Derek ambled from the couch to the kitchen. Again. And like all the times before, he didn't bother to disguise his barely functioning legs as he stumbled his way to the fridge where more liquor was waiting for him.

It took so much to keep him drunk these days, which hardly seemed fair. For starters, werewolves had about a million and two more reasons to be wasted than humans, damnit. But it's not like fairness had ever factored into his life before today. No need to start now.

The doorbell rang as he took a large swig directly from the bottle and watched as Peter went to answer it, likely more out of habit than anything. And Derek couldn't help but wonder which one of his responsibilities was coming to call.

Maybe it was Finstock, telling him he needed his assistant coach back. He was here to beg, unable to make it even one full day without him. That would make sense. Derek did most of the work. Or maybe it was Scott and Isaac, here to explain there was some teenage werewolf drama that needed his immediate attention. Hell, maybe it was Stiles. Maybe he was on the other side of the door all ready to prattle on and on about some new bit of information he had uncovered during one of his infamous late-night research binges or something.

At least that last one made him crack the smallest of smiles. But Stiles babbling about whatever nonsense he found important never failed to do that.

But today he wanted to wallow. Come back tomorrow, he wanted to yell. Derek Hale deserved a day to feel sorry for himself. Yes, it was possible Stiles could distract him enough to pull him out of this funk, but it was all he had left. He wanted another day or so with his misery.

It really wasn't too much to ask.

Besides, tomorrow might be better. Not probable, since he had lost Kate twice now, but that was tomorrow's problem. Today, he wanted to sulk and mope and drown in the heartache of it all. And he didn't even care right now how melodramatic it seemed.

Derek knew they weren't destined to be together forever or some shit. Especially now. In fact, if the last few days alone had taught him anything it was that they never should have been a couple in the first place. Nothing good had come from any of it besides Derek becoming acutely aware of exactly what it meant, how it felt to be loved by a person not in your immediate family.

Ugh. Not fair. Not fair. Not fucking fair.

"Uh, yeah," Peter responded quietly. "He's here."

Yep. Responsibilities. Wonderful.

Derek squared his shoulders, waiting for Peter to appear in the kitchen to tell him which of his many duties this might be. And he knew it was going to be uncomfortable as shit on top of everything else because they still hadn't discussed the topic Derek had brought up in the parking lot on Friday night. Actually, the one he had yelled and screamed at Peter. Then the one they had both resolutely ignored not even a few hours later in favor of sitting Lydia, Jackson, and Allison down to explain things that most were given literal years to grasp as a united front.

Like always.

But Peter didn't show his face. He just shut the door behind him, like Derek couldn't fucking hear him clear as day anyway.

"What do you want, Kate?"

"I want to see him."

Derek stood frozen in the kitchen, clenching the handle of vodka in his fist until his knuckles were white. Kate Argent was on the other side of that door, just a few feet away. And it was taking every ounce of willpower he possessed not to run out there and bury himself in her again.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Peter explained. "He's not doing too hot."

Understatement of the fucking century, asshole.

"Well, that's why I'm here."

"If you go in there right now, he's never going to get over whatever this is you guys have. And he needs to get over it, Kate. He has to move on. And from what he told me, you both agreed to this."

He was right. About literally all of it. Derek had explained the broad strokes of the whole thing with Kate for this exact purpose. In case one or both of them weren't strong enough. But Derek didn't want to hear logic or reason right now. He wanted to be rash. He wanted to make a bad decision.

"I did, but..."

"Kate, listen..."

They both grew quiet and Derek very nearly laughed, imagining Kate employing one of her many charms. And if he had to guess, it was her lethal puppy dog eyes. Nothing stood a chance against those. She was a fucking menace with that shit and it warmed his heart a little to know that she was going to such lengths to see him. The fact that it was a terrible idea be fucking damned.

And then the door was opening and Derek's heart was beating much too fast to be healthy and he was being assaulted by the glorious scent that always seemed to envelop his Katie.

He would never admit it, but he wanted to break down right then. Just cry and cry and cry. And never, ever stop. Curl into a ball and not let anyone touch him again. But instead he stood up straighter—never letting go of the bottle—and waited for her to come around the corner.

As she did, Peter didn't even bother to look his way before darting back to his bedroom.

"Hey," Kate whispered.

Derek nodded curtly in return. "Why are you here?"

"I... need to talk to you."

