there a car crash?”

 

“That’s what we thought at the time,” Noah admits. “We found the car and the bodies of Mrs. Tate and the youngest daughter, but there was no sign of Malia. There were signs of predation on the car, so we assumed that something had dragged Malia’s body out of the wreck.”

 

“As I recall, we never found her remains,” Paul comments. “Or any other signs of foul play.”

 

Noah nods. “That’s right. All signs pointed to a car accident, causes unknown, and a wild animal dragging off Malia’s body.”

 

“So, what are you going to do if you do find her and she’s stuck?” Scott asks.

 

Noah glances at Moira, who shrugs. “There are ways to do force her to change back,” Moira admits. “It could mean your dad flashing his eyes and howling at her, or it could mean that Paul goes out in his fur and transforms in front of her to lead her back.”

 

“I’d be willing to try,” Paul says dubiously. “I kind of think the Sheriff would have more success.”

 

“First we have to confirm that the accident happened on the full moon,” Noah says.

 

“Are you going to tell Mr. Tate, Dad?” Stiles asks.

 

Noah shakes his head definitively. “No. I don’t want to give him false hope. Even if we get confirmation that Malia is out there, I’m not telling him until she’s in human form again.”

 

Noah can only imagine what it would feel like to be told that your entire family died in a car wreck, and then to be given hope that your child is actually alive but their whereabouts are unknown. He’s not going to tell Tate anything until he can present the man’s daughter to him.

 

The oven dings, and Boyd, Isaac, and Erica enter a second later. “Impeccable timing, as usual,” Noah murmurs.

 

Derek pulls the second tray out of the oven and says, “This needs to rest for about ten minutes.”

 

Noah stands and begins to clear his plate. “Let’s make some room.”

 

Dave and Paul stand as well, and Dave glances at Stiles. “Do you mind keeping the dogs with you tonight?”

 

“No, that’s fine,” Stiles replies. “Batman can have a sleepover.”

 

Noah puts an arm around Erica’s shoulders. “How was work?”

 

“Boring,” Erica replies. “Which is how I like it.”

 

Noah claps Isaac on the shoulder and does the same for Boyd. “And you two?”

 

“Same,” Isaac says. 

 

Boyd just shrugs. “There were two hockey games and a birthday party at the rink.”

 

“I’m going into the station tonight with Dave and Paul in case you need anything,” Noah says.

 

“We have homework to do,” Isaac replies. “But then we’ll probably head home.”

 

“Cora’s staying with me tonight,” Erica comments.

 

“Try not to stay up too late,” Noah teases.

 

“We could say the same to you,” Boyd replies with a smile. “We’re young and bounce back faster.”

 

“I’m also the Alpha,” Noah counters dryly. “Be good,” he says as he leaves, dropping a kiss on the top of Stiles’ head.

 

“I always am,” Stiles replies with a crooked grin.

 

Noah just snorts. “Sure, you are.”

 

They drive separately to the station, and Noah parks and strides inside. He hadn’t taken his uniform off yet, and he supposes that’s a good thing. Noah is anxious to review the file to see if he’s remembering the facts correctly. If the accident occurred on a full moon, there’s a chance Malia might be out there. That, or it’s some kind of feral were-coyote they don’t know about.

 

Noah knows where the box is in the evidence locker, and he makes a beeline for it. Dave and Paul meet him in his office, each of them with a cup of coffee.

 

“I’ll get the file,” Paul says. “You can pull up the lunar calendar, sir.”

 

Since Noah’s computer is the closest, that makes sense, and he boots it up. To his surprise, Tara pokes her head in as Paul flips through the case file while Dave holds up an evidence bag for further inspection.

 

“You have tonight off,” Noah says pointedly.

 

“You came back to the station for a reason,” she replies. “I happened to be outside when you drove by.”

 

Noah knows just how close to the station she lives. “Yes, and?”

 

“And you wouldn’t have come back unless there was something going on,” Tara points out. “And four noses are better than three.”

 

She isn’t in uniform, and Noah knows that means she’s there as a pack member, rather than a deputy.

 

“We’re looking into the Tate case again,” Noah replies, knowing that she’ll recognize it, too. “Paul ran across what he thinks might be a were-coyote living out in the Preserve.”

 

Tara frowns. “Malia’s body was never found. Surely, Mr. Tate would have known, though.”

 

“Not necessarily,” Paul murmurs. “If she’s born, not bitten, and Tate’s not the father, he might not know. Hell, if the mom was a born coyote and never told Tate, he wouldn’t even suspect.” He taps the file. “Here we go. March 3 of that year.”

 

Noah quickly types in the date to check on whether there was a full moon that night, and there was. “We need to get out to the Preserve.”

 

“There was a full moon?” Dave queries.

 

Noah nods. “We at least need to rule it out.”

 

“We were close to the crash site when I caught the scent earlier today,” Paul admits. “I think we should start there.”

 

The nice thing about having everyone in the station in the know is that Noah can pause in front of Maria’s desk to say, “We have something we need to check out in the Preserve.”

 

Maria nods. “Sounds good, Sheriff. I’ll be here holding down the fort.”

 

Tara rides with Noah, and Dave and Paul follow in Dave’s vehicle. She clears her throat. “I hope you don’t mind that I ducked out of dinner tonight.”

 

Noah chuckles. “Tara, unless I make it an order, I don’t care if you skip family dinners. It’s good for the kids, and I include Derek in that, but you have your own life.”

 

“I like the kids,” Tara says with a rueful smile. “But I never wanted any of my own. I don’t know how you do it, sir.”

 

“I just kind of fell into it,” Noah admits. “And I’m grateful to both Moira and Mel for their help.”

 

Tara hesitates. “You know, things have changed around the station.”

 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Noah admits slowly as he navigates a turn in the road.

 

“It feels more like a family than ever, and not in a bad way,” Tara says quickly. “More like the kind of family you choose, rather than the one you’re born into.”

 

“We’re first responders,” Noah says after a pause. He wants to keep the station professional, but he can’t deny that there’s a brotherhood—and sisterhood—in law enforcement. Layer on the fact that they’re also pack, well.

 

It’s probably always going to feel like a family, and Noah is going to have to be careful about who he hires, because it will be even more important that they fit in.

 

“It’s still different since you became the Alpha,” Tara insists. “It’s just a different vibe.”

 

Noah can’t say he’s noticed a difference, but then he’s always viewed everyone in the station as his people, much as he did in the Army. “I’ll take your word for it.”

 

Tara laughs. “We always knew that you cared about us, sir. Or maybe it’s just that I’m a member of your pack.”

 

Noah pulls up to the trailhead closest to the accident site and parks, unclipping his flashlight from his belt. “All right, let’s see if we can find this coyote.”

 

“Do you really think it’s Malia Tate?” Tara asks.

 

“I have no idea,” Noah admits. “But it’s worth checking out. We’ll either find a coyote or solve a cold case.”

 

Dave and Paul have also parked, and they have their flashlights out as well. Tara is dressed for a run in leggings, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt. 

 

“I’ll let you take the lead, Paul, since you were the one to catch the scent,” Noah says.

 

Paul nods. “Yeah, we’ll go to the scene of the accident to start. I should be able to pick up the trail there.”

 

The location of the accident is only about fifty yards off the road. Noah assumes that Evelyn Tate lost control and then came to a stop when she died.

 

The car has long been towed away, but the location of the site is easy to find. Paul sniffs the air, then transforms into his coyote form, letting out a yip.

 

“Right, let’s do this,” Noah says.

