Fight Till We Die

Homecoming

You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right.

- Maya Angelou

Libby had no home. Not for six years, she didn't. Sure, she'd lived in apartments or duplexes here and there, but nowhere really felt like home. It was a bittersweet feeling that burnt a hole deep in her chest, burrowed in so deep that Libby didn't entirely know it was there. All she knew was that she felt like she was burning from the inside out.

And being here-being in Beacon Hills-that burning felt incessant. Especially for the reason she came.

Laura's dead.

Derek's words had been echoing in her mind since he told her in their fourth-floor apartment in Prescott, Arizona. She couldn't bring herself to cry, and sometimes she thought that was the worst part. Her sister had died, and Libby couldn't mourn her like she should. Goes to show what so much hurt can do to you.

It took thirty minutes for the two of them to pack up their entire lives and get in Derek's sleek black Camaro to go home. There she was, back at that word again.

The drive was long, and Libby felt not very much at all. She wasn't leaving behind much in Prescott, and she certainly didn't have much to look forward to in Beacon Hills. Frankly, she expected to be in California for a few weeks to tie up Laura's loose ends before she and Derek set off someplace new. Libby was perpetually the new kid, but she found she didn't always mind.

The air was crisp with the kind of chill that only came with morning air in the late summer. Libby had on a gray sweatshirt that had a navy blue print that said, "St. Louis," and then below that, "Home of the Gateway Arch." and a pair of yellow, checkered soft shorts she wore only to travel in. So, that was to say, often.

Her tennis shoes were coated with dew-laced leaves stuck to her from the ground of Beacon Hills Preserve, where she walked with her brother by her side. Both were silent. Libby couldn't tell if it was because of Laura or because they were in Beacon Hills.

They hardly spoke on the drive too, Libby knew Derek would need silence to process this. Derek knew Libby wouldn't feel much like talking. It was their way.

They came up on their- the house where they lost everything, untouched, since the fire. The entire walk Libby felt a ball of something building in her chest, every step they took closer, was another reminder of what they'd left behind. It was poetic, in a sense, but Libby wasn't in the state of mind to appreciate it, in that sense.

She glanced at Derek, his expression set. Stilled. If she didn't know him so well, Libby wouldn't have seen the shadows dancing in his eyes. Grief. He was so stoic, all the time, that only Libby could tell when he was hurting.

His gaze found hers and she saw something else. His brows softened and his clenched jaw dropped into an open-mouthed sigh. Whatever he was going to say, he didn't want to say it to her.

"We have to find her."

Libby's brow creased, Derek hadn't said much since he'd told her Laura was dead-Libby being too ashamed, didn't ask-but she'd already assumed Laura had been found. How else would he have known that their sister had...?

Derek turned away from her, back to the house. "She was killed. By an alpha, I think." His nostrils flared as he paused. He looked back at her. "Cops didn't find all of her. Only half."

It was like she'd been punched in the sternum, all breath lost. That tightness in her chest only increased in pressure, but Libby ignored it. She had to. She could see the grief all over Derek's face. He needed her to be strong.