Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1828333.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Isaac_Lahey/Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale/Lydia_Martin, Chris_Argent/Derek
      Hale, Scott_McCall/Kira_Yukimura
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Isaac_Lahey, Kira_Yukimura, Lydia_Martin,
      Chris_Argent, Derek_Hale, Peter_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Musical, Angst, Humor, background_Scira, Alcoholism, Canon_Typical
      Violence, Happy_Ending, post_season_3B
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-06-22 Updated: 2014-08-02 Chapters: 14/? Words: 17828
****** The Teen Wolf Musical ******
by shotgunwithwings, weirdlittlecookie
Summary
     Graduation day has come. The pack has moved on with their lives
     without Allison. During Lydia's speech something weird happens, and
     the gang is swept into yet another mythical battle.
     Or the one with ballads, awkward sing-alongs, awesome rap moves and
     Broadway numbers. And nobody has actually moved on.
Notes
     What does every show need but only Joss Whedon knows how to write? A
     musical.
     This has been our project and baby for a long time - a rare pair Teen
     Wolf musical - and here it is! We hope you will enjoy this. The story
     is fully written and we are publishing new chapters once or twice a
     week.
     All the pairings are not your cup of tea? No worries! We tried to
     build this fic so that the main storyline and couple storylines are
     seperate, and therefore you could skip the chapters of the ships you
     don't enjoy. We didn't completely succeed in this noble idea (mostly
     yes, don't worry) which is why you can find "previously on..."
     summaries in the beginning of every chapter. Hopefully that helps!
     The playlist can be found on Youtube. Right now it only contains the
     first song, and new songs will be added when the chapters are
     published. After the story is completed, we are publishing the
     playlist also on 8tracks for easy listening.
     If there’s a song you think represents a Teen Wolf pairing, either
     send it to us on Tumblr or leave a comment. In the end, we’ll put
     together a playlist of all the suggestions, too!
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Graduation *****
Lydia walks up to the podium. She places her hands on both sides of the stand,
the cue cards splayed in front of her. She doesn’t really need them, she’s has
every pause and breath rehearsed to the dot. Glancing to the audience she
notices the familiar faces - Scott, Stiles, Kira. Melissa and the Sheriff are
sitting beside her mother, all so very proud. She gives them a brief smile and
moves her gaze to the center of the audience, straightens her back and takes a
deep breath.
“Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood. Ralph
Waldo Emerson.” She pauses, sees Isaac slink his way to his seat, tucking his
shirt to his pants under the robe. Lydia can barely prevent the eyeroll, of
course Isaac would take advantage to the last minute.
“We have reached the point where the reigns of our lives are handed over to us.
We have been taught, by our parents and by our teachers who have done their
very best to prepare us for the future.”
A fellow graduate sits down behind Isaac, her hair a little ruffled and, oh,
here comes another - his hair is perfect though. However did Isaac find the
time to have a threesome in the school premises she doesn’t know nor
necessarily care to. She notes Stiles isn’t as successful governing his facial
expressions and does a full spectrum of disdain that culminates to an
impressive eyeroll. She looks through the audience, pausing to emphasize her
next words.
“We have also learned from one another. We have touched each other’s lives and
altered them forever. We’re in that age where we make our first attempts toward
independence by pulling away from our parents and our friends become another
family.” She takes in a quick breath and continues, “Many of us have met loss
in those families but it doesn’t mean that those people would be forgotten. The
ones who aren’t here today are still in our minds and hearts, and have possibly
taught us the greatest lessons of life.” Lydia pauses, calming her hammering
heart. “The key to immortality is first living a life worth remembering. And
our friends are remembered. We will always carry them with us. That was Bruce
Lee, by the way.”
A quiet chuckle circles around the audience and she gives them a warm smile.
“They would also be proud of us, proud that we made it here, ready to take the
next step in our lives. They would tell us to enjoy every moment because these
are_the_good_old_days --” Lydia stops, shocked, she wasn’t supposed to say
that. She definitely wasn’t supposed to sing that. Clearing her throat she
starts again,
“These are the good old days,
and I wish that I could stay.
Oh, I wish that I could stay,
I wish I could stay.
And the moment you let go, the faster the time goes.
The darker the night is, the lighter the moon glows.
These are the good old days,
these are the good old days.”
Lydia pulls in another breath, looking at the confused crowd. Both Stiles and
Scott give her questioning looks, mouthing what the hell. When she tries to
mouth them back music blasts and what comes out is,
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5 years from now I hope I'm still getting down,
hope I'm still around.
But 6, 7, 8, 10 beers ago I had a revelation:
All's well right now,
it's all good right now,
it's all good right now,
it's all good right now.
But these are the good old days,
these are the good old days,
these are the good old days,
and I wish that I could stay."
The music fades, Lydia stands frozen to the spot. She stares at the quiet
audience in blatant horror, looking from face to face. Oh god not again with
the staring. Then Stiles jumps up from his seat, bursting into cheers and
whistles and the crowd joins him in a storm of applause. Finstock places a hand
on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze and a light shake. Lydia manages to turn
to face him, see him give her a curt nod. She blinks, nods back and with stiff
legs she fights her way towards the steps and down the stage as the coach
assumes her spot and says, “Well that was definitely something new, like Grease
only better and… slightly more confusing. Congratulations class of 2015, we are
officially free of you! You too Greenberg.”
The crowd stands, loud and happy, hugging and howling of glee. Lydia can feel
people pat her shoulder and back as she rushes through them, trying to get to
the others.
Stiles and Scott are already fist bumping, Kira smiling widely in the
background when Lydia reaches them. Isaac is getting slapped by yet another
girl, her high-pitched shriek carrying even over the cacophony. Stiles watches
them, face unreadable, but Scott is there to grab Lydia in a tight hug.
“Lydia that was awesome! Who knew you could sing like that?? And the speech -
wow. Just, wow.” He pulls away with a smile on his lips that slowly melts away
as he notices Lydia’s expression. His brows knit in a tight line he leans in
closer and in a hushed voice he asks, “Are you okay?”
Lydia in turn grabs Scott by his robe. “Scott, I didn’t plan that. The singing.
Something forced me to do it.” She glances to her sides, raking through the
people before pulling her eyes back on Scott’s. “I think we might be in
trouble.”
***** Bad moon rising *****
Chapter Summary
     The gang decides to have a meeting after the graduation incident and
     more weirdness ensues.
Chapter Notes
     Song can be found on the Youtube playlist, and it was actually picked
     out before the 3b final so imagine my giggles! Also, we're sorry for
     not including Danny or Malia etc, it's not bc we don't like the
     characters or anything :)
“What do you mean you didn’t mean to sing?” Isaac is about to raise his hands
to air quote but quickly decides to drop them under Lydia’s glare. Peter’s
shoulders are twitching in a silent laugh farther away from the main group
while Derek remains as stony as ever. After graduation and the inevitable
family parties that followed they agreed to meet at the loft, bringing the two
Hales in just in case. Isaac had complained in length about the timing - god
forbid he would miss out on all the love on a night like this - but complied
after Scott kicked his ass in gear. With great enthusiasm. Lydia looks from
from one familiar face to another, pleading with her eyes.
“I mean it came out of nowhere - I didn’t even know the song!”
“Pink!” Kyra pipes, all eyes turning to her. “It was Pink.” When the silence
stretches she starts shifting her weight from foot to foot, coughing, “But I
guess that doesn’t really matter. Carry on.”
Scott pulls Kyra closer to him, speaking up. “Lydia are you sure this wasn’t
just a Banshee thing or something?”
“Yeah, it’s not like we know exactly how far your abilities go, right?” Stiles
adds, stepping away from the couple and slightly into Isaac’s personal space.
“Who knows what you can do besides act as a human geiger for death.”
Lydia huffs, exasperation rolling off her as she gets more frustrated by the
minute. “I know what I felt and this was definitely something worth looking
into! Something bad is going to happen and if you trust in my ‘geigering’
abilities at all then you should take this seriously.”
“Yeah but Pink?” Stiles says. “Seriously? What kind of monster forces you to
sing Pink? Christina Aguilera sure but…”
“Maybe you’re just going crazy again?” Isaac helps, getting elbowed by Stiles.
However they all look over to Peter who stares at them right back.
“What? You think this is my fault? You can’t always blame me you know.”
“Sure we can,” Stiles replies. “It usually gives us a success rate above 50
percent. That’s statistically significant.”
When Peter and Stiles continue to glare at each other Lydia loses her temper.
She’s had enough.
“Can you stop bickering like old ladies and listen to me! I see a bad moon
arising…” Everyone’s head turns to Lydia, expressions of surprise mirrored
around the room. Lydia takes another breath only to go on,
“I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightnin'.
I see bad times today.”
When the music starts again Kyra steps toward Lydia, shocked and she answers,
“I hear hurricanes ablowing.
I know the end is coming soon.
I fear rivers over flowing.
I hear the voice of rage and ruin.”
There's a bad moon on the rise.”
Alarmed looks go around as Lydia and Kyra bellow out in perfect harmony,
“Don't go around tonight,
Well, it's bound to take your life, They quiet down, relieved to notice there’s
no more.
“Holy crap!” Stiles and Scott shout at the same time, Scott continuing, “What
are we gonna do about this, we don’t even know what is causing it!”
Stiles speaks up. “I can start researching, I still have that copy of the
bestiary and Google hasn’t failed me yet.”
Scott nods, shifting his eyes to Peter and Derek. “Have you ever come across
anything like this?”
The Hale men shake their heads simultaneously, but Peter adds, “There is one
more person you should ask.”
“Deaton? Nah man, he’s out of town and you know the guy’s like an enigma
wrapped in a riddle wrapped inside a taco,” Stiles says and Peter rolls his
eyes.
“I’m not talking about the druid. I’m talking about somebody who knows as much
about creatures, but more specifically how to hunt them.”
Suddenly everybody’s avoiding eye contact, completely silent before Scott
forces himself to break it. “Do you think that’s wise? We haven’t even spoken
to him since… after… I don’t know if we should pull him into this.”
“You think he’s retired? Oh please, this is Chris Argent we’re talking about.”
A small shiver goes through the people in the loft, but Peter isn’t finished.
“And no offence to Stiles’ googling skills, but accurate information is what
might make all the difference between life and death.”
It is a low punch, even Peter seems to know it by the grimace passing through
his face, but Scott nods again.
“It… it should probably be me. I’ll talk to him.” Scott looks more like hiding
in the bathroom.
“I’ll do it.” Everyone’s head snaps to Derek, surprised to hear him talk. “I
know where lives these days.”
Peter crosses his arms, smirking. “Mind telling the class how you know that?”
“No.”
“He’s moved?” Scott looks so miserable Stiles slides over to give him a squeeze
on the shoulder. Scott looks over to Derek with puppy dog eyes. “So you’ll ask
him?”
Derek offers him a small smile, nodding once. They stand in silence for a
moment before Isaac claps his hands together, proclaiming a little more loudly
than necessary, “Well, if we’re done for the night, I’m gonna head out.”
“Yeah it’s getting late, we better head out. We’ll meet up tomorrow, same time,
same place.” Scott says, people humming around him in agreement.
They start shuffling to the door, Scott and Stiles the first out the door.
Scott stops when he sees Derek throw his jacket on. “You’re going right now?”
Derek shrugs. “Might as well. I want this over as soon as possible.”
They fall in step as they head for the door, Kyra already waiting outside.
Scott stops again, taking a hold of Derek’s shoulder and waiting till their
eyes meet before saying, “Thank you.”
Derek places a hand on Scott’s opposite shoulder, giving it a light squeeze
before letting his arm drop. They walk out of the apartment and head to
opposite directions.
 
