Chapter Text
The nemeton stands alone in its sheltered clearing; it doesn't remain that way for long.
Stiles approaches it, lifts a hand to touch it, and suddenly she's there.
"Haven't you done enough already?"
Stiles stops, looks across the great stump to see Jennifer a few feet from it. She looks unwell. More than a little crazed.
"I just came to say hello," Stiles says coolly.
"Why don't you say good-bye instead?" she sneers.
"Why don't you, Miss Blake?" Stiles challenges.
The pack emerges from the trees then. Isaac and Allison, Erica and Boyd, Cora and Peter, Scott and Lydia, Ethan and Aiden, John and Chris.
They have her surrounded. She seems completely unbothered by it.
"Wow. Gang's all here," she says, simpering. "How sweet."
"No," Stiles says, then Cor emanates from his body's center. "Now the gang's all here."
Jennifer smirks, although she's clearly displeased. "Right. Your fantastical little energy puppet."
"Cor is far more than a puppet," Stiles says. "Would you like to see what he can do, if I set him loose?"
Jennifer only smirks at the threat. "This isn't going to go your way, Genim."
Stiles feels the sharp tug at the center of his gut as Jennifer tries to take hold of him again. But this time Stiles is expecting it; this time he's ready for her tricks.
"Nice try," he says.
Twelve voices rise up from the circle, they all chant his name.
Jennifer's hold on him abruptly snaps.
She gasps, horrified. "You little…"
"Yeah," Stiles says. Mocking her earlier words, he states, "Names are powerful, you know."
And Stiles does know.
The concept was simple. On pain of death if ever shared, Stiles told everyone his real name and instructed them to repeat it three times if Jennifer tried to turn diabolical puppeteer again. The hope was that invoking the power of three and combining it with the small amount of energy within each member of the pack would be enough to disrupt Jennifer's tenuous hold.
Stiles is pleased to see that it has done exactly that.
"I didn't even have to get Derek to chime in," Stiles says with a shrug toward his mate. He tilts his head to one side. "You really don't stand a chance anymore."
Jennifer's expression grows mean. "I know you think you've outsmarted me, you little brat. But I've got more than one trick up my sleeve. Can you say the same?"
With confidence he replies, "I can."
Stiles has been doing his research.
A symbol glows as Stiles activates it, a rune called The Rings hastily drawn on the backs of each hand of the twelve who encircle the nemeton. It's a spell Stiles thought might come in handy sooner rather than later and he thought long and hard on its execution.
Everything right down to the shape they're standing in is important. The circle they form is playing connect-the-dots, forming a barrier around the nemeton that keeps everything out—and everything in. So long as Stiles keeps the runes activated and everyone stays in place, Jennifer won't be able to perform her disappearing act again.
The darach seems to realize this as she looks around the group, casting glances at the three interlaced circles printed on everyone’s hands.
Jennifer harrumphs. "A trap meant to keep me in. I see. You think you're so clever, Stiles...But I'm not impressed."
"I'm not very impressed with you either," Stiles shoots back. "But I guess some people just aren't as gifted others."
"Gifted?" Jennifer asks, eyes bright with malice.
Stiles glares. “I didn’t have to steal power from any innocent people.”
Jennifer seethes.
One second she's a few paces back from the nemeton, the next she's poised over the stump a dagger raised above her head. Before Stiles has time to react, she's slicing her palm open and wrapping both hands around the handle of the weapon. Blood seeps into the etched runes of the wooden hilt, the metal blade.
"We'll see how gifted you are, when I take the nemeton back!"
"Cor!" Stiles screams, but it's a beat too late.
Unholy light in her eyes, Jennifer stabs the crimson blade into the trunk.
Stiles watches with bated breath, but a moment passes, and nothing happens.
Stiles stands frozen, Cor a step away from lunging at Jennifer, stayed by his master's confusion. Derek's hand fits around Stiles' wrist, silently asking what's happening. Stiles twitches his head side to side; he doesn't know. He holds a hand up to keep the pack at bay, when he feels them shift restlessly; it's too important that they stay in position.
"What...?" Jennifer breathes out.
Blood still drips down the decorated knife, pooling on the surface of the nemeton. Jennifer brings her free hand down on the wood, fingers spread, and she dips her head like she's listening.
She comes back up expression a little wild-eyed. Stiles has no idea what she's talking about when she says, "...Something's not right."
Then her eyes travel up to Stiles, who for his part is very, very lost on what's happening.
"It's you…" she says slowly, disbelief stark in her tone.
"It...is me…" Stiles says, one hundred percent not following.
Jennifer tilts her head and looks at Stiles like she's seeing right through him to the inside. "How could such a thing happen?" she questions, shaking her head.
"How could...what...happen?" Stiles asks, casting an uncomfortable look at Derek. Derek shakes his head; he doesn't know either.
"How can you keep it all for yourself?!" Jennifer demands.
"All of what?"
"All the nemeton's power!" Jennifer yells. "How is that possible?! I can't take it away from—”
Jennifer stops suddenly, eyes intent on Stiles.
"I can take it away from you," she says slyly.
Then she's across the nemeton, knife raised above Stiles' head.
Stiles is too startled to do anything about it.
Fortunately, Derek isn't.
The werewolf tackles the darach, knocking the weapon out of her hands and bringing her to the ground. Jennifer screams in protest, then in anger, lashing out at Derek with violent strokes that leave deep gashes.
"Cor!" Stiles shouts, siccing the beast on her. Cor charges, mouth ripped open in a furious snarl.
