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.

Chapter 2

Stiles spots Kira making shy heart eyes at Scott across the cafeteria, and he’s at a point where he really thinks that he’ll be doing everyone a favor if he puts Scott out of his misery.

 

“Hold my soda,” Stiles tells Erica. “I’m going in.”

 

“Oh, my god, finally,” Erica replies. “Thank you.”

 

“Ditto,” Cora agrees.

 

Scott just looks alarmed. “What? What are you doing?”

 

“I’m doing you a solid,” Stiles replies. “You can thank me later.”

 

He does literally hand Erica his can of Coke and crosses the cafeteria to where Kira is sitting by herself. She seems slightly alarmed by his appearance. “Hi,” Stiles says. “I’m Stiles, which you’ve probably figured out by now. My buddy, Scott, over there is kind of shy, so he wasn’t going to come over here himself. If you don’t want to eat alone, you can join us. If you like eating by yourself, no shame.”

 

Kira blinks at him. “Um, thank you?”

 

Stiles smiles. “Come join us. I promise no one bites.”

 

Kira bobs her head. “Okay. Thanks.”

 

Stiles returns to their table, and Scott hisses, “Stiles! What did you do?”

 

“I invited her to join us,” Stiles says easily. “Relax, be cool. She’s heading our way.”

 

Scott straightens and tries to school his expression into something resembling “cool” without much success. Isaac and Boyd snicker, and Erica says, “Scoot over, Boyd.”

 

Boyd dutifully scoots, and Erica and Cora make room for Kira between them. “Um, hi,” Kira says.

 

Cora pats the seat between them. “Have a seat. I’m Cora.”

 

“Kira,” she replies, and sits down across from Scott.

 

Erica smiles. “I’m Erica, and finally, we’re approaching equal numbers. You’re going to be our friend.”

 

It’s not even a question; it’s a statement of fact.

 

“Thanks?” Kira offers.

 

The others around the table introduce themselves, and Stiles notices that Scott keeps avoiding Kira’s eyes. 

 

“So, Kira, where are you from?” Stiles asks.

 

“New York City,” Kira replies briefly.

 

“Your dad is a great teacher,” Stiles offers.

 

Kira smiles, flashing rather adorable dimples. She’s not Stiles’ type, but he’s committed to being a good wingman as long as the potential date isn’t a werewolf hunter. “Thanks. It’s nice to know that other people think so, too, since I always have.”

 

“He’s makes it really interesting,” Scott admits, apparently recognizing the conversational softball that Stiles has just lobbed in his direction. “I didn’t even think I liked history.”

 

Kira glances up, and her eyes meet Scott’s, and Stiles heaves a sigh of relief as the connection visibly flares. “Dad really does know how to make it interesting,” Kira says, and then they’re off.

 

Stiles is sitting next to Scott with Isaac on Scott’s other side, and he accepts the fist bump Isaac offers behind Scott’s back.

 

“You should come study with us,” Erica says cheerfully once their lunch period ends. “We usually gather at Stiles’ house if you don’t mind eating with the Sheriff—but he’s super nice.”

 

“That would probably make my parents feel more comfortable,” Kira jokes. “Also, I know I’m not supposed to pet service animals, but yours is really cute, Stiles.”

 

Stiles rests a hand on Batman’s head. “His name is Batman, but we refer to him as Bruce while he’s working.”

 

“That’s awesome,” Kira gushes. 

 

Scott clears his throat. “We have cross country this afternoon, but maybe you’d want to come study with us tomorrow?”

 

“That would be really great,” Kira replies. “Thank you.”

 

“Hey, it’s cool,” Scott says quickly. “We like new p-friends.”

 

Stiles just knows that Scott had nearly said that they like new pack members, and while he would agree with the sentiment, there are strict rules for a reason.

 

Scott shoots him an apologetic look as they split off from the group towards their respective lockers. “I’m sorry,” Scott mutters. “It’s just—“

 

“She’s really pretty and clearly very into you,” Stiles says in an undertone. “And she’s definitely not a hunter. I do think it’s smart to invite her over sooner rather than later, and to have Moira take a look.”

 

Scott nods. “I know. I don’t want to get my hopes up too soon.” He takes a deep breath. “Are you still doing that thing after school?”

 

“I am definitely doing the thing,” Stiles says. “It feels necessary. Are you thinking about it?”

 

“Thinking,” Scott agrees. “And I do want a tattoo, but—not that.”

 

“You shouldn’t do it unless you’re sure,” Stiles says.

 

Scott nods. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. I can always change my mind later, right?”

 

“Any time you want,” Stiles replies. “I just—need the insurance.”

 

“Totally get it, dude,” Scott says, clapping him on the shoulder. “And—thanks, for giving me the push.”

 

Stiles feels like he and Scott are finally getting back on solid ground, and he feels pretty cheerful the rest of the day. When the final bell rings, Stiles confirms that everyone has a ride to their respective destinations, and then he heads home.

 

He’s not surprised to see Moira’s car parked in the driveway, and he knows she’s planning on driving him to her friend’s tattoo parlor in San Francisco. The plan is for them to stay at a motel that night and drive back the next morning, allowing Stiles to attend afternoon classes.

 

Stiles enters the house with Batman in tow, and he heads up the stairs to drop his backpack and grab his overnight kit. He heads back downstairs with Batman at his heels and finds Moira and Derek in the kitchen. For the first time, Stiles registers the scent of warm cookies.

 

Moira hands him a napkin wrapped around a couple of cookies, and Stiles inhales the scent. “Oh, wow, these smell good.”

 

“We’ll get dinner after we’ve completed our errand,” Moira announces.

 

“I’m going with you,” Derek announces.

 

Stiles frowns. “Come on, dude, you have finals!”

 

Derek just gives him a very unimpressed look. “I studied all day, and I’m going. Noah isn’t sure how the hunter community is going to deal with Gerard’s death, and he doesn’t want to take any chances. Also, I want to go.”

 

Derek says that so definitively that Stiles knows arguing would be absolutely pointless, and he holds up his hands. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“I’m coming, too,” Cora says from behind Stiles, causing him to jump.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, make some noise!” Stiles says, his heart hammering in his chest even as Batman presses himself against his leg.

 

Cora grimaces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just needed to run an errand after school, and I wasn’t sure if I would be back in time.”

 

“We have a little time yet,” Moira says. “Go grab your things, and I’ll grab a couple of cookies for you.”

 

Cora thunders up the stairs, and Moira gives him a concerned look. “Are you that on edge, mo chroi?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. I just know I’ll feel a lot better when I know that this is done.”

 

Moira nods. “That’s why we’re doing it today.”

 

Stiles knows that, but it helps to hear it.

 

Cora comes back into the kitchen with her backpack on. “I’m good to go.”

 

“Come then,” Moira says, handing Cora a napkin wrapped around a couple of cookies. “Let’s get a move on.”

 

The Prius is a bit of a tight fit for the four of them. Derek takes the front passenger seat, and Batman sits between Stiles and Cora in the backseat.

 

Since they’re just going to be in the car for a couple of hours, Stiles has taken off Batman’s vest, and he glances at Cora. “You don’t mind, do you?”

 

Cora laughs. “I don’t mind.”

 

Batman takes that as permission to sprawl across both their laps, his head in Stiles’ lap, legs splayed over Cora’s in a way that shouldn’t be comfortable, but he goes right to sleep.

 

“He thinks he’s a lapdog when he’s not on duty,” Cora says as she finishes her second cookie, and rests a hand on the dog’s back.

 

“He’s usually pretty good at finding a lap or two,” Stiles agrees.

 

Moira looks in the rearview mirror. “You two comfortable back there?”

 

“About as comfortable as we can be with 80 pounds of dog on our laps,” Stiles jokes, but he really doesn’t mind. Having Batman as a warm weight, in a car heading away from Beacon Hills and whatever came out of the Nemeton, makes him feel a hell of a lot better, at least in the moment.

 

Stiles loves his dad, and he loves his pack, but there’s part of him that has seriously considered working towards early graduation.

 

Moira just smiles. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

 

Stiles strokes Batman’s ears, and Moira says, “Tell me about your classes, Derek. Do you feel ready for finals?”

 

“I studied all day, so I think so,” Derek replies. “Plus, the possibility of disappointing Noah looms large for me and Parrish.”

 

Stiles leans his head back against the seat. He’s tired, and being a passenger in a moving vehicle always makes him sleepy. Having his dog in his lap just magnifies it. He leans his head against the window, and he’s out like a light.

 

He doesn’t wake up until they come to a stop, and Batman shoves his wet nose into Stiles’ hand. “Huh? What?”

 

Batman whines.

 

“Are we here?” Stiles asks sleepily.

 

“We’re here,” Moira replies. “You still good?”

 

Stiles blinks the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah, I’m good. It was a nice nap.”

 

“You looked like you needed it,” Cora comments, not unkindly. 

 

Stiles cranes his neck to get the crick out. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

 

“We’re parked about a block away,” Moira says. “Batman will need his vest.”

 

Stiles nods. “Right, yeah.” He still feels a little foggy, but he puts Batman’s vest back on, and they walk the block or so to the tattoo parlor. The sign is turned to “closed,” but there’s a doorbell, which Moira presses.

 

There’s a beep as the door lock disengages, and Moira ushers them into the shop before closing the door behind her.

 

“Moira, it’s been too long!” the man says with outstretched hands. He’s thin and wiry, several inches shorter than Stiles with rainbow hair,  and he’s absolutely covered in tattoos. Since he’s just wearing a leather vest and no shirt, Stiles can see his full sleeves and chest piece, as well as the metal glinting from his ears and nipples. On his pale skin, the colors of his tattoos stand out.

 

“Iwan, you’re looking well,” Moira replies. “And even more colorful than the last time I saw you.”

 

Iwan laughs. “Gotta keep up with the latest trends, even if it’s just a new line here or there. I heard you took on an apprentice.”

 

Moira puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder to nudge him forward. “This is Stiles Stilinski. I did have his father fill out the permission slip you sent.”

 

Iwan cocks an eyebrow. “I appreciate that. I’ve also called the Sheriff. I don’t like to take risks when it comes to minors.”

 

Stiles clears his throat. “Are you sure you won’t get into trouble?”

 

Iwan shrugs. “You’ll find that while the law may technically prevent people from doing certain things, someone still needs to enforce that law. So, when you’re asked who gave you the tattoo?”

 

“A friend of the family when we were out of state,” Stiles says readily.

 

“The due diligence on parental consent just ensures that your dad doesn’t bring the law down on me, but Moira explained the need,” Iwan says. “So, come on back. You’ll need to take your shirt off. A heart placement would serve you best, and will be easier to hide, too.”

 

Stiles follows him back to the room, and tries not to mind that Derek, Cora, and Moira follow. He’s not exactly ashamed of his body, and he knows that he’s put on some muscle definition between judo and krav maga, but he’s got nothing on Derek.

 

And then he takes off his t-shirt, and Cora wolf-whistles. “Damn, Stiles.”

 

Stiles feels his face heat. “Shut up,” he says weakly.

 

Cora shrugs unrepentantly. “Just calling it like I see it.”

 

Stiles does see the reproving look Derek sends his sister’s way, and he sits down in the chair as directed by Iwan. “All right, you two,” Iwan says. “I’m using magic, so I need you to move over there.”

 

He points to a spot on one side of the room. Stiles looks closer at the floor, and realizes that the concrete has an inlaid, well-constructed protective circle. “How do I get one of these?”

 

“Time and money,” Iwan says with amusement. “It took me a lot of time to create the grooves in the floor, and a lot of money to get sufficient metal to fill those grooves.”

