Find Your Freedom

Written for the first bonus challenge of the Mating Games. :)

--

John sighs and rubs at his eyes, trying to ease the pulsing ache behind them. He's dealt with a lot over the years. He's survived a lot. All of the things that have happened and it's the new crop of deputies that make him doubt how longevity. Picking up the so-called report on his desk, he stalks to his office door and throws it open, scanning the station. He spots a dark ponytail across the room and narrows his eyes.

"Greenberg!" He shouts.

She whirls around to face him, hair swaying behind her. When she sees who has called her name, a dubiously innocent expression crosses her face.

"Yes, sir?" She calls back.

He tears up the report and throws it up in the air, letting the pieces float to the ground. Her innocent expression flickers for a moment and then lands on confusion and damn if John doesn't have to give her credit for that. She is one hell of an actress.

He huffs. "Stop trying to arrest Finstock!"

Parrish, standing beside his rookie partner, gives her an incredulous look and says, "again?"

He doesn't say so out loud but John agrees with the sentiment. Every week, it's the same damn thing; a new report, a new accusation thrown at Bobby Finstock, a new request for an arrest warrant. An arrest warrant, of all things.

If it was just the reports, he might write it off as an overzealous rookie trying to prove something. But it's not. It's not just the official reports, it's not just Greenberg, because every week, Finstock comes in to file some sort of complaint about her.

A complaint that never has anything to do with her report.

It's like a game with these two and John never agreed to be the damn referee.

Greenberg smiles innocently at her partner and with a roll of his eyes, John trudges back into his office. His door closes on the delighted laughter she couldn't keep contained.

—

Jared heaves a frustrated sigh, frowning.

He sits at their family table, frowning at a large cluster of action figures that are set up in some sort of significant order that he has yet to figure out. Each of them has a tag on top of their head and a name or title written on it; a helpful guide. Beside him, Desdemona waits for him to catch up, patient as ever.

“None of this makes any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” she says calmly. “Scott is the Hulk and Allison is Hawkeye -”

“I can see all of that!” Jared tells her, a little too loudly. “I’m talking about werewolves and banshees -”

“And kanimas and kitsunes,” his sister cuts in. With a smile, she adds, “oh my.”

Jared shakes his head. “This isn’t funny, Des. If this is some kind of joke, it isn’t funny.”

Desdemona pushes away from the table, scooting her chair back to face her brother. She hooks a leg around his chair and does the same to him until they’re facing one another. Jared looks like he’s stuck somewhere between anger and unadulterated fear and it makes something in her chest tighten.

This was never how it was supposed to be. She stumbled upon this accidentally; because Scott and Stiles talked too loudly and no one ever noticed her and everything was right there.

She never meant for Jared to get involved. He was supposed to be separate from the supernatural underbelly of their town; he was supposed to be clueless and safe. So much for that.

“Listen to me.” She takes his hands into hers, squeezing them tightly. “I know it’s hard to believe and I promise you, I’ll give you proof. But for thirty minutes today, I didn’t know whether or not I’d lose you to a bomb built by a trickster spirit. You need to know this stuff so that you can be cautious when I’m not around, alright?”

Something must show in her eyes because he relaxes, saying quietly, “it’s not your job to protect me, you know.”

“You must’ve skipped that chapter in the sibling handbook,” she replies. “It’s definitely a big sister’s job to protect.”

“You’re not that much older.” He bumps their foreheads together playfully as they both smile; the familiar argument is comforting now. He takes a deep breath and then turns back to the action figures. “Okay, tell me again.”

Horns honk loudly, the rise of displeased voices drawing everyone’s attention to the student parking lot. Greenberg pauses on the sidewalk, tilting her head curiously as she watches Stiles Stilinski fall out of his jeep, rushing to help the older man sprawled out on the ground in front of it. The scent of wolfsbane is heavy in the air and has been for most of the day; she now knows why.

When Stilinski kneels by the man’s side, a thick cloud of blue smoke appears between them, pulsing rhythmically; a heartbeat all its own. McCall turns up a moment later and the three of them seem to have some sort of disagreement but Greenberg is no longer paying attention to them; she’s more interested in the cloud.

Beside her, Finstock groans. “Don’t even think about it,” he hisses, trying to keep his voice low lest a passing student overhear them.

“How can I not?” She asks, turning to look at him. Her eyes are bright with this new possibility. “Look at that potential.”

It’s beautiful, really. Looking at them now, they’re not friends. They’re not even allies. It’s obvious in the way they react to the other’s presence in their space, the glares and scoffs; they can hardly stand to be near each other. It doesn’t stop Stilinski from helping McCall lift him up, though.

They don’t like each other but Stilinski is going to help him - an injured werewolf that could turn feral at any moment - and keep him safe while McCall finds a cure. No matter his feelings, Stilinski won’t let him die.

The smoke dissipates as McCall pulls the man away, setting him into the passenger seat of the Jeep. When Stilinski slides in on the other side, it reappears between them.