 

Paul puts his nose to the ground and begins to move quickly, and Noah and his deputies follow. He leads them to a nearby cave, and there’s a coyote in the mouth of the cave, growling. 

 

As soon as they approach, the coyote starts snarling and snapping, clearly warning them off.

 

Paul yips and then transforms, crouching down at the cave entrance. “Hey, it’s okay. No one here is going to hurt you. Whatever happened, no one is angry with you.”

 

The coyote snarls and snaps some more, clearly uninterested in what Paul is selling.

 

“You try,” Paul says, looking at Noah as he backs away from the cave. “She’s not listening to me.”

 

“Right, what did Moira say? Flash my eyes and howl?” Noah asks rhetorically. He takes Paul’s place and brings out his Alpha, flashing his red eyes and letting out a roar that silences the coyote.

 

She whimpers, and suddenly there’s a teenage girl in the coyote’s place, and she’s naked.

 

“Oh, hell,” Noah says and immediately strips off his jacket, putting it over her. “We have to get her to the hospital.”

 

“Give her to me, Sheriff,” Tara says. “I’ll tell Mel the truth, but we can tell everyone that I found her wandering in the woods when I was out for a run.”

 

“And then you called me,” Noah agrees. “I’ll drive. Paul, Dave, good work. Sorry you won’t get the credit.”

 

“We don’t need credit, not when you know what we did,” Dave says.

 

Tara picks Malia up and holds her close as she sobs.

 

Noah feels bad that he’s basically traumatized a kid, but it’s not like they could leave her in the Preserve once they knew. “Grab her things,” Noah orders. “She might want them later.”

 

They jog back to their vehicle, and Tara climbs into the backseat with Malia. Noah puts on the lights and sirens the way he would for any medical emergency.

 

Malia is still crying softly in the backseat, and Tara murmurs, “I know, baby. It’s a hard transition. You’re going to be fine, though. It’s just going to take a little bit of time.”

 

Noah doesn’t know about that—the kid spent years in the woods, feral. He doesn’t think it’s going to be an easy adjustment.

 

He pulls up in front of the ER doors and sees medical personnel coming out with a gurney. Noah assumes that either Dave or Paul had called ahead.

 

Tara gently places Malia on it, and Mel is right there. “What do we have here, Sheriff?”

 

“I’m not entirely sure,” Noah admits. “But I believe that’s Malia Tate, and she’s been missing for years now.”

 

Mel gives him a sharp look, and she must see something in his expression that has her nodding. “All right, we have a seventeen year old female, found wandering in the Preserve after being missing for eight years.”

 

Noah watches as the gurney disappears into the ER, and he turns to Tara. “Will you stay and provide Mel with the details? Someone is going to have to tell Henry Tate that we found his missing daughter.”

 

“How are you going to explain it?” Tara asks.

 

Noah shakes his head. “I don’t know yet. I’m going to see how reasonable he is—but tell Mel that it would probably be best if Malia is unconscious when he arrives.”

 

“Sure thing,” Tara promises. “Good luck, Sheriff.”

 

Noah nods, and then gets back into his vehicle. He dials Paul’s number and asks, “Can you get me Tate’s address?”

 

“You going to do the notification?” Paul asks.

 

“I think I owe him that,” Noah replies. “But I’m going to leave out the were-coyote part until I can assess how receptive he’s going to be.”

 

Paul clears his throat. “I think that’s wise, sir. I did a little bit of reading  in the file, and noticed something I missed earlier. Malia Tate was adopted.”

 

“Ah, hell,” Noah mutters. “I’d forgotten that detail. Was the younger daughter adopted as well?”

 

“The file doesn’t say, but I don’t think so,” Paul replies. “That could complicate the dynamics.”

 

“It might,” Noah agrees with a heavy sigh. “That means his adoptive daughter is responsible for the deaths of his wife and biological daughter, and maybe that shouldn’t matter…”

 

“But it would to some,” Paul replies. “I’ll text you the address. Good luck, sir, and let us know if you need backup.”

 

Before Noah heads to Tate’s house, he texts his kid. Gotta make a notification. I’ll be home late.

 

did u find her?

 

I did, but it’s complicated. Noah pauses, then adds, I love you.

 

love u 2

 

Noah takes a deep breath, and the heads for Tate’s house. He has no idea how he’s going to explain tonight’s events to the man, but he figures that he can fall back on ignorance. If this had been a normal disappearance, Noah would just tell a parent that they would need to investigate and to be grateful that their love one is safe as they wait for answers.

 

Noah has no idea whether Tate will accept that explanation.

 

He pulls up in front of a small house that shows signs of disrepair, and he takes a deep breath. He’s glad that he’s still in uniform, because he would have needed to go changed otherwise. He doesn’t want the allegation that he had delayed.

 

He climbs out of his vehicle and goes up to the front door, hearing a dog barking fiercely. Tate opens the door as he’s in the process of knocking and asks abruptly, “What?”

 

“I’m not sure if you remember me, Mr. Tate, but—“

 

“I remember you,” Tate almost snarls. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

“We found your daughter, Malia, in the woods earlier this evening,” Noah says. “She’s in the hospital getting checked out now, and the investigation is ongoing. We won’t know what happened to her for a while.”

 

Tate blinks at him. “Malia is alive? She’s okay?”

 

“She’s in stable condition, and she’s going to make a full recovery,” Noah promises. “I came straight here from the ER.”

 

Tate glances down at himself, having come to the door in boxers and a white t-shirt. “I, uh, I should get changed. Sorry. Give me a minute.”

 

“Take your time,” Noah replies. “I’ll wait here.”

 

Noah has no idea how Tate is going to respond to the idea that his kid is a were-coyote, but he’s going to guess the answer is “not well.” Still, Noah doesn’t really have a choice about telling Tate that Malia is alive.

 

Tate steps out of the house, and the pugnacious look is back for some reason. Noah doesn’t know if that’s always been his natural state, or if tragedy has altered his personality. “I can drive myself, Sheriff.”

 

“As you like,” Noah replies.

 

He’s certainly not going to argue, and he leads the way back to the hospital. Tara is more than capable of handling Tate, but Noah has a bad feeling about this whole thing.

 

Noah parks outside the ER, and he waits for Tate to park, then follows him inside the hospital.

 

Mel is speaking with Tara in the waiting area, and she looks past Tate to meet Noah’s eyes, then turns to him when Noah nods.

 

“Mr. Tate?” Mel asks.

 

He nods. “How is she? How’s Malia?”

 

“She’s a little dehydrated, and a little malnourished, but she’s going to be just fine,” Mel assures him. “Come back with me.”

 

Noah stands next to Tara. “Any update?”

 

“She seems disoriented,” Tara admits, “and she says she doesn’t remember much, which isn’t too surprising, given the traumatic nature of her initial shift. I don’t know whether she’ll get those memories back eventually or not.”

 

Noah grimaces. “I don’t think Tate is going to like that much. He’s hostile.”

 

“What did you tell him?” Tara asks.

 

“That the investigation is ongoing, and we aren’t sure exactly what happened,” Noah replies. “I don’t think he’s going to be able to handle the news she’s a were-coyote.”

 

“We can’t all be you or Mark, Sheriff,” Tara points out. “Most people wouldn’t respond well, and if Malia comes clean, he’s going to find out that she’s partly responsible for the deaths of his wife and other daughter.”

 

He sighs. “I know. All right, I’m going to station a deputy outside her room, just to keep an eye on things. It’s expected, and I want someone close just in case.”

 

Tara nods. “I’ll stick around here until my relief arrives.”

