Teen Angst

I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until Deaton said it.

"Wow..."

I blinked, heart thudding harder. That was not the kind of "wow" you wanted to hear from a seasoned supernatural vet. I turned toward Stiles just in time to see him lean forward, hopeful and panicked all at once.

"'Wow?'" he repeated, voice high with tension. "'Wow,' as in, 'I've seen this before and I know exactly what to do'-kind of 'wow?' 'Cause that's the kind we were hoping for..."

Deaton gave him a look, one that said what none of us wanted to hear. "I think you might be overestimating my abilities."

I looked down at Derek. His skin was pale, like frostbitten marble. If I hadn't seen his chest rise and fall, I might've believed he was already gone. Lydia hovered near the table, then reached out with shaking fingers, brushing them along his arm. Her breath caught.

"He's cold," she whispered. "Really cold."

"Do you think this is permanent?" Scott asked. The hesitation in his voice wasn't like him, and that made it worse.

Deaton pressed his fingers lightly to Derek's neck, checking for something only he could interpret. "I'm not sure a medical diagnosis is even adequate. This is well beyond my experience."

Stiles shifted next to me, crossing his arms. "So, what do we do with him?"

Deaton sighed. "Until he wakes up? Probably not much. It might be best to leave him with me. He'll be safe here."

"You mean, from Kate?" Stiles asked.

"If she's alive and she is what you say she is," Deaton replied, "she won't be able to walk past that gate."

That should've comforted me. It didn't. I looked back at Derek's face—too still, too quiet. His usual scowl was gone, replaced by something... softer. Younger. I knew Derek at this age, sure. But I was also a kid. He seemed so old and put together. Now, god, he is just a baby.

"Why would she want to do this to him?" Lydia asked.

"Knowing Kate?" Deaton said. "It's probably for a reason that won't be any good for anyone but her."

"And bad for everyone else," Stiles added grimly.

Deaton looked at all of us. "You guys should probably go home. He doesn't look to be in any danger... So, maybe the rest of you should get some sleep."

Sleep? That was a joke. I couldn't even blink without picturing Derek buried under that Aztec tomb.

"Someone should stay with you," Scott said, glancing around.

"I'll stay," I said before anyone else could speak.

Deaton looked at me and gave a small nod. "That's fine." I figured he had also pieced that Derek may recognize, or atleast trust me, more than the others.

"My grades are fine, despite missing a few classes," I added, before someone, Stiles, could argue.

Predictably, Stiles turned to me with a dramatic, completely unnecessary "I'm dying inside" expression. "I'm so not okay with this-"

"Guys," I said, leveling my gaze at all of them. "Go."

"No-" Stiles started again, arms flailing slightly.

"Text us if anything happens," Scott cut in, giving me a nod.

Stiles muttered under his breath. "Nope. Still not okay with it. Not going anywhere." He paused, staring at me, then grumbled, "All right. Just 'cause you're doing good at school..."

I couldn't help but smile faintly. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." I pressed a kiss to his cheek.

They filed out slowly, casting looks over their shoulders; Scott with concern, Lydia with doubt, and Stiles with outright refusal in his eyes. He hated leaving me. I knew that. But I had to stay. I needed to.

-----☾-----

We sat in silence for a while, my hand wrapped around Dereks.

"How's he doing?" I asked.

Deaton glanced at the monitors. "His heart rate is alarmingly high."

"He's a lot warmer now," I noted. I wasn't sure if it was the heating lamp Deaton had brought over, or just... something changing inside him.

"Cassandra, I'm going to try something," he said gently. "I want you to keep holding his hand, if that's okay."

I nodded, wrapping my fingers tighter around Derek's. He didn't squeeze back. Not yet.

Then I watched, wide-eyed, as Deaton sliced his arm with a scalpel, and the gash on his arm healed right in front of us. "That looked like it healed really fast," I said.

Deaton frowned. "Unusually fast."

"What does it mean?"

"I'm not sure..." he murmured. "Let's try something else. Grab me a five-milliliter syringe—top drawer."