 
***** Stisaac - Will I disappear and walk away? *****
Chapter Summary
     Isaac and Stiles make their way to home from Derek's. Stuff ensues.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“You want a ride?” Stiles asks behind him when they get outside.
Isaac finds himself smiling a little and turns around to face the other boy.
“Sure,” he says, though it’s not necessary because Stiles already knows. This
is how their nights have ended for a while now. The gang hanging out somewhere,
until it’s just the two of them heading home in that beat-up Jeep Stiles calls
his greatest love.
Isaac climbs to his seat and watches Stiles to route them from the neighborhood
towards the city center, and Isaac is happy because he feels like they can't
get out of here fast enough.The night is particularly quiet tonight, almost
disturbingly so. Streets are empty, from both people and any kind of weather.
Isaac feel oddly restless and out of place like he has never before felt in
here, in this particular seat. He fumbles with the radio, trying to break the
silence that has fallen between them before stretching his long legs and
turning to stare the familiar scenery.
This is exactly what he doesn’t need for the summer, monster hunting. It’s not
like this is actually even a monster, it’s barely even a thing. This is Lydia
singing once in that damn graduation, goddammit. It almost sucks even more, to
go monster hunting when there is no monster, it’s even more pointless and
unfair. Why does it always have to be them?
A small voice in his head tells him that it hasn’t been them for a while now.
That It’s been over a year since the last time, that they’ve had a monster-free
year. A full year to pretend they are normal teenagers. He’s grateful, of
course he is, but it doesn’t remove the feeling of unfairness burning under his
skin.
Stiles' voice breaks his thoughts. “Do you think it’s dangerous?”
“The singing?” He turns away from the window to look at the boy.
“Yeah,” Stiles nods.
Isaac lets out a laughter and gives Stiles’ shoulder a friendly push. “Come on,
it’s singing! What could be less dangerous?”
“That’s what they always say about things that are going to kill you. Famous
last words and so on,” Stiles mutters.
“Besides,” Isaac continues, ignoring Stiles’ comment – because really? Singing?
On a scale from one to all the shit they’ve had against, singing doesn’t really
bother him that much, “it’s probably just some weird banshee thing. It’s not
like this is the first time Lydia’s powers are connected to her voice. This
time it’s just much more comfortable to us around her. But it’s certainly not
the first time.”
“And Kira?”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s just contagious when you’re standing too close to
her?” Isaac sighs, turning back to stare at the city landscape.
He can hear Stiles’ fingers tapping the wheel, can smell the anxiety he's
feeling, but he doesn’t really care - and he doesn’t care that he doesn’t care.
This so-called monster they are after is not the reason that Isaac himself is
feeling like he can’t be or breathe freely. This feeling has nothing to do with
the situation because this feeling is too familiar and he’s tried to push away
for months and months now, always failing miserably.
It comes suddenly, like it always does, but today it’s worse than it’s been a
long time. It’s itching under his skins, until he really feels like he can’t
sit there anymore or he’s going to explode. He needs to get out, he needs to go
somewhere to forget this feeling, forget his life.
“Pull up here.”
“Dude, where nowhere near the McCalls yet,” Stiles answers.
Isaac gives him a hard look, knowing his expression matches what Stiles calls
his famous please-Stilinski-keep-up face. “I’m very well aware of it, Stiles,
but thank you.”
“So why the heck would we stop here? You’re suddenly fond of walking?”
Stiles still looks at him, and some other night Isaac might make few remarks
about keeping eyes on the road and the fact that even though Isaac can heel,
Stiles unfortunately can’t so it would be very unpleasant for him to hit a
street light, but right now he just needs to get out of the car and away. Needs
to get rid of this feeling, whatever it takes.
“The night is still young and, you know, it’s graduation night,” he says,
hoping that Stiles gets what he’s hinting at.
The car stops so unexpextedly in the middle of the street it makes Isaac yelp.
“Stiles, what the –“
“You can’t be serious!” Stiles screams at him. “We’re in the middle of a
mystical monster investigation and you are seriously thinking about going out
to get laid?” 
“It’s none of your business, Stilinski,” he says low, “but yes, I am. In fact,
the situation of life and death is even more of a reason to enjoy yourself. So
please excuse me.”
He turns to leave, fumbling the door handle with fury, because this is how it
goes too often. Somehow they always seem to end up here. Everything’s fine and
then it takes a second for them to want to kill each other. It’s like a damn
lightning, and he can’t help it and he doesn’t understand why it always
happens.
He feels Stiles’ hand grabbing his arm, preventing him from leaving and there’s
a small part of him that just wants to shake free and bolt because he can’t
deal with this, not right now, not feeling like this.
“I can’t believe you,” Stiles hisses at him. “You never think about anyone else
but yourself. Oh, and you dick!”
Isaac turns to face him, Stiles’ words hitting him harder than he’d like to
admit. “Please tell me again how that’s any of your business,” he says.
“It is when it happens in a moment like this, you curly haired idiot!”
Isaac lets out a humorless laughter. “Wow, that was really mature, Stilisnki.”
“Fine,” Stiles says and lets go of his arm. Isaac watches silently when Stiles
throws his hands in the air, frustrated, like he'd love nothing more than
punching him, before he takes few calming breathing. Stiles wraps his fingers
around the steering wheel, grabbing it with white knuckles.
They sit there silently for some time, Stiles staring at the empty road in
front of him and Isaac staring at the other boy.
“You just don’t get it,” Stiles says quietly in the end.
“What?” he whispers back and Stiles turns to look at him then, his eyes
searching and Isaac holds his breath and waits. Stiles opens his mouth to say
something, but he must decide against, because he quickly just shakes his head
and turns to look at the road again.
Isaac shakes his head, because he's not sure what he was waiting. He finally
finds the door handle then, and steps out of the car silently.
He doesn’t look back when he walks away from the car, away from Stiles. It’s so
fucking stupid, he thinks. So fucking useless, the fighting.
He doesn’t know how long he’s walked, he’s not even sure where he’s heading.
His mind is a blurry mess and the horrible feeling he’s having doesn’t let go,
making it almost hard to breath. Because they’ve been in this together for
months. Ever since Allison… they’ve had each other’s backs through all the
shit, and the little good, too. For months he’s been scared to think what
happens now, after graduation. College, life far away from Beacon Hills - he
hasn’t wanted to think about it.
Is not going to think about it.
Isaac slows his steps and breaths deep.
Why they always end up like this?
“I_close_my_eyes_and_wonder_why
I can’t put this all together.
I want to let you go this time,
but the addiction’s growing stronger.”
The lyrics seem to just come out on their own.
“Can I stand the fear of walking?”he continues.
“Will I disappear and walk away?
But let it be another day again, yeah.”
It’s effortless - and not in his control. It’s like he’s finally letting go of
months of unspoken thoughts, and somehow it is exactly what he needs for a
while until it’s not. He can’t stop, he’s complete hopeless and there is
nothing he can’t do. The words need to come out, and so he keeps singing.
“’Cause I’m falling down again.
And I do not know the reasons
that I’m falling down again.
Again.”
The music stops just as suddenly as it started, and Isaac is left standing
there out of breathe. He doesn’t know how to deal with what just happened, what
it meant, doesn’t want to deal with it, so he tells himself to get a grip and
enters the closest bar.
***
Stiles stares at the empty seat next to him, refusing to let the guilt take
over. This is not his fault, he reacted like any sane person would have. Isaac
going out now, after everything that happened today, is irresponsible and
plainly wrong. He’s not going to feel guilty, he’s not.
He’s completely ignoring the feeling of jealousy, because after all this time
he’s learnt it’s totally pointless.
Because it’s been a long time since he understood that it’s never going to
happen between them. Friends, sure, no problem. After everything that happened
with Allison, they are certainly friends, almost best ones. They only had each
other afterwards, and Stiles doesn’t even want to think where he’d be now if
Isaac hadn’t been there for him. After all the things he had done as nogitsune,
the darkness had taken over him when he’d finally gotten himself back.
They were friends, and they might’ve saved each other, but they would never be
more. Isaac didn’t want him like that, and never would.
And he’s never been shy showing it to Stiles, with his numerous one night
stands one after another.
Stiles rests his head on the steering wheel and sighs. He should be stronger
than this already, goddammit. He shouldn’t feel like this every fucking time
Isaac goes out, because nowadays that means this is how he’s feeling most of
the time, and it’s so pathetic. He should just move on…
Why doesn’t Isaac understand? Can’t he see how miserable he’s making Stiles
feel with his behavior?
“If_I_could_only_read_your_mind
to understand what you are thinking,” Stiles starts to sing quietly.
“I’d take a step back into time,
but that’s me, I’m only dreaming.”
He lifts his head, turning to look at the way Isaac went, but he’s nowhere to
be seen anymore.
“Well, can I stand the fear of walking?
Will I disappear and walk away?
But let be for another day again.
‘Cause I’m falling down again.
And I do not know the reasons
that I’m falling down again.
Again.”
His rapid breathing is only thing breaking the fallen silence in the car.
Stiles can hear his heart beating fast in his chest, and he feels light-headed.
With shaking hands he turns the key in the lock, puts on the gear and starts
his way home.
What the hell just happened?
Chapter End Notes
     I hope you liked the first Stisaac chapter! :) All the comments are
     highly appreciated, loved and cherished!
     Remember to suggest us songs that remind you of TW pairing either
     below in the comments or on our_Tumblr.
***** Dergent - How will you feel when there's no one? *****
Chapter Summary
     Derek goes to ask Chris for help.
Chapter Notes
     Previously happened: Stiles and Isaac leave from the loft together,
     and Isaac is feeling unsettled. Stiles thinks they should take the
     new monster seriously, but Isaac doesn't share his worry - 'cos
     c'mon, how dangerous can singing be? Instead, he wants to go out and
     lose himself in meaningless sex. They have a fight, because Stiles
     thinks Isaac is irresponsible going out now. Isaac walks away,
     leaving Stiles alone in the car. He think he should finally get over
     Isaac, because the other boy is never going feel that way about him,
     but it doesn't make him feel any better. They both sing "I'm falling
     down".
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It is just like a year ago when he had been standing there the first time,
staring at the building in front of him. The street lamps make the roads shine
in yellow light, leaving the alleys drownin the shadows. The streets are empty,
but the atmosphere is just as restless as it was the last time. It’s the only
area of Beacon Hills you're more likely to be killed by a knife than something
supernatural.
He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there. He can’t make himself to take
the few steps further into the building. Derek’s not sure what he’s going to
find when he gets there, he’s not sure if he wants to know, really. He knows
enough about losing someone that he doesn’t need to imagine the pain the other
man is going through, and it makes him scared.
He can still picture Chris Argent in front of him after it had happened. The
steady, cold mask he had been wearing. The way he had been functioning through
it all. Coaching Scott, comforting Isaac, helping them and saving their lives.
He had lost everything and still he had fought side by side with them till the
end. Had made sure they were all safe before disappearing.
Derek still doesn’t know what had made him to follow Chris. He hadn’t been able
to just leave him alone, even though he’d known Chris didn’t want anyone there.
So he had stayed in the shadows, behind, watching him. Making sure he was still
there, alive and safe, because Derek had felt like he owed it to him, owed it
to everyone - to her, most of all.
And one day he hadn’t been there anymore.
It had taken Derek three months to find him again. He hadn’t been able to
believe that Chris would leave Beacon Hills after what happened to Allison. She
was here, in Beacon Hills, buried here, but also her last moments were here.
This was what she had fought for. No, Chris wouldn’t leave, he had known that
much. And for three months he had waited for the news from the sheriff that
they’d found the body.
The word never came - and then he found Chris here by a lucky mistake.
Derek shakes his head. He needs to pull through this time, needs to get himself
together. It’s just like the last time he stood here, right after finding out
that Chris Argent was still in Beacon Hills, and still alive. He had promised
himself then that he would go to him, let him know he wasn’t alone.
You’re not my enemy anymore, Derek. And I’m not yours.
Only he didn’t, in the end. It had been the last time he’d watched after the
man in the shadows. It had been the last time he’s seen Chris Argent.
He takes a steady step closer the door, then another. Not letting himself think
he finds the apartment 403, and knocks on the door.
He can hear someone moving inside, loading a gun and then stepping closer to
the door. It opens until the safety chain tightens, the head of the gun showing
from the narrow doorway. It’s just as dark inside the apartment as in the
hallway, no light coming out. Derek can’t see the other man, but he can sense
him there, smell the familiar sent.
“We need to talk,” he says and the door closes in front of him then, opening
again, this time all the way through to let him in.
***
"How are you?" he asks to break the unsettling silence.
Chris puts his glass on the kitchen counter, walking away from Derek. "I know
you didn't come here to small talk," he says, "which leads to my next question.
Why are you here, Derek?"
Derek stares at the ghost of a man in front of him. He's aged. The unshaved
scruff frames his pale face, dark circles ring his eyes.  The apartment
reflects the desperation and sorrow that the hunter is carrying. The curtains
are closed, the only light coming from two small lamps. There is dust
everywhere, old pizza boxes and dozens and dozens of books piling around.
Hunter's weapons are covering most of the space in the shelves and corners, and
the rest of the space is covered by empty bottles of beer and whiskey.
"There's a new monster. We need your help," Derek says simply.
Chris raises his eye browns. "My help?"
"Yes."
"You haven't needed my help for a long time, Derek, not since..."
His voice cuts off, and that's a road Derek doesn't want to take, isn't ready
to take, so he answers, "That's because there have been no monsters – nothing
dangerous, not even small.” He hesitates for a moment. “Should I believe that
you had nothing to do with that? That you're not hunting anymore?"
Chris' eyes flicker in yellow light, and that's all that Derek needs to get the
confirmation for what he already knew.
"It started yesterday,” he starts to explain.  “It was Lydia first, but we're
not sure if she was in fact the first one, or only the first one that we saw.
But there has been others, too. Kira, among the others, but also people outside
of us." Chris nods, a sign that he is listening, and Derek goes on, "They're
singing. It starts out of nowhere, with music and all, and then they start
singing even if they wouldn't want to. We are not sure if it's anything
dangerous, but Lydia is freaked out - and let's be honest here. When
supernatural is ever something good in Beacon Hills?"
Derek takes few steps closer to Chris, who is still standing as far away from
him as he can in the small apartment. "We need your help. We have no idea where
to start, we have no clues. I've never even heard about anything like this
before. We need your help," Derek repeats.
Chris looks at him then, long and steady, his expression blank and unreadable,
the hunter in him visible, and he steps closer to Derek. "I'll help you," he
says, "with two conditions. First of all, I don't want to meet anyone. I'll
give you all the knowledge I have, and you have access to my books, if you need
them. But I'm not participating in your little meetings or coming with you to
hunt. Clear?"
Derek nods. "That's one. What is the second?"
"I'll help you and you'll help me."
Derek shifts in surprise, because that was furthers from what he was expecting.
"I've found signs that there is a wendigo in the woods, but I can't find it.
It’s moving too fast, I can't keep up. I need your werewolf abilities, Derek.
You help me to catch it and I'll help with your creature."
Derek nods again. "Deal," he says and shakes the hand the hunter is offering to
him.
"Good," Chris says, and walk towards the pile of books in front of the window,
pulling out a heavy, ragged book. “There are folk stories about what I believe
is called Rusalka," he starts, offering the opened book to Derek.
Chapter End Notes
     This chapter was written over three months ago, so imagine my
     reaction when there was a wendigo in season 4! :D I hope you enjoyed
     the first part of Derek and Chris' storyline. Chapter 5 is the
     beginning of Pydia so stay tuned. :)
***** Pydia - Leave my body *****
Chapter Summary
     Peter is still bristling because of Derek and his stranger-than-usual
     behavior when there's a knock on the door. His evening isn't turning
     any better.
     Check out the song from our Youtube_playlist
Chapter Notes
     Previously happened: Derek goes to Chris for help, and the hunter
     agrees to help him on two conditions: 1) he doesn't have to meet
     anyone else and 2) Derek will help him hunt down a wendigo.
      