 

“Thanks, Tara,” Noah replies. “I appreciate your help tonight.”

 

Noah goes back to the station and has a quick word with Paul. “We need to station someone at the hospital. I notified Tate, but he’s hostile, and I’m not sure she’s entirely safe with her father.”

 

Paul nods slowly. “I’ll send someone in. Thank you, sir.”

 

“You did a good thing,” Noah replies. “Whatever the outcome, you helped bring a kid home and solve a cold case.”

 

Paul smiles. “Thanks.”

 

Noah heads home, and it’s late enough now that most of the kids have left. Stiles’ Jeep and Derek’s Camaro are still parked out front, but the rest of the vehicles are gone.

 

He parks in the driveway, wanting nothing more than to give his kid a hug and be grateful that he’s at home and in one piece. Derek and Stiles are in the living room when he enters, sharing a bowl of popcorn between them, and watching something on TV.

 

Stiles immediately passes the bowl of popcorn to Derek and stands when Noah enters, and then pulls Noah into a tight hug. “She’s gonna be okay, Dad. We’ll figure things out.”

 

Noah hugs back tightly. “Thanks, kiddo.”

 

But he doesn’t let go, not for a long time.

 

~~~~~

 

Stiles wakes up earlier than he’d like, with Batman stretched out next to him on his bed. Stiles can feel the heat radiating from Batman’s furry form, and his legs are anchored on either side by Cocoa and Nibs. Anytime Dave leaves his dogs with Stiles overnight, he always winds up with all three in his bed, and Stiles can’t even say he minds.

 

His dad will always say that he didn’t think the bed was big enough for the four of them, but somehow, they always fit, and Stiles always sleeps really well.

 

There’s a soft knock on his door, and then Derek pokes his head inside. “Dave and Paul are here.”

 

Stiles sighs. He would like more sleep, but he’s up, and he can get a run in before the day really starts. He’s been doing more conditioning, both for his martial arts and his magic, and he’s noticed a difference in his stamina. “Yeah, I’m up. Be down in a minute.”

 

He checks the weather and pulls on gym shorts, a hoodie, and tennis shoes, then heads downstairs.

 

The dogs race ahead, and Cocoa and Nibs greet Dave rapturously, as though it’s been days, rather than hours. Stiles sees that Derek is dressed much the same way as him, and he raises his eyebrows.

 

“I was awake,” Derek says in explanation. 

 

After so long living in each other’s pockets, nothing more needs to be said.

 

“Thanks for keeping these guys last night, Stiles,” Dave says as he straightens from giving out belly rubs. “I hate leaving them home alone when we’re both working.”

 

“No big deal,” Stiles says easily. “We had a good time, and you guys solved a cold case.”

 

Paul grimaces. “Not much of a solve, really. That poor kid is going to have to live with what she did for the rest of her life.”

 

“I still think it’s better than living as a coyote in the woods,” Dave asserts. “People put out poison and traps regularly. We could have found her body after she got into something like that, and then we’d never know what happened, and neither would her father.”

 

“Fair,” Paul replies. “But yeah, thanks for keeping the boys, Stiles.”

 

“Anytime,” Stiles says easily. “I don’t mind a bit.”

 

They take off, probably to get some sleep, and Stiles turns to Derek. “You ready to go?”

 

Derek nods. “Sure.”

 

Stiles clips Batman’s leash on his collar, but he doesn’t bother with the vest. If they end up stopping for donuts, which almost always happens after a Sunday morning run, Stiles will stay outside while Derek gets the baked goods.

 

He and Derek keep a steady pace as they run their usual route through the neighborhood and into the Preserve. 

 

“You didn’t say how your meeting with Lydia Martin went,” Derek comments.

 

Stiles shrugs. “She’s a banshee, and Moira is going to contact someone who can help her get control of her powers. I don’t know. She was nicer than she usually is.”

 

“Maybe she’ll finally give you the time of day,” Derek teases.

 

Stiles snorts. “Maybe, but I’m not holding my breath.”

 

Derek glances over at him. “You’ve changed. I’m sure she’s noticed.”

 

Stiles figures that he has changed, but those changes mean that Stiles is better about drawing boundaries, and establishing what he needs and wants out of a relationship. He won’t rule out something with Lydia, but he’s not going to lower his standards either.

 

Whether Lydia knows it or not, Stiles knows he’s a catch.

 

“I have changed,” Stiles agrees. “Which means that if I’m going to date anyone, it’s going to be someone who values everything I bring to the table.”

 

“You deserve that,” Derek replies. “Everyone does.”

 

Stiles can’t disagree, and while he would like to get his rocks off, he thinks there might not be any in between for him. Either it’s a casual relationship where he’s just fucking around, or it’s serious.

 

They run past the bakery, and Derek ducks inside to grab a dozen donuts while Stiles waits outside with Batman. Parrish pulls up, and he says, “Hey, Stiles.”

 

“Hey, Parrish,” Stiles says. “What’s up?”

 

“I wanted to grab a coffee, and thought I’d offer a ride home,” Parrish offers. “Did you have a good run?”

 

“Yeah, it was good,” Stiles replies.

 

Parrish sits next to Batman on the curb and asks, “Is this okay?”

 

“He’s off duty, so yeah,” Stiles replies, appreciating the fact that he asks.

 

Parrish scratches the top of Batman’s head. “He’s a great dog.”

 

“Yeah, he is,” Stiles agrees. “How are you settling in to Beacon Hills?”

 

Parrish shrugs. “I’m looking forward to finishing the next module so I can start the next phase.”

 

“Yeah, I get that,” Stiles replies.

 

“Are you applying for colleges?” Parrish asks.

 

Stiles shrugs. “I took the PSATs, and my scores were good, and the SATs and ACTs are next. I want to make sure all of my options are open.”

 

“Better than I did,” Parrish says with a grin. “I went straight into the Army after high school.”

 

“Nothing wrong with that,” Stiles replies. “That’s what my dad did.”

 

“Talk about aspirations,” Parrish jokes.

 

Derek emerges from the bakery with a box of donuts. “Parrish, hey. Coffee?”

 

Derek has a tray of to-go cups in one hand and a donut box in the other, and Parrish hops up to take the tray from him. “Thanks, Derek.”

 

“I heard you out here with Stiles,” Derek admits. “I hope black is okay.”

 

“It’s perfect,” Parrish replies, taking his cup and handing the tray to Stiles. 

 

That cup has a “CM” written on the side, and Stiles grins. “Derek, you shouldn’t have.”

 

“I have no idea how you manage to metabolize that amount of sugar,” Derek says. “A caramel macchiato and a donut?”

 

“Butterscotch Long John,” Stiles corrects him. “And I have magic. I can burn through a lot.”

 

He willingly gets into the back of Parrish’s truck. It’s fairly massive, and Stiles kind of wonders how he managed to afford the vehicle on a bartender’s wages.

 

As though reading Stiles’ mind, Parrish says, “Separation pay and VA disability, plus hazard pay.”

 

Stiles blinks. “What?”

 

“That’s how I paid for the truck,” Parrish replies. “Everyone wonders.”

 

Stiles doesn’t bother trying to deny it. “It’s a nice truck.”

 

Batman sits on the floor next to Stiles as they head back to the house. “How are things going with the new house?” Stiles asks.

 

“Debris has been cleared away, and they started framing,” Derek replies. “I guess we’ll see what happens, but they get a bonus if they come in on time.”

 

“How big is this house going to be?” Parrish asks.

 

“Pretty big,” Derek replies. “Six bedrooms, six baths, and room to expand into the basement. And the porch, when the weather is nice.”

 

Parrish chuckles. “So, the entire pack?”

 

“Maybe not the entire pack,” Derek replies. “It depends on how big we get, I guess, but big enough that the people who want to stay close can.”

 

“There are always going to be pack members who want to live separately, and those who want to be under the same roof,” Stiles inserts. “We’ll make room for both.”

 

There’s a pause, and Parrish says, “I like being at the Sheriff’s house. It’s nice.”

 

Stiles knows that Parrish doesn’t have a family, and he suspects that those who join the pack and don’t have anyone else might gravitate towards the pack house. Those who have stable families, or who are otherwise more solitary—like Tara—won’t.

 

As he said, there’s room for both.

 

When Parrish pulls up in front of the house, Stiles can see Isaac’s car, as well as Erica’s. He figures that means Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Cora are there.

 

“Stiles!” Erica calls. “We thought you’d be home.”

 

Stiles shrugs. “We went for a run, and Parrish drove us home. We have donuts.”

 

As a distraction, it works great, because Stiles gets the chance to go upstairs and get cleaned up quickly. He knows Derek is going to want to shower, too, so Stiles keeps it short. He’s hoping for either a better hot water heater or some other solution in the new house.

 

Once he’s out, Derek takes his place, and Stiles heads downstairs with his homework. Parrish has brought his own coursework, and Stiles asks, “Has anyone heard from Scott?”

 

“Yeah, he should be here around noon,” Isaac replies. “Mrs. McCall said she’d make enchiladas.”

 

There are groans from everyone who’s had her enchiladas. “Is it my birthday?” Boyd jokes.

 

“No, but it is mine,” Erica shoots back. “Next week, anyway. Mrs. McCall asked if there was anything I wanted, and that’s what I asked for.”

 

Stiles frowns. “How did I not know that? Wait, I need to get everyone’s birthdays into my phone.” He unlocks his phone and hands it to Erica. “You first.”

 