 

Stiles sighs. “I’ll put that on my wish list. How do we do this?”

 

“Think about your magic, Stiles,” Iwan says. “Moira will anchor the circle, while I ink. You’ll feel this in your magic, so don’t freak out, okay?”

 

“I promise I will try very hard not to freak out,” Stiles says. “Is it okay if Batman stays in the circle?”

 

Iwan kneels down in front of Batman, then extends a hand and allows a flame to grow above his palm. “What say you, boyo?

 

Batman sneezes and gives Iwan a very unimpressed look.

 

“Ah, and I think this good boy will be more than fine, and might keep you calmer,” Iwan says. “A magical tattoo is not the same as a regular tat, and—bluntly—if you need to keep it hidden, you can ask that of it, and it will obey your magic.”

 

Stiles blinks. “Okay. Wow. That’s—more than I expected.”

 

“There’s a reason Moira contacted me,” Iwan replies. “There are times when you may need to deal with someone, and you don’t want them to know you’re protected.”

 

“Can you do the same for me?” Derek asks.

 

Iwan hesitates. “Let me see how I do with this one. There are other ways to tattoo a werewolf than using fire, but that will depend on Stiles’ magic.”

 

“I want to protect myself in the same way that Stiles is protected,” Derek asserts. “If it takes fire, I’ll endure it.”

 

“Understood,” Iwan says. “I’ve prepared for that possibility, but I’d prefer to follow a gentler path if possible.”

 

Derek nods, but he looks unhappy. Stiles hopes that he can ease his worry later.

 

“I want the same,” Cora asserts.

 

“Again, let’s see how this first one goes,” Iwan says. “Moira, if you would take his hand. Stiles, it might help to have Batman on your lap.”

 

The reclining chair has room for Batman to hop up, resting his head on Stiles’ thigh while stretching out between his legs. Moira takes Stiles’ right hand and presses her other hand against his bare shoulder.

 

“Believe in Iwan’s work, mo chroi,” she murmurs. “That’s why I’ve brought you here. He is the best at what he does. Just relax into the process. I’ll be right here.”

 

Stiles nods. “I believe you, and I believe in your magic.”

 

“Believe in your magic,” Moira replies. “The strength of the protection is fueled by your faith.”

 

Iwan presses the transfer paper on Stiles’ left pectoral muscle, outlining a pentagram with runes at each point: isa, algiz, laguz, dagaz, and sowilo. As Iwan starts to outline and fill in the pentagram, Stiles focuses his magic on the ink, on creating protection from anything or anyone that might mean him harm by invading his mind. Once the pentagram is done, Stiles focuses on the meaning of each rune in turn: clarity, protection, intuition, certainty, and cleansing. As Iwan finishes, Stiles feels a flash in his mind, and he knows that it’s taken full effect.

 

“Well done,” Moira murmurs. “Both of you. I can feel it.”

 

Iwan shakes out his hand. “I have to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever inked a stronger defense. Then again, I’ve never worked with a spark before.”

 

Moira gives him a quelling look. “That’s not for public consumption.”

 

“I would never,” Iwan says immediately. “I keep my clients’ secrets.” He puts a hand over the tattoo on Stiles’ chest, and Stiles feels his skin warm. Iwan’s magic feels inviting, and not intrusive at all. “How is that?”

 

Stiles takes a deep breath. “There’s no lingering pain at all.” He pauses. “You trained with Moira at one point, didn’t you?”

 

Iwan smiles. “Felt that, did you? Yes, we trained together for a few years, but our paths diverged. I preferred putting my magic into the ink.”

 

Stiles nods. “It feels good.”

 

“Do you think you could do it again, but for someone else?” Iwan asks.

 

Stiles immediately understands what he’s being asked. “If you’re wondering whether I could do it for Derek and Cora, yeah. They’re part of my pack. I want to protect them.”

 

Iwan glances at Derek. “I’d prefer to try it this way first. If it doesn’t work, we’ll go the old fashioned way.”

 

Stiles gets off the chair and pulls his shirt back on, even as Derek strips out of his. Derek’s chest and abs look like they’ve been sculpted out of marble, and Stiles does his best not to stare.

 

Cora smirks at Stiles, and he tries to ignore her. He can’t help his response; Derek is beautiful, inside and out.

 

Derek just gives Stiles a steady look. “I trust you.”

 

Stiles swallows. “Okay.”

 

Once Derek is seated in the chair, Stiles clicks his tongue at Batman, and Batman takes the same position that he had for Stiles. 

 

“I’ll be fine,” Derek says dryly.

 

“Shut up,” Stiles says. “I’m sharing my dog with you. Besides, he’s…”

 

“A help to you,” Iwan supplies when Stiles’ trails off. “It won’t be appropriate to include him in ritual magic, but something like this? He’ll be a way to keep you focused and others relaxed. He has a very steadying presence.”

 

Stiles nods. “I’ve noticed that, too.”

 

“All right, Stiles, Derek’s healing factor typically makes a tattoo very difficult to do on a werewolf. There are ways around it, and most would use fire, but I think your magic is familiar enough to Derek that you can slip past it by convincing his body that this is welcome.”

 

“It is welcome,” Derek insists.

 

Stiles glances up at Moira. “What do you think?”

 

“The sky’s the limit, mo chroi,” Moira murmurs. “You know that for yourself at this point. Derek wants this.”

 

“I need it,” Derek corrects her. “Jennifer Blake wouldn’t have been able to do what she did if I had protection like this.”

 

Moira nods slowly. “That is likely true. You would have at least had warning that she was trying to influence your mind.”

 

Derek’s jaw firms. “I’m ready.”

 

“It’s the same general principle,” Iwan tells Stiles. “But you want to think about what you’re offering Derek. Have you placed wards before?”

 

Stiles nods. “I have.”

 

“Same intent applies here,” Iwan says.

 

Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s left shoulder, and Moira takes the position on Derek’s right. Cora stays where she is outside the circle, and Stiles belatedly realizes that they’d created a quasi-circle.

 

Not that it matters, because what they’re doing isn’t part of a ritual, but part of Stiles’ magic. Stiles, who’s a spark and can do the impossible.

 

The tattoo gun starts up, and Stiles pushes his magic into Derek, thinking about the tattoo like a ward, and the ink takes, blooming on Derek’s skin.

 

That’s not the end of things, though, and Stiles knows that. Derek needs stronger protection, something that would never allow anyone to take advantage of him again.

 

Stiles thinks about Derek’s wolf, about how a wolf senses a predator, and he connects the protective ward to Derek’s instincts.

 

Iwan has sweat beading his forehead by the end of it. “Fucking hell, Stiles. That was absolutely masterful.”

 

“How does it feel?” Stiles asks Derek.

 

Derek flushes. “Great.”

 

Iwan clears his throat. “Let me get you a bottle of water.”

 

Stiles suddenly realizes two things simultaneously: Derek is having a physical reaction, and Stiles needs to pretend that it’s not happening.

 

“I could use some water myself,” Stiles says. “I’ll go with you, if you don’t mind.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Iwan says. “I have some sodas, too. Cora? Moira?”

 

“Water for me,” Moira replies.

 

Cora shrugs. “I’d take a soda. Stiles knows what I like.”

 

Stiles doesn’t know Iwan, but something about the man makes him whisper, “Should I be worried?”

 

“Sharing magic like that—“ Iwan sighs. “There was no other way to do it, but Derek would have felt how much you care about him, and how much you want to protect him. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

Stiles shakes his head. “That’s not what it feels like in the moment.”

 

“Stiles.”

 

That’s Derek’s voice, and Iwan grabs a few bottles of water from the fridge in what’s probably the break room for the tattoo parlor.

 

Iwan nods and disappears, and Stiles turns to face Derek. “I’m sorry.”

 

Derek just shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. Iwan was right. I could feel your care for me, and for the pack, and now I feel—I know that I’m not going to have another situation like the one with Jennifer. That’s more than I could have asked for.”

 

“It’s what you deserve,” Stiles says shortly.

 

Derek shrugs. “Yeah, well. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

 

Stiles blinks. “I’m not—dude. I’m seventeen years old. A stiff breeze could do it.”

 

Derek barks a laugh. “Yeah, okay. It’s clear your ego needs no help when it comes to your magic.”

 

Stiles holds his palm open and pulls a flicker of flame into it. “My magic speaks for itself.”

 

Derek touches his chest where the tattoo is hidden by his t-shirt. “Yeah, it does. Cora still wants you to try if you’re up for it.”

 

Stiles rests his hand on Batman’s head where he’s pressed against his leg, and he nods. “Yeah. I’m five by five.”