As they drive off, Greenberg turns to look at her partner, grinning wildly. The wheels in her head have already begun to turn, eyes bright with possibility.

Finstock sighs. “Retirement means absolutely nothing to you, does it?”

“Forced retirement is different than actual retirement,” she says sweetly. “Besides, a Cupid’s job is never done.”

Prompt: Can you write single!dad Derek? One where Kate got pregnant (and the fire happened), so Derek and the baby took off. (This is not a pairing fic, though.)

--

They talked about going back to Beacon Hills often, he and Laura.

“We could rebuild it,” she used to say. “We could start over.”

Derek never thought that going back home would mean finding Laura’s severed body. He never thought it would mean having to bury yet another family member in the shadow of the burnt shell of his home. He made Ava stay in the car until he was finished, smoothing dirt over the spiraled rope covering his sister’s grave.

When it was done, he took his daughter’s hand and helped her out of the Camaro, bringing her to say goodbye to her Alpha.

“Why did Aunt Laura die?” Ava asked, frowning at the freshly turned dirt.

“Because there are bad people in this world,” Derek said softly, touching her dark hair. “And they do bad things sometimes.”

“Oh.” She looked up at Derek. “Does that mean we’re going to get a new Alpha?”

“No. I think it’ll be just you and me for a while.” He tickled her neck gently. “Is that okay? Do you think you’ll get tired of me?”

“No, silly!”

She giggled, grinning, and Derek felt the empty spaces inside of his chest warm. He could do this, he thought. He could live just for her.

“What do you think,” he asked, looking up at the house. “Do you think we can rebuild it?”

“Duh.” Ava knocks her head against his stomach. “Aunt Laura said that daddies can do anything; they’re superheroes.”

Derek smiled sadly at the memory; of Ava, just turned five, crying over a scraped knee and Laura telling her that a daddy’s kiss could heal it.

Before he could say anything else, a sound caught their attention. The crack of twigs and crunch of leaves echoed in the distance, two boys traipsing through the woods and talking about werewolves. Derek remembered the inhaler he’d found not far from his sister’s body, still stuffed in his jacket pocket.

“Who is that?” Ava asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking down at her. “Why don’t we go find out?”

He always looks like that when he loses.

“How’d you do that?” He asks, glancing up at Ennis. His brows are furrowed, he’s angry but not at Ennis; at himself. He hates knowing that he missed something, that he wasn’t diligent enough.

It’s a difficult expression to stomach when an eleven year old is wearing it.

A car door slams outside, too quietly for Stiles to hear but Ennis picks up on it easily. He smiles, saved from answering, and says instead, “pack up, kid, your dad’s here.”

Stiles’ frown deepens, confusion swirling in his eyes, but it clears up a moment later when the doorbell rings. He cocks his head to the side, suspicious.

“How do you always know?” He asks even as he begins to pack up the board.

Ennis grins and taps his nose. “Trade secret,” he says as he gets up to answer the door.

As soon as the door’s open, his mate’s scent wafts into the house, curling around Ennis like a much beloved blanket. It’s the sweetest torture, scenting his mate again, but Ennis can’t even allow himself a moment to enjoy it when he catches sight of John.

Standing on the threshold, John stands with his hands resting on his hips, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world rests there. The day’s trials are clearly visible through the haggard expression on his handsome face and the tense line of his mouth. Some days are better than others for John; today is one of the bad days.

Ennis’ wolf whines inside of him, aching to to pull his mate closer, to touch and soothe him until he no longer looks worn down. He ignores his instincts, almost used to the dissatisfaction by now.

“Long day?” He asks instead, hoping to keep his voice steady, casual.

John smiles tiredly. “You have no idea.”

Footsteps come from behind Ennis and he moves out of the way just in time for Stiles to fly past him, launching himself at his father.

“Dad!”

“Hey, kiddo.” John’s smile becomes a little less tired and a little more genuine as he looks down at his son. “Have a good day?”

“Ennis beat me at chess again,” Stiles says darkly. “I think he cheats.”

“Stiles.”

Ennis laughs. “It’s fine.” He tells John and then to Stiles, he adds, “I’ve just had more practice. Try again tomorrow?”

“You’re on.”

“Thanks,” John says, nodding at Ennis. “For everything.”

It’s the same goodbye every evening and just like all the times before, Ennis gives him the same answer.

“I’m glad to do it.” Ennis smiles and hopes it’s not as brittle as he feels. “See you tomorrow.”

Watching his mate walk away with Stiles - their son, his wolf says even if that’s not quite true - is always the worst part of the day. When they’re gone, everything stops. He’s left standing in the foyer of an empty house with only the fading scents of his loved ones to keep him company. It’ll be almost another full day before he can pick out Stiles’ heartbeat coming down the road after school, before he spends a precious few hours with his mate’s son until John comes to pick him up again. He lives for those few hours, lives for the moment when he can see John again.

Nothing about it is ideal but with a lifetime of bad deeds behind him, Ennis knows it’s his punishment; living with his mate just out of reach.

After all, not everyone gets their happy ending.