WARNINGS: same as last chapter, watch for the *** start and then *** closing up the possibly triggering (definitely creepy) parts
wOW YES IT STARTS WITH CREEPY BITS
Jake was oddly at peace with himself. It was the headspace he got the last few (several? many? He’d lost track of the number of times he’d tried to find a new lover and then had to sever the ties) times that he’d done this. Stiles was so--he was so pretty, creamy skin marred with moles that freckled his skin in random bursts of imperfections. He continued to pet Stiles’ upper thigh, rubbing circles just around the young man’s inner thigh. He could feel the softness of the skin even through the loose boxers that he’d let Stiles keep in a mockery of modesty. Ah, yes, this was going well so far.
“I woke up the next morning and he was trying to escape and I was just--I was just so mad, you know? So I--I don’t know, it seemed like the right thing to do, I had a gun from my firearm evaluations that I had taken and forgotten to return. So I shot him, just so he would stop, so that he’d understand.” Jake looked terrifyingly earnest and he nodded at Stiles’ utter stillness. “Yes, I see that you understand, see? I just wanted him to understand as well that our love-making was perfect, it wasn’t as good as my lover’s and me, but it had potential! But he ended up dying in that bed. I had to run away. I’ve tried to find more lovers that could equal my old lover--he’s dead, by the way, did I tell you? He died in the line of action, a hero.” He smiled like a child smiled at someone who was adored, admired.
“I’m honoring his memory, you see? By continuing our love-making. By finding someone that I can love like he loved me. But,” his expression darkened, “I’ll be better. My love will be forever. So far, I haven’t found anyone yet, but I have faith. Maybe you’ll be the perfect one, Stiles.”
Stiles was frozen, paralyzed with fear. He had a clear idea of what Jake planned on doing and he was far from mentally prepared when Jake leaned over him. Brushing his lips across Stiles’ cheekbones, Jake smiled.
“Well. We’ll try night one, won’t we now?”
“‘Derek back, send help, sheriff house,’ oh my god, Boyd!” cried Erica, already sprinting towards the car and dragging Isaac with her. Boyd melted out from the night and merged with her course, not stopping to question why or where they were running.
“Derek’s back and he’s probably in some deep trouble because Lydia just sent a text for help!” Erica shouted as they ran. Boyd nodded at her and realized that what he’d felt vibrate in his pocket was his phone receiving Lydia’s message, several seconds after Erica had gotten it.
Isaac paled even as he raced towards the Sheriff’s house with Erica. They’d been searching the forests on the other side of town and hadn’t brought a car as they’d simply ran here. Now, he was cursing himself for not driving because it would’ve been so much faster. They could only hope that they were in time.
Gerard Argent, originally dead but not anymore it seemed, was standing in front of Jackson Whittemore, previously a kanima under the control of said originally dead man.
Lydia gaped at Gerard, for once, at a loss for words.
“How--?” Jackson choked out, fear of losing his wolf to his original kanima self chilling his bones.
“Well, I took a leaf out of Derek’s uncle’s book,” Gerard chuckled. “Except I chose a more dangerous method. Speaking of Peter though, where is he?”
Lydia had managed to pull herself together to snap a reply at him, “None of your business!”
Gerard looked absolutely delighted to be told that. “Why, of course it is! But then again, I already know, so, no biggie. He was irritating Stiles so much that he was volunteered to go negotiate with other packs, right? And you can’t have Stiles being irritated because...” he paused for dramatic effect, “He’s in a delicate condition, right?”
“What are you talking about?” Lydia managed to do a relatively calm façade even though internally she was freaking out.
“Oh, Derek here was very good at telling me things, weren’t you Derek?” he waved a hand at Derek who pulled back his teeth and growled. “Ha, oh wait, Derek, I forgot to let you talk again. So hard to differentiate, you’re just soanimalistic.”
“Leave them alone, Gerard, your--” Derek’s pained and angered words were cut short when the Argent simply waved a hand again.
“I’m going to talk simply now, Derek’s being a pain,” he smiled gently (creepily) at Jackson and Lydia. “I’m controlling Derek, so he won’t be able to help you children. My granddaughter has foolishly chosen the wrong side for her stupid, childish affections for the McCall boy. They’re currently out for the count, so I simply need answers from you two.”