 

~~~~~

 

Derek had worried that things with Stiles would be awkward, especially with them sharing a hotel room that night, with Cora and Moira in the adjoining room. Stiles seems the same as ever, though, and he announces his intention to shower. “Unless you want to go first,” Stiles offers.

 

Derek shakes his head. “No, go ahead.”

 

Stiles removes Batman’s vest, and the dog gives a brisk shake before hopping up on the bed next to Derek.

 

He’s noticed that if Batman isn’t on duty, he tends to gravitate towards a pack member if Stiles isn’t available. Batman likes people—including werewolves, and he rolls over on his back to invite belly rubs.

 

Derek is no more immune than anyone else in the pack, and he obliges as Batman’s tongue lolls out in a doggy grin. “Who’s a good boy?” Derek asks, and Batman chuffs, as if to reply, “I am.”

 

Stiles emerges from the bathroom fifteen minutes later wearing a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt. “All yours, Derek.”

 

“About earlier,” Derek begins.

 

Stiles holds up a hand. “Already forgotten.”

 

Derek decides to drop it at that point, not want to make him more uncomfortable. “Do you think the others will get the tattoo?” he asks instead.

 

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. The only person I’ve really talked about it with is Scott, and he said he wanted a tattoo, but not this one. I don’t know that anyone else really thinks of themselves as a target.”

 

“But you do,” Derek says.

 

Stiles shrugs. “So do you. So did Cora, apparently.”

 

“Pretty sure she got hers out of solidarity with me,” Derek admits as Stiles stretches out on the second queen-size bed. The hotel isn’t anything fancy, but it’s clean and comfortable, and that’s really all they need.

 

Batman rolls over and switches beds, stretching out next to Stiles with the same invitation for a belly rub. Stiles, of course, obliges. “I think it’s good,” Stiles says. “It means she’s willing to follow you.”

 

“She does seem to be settling in,” Derek agrees. “But you had a lot to do with that, Stiles. If she felt anything from your magic like I felt tonight…”

 

He trails off, and Stiles just clears his throat. “Yeah, well, I love the pack.”

 

“That much is obvious,” Derek replies, and he doesn’t say anything else.

 

Stiles goes to sleep shortly after that, and Derek takes his own shower and grabs one of his textbooks to get a little more studying in. Stiles snuffles and inches closer to Batman, but doesn’t appear to be waking.

 

Derek probably should try to get some sleep, but he’s still feeling keyed up. Stiles’ magic had felt like touching a live wire, but without pain. Maybe he should have known the depths of Stiles’ feelings, but he hadn’t.

 

Or maybe Derek had just felt the power of Stiles’ magic fully for the first time, and if that’s what his magic routinely feels like, Derek can’t quite believe that he doesn’t have more things coming after him for a taste of it.

 

Eventually, the procedure manual has the soporific effect that Derek is looking for, and he turns out the light. He’d been concerned that he wouldn’t be able to sleep away from the pack house, but having Stiles’ and Batman’s heartbeats so close makes up for it.

 

There’s a breakfast buffet at the motel, and they eat before heading back to Beacon Hills. Moira drops Stiles and Cora off at the high school, and then glances over at Derek. “Are you okay? I didn’t really get the chance to check in with you last night.”

 

“Just embarrassed,” Derek admits. “But Stiles said that he’s fine.”

 

Moira sighs. “I won’t tell you not to be embarrassed, but I do believe that Stiles took it in stride. He certainly wasn’t offended.”

 

“It wasn’t—I wouldn’t want anyone to think…” Derek stops. “I don’t want to be inappropriate.”

 

“What you had was a physical reaction to Stiles’ magic,” Moira says dryly. “And now you know why I made sure that Stiles request for a protective tattoo was authorized. He would be quite the meal for anything that managed to possess him.”

 

“Do you think that’s a possibility?” Derek asks.

 

“Let’s just say that I’d rather be safe than sorry,” Moira says grimly. “And I think it might just be biding its time.”

 

Derek touches his chest right over where the tattoo is, and he’s grateful that Moira is taking such great care. “What about the other pack members?”

 

“Between their bonds with Stiles and Noah, and their ties to their wolves, I doubt they’ll be in danger,” Moira says. “It would be a precaution, but not a necessary one. It was necessary for your peace of mind. For Cora, it was a show of support to you, and I imagine it’s another tie.”

 

Derek can’t argue with that, and then Moira is dropping him off. He studies the rest of the day and well into the evening. The next day, he and Parrish drive to the college together to take their final exams for the module. In spite of the semi-impromptu break, Derek feels confident as he’s taking the test.

 

“How do you think you did?” Parrish asks as they leave.

 

Derek shrugs. “I feel pretty good. You?”

 

“I feel great,” Parrish replies. “I might even beat your score this time.”

 

Derek scoffs. “You wish,” but the teasing is easy and comfortable. 

 

“So, what were you doing in San Francisco?” Parrish asks.

 

“Moira knows someone there who can do tattoos, magical ones,” Derek admits. “I wanted the protection.”

 

Parrish frowns. “They make those?”

 

“According to Moira, they do,” Derek replies. “You want to stop in at the station once we’re back in town?”

 

Parrish nods. “Yeah, I do. Kind of nice to know that we’ll both be working there soon.”

 

Derek smiles, and can’t help but agree. He’s been working towards this goal for a while, and it feels like the next phase of his life is beginning.

 

They’d taken Derek’s Camaro this time, and Derek pulls up in front of the station a little after the dinner hour. Derek isn’t sure if Noah will be there, or if he’ll be eating, but the dispatcher for the shift, Maria, grins as she spots them.

 

“Did you guys finish your finals?” she asks.

 

Somehow, the whole station knows that today is exam day, and they’ve expressed a proprietary interest.

 

“We did,” Parrish replies.

 

“I’m sure you did great,” Maria replies. “Head on back to the conference room. The Sheriff is going over the plan with Tara and Mark, and he’ll be glad to see you.”

 

He and Parrish make their way to the conference room, and they’re met with welcoming smiles. “How did your finals go?” Noah asks.

 

Derek shrugs. “Good, I think. I feel pretty confident.”

 

“And I feel very confident that I got first place this round,” Parrish adds.

 

That calls a laugh from everyone, and Tara offers him a fist bump.

 

“We’ll see,” Derek grumbles, but he’s also smiling.

 

“We’re lucking out,” Noah comments, “getting the two of you. If you can wait a bit for dinner, we’ll go over the plan for Barrow’s surgery, since I’m going to need the help.”

 

Parrish’s grin is blinding. “Sure, of course.”

 

Derek also nods. “Happy to help.”

 

They have contacts at the hospital other than Melissa now, and Noah has a good handle on who’s going to be on duty, and what their roles are going to be. Derek notices that Noah has him outside the hospital, and Parrish in the corridor with Mark.

 

“Derek, you’re going to be with Tara, and Parrish, you’re with Mark,” Noah says. “At least for a little while, then I’ll switch you around so you can get exposure to different styles.”

 

Derek knows that it’s probably for their benefit to be exposed to a variety of perspectives. “That sounds good,” Derek says when Noah seems to be waiting for a response.

 

“Yeah, I’m good with that,” Parrish says quickly. “Whatever you want, sir.”

 

Noah doesn’t bother trying to correct him, or ask Parrish to use his first name. Derek already knows that’s not going to happen, at least not while they’re at the station.

 

“Good,” Noah says. “We’ll go to the graduation on Saturday, and your first shifts are Sunday. Barrow’s surgery is Tuesday, so that gives you a couple of days to get acclimated.”

 

Derek has no problem with that plan, and once Noah is certain that they understand their roles, he says, “Let’s get out of here. Stiles said he was putting something together for you two.”

 

Parrish flushes. “He didn’t have to do that.”

 

“It’s a significant milestone, Jordan,” Noah replies kindly. “And we know that. It will be good to have you two on board. We need the help, and the fresh blood.”

 

Derek drives Parrish to his place so he can pick up his truck, and then to the Sheriff’s house. The night air is cool, but Derek can hear sounds from the backyard as soon as he pulls up, so he figures they’re grilling.

 

Sure enough, they have heat lamps set up around the back patio, and there’s the smell of meat and smoke. It seems like the whole pack is present—all of the kids, Dave and Paul, Tara, Moira, and Melissa.

 

“Hey,” Dave calls. “How did it go?”

 

“Good, I think,” Derek replies, hoping that he’s not being stupidly overconfident.

 

“Don’t front, dude,” Stiles says, turning a couple of burgers. “You’ve been working hard. I’m sure you did great. Is Parrish coming?”

 

“Right behind him,” Parrish says. “You really didn’t have to go to the trouble, Stiles.”

 

Stiles snorts. “Come on, any excuse to have a party, right?”

 

Derek has noticed that Stiles does use about any excuse to have a pack get-together. Whether that’s making a big meal, ordering food, or having a barbecue, any reason is reason enough.

 

Looking around the backyard, Derek still can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that he gets to have a pack again, let alone a pack of this size. It’s large and sprawling, and growing at a steady pace.

 

It doesn’t just feel like family; it feels like a community, and that gives Derek hope for turning Beacon Hills into a sanctuary town.

 

Stiles starts pulling the burgers and hot dogs off the grill, putting them in a large, foil pan. “All right, food is going to be inside. Everybody make up a plate and grab a seat wherever you like.”

 

There are tubs of deli salads in the kitchen, as well as buns and condiments, and Derek grabs a paper plate. He finds himself at the dining room table with Jordan, Noah, and his deputies, as well as Mel and Moira. The kids troop back outside to eat in the backyard.

 

“So, what’s next, Derek?” Mel asks.

 

“It will be a few days before we get our exam results, and then graduation, and then we start at the station part-time,” Derek replies. 

 

“And you?” Mel asks Parrish.

 

“The same,” he admits. “I have to say, I never expected to graduate and find something like this.” He waves his hand to indicate the pack.

 

“I’m not sure anyone expects this,” Noah comments. “I certainly didn’t, although I’m not complaining.”

 

As people finish eating, or need to get to their shifts—Mel, Paul, and Dave—they start to disperse. Cora is spending the night at Erica’s, and Isaac and Boyd head to their apartment. Tara and Parrish head home, and Derek thinks this might be one of the reasons that Stiles uses any excuse to have a party. It’s a chance for everyone to be together and bond.

 

Eventually, that just leaves Derek, Noah, Stiles, Scott, and Moira. “How did things go yesterday?” Noah asks. “I haven’t had the chance to ask.”

 

Stiles shrugs. “I have ink, and I feel a lot more secure. It was pretty interesting, to be honest, and Iwan seems cool. I wouldn’t mind working with him again.”

 

“He’s already texted me,” Moira admits. “Iwan has offered to pay you for your time if he has any other special requests, like with Derek and Cora.”

 

Stiles brightens at that. “That would be cool. I don’t have any desire to become a tattoo artist, but the warding part…”

 

“You have a real affinity for wards,” Moira agrees. “Speaking of, we should probably set up some additional wards at the new house.”

 

Stiles nods eagerly. “Yeah, sure. I have some ideas about that.”

 

Derek leans into the feeling of pack over the next few days as he waits for the examination results. He meets with his financial advisor and checks on the progress for the build.

 

Three days later, Derek has his results, and he’s at the top of the class again, but only by half a point; Parrish is right behind him. Noah is chuffed.

 

“We’re going out to dinner,” Noah announces, and then takes him and Parrish out to the nicest steakhouse in the area. “Order whatever you want, the cost is on me.”

 

“Noah,” Derek begins.

 

Noah just shakes his head. “I’m proud of both of you. I have to believe that both of your parents would be proud, too, and I’m standing in their stead right now. I would be grateful if someone did the same for Stiles.”

 

Derek gets the message. Noah isn’t acting as the sheriff, or the Alpha even, but as a surrogate father.

 

Parrish blushes, and Derek knows that he’s not used to having anyone in his life to serve as a parental figure. “Sir…”

 

“Noah, when we’re not at the station,” Noah insists. “You have a great resume, and you’re going to be an asset. And you’re going to have the support of the rest of the station, too.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Parrish says.

 

Noah laughs. “Yeah, well, I’ll wear you down. Congratulations, anyway.”

 

Dinner is delicious, but even better is the fact that they’re having dinner with the Alpha, just the two of them. Derek rarely gets Noah’s undivided attention, and he doesn’t think Parrish ever has. Noah asks him about his past, his time in the service, and his future goals.

 

Not for the first time, Derek is grateful that Noah found out about werewolves and responded as he had.

 

Really, dinner out is above and beyond, but then Noah, Dave, and Paul all show up at graduation, along with Stiles, Cora, and Moira. Derek and Parrish get their certificates of completion, have their pictures taken, and Noah introduces himself to Officer Jenkins.

 

“I think you’re making out like a bandit here, Sheriff Stilinski,” Jenkins jokes as he shakes Noah’s hand.

 

“I know I am,” Noah replies. “I’m looking forward to putting them to work.”

 

Derek is looking forward to putting on the uniform, even more than he thought he would. When they get back to the house after graduation, the scent of pot roast greets them. Moira and Stiles had started two slow cookers that morning, so dinner is just about ready without much effort.

 

It’s a Saturday, so the other kids have shifts at their various jobs, and will probably come in and out. Derek doesn’t mind, since he hadn’t wanted much fuss anyway.

 

Really, he just wants to get to his first shift, and Sunday morning, he gets up bright and early to pull on the tan deputy uniform for the first time. He laces his boots and settles his gun belt, and when he glances in the mirror, he hardly recognizes himself.

 

Stiles is waiting for him in the kitchen, the coffee pot already percolating. “Looking good, Derek.”

 

Derek feels his face heat. “Thanks. It feels pretty good. You didn’t have to get up early.”

 

Stiles shrugs. “I had a hard time sleeping.” He rests a hand on Batman’s head where the dog is leaning against his leg. “It’s not a big deal. I have a session with Jack tomorrow.”

 

“You’ll tell me if it’s something else,” Noah says as he enters the kitchen. 

 

Stiles nods. “Yeah, of course.”

 

Noah claps Derek on the shoulder. “The uniform suits you, Derek. Do you want to ride in with me, or take your own vehicle?”

 

“I’ll ride in with you,” Derek replies.

 

Noah grabs a travel mug of coffee, and asks, “Did you want any? I’ll warn you that the stuff at the station is pretty awful.”

 

Derek shakes his head. “No, I’m good.”

 

“Do you have a lesson with Moira today?” Noah asks.

 

Stiles nods. “We’re going over to the Mahealanis’. More protection spells, I think.”

 

“Well, be careful,” Noah says, pulling Stiles in for a hug.

 

“How does it feel?” Noah asks as they drive to the station.

 

Derek takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. I guess it just feels right.”

 

“That’s about how I felt when I put my uniform on for the first time,” Noah admits, and pulls up behind the station.

 

Derek steps through the doors, and he feels as though he’s come home.

 

