The alpha pack leaves Beacon Hills after just two days. The first Derek spends attempting to unite all those who know about the wolves into one force to take them on. The second Derek spends being ripped to shreds as the alphas assert their claim on what was once Hale territory. They kill Peter outright, but leave Derek, barely alive, as a message. Deaton manages to save him, but only just. Stiles stays at the vet’s to help— Deaton has to sleep eventually and, even though he’s unconscious, Derek gets restless and frantic in the presence of any of the other wolves.
Stiles isn’t glad Peter’s dead, but he isn’t exactly grieving either. Derek will heal soon enough. He’ll have to let himself fall back to beta—maybe even omega or find another pack, but that’s not so terrible. It might even be good for him to get out of Beacon Hills—Isaac too. All in all, Stiles figures things didn’t go so badly.
First they go to Boyd’s funeral, hearing the pastor lament the loss of a life taken too soon. They hear a similar message at Erica’s service that afternoon. The next day, Jackson is laid to rest in the Whittlemore family mausoleum on the edge of the cemetery with a grand and formal ceremony. That afternoon they attend two small ceremonies back-to-back as he and Derek stand alone as Peter’s casket is lowered into the grave next to his wife, child, and the rest of the Hale family. A few others come to the cemetery for Isaac—the entire lacrosse team, a few teachers from school—and there’s a quick graveside message from the funeral home’s pastor. The following morning, Melissa McCall spends the entirety of Scott’s funeral sobbing into Stiles’ shoulder as Jim McCall, fresh in from Chicago, stares vacantly into the distance, clearly still in shock from the news of his son’s death.
Last but not least, they lay the sheriff to rest. Beacon Hills’ firemen and sheriff’s deputies escort the casket, all in their dress uniforms with a solemn air of reverence surrounding them. People from all over come to pay their final respects. The preacher extols the sheriff’s many years of service to the community and how he heroically gave his life in the line of duty trying to save young people from the flames.
No, he was just trying to save me, Stiles thinks.
Because Stiles knows though he doesn’t want to that his father ran into the flames because of him. The firemen on the scene pulled two people from the flames just as the sheriff arrived: Lydia Martin and Scott McCall. Stiles’ mind has painted a far too vivid image of what must have happened. He can almost see the look on his dad’s face when he recognized Scott; See him remember his son was supposed to be spending the night at the McCall’s; see him look to the flames and realize Stiles may be trapped inside.
It’s the only way to explain why the man would have run into the blaze with no protective gear just as the firemen were retreating because the walls were giving way.
All this lying to protect him, and I got him killed anyway. I should’ve known. First mom, now him, what the hell is wrong with me?
He can feel the panic attack coming. The sound of the pastor’s voice gives way to a rushing noise in his ears. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on breathing, but the more he tries, the more he realizes just how out of control it is. He gasps for air as spots dot his vision. The world tilts as he topples, but strong arms catch him before he hits the ground. He continues to battle the constricting feeling in his chest as the hands on his shoulders lead him away.
"Breathe, Stiles,” Derek commands softly. “Come on.”
Eventually, he does suck enough air in his lungs to start the slow process back to normal respiration. He and Derek don’t return to the graveside. They stay at the edge of the cemetery, near the trees. When the funeral is over and those gathered disband, no one approaches, but several give Stiles long, sad looks. Stiles is trembling from head to toe, but he can’t stop it. It’s all too much to take in.
“What the fuck happens now?” he wonders aloud.
“Now, we’ll make the alphas pay,” Derek promises, and his voice sends a chill down Stiles spine because there’s no masking the thirst for blood behind the words.
“Yeah,” Stiles agreed darkly. “We will.”