Chapter Text
Stiles hadn’t truly realized that engagement parties were a thing that happened anymore. Then again, he had no idea what being part of the elite wealthy was like. He had accepted the Hale sisters’ offer of throwing an engagement party at the manor.
But little did Stiles know, that meant nearly all of Beacon would be invited.
“Are you okay?” Derek’s voice softly asked, his breath warmed the curve of Stiles’ ear.
Stiles offered a fake smile. “I love being gawked at,” he answered.
“I mean, you do enjoy making a statement,” Derek jokingly stated, offering a glass of champagne.
“Right, rich coming from you,” Stiles answered in kind. He took a sip of champagne, his eyes looking over those gathered.
Derek smiled in response.
“I didn’t realize the Mayor would be here,” Stiles gestured towards the woman who had all but threatened his father’s job for the coverage of the Cat Thief.
“Laura thought it would be a good way to remind her how valued the Hale family is,” Derek turned his head to speak to Stiles. He was keeping his voice lower than usual. “And I think that’s why there are a few off-duty reporters here.”
“Catching all the drama,” Stiles commented.
Derek slipped his arm around Stiles’ waist, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “Thank you.”
Stiles looked up at Derek, tilting his head in question. “For what?”
“For saying yes,” Derek softly admitted. “Thank you for loving me.”
Stiles felt his features soften, ignoring the prickling heat in his throat. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Derek’s lips. “You never have to thank me for that,” he promised. “As long as you love me, I’ll love you.” It was an impossible promise, but Stiles wanted to keep it until his death.
“Excuse me,” Laura’s voice interrupted them.
Stiles looked at his future sister-in-law and smiled. He hoped her recent warmth—no matter how small of a change—meant she was actually accepting Stiles’ placement.
She hadn’t been happy when Derek brought Stiles into the BatCave beneath Hale manor, though she softened some when Cora happily cried and hugged Stiles.
Laura offered what could be accredited to a friendly smile. “Can I steal Derek away for a moment?”
Derek hesitated before looking at Stiles.
Stiles nodded, taking a step back from Derek. He lifted up his near empty champagne flute as an excuse. “I’ll be by the bar.”
Laura reached a hand out, her touch gentle on Stiles’ arm. “Steer clear of Mrs. Cobblepot,” she offered. “The woman with all the pearls. She tends to talk forever, and is a bit cryptic.”
Stiles took Laura’s warning for the olive branch she meant it to be. “Noted,” he replied with a faint smile. He made his way towards the bar area, asking for a refill on his champagne.
~*~
Derek stared up at the monitor in disbelief. “That can’t be right.”
“I ran it twice,” Laura replied. “I also matched her audio recording to the voicemail she left Stiles. It is her.”
A young blond woman was plastered to the Joker’s side, staring up at him in what could be described as unhinged adoration. The Joker’s amusement reached its limit though and his cruel response was to shove the woman away, causing her to trip and stumble before catching herself. She skipped after the man once composing herself.
“I didn’t want to tell Stiles right now, but… I didn’t want to keep it from him, either. I figured you’d know better.”
“Fuck,” Derek cursed, turning away from the monitor.
“I’m sorry, Derek,” Laura softly uttered. “I know this wasn’t what any of us wanted.”
Derek shook his head. “I’ll tell him.”
Laura frowned as she nodded her head, knowing that there was no easy way to break the news to Stiles. How did you tell anyone that their closest friend wasn’t lost, but on a crime spree with the most infamous criminal to grace Beacon’s streets.
~*~
Stiles wasn’t sure what he was doing when he walked up to John and Carmine, his thoughts running completely on autopilot as he reached the two men.
“Stiles,” John started, turning towards his son in an attempt to hold him off.
“It’s okay,” Stiles stated with a soft gentleness. He turned his attention towards Carmine, aware of the people gathered and how they stared in bated silence. “I didn’t realize Derek’s sisters invited you,” he simply commented. He had been momentarily stunned to see his grandfather walking into the Hale estate, but he knew it was bound to be addressed sooner rather than later. He just was glad there wasn’t a camera lens in sight.
“I was made aware of it,” Carmine answered. The man didn’t appear bothered, simply standing with an air of calm as he looked at Stiles. “And just because you may want to hide the fact that you are my grandchild, doesn’t mean I don’t want to offer my congratulations.”
Stiles didn’t care who heard, it had been made public thanks to Paige’s digging so it wasn’t the scoop any present reporters were looking for.
“Take a walk with me,” Carmine gestured towards the pair of ornate glass doors that led into the vast gardens of the manor.
Stiles placed a hand on his father’s arm, stopping him from protesting–or outright telling Carmine to leave. He watched his grandfather slowly make his way towards the door–the appearance of an old man without concern. He offered his empty champagne glass to his father.
“I don’t want to feel tempted to throw it at him,” Stiles jokingly mused, offering a faint shrug of apology when his father’s gaze became serious. “Dad, I’ll be fine. He won’t hurt me.”
“His words still can,” John answered.
Stiles offered a sad smile to his father before following after Carmine.
The night was a little crisp, the cold blowing through Stiles’ thin dinner jacket when the wind picked up. Stiles admired the garden’s lights, catching the way they had been artfully arranged through the small maze and older masonry of the manor. It was picturesque, no doubt exactly what Laura had envisioned for the first Hale engagement announced in over decades.
Stiles paused when Carmine moved to sit on one of the benches, watching as the older man rested his cane next to him. He was appreciative that Carmine didn’t gesture for him to sit. Instead, he busied himself with inspecting the different blooms surrounding them. He was aware of the faint loop of running water coming from the fountain nearby–it filled the silence they shared.
“I’m not expecting anything from you,” Carmine’s voice broke the calm between them. “You or your fiance,” he clarified.
Stiles felt a wave of relief hit him, an anxiety he didn’t know he had finally lifted thanks to Carmine’s words.
“I simply wanted to see you,” Carmine finally admitted.
Stiles turned to look at Carmine.
Carmine was watching Stiles, a look of ease on his normally stoic features. He seemed to be remembering something, though Stiles was certain the man would never admit to whatever memories he held close.
“What did you expect to see?” Stiles asked.
Carmine merely smiled, shaking his head. “I’m not sure.”
