Chapter 24: Frayed
The trio chose to sit at the back of the bus. Stiles and Scott sat together, while Hope took the window seat beside them on the right-hand side. That way, Stiles could keep an eye on her while still giving her space—space she desperately needed to think.
She wasn't Hope Mikaelson. Not really. But she had accepted the identity wholeheartedly. The power, the strength—it all came so naturally, like it had always been there. The talents were hers now. She was Hope Mikaelson. And yet… still so weak. So pathetic.
She couldn't save Derek.
Derek was dead. At least, that's what everyone believed. But she chose to hold onto a thread of denial, the sliver of hope that Evelyn clung to so tightly—because Evie hadn't seen Derek's spirit. And that meant maybe, just maybe, he wasn't gone.
So she kept it to herself, not daring to voice her thoughts and give everyone false hope.
___
Scott yanked open the door to Derek's loft, anxiety still coursing through his veins. Hope followed closely behind him. Inside, Derek, Peter, Boyd, and Cora stood huddled around a table. Erica left the town, and Hope agreed she needed to heal.
"I know where they are," Scott announced breathlessly, having rushed straight from Allison's apartment complex.
"Same building as the Argents. We know," Derek replied, unfazed.
Scott frowned. "How?"
Boyd stepped in. "Cora and I followed the twins."
"Then they want you to know," Scott said, suspicion creeping into his voice. "There's no way you trailed them without being noticed."
"Or, more likely, they just don't care," Peter added nonchalantly.
Scott approached the table, eyeing the blueprints laid out. They were for the apartment complex he'd just left—more specifically, the penthouse floor.
"What is this?" he asked.
Peter grinned. "Isn't it obvious? The schemers are scheming. We're planning a coup de main—a preemptive strike."
Scott turned to Derek. "You're going after them?"
"Tomorrow. And you two are going to help us," Derek said firmly.
"Derek asking for help? Are pigs flying, or is it the apocalypse already?" Hope teased, a smug smile tugging at her lips.
Derek rolled his eyes, ignoring her.
"Now that we know where they are, we can act. They're one floor above Allison," he said.
"So... kill them first? That's the plan?" Scott asked, clearly disturbed. He never wanted violence to be the default answer.
"They won't even see it coming," Boyd said confidently.
"Why is the first instinct always murder?" Scott argued. "Just once, can we try something that doesn't involve killing everyone?"
"That's difficult when violence follows you around like a shadow," Hope said dryly.
"You never get tired of being so blandly moral, do you?" Peter said, rolling his eyes. Then he glanced at Derek. "Not that I entirely disagree with him."
"I do," Cora muttered under her breath. "Why do we even need this kid?"
"This kid helped save your life," Derek reminded her, voice sharp.
"And we can't just sit around waiting for them to strike first," he added.
"You can't beat a pack of alphas," Scott said flatly.
"That's why we're going after Deucalion," Cora clarified. "Just him."
"Cut off the head of the snake and the body dies," Boyd said.
"Except this isn't a snake—it's a hydra," Peter corrected. "And like Scott said, they're all alphas."
"Deucalion's still their leader," Derek replied, unwavering.
"Let's hope so," Peter mused. "Because you know what happened when Hercules cut off one of the hydra's heads?"
"Two more grew back in its place," Scott finished grimly.
Peter smirked. "Someone's been doing their summer reading."
Hope raised an eyebrow. "You honestly think Deucalion will be alone? The Alpha of Alphas a.k.a. The blind alpha who can't really walk without help, a bit naive, isn't it?"
The room fell silent, her words striking a chord.
"She's got a point," Peter admitted after a moment.
Hope crossed her arms. "So you didn't think of that. Cool."
Everyone looked slightly ashamed or uncertain.
"I'm enough to take them all down if necessary," she added with unwavering confidence.
Everyone exhaled—whether in relief or concern, it was hard to tell.
And Hope was proven right the moment Kali, Ennis, and the twins emerged into view. But what made her blood boil wasn't their presence—it was Evelyn, trapped between the twin Alphas, held tightly in their death grip.
Derek tensed beside her.
Then Deucalion stepped forward with his usual calm menace.
"You see, Hope, I did my research. With you here, it wouldn't be a fair fight," he said smoothly. "So, I'll give you two options: one, you join us. Or two, you don't participate at all—and sweet Evelyn here walks away unharmed."
Hope's jaw clenched as rage swirled in her eyes.
Before she could respond, Evelyn lifted her head with a bright, disarming smile.
"Excuse me for interrupting this delightful little conversation," she began airily, her tone theatrical. "But I'm just a damsel in distress. I have no idea what's going on, no clue who that stunning woman is—" she gestured toward Hope, "—and frankly, I'm far more distracted by the fact that your friend over there is barefoot and clearly in need of a pedicure." She pointed towards kali.