"Okay, go ahead."

He was being rude. He knew that. But it was the only way Derek would be able to keep himself whole after she walked out again. There was no hope for it otherwise. He would crumble the minute the door closed behind her if he didn't let himself be a prick for a second.

"I don't want you to be mad at me," she conceded.

And in an instant, he crumbled anyway. Much differently than he'd envisioned, of course, but he let go of that bottle and rushed to her side, wrapping her up in a tight hug just as a single tear fell down her cheek.

"I'm not mad at you," he admitted. "I just don't know how to do this."

He kissed the top of her head as she sniffled against his chest. "Me either."

"I'm not mad at you," he repeated. "We'll figure it out. It's just going to take some time, I think."

She nodded, pulling back and peering up at him. "I need to tell you something."

"Oh, okay."

She pulled back further until she was fully out of his embrace. "Can we go for a drive?"

She wouldn't meet his eyes, which confused him. He perked an eyebrow at her when she glanced at him again. They had agreed to stay away from each other. Regardless of what she needed to tell him, he couldn't see a scenario in which this was a smart idea. But then she tapped her ear.

Ah. She didn't want Peter to hear it. Well, that made sense. Werewolf hearing meant this wasn't exactly a private conversation.

"As long as we're taking your car," he said with a wry smirk, motioning toward the bottle to his left.

"I thought you couldn't get drunk."

"Oh, I can get drunk just fine. Takes me longer. Way more expensive."

"Being a werewolf sounds like a blast."

"Oh, you have no idea."

She let out an adorably derisive snort of laughter in response to his sarcasm as he wandered back into the living room for his shoes. And then she held out her hand when he made it back to the island. For the first time in his life, he hesitated. For the first time in his life, he didn't automatically allow himself to be swept away by this thing they shared. And yeah, it felt a twinge like blasphemy, but it also felt liberating.

Not a particular feeling he cared to investigate further, though, because he reached out anyway, grabbing her hand and letting himself be pulled toward the door.

"Where are you two going?"

"Out."

Derek slammed the door for good measure and then squinted in the harsh sunlight as they hit the driveway, not bothering to answer Kate's silent question regarding his new and improved attitude toward his uncle. It wouldn't help anything and it was nice to have somewhere to direct his anger. He couldn't risk her convincing him to cut it out for the sake of keeping the peace.

Like the misery, his anger gave him a perverse sense of purpose. And he needed that.

As soon as they pulled away from the house and Derek was positive they couldn't be overheard anymore, he rounded on Kate. He knew she had a plan. She always had a plan. She didn't get in the car to just drive, even if it meant an actual private conversation between them.

"Where are we going?"

It didn't actually matter, he guessed. He did need to get out of the house. The buzz was wearing off already. Something about the sun just zapped all the energy—and alcohol—out of him on the best of days. And today was not one of those days. Another second in there with nothing but alcohol for breakfast, lunch, and dinner might have had some long-lasting effects. Even if it was just to his psyche.

"The police station," Kate nearly whispered, flooring Derek instantly. That was the last thing he could've imagined she'd say. "There's something you need to see."

"See? What are you talking about?"

"It'd be better if Sheriff Stilinski told you," she clarified. "He knows way more than I do."

"Huh?"

She sighed, turning down the radio further—until it was almost off—as they made their way through the quiet streets.

"I went in because I had to take care of more paperwork."

"Yeah, I've heard dying is a super bureaucratic process."

She smirked and rolled her eyes. "I had to sign some stuff. Anyway, he showed me... something and asked if I thought he should tell you. I said yes, but wanted to bring you instead of having him show up at your house. I figured this was better because of..."

"The trauma?" She nodded. "Yeah, probably," he mumbled. "Good call."

He attempted to offer an actual smile this time, but he couldn't muster it. She had been witness to his absolute lowest, holding his hand at all those damned funerals before he had been forced to brave one alone. Hers. And while he couldn't fully extract those awful memories, it did help that she wasn't actually gone, that he wasn't entirely alone. There was still one person, besides Peter, who understood his grief as intimately as he did.

It helped, but it wasn't enough to make him smile, it seemed.

As they pulled into a parking spot in front of the police station, she reached across the space between them and squeezed his hand once before getting out. And then he copied her movements, never allowing himself a chance to second-guess any of this.