Stiles frowned at that.
“Florence was the one who handled things like this,” Carmine suddenly stated, his eyes drifting to look over at the hydrangea bushes.
“Handled family?” Stiles asked with an edge of sarcasm.
Carmine smiled as he shook his head. “Matters of the heart were never something I enjoyed having,” he offered instead. He stood without relative difficulty, leaning on his cane out of necessity as he approached Stiles. He reached a hand into his jacket’s breast pocket, retrieving a small box.
Stiles blinked at the box his grandfather was holding out for him to take. He looked up at the man, his brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to judge what exactly Carmine was playing at.
“You neither need nor want any money from me,” Carmine explained. “But these aren’t something I bought for you.”
Stiles took the box, opening it without flourish. He stared down at the pair of diamonds that were nestled in the velvet box.
“I married Florence with nothing to my name,” Carmine explained. “She didn’t care for the money, or power that I was trying to accumulate. She was just happy every time I walked through that front door without a bruised face.” There was a lilt of fondness in Carmine’s voice as he spoke about Florence. “I moved up the ranks for the first time, which came with a significant pay increase. I was still a dumb kid in some ways, and I didn’t realize those diamonds weren’t exactly as rare as the salesman made them out to be.”
Stiles touched one of the diamonds.
“But Florence didn’t mind–she wore those, every day, even after I became the boss. She didn’t want anything else.”
Stiles looked up at Carmine, realizing that his grandfather had taken those earrings–Florence’s prized possession–and changed them into cufflinks.
“Your mother wore them on her wedding day,” Carmine explained. His jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “Florence gave them to her for that rhyme… what was it?” His brow pinched as he tried to remember what Florence had said when she was bringing them to Claudia. He had offered, numerous times, to get Claudia whatever she wanted for jewelry for her wedding–Florence told him to count his blessings that he was allowed to pay for the wedding dress.
Claudia didn’t have to invite him to the wedding, and he knew–deep down–that she did so for her mother’s sake.
Carmine had watched from the doorway as Florence helped clasp the wreath necklace around Claudia’s neck, a matching pair of smiles reflected through the mirror as Florence settled Claudia’s veil into place. His whole world was reflected back at him in those smiles.
And in an instant, they were gone.
“Something borrowed,” Stiles’ voice cut through the memory.
Carmine looked at Stiles, watching as his grandson easily pulled one of the diamond cufflinks from its spot in the box.
Stiles looked up at Carmine, feeling a sadness fall over him. He remembered there was a portrait, one that had been used sometimes in news articles, of the Falcone family. Carmine, Florence, and Claudia. Claudia had been a child, maybe five or six. But it was a portrait that was paraded around any discussion of Carmine and the Falcone crime family’s workings.
The women were long deceased now, but there had been a looming reality in that portrait–the Carmine pictured was smiling, something the man didn’t do now. The man had lost everything that mattered.
“Thank you,” Stiles gently spoke. “But you’re acting like these won’t be borrowed.”
Carmine nodded. “Something old, I guess.”
Stiles looked at Carmine. “You had them fitted for me,” he stated the obvious.
“Florence had joked about it once,” Carmine explained. “That if you didn’t get your ears pierced, she’d have to have them turned into cufflinks.”
Stiles smiled at that. “Are you sure you’re willing to part with them?”
Carmine nodded. “I keep her here,” he gestured towards his chest, an obvious reference to his heart. “She’d want you to have them.”
Stiles placed the cufflink back into the box, making sure to keep them secured before closing the lid. “Thank you.” He held the box closer, feeling for a moment as if he could have something back of his grandmother.
As if he could change the reality of Deucalion Prince killing her–of almost killing him.
“Have a good night,” Carmine finally stated as he moved to take his leave.
Stiles watched his grandfather, a pang twisting in his chest. Carmine wasn’t expecting to be invited, or that his grand gesture of sentimentality would change Stiles’ mind.
Carmine was letting Stiles go.
Derek had given Stiles free reign over who was invited to their wedding, and Carmine’s name was still sitting on an envelope in Stiles’ nightstand drawer. The invitation was burning a hole in Stiles’ thoughts, knowing that he had to make the decision for himself and not what anyone else expected of him.
“Grandpa,” Stiles’ voice cracked. He hadn’t called Carmine that outloud in years, since he was a little boy too naive to see the crime boss.
Carmine turned, looking at Stiles with a twinge of shock creeping into his features.
Stiles reacted before he could second guess himself. He quickly moved, closing the space between them as he hugged Carmine.
Carmine hesitated for only a moment before reciprocating the hug. He pressed his cheek against Stiles’ temple, the short hair nearly tickling his nose.
“I expect to see you at the wedding,” Stiles softly uttered as he pulled away from Carmine. He was surprised when Carmine cupped his face before placing a kiss on his forehead. Without another word exchanged, he drew in a steadying breath as he watched his grandfather leave.
~*~
Stiles idly spun his engagement ring, watching as the band easily slipped around his ring finger with ease. He was listening to the way Derek softly breathed behind him, the weight of Derek’s arm around his waist grounded him.
Stiles had nightmares about what happened to Florence happening to him, or Derek. The thought of someone breaking in to kill Derek, or Stiles, and harming the wrong one. He had night terrors grip him, the thought that Derek would take a bullet for him, and he’d live his life like Carmine, obsessed with the desire to kill the person that took everything from him.
“You’re thinking awfully loud,” Derek’s sleep-addled voice spoke in a muffled way against the pillow.
Stiles pressed back into Derek, happy when Derek’s strength pulled him flush against Derek’s chest. He let Derek’s arm settle tightly against his chest, wrapping his arm around Derek’s. He kissed Derek’s knuckle.
Derek lifted his head, turning their bodies in a way that allowed him to look down at Stiles. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m scared,” Stiles admitted. He thought about the video Derek showed him once the party had ended–the video of Lydia with the Joker. He had been in disbelief, even when the computer told him of the near identical match it was reporting. He had thrown up, thankfully not on the BatComputer–he was confident that while Derek would forgive him, Laura and Cora would be annoyed with him for making such a mess. He turned his head to look up at Derek. “When does it end?”
Derek’s brow furrowed. “We’re always going to be in the spotlight,” he started.