I moved quickly, finding it on instinct. I handed it over and Deaton pressed the needle into Dereks's vein.

He didn't move, then something in Derek's brow furrowed... something shifted in the air.

"Derek...?" I whispered.

His eyes flew open, and for a second, I wasn't sure if he even saw me. There was nothing familiar in them. Just fear. Confusion.

He pushed past Deaton like it was nothing, barreling through the clinic doors and into the night. By the time I hit the front entrance, he was already gone. Just... gone.

-----☾-----

We all stood in a circle in the front of the clinic. The air was heavy with that all-too-familiar mix of failure and panic.

Deaton's voice cut through the silence. "I don't think he's just younger in body... I think he's younger in his mind, too."

I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, still trying to push the image of his terrified face out of my head. "He didn't recognize either of us. And he looked like he was scared out of his mind."

Stiles ran a hand through his hair. "So, if you're a teenage werewolf, and you're scared, where do you go?"

Scott's brow furrowed. "A wolf goes back to its den... but Derek lives in a loft."

"Not when he was a teenager," Stiles pointed out.

And that's when it hit me. My breath caught. "The Hale House."

Deaton nodded grimly. "He wouldn't remember the fire, it wouldn't have happened yet."

Lydia gave Scott a sharp look. "Hold on... Say you do manage to catch up to him? What are you going to say to him? That his whole family is dead?"

That statement knocked the wind out of me. Scott looked like he'd been punched in the gut. "I guess I'm going to have to..."

"Oh! Good luck with that," Lydia said sarcastically, though her tone held more worry than bite.

"She's probably right," Stiles added. "Maybe you shouldn't? You know, at least until we figure out how to get him back to normal."

"I can't lie to him," Scott said, shaking his head.

"Okay! I'll do it," Stiles offered with mock enthusiasm.

Scott gave him a look. "I don't think any of us can. Remember—he can hear a heartbeat rising. When we find him, we tell him the truth."

"Regardless, I don't think we should. We need him to trust us." I added.

Deaton's tone was quiet, ominous. "If he gets to the house first... you won't have to."

-----☾-----

We didn't beat him to the house. Instead, we got a phone call from the Sheriff that sounded like he needed a drink and two weeks of vacation.

I stood stiffly beside Stiles in the Sheriff's office.

Sheriff Stilinski's voice cracked like a whip. "I want you to be honest with me, absolutely and completely honest." He looked between me, Scott, and Stiles.

I felt Stiles tense beside me.

"Have you been time traveling?"

"What??" Stiles choked. "Hang on, what?!"

Sheriff Stilinski kept going like a man on the edge. "Because if time traveling is real... You know what? I'm done. I'm out. You're going to be driving me to Eichen House." I couldn't help but laugh.

Scott's voice cut in calmly, trying to steer things back on track. "We found him like that."

"Where?" Stilinski demanded. "Swimming in the fountain of youth?"

Stiles cleared his throat. "No... We found him buried in a tomb of wolfsbane in an Aztec temple in Mexico underneath a church in the middle of a town that was destroyed by an earthquake..."

There was a beat of silence. Then the sheriff's voice rose a few octaves. "You told me you were camping!"

"Yeah, we were!" I said, giving him a smile. Then my voice quieted. "...In Mexico."

Scott stepped up beside him. "Derek's been aged backwards—he can't remember anything. We just need to talk to him."

"Yeah, well," Stilinski muttered, throwing up his hands, "so far, he's not talking to anybody."

I stood. "He'll talk to me."

They all turned to look at me. No one argued. Maybe they saw it in my face, this wasn't a suggestion. Or they were smart enough to remember my history with Derek.

Inside the room, Derek sat at the table, still and bristling. His eyes tracked me the second I walked in. Narrowed. Suspicious. A little feral.

I took a slow breath and stepped forward. "Derek... You need to trust us. We can help you if you come with us"

"Why would I go anywhere with you?" he snapped.

Scott tried to reason with him. "There was an accident. You lost some memory, but we can help you get it back."

Derek's eyes flicked to him, then narrowed again. "How much memory?"

"...A lot," Scott admitted. "But you can trust us."