“Why do you need to know our birthdays?” Boyd asks suspiciously.

 

Stiles frowns at him. “Obviously for birthday shenanigans appropriate to the individual. For example, Erica would love a surprise party; you, on the other hand, would prefer a pot roast.”

 

Boyd nods slowly. “I do love a pot roast.”

 

“And Isaac gets a new scarf,” Stiles jokes.

 

Isaac blushes and mutters, “Shut up.”

 

Cora grins. “And what would appropriate birthday shenanigans be for me?”

 

“A mani-pedi,” Stiles says without having to think about it. “Probably with Erica.”

 

Cora nods. “Fair.”

 

Stiles gets everyone’s birthdays into his phone, and then passes it to Parrish. “You, too.”

 

Parrish frowns. “You don’t know me well enough for birthday shenanigans.”

 

“Not yet,” Stiles counters. “It’s only a matter of time, though.”

 

Parrish gamely takes Stiles’ phone and puts in his contact information. “For the record, it’s chocolate cake.”

 

Stiles nods. “Can do.” He turns to Cora. “When is Derek’s birthday?”

 

“November 7th,” Cora replies. 

 

Stiles grins. “Excellent. We still have time then.”

 

“Time for what?” Derek asks as he enters the dining room.

 

“To celebrate your birthday,” Cora supplies when Stiles doesn’t immediately reply. “It’s Erica’s next week.”

 

Derek frowns. “That’s really not necessary.”

 

“Tough,” Stiles replies. “Everyone in the pack deserves to have a birthday celebration.”

 

Noah comes into the dining room at that moment. “For what it’s worth, I agree with Stiles.” He ruffles Stiles’ hair, then drops a kiss on the top of his head. “Who’s having a birthday?”

 

“Erica, next week,” Stiles says promptly. “Mrs. McCall is making enchiladas for lunch.”

 

“We’re all grateful for your request,” Noah says with a smile.

 

“There are donuts,” Stiles offers.

 

“Thanks, kiddo,” his dad replies. “I think I’ll do paperwork here before I check on the Tates.”

 

They all settle down around the table with their homework. Derek and Parrish have their coursework for the police academy, and his dad grabs his laptop and settles down at the table as well to review reports.

 

The silence is companionable and easy silence. Stiles helps the others in between his own tasks, and then Scott turns up around noon. “Little help?” he calls from the front door.

 

Stiles pops up to assist, and there are two pans of enchiladas, one with a green sauce, one with red. “Beef and bean, and chicken?” Stiles asks when he looks at them.

 

Scott nods. “Mom supervised, but I was the one to make them.”

 

Stiles offers a fist bump. “Great job, dude.”

 

Scott grins, clearly pleased with himself. “I brought my homework for after lunch. These need about 30 minutes in the oven once it heats up.”

 

Stiles gets the oven preheating, and they clear off the table and start to put out plates and cutlery. Stiles grabs a tub of veggies out of the fridge to put on the table.

 

When the enchiladas come out of the oven, they dish up in the kitchen and they all sit down around the table, which is just big enough to fit all of them. The enchiladas are delicious—both kinds.

 

“Scott, man, these are great,” Stiles says.

 

Erica looks at him. “Wait, you made these?”

 

“Mom supervised, but yeah,” Scott admits. “Stiles and Derek have a handle on cooking, but they shouldn’t be on the hook all the time, so I thought I’d step up my game.”

 

“Really good job,” Erica says. “They’re just as good as your mom’s.”

 

Everyone echoes that compliment, and Scott blushes. “Thanks, guys.”

 

Stiles has to admit that he’s impressed, and it feels as though Scott is really stepping up to help the pack. “Really good job, Scott,” his dad says quietly. “You should be proud of yourself.”

 

There aren’t many leftovers, but they put what’s left in the fridge. They get started back up on their homework, and his dad leaves for the hospital and/or station. Mid-afternoon, Moira comes by. “Hello, my darlings. Stiles, are you at a stopping point?”

 

He’d known Moira would be there that afternoon for their regular magic lesson, and he’s already wrapped it up, focusing on helping the others. “Yeah, I’m ready. Are we going over to the Mahealanis’?”

 

“That’s the plan,” Moira replies. “Come along, mo chroi.” She waits until they’re in her car before asking, “And how are you?”

 

“Good,” Stiles replies. “Scott made enchiladas. He said he wanted to step up.”

 

Moira smiles. “That’s good!”

 

“It was nice,” Stiles says. “It feels like Scott is dialing in.”

 

“He’s meeting the rest of the pack where they are, rather than demanding that others meet him where he is,” Moira says, giving voice to Stiles’ feelings. “He’s maturing.”

 

“Isn’t that what we all do if given the chance?” Stiles asks.

 

“You would be surprised,” Moira replies. “There are plenty of people who never do, but I’m glad that Scott is.”

 

“What are we working on today?” Stiles asks.

 

“We’re going to be working with the rune stones to see if we can get a bead on the nogitsune,” Moira replies. “And then we’re going to go over protective spells.”

 

Stiles takes a deep breath. “That sounds good.”

 

The trip to the Mahealanis is a familiar one, and it doesn’t take long—not that any drive takes all that long within Beacon Hills. Danny meets them at the front door with raised eyebrows. “You two about set Lydia’s hair on fire.”

 

“We gave her answers,” Moira says crisply. “What she does with those answers is up to her, the same as what she does with the help she’s offered.”

 

“Fair,” Danny replies. “She was blowing up my phone yesterday. I think I might be one of the few friends Lydia still has.”

 

Stiles grimaces. “Well, she could make other friends if she put a little effort into it.”

 

Danny snorts. “So I’ve told her. Lydia has always been of the opinion that people should come to her, but the power dynamics are changing, and we’re all going off to college soon.”

 

“Truer words, my friend,” Stiles replies. 

 

“We’re outside again today,” Alana announces. “I’ve fired up the heat lamps, so we should be comfortable.”

 

“It’s not too bad,” Danny says in an undertone. “And I have a spare parka if you get cold.”

 

Moira chuckles. “Or you can pull heat up from the earth, young spark.”

 

“Is there a self-warming spell that won’t mean setting myself on fire?” Stiles jokes.

 

“If the heat lamps aren’t sufficient, I’ll show you how, but let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” Moira replies, clearly amused.

 

“We don’t want to invite anything into the house,” Noelani says in explanation as they step outside. “And an evil spirit, such as the nogitsune, needs an opening. Sometimes, it requires an explicit invitation.”

 

“Moira mentioned a tattoo yesterday,” Stiles says.

 

“I’ve started mine,” Danny offers. “Our folkways have the means of protection.”

 

“So do mine,” Moira agrees. “But that’s for later. We can discuss it with the Alpha and the rest of the pack, and each person can decide for themselves whether they want to alter their bodies.”

 

“Fair enough,” Stiles says. “Bodily autonomy is an imperative.”

 

The backyard has several heat lamps stationed around their working area, and Alana apparently had them going for a while, because it’s quite comfortable. Stiles anchors the circle at the north, with Danny across from him, and Moira and Alana to the west and east, respectively.

 

Stiles is the anchor, since he’s best with the rune stones. They’ve been doing this on a weekly basis since the thing in the Nemeton escaped. 

 

Moira reaches into her bottomless bag and comes out with the ritual cloth and the leather bag. Stiles takes the bag and tosses it a couple of times, getting into the right head space.

 

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and focuses on his intention. He wants answers, but he doesn’t want to invite anything in.

 

Stiles opens his eyes, meeting Danny’s warm gaze across the circle, and then he pours the rune stones out into his hand. He holds them for a moment before asking aloud, “Is the nogitsune still out there?”

 

He tosses the stones and gets thurisaz, hagalaz, and nauthiz face-up. “So, conflict, being tested or wrath, and more conflict. I think it’s safe to say it’s still out there, and still a threat.”

 

“Wrath is interesting,” Moira says slowly. “It might give us a clue as to its motivation.”

 

Stiles scoops up the rune stones. He holds them in his hand and asks, “How do we counter it?”

 

He tosses them again and gets algiz and mannaz. “Defense or group effort and probably friendship or cooperation in this configuration.”

 

“I agree,” Moira replies. “Well, we’ll definitely be working on our defensive magic, and we already have our ward stones adjusted to prevent entry to any evil spirits.”

 

Stiles picks up the rune stones again. “Should I ask anything about the Argents or the trial?”

 

“No,” Moira says definitively. “That has nothing to do with magic.”

 

“I figured,” Stiles admits. “Anything else?”

 

Moira pauses to think about it. “Ask if there’s anything else coming.”

 

Stiles dutifully asks the question and tosses the stones. “Othala, representing ancestry or heritage, dagaz, representing awakening, and berkana, femininity or birth?”

 

“So, yes, something else is coming, something that might be a little bit surprising,” Moira muses. “Something female.”

 

“Well, that should be interesting,” Stiles says.

 

“Now, let’s put those away, and we’ll start working on protective spells,” Alana says. “Noelani will get us started.”

 

Stiles rubs his hands together. Learning magic is still one of his favorite things to do.

 