Stiles shook his head. “When does the Batman end?”
Derek’s features softened, understanding washing over him.
Stiles reached a hand up to touch Derek’s cheek when he saw the sadness that washed over him.
“I don’t know,” Derek honestly stated. “I wish I could give you a better answer than that. That I could walk away from it without guilt no matter what state Beacon is in.”
Stiles pressed a kiss to Derek’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”
Derek shook his head. “No, you should.” He kissed the curve of Stiles’ bare shoulder. “I’ve been taking steps back. But it does feel unending.”
“I’m selfish, really,” Stiles softly admitted. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt or … worse.” He clenched his jaw tightly.
“Trust me,” Derek started, turning both of them until he was settled over Stiles, slotting between Stiles’ welcoming thighs. “I have something worth living for. And I’m not letting that go.”
Stiles smiled as he wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, his hands buried in Derek’s hair. “I’m not letting you go, either.”
~*~
Stiles’ ears were ringing, his head swimming with a thudding pain. The cold from the concrete floor was seeping into his bones, a tremor raking through him. He tried to turn onto his back, a sharp pain cutting into his arm when he realized it was in the way—his hands were tied behind his back.
Stiles tried to blink his eyes open, the sharp luminous light throwing his vision off.
“Oh, wakey wakey.”
Stiles flinched when a hand grabbed his bicep, yanking him up into a sitting position. He felt his back pressed against a pallet of cement. He blinked as his eyes adjusted, looking up at the person. He shoved himself back into the cement pallet, wishing he could get away when he saw the man in front of him.
The Joker was crouching next to him, a gun loosely held in his hand propped against his thigh. He tilted his head with a widening smile. “Mornin’, sunshine.”
Stiles tried to take in the area around them, realizing that they were in a construction site.
“You got quite a bump,” the Joker commented, lifting the gun to tap the end of the barrel against Stiles’ temple.
Pain shot through Stiles’ head, the unseen welt clearly reacting to the pressure of being prodded at.
“I told them to be gentle,” the Joker sighed, as if he was annoyed with not being listened to. “You’re a catch, you know.”
“I don’t know why—”
The Joker tutted in disapproval. “Ah, ah, ah,” he wiggled his finger at Stiles. “Don’t lie to me. We know who you are.”
Stiles remained silent.
The Joker stood, reaching a hand in his suit jacket. He patted around in an exaggerated motion, as if he was searching for something. “I know I put it in here,” he mused. A chattering teeth toy fell out of his pocket. “Ignore that, everyone does.” He made a noise of approval when he pulled a notepad out. “Here we go.”
Stiles pulled his leg away from the chattering teeth toy, watching as it tried to keep moving from laying on its side, the toy’s legs moving through the air.
“Let’s review who you are,” the Joker offered. “Commissioner Stilinski’s son,” he licked his finger to flip the page of the small pad. “Carmine Falcone’s grandson,” he made a roll of his eyes. “The Cat Thief,” he gave Stiles an arched eyebrow. “Impressive.” He flipped to the last page. “Oh, and this one is my favorite,” he moved to crouch close to Stiles, a bemused laugh escaping him as if he was reading an amusing joke. “The love of Derek Hale’s life.”
Stiles tried to keep all emotion from his features.
“Now see, I really hate that,” the Joker’s voice deepened as he carelessly tossed the pad of paper to the side. He lashed out quickly, grabbing a handful of Stiles’ hair in a tight grip as he hauled Stiles’ helpless body close. He pressed the barrel of his gun into Stiles’ cheek. “You should give me a smile,” he suddenly commented, his eyes taking in Stiles’ shaking breath. “You give him such nice ones. And I’d hate to have to mar that pretty face before he gets here.”
“I thought you said I was a catch,” Stiles barely got the words out.
The Joker froze. He blinked a few times before laughing. He released Stiles as he stood, brushing a hand through his hair to correct the loose strands. “You’re right, that wouldn’t have been funny to end the party before the guest of honor gets here. Destroying the prize is no fun.”
Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat.
The sound of approaching steps caused Stiles’ stomach to unravel. He could tell it wasn’t Batman, and part of him dreaded it being Derek without his armor, or his father foolishly answering the Joker’s demands.
“A prize indeed.”
A cold sweat broke out as nausea roiled in Stiles’ stomach.
Deucalion Prince.
Stiles turned his head to look up at the man, catching sight of his two bodyguards. He felt sick when he saw the smile on Deucalion’s face. “Carmine killed Harris,” he stated. “What do you think he’ll do to you?”
Deucalion laughed. “The old man is on his way as we speak.”
Stiles tried to keep his expression neutral. “Carmine won’t walk into a trap.”
“He would for you,” Deucalion replied. “Besides, he thinks this is a trade.”
Stiles looked at the Joker, unsurprised to find the man leaning against the support column with utter boredom on his features. “You’re so pathetic you needed the Joker to kidnap me?”
“Thanks to your father, my options were limited,” Deucalion lowly stated.
“If Carmine doesn’t kill you, my father will,” Stiles retorted. “And if they don’t, Derek will.”
The Joker shifted, pushing off the column as he took a step closer. He looked intrigued by Stiles’ claim.
“A good little trust fund baby like Hale isn’t capable of that,” Deucalion mockingly laughed off Stiles’ threat. “He knew, deep down, that I had you thrown out like trash. And he did nothing.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Stiles answered. “You’re finished, Deucalion. You just don’t see it yet.”
“You know what, I’m sick of you talking,” Deucalion stated. He gestured to one of the men flanking him. “I don’t think you’ll survive the same jump twice,” he commented, looking down at Stiles as if he was a stain to be removed.
Stiles didn’t care if he was injured, the pain in his side obvious now as he fell to the side in his attempt to scurry backwards when one of Deucalion’s men came at him.
The Joker shot the man who moved to grab Stiles.
“No ruining the fun,” the Joker stated in a tired voice, as if he hadn’t just killed a man. He looked at Deucalion. “I don’t like it when people change the plan.”
Deucalion looked furious at the Joker. “I don’t listen to crazy people in makeup.”