      
      
     This is the first of the Pydia story line.
The group has cleared    from the apartment, Derek the last one out and still
too quick for Peter to ask any more questions about Chris. More than one point
annoys him about the thing but mostly it's  because he's not certain what to be
annoyed about. He's usually the one holding the cards, always staying ahead of
the curve but now the little testosterone hairball not only knows more but is
keeping secrets.    
So when the knock comes only a moment later Peter isn't    in the best of moods
and prepares to chew off    any    head    foolish enough to bounce outside his
door . He hopes it's Stiles.      A moment too late h   e    realizes he 
should have recognized the knock  , no matter how preoccupied his mind was.   
Peter slides the door back and looks down to the petite red-head.   He sighs.
 
"Lydia, not tonight,   " he says    but the girl is already pushing past him
and into the apartment.   
She sets her bag down and twirls around to meet his gaze head-on.       
"It's been two weeks. I want. To try. Again."    He isn't annoyed by the
condescending    tone but  ignores the demand   anyway. He circles to the other
side of the room, taking a more conversational tone. Maybe a little
witty banter would be the thing   to get his mind off annoying nephews.   
"Why aren't you out with the other misfits? I understood this is a night to
celebrate, profusely, if you believe the one with the scarf collection."   
Lydia rolls her eyes. "You know very well his name is Isaac."   
"Ah, yes. But you see I don't care, and I think mine is much more descriptive."
 
Lydia tips her head to the side a little, her wavy hair falling over her
shoulder. Peter traces the movement, not liking what it translates to. Her
mouth twists into a small smirk.   
"I think you just lied. I think you do care. Are you actually harboring a heart
in that chest of yours?"   
Peter scoffs and turns away, annoyed again. This isn't what he had in mind for
light conversation. He needs a way out.   
"I liked your speech, by the way."    
She doesn't look any bit surprised Peter had been present at the ceremony so he
goes on, turning to face her, "Did you mean any of it?"   
Her expression stays the same, only the minute twitch in the corner of her
mouth giving her away. H   e had guessed as much. If there's something he knows
for sure    about the young woman in front of him it's that she could lead an
army, not a kink in her armor, but that    it didn't mean she stayed
unaffected. He tries reasoning, no matter how useless he figures it to be,
and softens his tone,    
"You've been trying   for a year now. Maybe you should accept the fact she
isn't there."   
Peter remembers the knock that had been very similar to the one today. It had
been Lydia, looking as perfect as ever, her smile as hollow as ever. He had
worried and that worry grew exponentially when she told him what she wanted.
She wanted to pull Allison back, to talk to her.   
 "   You can't mess with a spirit just because you want somebody to comment on
your outfits. Not to mention how dangerous it could be   for you, and I'm not
talking about breaking a nail, sweetheart."   
She had given him a look of both utter silence and ears-shattering thunder and
replied,  "You owe me."   
And that had gotten him. The specifics had remained unnamed but there's no
point trying to pretend they don't know them. And    there's nothing more
loathsome than being in somebody's debt. It tastes like stomach acid and messes
with his wine's palette.   
Teaching Lydia to harness her powers had been a pleasure, however, like he had
known it to   be. The girl had picked up on directions instantly and kept
honing until her technique became   perfect.  His part in the process isn't
even that large,  he  just monitors her trance, keeps tabs on her pulse and
breathing pattern. If something goes wrong he brings her back. He doesn't
exactly know why he's able to do that and doesn't that just add to the pile of
things irking him.       
Lydia    has never been so in control of her abilities, more in tuned with the
supernatural. Peter suspects it is the reason why she had gotten the warning in
the first place. And still it isn't enough.   
"Don't you remember what happened the  last time? You got a nose bleed during
the trance and I had to howl to pull you back.  Again.    You're going in too
deep."   
She waves her hand, "It was a minor mishap, I got distracted. It won't happen
again."   
"Lydia, no."    
They both stay silent, frozen in the spot they're standing, staring each other
down. Her eyes bore into his, like she's scraping the bottom of his mind
for his soul, trying to twist it into her own liking. He makes an effort not to
show how much of his respect she has just by that one tiny gesture. When her
glaring fails to work she loses her temper, shouting.   
"What is the matter with you? I want    to do this. You swore    to help me do
this!"   
"You're going to get yourself hurt!"   
"I don't care!   
_I'm _gonna_ be_released_from_behind_these_lines_   
 And I don't care whether I live or die    
 And I'm losing blood, I'm  gonna  leave my bones    
 And I don't want your heart it leaves me cold    
  
 I don't want your future    
 I don't need your past    
 One bright moment    
 Is all I ask    
  
 I'm  gonna  leave my body    
 I'm  gonna  lose my mind    
 Said I'm  gonna  leave my body    
 I'm  gonna  lose my mind    
  
 I don't need a husband, don't need no wife    
 And don't need the day, I don't need the night    
 And I don't need the birds let them fly away    
 And I don't want the clouds, they never seem to stay    
  
 I don't want no future    
 I don't need no past    
 One bright moment    
 Is all I ask    
  
 I don't want your future    
 I don't need your past    
 One bright moment    
 Is all I ask    
  
 I'm  gonna  leave my body    
 I'm  gonna  lose my mind    
 Said I'm  gonna  leave my body    
 I'm  gonna  lose my, lose my mind"   
Lydia takes a deep breath, "And I don't care, as long as I find her."   
Peter opens his mouth but is stopped by    both their phones beeping to life.
He slides the phone from his pocket, seeing it's a text from Derek. When
he looks up to Lydia she's collected again, tapping her  phone against her chin
in consideration.   
"Any experiences with Rusalkas?"   
"Probably wouldn't be standing here if I did, nasty creatures from the little I
know.   "   
Lydia's    lips spread into a sweet smile, honey dripping from her words, "And
wouldn't that be a shame."   
He smirks back but chooses not to respond in case her attention has now been
redirected.    She picks up bag and heads for the door. As Lydia reaches the
entrance she whips around though and ignores Peter's grumbling as she says,   
"I'm going to see if my books have anything on this thing but we're not done
here. I found a new method and we're trying it."   
The door slams shut and Peter stays in place, grinding his teeth.    He
almost misses the days when he could growl her into submission.   
***** Stisaac - I can't control myself *****
Chapter Summary
     Isaac had sung, just like Lydia before, and it scared the life out of
     him.
Chapter Notes