~~~~~

 

Derek is graduating from the second module in a week, and then he’ll start working as a reserve officer. He and Parrish will need to be supervised, but at least they’ll be able to help out while they continue their training. After the third module, they’ll be fully fledged deputies. Derek is really looking forward to it.

 

He and Parrish had carpooled to class in his truck, so when the instructor asks Derek to stay back, Parrish hovers by the door to the classroom.

 

“You can stick around, too, Mr. Parrish,” Officer Jenkins says. “I wanted to be sure you both still have offers from the Beacon County Sheriff’s office. You’ve both been outstanding students.”

 

Derek feels relief. He hadn’t been sure where Officer Jenkins was going with his question. “Yes, sir. We’re both starting as reserve officers after graduation.”

 

Jenkins grins widely. “Good, I’m glad to hear that. Although, there are a lot of weird stories coming out of Beacon Hills.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Parrish says. “But Sheriff Stilinski is on top of things. He and his deputies have made me feel really welcome.”

 

Jenkins nods. “Good. I hope I get a chance to meet him one of these days.”

 

“Unless something comes up, he’s planning on being at our graduation next week,” Derek replies. 

 

Jenkins waves a hand. “I look forward to it.”

 

“What do you think that was about?” Parrish asks as they leave.

 

Derek shrugs. “I wasn’t sure, but I was hoping it wasn’t something that was going to prevent me from graduating.”

 

Parrish blows out a breath. “Man, that would suck, but we’re at the top of the class again, so I knew it wasn’t going to be that.” He pauses. “How is the house coming along?”

 

“Do you want to see?” Derek asks. “We can swing by when we get back to Beacon Hills.”

 

Jordan checks the time. “I have a shift at the bar tonight, but I should have time to swing by.”

 

“Great,” Derek says. “I’d love for you to see it.”

 

They chat idly on the drive back to Beacon Hills, mainly of their hopes for the future. Parrish had been in the National Guard, and had deployed once to Afghanistan. “Not that I think I’ll need it, but I did EOD in the Army, so it could come in handy if we ever do.”

 

Derek grimaces. “You never know. As Officer Jenkins pointed out, a lot of weird shit happens in Beacon Hills.”

 

“True,” Jordan agrees. “But the Sheriff does seem to have a handle on it.”

 

“So far,” Derek replies. He doesn’t want to invite any bad luck, and there’s no wood to knock on, so he’s not going to say that the Sheriff will always have a handle on things.

 

When they arrive at the new house, serious progress has been made. The framing appears to be completely finished, and they’ve started on the roof. The floor separating the main floor from the basement is done, so they step inside, starting to walk through the house. Derek can see where the kitchen will be, opening up into a large den by way of an eating area. The master bedroom—the Alpha’s bedroom—is also on the main floor, along with an ensuite bathroom.

 

There will be a second half-bath on the main floor as well, but the rest of the bedrooms will be upstairs, with additional places to sleep in the basement.

 

“This place is going to be gorgeous,” Jordan comments. “Do you know who’ll live here?”

 

“Stiles and Noah, of course,” Derek says. “Me and Cora, possibly Boyd and/or Isaac, although one or both might decide to keep the apartment, hard to say, and they haven’t made a decision yet. There will be an apartment over the garage for Moira, too, if she wants it.” 

 

Parrish looks around. “But it’s mostly a big enough place to gather, isn’t it?”

 

“That’s the idea,” Derek agrees. “We’re going to have a fire pit, a big barbecue, the whole thing. I think Noah is already looking into a custom-made table.”

 

“The kitchen is going to be pretty fantastic, I take it,” Parrish says.

 

Derek nods. “Both Moira and Stiles have opinions.”

 

“I’ll bet,” Jordan replies. “They seem the type. I think you’re doing a good thing here.”

 

“I hope so,” Derek says. “I hope my family knows that this is meant to honor them.”

 

“I’m sure they do,” Parrish replies, clapping him on the shoulder. “You could have left it alone, or razed it and planted a bunch of trees, which would have been valid, but instead you’re building something new.”