The Joker was quiet before a laugh loudly cracked out of him. He leaned over, taking support against the column as he continued to laugh in an exaggerated manner. “Well, even if that is true, it isn’t smart to piss off the crazy with the gun,” the Joker whirled and pointed his gun at Deucalion. “Now, where is Derek?”
Deucalion didn’t seem bothered to have the Joker aiming a weapon at him. “He will have been informed of Stiles’ whereabouts once Carmine gets here.”
The Joker looked annoyed at having to wait. “I guess a few more minutes is nothing compared to the decades I waited,” he muttered as he lowered his gun.
Stiles tried not to flinch away as Deucalion approached him. He glared at the man crouching next to him.
“I want you to know,” Deucalion started, looking down to pick a piece of nonexistent lint from his trousers. “It was never personal against you. It was good business to get Carmine out of the way.” He looked at Stiles. “And then you had to start dating Derek Hale, of all people. That put you in the worst position for me.”
“Because I knew you were trying to scam Hale Enterprises?” Stiles incredulously asked. “Newsflash, asshole,” he sneered at Deucalion. “Derek is one of the smartest people you’ll ever know. He knew you were trying to scam him–he just probably wanted to take a look at your books to confirm it. And you were stupid enough to let him.” He felt the rush of adrenaline hit him when Deucalion looked surprised by his words. He was hurt and tired, and he didn’t have the mental energy to sugarcoat anything for the man who tried to murder him. Instead, he laughed in Deucalion’s face. “Derek probably gave an anonymous tip to BPD about you. He saw right through you and you were too stupid to realize that just because Derek has a pretty face doesn’t mean he’s an idiot.”
Stiles hadn’t been expecting the back of Deucalion’s hand to slam across his cheek, the impact making his head ring even worse. His lip felt like it had split, and the taste of copper confirmed it.
The sharp connection of Deucalion’s shoe hitting his stomach was almost enough to cause him to vomit. He pressed his cheek into the concrete, refusing to move.
“I think I’m going to take my time with you,” Deucalion commented as he turned his back on him.
The Joker tutted, shaking his head in disapproval as he waltzed over to Stiles. He crouched beside Stiles, tilting his head to get the upright view of Stiles’ face. “That had to hurt,” the man commented, reaching a hand out to tap Stiles’ cheek.
Stiles winced and opened his eyes, glaring at the Joker.
“I have a doctor on call if you need one,” the Joker mused. “She’s supposed to fix the mind, but she isn’t very good at that.” His eyes widened some before he comically whispered at full volume, “don’t tell her I said that.”
Lydia.
Stiles’s stomach clenched.
“Oh, honey bear,” the Joker crooned, a smile on his face. It was as if he knew it would crush Stiles’ spirit even more to see her.
The sound of skipping steps followed after Joker’s call.
The Joker held out his hand with a flourish, as if he was about to start a dance.
And then Stiles saw her.
Lydia spun into the Joker’s waiting arms after she took his hand. Her leg lifting, pointing into the air with flourish as the Joker dipped her low.
Stiles stared in horror as he watched Lydia kiss the Joker, a sense of uneasiness hitting him when he saw that the Joker was looking at him.
The Joker finally looked at Lydia. “He’s a little banged up,” he gestured towards Stiles. “See to our guest’s booboos, okay?” He kissed the tip of her nose after she eagerly nodded.
Stiles startled when Lydia moved to kneel next to him. “Lydia,” he started, shocked to see that she had remnants of her own clown makeup staining her skin. He could see how pale she was, even the hint of dark circles beneath the tear smudged eye makeup. “Lydia.” His voice was sterner.
Lydia looked at Stiles.
Stiles leaned away from her, wavered by the hollowness in her stare.
“I’ll take care of it, Stiles,” Lydia stated with an unsettling smile splitting her lips.
Stiles lightly shook his head. “Lydia, listen to me, we have to–”
“I have to patch you up,” Lydia stated as she looked at Stiles’ lip. “It’s what puddin’ said you needed.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She shook her head, plastering on a smile as she stood to go retrieve her first aid kit.
“Lydia, why are you doing this?” Stiles asked in urgency when she returned, his gaze flickering over to the Joker.
The Joker was far enough away, looking out over the city streets below–likely scouring for sight of Derek, or Batman.
“What do you mean?” Lydia asked as she sorted through the different medical items.
“Why are you here?” Stiles started. “I remember seeing you earlier when…” He stopped, thinking about the moments before he woke up here. He had been heading to the bakery to meet Derek, but he had turned to follow… “Lydia,” he forcefully stated. He flinched away from her when she tried to clean his lip. He didn’t feel bad about her frown, not when his stomach felt like it was unraveling with the revelation. “You tricked me.”
Lydia blinked a few times. “I didn’t trick you,” she rationalized. “Puddin’ said he needed you, so I thought about the best way to get you without causing a scene or hurting anyone else.”
“You purposely walked down that alley, knowing I’d follow you if I saw a glimpse of you–because I’ve been worried!”
“How worried were you?” Lydia suddenly asked, looking at Stiles with a dead stare.
“What?”
“How worried were you while you were sailing with your fiance,” Lydia asked. “How worried were you while planning your wedding.” She leaned closer, her nose almost touching Stiles’ nose. “How worried were you, Stiles?”
“You want to blame me for him?” Stiles flickered his eyes over to the Joker. “I didn’t ignore you on purpose.”
“You’re a bad friend, Stiles,” Lydia sighed, leaning back out of his space.
“I fell in love, Lydia.”
“So did I,” Lydia replied as she looked over at the Joker.
“I’m not the only bad friend,” Stiles decided to say, glad that it was enough to yank her attention away from the man she was infatuated with. “You were working almost every night, and then on weekends too,” he pointed out. “Were you really working, or did you just find something else to keep your attention besides friends?”
Lydia’s brow furrowed, gently shaking her head. “He needed me.”
“Did he?” Stiles asked.
Anger snapped across Lydia’s face. “Shut up!” She abruptly stood, kicking over the first aid kit without any care as she stomped over to the Joker.
Stiles watched as Lydia wrapped her arms around the man from behind, pressing her face into his back. The Joker didn’t appear at all moved by the embrace, his eyes still tracking the streets below as if he hadn’t noticed Lydia.