     Previously happened: Turns out Peter has been teaching Lydia about
     her powers because she wants to reach Allison. There hasn't been any
     luck yet and Peter is worried about the toll it takes on Lydia. Just
     as they're about to break into another fight about it their phones
     interrupt by informing the creature they're facing is a rusalka.
     Lydia leaves but not only for now.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Isaac's hand is shaking when he signs the order for scotch. The alcohol burns
his throat in a pleasant, calming way, but today Isaac really wishes he wasn't
a werewolf and could calm himself down with the actual alcohol too, not only
with the feeling of it.
He can't remember last time he lost a control over himself like that. It had to
be more than a year ago, when the nogitsune was possessing him, but that
doesn't count, not really because it hadn't been him. At least not all of him,
it had only been the painful, angry, dark side of him. But this, now...
It had been him, he knows. Can feel it with every werewolf sense he has. That
had come from deep within him, the singing. He hadn't wanted to do it, he had
even tried to stop, maybe, but it hadn't worked. He had sung, just like Lydia
before and it scared the life out of him.
Because what if he had still been with Stiles? He hadn't been able to control
his acts, he had had no control over himself whatsoever. What if his body would
have wanted to hurt Stiles, would have wanted to rip him apart, and he couldn't
have stopped? He knew what he was capable of and Stiles wouldn't had have a
change.
I promised myself that he would never be harmed because of me.
He stares at his drink, his whole body shaking when the realization hits him.
His nails are scratching the surface of the bar counter, his breathes coming
hollow and he can feel the panic attack boiling under.
"Hey gorgeous." He hears someone speaking low behind him. "Would you be
interested in buying me a drink?" she continues to whisper his ear.
It's distraction enough to make him concentrate, enough to be in control again,
and slowly Isaac turns around. He takes a good look at the beautiful woman
smirking at him.
"Sure," he says and signs the bartender for two more drinks before turning back
and flashing her his most successful smile.
***
"I'm sorry, but your friend is very busy at the moment and he can't talk right
now," she whispers into his phone two hours later before tossing it aside, and
Isaac tries to push down the feeling of guilt he feels seeing Stiles' name
flash at the screen, before she’s kissing him again and Isaac has a change to
lose himself completely again.
Chapter End Notes
     This was a short one, I'm sorry! I'll promise that the next Sticaas
     is longer. :)
***** Plan of attack *****
Chapter Summary
     Chris has come to the rescue and identified the creature causing
     trouble in BH. The gang gets together for another meeting to decide
     their next move.
Chapter Notes
     Previously happened: Still shocked from the singing, Isaac heads to
     the bar. He's feeling uneasy because singing had meant he had lost
     total control of himself - something he'll never wants to happen when
     he's around Stiles, because he's scared he could hurt him. But he
     wouldn't be Isaac if he didn't get some action. His night ends in a
     bed with a gorgeous woman - and if Stiles happens to call and the
     woman answer her? Isaac's chosen to ignore the feeling of guilt.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
“It’s a what?”
They’re all back at the loft, staring at the phone speaker intently. Stiles’
eyes circle around the room, going from his friends to Peter who’s standing
right beside him. Scott hasn’t said anything, keeping oddly quiet ever since
the phone call started, so Stiles has taken it upon himself to commandeer the
conversation. Scott hasn’t spoken to Chris after, well, Allison, so the
conversation has more than a slight possibility to turn very awkward in zero
point nil seconds. He’s more than happy to keep the thing in the territory of
slightly-awkward and only narrowly hostile if possible.
“A rusalka.” Chris’ exasperated voice comes through the speaker. “The legend is
part of slavic tradition but that’s just the origin of the creature. The Indo-
European werewolf population differs from the North-American one.”
“What - So instead of becoming werewolves they turn into music producers that
make people into one-hit wonders? Gotta say I’m missing the connection here,”
Stiles snarks back before Peter smacks him on the back of the head.
“I’m sure you remember what happened to Jackson after he got bitten,” Peter
says. “The appearance you take is affected by multiple things - not only is the
European population separate it has been living under different cultural norms,
ergo, shaping people’s conceptions. That’s what the rusalka is, an endogenous
appearance to a bite-gone-bad.”
“That’s right,” Chris says, sounding relieved someone’s able to assist him.
“The legend says rusalkas are young fair-haired women who drowned themselves
because their lovers betrayed them, but I think we can assign some of that to
folk-tale. However, they are also said to lure men into water by singing and
then drowning them. So it’s probably living off life force and gender doesn’t
actually matter.”
“An equal opportunist.” Stiles can’t help himself but manages to duck Peter’s
hand before it connects with his head again. Ha.
Chris ignores him. “My ancestors had a few encounters with these things back in
the day and water was always connected.”
Stiles scratches his head, his brain churning to connect the dots. “Okay, but
that still doesn't explain why everybody is doing musical numbers.”
“There is one more legend,” Chris goes on to explain, “of a rusalka losing its
voice. In order to get it back, it has to steal it from others, take their life
force, and I guess the spell has a side-effect.”
Stiles snorts. “To say the least.” He’s quiet for a moment, mulling the
information over. “So if it’s related to werewolves, can we kill it with
wolfsbane? Not that we’re at that point yet but I’d rather know beforehand.”
“Yes,” Chris says. “You can at least poison it with wolfsbane but most
effective is to cut off its head and burn it.”
“Lovely,” Isaac retorts. “Why is it here? Not that I’m not loving this whole
sing-it-from-mountain-tops act but it’s getting a little old.”
“Probably the Nemeton,” Chris says and the room goes quiet.
Scott exchanges looks with Stiles before clearing his throat, laying out their
plan of attack. 
“So we go through all the waterways in Beacon Hills - rivers, lakes..”
“And the sewer system,” Lydia speaks up, making Isaac groan.
“Great, just what I needed for the summer - dark, closed spaces.”
“We should start looking through them, divide into pairs in case there’s
trouble,” Scott goes on, waiting for affirming nods from around the table.
“Okay. Stiles, you okay with getting maps of the sewer systems? Me and Kira can
scope out the woods tonight.”
“I can help you,” Isaac says, nudging Stiles’ elbow. “But I’m not going into
those sewers.”
“I can do that with Peter.”
Everyone’s attention snaps back to the speaker and Peter elbows Stiles away
from the speaker before he says, “Derek? You’re still there?”
“Yup.”
When he says nothing else Peter rolls his eyes, turning away from the table.
“Fine. When Stiles gets the blueprints I’ll check the south side, you go north.
Look for anything big enough for nesting.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
Peter scoffs. “Sure you do.”
The line almost bristles when Chris cuts in, “Look, it sounds like we’re done
here. I’ll be in touch if I find anything.”
“Yeah, okay,” Scott says and then hesitates. “And Chris, thank you.”
Chris’ voice loses some of its edge and he sighs, “Sure Scott, hang in there
kid.” The connection breaks off.
Stiles exhales loudly. “Why can’t it ever be something nice like a cute little
fairy or something.”
Peter swats him again. “Fairies are the worst - they steal babies.”
Stiles blinks a few times and bows his head, resigned. “Forget I said
anything.”
 
Chapter End Notes
     I'm humoring Shotgun with the name of this chapter - she's still not
     over Stark.
***** Dergent - I'm shaking off the rust *****
Chapter Summary
     When Derek had agreed to Chris’ conditions, he hadn't realized that
     the man had meant now, that they would start hunting right away.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Chris parks the car on the side of the road. The woods here are sparser, making
it easier for them to enter. They are far away from the city, even further than
Derek usually comes when he’s out running, when he needs to feel the night on
four legs. Derek watches Chris to pull out weapon after weapon from the trunk,
placing the small knives on his waist and filling his jacket pockets with
silver bullets. The gun stays heavy in his hand when he slams the trunk shut
and heads into the forest.
He didn’t offer any weapons to him, Derek realizes.
Derek stays there, watching after him, but even more watching the woods. When
he had agreed to Chris’ conditions, he hadn't realized that the man had meant
now, that they would start hunting right away, right after they found
everything about the rusalka.
“You coming?” Chris’ voice is loud in the otherwise quiet night. The hunter is
watching him, and Derek has no option of backing off, so he takes heavy steps
towards the forest.
It’s the first time in over a year that he has been here like this, with a
purpose to hunt and kill, instead of to belong. Derek can’t explain it, but
entering that forest feels important, changing, and it makes his heart beat
faster than usually and he can feel the anxiety itching under his skin.
He keeps his eyes on the man walking in front of him. He can still remember the
time they both wandered in these woods with the same purpose to be the best one
there. With the purpose to stay alive and keep the ones they cared about safe,
too.
It’s been a long time, and look where they are now.
They have both lost so much. They have both lost the ones they love the most.
They have both come familiar with grief, they both wear it like a second skin.
It’s wrapped around them, suffocating. Derek never would’ve thought he’d say
this, but they have so much in common, him and the hunter. They share the pain
of losing everyone.
Expect that Derek has had time, has still family left. Chris has nothing, no
one to live for, and Derek can see the hollowness behind his eyes every time
the hunter glances at him, can sense it every time he breathes in.
Somewhere along the road things had suddenly stopped being so black and white
for him. Maybe it had been Scott, maybe it had been his pack, maybe the fact
that his sister is still alive. Maybe it had been simply the time passing by,
he can’t be sure. But he has started to see the good where he always thought
was only bad.
Derek doesn’t see Chris as a killer. He flinches at the memories running
through his mind, memories of nogitsune possessing him, memories of what he had
then said and done. Because it had been a long time ago, even then, that he had
seen Chris Argent as a murderer, as something completely bad. Chris Argent had
always been the man of the code – but not the code his family has share. No,
Chris Argent had followed the code of right like no one else in his family –
except his daughter in the end. He had never blindly followed his father’s
footsteps, like Kate had, he had never used other people to accomplish his
goals the way Kate and Gerard had, and most importantly, he had never been able
to sacrifice the ones he loved or cause them unnecessary pain, not even for
greater good.
Chris Argent was a hunter, is a hunter, but that has never stopped him for
questioning the ones around him – his father, wife, Kate – or their motives,
their need for power.
Because he’d always been the father first and the hunter second.
“This is it,” Chris says, his voice sounding rough. “This is where I first met
the wendigo.”
“It was alone?” he asks, and the hunter nods.
“It surprised me. I… I knew there was something more in the woods than our
usual were-animal gone mad.” Derek tries to ignore the twitch he feels for
those words to let Chris continue. “But there was no signs pointing at a
wendigo. I mean, there was no eaten humans or anything like that. It was just
–“
“More quiet in here than usually?” Derek says and Chris nods again.
“I think I surprised it too by coming here, because it didn’t stay and fight
for long. I couldn’t follow it the same night though, and now every time I
think I’m getting close again, it moves.” Chris turns to look at him, staring
right into his eyes.
“You want me to hunt it down for you.”
Chris shakes his head. “I can hunt it down myself, Derek. All I need you to do
is to find it so that I can finish it.”
Derek lets out a hollow laugh that carries around the forest almost unnatural
way.
“It’s been a long time since I last tracked” – killed – “down something.
Between us two, I don’t think I’m much of a help here. If you can’t find it…”
he lets the meaning of the sentence hung in the air.
“I’m not fast enough to truck it down, Derek. I need your supernatural
abilities to find. We made a deal."
"And I'm planning to keep it. I'm a man of my words.”
He steps closer to the area Chris pointed and gets on his knees.
"The print is too old, I can't get a sent anymore."
"What do you mean?"
Derek stands up and turns to look at the other man. "What I mean is that we
can't do this tonight. There's nothing for me to track here. We need more
clues."
Chris' mouth is a thin line. "Thank you Derek, you really were a big help."
He stands up and takes steps closer to the man. "I'll help you find it," Derek
says low, his voice serious. "We made a deal and I'm planning on seeing it
through. Besides, you're right. It's not safe for people in Beacon Hills if
there's a wendigo running around. I'm just little rusty, I need more than this
to find it."
Chris nods, and is about to turn around and head back to the car when Derek's
voice stops him. "That's thanks to you, isn't it."
"What is, Derek?" Chris asks, turning around.
"That I’m rusty. That we haven't been against anything in over a year. That we
haven’t even heard about anything dangerous."
Chris doesn't meet his eyes, but Derek knows. He knows what the hunter has been
doing to keep them not only save, but away from it all, too. Derek can't be
sure if he the decision to keep them, Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Isaac, away has
been conscious or not - he's almost sure it was an unconscious choice, but
nonetheless it was because of Chris Argent that they had had a normal year.
It's just...
"There was no need for you to do it on your own," Derek says.
Chris glances him a tired look before walking away.
"Yes, there was."
 