"You're a terrible liar, darling," Deucalion replied, amusement touching his voice.
Evelyn huffed. "Ugh, I hate being kind. If I'd known you were a psychopathic blind alpha, I never would've helped you. I even baked you my favorite cookie recipe. You traitor."
"You would've helped me anyway," Deucalion said with an eerie certainty. "And I did enjoy those cookies. Delicious."
"If I live through this, I might just poison the next batch."
"I would still eat them."
Everyone around stared in confusion as the blind alpha and the blonde girl bantered like old acquaintances.
As the twins handed Evelyn over to Deucalion, his grip tightened around her arm—but not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind her who was in control.
"Wait till Jeremy hears about this," Evelyn muttered under her breath. "He is not going to be happy."
And then chaos erupted.
Hope watched in anger as the opposing pack gained the upper hand, they were winning. They took a hold of Scot and Boyd and asked him to kill them. Hope looked at Evelyn, and read her lips. "Someone is coming." Evelyn mouthed and Hope got ready.
The moment Allison's arrow soared through the air and struck one of the twins in the shoulder, Hope moved. With a swift flick of her wrist and a muttered incantation, a powerful spell shot from her palm, hitting Deucalion square in the chest. He flew backward, slamming into a metal beam, and Evelyn broke free, darting toward safety.
Evelyn couldn't win when it comes to physical strength but she does have her own quirks to win a fight.
Ennis roared and lunged at Derek, claws out, eyes glowing red. The two collided in a brutal flurry of claws and fists, growls echoing through the loft.
Hope met Kali head-on. The taller woman launched a kick, but Hope ducked and retaliated with a burst of energy that sent Kali skidding across the floor. Kali responded by summoning the claws from her feet, slashing dangerously close to Hope's side. Hope blocked with a shield charm, sparks flying as magic met flesh.
Evelyn, breathless and furious, summoned her spirits—ghostly figures swirling around her, lashing out at the enemies who dared get close. She moved like a storm, graceful and unpredictable.
But the moment froze when Hope turned and saw it—Derek and Ennis locked in a deadly struggle near the edge of the loft.
"Derek!" she screamed.
Derek shoved Ennis back with a growl, but the momentum carried them both too far.
He fell.
Just like that—in a heartbeat, in a breath—he was gone.
The fight paused for a second. Long enough for the loss to settle like a stone in everyone's gut.
Hope stood frozen, staring at the edge, fury and grief burning in her chest.
Hope shook her head, snapping out of her memory.'Don't think about it.'
All of a sudden, she felt it—eyes on her. All of them.
She looked around, her heart picking up speed as nervousness gripped her. Every student on the bus was staring at her. Even Scott and Stiles. Their eyes were locked onto hers, wide and unblinking, their faces eerily blank.
"What's wrong, guys?" she asked, her voice tentative. But no one answered. Not even Stiles. They just kept staring.
And then, she heard it.
Her own voice—but not quite.
At the very back of the bus, the real Hope Mikaelson sat cross-legged, a smirk curving her lips. "Don't you get it yet?" she purred, eyes glittering with cruelty. "They're looking at you because they see you for what you are—pathetic."
She stood and began circling Hope like a predator.
Hope said nothing. For once, there was no sarcastic comeback. No dry wit. Just fear. Raw, cold fear.
Her breath hitched when the real Hope leaned in and gently caressed Stiles' cheek. He didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just kept staring.
"All that power," the real Hope whispered sweetly, mockingly. "All that strength. And you still couldn't save your friend. How pathetic, isn't it, Stiles?"
She turned her venomous gaze back on Hope. "Do you really think he loves you? You? An imposter?" Her voice dropped to a hiss. "He loves me. My face. My power. My body. You're just a thief wearing my skin."
"You're not real," Hope whispered, shaking her head. "This is a nightmare."
The real Hope chuckled darkly. "You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."
She leaned in again, her voice low and poisonous. "You don't even know who you are. Do you? Just a weak little girl playing dress-up. You don't deserve his love. Or their loyalty. You don't deserve this life."
Hope flinched.
"Lying to yourself, 'Hope,'" the real one sneered. "How long do you think you can keep it up? Eventually, the truth will come out. And when it does, I'll be right here, watching you fall. Watching everyone walk away. Watching you die alone. That's what you deserve—for stealing my life."
Hope's sobs started to break free.
"You're not real. You're not real. You're not—"
And then the real Hope blew something into her face—a powdered substance.
Wolfsbane.
Hope screamed as it seared her lungs and skin. She thrashed violently in her seat, crying out in agony.
"HOPE! HOPE! Wake up, love. It's just a nightmare. Wake up!"
Stiles' voice cut through the haze like a lifeline.
She gasped and shot upright, drenched in sweat, her hands trembling uncontrollably. Her sobs were quiet now, but her eyes were wild.