~~~~~

 

Noah feels pretty good about having Derek and Parrish on board. After two full shifts, both Tara and Mark are happy with their newest deputies, and Noah knows they’re going to need the help with Barrow.

 

He can’t put his finger on why this whole thing is bothering him so much, but Noah is unwilling to take any chances.

 

Today, they’re meeting ahead of Barrow’s arrival to discuss the plan once again, this time with medical staff present, and at the hospital to make sure they’re familiar with the route, and the locations.

 

There’s a staff break room that Mel has set aside for them. Noah doesn’t care if additional staff overhear; he just wants to make sure they’re all familiar with the logistics.

 

“Right, we’re not taking any chances,” Noah says. “He’s already killed four children, and we’re not giving him the opportunity to do it again.”

 

Noah looks at Mel. “How long do you think you’ll keep him?”

 

“At least overnight, but possibly two,” she says. “I’ve spoken to the surgeon, and that’s the best guess, but it depends on what they find when they open him up.”

 

Barrow has a tumor in his stomach that needs to be removed, so it makes sense that there would be some uncertainty about the recovery time. “All right, we’ll be on high alert until he’s back in Eichen House where he belongs.”

 

Noah asks Mel to walk them through the route they’ll take through the hospital, starting from the point that the ambulance pulls up. They walk through the hallways to the room where Barrow will be before and after the operation. They’ve managed to clear the rooms on either side of his and across the hallway, so they have a smaller area to manage.

 

They also follow the route from the room to the OR. Thankfully, things have been fairly quiet recently, so Noah’s people are fresh, and they have the addition of Derek and Parrish to help manage the load.

 

Since he would have partnered anyone on guard duty, the fact that they have to be supervised by another officer doesn’t present any difficulties.

 

“Okay,” Noah says. “Does everyone understand the plan?”

 

He gets assent from everyone, and he looks at Mel. “Are you doing his intake?”

 

Mel nods. “I am.”

 

“I’ll stay with you,” Noah says. “I don’t want anyone left alone with Barrow.”

 

Mel lets out an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you. I was a little worried about that, to be honest.”

 

Noah checks his watch. “Barrow should be arriving in fifteen minutes, so places everyone.”

 

Noah plans on following Barrow’s progress through the hospital himself, but he has Tara and Derek stationed outside until Dave and Paul relieve them. Mark and Parrish are on the room, until they’re relieved by the second shift.

 

The ambulance rolls up right on time, and two medical personnel wheel out a gurney with Barrow on it. He’s secured to the gurney, and Noah follows them inside. He has Mark and Parrish with him, since they’ll be outside the room.

 

Mel supervises as Barrow is transferred to a hospital bed, and Noah ensures he’s handcuffed.

 

“I just need you to answer a few questions for me,” Mel says after Parrish and Mark leave the room.

 

“I’m not answering any questions with him here,” Barrow says, nodding towards Noah.

 

Noah just crosses his arms. “Too bad. I’m not leaving her alone with you.”

 

Barrow glares at Noah. “I wouldn’t hurt her. She doesn’t have glowing eyes. That’s why I had to kill those kids. Their eyes glowed.”

 

Noah keeps his immediate reaction under strict control. “Is that so?”

 

“They were demons,” Barrow insists. “They had to die.”

 

Noah has no idea whether Barrow had hallucinated it, or if he’d actually seen werewolves flashing their eyes, but he’s not going to let on that there might be any credence to his story. He nods to Mel to continue.

 

“I’m afraid I have to ask these questions, and the Sheriff is here for my protection,” Mel says compassionately.

 

Barrow sends Noah a glare, and Noah resists the urge to flash his eyes at the man. Finally, he turns back to Mel. “Fine, I’ll answer your questions.”

 

“Thank you,” Mel replies courteously.

 

She gets through the intake, and while it’s clear that Barrow is crazy like a fox, he may or may not be delusional. Noah knows he’d been found to be criminally insane, rather than criminally liable, but Noah is a werewolf, and Barrow is a threat to his pack.

 

Maybe he’s an even bigger threat than the hunters, who would avoid collateral damage, at least in theory. 

 

Barrow would have no problem blowing up the whole hospital if he thought he was killing one person with glowing eyes.

 

Noah follows Mel out of the room, and pauses to have a word with Mark. “I don’t want any medical personnel going into the room without a deputy in attendance. And don’t let anyone tell you that he deserves his privacy. He’s a prisoner; he doesn’t have any.”

 

Mark nods. “You got it, Sheriff.”

 

Noah follows Mel out to the desk where the patient charts are kept. “Be careful around him,” Noah says.

 

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Mel says fervently. “I’ve met my fair share of crazies, but he makes my skin crawl.” She lowers her voice. “What did you think about his story of the glowing eyes?”

 

Noah grimaces. “I think he’s a danger to the entire pack. He’d kill any one of us, and he’d plow through a crowd in order to do it.”

 

Mel nods. “I agree.” She pauses and clears her throat. “I don’t know that it’s anything you need to worry about, but Rafe’s coming into town.”

 

The growl that emerges is involuntary. “Sorry.”

 

Mel smiles, clearly amused. “No, that was pretty much my reaction, too. He says that he wants to reconnect with Scott, but it’s Rafe, so he may have an ulterior motive.”

 

“No offense, Mel, but your ex is a real son of a bitch,” Noah mutters.

 

“You’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know,” Mel replies. “But I’m mostly telling you this because I don’t expect Scott to respond well, and I don’t think we want Rafe knowing the truth. At least not right now.”

 

Noah nods. “I agree. You know Scott is welcome at our house at any time.”

 

Mel lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Stiles won’t mind? I know there was some tension there.”

 

Noah shakes his head. “I think they’ve worked it out. And if there’s anyone who knows how to hold a grudge, it’s Stiles.”

 

Mel laughs. “Well, that’s true enough, and I know he doesn’t think much of Rafe.”

 

“Let me know if you have any trouble with Barrow,” Noah says. “I’ll come running.”

 

Mel touches his arm. “Thank you.”

 

Noah rests his hand over hers. “And if you have any trouble with Rafe, you can let me know that, too.”

 

She squeezes his arm. “I will.”

 

Noah doesn’t really want to leave the hospital, but the surgery isn’t until the following day. He has reports to review, and he needs to check in with the rest of the station, especially since they’re going to be spread a bit thin while they have people stationed at the hospital.

 

He does stop by the entrance where Tara and Derek are stationed. “You two good here?”

 

Tara nods. “Derek gets to experience the part of police work that’s very, very boring.”

 

“Please don’t jinx us,” Noah replies wearily. “Because I’d like it to stay boring.”

 

“I’d be happy if things stay boring,” Derek says. “I’ve had enough excitement to last a lifetime.”

 

Noah smiles. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

 

He doesn’t love having two green deputies in the field with someone like Barrow in play, but he knows that Derek, at least, can handle himself, and Parrish had deployed, suggesting that he can as well.

 

Noah heads back to the station, and starts reviewing the requisition reports to make sure they have everything they need. Last month, they’d run out of coffee, and Noah had to restock from his own funds.

 

He’s still reading when his phone buzzes. “Sheriff?” Maria says over the intercom.

 

“What’s up?” Noah asks.

 

“I have Mr. Brogan on the line for you, sir,” she replies.

 

“Put him through,” Noah replies, and picks up the handset as soon as it starts to ring. “Stilinski.”

 

“Noah, it’s Jim Brogan,” he says. “Do you have a few minutes?”

 

Noah has a sinking feeling. “I do. I’m just going over paperwork. What’s up?”

 

“Kate Argent’s attorney contacted me, and she’s now willing to take a plea deal on the kidnapping and related charges,” Brogan says.

 

Noah blinks. “Why? And why now?”

 

“The evidence is stacked against her, and Allison is still insisting on testifying against her,” Brogan replies. “I think Kate Argent knows she’s going to be found guilty, and she wants to make a deal, get it over with faster.”

 

“The murder charges?” Noah presses.

 

“Those aren’t going anywhere, but it’s an ongoing investigation, and she’s behind bars,” Brogan replies. “Her pleading guilty means we have time, since there’s no statute of limitations on murder.”

 

Noah scrubs his hand over his face. “Okay, what’s the offer?”

 

“We drop the weapons and escape charges, and she serves time for kidnapping and assault,” Brogan replies. “Her lawyers will stipulate to at least five years, but we’ll ask for the full eight. Four years for the assault charge, and the judge will decide whether it’s concurrent or consecutive.”

 

Noah knows full well that with good time, Kate will likely serve half of that behind bars. Then again, if she pleads guilty, it saves Stiles from having to testify. 

 

“Are you going to accept the offer?” Noah asks.

 

“You know I wouldn’t normally do this, Noah, but I’d like you to talk to Stiles and see how he feels about it,” Brogan admits. “If he’s dead-set against it, I’ll take that into consideration. I won’t tell you that it will make my decision for me, but it will inform it.”

 

Noah takes a deep breath. “Got it. I’ll speak with him this evening and let you know what he says.”

 

Brogan says his goodbyes, and Noah hangs up the phone. He has no idea what Stiles is going to think. Noah wants to lock Kate up and throw away the key, but he also knows that’s unrealistic. Eight to twelve years, depending on what the judge decides, is pretty good for kidnapping under these circumstances.

 

But it does mean they have to make those murder charges stick.

 

Noah gets through the rest of the day, mostly focused on paperwork. He has the sense that the other shoe is going to drop soon, and the least he can do is get caught up.

 

Before he leaves the station, Noah checks the pack calendar. There’s cross country practice, and Stiles has judo, but he’ll be done around six. Noah decides to approach him when he’s done at the dojo.

 

He’s also relieved to see that Stiles has a telehealth visit with Jack coming up, so he’ll at least have the support he needs in that respect to work through his emotions.

 

It turns out that he needn’t have worried about finding Stiles after judo. Stiles shows up at the station immediately after his lesson, still dressed in his sweat-soaked gi. Noah had gotten caught up in trying to get through as much paperwork as he could, and had lost track of time.

 

Stiles briefly knocks on the door, even as Maria pages him on the intercom. “Your son is here, Sheriff.”

 

“I can see that,” Noah replies, and waves at Stiles to come in.

 

Stiles enters with Batman on his heels in his vest. “Dad, you’ll never guess who showed up at school today!”

 

Noah considers that comment, and he says, “Rafe McCall.”

 

Stiles huffs and drops into one of the chairs across from Noah’s desk. “Someone told you. Mrs. McCall?”

 

“I saw her at the hospital today, and she told me that Agent McCall was coming to town,” Noah admits. “He turned up at the school?”

 

Stiles nods. “He had Scott called to the office about five minutes before the final bell, and tried to get Scott to go with him.”

 

“Did he cross a line?” Noah asks.

 

“Scott said he shot him down and said he had to get to cross country practice,” Stiles replies. He runs a hand through his hair. “I think Scott might wind up camping out at our place.”

 

“I already told Mel that he could,” Noah replies. “Anything else?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess that’s it.”

 

Noah can’t help but feel a welling fondness for his kid, and he hates to put this on Stiles, but he knows Stiles does better with more information. “There’s something I needed to talk to you about, so I’m glad you stopped by.”

 

Stiles grimaces. “Uh, oh. You have the face.”

 

“Jim Brogan called me today,” Noah begins. “Kate’s attorney has requested a plea deal.”