Chapter End Notes
     Next up some Stisaac and Pydia. Stay tuned! :)
***** Stisaac - But I'm still caged inside *****
Chapter Summary
     “I had so much better plans for tonight," Isaac says, making Stiles
     to roll his eyes. "They definitely didn't involve the basement of
     City Hall."
Chapter Notes
     Previously happened:Derek and Chris go wendigo hunting, but Derek
     can't get a scent so there's nothing for them to do than to go back
     and do more research.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“I had so much better plans for tonight," Isaac says, making Stiles to roll his
eyes. "They definitely didn't involve the basement of City Hall."
They involved a pretty girl or a guy and an unfamiliar bed, Stiles reads
between the lines. Not you.
"Believe me, pal, my plans also didn't involve spending time with dusty
bookshelves,” Stiles answers. Or you either, he wants to continue, just that
Isaac would know. "But I guess it's in our blood to sacrifice ourselves for
greater good." He’s continues to make pointless comments on City Hall’s ancient
archiving system and the maps they are hoping to find, desperately trying to
make his voice sound light, but failing miserably.
Last night still hurts, still makes him feel bitter even though he spent most
of the night lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and wondering why
exactly he is feeling like that. They are not talking about it, yesterday's
fight - but they never do. They fight and they bury the hatchet, just like they
did today. Isaac offering to tag along was his way of saying he was sorry – it
was their way of saying they were sorry, their way to move on. Except for some
reason it’s different now and Stiles can feel the uneasiness between them.
Isaac sighs when he sees the continuous shelves Stiles is heading to. “At least
this beats the sewers,” he sighs.
Stiles gives him a hard look. He doesn't want to do this either, doesn't want
to be here and Isaac whining is not making this any easier.
"You didn’t have to come, you know. You volunteered. What did you expect to
find? Maps to a golden treasure? Big red cross showing the location of the
monster?”
It’s Isaacs turn to roll his eyes at him, not caring about the tone of Stiles'
voice. "I guess this also beats spending time with Lydia. I’m still pretty sure
this has something to do with her banshee powers and believe me, if I have to
sing another cheesy song I didn’t even know existed, I’m seriously going to
show this rusalka what real werewolves are made off.”
Stiles head snaps up from where he was hovering over the index cards and he
turns to look at the other boy.
What?
Isaac seems to have realized what he just said. He stares back at Stiles, his
mouth hanging open, but not offering any explanation.
"You... sang," Stiles says, not a question, still trying to wrap his head
around what Isaac had just admitted, however accidentally. Isaac's cheeks turn
lightly pink and the blush spreads all the way to the tips of his ears. The
answer shows clearly in his face.
"But you said you haven't," Stiles continues confused, referring to their
meeting earlier. “You said you haven’t sung.”
Just like he had said, too.
He hadn’t been ready to tell everyone about it, about him singing alone in his
car. In his head, it was still surreal. It had been him singing, he knew that,
but at the same time it had felt like he’d been watching from the outside. Like
watching someone perform a musical number about his own life, about him. One
that was hitting the nail so hard it deserved a damn Tony award. But it had
been him, singing about something he didn't know he felt, leaving him aching,
breathless, and weak.
So of course he hadn't told them that he had sung.  He would’ve had to answer
their questions, too. What did you sing? When? Where? How was it like? Why?
He was especially afraid of the whys.
"This is none of your business, Stiles," Isaac says, voice low, breaking
Stiles’ thoughts.
It’s all it takes for Stiles to see red again, because this is unbelievable, he
can’t believe his hearing this again. He gives Isaac a hollow laughter,
slamming the index cards he was holding back to the box. His hands go to his
hair, he feel so goddamn frustrated when he steps further away from the other
boy, before turning to stare at him again.
"Man, what is it with you and nothing being my business?" he growls. "This
could be important, Isaac! Never thought about that?”
He ignores the twinge of guilty he’s feeling.
“Here we go again. Let me guess, I’m the most selfish person in this wonderful
world? I never think about anyone but myself? Am I getting close here?” Isaac
raises his voice. His hands are pressed into tight fists, and he takes steps
further away from the other boy.
“Well, at least admitting the problem is the first step to recovery, so you
might have a chance. Though I’m ready to bet that you’re a lost cause already.
What kind of a person doesn’t let his friends know he sang in a case like this?
This could be dangerous!”
“It – is – singing, Stiles!” Isaac yells now too. “Why can’t you get it into
your thick skull? There’s nothing dangerous about singing!”
“Does rusalka sound kind to you? It’s Slavic! Like Dracula!”
“For fuck’s sake. It’s an almost-werewolf who lost its voice. Come on, Stiles,
maybe if it had lost its nails or teeth I’d understand why you're overreacting
like that, but voice.”
“And I thought you were smart enough not to underestimate supernatural beings.
Guess I was wrong.”
Stiles can see the change visible in Isaac, the moment it’s not their normal
banter or fight anymore, the moment it’s suddenly terribly serious. Isaac
expression is hard, he’s standing straighter, his whole attention towards
Stiles. He looks like he’s almost ready to attack, and a quick, fleeing second
Stiles is almost sure that’s what Isaac is going to do. He can’t understand it,
because it’s not the first time they’ve fought, far from it, but it’s the first
time Stiles feels like he should run from Isaac. But it’s Isaac, and Stiles
would never be able to run away from him, not really, and he’s not running now
either.
Isaac takes quick steps right in front of Stiles, his expression matching the
storm he must be feeling. His voice is low, almost like whisper, when he says,
“You are the best to talk about underestimating the supernatural, Stiles. You,
who spend most of your time with one or multiple creatures. You, who drag a
werewolf into a basement - and not just any werewolf, but one whose father used
to beat the shit out of him in a basement, one that still can’t handle dark and
tiny places, and because that’s not enough for you, you keep fighting with the
said werewolf, using all your best tricks to make it angrier."
Stiles gulps, his whole body going stiff. He's slowly walking backwards towards
the brick wall on the back of the basement, not sure if it's conscious choice
or not, and Isaac is moving with him, not breaking the eye contact. Stiles'
back hits the wall with force, and Isaac steps to hover over him, and
continues, "You have a blind trust on us, Stiles, on me. You shouldn't. It
would take me a blink of an eye to shred you to pieces so small it would take
your father forever to collect them. Don't talk about underestimating, not when
you're here with me voluntarily."
Stiles watches him, and he doesn't even try to move away between Isaac and the
wall. "You would never hurt me," he says, because Isaac never would.
"There you go again with your underestimating. Never learning," Isaac laughs
hollowly.
"No," Stiles says, "It's the truth. You would never hurt me, I know it. I trust
you."
"Well maybe you shouldn't!" Isaac turns around, putting some space between
them. Silence falls, only their heavy breathing echoing in the room. Stiles
stays still, he's leaning against the wall, his eyes moving between the floor
and Isaac and he's not sure where to land them.
"Maybe you shouldn't," Isaac repeats, more quietly.
Stiles makes up his mind them, looking straight at Isaac. "Why?" he asks
simply.
"Because I'm not safe to be around."
“What are you talking about?”
“No one is safe around me, Stiles!”
Stiles lets out a small laugh. "No one? So the girl last night? She wasn't safe
either? Or all the others before her?" Stiles straightens his posture, his
expression making Isaac visible twitch. "Don't pretend that you care," he says,
"when we both know that the real reason you want to ditch me here alone is to
go back to that girl. Or a new one. Don't you dare to pretend that you'd be
doing any of it for me. You just want to go back to them, your hook-ups."
Isaac snaps. It looks like every muscle in Isaac’s body tightens, and he can
see the werewolf’s fingernails pushing through the skin of his palm, can hear
the warm drops of blood hitting the cement floor. "This is how you want me
here?" he yells and steps forward, his voice going low when he continues, “This
is the creature you’re trusting so blindly. You really think you’re safe here?”
Isaac has walked right into Stiles’ space, so close that Stiles can feel his
body fitting his, the puffs of hot air on his face when Isaac growls his words.
He tries to move back, but his back is already pressing hard against the wall.
Isaac continues with his voice barely more than a whisper, but his every word
is like a hit against Stiles’ face, “You really think I’m doing all of this,
everything, just because I’m selfish? You really think that the reason I’m
trying to stay away from you isn’t to keep you safe?”
The music starts quietly, like somewhere in distance, and first Stiles thinks
he’s imagining it, but the beat gets louder, and closer. He turns his eyes to
Isaac, who for a moment looks almost scared, until the desperation from earlier
takes over again.
“I_can’t_escape_this_hell,” Isaac sings.
“So many times I’ve tried.
But I’m still caged inside.
Somebody get me through this nightmare,
I can’t control myself.”
Stiles watches the boy in front of him in mixed feelings of awe and shock.
Isaac moves further away from him, the lyrics bubbling out of him like this is
something he needs to do. The intensity of the song makes chills run through
Stiles’ body.
Isaac’s face matches the desperation and frustration of the song he’s singing.
And fear, because even Stiles can’t believe it, he can see fear written all
over him. And it makes Stiles much more frighten himself than Isaac pacing
around the small room, or the chairs breaking against the wall when Isaac
throws them off his way.
”I can’t escape myself.
So many times I’ve lied,
but there’s still rage inside.
Somebody help me through this nightmare,
I can’t control myself.
Somebody wake me from this nightmare,
I can’t escape this hell.”
He takes steps closer to Stiles again, not quite as close as before, but close
enough to Stiles to feel Isaac’s hard breathing when he catches his breathe.
Isaac’s movements calm down and his eyes find Stiles’, holding his gaze there
and not letting it go as he continues the singing,

“So what if you can see the darkest side of me?
No one will ever change this animal I have become.
Help me believe it’s not the real me.
Somebody help me tame this animal.”