 

Sometimes, Derek wonders if his family would think that he’s trying to replace them, but then he reminds himself that they would understand the need to find a pack. And he thinks his mom would have really liked Noah. Jury is out on Laura, mostly because Derek thinks their personalities would clash.

 

Laura certainly wouldn’t have agreed to allow the Sheriff to do something that was basically his job, like investigate the murders of their family. Derek doesn’t allow himself to think about what might have happened had Laura approached the Sheriff.

 

But maybe she would have done that eventually. He doesn’t know, and he never will.

 

“Thanks,” Derek says. “If you need to take off, I think I’m going to walk home.”

 

“You sure?” Parrish asks. “Are you okay?”

 

Derek nods. “Yeah. I just want to clear my head.”

 

“All right, call if you need me,” Parrish says.

 

Derek knows that Stiles has joked about Derek making a friend, but in that moment, Derek knows that it’s true. Parrish isn’t his first ever friend, but is certainly the first friend he’s made as an adult.

 

Derek meanders back home, his duffel slung over his shoulder, glancing up at the waxing moon. The full moon is the day after their graduation, and Derek finds himself looking forward to it. 

 

It will mean a pack dinner with everyone present, people coming in and out of the house, and a night in the Preserve. It means time spent with friends and family, of having the bonds that connect them strengthened, of reminding themselves that being pack is joy.

 

There’s a light burning as Derek approaches the house, and he lets himself in, finding Scott and Stiles in the living room. “Come on, man, she’s cute!”

 

“She is cute,” Scott says defensively, “but I think you’re making too much of it.”

 

“She was looking at you with heart eyes,” Stiles protests, scratching Batman’s ears. The dog’s head is in Stiles’ lap. “I saw it!”

 

Derek dumps his duffel by the front door. “What’s up?”

 

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says. “I thought maybe you got lost coming back from class.”

 

Derek laughs. “No, I just stopped by the new house with Parrish to see the progress, and I decided to walk home. What’s going on?”

 

“There’s a new girl at school, and the new history teacher in her dad,” Stiles says. “She has heart eyes for Scott.”

 

“Is she a werewolf hunter?” Derek asks.

 

Scott rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Her dad is a teacher, not an arms dealer.”

 

“She’s definitely not a hunter,” Stiles says with assurance. “But she might be something they’d hunt.”

 

Scott looks at Stiles. “How do you know?”

 

“I can’t put my finger on it,” Stiles admits with a shrug. “It’s just—she reminds me of Parrish or Lydia. I don’t think she’s entirely human.” Stiles pauses. “I should—probably talk to Moira about that, now that I think about it.”

 

“Why?” Derek asks.

 

“Because I did some casting with the runes yesterday, and they forecast the coming of someone or something, female-shaped, of a specific heritage, who might be awakening.”

 

Scott blinks at him. “So…you think Kira might be what you saw coming?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “It seems pretty coincidental if she’s not.” He starts to tap out a text message. “I’m letting her know, but I don’t think it’s any sort of emergency.”

 

“What about her dad?” Scott asks. “Do you think he’s something else, too?”

 

Stiles considers that question for a moment. “No, I wasn’t getting that feeling, but it could come from her mother’s line. The runes said there was ancestry involved.”

 

“As long as she’s not from a hunter family, I’m not sure it matters,” Scott mutters. “Because never again.”

 

“That’s progress,” Derek says.

 

Stiles snorts, and Scots shoots Derek a betrayed look. “It’s not like I knew what they were before we started dating, you know. I barely knew what I was.”

 

“It is progress, though,” Stiles points out. 

 

Scott sighs. “Yeah, I know. The safety of the pack has to come first. I get it. I’m not going to paint a target on our backs again.”

 

Derek barely refrains from exclaiming, “So, he can learn!” Instead, all he offers is, “I’m glad to hear that.” He decides that a subject change is in order and asks, “Where’s the rest of the pack tonight?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “Erica and Cora came over after school to do homework, but Erica’s parents wanted her home for dinner, and they invited Cora. Isaac and Boyd both had shifts, and said they were going home straight after.”

 

“Is your dad on shift?” Derek asks.

 

Stiles grimaces. “Yeah. They’re preparing for some mass murderer coming to Beacon Hills for surgery in two weeks, and there are a lot of safety measures they need to set up. I’m guessing that he’s going to be scarce until we’re through all of that.”

 

Derek winces. “He doesn’t need to come to our graduation, then.”

 

“Bite your tongue,” Stiles says mildly. “Dad is looking forward to it, and he won’t miss it unless there’s no choice.”

 

“Still, I feel like a mass murderer take precedence,” Derek replies.

 

Stiles snorts. “Maybe if he was going to be in Beacon Hills during the graduation, but he’s not, so don’t worry about it.”

 

Privately, Derek resolves not to be disappointed if Noah can’t make it for whatever reason.

 

Scott clears his throat and starts to pack up. “It’s getting late, and I should get home. See you tomorrow, Stiles.”

 

“See you,” Stiles says cheerfully. When Scott has left, Stiles continues petting his dog. “You know Dad isn’t going to miss it.”

 

“I still have the third module,” Derek counters. 

 

“Yeah, but after this one, you’ll be a reserve officer,” Stiles says. “How is the house looking?”

 

“The framing is pretty much done, and the roof is nearly there,” Derek replies. 

 

“I look forward to seeing it,” Stiles says.

 

Derek sits on the couch next to Stiles, and Batman shifts so that more of his body in on Stiles’ lap, and he can give Derek puppy-dog eyes. Derek smiles and scratches behind Batman’s ears. “It doesn’t bother you, does it? The location?”

 

Stiles shakes his head. “The new house might be located on the land where I was tortured, but it’s not going to be the same place.”

 

“I probably should have asked sooner,” Derek admits. “I’m sorry about that.”

 

“If I thought it was going to be a problem, I would have said something sooner,” Stiles replies, knocking his knee against Derek’s. “What has you so worried?”

 

Derek shakes his head. “I don’t know. Just a weird sense of dread.”

 

“Must be going around,” Stiles says. “I’ve been feeling much the same way, but the casting didn’t indicate that the thing in the Nemeton was currently a problem.”

 

“And how accurate is the casting?” Derek asks.

 

Stiles shrugs. “It’s been accurate before, but who knows? Magic has interfered with a casting before, too.”

 

Derek sighs. “Right.”

 

“Do you want ice cream?” Stiles asks. “Because there’s some in the freezer, and I kind of do.”

 

Derek frowns. “What kind of ice cream?”

 

“Butter pecan,” Stiles says. “And rocky road.”

 

“Rocky road,” Derek replies definitively. “That sounds good.”

 

Ice cream sounds like a great way to cap off the day.