Jennifer notices him just in time to avoid having her throat ripped out; instead her shoulder is bitten, blood oozing warm and slippery down her chest and arm.
Stiles is beside Derek, eyes pinned on Jennifer, while Cor stands between them, glowing hot.
Clutching her shoulder, Jennifer furtively glances left and right. It's no surprise when she tries to make a break for it.
"Nuh uh!" Stiles exclaims, pulling the strings of his power tight, the action not unlike tugging on the reins to bring horses to yield.
The barrier holds; Jennifer runs straight into it and coincidentally goes flying back. She hits the ground hard, the force field crackling loudly where she made contact.
Sitting up to stare at it, she breathes heavily, weighing her options.
"Did we not establish that wouldn't work already?" Stiles wonders aloud, looking at Derek.
Derek shrugs; he’s bloody, but he’s fine, already healing. "I guess some people don't know when to quit,” he comments.
"Yeah…" Stiles says, looking back at Jennifer, his mouth drawn down in a scowl.
She's getting to her feet now and she looks—flustered. Stiles had sort of been betting on furious.
"Stiles…" she says calmly. "There's been a mistake."
"Has there?" Stiles asks, eyebrow raised in skepticism.
"Yes," Jennifer says pleasantly, all warm smile and goodie teacher again.
"Okay," Stiles says. "And what mistake was that?"
"We're on the same side," Jennifer says in appeasement.
Stiles scoffs. "Oh, is that why you tried to kill me? Several times, I might add."
Jennifer smiles. "Stiles. This is all a huge misunderstanding. Derek, you believe me, don't you?"
Derek gives her the flattest look Stiles has ever seen on the were's face—and that is saying something.
Jennifer sighs. "Fine. We'll do this the hard way then."
She moves supernaturally fast, on Lydia in a heartbeat; no one can do anything about it.
Jennifer lashes out, the dagger mysteriously in her hand once more. Lydia lets out a startled cry as her skin slices open under the sharp edge. She doubles over, cradling her bleeding hand against her. Allison has her crossbow raised and aimed for Jennifer in the span of a second, but the darach has already moved again. This time it's Isaac and another cut across the back of a hand. Then it's the Sheriff.
With each hand she cuts one more rune gets taken out of the equation and the spell weakens a fraction.
Stiles watches her flit about, unable to keep up, always a step behind. Everyone else is doing the same, unable to predict her next move. She hits Allison, then Boyd, then circles back to Isaac for his other hand.
The barrier is quickly crumbling.
"Dammit!" Stiles snarls. "Derek, can you get her?"
Derek shakes his head once. "No. I can't follow the magic. There's no scent trail, no real movement to track."
"Dammit!" the teen shouts.
But then—as he so often does—Stiles has an idea.
"Wait. Follow the magic. I got it."
Stiles closes his eyes and reaches out with his mind's eye. He immediately sees the threads in the aether, the lines that not very long ago he couldn't identify, much less name. Most of them are connected to him, and tied to each member of the pack, to Cor and to Derek. Stiles recalls what it felt it like all that time ago in that gritty cellar when he was tied to a chair with a knife sticking out of his chest and so, so desperate—when his magic had tugged him toward Derek.
This time Stiles focuses on Jennifer. That is who he is reaching for now.
A ribbon of magic shoots forward, weaving through the lines of energy that make up the very air, the very earth, and then—
It strikes.
Jennifer yelps, Stiles' magic piercing her like a spear through her other shoulder. Her rampage stops dead in its tracks; the shell around them is thin, but holding.
"Got you," Stiles mutters, opening his eyes. "Cor. Sic 'er."
Cor is off like a shot, racing toward Jennifer. There's an awful moment, almost as if in slow motion, when Cor leaps over the nemeton and Jennifer screams.
She sounds just like an innocent person about to be torn asunder by a monster.
But Jennifer has killed twelve people and he can't afford to go easy on her.
The squelching crunch as Cor's jaws snap closed around her throat is probably something Stiles will remember until the day he dies. Either that or the look in her eyes as she dies.
Stiles thinks it might not be entirely fair, since anyone who was a victim of the Alpha Pack, was just that: a victim. But Jennifer made some very wrong choices after the fact.
Cor shakes his head once, letting the pulp fall from his teeth. He steps away, still alert, but there's no need. Stiles can sense it; she's dead.
Stiles lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Somehow he had thought it would be harder. That the fight with the darach would have had a little more razzle-dazzle to it. Some thunder and lightning as furious as the darach's wrath, at least. But in the end Jennifer had just seemed scared above all else.
It doesn't seem real.
"Is she…?" Stiles asks, just to be sure.
Derek tromps over to the body, kneeling beside it to get a closer look. It's nothing more than a mangled corpse. He looks up at Stiles and nods.
"Thank god," Stiles says, not feeling relieved at all.
He lowers the spell holding together the barrier. It falls away like a curtain at the end of a show. The Pack stands in shambles, clustering together, bleeding in more places than not, but they're all there and they're all alive. And that's all that matters.
"We won," Stiles says, but it feels wrong in his mouth, anticlimactic in a way that doesn't sit right with him.
It must show on his face, because Derek frowns at him across the great tree stump and no one is smiling.
"What?" his mate finally asks.
"Something's not right," Stiles says, but he doesn't fully understand the truth of those words until blood spurts from Derek's neck.
He's too shocked to speak as Derek suddenly falls to his knees, revealing Deucalion standing there with one bloodied claw raised and eyes reddened to match.
Derek's eyes meet Stiles' one more time; the light is going out of them.
Deucalion says, "You've won nothing," and knocks Derek's body over with a kick.