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The air was hot, the smell of gunpowder and blood burned in Stiles’ nose. He looked to Derek, sweaty and bruised, with cuts that slowly started to heal and nodded. They did it. On the outside of the tunnels the world was back to normal. Well, as normal as Beacon Hills could get.
Some of the hunters were dead, others gravelly wounded, and those that were left had surrendered at some point. Stiles sniffed and wiped blood off of his nose.
“Do you need anything?”, Derek asked quietly. He seemed shaken, but being held captive by Gerard could do that, Stiles knew.
“I need Scott to come out of there alive”, Stiles murmured. His best friend was still in the tunnels with Gerard and Monroe and knowing Gerard there was still a good chance there wouldn’t be a happy end to all of this.
The fight had been epic, like something from a movie. Of course, they’ve had their fair share of fights. The showdown with the Argents and the kanima, killing the nogitsune, defeating the ghost riders. But this time it had been even bigger than that.
“I’ll see if they’re okay”, Derek nodded to Jackson, Ethan, Lydia, Cory, Theo and Liam. The younger ones seemed shaken, even Theo, while Lydia had a vacant expression in her eyes. She was looking for Scott and Stiles took her silence as good sign. Jackson and Ethan sat beside each other in the dirt, Jackson’s arm was around Ethan and pressed him close to his side.
“You do that”, Stiles managed half a smile and squeezed Derek’s shoulder. For a second the werewolf stared at the hand on his shoulder and Stiles kind of expected a growl but Derek gave him a crooked grin and a nod.
Stiles watched how Derek comforted Cory and Liam, how he took a look at wounds on Ethan’s chest and how he pulled Lydia in a reassuring hug. Without all the drama in his life Derek would’ve been a great alpha, Stiles was sure.
He himself made his way to the locked gates to the tunnels.
Malia was pacing, the fear and nervousness weighed so heavy on her that even Stiles could feel it.
“Hey”, he said softly. Malia turned and stared at him, her brown eyes full of tears.
“Stiles!”, she threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his bulletproof west. Comforting he stroked her tangled hair and whispered reassurances, but even to him they didn’t seem very convincing.
“He’s going to be okay.”
“How can you know that?!”, Malia pushed him away to see his face, “He’s in there with Gerard and the Monroe and he’s alone! He hasn’t got his pack or me! How can you possibly think he can survive this?!”
“He beat Gerard once, he can do it again.”
“And what about this brainwashed nutjob? She’s… She’ll do everything he says, and if you forgot, Scott’s not a fan of killing.”
Stiles bit his lip. She was right. Scott’s trust in the goodness of people was going to be his downfall someday. He prayed that this day had yet to come.
“He never was, and yet he managed his way around a Darach, a pack of alphas, and, most importantly, me. You have to trust in his instincts”, both of them jumped when they heard Peter’s voice. He’d approached them without any noise.
The former alpha looked beaten. There was a deep gash on his forehead, still oozing blood, he cradled his ribs and didn’t seem to comfortable standing. His light grey sweater was torn to shreds, there was a bullet hole in his shoulder and his steps left a deep red track on the soil.
Carefully he lowered himself onto a rock beside the entrance.
“No offense, but I think Gerard acts way less feral than you did”, Stiles said, “He calculates and plays the people around him like puppets. Did you forget what he did to Allison?”
Peter scoffed. “But we know him, Scott knows him and despite everything, the boy’s not all stupid.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and wanted to snap an answer, but Malia was faster.
“How is your bickering supposed to be of any help? He’s still in there alone! Why can’t we just... just blow this goddamned door away and get to him?!”
Stiles noticed how her breathing sped up and grabbed her wrist to calm her before she could work herself into a panic attack.
“Malia, it’s gonna be okay, you hear me? He will be okay, Scott will be fine. He’s an alpha, hell, he is the Alpha and all the shit he, we got through, it all prepared him for this. I mean Peter, Kate, a kanima, an alpha pack, a darach, a Deadpool, Theo, some weird doctors and the Wild Hunt? There’s no way Scott could lose!”, he pulled Malia into a hug again, held her tight in her arms, like a protecting blanket.