 

~~~~~

 

Noah glances up at the knock on his door. He’s been working through the contingency plans for William Barrow’s arrival in Beacon Hills, and what they’re going to do to prevent any mishaps.

 

He plans on preparing for the worst even as he hopes for the best. He’s just a little put out that they’ve been saddled with Barrow’s surgery.

 

Noah is a little surprised to see Moira standing there, since they don’t have an appointment, and Noah doesn’t think there’s anything going on with his kid. “Come in,” he calls, and watches as Moira closes the door behind him. “What can I do for you?”

 

“I have some news,” Moira replies. “And since it involves Stiles, I wanted to talk to you first.”

 

Noah puts his pen down and leans back in his chair. “On a scale from one to five, how much am I going to hate this?”

 

"With one being not at all, and five being like hell on fire, probably about a two,” Moira admits. “I found information about your late wife’s family.”

 

Noah blinks and nods slowly. “Okay, I’m listening.”

 

“Her parents weren’t magical, so far as I could tell, which is probably why Claudia didn’t know what was going on with her,” Moira says gently, her expression full of compassion. “But her father’s mother was the oldest daughter of Jakub Gajos, who is on record as being one of the strongest sparks that we know of.”

 

“So, it was hard to trace because…” Noah says, trailing off.

 

“Because Agnieszka was stricken from the family tree after committing an act of violence against her younger brother,” Moira says. “We’ll never know exactly why. It might have been justified, or perhaps it was jealousy. But I found someone who knows a distant relative of Jakub, and they were able to get their hands on a family bible that still had Agnieszka’s name in the family tree.”

 

Noah shakes his head. “How on earth did you get to the bottom of it?”

 

“Stiles is uniquely powerful, and as I mentioned before, the Gajos name is not unknown in our community,” Moira replies. “I suspected that there might be a connection, but I couldn’t prove it until recently.”

 

Noah frowns. “Okay, I guess that’s reasonable, but why does that present a problem?”

 

“It’s not a problem, per se,” Moira hedges. “But it does present a question of sorts. A spark who doesn’t learn how to use their magic can have it turn inward, and if their magic turns against them, it can create symptoms very similar to frontotemporal dementia.”

 

Noah blows out a breath as the full import hits him. “Stiles was always afraid that he’d get the same thing.”

 

Moira shakes her head. “I doubt it. Stiles’ magic will be well trained, and it will protect him.”

 

And then the other part hits him. “Claudia could have been saved.”

 

“If her magic had been caught earlier, and if she’d received training, maybe,” Moira says. “But Noah, those are big ifs. In some ways, Stiles is lucky that his magic was triggered at the time and in the way that it was. It’s entirely possible that he could have done some small feat of magic and written it off as luck or happenstance. Because what he did was so obvious, both of you had to seek an explanation.”

 

“What would have happened then?” Noah asks hoarsely.

 

Moira shakes her head. “Maybe nothing. Maybe his magic would have been corrupted by another force, or damaged enough that he would never be able to use it. Or maybe it would have turned inward the way I suspect that it did for your wife.”

 

Noah blows out a breath, and he feels nothing but relief. He never thought he’d feel gratitude that a psychopath had kidnapped and tortured his kid, but the idea of losing Stiles the way he’d lost Claudia…

 

“Okay, well, I guess I can be grateful that it’s a moot point,” Noah says slowly. “What do I need to know about the family?”

 

“Probably nothing,” Moira admits. “As I said, Agniezska was stricken from the family tree. The remaining family has mostly dispersed, and I don’t think there are any magic users with Stiles’ strength.”

 

Noah is a little disappointed by that, but he supposes that between the pack, the station, and Stiles’ coven, they have plenty of family to go around. “All right,” Noah says. “Thanks for looking into this. I assume you’re going to tell Stiles.”

 

“I think we should tell him together,” Moira replies, “especially since it involves his mom. Knowing that he’s a descendant of a documented, powerful spark should give him peace of mind, both for the origin of his magic, and knowing that he’s unlikely to develop the same condition.”

 

Noah nods. “I agree. I can make time to do that tonight.”

 

Moira smiles. “I think it’s for the best. I don’t want to sit on this information for long.”

 

“I’ll plan on having dinner at the house,” Noah says. “We can talk to Stiles after.”

 

“That works for me,” Moira agrees.

 

When she leaves, Tara comes into the office. “Anything we should be concerned about, sir?”

 

“Just a bit of family business,” Noah says. “I’d like to talk to Stiles about it first, since it has to do with his mom.”

 

Tara nods in understanding. “What can I help with when it comes to the thing with Barrow?”

 

“I’m going to need the pack on guard,” Noah says. “I hate putting that on all of you, but I’m not taking any chances.”

 

Tara nods. “I don’t think we’d let you do it any other way.”

 

“All right, let’s game this out,” Noah says.

 

There’s a small conference room, and Noah has taped a copy of the blueprints for the hospital to a white board. He’s marked where Barrow will enter, the OR where the surgery will take place, and the recovery room.

 

Tara has followed him in, and Mark is close behind, a cup of coffee in his hand. “No fewer than four deputies at the hospital at all times,” Mark says, and takes a sip of coffee. “Two on his room, and one on either end of the hallway.”

 

“I’ve been assured that they can keep that area clear of other patients,” Noah says in agreement. “So, that tracks.”

 

“Why the hell are they sending him here?” Tara mutters.

 

“I had that question, too,” Noah says. “But he’s in Eichen House, and the other hospitals in the area have refused to treat him. County doesn’t have that luxury.”

 

Mark snorts. “County always gets the shaft.”

 

“I want contingency plans,” Noah says. “We know Barrow is dangerous, and he’s not going to have a better chance to escape. Once he’s back in Eichen House, he’s going to be stuck.”

 

Tara crosses her arms. “And what do you think he’ll do if he manages to escape?”

 

“He blew up a school bus full of kids,” Noah says. “I would rather not give him a chance of a repeat offense. He’s in Eichen House because he was deemed incompetent to stand trial.”

 

Tara clears her throat. “Okay, how about this? We station two deputies outside the room, and werewolves outside the hospital.”

 

Noah hums thoughtfully. “That should be doable. Derek can assist as a reserve officer, but that’s going to leave us stretched fairly thin.”

 

“I don’t think there’s any way around it, sir,” Mark comments. “I agree that we can’t afford to let Barrow escape, and if he does, we’re going to need to lock down the schools.”

 

Noah nods. “All right, Mark, would you put together the schedule? I’ll approve it once you’re done, and we’ll post it this evening. I need to go have dinner with my kid.”

 

Tara gives him a look. “Good luck, sir.”

 

“It’ll be fine,” Noah replies. “Hopefully, Stiles takes it as good news.”

 

He drives back to the house, doing the mental math at what to expect by counting the cars outside. Stiles’ Jeep and Derek’s Camaro are parked in the driveway and on the street, respectively, with Scott’s bike right behind the Jeep. Noah also sees Isaac’s sedan, but that doesn’t tell him much, since he frequently gives rides to other pack members. Moira’s Prius is also there, as expected. 

 

When he enters, he hears sound coming from the dining room and kitchen, and Noah heads for the kitchen. 

 

Moira is there, and Noah catches the scent of chili bubbling away. “Smells good. Do you need any help?”

 

She shakes her head. “I’m just letting the flavors marry while the cornbread bakes.” 

 

Noah pokes his head into the dining room and sees all of the younger pack members sitting around the table, working on homework. Boyd, Isaac, and Stiles are typing on laptops, Scott, Erica, and Cora appear to be working on math problems, and Derek is reading through a police manual.

 

“Everyone good here?” Noah asks.

 

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles says, looking up from his laptop screen. “Moira said you guys had something to discuss with me after dinner?”

 

“Nothing bad,” Noah quickly assures him. “And I’ll probably head back to the station after that.”

 

Stiles grimaces sympathetically. “Is this about the thing with Barrow?”

 

