Pure × Isaac Lahey

66.

x x

The early morning bled through the bulletproof windows of the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Station holding cells, its atmosphere still dismal.

Chris Argent and Derek Hale, currently P.O.W.s of a supernatural war, sat back in their respective cells, a metal barrier between them.

Although Derek had been allotted the time to be with Elora in the hospital given the circumstances by Sheriff's leniency, he was promptly returned when she was discharged.

"Still nothing?" Christ sat with a slight hunch, head turned to his side as he waited for a response. "Derek?"

"Hold on," he said, eyes closed in concentration.

The world buzzed around him as he focused his hearing, aiming for any rogue voices he could pick up.

"Hey, where's the sheriff?"

"Stilinski's out for the day."

"So the Katashi murder is now a federal investigation. Everything we've got on him is going to be placed in lock up."

"You were right," Derek finally said as he opened his eyes. "Any other details?"

"Just about putting Katashi's things in a federal lock up and something about Stilinski being out for the day." Derek only paused for a moment, staring at the floor. "You know, if all of this is true, people are dead because of Stiles."

Argent lightly turned his head. "But is it really Stiles? Remember, we've had this problem before."

"But we got lucky with Jackson and Allison," Derek countered.

The two silenced as a deputy passed, eyes flickering around as they waited for the air to clear.

"What happens when you don't get so lucky?" questioned Derek, elbows balanced on his knees.

"I guess it depends on how much or how little of Stiles is left." Argent absently drummed his fingers on his thighs. "You ever heard of the berserkers?"

"Germanic warriors," said Derek. "They wore the skins of bears to channel their ferocity."

"They didn't just wear them. They became them." Chris' eyes travelled forward, snapshots of memories greeting him. "You know, a couple years ago, a family came to us for help with their son. This group of teenagers, they were doing all sorts of rituals with animal skins. Somehow they tapped into it. But with berserkers, the human side doesn't last long. They're not tempered by the moon."

"He killed people?"

"He tore them apart," replied Argent. "Eventually, I had to tell the family that their son was gone. It took three of us to take him down. Almost every bullet we had. And when it was over, I felt no remorse. None. I knew that kid was long gone."

"Would you feel any remorse putting Stiles down?" Derek asked, barely able to say the words.

"Stiles? Yes. But not a nogitsune."

And when could you decipher if they were one in the same?

x x

"I want to go back to the topic of guilt today," Morrell said as she crossed her legs, balancing a binder on her lap, sitting in a circle of patients in Eichen's lobby. "It might surprise you to hear me say that guilt is a good thing. It's a rather mature emotion."

Elora sat among the residents of Eichen, able to see Malia's continued glares in Stiles' direction.

Marin had noticed it, too. "Malia, you said something about guilt the other day. You said it came with a visceral reaction."