The Sicilian Defence [Derek Hale]

Chapter Fifty

Hearing the laughter coming from the snow, Louisa turned to see her whole heart tumbling down the hill in the silly red coat she refused to take off. A smile jumped onto her own face at the sight of it, there was nothing greater than seeing those you love running around happy. It was a beautiful sight.

"Come here darling," she mused, and Grace rolled over a large grin on her own face as she pushed herself up in the snow. White covered everything in sight making the glaringly obvious red coat shine even brighter, snow fell and hit your cheek and even though it was harsh you still loved it. Because it was beautiful. Waddling over and stumbling through the fluffy powder she climbed into the car tossing her feet up and down as she did. "You're all cold," she mused as she reached forward brushing her hand against her daughter's cheek.

Staring out at the cell wall was all I could do. It was cold in the Sheriff station, but I couldn't bring myself to care about that. Stiles was being put in Eichen house whilst I was sat in a cell not being able to wish him off and hope that he was okay. I'd let my head fall down and I was resting my forehead on my arms which were thrown over my lap. This was the most boring and useless place and I was stuck here.

"Still nothing?" Argent asked I hadn't bothered listening out because we all knew I wasn't going to be able to do much anyway. "Derek?" He asked again when Derek didn't respond.

"Hold on..." Derek urged, "You were right. They're moving all the evidence."

"Was there anything about the murder itself? Any other details?" Argent asked and I pushed myself up feeling a slight wave of dizziness at suddenly being forced to sit upright and the blinding lights attacking my eyes.

"Just about putting Katashi's things in a federal lockup, and something about Stilinski being out for the day. You know... If all of this is true, people are dead because of Stiles."

"But is it really Stiles? Remember, we've had this problem before..."

"It's not Stiles," I cut in, and Derek sighed.

"But we got lucky with Jackson. What happens when you don't get lucky?"

Were they... were they discussing what happened to Stiles or what they were going to do with him when they found him?

"I guess it depends on how much or how little of Stiles is left."

"You ever heard of the Berserkers?" Chris asked. No, no I had not.

"Germanic warriors. They wore the skins of bears to channel their ferocity."

"They didn't just wear them-- they became them," that caught my attention. It sounded so obscene that I was forced to look at him confused. "You know, a couple years ago, a family came to us for help with their son... This group of teenagers, they were doing all sorts of rituals with animal skins. Somehow, they tapped into it. But, with Berserkers, the human side doesn't last long-- they're not tempered by the moon."

"He killed people?" Derek asked. The direction the conversation was going in was bringing nausea to my stomach and I couldn't help but grab onto the bench tightly.

"He tore them apart. Eventually, I had to tell the family their son was gone. It took three of us to take him down. Almost every bullet we had. And, when it was over, I felt no remorse. None. I knew that kid was long gone." Did that make him evil? Did that make anyone evil? How do people do that, speak of death and having no remorse so easily?

"Would you feel any remorse putting Stiles down?"

"Stiles? Yes. But not a Nogitsune."

Feeling something break in my hands, I snapped out of their conversation looking down to see a broken bench and a piece of metal in my hand. Blood was beginning to pour and I froze looking to both Derek and Argent. "Er...it wasn't me," I tried and Argent rolled his eyes with a sigh.