"You're an Alpha," Derek muttered, studying him. "Okay... who are you?"

Before Stiles could answer, Derek's gaze landed on me again, and this time, something clicked in his face. Recognition, maybe. Or confusion trying to morph into clarity.

"I know you," he said. "You... you're Arabella."

I blinked, that one sentence feeling like I got the wind knocked out of me. "That's my mom." I couldn't say she was my mom. "I'm Cassie."

Derek frowned. "No, you're not Cassie. Cassie is like... eight."

My chest ached. "I am. You just have your time messed up a bit." I swallowed hard. "You love my older brother. Blaise. I promise... I'm Cassie."

He stared at me for a long beat. And then, softly, like it didn't quite make sense, "Okay."

His eyes moved past me, toward the Stiles and the Sheriff.

"Who are they?"

Stiles leaned in through the doorway with a sardonic grin. "Oh, we're the guys keeping you out of jail."

"Let us help you," I said gently.

"No," Derek answered immediately.

"Okay, dude," Stiles snapped, stepping fully inside. "You almost tore apart two deputies back there. You need to listen to us, and that starts with no fangs, no claws, no wolf-man. You got that?"

"I'm fine," Derek said, jaw clenched. "As long as it's not a full moon."

Scott's brow furrowed. "You still have trouble with the full moon?"

"I said I'm fine," Derek bit out.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "All right. You coming with us, or not?"

Derek paused. His eyes met mine again, softer this time, but still guarded. "You want me to trust you? Where's my family?"

I hesitated, God, this part never got easier. "They're not here."

Scott stepped in, his voice gentle but firm. "There was a fire. And..."

He hesitated, then quickly changed direction. "They're fine. Just had to move out of Beacon Hills. And we're going to take you to them, as soon as we figure out how to get your memories back."

Derek stared at him, then looked back at me. I avoided his gaze.

"Okay..." he said finally, voice low.

-----☾-----

I stood off to the side in the hallway of the sheriff's station, close enough to hear everything, far enough away that I wouldn't get dragged into another argument. Derek was in the other room, probably pacing like a caged animal. He didn't know where he was, who to trust. Except... maybe me. Barely.

Scott rubbed a hand down his face, sighing heavily. "I shouldn't have done that. I lied my ass off."

"You're fine," Stiles said without missing a beat. "You saved him a ton of unnecessary pain."

"Yeah, until it all comes back to him in flashes of trauma," I muttered. Neither of them responded.

Stiles kept going, like the more he talked, the more he could avoid thinking about what we'd just done. "We'll figure this out in a day or two. He goes back to being old-Derek, everybody's happy!"

"Except for Derek," I said under my breath.

"Who's never happy," Stiles finished with a faint grin.

Scott didn't return it. "It's just... another person we're lying to. Again. I always feel like it's better when we tell the truth. With Lydia. My mom. Your dad..."

"Yeah, but that is Derek Hale in there," Stiles argued. "He may be physically younger, but he's still him. He's still suspicious, angry, and could probably throw us across the room if we breathe wrong."

Scott hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Take him to my house. Don't let him out of your sight."

Stiles looked mildly offended. "And where are you going?"

"I'm going to talk to the guy we should've gone to before."

"We'll let Lydia and Malia know you're heading to Peter" I said. "Be careful."

Scott gave me a grateful look and headed off without another word.

Stiles waited until he was gone before groaning, "I hate that guy."

-----☾-----

We'd barely walked into the house before Stiles made the rules clear.

"We're going to wait here for Scott. We're going to sit quietly. We're not going to call or talk to anyone."

Derek, sitting stiffly on the couch like the furniture might bite him, looked over with a raised brow. "Do I talk to you?"

"No."

"Fine."

"Good."

Silence.

Derek turned to me. "Then who do I talk to?"

Stiles jumped slightly. "AHH! Jesus—"

I smothered a laugh behind my hand.

"Are you getting taller?" Stiles added suspiciously, squinting at Derek.

"I'm literally the same height," Derek muttered, clearly annoyed.