Jackson snarled and Lydia spat in Gerard’s general direction.
“Oh-oh, you aren’t being cooperative.” He waved a hand again.
Jackson couldn’t do anything, too weak compared to Derek, especially with whatever unnatural power that possessed Derek, and so Derek flung him to one side before picking Lydia up, claws placed along her throat.
“No!” Jackson snarled, darting forward but again knocked down with a careless gesture from Derek--no, it wasn’t Derek, it was Gerard and his crazy, evil, possession.
“Listen up, Jackson, “ Gerard snapped, patience wearing thin. “Tell me where your precious Stiles is and I’ll leave you your Lydia in one piece and just a little scratched. Don’t tell me, and you’ll be saying farewell to her within seconds.” So saying, he waved and Derek--the creature’s claws tightened and Jackson could see the indents being made although skin hadn’t been pierced yet.
A loud cacophony of roars, snarls, and grunts exploded on the lawn as blurry shapes barreled into Derek, effectively displacing Lydia (who immediately scrambled into the house to check on Allison and Scott), while a lone shape crashed into Gerard.
“Boyd! Erica!” Jackson shouted, trying to catch their attention, “That’s Derek! You can’t kill him, we have to figure out how to get rid of whatever Argent’s done to him!”
“Argent?!” replied a shocked Erica, who had sat upon Derek’s arms, Boyd sitting on Derek’s legs. “That two-faced, lying bastard! Scott said that Allison had talked to her dad al--”
There was silence on the front lawn of Sheriff Stilinski’s house. It was a moment before Erica could gather up her nerves and look at the man who’d taken great pleasure in torturing her, Boyd, and Stiles that one day long ago.
“You fucker,” Boyd breathed, “How did you climb your way out of Hell?”
Erica shot Boyd a grin for that, ridiculously proud of her terrible influence upon her man even at a time like this. She turned back to see Gerard where he was crushed underneath Isaac’s body, he was glaring fiercely (but strangely smug) at the wolves.
“Well, I bargained with a creature from the Ancient Greek myths who somehow ended up in ‘Hell’ with me,” he mockingly said, “It turned out to be a great decision as you’ll soon see.” With that, he jerked his head a bit and Isaac cried out as his pack mates flew through the air when the creature that was possessing Derek simply stood up and shook itself to dislodge the two werewolves. Boyd barely landed before scrambling to tackle it again but had to pause when Erica gave a pained cry. She had landed with unfortunate aim directly into a tree and was crumpled at the bottom of it. When Boyd made to go over to her she simply shook her head and glared imperiously at the monster inhabiting Derek’s skin before her eyes rolled back and she was out.
Only once he’d seen that her chest still rose and fell with even, if shallow, breaths did Boyd turn back around to face Gerard and his thing from Hell. Jackson was picking Isaac up from where he’d fallen when the creature had picked him by the scruff of his neck and tossed him off of Gerard.
“Well?” Boyd inclined his head towards the crazy old man as if to say, what do we do with the lunatic?
Jackson grimaced. “Well, now we decimate them.”
Derek didn’t feel right at all. He was barely clinging onto any remembrance of who he was, what he fought for--whose side he was on. He could vaguely feel the actions that the empousa was causing him to do and he barely registered the thump when his packmates--no, enemies--tackled him. A blur of speech passed before suddenly he was standing up, shaking off the pesky things--friends!--dragging off somebody from his captor--crazy geriatric--oh god, Stiles was rubbing off on him--Stiles!--and then Gerard had a hand on his arm.
“Guys?” he gasped as a moment of clarity, hard-fought, clear-minded clarity burst through his head. “Don’t give him--Stiles!”
And then it was gone. All chance of communicating exactly how much it was necessary to keep Stiles away and safe.
He’d tried his best. It was all he could do and now--now he could feel his mind slipping. The last bit of humanity, of Derek Hale was escaping. There wasn’t even the faintest sense of who we was anymore. He had once last moment of peace and tranquility as Derek Hale and he used it to think as hard as he could:Stiles.