“Someone’s coming,” the Joker noted, catching everyone off guard. He turned, a look of annoyance plastered on his face when Lydia’s embrace stopped him from moving. He grabbed her arms, forcefully unfolding them before tossing her back and off balance.
Stiles’ heart lodged in his throat when he saw Lydia stumble towards the edge–where there was no barrier to stop her from one misplaced step and toppling over.
Lydia’s minor moment of sorrow was replaced with a fake smile as she skipped after the Joker.
Minutes passed in agony as Stiles thought about who it could be–which person got here first.
“You’re finally here,” Deucalion stated when the footsteps approached.
Stiles strained his neck to see who it was, his stomach already in knots. “No,” he softly uttered.
It was Carmine.
Alone.
“Would have been here earlier if you let me have my cane,” Carmine answered Deucalion, but his eyes didn’t leave Stiles.
“Surprised you came at all,” Deucalion noted. “And I’m not an idiot, Carmine, I know you keep a blade in that cane.”
“When you tell me you’re going to murder my grandson if I don’t show up, alone, on the outskirts of the city–well, that inspires urgent complacency,” Carmine replied as he approached. He put his hands up when Deucalion aimed his gun at him.
Stiles scrambled to stand with the speed the Joker pulled on his arm, unsteady on his feet despite the way the man held onto him.
“Take off your coat, and throw your wallet out,” Deucalion instructed.
Carmin scoffed at the order. “You’re going to make it look like I was… what? Mugged? In this city, you’d have to be quite stupid to do that to me.”
“Police will be happy to get rid of you,” Deucalion reasoned.
“I think you forget who my son-in-law is,” Carmine replied, even as he started to unbutton his coat.
Stiles wanted to protest, to tell Carmine to stall just a little longer. There was no way Laura of all people wouldn’t have put a tap on Carmine once Stiles was declared missing–she would have been determined to prevent bloodshed. They just had to wait until one of the Hales showed up.
Carmine took his coat off with ease, tossing it towards Deucalion per his instruction. He pulled his scarf from his neck before retrieving his wallet from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He tossed them onto his discarded coat. He watched with ease as Deucalion’s bodyguard moved forward to gather the items.
“Careful,” Carmine’s bored tone gave off more annoyance than worry. He gestured towards the scarf that was dangling precariously from the bodyguard’s hold. “That’s Hermès.”
Stiles couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. He truly had wondered where his mother had gained an appreciation for such outlandish styles and designer names. It was clearly Carmine’s influence moreso than Florence’s.
“A what?” The bodyguard asked.
“It’s worth more than your salary,” Stiles answered. He saw the way Carmine barely hid a similar smile.
“Keep your hands away from your pockets,” Deucalion bit out.
Carmine lifted his hands up. “What next? Want me to jump on one foot? That is going to be a little difficult,” he deadpanned.
“You’ll come with me, and Stiles will walk out,” Deucalion decided to ignore Carmine’s jest.
Carmine briefly looked at Stiles. “You don’t think I’m going to leave my grandson alone with him,” he pointed a finger at the Joker.
The Joker pressed a hand to his chest in mock hurt.
“I’d say you don’t really have a choice,” Deucalion replied.
Carmine hesitated for a moment before gruffly agreeing with a curt, “Fine.”
Stiles tried to pull away from the Joker, only stopping when the man tightened his grip and yanked him back.
“He’s going to kill you!” Stiles quickly yelled, a vehement argument against Carmine just accepting Deucalion’s word.
Carmine didn’t appear fazed by the revelation in Stiles’ words.
“I don’t think the old man really cares as long as I let you go,” Deucalion replied to Stiles, refusing to take his eyes off of Carmine.
“Don’t listen to him,” Stiles argued.
“I won’t live with that regret, Stiles,” Carmine simply stated, looking at his grandson. “I won’t.” He looked back at Deucalion.
Regret. How much regret had Carmine let consume his every move these last decades?
“You can’t believe him–that he’ll just let me go,” Stiles pushed. “And even if he does, he won’t stop coming after me.”
Carmine hesitated for a moment.
But when that look of resignation came back, Stiles forced himself to admit the truth he was terrified of Carmine knowing. The truth he should have told him to begin with.
“He killed grandma!” Stiles yelled at Carmine.
Carmine’s gaze flickered from Deucalion over to Stiles.
“He was sent by Maroni–he knew he was fucked for botching the attempt so he ran to the DA.”
“As much as you want to have this wrapped up in a bow,” Deucalion scoffed at Stiles. “You honestly think an outlandish claim like that would be believed?”
Stiles laughed at Deucalion. He could give Deucalion the benefit of being a good actor when he revealed nothing.
The Joker arched an eyebrow, watching Stiles with interest as he released his grip on the young man.
“You forget,” Stiles started, his eyes flickering over to his grandfather for a moment. “You gave a recorded interview to the DA, in exchange for protection against Maroni and Argent.”
Deucalion’s stoic expression cracked with realization.
“Chris Argent kept those files,” Stiles added.
Carmine was watching Deucalion, as if he was trying to recall the exact shape of the shadow that had lingered only for a moment before fleeing after the shots. He was sizing the man up, the wheels turning in his head.
“You really are an insufferable little bitch,” Deucalion lowly stated as he observed Stiles with clear anger.
“Funny,” Stiles uttered, ignoring the pain in his side where Deucalion had kicked him. “What did you call Florence? A bitch who got in the way? I guess I have that in common with my grandmother.”
Deucalion’s mask of control shattered with that final nail in the coffin. It was proof that Chris Argent had kept those files, and Stiles had found them.
“You’re probably wishing right now that that shove killed me, huh?” It was a gamble to lay every guilty charge at Deucalion’s feet at this moment, but he could only hope that Carmine had some sort of plan.
And Stiles’ victory fell from his lips when he saw his father coming up the stairs behind Carmine, his weapon drawn to attention.
“John,” Carmine spoke in a curt tone, still processing Stiles’ revelation. “I told you I would handle it.”
“Stiles, are you alright?” Commissioner Stilinski ignored Carmine as he continued to aim his weapon at Deucalion.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Stiles tried to keep the fear from his tone.