They made their way past the front desk with only a nod from Kate toward the girl sitting there, like all of this had been decided well in advance. No words were necessary. They knew why he was here. Even the bullpen got quiet as he passed, but that could have just been a coincidence. The whole town knew of his history with this place and the type of news he had gotten. It was likely they were just being quiet out of reverence of that history. Either way, he reached out and grabbed Kate's hand again, the same way he had all those years ago. Because no matter what year it was, or how much time had passed, she would forever be his lifeline when it came to this shit. Because this felt too similar, too much like before when he had buried his family.

All of them except Peter.

They filed into Sheriff Stilinski's office as he motioned for them to take a seat across from him. "Thank you for coming in, Derek."

"I don't really know why I'm here," he confessed.

"I didn't say anything yet," Kate offered. "I didn't really know where to start."

And then the man who had been first on the scene for the worst night of his life gave Kate another of those goddamn knowing nods. The ones that said they had already discussed something that concerned him greatly in his absence. Something catastrophic, if his past was any indication.

Only a few more seconds now and he was likely to find out if this was going to be as devastating as the last piece of news had been. The news Noah Stilinski had been forced to deliver during his first week as acting sheriff.

For so long, Derek had felt sorry for him. It had been mere days since the death of his wife at that point and he had only gone into work to distract himself from the pain, if Derek had to guess. And it had worked... until it hadn't. Until he had been tasked with telling a teenage Derek Hale that he too had lost his mother, just as Stiles had.

It couldn't have been easy. It certainly wasn't for him.

"Listen, son, what I'm about to tell you is a lot to take in," he started, sitting down finally. "Some new evidence has come to light that..."

"New evidence? On what?" Derek interrupted callously.

"On the fire."

Derek blinked rapidly, surprise morphing his previously neutral expression into one of abject horror. He had no idea that was even a case anyone was actively investigating. It was considered cold, but barely. It was closed, as far as he had been told. And nothing would bring any of them back, so there was no point in delving further into it.

"I can make this go away, Derek," Noah issued softly. "We don't have to do this. We don't have to open this box. I can pack it away and make it disappear."

"Go away?"

The older man bit the inside of his cheek, like he was trying to figure out how to arrange all the words in a way that might not ruin what was left of Derek's sanity while he gripped the armrest of the chair he was in tightly. Too tightly. He could hear the leather groaning in protest, reminding him that his strength was otherworldly and not easily explained away if he didn't get it back under control.

"A letter was dropped off at the precinct a couple of weeks ago," Sheriff Stilinski said. "It was unmarked. And it had pictures. It didn't make a lot of sense, so I decided to pull everything out and see if we missed anything."

"Missed anything?"

Noah reached into his desk and pulled out said envelope, plopping it down on his desk with an audible thud and then pointing toward the boxes he hadn't noticed that were piled haphazardly along the wall. All with his last name emblazoned on the sides of them. Actual boxes. Derek had foolishly believed that was a metaphorical comment. Nope. Sheriff Stilinski was talking about the opening of actual fucking boxes.

"It's all pointing toward it not being an accident, Derek."

"Not an accident?"

He knew he sounded like a goddamn echo, repeating the last few words of whatever Noah uttered, but none of this made any sense to him. It was ludicrous. It had been an accident. Everyone had been so sure of it. Every single person. Including the man across from him.

"Do you want to do this?"

What a loaded fucking question. Derek had no idea if he wanted to do this, but something now felt bigger about this previously inconsequential day than he had anticipated when he'd woken up this morning. Or any other day in his whole life. As if everything had been leading him to this one moment in time.

God, he was getting really tired of these brain chemistry-altering moments.

"Yes. I want to know."

Sheriff Stilinski gave him a sad smile. The same sad smile he had seen Stiles wear a few times. The one that said that he had some really unfortunate news that Derek was not going to want to hear. News that would alter the course of his life. And Derek had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to be totally fine and hold it together, at least until he got home, or decidedly not. And trying to predict his own reaction would likely prove impossible.

There was only one way to find out.

"All this new evidence is pointing toward one person in particular starting the fire."

"On... on purpose?" Derek muttered.

He swallowed hard as Noah nodded again. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Do you know who it is?"

"Yes," he sighed heavily. "I'm afraid so."

"And?"

"It's Peter, Derek," Noah replied mournfully, as if it physically pained him to speak the words. "All signs are pointing toward Peter."