The music drifts away just as quickly as it started, leaving the room quiet.
Isaac is still standing in front of him, his palms against the wall next to
Stiles' shoulders. The shock in Isaac's face matches the turmoil Stiles is
feeling himself, because that had been Isaac singing, that had been Isaac
reacting this situation. Is that what Isaac is feeling, has been feeling this
whole time?
"Isaac --" he starts.
"Don't," Isaac interrupts him, lowering his gaze. "Just leave it, Stiles."
Well, it's not like he knows what to say anyway.
They stand there what feels like forever, pressed against the cold wall in the
dusty basement. They don't meet each other's eyes, Isaac still staring at the
floor, and it’s so uncomfortable, so unreal that it makes Stiles just close his
eyes, thinking it has to be a dream.
"I have to get out of here," Isaac says and he's already moving when Stiles
opens his eyes. He steps after the boy and grabs his arm.
"Isaac..."
His touch is enough to make Isaac stop, but the boy doesn't turn to face him.
"I hope you'll find the maps," he says and pulls himself free from Stiles'
grip.
"Isaac!" Stiles yells after him.
The heavy door thumbs close after Isaac, and Stiles finds himself standing
alone in the middle of the City Hall basement.
Chapter End Notes
     I hope you enjoyed Stisaac time! :)
***** Pydia - Change *****
Chapter Summary
     Lydia asks to meet Peter in a bar but doesn't explain herself
     further. It's a revealing night that leaves them both raw.
Chapter Notes
     Previously happened: Isaac and Stiles have successfully procured the
     blueprints of the sewer systems but not without cost - Isaac, after
     questioning the entire enchantment, has experienced the singing
     first-hand and is more or less completely freaked out, leaving Stiles
     behind.
"Tell me again why we're meeting in a place I normally wouldn't want to touch
with my feet." Peter slides across the table from Lydia, taking in the bar she
asked them to meet, his mouth twitching in obvious disdain. It's not the nicest
place, not even the second-nicest, she can admit, but they're not there to
socialize. She rolls her eyes as she watches him discreetly cleanse his
surroundings, wiping the table with a tissue he pulled from his pocket. She's
surprised he doesn't carry disinfectants. It is a curious habit for a creature
immune to most things and it irks her when she needs to trust him and not have
him figured out completely.
"This is disgusting, Lydia, I hope you know that. There are smells here more
commonly associated with a dumpster outside of a brothel moonlighting as an
organ black market."
"Quit being a princess," she quips. "Someone might mistake you for being
squeamish and that would really fight against your purpose here."
"And what is it exactly that I'm doing in this god-forsaken place?" Peter asks
as he runs the tissue across the table one more time, raising his eyes to
Lydia's. "You were being even more vague than usual."
She purses her lips, not sure if they should be worried about any of the
patrons overhearing or not. Peter, however, makes the decision for her.
"You'll think about it for awhile, I'm going to see if this place carries
anything that I can use to sterilize my nose." He says, standing up and
sauntering toward the bar. Lydia notices the glint in the barkeep's eyes as he
walks to her, the way she leans in and offers him an indulgent sight right down
her blouse. Peter siddles to the bar, leaning his hip against the counter, and
whatever he says makes the woman blush. Lydia snaps her eyes away from the
sight, rummaging through her purse in jerky moves as she looks for her hand
mirror and lipstick.
She does realize Peter isn't here voluntarily, not even by a long shot. That
first time she had come to him, asking for help, he had almost turned her down
so she had to dangle her only ace under his nose. His debt, his atonement. She
shouldn't get offended when he fills their bargain but...
For Allison, though, it would be worth it. And just like that memories of her
flood her mind again, no matter how hard she tries to fight them. The same
thing had happened on that very morning when she was picking out a necklace and
her eyes landed on a bracelet Ally used to borrow all the time, so often she
was about to give it to her. She doesn’t remember how long she had stood there,
staring at the bracelet, shoving down the lump in her throat, when the song had
come.  
 
When_the_morning_comes
And I don't wanna face the daylight
When the morning comes
And I can't make my body rise
When the morning comes
And the darkness presses on all sides
When the morning comes
I'll have to fight
Now I have cried
My share of tears in the night
And felt the pain
An emptiness deep inside
Then a beautiful bird
Soared into my life
And with wings outstretched
It flew straight into my heart
 
The bracelet had thumped against the wall and disappeared behind her bed. Where
it still lays, and will lay for all she cares. She had stifled the scream, no
point alerting the town’s whole goddamn werewolf population about the fact she
was having a bad day. Especially the one werewolf, the one that was looking for
reasons not to help her reach out to the other side. She doesn’t get Peter,
what does he care if it stings a little to cross over and weed through the
veil.  
That’s what she calls it, what all the literature calls it. The veil is for
spirits who are not ready to pass, who are looking for another way into their
plane. She thinks it might be the origin of the supernatural on this side of
the world, for the times spirits actually do get through and metamorph into
something new. But it’s only a theory and she hasn’t mentioned it to anyone,
not even Peter.
The veil, however, doesn’t just accommodate the spirits who refuse to leave it
- it pursues to push them off, push them forward. And how it does that is pain,
constant and pulsing, like needles and burn and water torture all wrapped into
one. She guesses the sensation stops most from reaching over, prevents any
unnecessary passing and interference. But she isn’t most people and she is
going to find Allison from the veil and bring her back.
Her thoughts are interrupted as a glass appears in front of her and she lifts
her eyes to look at Peter when he settles to the chair opposite hers again. The
bartender appears to be a little disappointed and Lydia fights back a smile.
"Before you ask, it's soda and lime." Peter nods toward the glass and smirks as
he lifts his own. "This, however, is tequila. While I'm drinking it you're
going to talk."
Lydia crosses her arms, glaring at Peter. "Are you trying to boss me around?"
Peter gives her a blank look and lowers the glass from his lips. "I'm trying to
get a move on you. You might have forgotten my darling nephew volunteered us
for sewer duty tonight but I haven't," he says, lifting the glass back to his
lips. "As much as I'd like to."
Lydia huffs, not jealous of Peter's future prospects, and leans in.
"Okay, so you know I haven't been able to keep the trance for more than a few
minutes at a time?"
Peter watches her, alert, and nods for her to go on.
"Well, it's not enough. Time does move differently in the veil but two minutes
isn't enough to allow me to reach deep enough. I read about shamans able to
keep the trance going for hours. Some were actually epileptic whose seizures
were thought to be caused by spirits but most cultures had different techniques
for inducing the trance - dehydration, sweating --"  
"And some used mushrooms and other toxic substances." Peter cuts her off,
putting his drink down with a little more force than necessary. His voice is
sharp when continues, "Is that why we're here, you're planning to use drugs?"
"Only one," Lydia responds, taking a sip from her drink. She feels warm and not
only because the day has been hot and humid. She can see Peter's anger flash
but she doesn't expect him to stand up and pull her off her chair as well. She
has just enough time to snag her purse before Peter silently steers her to the
back of the bar and out from the fire exit to the dark alley. When the door
clicks shut he releases her arm and Lydia spins around, facing Peter. She
hasn't seen him this angry in ages. Or maybe it's only because she hasn't seen
him loom over her like this in awhile. Her mouth feels dry when she tries to
swallow and she instinctually backs against the alley wall, the rough brick
surface scratching her fingertips. Peter follows her though, cornering her.
"Are you insane? You're seriously planning to use drugs, do you even hear
yourself?"
Lydia throws her hands around, once, before they curl around her protectively.
"I only need one ingredient, Peter, for the potion. I'm making a potion, not
planning to get wasted!"
Peter steps even closer, hovering over her so there's no escaping his words.
"And where did you get this potion if I may ask? How can you be sure it's safe?
What if the batch you get here isn't pure? What if you miscalculate and you end
ODing?" Peter grabs her arms and shakes her once, his fingertips pressing on
her elbows.
Lydia's eyes are wide, she's never seen him so vivid. He's angry, furious even,
but he also looks scared. It's desperation, she realizes, shocked by the sudden
care for her well-being. Peter is still holding her between his arms, his chest
rising in rapid pace and his blue eyes have an unnatural glow to them. A ball
of warmth set in the pit of Lydia's stomach and her breath turns faster, her
skin tingling like there's ants walking all over it. She wants to run her hands
up and down her arms to rub the sensation away but at the same time she wants
Peter to do it. The humid air does nothing to cool her off and she can feel
beads of sweat run from her hairline and down her cleavage. Peter's eyes are
wary and his voice comes out strained.
"What is happening to you?
I_watched_you_change
Into a fly
I looked away
You were on fire
I watched a change in you
It's like you never had wings
Now, you feel so alive
I've watched you change
I took you home
Set you on the glass
I pulled off your wings
Then I laughed

I watched a change in you
It's like you never had wings
Now, you feel so alive
I've watched you change
It's like you never had wings