“I invited him,” the Joker offered before leaning close to whisper in Stiles’ ear. “I wanted to invite all the men who love you. I’d like to see which one will die for you first–so far Derek is disappointing.”
Stiles flinched at the Joker’s laugh. “Dad, be careful, Lydia is here somewhere.”
“She’s downstairs,” John answered, his gaze flickering briefly to Stiles. “She’s handcuffed to a support bar.” He looked back at Deucalion. “This is over, there are dozens of BCPD waiting downstairs.”
“That’s a bluff, John,” Deucalion confronted him.
“Believe it is if you want, but my goal is stopping this before it escalates to violence.”
“Too late for that, John,” Carmine stated, his gaze focused on Deucalion. “Decades too late for that.”
“Carmine,” John spoke the older man’s name with a warning. “You are already interfering with police matters. Don’t make me charge you with obstruction instead of being a victim.”
Carmine laughed.
John dared to look at Carmine.
“I think you misunderstand me,” Carmine started, reaching into his vest’s pocket to retrieve a cigarette case. He looked unaffected by the way Deucalion and his man kept their weapons aimed at him. “I’m not letting him walk out of here without admitting what he took from me,” he continued, slipping a cigarette from the case to tap it against the engraved surface. “I’m insulted, to say the least.” He lifted the cigarette to his lips. “Disgusted, actually.”
John recognized the cigarette case—Claudia had given it to Carmine as a birthday gift, just months before Florence’s death.
Carmine slowly lifted his lighter to his lips, his thumb sparking the grinder into a flame.
A booming shot cracked through the empty space of the construction site.
Stiles startled, leaning into the Joker to get away from the blood spatter. He stared at what was left of Deucalion’s bodyguard.
“You think I would walk in here without a definite way for my grandson to walk out?” Carmine scoffed at the look on Deucalion’s face. “You once again insult me.”
Stiles did his best to calculate where the shot came from, realizing that it was a sniper from one of the distant buildings–buildings well across the bridge.
“Christ, Carmine!” John yelled at him, knowing that it was a countdown until officers arrived.
“You can put your weapon down,” Carmine instructed Deucalion as he ignored John, taking a drag of his cigarette with an unnerving calm. “I hire the best–always have. You could even say she’s quite the dead shot. She’ll put one in your spine before you even think of what to do with that gun.” He briefly let his eyes stray from Deucalion, looking at Stiles. “Let him go,” he spoke to the Joker.
The Joker released a cooing laughter as he shook his head. “No, we need to wait.”
“I am not asking,” Carmine stated in a sterner tone.
“Going to have your pet assassin shoot me?” The Joker mocking asked. “Wouldn’t be very smart.”
Carmine narrowed his eyes. “Seems to be the smartest thing to do when a mad man is threatening my family.”
“Not very smart because the madman can do this,” the Joker replied, just as he slipped a handcuff to Stiles’ wrist. He spun them away from the palette of cement bags, tossing Stiles’ weight out and away from him.
And away from the edge of the construction site.
Stiles’ stomach dropped as he felt his balance nearly leave him, his feet barely on the edge of the floor as he was leaning out over nothing–practically hovering in the air as he clung to the Joker’s hand.
If the Joker was shot, there was no doubt in Stiles’ mind that they would both plummet to the ground beneath them–at least twelve stories beneath them.
Stiles dug his nails into the Joker’s hand as he tried to hold onto him, to even pull himself up from the incline he was hovering at. But each time the Joker leaned even further.
The Joker was prepared to die to make his point–Stiles wasn’t getting out of this if Batman didn’t show.
“Now, if Batman doesn’t show in the next few minutes, I may be joining his beloved little cat in a deadly trip to the ground,” the Joker announced, an edge of darkness in his tone. “I’ve waited long enough!” He yelled.
Carmine clenched his jaw before looking back at Deucalion. “You have two options at the moment: surrender or a bullet. Choose quickly, Deucalion.” He waited for Deucalion to drop his gun and kick it away. He drew in a breath before uttering, “You better handcuff him, John.”
John hesitated before moving, his gaze distracted with the sight of his son dangling above midair.
“Should we start a countdown?” The Joker asked Stiles.
Stiles clenched his jaw. “Did you countdown for Joe Chill?”
The Joker’s pupils suddenly dilated with intrigue–recognition–delight. “Joe died too quickly for my liking. But I was never good with playing with pets for a long time.” He leaned backwards, the weight of them both forcing the metal of the cuffs to cut deep into their wrists.
Stiles winced, straining to keep a pained cry in.
The Joker smiled. “He loves you,” he suddenly stated in a tone that sounded normal. There was a calmness in the Joker that was unsettling.
Stiles stared at the man that once was Derek’s uncle. He would have been at their wedding had he not become this.
“I think that’s why it is going to feel so good taking you away,” Peter softly spoke, sounding the most logical he had all night. “Tell me, Stiles,” he softly started to pull Stiles towards him and away from the precarious position he placed him in. “Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?”
Stiles caught sight of a blurred shadow. “Have you?” He quietly asked when he saw the figure standing just out of sight from the Commissioner.
The Joker giggled a laughter under his breath, amused by Stiles’ response. “You’ll fly so beautifully.”
“Peter.”
Derek wasn’t using his voice changer.
Stiles was the only one privy to the way the Joker’s features fell, the twisted joy from earlier drooping into a browbeaten expression of disappointment.
“Well, this isn’t fun,” the Joker noted as he looked up at Stiles.
“Leave him out of this,” Derek continued as he took a step out from behind the pillar.
Carmine looked from Batman to the Joker, his expression pinching with concentration–an attempt to put memory to the distorted face of a stranger.
“Rather hard to leave him out of this,” the Joker answered, slowly turning his head towards Batman. “You brought him into this.”
“You wanted me here, I came. Now let him go,” Batman answered.
The Joker laughed. “No, no,” he gently shook his head before violently yanking Stiles close.
Stiles tripped over the momentum that threw his weight forward, stumbling into the Joker. He was disoriented when twisted around, handcuffed arm pinned behind his back as the Joker used him for a shield. He hated knowing the cold metal feeling pressed tightly under his jaw was a gun.
“I wanted you here to watch him die,” the Joker explained. “Your sisters were too obvious of a choice, a comfort you built up but kept at arm's length. They wouldn’t have the same reaction.”