 

Stiles nods slowly, and he rests a hand on Batman’s head. “That’s normal, right? The murder charges are still pending, and might not go anywhere, but there’s a lot of evidence against her in the case involving me.”

 

“That’s exactly right,” Noah replies. “Brogan wants to know what you think about the offer before he makes his decision.”

 

“What’s the offer?” Stiles asks warily.

 

Noah takes a look at the notes he’d scribbled down. “At least five years for kidnapping with the potential for eight, four for assault. They’re dropping the escape and weapons charges, and leaving it up to the judge to decide if the sentence is concurrent or consecutive.”

 

Stiles is nodding, one hand petting Batman. “Eight years is the most she’d get for kidnapping anyway, right? Unless they charged it as aggravated, but my injuries were relatively minor, all things considered. So, yeah, not really a sweetheart deal, but better than she’d get if she went to trial with the other charges tacked on.”

 

“Then you’re good with it?” Noah presses. 

 

Stiles throws up his hands. “Hell if I know, but I can’t say that I’m mad about not having to testify. Plus, this gives everyone time to build their cases, right?”

 

“That was my understanding,” Noah admits. “But you don’t have to pretend you’re okay with it, Stiles.”

 

“I”m not pretending,” Stiles protests. “I don’t really want to testify, and that makes it easier on Allison, too.”

 

Noah frowns. “You’re not worried about her, are you?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “I can worry about my fellow human beings if I want.”

 

“It’s to your credit, kiddo,” Noah replies.

 

“I’m fine with the plea deal,” Stiles says with a sigh. “I just hope that the authorities get to charge her for the murders before she gets out.”

 

The way Stiles says it doesn’t suggest that he’s worried about Kate getting out, and Noah isn’t going to ask. He knows full well that Moira will likely neutralize her if necessary, and Noah will turn a blind eye.

 

The sheriff in him protests, but the wolf approves. “I’ll let Brogan know.”

 

“What about Allison?” Stiles asks.

 

“I didn’t hear anything about her, but I can make some inquiries,” Noah admits. “Do you want that?”

 

“I want to know if Allison is coming back to Beacon Hills,” Stiles admits. “Scott is moving on with Kira, and I’d like to give him that chance.”

 

Noah smiles. “And how is that going?”

 

“She invited him over for dinner tonight after cross country,” Stiles says. “Or her dad did.”

 

Noah frowns. “Her dad invited his daughter’s crush over for dinner?”

 

“I think he’s really worried about her making friends here,” Stiles says. “At least, that’s what I got from the situation. It’s a little weird, but…” He just shrugs. “They’re not werewolf hunters.”

 

“The bar appears to be very low,” Noah comments.

 

Stiles grins, lightning quick. “Yeah, well, the bar is apparently in hell when it comes to Scott’s girlfriends, but I like Kira, and her dad is at least a good teacher.”

 

Noah shuts his computer down and asks, “Do you want to grab dinner?”

 

“Yeah, I could eat,” Stiles replies. “There’s that new taco place that I kind of wanted to try.”

 

“Let’s give it a shot, then,” Noah says.

 

They run into Derek, Tara, Mark and Parrish, who are all getting off shift. “How did everything go today?” Noah asks.

 

“No problems,” Mark reports. “The surgery will proceed as scheduled tomorrow, and our relief is at the hospital.”

 

Noah is glad that his station are in the know. He trusts his deputies because they know what’s going on, and he knows they’ll be on their toes.

 

“We’re going to that new taco place,” Noah says. “If anyone wants dinner.”

 

Parrish perks up at that. “I love tacos.”

 

“Tara?” Noah asks.

 

She smiles. “Sure. I also love tacos.”

 

Mark shakes his head. “My wife is expecting me home for dinner, but you guys have fun. Parrish, you did good today.”

 

The tips of Parrish’s ears turn pink. “Thank you, sir.”

 

Mark hoods a thumb in Noah’s direction. “You can call him ‘sir.’ I’m Mark, or Rossi, if you’d rather.”

 

“Yes, s—Rossi,” Parrish says.

 

“Derek?” Noah prompts.

 

“I could eat,” Derek replies. “But can I call Cora? I kind of promised that we would spend some time together tonight.”

 

Noah hadn’t planned on throwing the invitation open, but he’s not going to deny Derek’s request. “Not at all.”

 

Calling the place a restaurant would be a little generous, since it’s little more than a counter and a storefront. There are a few tables inside, and more on the sidewalk outside, and it looks to be a pretty popular place. There’s a line at the counter, and most of the tables are occupied.

 

“Tell you what,” Noah says to Derek. “Find out what Cora would like, and if there’s anyone else who needs to eat, and we’ll order theirs to go.”

 

Derek nods and starts texting. The restaurant has a limited menu—street tacos in corn tortillas with a choice of meat and salsas.

 

They order and eat, standing around outside, and everything is delicious—not to mention cheap. Noah has a feeling that he and the rest of the station are going to be back frequently.

 

Noah puts in another order for Cora, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd, who are apparently at the house doing homework together.

 

He knows that this is Moira’s usual night for client consultations, so he doesn’t have to worry about her. 

 

Noah doesn’t have any way of knowing it, but it’s going to be the last quiet night for a while.