Noah nods. “That’s right. Derek, we’re probably going to need you on rotation outside the hospital. We’re not taking any chances with this guy.”

 

Derek looks up from his book. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

 

Noah heads up to his office, and puts his gun belt in the safe. He’ll be putting it on again shortly, but it’s uncomfortable to wear while sitting around, and he’s not about to leave his gun unsecured.

 

Once he’s done with that, he heads back downstairs to find that Moira has pulled the cornbread muffins out of the oven, and the kids are packing up their homework. 

 

Noah gets the bowls out of the cupboard, and Moira has already set out the various toppings: saltine crackers, shredded cheese, sour cream, and green onions. Noah grabs the butter from the fridge, and the honey from the pantry, and then he sets the paper plates on the counter.

 

As is typical for Moira, the chili and cornbread are both delicious, and Noah notices that the chili is heavy on the beans and veggies. The kids are chattering as they fill their bowls and grab whatever toppings they would like. 

 

Isaac, Boyd, and Scott are talking about the next cross country meet, and giving each other a hard time about running fast but not too fast. Erica sniffs. “I still don’t understand why you’re running for fun.”

 

“That’s Coach’s rule,” Scott protests. “If we want to play lacrosse in the spring, we have to do cross country in the fall.”

 

“Lacrosse is stupid,” Cora mutters. “You’re throwing a ball around with a little net.”

 

“It’s fun!” Isaac protests. “And it looks good on college applications.”

 

“That’s enough,” Noah says mildly, not wanting the bickering to get out of hand. “Everyone gets to pick their own extracurricular activities.”

 

“Maybe you should pick an after-school activity,” Moira suggests. 

 

Cora snorts. “Like what?”

 

“What do you like to do?” Moira asks. “Or maybe you’d rather pick up a job? Or a volunteer activity? Something that you’d find meaningful.”

 

Cora frowns at that. “Meaningful?”

 

“I think what I heard you say was that you didn’t see the point of lacrosse because it doesn’t feel meaningful,” Moira says carefully. “So, maybe doing something for others, or working towards building a particular skill would be interesting.”

 

Derek clears his throat. “Are you and Erica still talking about opening a spa here in town?”

 

Cora shrugs. “It’s probably a pipe dream.”

 

“You could join the Future Business Leaders of America with Erica,” Derek points out. “Start building those skills.”

 

Cora glances at Erica. “What do you think?”

 

“I didn’t think I’d survive to adulthood, so I haven’t really given much thought to extracurricular activities,” Erica admits freely. “We could check it out. If we hate it, we don’t have to continue.”

 

“Maybe you should talk to the school counselor and see what’s available,” Moira suggests. “You can try things out together and see what sticks. The boys enjoy lacrosse, and Stiles enjoys martial arts. Just because you’re all pack doesn’t mean you all have to do the same things, or enjoy the same things.”

 

Boyd raises his eyebrows. “You could try drama club. That would fit.”

 

“I am not that dramatic!” Erica immediately protests.

 

Scott, Boyd, and Isaac all look at each other, and all of them hold up a hand, thumb and index finger about an inch apart. “Little bit,” Boyd teases.

 

Noah notices that Stiles is mostly staying out of it, and he sees Stiles’ hand drift down to Batman’s head every so often, a grounding gesture that suggests he’s feeling anxious.

 

He finishes his meal, Moira finishes hers, and then Derek leans in close to Stiles and murmurs something in his ear before giving Noah a significant look.

 

“Yeah, thanks, Der,” Stiles murmurs in response.

 

Noah pushes back from the table. “Let’s go up to my office.”

 

That causes the rest of the pack to go silent, and Noah gives them all a look that he hopes is reassuring. “It’s nothing dire, guys. I’m sure Stiles will fill you all in once we’re done.”

 

“I’ll make sure the kitchen gets cleaned up,” Derek says firmly.

 

Noah leads the way to his office, and Stiles takes the chair, while Moira perches on the edge of the desk. “I discovered the source of your magic, Stiles,” she says gently. “Your great-great-grandfather was one of the strongest documented sparks that I know of—that anyone knows of. You descend from one of his daughters.”

 

“Why would she still have the last name of Gajos?” Stiles asks. “I thought most women of that era would change their last name.”

 

“Because her son was born out of wedlock, and as far as I know, she never married,” Moira says gently. “Agnieszka came to the United States as a young mother, claiming to be a widow.”

 

Stiles nods slowly. “So, my mom’s family had magic. You—you think my mom had magic.”

 

“I believe she did, yes,” Moira says gently. “And I think that magic turned inward and thus turned against her.”

 

“That’s why…” Stiles trails off, blinking rapidly. “She could have been saved.”

 

“I doubt it, Stiles,” Moira says. “I doubt there was anyone in your mom’s life who would have been able to recognize magic or the supernatural.” She pauses. “Think about Malia. No one knew that she was a were-coyote. What would they have done if she transformed in front of them?”

 

Stiles grimaces. “Nothing good.”

 

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but in many ways, you were lucky,” Moira says, still in that same gentle voice. “Your magic manifested early, and in such a way that your dad felt compelled to seek help. You will never be placed in the same position that your mom was.”

 

Stiles’ breath hitches. “I’m not…”

 

Noah has a lot of regrets in his life, but chief among them is leaving Stiles in the hospital while his mother was dying. He’d been perched next to Moira on the edge of the desk, and now he pulls Stiles into a tight hug. “You’re not going down the same road, kiddo. You’re going to be fine.”

 

Stiles presses his face against the side of Noah’s neck as he shudders. Noah cups the back of Stiles’ head and says, “You’re okay.”

 

Stiles shakes his head. “I’m afraid that whatever was in the Nemeton is going to come after me, Dad. That it will use my brain against me.”

 

Noah looks at Moira. “Realistic?”

 

“It’s possible,” Moira admits. “Stiles is a spark, and that magic burns brightly. It might attract the wrong sort of attention.”

 

“What can we do to prevent that?” Noah asks.

 

Moira hesitates. “You’re not going to like it.”

 

“I promise I’ll like it a hell of a lot more than the thought of Stiles being possessed,” Noah says.

 

Moira’s smiles is humorless. “There’s a tattoo that will help protect him. We could do it for the entire pack, but the werewolves are going to be harder.”

 

Noah doesn’t like it, but he asks, “Will it work for just this threat, or for multiple threats?”

 

“It will protect him against anything that tries to use him as a meat puppet,” Moira says in a wry tone of voice that pulls a watery chuckle out of Stiles.

 

Stiles pulls back, wiping at his eyes. “I’m okay.”

 

“Yes to the tattoo,” Noah says, but he presses his hand against the side of Stiles’ face. “I want you to talk to Jack about this whole thing, okay?”

 

Stiles nods. “Promise.”

 

“I had no idea you were harboring this much fear,” Noah admits.

 

Stiles shrugs. “I just—I didn’t want to say it out loud. I felt like it would make it more real.”

 

Noah sighs. “Okay. I do have to go back to the station to sign off on Mark’s schedule, but I’ll be back.” He glances at Moira. “I’ll sign whatever permission slip I need to sign for the tattoo.”

 

“We’ll go to San Francisco in a couple of days,” Moira says. “I think the sooner we get this done, the better.”

 

“I’d like you to take someone with you—Derek, Dave, Paul, or Tara,” Noah replies.

 

Moira frowns. “I can handle myself.”

 

Noah shrugs. “Forgive me, but Gerard Argent just died in prison, and I’m not taking any chances with my kid.”

 

Moira nods. “Fair.”

 

Noah looks into Stiles’ eyes. “I always knew you were magic, kiddo. I’m just glad it can protect you.”

 

Stiles manages a smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

 

Noah kisses his forehead. “I’ll see you in a bit, unless you’re asleep when I get home.”

 

He’s somehow unsurprised to see Derek stationed outside of his office. “I can go to SF,” he admits. “I have my final exams, but I’m ready for them.”

 

“Thank you,” Noah insists. “Look after him?”

 

“Sure,” Derek agrees easily. “Not a problem at all.”

 

Noah pats him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

 

And maybe Noah’s life is that much more complicated, but he can’t regret any of his choices.