Unsteady | Sterek

Twenty One: Living like we're renegades

Stiles drinks his coffee slowly, letting the warm drink soothe his fraying nerves and focus him. Derek sits opposite him, reading a worn novel. The silence isn't uncomfortable but it weighs heavily on his bones and he fidgets. After a few minutes, Derek sighs and closes his book.

"Does Scott know about Markus turning himself in?" He asks and it's such a sudden noise that Stiles jumps slightly, his half-drunk coffee sloshing in the cup.

"Jesus," he hisses, holding a hand over his heart as it thumps wildly. "Warn a guy, would you?" Derek gives him an unimpressed look and it's so familiar and normal that Stiles almost starts crying again. "No. I haven't made contact with anyone else. It's been...a rocky slope with them. After Allison, we all sort of fell apart and I just couldn't pull myself back together."

"You were never broken to begin with."

"Maybe not, but I had so many cracks that I might as well have been."

They stare at each other and the silence returns. Stiles doesn't elaborate on his words and Derek doesn't ask him to. They just sit and they stare and they wait.

A knock on the door startles the both of them.

"I'll get it!" Stiles volunteers, almost vaulting off the couch just to get away from Derek's slightly sad eyes. He wrenches the door open without thought and gazes at the visitor with wide eyes, words drying up in his throat.

Chris Argent looks back at him with equally wide eyes. "Stiles," he greets in a level voice. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Stiles wants to say something but he's being pinned by memories of Chris Argent crying as they lower his dead daughter into the ground, mere rows away from Stiles's mother. He's getting choked by the desperate, heartbroken sobs that he had pretended not to hear when he had passed the hunter in the cemetery a few days later. He wants to say something but his own words are fleeing back down his throat and it's incredibley hard to breathe.

"Argent." Derek's behind him and there's a hand on his back as the werewolf leads Stiles away from the door. "What can I help you with?"

The hunter's voice is slightly strained as he says, "I have some information about the witch coven to share with you. May I come in?"

No, Stiles wants to say to him but it isn't his loft and his voice isn't working anyway so Derek invites the man in and Stiles finds it difficult to move his body out of the way as the other two walk towards the kitchen table. His heart is beating so hard that he almsot can't feel it anymore and the sour taste of guilt covers his tongue.

"Stiles," Derek says and Stiles swears the tone is gentle. "Go lay down. You're still recovering from the witches."

"No," Stiles croaks and his voice is like jagged pieces of glass. "I want to stay. I can help."

Derek doesn't say anything again but his hand is on Stiles's back again and it stays there as they walk to the kitchen. Chris is already seated with papers in front of him and the hunter's throat bobs with emotion as he looks up at Stiles.

"What have you got on the coven?" Derek asks as he and Stiles sit down, the teenage boy shaking slightly. The werewolf lets his hand drift down to Stiles thigh and wonders if he should call Isaac over.

Chris clears his throat. "I had my men do some digging and it turns out that they're not just focused on the ritual. When the Nogitsune was in control, it opened some sort of tap."

"A tap?" Derek repeats. "What does that mean?"

"Beacon Hills is a mess of ley lines, do you know what they are?"

Derek nods, eyebrows furrowed. "Of course, they hold the purest form of eath magic. Very powerful."

"Well, the Nogitsune found a way to dip into the ley lines and use the energy. The Cleyers coven appear to be looking for the access point."

Of course, Stiles thinks bitterly, staring at his trembling hands and counting his fingers. Of course it's the Nogitsune. They'd defeated it but of course it was still fucking with their lives. "You know," he says suddenly, looking up. "I think I remember that. Vaguely."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Derek asks quietly.

Stiles shrugs. "I wasn't sure if I was dreaming," he says helplessly, a familiar burn starting in his chest. "We were in the woods, of course we were, near the Nemeton. He-I was digging. There was water nearby and we just kept digging. It took a long time. He-I found what I was looking for near an..an oak tree I think. We covered the spot with leaves and used some kind of magic to seal it again and then left. I should've stopped it."

There's a hand on his shoulder and he reluctantly meets Derek's eyes. "You were being controlled," the werewolf tells him slowly. "You were not the nogitsune."

"Could you find the spot again?" Chris asks and Stiles shrugs.

"Maybe."

But he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to go back and relieve his moments as that. He doesn't want to but if it saves lives...

"Derek, could I speak to Stiles alone for a few moments please?" Chris requests politely and Stiles can feel his body freeze up in sheer panic. Derek nods stiffly, pats Stiles on the shoulder, and disappears out to the couch. Stiles has a feeling that he's still listening.

He fiddles with his fingers for a few moments as Chris just stares at him. "I know I'm pretty but the staring is freaking me out a little." He laughs nervously.

"Stiles, I want to talk to you about my daughter."

There's pain in Argent's voice that wraps itself around Stiles heart and squeezes; some of it forms a lump in his throat and his eyes start burning. He'd taken a daughter and covered her with dirt, he'd taken a life and handed it to death.

"I'm so sorry." The words tumble out of his mouth and it's like gates have opened. Half-formed thoughts drenched in guilt and despair and hate rush to fill the air and he can't stop them. "I'm sorry. She was...I didn't mean to. Oh, if only I hadn't been so weak. She'd figured it out, of course she had and he'd felt threatened by that and I'm sorry for not holding him in place. I mean, Kira's mom could have been more careful with her tails but I let him get to them and I let him kill her and I felt it and I'm so, so sorry-"

"Stiles."

Stiles covers his mouth with the back of his hand, face screwed up in pain as salty tears drip down his cheeks. Accusations and memories press in on him from all angles and he wallows in them, lets them paint his skin. He doesn't deserve forgiveness.

"Stiles, I don't blame you." Chris Argent's eyes are honest and watery and full of pain when Stiles manages to make himself look at the man. "She protected her friends. I'm so proud of her."

"She didn't deserve to die," Stiles breathes.

"No," Chris agrees. "But she died fighting. Stiles, she would do it again in a heartbeat. She was crushed when she found out you were the one possessed. She was so proud of you for fighting it for so long."

"I didn't deserve her friendship," Stiles mutters.

Chris leans forward a little and Stiles can feel his breathing stutter slightly. "Stiles, I was proud of you for fighting for so long," Chris says and that's what breaks the teenage boy the most.

He can count on one hand how many times someone has told him they were proud of him and now the father of the girl he'd killed is telling him and he doesn't deserve it. He dissolves into harsh sobs that tear through his entire being and rip him to shreds. There's movement and suddenly he's wrapped in a hug so tight that it holds all his broken pieces together, just for a little bit.

Stiles thinks that if they let him go, he'll shatter and nobody will ever be able to put him back together.

"You've been fighting for so long," Chris murmurs in his ear, his own tears trailing silently down his cheeks. "I'm proud of you, Stiles."