 

~~~~~

 

Stiles likes hanging out with his dad’s deputies. He’s fond of all of them, although it’s a little weird to think about Derek as being one of them. But he also enjoys hanging out with the rest of the pack, and with his coven, and taking judo and krav maga. 

 

Things seem to be settling into a routine, and Stiles is looking forward to getting more details about Scott’s date the prior night.

 

He’s looking around for Scott as he parks and heads into the high school, only to be waylaid by Lydia. “Stiles!” she calls.

 

Stiles sighs. There had been a day when he’d have given his right arm to have Lydia seeking his attention. Stiles is over it now, though. And it’s not just his crush on Derek either. 

 

“Hi, Lydia,” Stiles says, wishing he could just find Scott and find out how his date with Kira went beyond “pretty good, I think.”

 

“I wanted to say thank you,” Lydia says, which rocks Stiles back on his heels. “For meeting with me, and also, maybe you could pass that along to Moira? I had my first meeting with my new mentor, and it was really helpful.”

 

Stiles stares at her, waiting for the punchline. “Okay, I’m—I’m glad it’s working out for you.”

 

“I thought maybe I could sit with you guys at lunch today,” Lydia says.

 

Stiles blinks, and he can’t come up with a good reason to say no. “If you want to, that would be fine.”

 

“Okay, great,” Lydia says brightly. “I figure if you can’t beat them, join them.”

 

She turns to leave, and Scott comes jogging up to him. “Is everything okay?” Scott asks anxiously.

 

Stiles just shakes his head. “I don’t know, but I think Lydia has decided that she wants to be our friend.”

 

“Do we want her to be our friend?”Scott asks.

 

Stiles shrugs. “I guess time will tell. If she ends up being terrible, we can kick her to the curb.” Stiles rests a hand on Batman’s head, grounding himself. “So, how was your date? You didn’t say much.”

 

Scott turns a bit red. “Good, but I kind of looked like an idiot.”

 

They start to head into the school. “Oh?” Stiles prompts.

 

“They served sushi,” Scott admits. “I’d never eaten sushi before.”

 

“Okay, unless you spat it out on the table, I think you’re probably good, dude,” Stiles replies as they enter the school, with the other pack members falling into step with them. 

 

“I ate the entire thing of wasabi,” Scott admits. “I thought it was guacamole!”

 

Stiles snorts, as do Erica and Cora.

 

“I didn’t know!” Scott exclaims.

 

“To be fair, a lot of sushi has avocado in it,” Isaac comments. When everyone looks at him, he mumbles, “Cameron really liked sushi, so we’d have it for special occasions.”

 

Stiles elbows Scott. “Don’t worry about it. Kira probably thought it was adorable.”

 

“She brought me pizza after that,” Scott admits. “And her parents are super nice.”

 

“Well, that’s already an improvement,” Boyd comments.

 

Scott grimaces, but then reluctantly nods. “I have to admit that it’s nice to go on a date and not have her parents look at me like they’d like to murder me.”

 

Suddenly, Scott stops, and Stiles immediately sees the reason for that.

 

“Scott? Are you okay?” Erica asks.

 

It’s a fair question, because it looks like Scott is going to flash fang for a second.

 

“I don’t want to see him,” Scott mutters.

 

“Yeah, I get it,” Stiles says. “I’ll handle it. Boyd, Isaac, make sure Scott gets to class. Erica, Cora, with me. Agent McCall is interfering with his son’s life again.”

 

Erica’s eyes narrow. “It’s like that, huh?”

 

“Just exactly like that,” Stiles replies. He strides up to Agent McCall wearing a false, bright smile. “Agent McCall. I’d say it was good to see you again, but that would be a lie, and I’ve heard lying to an FBI agent is a felony punishable by up to five years in prison.”

 

McCall’s lips thin out. “Stiles. Where’s Scott going?”

 

“He’s going to class like all good little girls and boys,” Stiles replies, and rests his hand on Batman’s head, grounding himself. He doesn’t mind going toe-to-toe with Scott’s dad, because it’s for Scott, but he still feels a spike of anxiety.

 

Although, he feels one of the girls lightly touch his lower back in a show of support, and that helps.

 

“I was hoping to speak with him,” McCall says through gritted teeth. 

 

“You might try again after the final bell,” Stiles says cheerfully. “Although, no promises. You know us teenagers with our busy social lives.”

 

The warning bell rings, and Stiles says, “That’s our cue. Let’s go.”

 

He half-expects McCall to try calling him back, but he doesn’t think there’s any official reason for him to do so, and Stiles is the son of the sheriff. “Looks like we might need to run interference for Scott,” Stiles mutters. “Unless or until he says otherwise, anyway.”

 

“Of course,” Erica says easily. “I know all about shitty parents.”

 

Stiles glances at her. “I thought they’d gotten better.”

 

“Sure, now that I have a friend who’s basically moved in,” Erica replies. “They’ve figured out that they don’t have to do anything with me, and they’re happy seeing me every once in a while.”

 

“They’re nice enough,” Cora comments. “Sort of vague, but nice.”

 

“That describes them to a T,” Erica says. They hit the intersection of hallways where they part ways, and Stiles heads towards his first class of the day while they head in the opposite direction.

 

Stiles slides into his seat with barely a second to spare before the final bell, and Scott twists in his seat. “What did he want?”

 

Their teacher clears her throat at the front of the room. “Class has started, gentlemen.”

 

Scott sighs. “Sorry, Mr. Berger.”

 

The first class of the day is math, which requires Stiles’ full attention.

 

It’s interesting enough, and Stiles forces himself to pay attention. He hears Batman sigh from under the desk, and he shifts, resting his head on Stiles’ feet.

 

As soon as the bell rings, signaling that class is over, Scott twists back around. “Well?”

 

“Beyond wanting to talk to you?” Stiles asks. “I didn’t ask. I told him that you had to get to class.”

 

Scott grimaces. “I don’t really want to talk to him.”

 

“So, don’t talk to him,” Stiles says as he stands up, looping the end of Batman’s leash over his wrist, and shouldering his backpack. “You have all of us willing to run interference for you. You can crash at my place, stay with Boyd and Isaac, probably even hang out with Kira.”

 

Scott sighs. “Thanks. Maybe I should talk to him, but I really don’t want to.”

 

“So, don’t,” Stiles says shortly. “He was a dick, and then he disappeared. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with making him work for it.”

 

Scott laughs. “Yeah, you have a point. See you at lunch?”

 

“Sure,” Stiles says easily.

 

He gets through his next couple of classes, and he’s glad that he has Batman present to ground him. He’s not sure why exactly, but his anxiety is high today, and he’s glad he has a session with Jack scheduled for after school.

 

At lunch, Stiles grabs a tray and gets his lunch, along with an extra bottle of water for Batman. Erica and Cora have already staked out a table, and Stiles heads that way. He grabs Batman’s collapsable water dish from his backpack and puts it on the floor, filling it up.

 

Batman immediately starts to slurp, and Stiles turns to his pizza. “So, how has the morning gone?”

 

“Good,” Erica says cheerfully.

 

Cora nods her agreement. “Things are getting easier, to be honest. It’s been good.”

 

Stiles beams at her. “That’s great.”

 

He’s also really glad that creating the pack bond with Cora had eased things between Cora and the rest of them. 

 

He hears someone clear their throat, and Stiles glances up to see Lydia standing there. “Is it still okay if I join you?”

 

Stiles glances at Erica.

 

“If you can be nice,” Erica says.

 

“I think we’re all on the same team,” Cora comments when Erica looks at her. “You’re a banshee, right?”

 

Lydia sits next to Stiles. “I am. And I can be nice.”

 

“Jury’s still out on that,” Erica says, but she seems to be softening slightly.

 

Lydia frowns. “That’s fair, but I think we could be friends.”

 

Erica looks at Cora, who shrugs. “I mean, we’ve been saying that we need more girls in the group.”

 

Erica glances down at her nails. “I could stand a new mani.”

 

“I know the perfect place,” Lydia offers. “My treat.”

 

“We can rope Kira in,” Cora suggests. 

 

“What am I getting roped into?” Kira asks as she and Scott sit down.

 

“Manicures,” Erica replies.

 

Stiles is watching with interest. As far as he knows, other than Danny, Lydia doesn’t have a lot of friends, and he can understand why she’s trying to forge a connection with the pack.

 

After all, the balance of power in the high school has definitely shifted in their favor.

 

Kira brightens. “Oh, um, I’m definitely in. If I’m invited.”

 

“Of course, you are,” Lydia says. “You seem cool. We should get manicures together.”

 

“Is this the cool kids’ table now?” Danny jokes as he approaches.

 

“It is,” Stiles replies. “Although, I would argue that it’s always been the cool kids’ table.”

 

Danny smiles at him. “Keep telling yourself that, Stiles,” but he sits down on Stiles’ other side.

 

Isaac and Boyd are the next to join them, and they fill the table entirely. “What’s on deck for after school today for everyone?” Isaac asks. “And does anyone need a ride? Because I can help with that.”

 

“I have a therapy appointment after school,” Stiles says. He’s not shy about admitting it, even in front of Lydia, given that he has a service dog.

 

“I have a shift at the skating rink,” Boyd admits.

 

Scott and Erica both have shifts, too, but the others don’t really have anything else going on.

 

“You’re welcome to come back to my house if you want,” Stiles says, including Lydia and Kira in the invitation. “I can do the therapy appointment in my room, and we can work on homework after.”

 

Kira blinks. “Oh, me, too?”

 

“Sure, why not?” Stiles asks. “We often meet up at my place to study or just hang out.”

 

“I’m off at eight,” Scott says. “I can come by after that.”

 

“I’ll be at the rink until at least 10, so I’ll probably just go straight home,” Boyd says.

 

“I’ll stop by after my shift,” Erica says. “I can give Cora a lift, unless you want to stay with your brother tonight.”

 

Cora shakes her head. “No, I like staying with you.”

 

Kira looks wildly curious, and Lydia looks like she’s ruthlessly suppressing her curiosity. If Stiles hadn’t been closely observing her for years, he probably would have thought she was bored.

 

Kira is the first to break. “Um, why are you staying with Erica? Or shouldn’t I ask? I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

 

Cora shrugs. “I don’t mind sharing. My parents died, and I got separated from my older siblings. Right now, Derek—my brother—is living with the Stilinskis, but the place isn’t really big enough for me to stay except occasionally.”

 

“And I do have the space,” Erica adds. “Plus, before you guys started hanging out with us, it was a very guy-heavy group. Not that I’m complaining!”

 

“You complained plenty before Cora showed up,” Scott points out with a grin.

 

“And then Cora showed up,” Erica counters, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “So, I got my wish.”

 

There’s movement on the other side of the cafeteria, and Stiles—already hyper-alert—turns to look.

 

“Isn’t that Malia Tate?” Scott asks.

 

Batman’s head comes up, and he growls softly.

 

“What’s he reacting to?” Isaac asks.

 

Stiles can see the events unfold almost in slow motion, and he already knows that it’s not going to end well. One of the basketball players who’s known for making a pass at any attractive girl is approaching Malia from behind. 

 

Les Aaron slides his hand into the back pocket of her jeans, copping a feel. He says something that Stiles can’t hear, but her response is immediate.

 

Malia punches him in the throat and then knees him in the balls in a flurry of motion that Stiles has a hard time following.

 

“Whoa,” Kira murmurs.

 

Scott and Stiles are already on their feet, and Isaac, Boyd, and Erica aren’t far behind.

 

“Scott, Erica, take the lead,” Stiles orders. 

 

They move fast, but not so fast that it would raise questions, and Kira moves almost as quickly. Scott pulls Les back, getting him out of Malia’s range. Erica and Kira are on either side of Malia, holding her back.

 

The first teacher on the scene is Mrs. Ramsey, and Stiles moves to intercept her. “Mrs. Ramsey, I saw the whole thing. Les put his hand on Malia’s a—rear end, and I think she just responded instinctually.”

 

Thankfully, Malia’s eyes aren’t glowing, and she’s not flashing either fangs or claws. At least, she isn’t yet, but if they don’t curtail this conversation, she probably will.

 

“Is that true?” Mrs. Ramsey asks Malia.

 

“He put his hand in my back pocket,” Malia says, her voice little more than a growl. “And then he squeezed.”

 

“That’s a lie!” Les protests, his face red. 

 

“I saw it, too,” Scott attests.

 

“Same,” Boyd agrees, backing them up.

 

Mrs. Ramsey glares at Les. “You’ve been warned about this sort of behavior, Mr. Aaron. With me, to the principle’s office, right now.”

 

“Are you okay?” Erica asks Malia.

 

Malia nods. “He just startled me.”

 

“Have you eaten yet?” Stiles asks. “Do you want to sit with us? No one is going to mess with you at our table.”

 

Malia shakes her head. “Turns out, I’m not hungry anymore.” She stalks out of the cafeteria, and Stiles and the others head back to their table.

 

“Who thought it was a good idea to send her to high school?” Stiles mutters. “She was basically living feral in the woods for the last eight years.”

 

Scott shrugs. “Maybe she wanted to get back to normal as soon as possible?”

 

“Probably,” Cora comments. “I mean, that’s why I wanted to come back to school. I just wanted to feel normal.”

 

Stiles gives her a look. “Yeah, but the difference there is that you actually are pretty normal.”

 

Cora shoves him playfully. “Oh, thank you so much.”

 

Thankfully, that’s the most excitement they get for the rest of the day, and Stiles has his therapy appointment. The pack members decided to hit up the coffee shop after school—at least those who don’t have somewhere else to be—until Stiles texts them with the all clear.

 

Stiles appreciates the fact that they’re willing to give him his privacy. He knows that the ‘wolves at least would be able to hear what’s going on, and he’s glad for the empty house, although he’d have been fine if they wanted to be there.

 

He just hopes that his dad isn’t having trouble with Barrow.

 

He logs into the patient portal on his laptop and waits for Jack to start the session.

 

Jack’s bearded face appears on the screen. “Hi, Stiles, how’s it going?”

 

“It’s going,” Stiles says. “I don’t know. I’m trying to stay calm and all that, but it’s been tough.”

 

“What about it has been tough?” Jack asks. “Be specific.”

 

Stiles draws in a deep breath. “It’s the unknown. That’s the best I can do. Dad is dealing with a mass murderer—or maybe a spree killer?—having surgery at the hospital today. Lydia seems to be open to making friends with us, and so is Kira. Malia is in high school, although she probably shouldn’t be. Magic is going well. I don’t know. I shouldn’t be feeling this way.”

 

“Is it the concern about what was inside the Nemeton, or something else?” Jack asks.

 

Jack has taught him that naming his anxieties is the first step in controlling them, or at least his emotional response. “It feels like the other shoe is going to drop,” Stiles finally says. “Like, I’m just waiting for something to go terribly wrong.”

 

“Is that a reasonable concern, or do you think it’s the PTSD talking?” Jack asks gently.

 

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Probably the PTSD. Assuming something bad is going to happen just because we live on a Hellmouth isn’t terribly rational.”

 

That causes Jack to chuckle. “Have you talked to Moira about it?” he asks.

 

Stiles nods. “Yeah, our casting has been inconclusive, and we’ve been working on defensive spells and wards. I’ve been going to judo and krav maga, plus running. It all helps, but some days, it’s not enough.”

 

“I think we both know that there are going to be days like that for everyone,” Jack replies. “So, let’s review your coping skills.”

 

Jack leads Stiles through some of the advanced breathing techniques  he’s already learned, but the refresher is helpful. As Jack had explained the first time they’d discussed the breathing exercises, practicing allows Stiles to access them in the moment, even when he’s overwhelmed.

 

“Good work today, Stiles,” Jack says at the end of their session, as he almost always does. “Any last minute items we should cover?”

 

Stiles shakes his head. “No, thanks, Jack.”

 

“Of course,” Jack says. “If you need an emergency session before our next scheduled visit, just email me.”

 

“I will,” Stiles promises.

 

He shuts his laptop, and he gets a text from Scott. hlp dad showed up 2 wrk

 

Stiles thinks for a moment and replies, tell him you’ll call cops if he tries to stalk u.

 

k, thx dude

 

Stiles then adds, u cn come here after & stay the nite

 

thx, I will

 

Stiles figures that’s one problem solved. He kind of wonders what Rafe McCall thinks he’s going to get by showing up at places like the high school and Scott’s work, because it just screams boundary violation.

 

And it’s not like Agent McCall, as an FBI agent, has jurisdiction over his kid, or in Beacon Hills, unless there’s been some sort of federal case that Stiles doesn’t know about.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles mutters. There is one federal crime that took place in Beacon Hills that an FBI agent might be investigating. “That motherfucker.”

 

There’s no one around to tell him to watch his language right now, and his dad is still out. Stiles will have to wait until his dad gets home to share his concerns. He’s certainly not going to bother him at work, not when he’s watching over a serial killer.

 

~~~~~

 

Derek is outside, guarding one of the exits during the surgery when he picks up the commotion inside. “We have a problem,” he says.

 

Tara nods and draws her weapon. “Let’s move.”

 

They run inside, Derek at her heels, and he’s glad that the hospital had actually kept the halls to the OR relatively clear.

 

By the time they reach the operating room, Noah is handing his weapon to Mark. “You’re in charge,” he’s saying. “Full review, dot the i’s, and cross the t’s. I don’t want any doubts.”

 

“Barrow slashed a doctor’s throat with a scalpel right before you shot him,” Mark protests.

 

“And he was still a prisoner under our supervision,” Noah says patiently. “Clearing me will probably take 24 hours on the outside, but if it takes longer, I won’t blame you. But it has to be done, and done right.”

 

“What happened?” Tara demands.

 

Noah shakes his head. “I can’t talk to you about it. Mark is in charge of the investigation.”

 

Tara sighs. “Fine. Parrish, Hale, you’re both with me. We’ll need to secure the scene until Deputy Rossi releases it.”

 

Mark also sighs. “Come on, Sheriff. Tara can handle this while we go to the station, and I’ll take your formal statement.”