Stiles immediately wrapped his arms around her, cradling her close. "Hey, hey, I've got you. It's okay. You're safe. I'm here, okay? I'm right here."
Scott leaned forward, worry etched into every feature. "Hope… are you okay?"
All around the bus, the other students stared at her with wide, confused eyes. Whispers started spreading like wildfire. Concern. Curiosity. Fear.
Coach Finstock, from the front of the bus, didn't even turn around. "Unless she's giving birth or summoning Satan, I better not hear a peep! I haven't had my caffeine. Everyone out the bus!"
Stiles glared toward the front. "I can't stand him."
Hope let out a shaky laugh through her tears, clinging to Stiles a little tighter. She didn't say anything, not yet. But as Stiles rubbed her back and whispered calming words into her ear, she let herself breathe—just a little.
Because no matter how real the nightmare had felt… this was real too.
And Stiles was here.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.
Hope forced herself to calm down, pushing away the lingering weight of her nightmare. Her attention instantly shifted when she noticed Scott looking worse—his breathing ragged, his skin pale.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice tight with concern, forgetting all about her dream.
"His wounds—they're not healing," Stiles replied quickly.
"And you didn't think to wake me?" she snapped, already moving to kneel beside Scott as Stiles gave up his seat.
"I did try," he said defensively. "But you were out cold. I figured you needed the rest."
"While he was dying?" she shot him a disapproving look, and Stiles winced, lips pursed.
"I did successfully stop the bus…" he offered weakly, pouting.
Hope glanced around and noticed most of the students had filed off the bus. She sighed. "Alright, let's get him out of here. It smells like actual death."
"More like puke," Stiles muttered under his breath as they helped Scott down the steps.
Allison and Lydia approached just as they reached the pavement. Lydia gave Hope a small nod—she'd told her they were following the bus.
They laid Scott on the ground carefully. He groaned in pain, clutching his side. Hope's eyes scanned the wound, heart dropping. It looked even worse now—dark, angry, spreading.
"Why isn't he healing?" she asked, frowning, her hand hovering over the wound.
"You know… it could be psychological," Lydia offered, her voice uncertain.
Stiles gestured at the gaping wound, incredulous. "That look psychological to you?"
"Somatoformic," Lydia corrected. "A real, physical illness triggered by a psychogenic cause. It's all in his head."
"All in their heads…" Stiles muttered, staring at Scott. Then it clicked. "It's Derek. He's not letting himself heal… because Derek died."
Hope had already begun whispering healing spells, her hands glowing softly—but her fingers trembled. The magic didn't take. Not right away. Panic rose in her throat.
Why isn't it working?
"It's okay… it's alright," she muttered to herself, voice barely audible. She tried again—stronger this time. The glow intensified, the wound slowly closed.
Scott let out a shaky breath, the pain ebbing away. "Thank you," he whispered.
Hope forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. Scott noticed—but said nothing. He knew she hated being called out.
Then a shout drew their attention—Isaac was fighting.
Scott, Allison, and Lydia rushed toward the commotion. Stiles, however, stayed behind.
He looked at Hope, who was still staring at her trembling hands like they didn't belong to her.
"Hey," he said gently, taking them in his. "Look at me. You healed him. It's okay now."
He rubbed comforting circles into her skin, grounding her. He thought she was panicking because the magic had faltered—but the truth ran deeper, darker. She couldn't tell him. Not yet.
"Breathe in," he said softly, waiting for her to obey. She did.
"Breathe out."
She exhaled shakily, her gaze fixed on his warm brown eyes—eyes filled with concern.
"There you go," he murmured. "Just like that. You're doing so good, love. In… and out."
And just like that, she began to calm down. Her hands steadied. Her breathing evened out.
He pulled her into a hug, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She melted into his arms, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothe the storm inside her.
Soon after, Scott broke up the fight. Everyone boarded the bus—including Allison and Lydia, since their car had run out of gas.
Elsewhere, Evelyn stood on her porch, arms folded as she stared down at the bloody, unconscious man on the ground.
"Thank you, Jeremy. Samuel," she said with a tight smile. "Now, John's going to pick Derek up and carry him inside. Gently."
A ghostly groan echoed nearby. "The man weighs more than a pyramid brick. Are you seriously making me do this?"
Evelyn smiled sweetly—far too sweet to be trusted. "You lost the bet. You work. And he's staining my porch. If you don't hurry, I'll make you clean it too."
"This is why I died," John muttered bitterly. "So I could be enslaved by your demonic whims?"
"Sounds like someone's volunteering to mop blood."
"I'M ON IT! HELL—YOU WON'T EVEN LET ME HAUNT IN PEACE!"
Samuel and Jeremy burst into laughter at their ghost companion's misery.
John lifted Derek's body—though to the human eye, Derek seemed to float midair, as if carried by invisible hands. Only Evelyn could see the grumbling, translucent figure doing all the work.