Batman remained still, only his cape swayed when caught in the burst of wind off the water.
“You’re getting another chance, to save the thing you love most, so don’t fuck this one up.” The Joker sounded as if he was giving Batman instructional advice. “I’ve been in and out of asylums for decades, you know, and they always say that it is healthiest to work through trauma. What better way than to reenact it?”
Stiles clenched his jaw tightly, concentrating twisting his fingers the right way–he just had to turn the pick into place and he could make his move. He didn’t mean to freeze when Derek spoke, but the softness caught him off guard.
“This isn’t going to bring them back.”
It was like a child trying to explain to a spiraling adult that their vices wouldn’t change the disappointments of their lives.
“You think I don’t know that?” The Joker demanded. “I am doing this for you–as usual, I am doing it all for you to deal with your increasing thoughts of lunacy.” He lifted the gun from its place on Stiles’ throat to gesture at Batman. “You dress up like a freaking bat–I’m insane and even I know that isn’t normal, Derek.” He laughed as if he only just realized he had outed Derek’s identity without thought. He wildly gestured once more. “Go on, take off the helmet–show your lovely former in-laws-to-be who you really are.”
Batman drew in a breath, head tilting down.
“Don’t,” Stiles quickly stated. He was almost free, and then they could all walk out of here.
The Joker shushed Stiles. “I would like you to see this, so don’t make me put a hole in your pretty head out of regret.”
“Don’t you dare take that helmet off!” Stiles yelled at Batman when he started to reach for his helmet. “Don’t you take that helmet off for me– don’t put that on me!”
Batman’s hands tightened on the bottom of his helmet, just to the curve of his jaw. “There’s no point anymore,” he finally answered, looking up at Stiles. “I put this mask on to protect the people I love… it just put you in danger.”
Just as Batman turned the first clasp loose, Stiles felt the handcuff release from his wrist.
Stiles shot his leg out quickly, spinning to knock the Joker off his feet with precision. He twisted his body far enough to kick the Joker’s discarded gun away. He stood to take a few paces back from the Joker, watching as the man realized his hands were now the ones cuffed together.
There was an eerie silence before the Joker’s unhinged laughter started to erupt.
“Shut up,” Stiles snapped at him before looking at Batman. “And keep your fucking helmet on,” he ordered, hoping there was more anger in his tone than the tears that stung his eyes. He never wanted to live in a world where Derek sacrificed himself for him.
“That really is funny, you know,” the Joker mused, a bubble of laughter following his words.
“Really?” Stiles demanded, turning to look at the man.
“Yeah,” the Joker’s laugh disappeared. “That you thought that was my only gun.”
Stiles registered the Joker’s sudden movement–the way a small concealed gun slipped from beneath the cuff of his pant leg with ease. He calculated how fast he could move out of the way.
He could see the blacked shadow of Derek moving towards him, and for a split second he had a hope that maybe Derek would reach him.
A deafening shot rang out, just as the weight of Derek tackling him registered. His heart was beating fast, the blood rushing through his veins as fuzzy white noise blocked out all other sounds. He felt Derek’s gloved hands touch his face, the echoing call of Derek’s voice saying his name over and over.
Stiles blinked up at Derek, adrenaline wearing away to shock as he tried to feel where he could have been shot. There was no pain. He looked down at himself, softly shaking his head when Derek asked if he was hurt, all sound rushing back in a flooded instant.
“Shots fired,” the Commissioner’s calm voice spoke over the radio. “I discharged my weapon.” John sounded tired.
Stiles looked at his father, seeing his service weapon in his hand, before turning his head to see the Joker. He tightened his hold on Derek, his hands gripping onto the plated armor of Batman’s shoulders. He grabbed Derek’s face, forcing him not to look. “Don’t look,” he whispered.
Derek’s hand tightened into a fist against the concrete, just parallel to Stiles’ head. He clenched his jaw, breathing through it.
“You’ve seen enough,” Stiles reasoned as he caressed his thumb across Derek’s cheek. “Hey,” he softly spoke, pulling Derek’s eyes to his with the simple word. “Just keep looking at me.” He nodded his head as he repeated, “Keep looking at me.”
People would say that Batman would have complicated feelings about the Joker’s death, but that didn’t matter to Stiles.
Derek Hale didn’t need to see his uncle with a bullet hole in his chest.
Stiles guided Derek’s face towards his neck, turning his head away as John moved close to inspect the Joker. He tightened his hold on Derek when John reported into the radio that he couldn’t find a pulse. He was thankful when his father moved to block Peter’s body from view.
Stiles stood with Derek’s help, making sure to turn him purposefully away.
“I need to get out of here before others arrive,” Derek spoke, his voice tinged with an unusual coldness.
“My place?”
Derek’s eyes flickered over Stiles, a faint nod before he started moving.
Stiles allowed his hold to linger on Derek, fingers slipping away just seconds before watching Batman use his grappling hook to take flight. He reached a hand up to touch his neck, rubbing the aching spot as he turned to look at his father. His gaze dropped to the Joker and the bullet hole in his chest.
“I hope he can forgive me,” John suddenly stated, his own gaze staring down at Peter.
Stiles walked over to his father, touching John’s arm to gain his attention.
“Dad–”
“I don’t want to know how long you knew,” John cut off Stiles’ words. “I understand why you wouldn’t tell me.” He holstered his weapon. “I just hope he can forgive me for making a choice that cost his uncle his life.”
Stiles gently shook his head, “You put it together then.”
“Not that hard to piece together that the Joker was somehow related to Batman. I guess Derek put on a better front than he thought when it came to acting like he couldn’t possibly be Batman,” John offered. He looked up, shaking his head. “It seems insane that no one else has figured out the billionaire is the heavily armed and equipped vigilante.”
Stiles hugged his dad's arm, pressing his forehead into John’s shoulder. “I said something similar.” He looked up at John. “And don’t worry, Derek won’t blame you for saving my life.”
Stiles released his father when another call came over the radio with an estimated time of arrival. He took a step away, turning to check on Carmine. And he froze.
Carmine had a cigarette between his lips, smoke softly billowing away from the lit end, as he focused on cleaning his hands with his handkerchief. His bloodied hands.