 

They’d discussed officer-involved shootings when Derek was in class, of course, and so he knows that Noah is playing this exactly by the book. Still, he’s struggling to wrap his head around what had just happened.

 

“Hale, go get the kit of the car,” Tara orders. “Parrish, you good to talk to the nurse?”

 

Derek looks inside the OR and sees the nurse sitting on the floor, a body in her lap, presumably that of the surgeon. 

 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Parrish says, green eyes calm, his expression steady. He’d probably seen worse while in the Army.

 

Tara shoots Derek a look, and he says, “I’m going.”

 

Derek collects the evidence kit and camera bag from Tara’s county-issued Jeep. He heads back inside at a jog, and he quickly pulls out a pair of nitrile gloves, handing a pair to Tara. “Where do you want me?” Derek asks.

 

“How are you with a camera?” Tara asks.

 

“Pretty good,” Derek admits.

 

“Okay, you handle taking pictures,” Tara orders. “Take more than you think we need.”

 

Derek takes extensive photos with the digital camera, checking each one to ensure that it’s clear and has captured what he’s seeing. He gets pictures from all angles of both dead bodies, Barrow and the doctor.

 

“The ME is here, Hale,” Tara calls. “Did you get what you needed?”

 

Derek nods. “Yeah, I have the whole scene.”

 

Dr. Kelly steps inside the room, followed by someone in scrubs—probably a morgue attendant—who’s wheeling a gurney. “Well, at least I didn’t have to travel far,” Dr. Kelly comments, although he does’t look happy about the situation. “Deputy Graeme, are you in charge of the scene?”

 

Tara nods. “From what I’ve been able to gather, Barrow came out of anesthesia and killed the surgeon, then Sheriff Stilinski shot him.”

 

Kelly goes to the body of the surgeon first. “Looks like Barrow transected the jugular vein. I’ll know more after the autopsy, but death was likely caused by exsanguination. Leo, let’s get Dr. Vandenburg out of here first.”

 

The surgeon’s body is quickly and respectfully placed inside a body bag, and Leo wheels the gurney out. Kelly then turns to Barrow’s body, and he says, “No question as to what killed him. Three shots to the chest, tight grouping. I’ll perform an autopsy, of course, but I don’t expect a lot of surprises.”

 

Parrish clears his throat from the doorway. “Not to contradict you, sir, but there was something unusual about the surgery, according to the nurse. She said the tumor they were trying to remove was full of flies.”

 

Kelly’s head comes up, and he stares at Parrish. “I beg your pardon?”

 

Parrish shrugs. “I’m just repeating what the nurse told me.”

 

Kelly whistles. “I shouldn’t be surprised. This is Beacon Hills. I’ll provide the sheriff’s office a copy of my reports once the autopsies are finished.”

 

Leo returns with another gurney, and they load Barrow into a body bag and wheel him out. 

 

“All right,” Tara says heavily. “I’ve got the scalpel Barrow used on the doctor. Let’s be thorough and interview anyone who might have been in a position to see or hear anything.”

 

Derek, Tara, and Parrish spend the next two hours at the hospital, speaking with anyone who might have heard or seen anything. Derek asks the same questions over and over, taking copious notes, not wanting to fuck anything up, or risk any blowback on Noah should he miss something.

 

“Okay, we’re done here,” Tara finally says. “You two can type up your reports at the station, and I’ll review them before you submit.”

 

Since Parrish had ridden with Mark to the hospital, Tara gives both of them a lift back to the station. He and Parrish sit down at their respective desks and type up their notes and reports. Tara reviews both, and gives them a grudging nod. “Well written, both of you. Good job keeping to the facts and avoiding any editorializing.”

 

She glances at the clock. “And you two are done for the day. Good work. I know that was challenging.”

 

They leave the station together, and Parrish glances at him. “Do you mind if I tag along?”

 

Derek hasn’t seen Noah since he handed his weapon to Mark at the hospital, and he shakes his head. “No, not at all.”

 

When they get to the house, the lights are all on, and Derek spots Stiles’ Jeep and Isaac’s sedan parked out front, as well as Noah’s county vehicle and Moira’s Prius.

 

“Is it ever not busy around here?” Jordan jokes.

 

Derek shrugs. “These days? No. There are usually at least a few people.”

 

Noah is seated at the dining room table with a bottle of beer, and Moira is humming in the kitchen. Cora, Stiles, and Isaac are all working on homework at the table, but Derek can feel Stiles’ anxiety like a living thing, made more obvious by the fact that Batman has his vest on, and he’s pressed against Stiles’ leg.

 

“Stiles, it’s going to be fine,” Noah insists, glancing over at Derek and Parrish as they enter. “Moira is making soup, and there’s plenty if you two want to stay for dinner. Just no shop talk, not until the investigation has been completed.”

 

Stiles’ mouth is an unhappy slant. “Dad!”

 

“Derek, Parrish, do you want to explain to my kid how officer-involved shootings are supposed to be handled?” Noah asks with some asperity, pushing away from the table and heading into the kitchen.

 

Stiles puts his head down on his arms. “Don’t bother. I already know.”

 

“Then if you know, why are you giving your dad a hard time over it?” Derek asks.

 

“I told Jack today that I knew the other shoe was going to drop,” Stiles mutters.

 

Derek doesn’t know how to calm Stiles’ anxiety, but Cora is sitting next to him, and she slings her arm across Stiles’ back. “Hey, at least we don’t have a serial killer on the loose, and they’re going to clear your dad.”

 

Stiles’ head comes up at that. “Did you know that the FBI estimates that somewhere between 25 and 50 serial killers are active at any given time?”

 

Isaac stares at him in horror. “Why do you know that?”

 

“The same reason I know anything,” Stiles replies. “I was curious, so I looked it up.”

 

“Okay, so one less serial killer is alive and kicking,” Derek points out. “And Cora is right. Your dad acted appropriately, both in shooting Barrow, and asking Mark to clear him. It avoids even the appearance of evil.”

 

Stiles rubs his eyes. “Yeah, I know. It’s the right call.”

 

Moira calls from the kitchen, “Dinner’s ready!”

 

Everyone else gets up immediately, but Stiles is a little slower to follow, and Derek comes around the table to squeeze his shoulder. “I meant what I said earlier.”

 

“I know you did, Der,” Stiles replies. “I know I’m being dramatic, and it’s probably the PTSD talking, but it really does feel like we’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

 

Derek squeezes his shoulder again. “We’ll get it figured out. The pack is strong. We’ll roll with whatever gets thrown our way.”

 

“Thanks,” Stiles says, taking a deep breath and stroking Batman’s ears.

 

Whatever else Derek might have said is lost when Scott enters the house, and he’s visibly upset. “Is your dad home, Stiles?” Scott demands.

 

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to get a restraining order against your dad, dude,” Stiles says, and Derek has certainly missed something.

 

Scott grimaces. “Maybe your dad could warn him off?”

 

Noah emerges from the kitchen with a bowl. “Grab some food, and we’ll talk, Scott. You can tell me what’s going on, and we’ll make a plan as a pack.”

 

Derek appreciates Noah’s calm demeanor, and that calm is the same kind of top-down assurance a good alpha displays.

 

It’s what makes him a good sheriff, too.