I look at the cross
Then I look away
Give you the gun
Blow me away
I watched a change in you
It's like you never had wings
Now, you feel so alive
I've watched you change"
 They're both panting, and Lydia can feel the heat from Peter's skin through
the thin fabric of his shirt. Her fingers have snaked under the hem of his
shirt to rest over his hip bones while Peter's hands have disappeared into her
hair. Lydia knows her body has curved off the wall to meet his on its own
volition but she's too far gone to stop. She wants his hands to trail from her
hair, follow the lines over her face, wander down her body and grip her tight,
she wants it so much it aches. Peter looks lost as he hovers over her, his
stare bare as he looks into her eyes and Lydia tips her head forward, needing
to touch those slightly parted lips.
Peter's stare closes, his head ducking down and he steps away from her.  "Do
you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"
Lydia feels her heart shrink and her voice isn't higher than a whisper when it
comes, more broken she's willing to admit. "Why do you care?"
Peter shakes his head, shaking her once more. "Just say you understand."
"I understand."
Peter looks at her, really looks at her, before he nods slowly and gingerly
begins to unclench his fingers from her elbows. She misses the feeling already
so she grabs hold of him, not sure what she wants exactly. "Don't go."
"Lydia..." Peter begins, extracting himself even further. "I have to - I have
to go." He walks off, leaving Lydia alone in the alley, aching with a whole new
kind of miss.
She wants to hate him.
***** The Hales *****
Chapter Summary
     Peter and Derek roam the sewers but Peter's prickly mood doesn't make
     things easy. Pretty much the opposite, actually.
Chapter Notes
     Previously happened: Peter got furious when he found out Lydia was
     considering drugs to help her with her trance and dragged her behind
     the bar they were meeting at. As Peter backed Lydia against a wall,
     trying to reason with her, the atmosphere got heated from an entirely
     different reason. Peter's too shocked to deal with the incident and
     escapes Lydia. She's just as confused but also angry for being left
     behind.
Derek isn't sure which is worse - standing ankle-deep in sewer water or
listening his uncles never-ending stream of whining. He figures if the latter
goes on any longer he might dive in just to get away.  
"I wouldn't be in any of this mess, literally, without you and those rug rats.
This is revolting," Peter spits out, more to himself than Derek.  
Derek snorts. "Rug rats, seriously? You make it sound like they're five."  
"Oh I think they are."  
Derek rolls his eyes. "Because you're so much more mature." He breaths in
deeply, regretting the decision immediately. "Any luck?"  
"None whatsoever."    
"Let's hope Scott and Kira have better luck then," Derek says with a final
look, turning back when he hears Peter snort.  
"Yes, Scott, our fearless leader. Who barely made it through high school. And
his pack of delinquents - the spazz, the horndog, the clutz, the world's
angriest ginger - and of course you, the grouch."  
"Getting associated with them would be an improvement for you."  Derek finds
himself defending. "I'd even go as far as recommending you to wish for it.
After all, you're known for being the creeper."  
Peter takes a step forward and his voice has dropped half an octave lower when
he speaks. "You should keep in mind I'm the one helping you, not the other way
around. I could be home, away from this entire disaster your pack has managed
to drag into town. Again."  
"How is this our fault?" He doesn't know what's gotten to Peter today but he's
beginning to have enough of it, too tired to hop around Peter's fragile ego.  
"It all dates back to the Nemeton and that is all on you. None of this would be
happening without the damn Nemeton!" Peter slushes around in the water and
Derek finally feels anger surging in him.  
"If you want to reminisce then you should go back a little further - none of
this would be happening if you hadn't changed Scott, or hell, made me want to
change my girlfriend, activating the Nemeton for Jennifer!" Derek looks at his
uncle with cold eyes.  "Quit being such a sensitive princess. Trust me, you're
more than capable of finding trouble all by yourself. "    
Derek breaks off, too tired for the fight he thinks they've been having
for years now. They still have a meeting to catch and he wants to hear if Chris
has made any more progress. He slushes through the murky water, making sure not
think of its consistency any more than he has to, and steps on a ledge that
leads to the ladder and away from Peter. He can't wait. He manages to take a
few steps up the ladders and towards fresh air when Peter's words turn his feet
to lead.  
"Speaking of trouble and past regrets," Peter starts, "you should remind
yourself that his family is the reason you don't have one."  
Derek's heart takes extra beats as the full weight of the accusation hits him
and he wills his breathing to slow down because he definitely doesn't want to
give Peter the satisfaction of catching him off-guard. He jumps down from the
ladder, coming to stand in front of Peter, shoulders set, not giving an inch to
his uncle.  
"And,” Peter continues, seeming to take some satisfaction from getting a rise
out of Derek, “one might say that he is also the reason why you don't have a
pack either anymore."  
Derek flinches, almost ashamed of how easily his uncle found his weakest
spot, but of course he did, because it’s Peter. And the truth is that Derek’s
used a lot of time and energy trying to ignore the voice in the back of his
head telling him he shouldn’t care about Chris, shouldn’t worry, that he’s not
obligated to do either of those things. That, in fact, he should be happy that
the hunter hasn’t been bothering him anymore. That nothing good has ever come
from his interactions with Argents, and that he certainly has enough
evidence to know better by now – enough to know that he should stay away,
should avoid.  
But for some reason he doesn’t seem to be able to do just that.   
“Don’t,” Derek says, his voice low with warning.   
Peter flashes him his most dangerous smirk. “Don't what - tell you the
truth?”  
Derek turns around to face Peter then, because this is not the conversation he
wants to have. This is not the conversation Peter has any right to have with
him, and he should know that. He gives the other man a pointed look, daring
himto back off.  
“You know as well as I do that he has nothing to do with those things.”  
“It’s funny, Derek, because I was under the impression that Argents killed our
family, that Argents came after your pack. I must be mistaken then.”  
He takes a step closer to Peter, flashing his eyes at him. “That was Kate, and
Gerard.”  
“And where was he? What did Chris Argent do to stop it all from happening?”
Peter asks, his body language calm, but Derek knows him well enough to see it’s
all an act.  
I don’t know, he wants to yell. But he’s not the same man anymore. He’s lost
everything and I know what it feels like to have nothing but anger and
loneliness. He’s not a bad man.  
“He’s helped us multiple times, Peter,” he says instead. “I can’t say the same
about you.”  
Peter ignores his remark, and steps closer to him. “I’m warning you, Derek.
Nothing good will come from your thing with Chris Argent. He will hurt you,
he’s a hunter and an Argent. You know I’m right, I know you do. Back away
now when you still can.”   
Peter’s eyes are cold when he’s staring at him, and Derek can’t do this. He
can’t deal with this, not here with Peter, not even with himself. Because he
understands the full meaning of what Peter is saying, because this is the exact
conversation he had with Peter when he started seeing Kate – and Peter had been
right then. But this is completely different, Derek isn’t blind or naïve
anymore - and it’s not like that with Chris. They just share too much, he
can relate, he knows what Chris is going through. He can’t just leave him all
alone.  
"I don't know what you're talking about," he replies finally, the lie sounding
hollow even to his own ears.  
Peter gives him sharp laugh. "Really, Derek? You don’t know what I’m talking
about?”  
Derek doesn’t answer, and Peter goes on, “If I remember correctly, and
I'm certain I do, all you needed to do was to get the information from him -
nothing else. And here we are, days later and you're still there with him."  
Derek can feel the anger boiling up, because Peter has no right to tell him
what to do, not after everything he's done - is still doing. And there's a
logical explanation why he's still staying at Chris', which he also tells
Peter.  
"Oh right, your little wendigo hunt."  
"Yes, our little wendigo hunt that gave us all the information about
the rusalka we have right now. That wendigo hunt."  
Derek’s had enough. He has no need to explain himself to his uncle, and he
turns around to step towards the exit again. He's still mad, probably more than
he should be, because this is Peter who is questioning him and his morals, and
what Peter knows about morals? Nothing.  
He's just helping Chris, because the hunter needs help with the wendigo. He's
doing a good thing, that's all.  
Chris Argent is the reason they’ve been safe for the past year. He’s just
returning the favor, that’s all.  
"I can smell him all over you, you know," Peter yells behind him, making Derek
to close his eyes and breathe in the fresh summer air, trying to stop the
shiver going through his spine for hearing Peter’s words.   
Because he should know better than to take that road again.   
***** Explosion at the loft *****
Chapter Summary
     Another meeting, another explosion! Secrets finally begin to unravel.
Chapter Notes
     Previously happened: Peter and Derek found exactly nothing from the
     sewers but managed to stir some old and new feelings to the surface.
     Derek managed to accidentally hit a sore spot. Peter purposefully
     stabbed Derek in his (i.e. Chris Argent).
Lydia sits perched on top of the long table of Derek's apartment, waiting the
others to arrive. Looking down from her nails to the blueprints Stiles had
managed to relieve city hall from she can already tell there isn’t many
possible hiding places for a rusalka, at least not in the main district. She
doesn’t believe the creature would have set shop any further either since all
the Broadway numbers seem to be happening in the downtown area. Just today she
had witnessed a proposal with a prelude from Moulin Rouge and another show
about a mustard stain. She doesn’t even try to understand that one.
Just as she’s about to lose patience the Hale men walk in, Scott and Kira in
their tow. Not even ignoring Peter's presence can dim the obvious disharmony
between the uncle and the niece, not with the way Scott keeps eyeing the two
like he's ready to jump in the middle at any point. The hope Stiles and Isaac
might release some of the tension dissipates as soon as they make their way in,
settling on opposite sides of the loft, pointedly not avoiding each other.
Great. One of those meetings. 
Scott locks eyes with her for a second, sighing. He sees the tension too,
probably even smell it. It's moments like these she really appreciates her
power isn't the physical kind. Scott clears his throat, speaking over the loud
brooding.
“So we got squat, nothing on any of the water systems. And I’m guessing the
sewers weren’t any better?”
“I can’t speak for all present but my side was definitely empty.” It’s Peter,
directing his words to Derek more than anyone else in the loft.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Derek’s stance shifts minutely but Lydia
sees the difference. Years being around werewolves has taught her to see when
something goes from relaxed to primed.
“Oh, you know perfectly well," Peter says, gathering momentum as he goes on.
Lydia closes her eyes, preparing for the storm. “Tell me, did Chris actually
come with you or did you he take care of you before you left?”
“What?” Scott’s eyes move between them and even Stiles and Isaac seem to forget
they’re fighting for a whole two seconds.
Derek explodes.“You’re the one to talk about lurking around, or would you like
to share with the group what you’ve been doing with Lydia all this time? Why
I've been smelling her on you for a year?”
Eyes turn to her, shocked at the revelation, and Derek looks a little guilty
about taking her down with Peter. Lydia gives her a little shrug. Even with the
suddenness of it she can't muster any anger towards him, especially after last
night, it was bound to come out sooner or later. She had hoped it would have
been a little bit later though, and before she's able say anything Stiles has
walked up to Peter, glaring and shouting at him from half a step away.
“What did Derek mean, you sick fuck? Haven’t you done enough to her?” he yells,
almost shrieks, the sound only stopped as Peter’s hand curls around his throat.
“You know nothing, you little insect.” Peter’s voice is low, strained, and he’s
clearly fighting the urge to crush Stiles completely. Lydia rushes to stand
beside them, Isaac and Derek doing the same, keeping their eyes intently on
Peter’s arm. Tentatively she puts one hand on the arm, willing Peter to put
Stiles down and reluctantly he does. Stiles gasps for air, rubbing his throat
as he looks at Lydia, waiting for answers.
“Peter’s been helping me control my powers.” Her eyes flick to his. “Nothing
more.” A muscle in Peter’s jaw jumps but he stays quiet. Stiles looks at her,
still rubbing his sore throat.
“But why?”
Lydia takes a deep breath, it’s the moment she’s been dreading to admit from
the beginning.
“I’m trying to find Allison. From the veil.” The blank looks she gets reminds
her, right, she actually hasn’t talked about any of this with them. “It’s a
liminal state between our world and the transcendent or heaven or whatever the
hell you want to call it. I call it the veil. My banshee powers allow me to tap
into it, usually on this plane, like you’ve all seen, but I can also get on
their plane. It's harder, though - a lot harder.”
“Is it safe?” Scott asks, stepping towards her but it's Derek who speaks first.
“It isn’t safe which is why it’s highly immoral. Which makes it not all that
surprising that Peter is helping her,” Derek says, looking at Peter, making the
other scoff.
“Oh go cry to Chris, your man-crush is becoming more annoying than those twos,”
Peter quips back, gesturing towards Isaac and Stiles who look like deer in the
headlights. Isaac freezes completely, his face completely blank and unreadable
before he turns on his heels and storms out of the apartment. Stiles’ mouth
works up and down without a sound, his eyes focusing on nothing. Derek growls,
ready to shred his uncle to pieces when Scott bellows, “Enough!” and they all
still.
Derek freezes mid-movement at Scott's words and gives them all a quick look
before throwing his arms up. "I'm out," he says, turning around walking out
just moments after Isaac.
Scott sighs in desperation. “We are never gonna find the thing," he says, "if
we keep fighting like this! We’ve all kept things from each other, stuff that’s
pulled us apart. As the alpha, it’s my job to stop that from happening but I
haven’t and I’m sorry.” He inhales, shaking his head at the quiet objections.
“But it’s all in the open now and I don’t care how it happened. I think this
might have been inevitable in the first place. No matter what we’re still a
pack and we support each other. No. Matter. What.”
He turns to Lydia, searching her eyes. “Lydia, I know you miss her, we all do,
but she’s.. she's gone.” Scott looks broken, and Lydia fights her own tears at
the sight.
“I know, Scott, I know. But I’m going to try. I need to try.”
For a moment they merely stare at one another and before long Scott nods
slowly. “Okay. Whatever you need, you got it.”
Lydia gives him a small smile, nods him for assurance. She’s missed this side
of Scott. The clichéd motivational speech, the unconditional support and the
little warm feeling she always gets because of them.
“So what now?” she asks and watches Scott pacing, forming a plan.
“So the rusalka needs voices, right? And it needs to be close to them? Wouldn’t
it be easier for it to collect as many as possible all at once?”
“The party at Jungle,” Stiles croaks, slowly gaining his voice. “It’ll be
packed.”
Scott nods. “So that’s where we’ll be then, too.” He goes to stand by Kira,
who’s been silently watching the whole showdown, and whispers something in her
ear. Lydia feels bad for her, getting the tail end of a shit storm she has no
part of creating. But as Scott said, they’re a pack. A pack supports. With that
thought in mind she leaves the loft, pointedly ignoring Peter’s gaze that
follows her out the door.
 