For some time, they stood like that, she gripped his shirt and buried her face in his shoulder and Stiles looked over his frie- his pack. When he met Peter’s piercing blue eyes, he saw a weirdly familiar expression in them. Now, that Malia couldn’t see him, he seemed to have lost his confidence, he looked tired, weary, done with all the fighting and suddenly Stiles knew why the look in the werewolf’s eyes was so familiar to him. His dad had looked at him the same way when he had told him that his mum would never leave the hospital again.
Stiles pressed his lips together and shook his head a little. This would not become another tragedy. Scott would come out of there alive, he would crack a stupid joke and they would laugh, everything would be okay, life would go on.
Suddenly, there was a strange, high-pitched sound ringing in his ears. Malia went rigid in his arms and Stiles scanned the gates to the tunnels expecting movement. Only when a heartbreaking wail escaped Malia’s throat he processed that the noise didn’t came from the tunnels.
It was Lydia’s scream.
Stiles was cold, his fingers, his whole body was numb and his vision flickered. Vaguely he felt how Malia collapsed, screaming and crying. Something gripped his heart and squeezed it tight. Stiles gasped and started to shake, his knees buckled under him and he fell down beside Malia.
The rest of the pack was frozen, with horror in their eyes they stared at Lydia, who had calmed down and muttered incomprehensible words. Derek just looked… lost. Like he didn’t know what to do. Like it was his fault. He wore the same look when the Alpha twins and Kali had killed Boyd with his own claws.
“Wait… Wait!”, Peter scrambled up, stumbled over to Liam, who stared to the ground and grabbed the beta’s face. “Show me your eyes!”
“Wha-What?”
“Show me your eyes!!”, Peter growled, eyes flashing icy blue. Liam’s instincts answered, painting his own blue eyes in a warm gold.
“They’re golden… He isn’t dead, Scott’s still alive!”
And if he heard Peter calling, the heavy gates to the tunnels were finally opened.
Scott was practically torn to shreds, there was blood everywhere, it made a puddle around his feet, steadily leaking from bullet wounds, cuts from knives, swords or whatever. But his eyes still shone red with triumph and pride. He opened his mouth for a mighty roar, sending chills down Stiles’ back and turning the eye colors of every supernatural creature on the clearing.
Stiles’ constricted lungs relaxed and he took a deep breath, looked to the sky and thanked whatever god was listening.
Suddenly it felt like a spell was broken or a curse lifted. The people escaped their shocked states, they were screaming, crying, laughing, all at once. A moment from The Lion King came to Stiles' mind, Simba climbing the Pride Rock after his victory over Scar and taking his rightful place as king. He let out a laugh, slightly hysterical, and beside him Malia began to move.
She practically threw herself in Scott's arms, sending both to the ground in a mess of tangled limbs. It was a very intimate moment, full of love and Stiles needed to look away. He was happy for them, really. In his time away from Beacon Hills he’d done a lot of thinking and it dawned to him that Malia and him never were meant for each other, the both them needed someone who calmed them, who could pull up an optimistic smile and who levelled their…, well, sometimes very crucial ways to solve problems.
Again, he looked over his pack mates, all tired but happy, sitting and laying on the ground. Derek was beside them, a smile playing on his lips. But before Stiles could actually meet his eyes, a sniffling sound on his other side drew his attention.
“Peter, are you crying?”
The werewolf wiped his face with his sleeves looking conflicted.
“Have you an allergy? To happiness, maybe?”, Stiles teased.
“No”, Peter stubbornly answered, “despite what you think, I can actually express emotions just like any other person.”
What started as a snort soon evolved into a full-body laugh, with head thrown back, tears in Stiles’ eyes and all. He stumbled in the direction of his friends and met Derek’s firm chest halfway there. Now, their eyes met. And they got their happy end.