 

~~~~~

 

Noah has to say that while he expected something to go wrong with Barrow, he hadn’t expected the day to end over a bowl of soup with him having willingly put himself on suspension, and counseling Scott on how to deal with his father.

 

Noah thought it was important for him to be on hand during the surgery, just in case, although he hadn’t known what he was worried about—other than something going wrong.

 

Mark and Parrish are at either end of the corridor, but Noah is standing just outside the OR doors. He’s not sure he would have caught the commotion had his hearing not been so sharp, or had he not been so close. 

 

As it stands, Noah hears a couple of murmured comments, the start of wild beeping, and a woman gasping. Noah had been told to stay out of the OR, and they hadn’t wanted him even as close as he is, but he'd let his instincts guide him.

 

Noah bursts into the room, gun in hand, and he sees Dr. Vanburgen collapse, taking the nurse down with him, his throat sliced open, scrubs splattered with blood.

 

Barrow is holding a scalpel, with what looks like a bloody hole in his stomach where the surgeon had apparently made the incision, and Noah has no idea how he’s even awake. 

 

“Drop it!” Noah barks.

 

There’s madness in Barrow’s eyes as he lunges in Noah’s direction, and Noah squeezes off three shots without a second thought.

 

Mark and Parrish burst into the room as the third shot rings out, and Noah takes a moment to check Barrow’s pulse, then the surgeon’s. Both are dead, and Noah quickly takes in the scene. The nurse is clearly in shock, and Noah knows the proper procedure for a case like this.

 

He immediately hands his service weapon to Mark, issuing orders for Mark to conduct the investigation and make sure he’s cleared.

 

Barrow might have been a crazy piece of shit who had been responsible for the deaths of at least four kids, but he had also been a prisoner in their custody. Noah isn’t going to take anything for granted.

 

So, he hands the investigation over to Mark, and Tara takes charge of the scene to collect evidence. Noah is confident that his deputies will handle everything appropriately.

 

He and Mark head back to the station, and Mark leads him to an interview room. “I know why we have to do this, but we both know you did what you had to do, sir.”

 

Noah shrugs. “I’s dotted and t’s crossed, Deputy Rossi. I’m not giving anyone a reason to come after this department.”

 

Mark nods and turns on the recording equipment. “You got it, Sheriff.” He recites the date and time, and then he asks Noah questions about the sequence of events.

 

They go over it a few times, and Mark is thorough in his questions—what had alerted Noah to the problem? What had he seen when he entered the room? Why had he shot Barrow in the chest rather than trying harder to get him to drop the scalpel?

 

Noah knows he made the right call—Barrow had already fatally wounded the surgeon, he hadn’t dropped the scalpel when ordered, and then he lunged at Noah. Noah had followed procedure.

 

Finally, Mark stops the recorder and says, “I’ll review the witness statements when Tara and the others file their reports, and I’ll let you know if there are any additional questions.”

 

“I appreciate it, Mark,” Noah replies. “I know the station is in good hands.”

 

“I’ll be thorough, but I anticipate having good news for you tomorrow morning, sir.”

 

By now, it’s just past 4 pm, and Noah knows that his kid is going to be home and in his telehealth appointment, so he heads there. He’s somewhat relieved to see just Stiles’ Jeep and Moira’s Prius parked out front. 

 

Stiles will likely either be in Noah’s office or his bedroom for the appointment, but Noah can hear Moira in the kitchen.

 

“You’re home early,” she comments as she chops an onion.

 

Noah hesitates. “Officer-involved shooting, and I was the officer involved. I have no idea how he did it, but Barrow came out of anesthesia while they were operating and killed the surgeon.”

 

“Is Barrow dead?” Moira asks.

 

Noah nods. He wants a beer, but it’s still a little early for that, so he grabs a bottle of water instead. “He is, but I had to take myself off duty so my deputy could clear me. With the current make-up of my department, I’m not giving the hunters any reason to dig.”

 

“Fair,” Moira says. “It’s going to worry Stiles, though.”

 

Noah sighs. “He has a session with Jack today, so I’m hoping he can maintain. Tell me, though—is he right to be worried, or is this a product of something else?”

 

Moira sighs. “I don’t know, Noah. Stiles is uniquely attuned to the earth, and to Beacon Hills, and that connection just continues to grow. It’s entirely possible that his worry is unfounded. It’s also entirely possible that he’s sensing something I’m not, or that I can’t, and is unable to articulate exactly what it is.”

 

Noah hears both what she’s saying and what she’s not. They can’t discount Stiles’ fear just because he has PTSD, and it might be irrational.

 

“Got it,” Noah says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Stiles comes into the kitchen just then, making a beeline for the fridge, and then he spots Noah. “Dad? What are you doing home? I figured you’d still be at the hospital.”

 

He freezes. “Wait, something happened, didn’t it? Is Barrow dead?”

 

Stiles phrases it as a question, but the way it comes out sounds like more of a statement of fact. Noah remembers what Moira had said, and he wonders if Stiles had some premonition. 

 

“He is,” Noah replies. “He came out of anesthesia and killed the surgeon. I shot him.”

 

Stiles frowns. “Are you going to get in trouble for it?”

 

“No, I’m not, but I took myself off duty as a precaution for Mark to clear me,” Noah replies. “I know that you know it’s standard operating procedure.”

 

Stiles nods slowly. “Yeah, I know that. Sorry. Was there—was there anything weird going on with Barrow?”

 

“I don’t know,” Noah replies. “And I won’t until I’ve been cleared and the autopsy is done.”

 

Stiles bobs his head. “Right, right. Okay, I’m going to do my homework. I think Cora and Isaac should be here for dinner, and Scott will probably be over after he finishes up at work. His dad has been pretty persistent.”

 

Noah nods. “Scott will be welcome.”

 

He knows that’s not the end of it, though. Stiles is clearly agitated and trying hard not to show it, but Noah can smell his worry.

 

Noah is enjoying a beer and the company of his pack right before dinner when Stiles glances over at him. “But what if Scott’s dad tries to, I don’t know, get some dirt on you? He might.”

 

Noah has no idea where that idea is coming from. “Why on earth would he do that?”

 

“I don’t know, to get to Scott?” Stiles suggests.

 

Isaac and Cora are flanking Stiles at the dining room table, and Noah sees the look they exchange. Stiles’ anxiety is riling them up, and Noah knows he needs to calm things down. “Stiles, it’s going to be fine.” He puts a little power behind his voice.

 

He’s not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing that Derek and Parrish enter the house, and Noah has to warn them off shop talk before anything else. He probably wouldn’t have needed to say anything to experienced deputies, but they’d just finished their third shift.

 

Stiles’ protest is entirely expected, but Noah can’t give him the comfort he needs right now, and he won’t be able to until the investigation is complete. So, Noah takes himself out of the room, heading back into the kitchen.

 

Moira just pats him on the shoulder. “Easy,” she murmurs. “Stiles’ connection to the pack means they’re going to feel his anxiety, and you were right to say what you did. Let Derek settle him down.”

 

Noah is trying not to pay attention to the conversation, but he hears Derek assure Stiles that Noah is going to be cleared. Noah can feel Stiles’ anxiety start to go down, and then it eases entirely when Scott storms into the house.

 

“My kid,” Noah mutters. “Present him with someone in crisis, and he just gets eerily calm.”

 

Moira hands him a bowl of soup. “Go see to your pack, Noah.”

 

Noah enters the dining room, sees Scott’s wild eyes, and immediately  asserts order. “Grab some food, and we’ll talk, Scott. You can tell me what’s going on, and we’ll make a plan as a pack.”

 

That order has the other kids—and he includes Derek and Parrish in that—heading into the kitchen to get their own food. 

 

As far as Noah knows, the soup is Moira’s own recipe, and it’s loaded with beef and veggies. Whatever she puts in it, it’s delicious. He definitely savors the first couple of bites as everyone gets their own food and gets settled at the table.

 

When Scott comes back to the dining room, Noah points to the chair on his right. “Have a seat, Scott. Tell me what’s going on.”

 

Scott sits, his expression miserable. “I don’t want to see him.”

 

“Okay, and you’re welcome to hang out here as much as you like,” Noah replies patiently. “But that doesn’t tell me what’s happened to date.”

 

Scott sighs. “Dad showed up at the school this morning, but Stiles ran interference for me so I could get to class.”

 

Noah glances at Stiles. “Is that right?”

 

“I told him he was out of his jurisdiction,” Stiles replies. “More or less.”

 

Noah nods. “And tonight?”

 

“I was on shift, and he showed up at the shelter,” Scott complains. “He kept trying to talk to me, and the director was giving me dirty looks. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

 

“He shouldn’t have bothered you at work,” Noah soothes. “If he makes a nuisance of himself, you can always ask the director to ban him, and we can enforce a no trespassing order. Same with the principal at the school.”

 

Scott’s shoulders drop in relief. “They can do that?”

 

“Sure they can, and then he’d need a warrant or other court order to enter the property,” Noah explains patiently. “To get a restraining order, you would need to show that he’s a threat, and I doubt he’s going to go to those lengths, but he can make a nuisance of himself.”

 

Scott nods and takes a big bite of soup, then immediately takes a drink of water. “Hot,” he says around a full mouth.

 

That causes about everyone around the table to laugh. 

 

“If you want me to go with you to talk to your director or the principal, I will,” Noah offers. “I’m sure your mom would as well.”

 

Scott nods. “I’ll talk to her, and I’ll let you know. Um, Mom told me you stayed with her while she was talking with Barrow. Thanks for that. After today…”

 

“It was my pleasure, Scott,” Noah assures him. “I’m always going to protect your mom if I have the chance.”

 

Scott flushes, clearly pleased. “Um, I know Kira has been over here before, but I kind of want to tell her about the pack.”

 

“Let me think about it,” Noah replies, not unkindly. “Things are a bit unsettled at the moment, and you’re still getting to know her. Maybe introduce her to the wild and crazy world of Beacon Hills slowly.”

 

Scott nods. “Okay, that’s fair. Thanks for considering it.”

 

That’s about the easiest Scott has ever accepted Noah’s authority, and he doesn’t know if it’s because Scott is finally settling, or if Noah looks better than his own father. Whatever it is, Noah isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

Noah’s cell phone rings, and he excuses himself from the table to take the call. “Stilinski.”

 

“It’s Rossi,” his deputy says. “You’re in the clear.”

 

“You sure about that?” Noah asks.

 

“I’ve reviewed the reports and the evidence,” Mark insists. “Barrow had just killed the surgeon, and he had the murder weapon in his hand and refused to drop it. The nurse’s statement was basically identical to yours. Also, Dr. Kelly said he wanted you to come to the autopsy tonight. Apparently, there’s something hinky.”

 

Noah blinks. “The hinky part isn’t a shock, but tonight?”

 

“That’s what he said, Sheriff,” Mark replies. “Dave and Paul are going to be there as well to provide security. And I promise I didn’t rush your clearance just because I hate going to autopsies.”

 

Noah snorts. “Right, well, no one is perfect. All right, I’ll head in.”

 

Stiles is standing there, staring at him. “Mark cleared you already?”

 

“The medical examiner asked for me, and Mark hates going to autopsies,” Noah says, trying to make a joke out of it. “But yes, it was a good shoot.”

 

“I think Moira should go with you,” Stiles says.

 

Kelly has met Moira, and this isn’t even the first autopsy she’ll have shown up at, so Noah says, “Okay, if she agrees.”

 

Moira appears in the hall, her coat already on. “I’m ready.”

 

Noah changed out of his uniform when he got home, and he considers changing back but then shrugs. He doesn’t feel like it; tomorrow is soon enough, and as far as he’s concerned, he’s going in as a personal favor to Kelly. “Let me grab my jacket.”

 

Moira looks at Stiles. “You’ll make sure everything gets cleaned up?”

 

“On it,” Stiles agrees. “Thanks.”

 

“Trust your instincts, young spark,” Moira murmurs, cupping his cheek with her hand. “At least where it concerns things like this.”

 

“You don’t think it’s PTSD?” Stiles asks.

 

“So what if it is?” Moira asks. “I’ll go to the autopsy with your father; it costs me nothing but a little time, and may tell me quite a bit.”

 

Stiles’ shoulders slump in relief. “Thanks,” he repeats.

 

Moira follows Noah out of the house, and she says, “I’ll follow you in, and I’ll likely head home after that.”

 

“I appreciate your help, Moira,” Noah says. “For a lot of reasons.”

 

“I couldn’t love Stiles more if he were my own blood, and it’s really my pleasure,” Moira says. “Life certainly is more interesting these days.”

 

Noah feels as though the day has already been about a million years long, but he’s the sheriff, so he’s going.

 

He parks outside the hospital, and Moira parks next to him, then follows him inside.

 

Noah finds Paul and Dave right outside the autopsy room, and he glances at Paul. “You know what this is about?”

 

Paul grimaces. “I read the reports, and the nurse said the thing that kicked it off was was a tumor full of flies.”

 

“Flies,” Noah states, wondering if he’d heard that correctly.

 

Dave shrugs. “Flies.”

 

Moira’s eyes have narrowed. “Hmm.”

 

“You have some idea what that’s about?” Noah asks.

 

“Let’s hear what the doctor has to say,” Moira counters.

 

They enter the autopsy bay, and Kelly nods at them both. “Noah, thanks for coming. I know it’s been a long day. Moira, good to see you again, and I’m glad you’re here.”

 

“What are we looking at?” Noah asks.

 

“Well, as you probably know, the reason for Barrow’s surgery was to have a mass removed from his abdomen,” Kelly says, going over to one of the metal tables that has what’s clearly a body draped in a sheet. “Dr. Vanburgen opened him up, and the mass proved to be a tumor full of flies, according to those present.”

 

“Do you not believe them?” Noah asks.

 

Kelly pulls the sheet down, baring Barrow’s chest but leaving the lower half covered. “I probably would have questioned it a little more if the autopsy results not been what they were, and had I not seen a few things.”

 

Noah sees what looks like an empty, pink pouch in Barrow’s abdomen, and he leans in a little closer. He might not be a doctor, but the thing doesn’t look normal, and when he peers a little closer, he can see a few dead flies.

 

“I’ll be damned,” Noah says.

 

“That was pretty much what I said, word for word,” Kelly replies.

 

“May I?” Moira asks, glancing at the tray of surgical implements next to the table.

 

“The autopsy is complete,” Kelly says. “I just have to write my report, although I have no idea what I’m going to put in it, given this.”

 

Moira picks up a pair of tweezers and plucks out one of the flies, holding it up against the light to get a better look. “And what secrets can you tell me?” she murmurs, then drops it in her left hand.

 

Her bare left hand.

 

Noah assume she has a good reason for doing that, but he still finds it gross.

 

The fly goes up in a poof of sickly green flame, and she nods, as though expecting that result. “I think that’s what brought Barrow out of the anesthesia,” she says. “It’s a magical contagion of a sort.”

 

“Is it something we need to worry about?” Noah asks.

 

Moira shakes her head. “That, I don’t know. Let me make some phone calls tonight, and then I’ll get back to you.”

 

She glances at Kelly. “Do you mind if I take another fly, and do you have a container I can use?”

 

Kelly grabs a small plastic container with a lid, and Moira removes another fly from the body and places it inside. 

 

“And if you don’t mind terribly, Noah, I’d like to collect Stiles and go over to the Mahealanis’ house. I’ve already texted Noelani,” Moira says. “I think we should act sooner, rather than later.”

 

Noah doesn’t think he has another option, not really. When it comes to things like magic, Moira is undoubtedly the expert. “All right. Please keep me informed.”

 

“Of course,” Moira assures him. “I think if Stiles knows what we’re facing, it might help to set his mind at ease.”

 

Noah knows that his kid does better with more information, and not less, so he nods. “Agreed. Thank you, doc.”

 

“Always a pleasure, Sheriff,” Kelly replies. “And it’s always something new.”

 

Noah can’t disagree with that.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 5 of What We Gain