***** Dergent *****
Chapter Summary
     Derek goes back to Chris to help with the wendigo research.
Chapter Notes
     Previously happened: Emotions heated up, quite spectacularly, and
     more than one affection was exposed to the ones that had not yet
     caught on. Derek could not deal with Peter's accusations and took an
     early exit. Neither could Isaac, leaving Stiles baffled while Lydia
     did what she could to explain why she was risking her life so
     eagerly. Scott stepped up (finally) and a new battle plan was forged.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
This time Chris opens the door all the way right away, and Derek doesn’t
hesitate to enter. The gloomy apartment is exactly what he needs right now. All
the fighting, all the things Peter said, it’s something Derek knows is trying
to break onto the surface, even after all the energy he has put on trying to
push them back down and not think about them. All of it is leaving him dead
tired and what he wants right now is mindless research and silent company, he
doesn’t want to talk or pretend. He just wants to be, and Derek knows Chris
will let him do exactly that.
It’s should be scary that coming here is more soothing than staying home, but
Derek doesn’t let himself go there, quickly switching his focus elsewhere by
stating, “We didn’t find the rusalka.”
Chris doesn’t look surprised, just shrugs and moves towards the tiny kitchen.
“What’s your plan now?” he asks, though Derek has a feeling that he doesn’t
really care that much, that he’s only interested because of his profession.
“I don’t know.” Derek sighs. “The meeting wasn’t very successful in those
terms, I would say, so there’s no our plan anymore.”
He doesn’t tell him that there’s their plan though, only he’s not part of it
anymore. He doesn’t tell him that he’d walked away because he can’t tell him,
doesn’t want to tell Chris all the things Peter said. Because they’re not true,
Peter had been wrong about Chris, had been wrong about Derek, too. Had been
wrong about them. But Chris must see something in his face, because he pours
himself a good four fingers of whiskey, then hesitates a moment before pulling
out a second glass and filling it, too. He takes a big gulp before walking to
Derek and offering him the other glass.
“It doesn’t affect me,” Derek says and Chris lets out a hollow laughter.
It should make Derek feel better, seeing the other man laugh, because he hasn’t
done that this whole time. The veil of sorrow around is so thick Derek can
sense it there, and it makes him hurt, too. He should be happy to hear Chris
laughing, even a little, but this isn’t a laugh, it’s a mockery of a laughter,
like Chris didn’t know how to laugh anymore, didn’t think he could laugh
anymore.
Didn’t think he deserved to laugh anymore, he understands and the realization
hits him so hard he’s left breathless.
“Please, Derek, share me more information about werewolves that I didn’t
already know. It’s not like I’ve been a hunter all my life,” Chris says and the
sarcasm in his voice makes Derek snap back into reality.
“Then why the alcohol?”
“You do taste, don’t you. It’s whiskey,” Chris says and then walks away, like
that’s enough of an explanation.
And fuck it, it’s enough for Derek, because his day’s been more than shitty and
it’s not like he can’t appreciate a good whiskey. The takes a sip and lets the
liquid burn down his throat. It’s a really good whiskey, and when Derek takes a
look at the apartment and all the empty bottles around he can tell that Chris
has had practice at picking his whiskey during the last months. But he doesn’t
say anything when he sees Chris going back to the kitchen and refilling himself
another four fingers.
Because it’s not his place to say anything, at least not now, and it’s not like
he hadn’t been ready to cut off both of his legs to be able to get drunk when
he had lost his family. Fuck, it’s not like he wouldn’t be ready to do it right
now, because even though the whiskey soothes him he can’t help but think how
much more effective it’d be if the alcohol would kick in. How much easier it
would be to pretend this wasn’t happening if he wasn’t sober.
Chris makes his way back to the living room, and Derek follows him. The hunter
has laid down the map of the Beacon Hills area, large enough to cover the
surrounding woods. Books and notes about wendigos are covering rest of the
floor together with yellow highlighters and red markers.
“Find anything?” Derek asks and Chris shakes his head as an answer.
“The red circles are the places I’ve either seen it or traces of it. Like you
can see, the wendigo was heading east, and this,” Chris points the furthest
mark on the map, “is where I got the last traces of it – and I haven’t been
able to follow its tracks ever since. I’ve covered all the east side area
afterwards, but I haven’t found anything. I have no idea where it’s heading
anymore and the area is just too big for me to search blindly.”
Derek nods, understanding. “What made it to change its direction? It was making
its way to east all that time, so it doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it realized I was still after it and knew it has to change
the course to get rid of me. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Either way, we have
to figure out where to start looking again.”
“I take it your notes didn’t give you any clue where it might be going,” Derek
says, nodding towards the notebooks lying around.
“No, there’s nothing there to explain this. Usually wendigos stay in groups,
hunting only in areas they’re familiar with, sticking to their routines.
There’s nothing there to explain the behavior of this wendigo.”
Derek sighs. “I guess it’s research time then,” he says, dropping on his knees
and picking up a book from the floor.
It doesn’t take long for Chris to follow his example. Derek can feel the
hunters stare on him, almost burning, before the man reaches for a book and
shifts his focus on it.
***
“Do you want to talk about it?” Chris’ voice is rough for not using it for
hours.
Derek’s head snaps up from his notes, and the shock must be visible in his
face, because Chris continues with a sight, “Do you want to talk about what’s
making you so upset?” His words are slurring a little and Derek takes a good
look at the now almost empty bottle in Chris’ hand. The hunter must be far from
sober which explains his sudden outspokenness, though Derek must admit that
discreetness has never been one of Chris Argent’s virtues. But they’ve never
crossed the line like this, from professional to personal, at least not
intentionally.
The lines of Chris’ mouth turn into a small smile, barely there, but enough for
Derek to see and cherish. It makes him look so much younger again, it makes him
look more like the hunter Derek used to know, more like to person Derek used to
know. He lets his gaze linger there, not getting enough of the sight, suddenly
feeling like he wants nothing more than to reach his hand there and follow
those lines with his finger, to map them and make sure they’re really there and
he’s not dreaming, map them so carefully he would be able to draw them in his
mind again and again.
Chris moves his head then, turning to grab the whiskey in his right, his
movement so sudden it makes Derek jump. He stares at Chris opening the bottle
and taking long gulps, emptying the rest of the drink, and he’s suddenly so
frightened he has to press his fingers into a firm fists to prevent himself
from bolting. The urge to run is so fierce he’s never felt anything like it,
not even when Chris was in his bad side. Because this is so much worse than it
ever was back then, this is so much more wrong, so much more terrifying than
anything back then. And he can’t even label this, can’t put it into words
because then it would be real, it would be clear to Chris too, and Derek can’t
let that happen, can’t let himself go there ever again.
“You can talk about it, Derek,” Chris says again, his voice low but certain and
there’s a warmness in it that has to be put there by the whiskey. His eyes find
Derek’s and he can see the asking expression in them.
“I’m fine,” he says then, and he can hear his voice breaking, can hear it
wavering, can hear the weakness in it.
And Chris moves closer to him, close enough to place his hand on Derek’s
shoulder, gripping there firmly, not letting Derek to move back.
“You’re not fine, Derek. You haven’t been fine since you came back. Do you want
to talk about it?” His sounds so much more like the Chris from his past, the
Chris who helped them to beat the Nogitsune, the Chris who told him they
weren’t enemies anymore changing everything Derek believed in, everything he
thought he knew, and his breath catches.
It’s Chris’ other hand pushing over the empty bottle on the floor that makes
Derek remember again that this isn’t that Chris. This is the hollow of a man
that used to be Chris Argent, that only reason he cares right now is because
he’s drunk, and maybe because he’s lonely. And Derek could never tell him why
he isn’t fine, because there are no words to describe it, and because Chris
doesn’t deserve any of this. If Peter’s words had hurt him they would certainly
hurt Chris even more, and that was the last thing Derek wants because there’s
already enough pain in Chris’ life.
He would do anything to take even part of that pain away.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Derek finally says, willing his voice to be
steadier than before, giving the other man an assuring smile.
Chris’ hand lingers on his shoulder for a while, and his eyes don’t leave
Derek’s face. Derek feels like he should say something, apologize maybe, though
he doesn’t know why, but the attention is getting under his skin. It’s like
Chris is trying to read his mind, trying to read him, it’s like he’s trying to
find something in his eyes. His grip loosens and he lets his hand travel down
on Derek’s arm, leaving the skin under his touch burning, and then he shakes
his head and pull his hand away, abruptly standing up and going to the kitchen
only to take out another bottle of whiskey.
 
Chapter End Notes
     A million apologies that it's been AGES. Cannot promise an any better
     publication timetable for the future either because it seems life
     isn't getting any less hectic. *sobs*
***** Lydia and Isaac - Demons *****
Chapter Summary
     Isaac has escaped the meeting after Peter's oh-so-plain statement.
     Lydia still finds him.
Chapter Notes
     Previously happened: Shit hit the fan at the loft - fingers were
     pointed, mainly between Peter and Lydia but also Isaac and Stiles and
     even Derek got a share of the action. Isaac stormed out, not wanting
     to deal with any of it.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Isaac isn't sure how long he's been sitting on the damp sand when he hears the
rev of a familiar engine getting closer to the beach. Christ, of course Lydia
would know where to find him. Banshee or not, the woman has a canny gift of
predicting the future. Instead of turning to face her he simply unscrews the
little flask of whiskey laced with wolfsbane and holds it out to the thin air
next him.
He doesn't have to wait long before Lydia is snagging it from his grip,
settling beside him. She sips and grimaces, offering the flask back. They look
over at the lake, each reliving their own memories of the place, of the warm
summer days they've spent here over the last year. They hear more than see the
waves, solemnly crashing against the shoreline in a steady rhythm. For a moment
Isaac hopes Lydia isn't going to say a thing and lets him brood in silence. He
should have known better.
"So," She starts, "you and Stiles."
Isaac lets out a long breath, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lungs. A corner
of his mouth turns up as he nods once. "Yup." He lifts the flask to his lips,
"you and Peter huh."
The sound Lydia makes is not unlike his and she actually raises her hand
expectantly for the alcohol. She swallows a mouthful, then another, before
offering the flask back. "Yup." She lets the end pop, a mannerism she's picked
up from Stiles without even noticing it. It would almost be funny if he wasn't
doing his damn hardest not to think about Stiles or anything related to Stiles.
Silence follows again and he could let it stretch, enjoy while it lasts, but
fuck it, it's better to rip the band aid off all at once. He sighs. "Just ask
me already."
Lydia doesn't hesitate. "How long have you and Stiles been at it? Without
anyone noticing, nonetheless?"
Isaac waits a beat, exhaling, hoping it would help him organize his thoughts.
"We haven't really been at it, which is why no one noticed. But then again we
haven't been noticing a lot of stuff lately." He tries to find a point in the
horizon. "You know it's kind of fucked up, you and Peter I mean."
 With his peripheral vision he can see Lydia roll her eyes. All things
considered it's a really good, painless respond. 
"Like I don't know that." She says, pretending to examine her nails, like she
could see anything in the dark. "We haven't actually, you know, done anything.
There's just this undercurrent every time I'm around him, and maybe it's hatred
or lust or... I don't know. All I know it's getting harder not to do anything
about it, just for decency's sake." She's frustrated, Isaac can feel it, smell
it, see it in the way she throws her hand and grips the sand like it's
personally offended her. 
He knows how that feels, god does he ever - to be in that limbo where you try
not to tip over. Because tipping over means decisions, finality, no going back.
And fuck if Stiles doesn't keep pushing and pulling him on that fine line and
he doesn't know whether he should let go or hold on. It's not even all Stiles'
fault, that much he does know. He has his own reasons to keep glued to their
current state. Isaac looks at Lydia, her stiff posture and white knuckles, and
the revelation hits him so hard he thinks he might get whiplash. He is not
alone.
"Do you feel guilty because of Allison?" Isaac's not sure for whose sake he
needs to hear the answer. He's been so lost after that night, spending so much
energy pretending he's over it, that everything's just fine and he doesn't feel
like it's all his fault. He's spent so much energy he didn't eve realize he's
not the only one pretending. Lydia looks back at him, a similar hunted
expression mirrored on her features, and shakes her head, turning her eyes
toward the lake. Instead of answering she asks him "Do you think what you feel
for Stiles is real? Or is it a distraction you cling to to save yourself from
drowning?"
Isaac shrugs. [x]
When the days are cold
And the cards all fold
And the saints we see
Are all made of gold
Lydia joins him, voice small and broken.
When your dreams they fail
And the ones we hail
Are the worst of all
And the blood’s run stale
Together they sing,
No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come

When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
 
When he can hear the waves again he wishes he could get lost in them, forget
all of this for a while. Lydia has other plans however, nudging his shoulder,
"We need you tomorrow. The Jungle at ten. You'll be there right?" 
Isaac drops his head for a second, groaning. Of course, personal shit can wait
when there's ballad-spewing monster running across town. "I'll be there. Who
else would save this town from itself."
A small smirk appears on Lydia's lips and she nudges him again. "Who else
indeed."
Chapter End Notes
     Listen to the whole soundtrack right here: https://www.youtube.com/
     playlist?list=PLrdy1jspYGINwL_1YabBzIF0p-nVOLED_
End Notes
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     Remember to suggest us songs that remind you of TW pairing either
     below in the comments or on our_Tumblr. :)
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