Stiles turned his head, eyes catching on Deucalion. “What did you do?” He softly asked Carmine, a thousand thoughts running through his mind.
John turned at Stiles’ words, pausing before pushing by Stiles. “Damn it!” He snapped when he saw that Deucalion was dead, a knife lodged in his throat. He turned on his father-in-law. “I’m a cop, Carmine! What did you think–”
“I thought you’d arrest me,” Carmine answered as he finished wiping his hands, folding the handkerchief together to slip into his pants pocket. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, tossing it to the floor before stepping on it.
“You couldn’t wait for him to go to trial?” Stiles finally found his voice.
“He’d get a slap on the wrist,” Carmine countered. “And no matter the sentence, it wouldn’t be enough for what he’s done.”
A shuttering scoff cracked from Stiles’ throat. “I almost thought you’d change,” he stated. “This doesn’t bring justice to the people he hurt–this doesn’t bring grandma back.”
Carmine looked at Stiles, a fond sadness in his eyes. “I didn’t do this for me, kiddo.”
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, the hot sting of tears burning as realization hit him. He didn’t feel an ounce of actual guilt or empathy–he felt relief.
“You can handcuff me, John, but I am going to need help getting down the stairs,” Carmine simply stated as he offered his wrists up. He looked at Stiles as he waited for John to handcuff him. “He wasn’t going to leave you alone–because of me. So I made a choice–I wasn’t going to risk your life like I did hers.”
“Carmine, you don’t know–”
“Dad,” Stiles softly spoke, stopping his father. “Dad, he … he had me …” He breathed out his shakiness. “Deucalion is the one that had me shoved out the window.”
Thoughts churned in John’s head, turning to look at Deucalion before returning to Carmine.
Carmine held a neutral expression. “Read me my rights, John.”
It was permission to put an end to all of this.
~*~
“You need to leave,” Stiles partially laughed through their kiss.
Derek cradled Stiles’ neck and jaw, bringing their lips together in another kiss as he pressed between Stiles’ thighs.
Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, uncaring of the way his silk robe fell open. “Derek–I am not dressed,” he reasoned, despite the way he turned his head to give Derek’s mouth more access to his neck. “And the guests–”
“Will wait,” Derek uttered.
After everything, this day felt impossible.
Derek never thought he would live long enough to find someone he could envision himself marrying, let alone loving. And Stiles was that for him–everything. The trauma of the last few months still lingered, a haunting pale figure that loomed.
Derek had kept himself together the night the Joker died. He forced himself to keep moving, to get to Stiles’ apartment downtown. He only managed to get his gauntlets and helmet off, his knees giving out. The cats kept him company, Ms Kitty moving to climb up Derek’s chest and press her face into his cheek. He instinctually hugged the normally stoic cat, taking the comfort she offered through her purrs.
Stiles took over once he arrived, hugging Derek all night. It wasn’t easy–it wasn’t black and white. The Joker had bled through Derek’s world, splintering shades of gray working to twist his own grief and trauma into a continuing nightmare.
Stiles placed his hands beneath Derek’s chin, forcing Derek’s lips away from his skin. “You are dressed, and if you keep touching me like that, I’m going to mess up your hair, and possibly ruin your suit. And I would much rather do that tonight, when we are Mr. and Mr. Hale.” He smirked, rubbing his leg up and down as his foot caught Derek’s pant leg.
Derek grumbled, kissing Stiles once more. “Fine,” he uttered before releasing Stiles from his hold. He didn’t miss the way Stiles slowly covered himself, purposefully dragging the robe back into place.
Stiles smiled at Derek when he didn’t move to leave. “You can’t see me until my dad walks me down the aisle,” he sternly stated. “Shoo,” he playfully made a gesture of brushing Derek away.
Derek took Stiles’ hand, placing a kiss to his skin before backing away. “Don’t leave me to make small talk.”
Stiles gently laughed. “Half the guests are yours,” he reasoned as he moved to sit back down at the vanity. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t too flushed–his skin tended to do that in relation to Derek.
Derek offered a shrug. “Doesn’t mean I like most of them. Boyd I like,” he noted.
“Boyd is your Best Man, you’re supposed to like him,” Stiles answered. He frowned some when he thought of the empty space he had now. He thought of Lydia every day, and attempted to visit her every month only to be turned away when informed Lydia had specifically revoked his visitations. He was trying to get her transferred from Eichen, but she seemed to only dig her heels in more and reject all help.
There was an empty space on Stiles’ side. Thankfully, his father had offered to stand with him after walking him down the aisle.
“Regrets?”
Stiles shook away from his thoughts, looking at Derek. “No,” he answered. “I told you, I’d never regret you,” he added with a smile.
“Hurry and join me, then” Derek answered. “I don’t think I can keep John and Carmine separate for much longer.”
Stiles rolled his eyes at the thought.
Carmine had gotten lucky when John turned the key in the handcuffs, lifting the cuffs from his wrists. He walked away, making his own way through the construction site that he appeared to have extensive knowledge of.
Carmine apparently claimed Deucalion stole his cigarette case–the same case that usually held the knife found embedded in Deucalion’s throat. Carmine shrugged when the cops questioned him. At the moment, the man had a pending trial, free to roam anywhere in Beacon.
Stiles actually had laughed when Derek mentioned they’d have a high-profile criminal and the Commissioner at their wedding. Don’t forget the Mayor , Stiles had added.
“I love you,” Derek suddenly stated.
Stiles tilted his head as he observed Derek’s features in the vanity’s mirror, trying to understand more about the look sinking his features. He knew Derek was still recovering from everything, and their honeymoon was more a lifeline at this point–for them both. He looked at Derek’s reflection. “I love you,” he echoed.
Stiles turned in his seat, crossing his arms over the back of his chair as he watched Derek approach the door. “Derek,” he softly called his name. He watched Derek’s body turning to look at him. He let his gaze rake over Derek for a few moments. “I’m not going to spoil what is in my vows, but I want you to know that I’ll always be in your corner–I might not be on your side of legality,”–he smirked–“But I’ll be there for you, Der.” He breathed out softly. “I meant it–just keep looking at me.”
A warmth washed over Derek’s features as a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Never stopped.”