Before anyone could say anything else, the front door opened and Rafael McCall walked in, holding a plastic bag that smelled like soy sauce and regret.

"What are you guys doing here?" he asked.

"We're waiting for Scott," Derek said, much too honestly.

Rafael nodded. "Yeah, so am I. We're supposed to have dinner. I brought extra. You guys hungry?"

"Yes," Derek answered immediately, eyes lighting up.

"No, we're not hungry," Stiles said quickly, stepping in front of him.

"I'm starving," Derek insisted.

"None of us are hungry," Stiles said again, louder this time. "Thanks, though."

Rafael glanced at me and I gave him a polite, helpless shrug.

"Well, if you're not hungry, Stiles, your friend can still eat with us," Rafael said. "What's your name?"

Stiles blurted, "Miguel. My cousin Miguel. From Mexico."

Rafael gave him a dry look, then turned to Derek. "¿Es usted natural de México, Miguel?"

"Oh my God," Stiles whispered to himself.

Derek didn't even hesitate. "No soy nativo, sino que pasé un montón de tiempo allá."

I blinked at him. I didn't know Derek spoke Spanish that well.

Rafael smiled, impressed. "Fantastic. Egg roll?"

"Hell yeah."

"Shrimp fried rice or pork fried rice?"

"Shrimp."

"Beef and broccoli?"

"Fantastic."

"Egg roll..."

Derek nodded enthusiastically. I felt a pang in my chest as I watched him. This was the Derek I grew up with. Wary, yes, and a bit grumpy, but happy and energetic. This was pre-fire, pre-death-of-my-parents Derek, who still had hope.

We all sat down in the kitchen. Derek ate like a wolf in a polite human disguise. I picked at my food, mostly watching him.

"So, Miguel," Rafael said, leaning on the counter. "What did you say your last name was again?"

Stiles froze. "Uh... Juarez. Cinqua. Tiago."

"That's a mouthful. How do you spell that?"

"Phonetically."

I coughed to cover my laugh and caught Derek smirking behind his egg roll.

"Mr. McCall," Derek asked suddenly, "you're an FBI agent?"

"He's low-level," Stiles said quickly. "Very low-level. He doesn't even have a voice."

Derek ignored him. "So, do you investigate murders?"

"Sometimes, when it's a federal crime."

"What about fires?"

I looked up from my food, my stomach tightening. I could see where this was going. Stiles did too, judging by the way he started shifting in his seat.

"I wonder where Scott is," Stiles said, way too loudly. "Shouldn't he be here by now? We should call Scott."

Rafael frowned. "What kind of fires are you talking about?"

Derek's voice dropped slightly. "Do you know anything about the Hale family?"

-----☾-----

I barely had a moment to collect myself after Rafael left. My eyes were still burning, my throat thick with unshed apologies I didn't know how to say any louder.

Derek had gone quiet. That kind of quiet that feels like pressure building in the air before a storm.

He looked at me, really looked at me, and something shifted in his eyes. The spark that had been soft, almost curious, dimmed. It twisted into suspicion. Hurt. Anger.

"You knew," he said, voice low and even, like he was holding something back.

I swallowed, but the lump in my throat didn't budge. "Derek..."

"You knew about the fire. About my family." His hands curled into fists. "You let that man sit there and talk about it like it was nothing. Like they were nothing."

"That's not what he meant—"

"Don't." His voice snapped like a whip, sharp enough to cut through me. "You stood there and said nothing. Not one word. You watched me listen to him say my family was gone, and you didn't stop it. You didn't say a thing."

I stepped toward him, shaking. "I didn't know how. You don't remember everything yet, and I didn't want to just, dump it on you. You were smiling two seconds ago, Derek. You were happy."

He took a step back, like my words burned.

"You kept it from me," he spat. "You lied to me. You let me sit here eating Chinese food while everyone I loved was already dead."

"No, I—" I choked on the words, tears spilling hot and fast now. "I didn't lie. I just didn't tell you yet. I didn't know how. God, Derek, so much happened, and I was trying to figure out how to say it. You trusted me."

"Not anymore," he said. Flat. Final. And it felt like my chest split open.

Stiles stepped between us fast, his arm coming up like a shield. "Okay! Okay. Everyone take a breath."

I backed away, gasping for air like I couldn't find enough in the room. Derek was still staring at me like I'd betrayed him in the worst way possible.

"I'm gonna go get Scott," Stiles said quickly. "My phone's downstairs. Just—don't move, okay? Don't."

-----☾-----

Stiles practically tripped over himself down the stairs, pulling his phone from his pocket like it might be the last lifeline he had.I stayed frozen where I was, outside the door of Scott's room, my arms wrapped tight around myself.

My breathing hadn't evened out. I couldn't stop the tears from falling, no matter how hard I tried to hold them in.

Downstairs, I heard Stiles's voice, low and rushed.

"No, he's in your bedroom. He'll be totally fine. To be honest, I'm starting to miss the old Derek..."

I flinched.

"So, if you think Kate's coming to find him..."

"You might be right."

The second he said it, something in me dropped like a stone.

I pushed the door open and looked around.

"Stiles?" My voice cracked.

Silence.

I stepped further in, heart hammering. "Derek?"

Nothing.

I tore through the hallway, the stairs, checked every room like maybe—maybe—he'd just gone to the bathroom. Opened a window. Anything.

But he was gone.

"Stiles, he's not here!" My voice came out too loud, too panicked. "He's gone!"

Stiles turned toward me from the kitchen, eyes wide. "What?"

I just shook my head helplessly.

He didn't need to ask again. He sprinted past me, checked the rooms himself, his expression falling more and more with each empty glance.

When he came back, I was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, hands trembling in my lap.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "He's gone because of me. He trusted me and I ruined it. I broke it."

Stiles knelt in front of me, his usual sarcasm completely gone. His voice was softer than I expected when he said, "Cass, hey. This isn't on you."

"I didn't stop Rafael. I should've said something, should've warned Derek before he found out like that."

"Yeah, maybe. But you're not the reason he's gone."

"I just wanted to help him," I said, voice cracking all over again. "I miss him, Stiles. And now, now I don't even know if we'll get him back."

He sat beside me on the steps, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me into his side..

"We will get him back. You're not giving up on him, and neither am I."

I let out a watery laugh. "You kind of hate him."

"He is a sour wolf," he said flatly, then cracked the smallest smile. "But he's still one of us."

I nodded, brushing tears from my cheeks. "I just... I need him to remember."

Stiles looked at me, more serious now.

"He will. And when he does, he'll remember who stayed for him. Who never stopped fighting."

-----☾-----

The air in the Hale Vault was thick with the scent of dust, iron, and old blood. Peter Hale sat slumped near one of the scorched walls, muttering to himself like a man cracked down the middle. His eyes darted back and forth, not really looking at any of us—just seeing ghosts.

I hovered near the edge of the room, close enough to hear, far enough to react if things got... unpredictable.

"It was never... never... about the Triskelion," Peter muttered, almost like a chant. "They took it. They took it while I was blind..."

Stiles leaned in a little, brows pulling together. "Took what?"

Peter finally looked up, his expression sharp in a way that made the hair on my arms rise. "Bonds. Bearer bonds. And they took them all."

I glanced over at Lydia. Her mouth opened slightly. "Bearer bonds?"

Stiles blinked. "Hold on, are you saying that you got robbed?"

Peter's eyes narrowed. "This was a heist. Somebody planned this!"

I took a step forward, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "You're saying whoever broke into the vault... they weren't here for something supernatural?"

Peter stood slowly, his tone suddenly lucid, dangerously so. "No. They came for money."

Lydia's voice was quiet but steady. "How much did they take?"

Peter looked at us all like the number itself was a weapon. "One hundred and seventeen..."

Stiles lifted his eyebrows. "Thousand?"

Peter's smile was sharp and humorless. "Million."

The room went still.

My stomach dropped. I exchanged a glance with Lydia, and even she looked rattled. A hundred and seventeen million dollars? That wasn't a break-in. That was a war chest. And someone now had it in their hands. And I had a feeling it was going to come back to bite us.