I love you, Im sorry - Derek Hale

Epilogue

The early evening air was cool and crisp as Vivian slipped out of the McCall house, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. She glanced back once to make sure no one needed her, then headed to her car. It was a quick trip—just some last-minute errands. With everything that had happened recently, getting back into a semblance of routine felt strange, almost surreal. But it was a welcome change.

When she reached the grocery store, Vivian moved swiftly through the aisles, grabbing the essentials, her mind only half-focused on the items she tossed into her cart. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the events of the past few weeks, how much her life had changed. How much Derek, Alexis, and she had been through together. They had faced some of their worst fears, but they had come out stronger. She knew there were more battles ahead, but for the first time, she felt like they were truly prepared to face them.

After checking out, she pushed her cart back to her car, loading the bags into the trunk with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done it countless times. But as she closed the trunk and prepared to leave, a commotion caught her attention from across the parking lot.

Under the dim glow of the streetlights, a scuffle was unfolding between a group of boys near the edge of the lot. Her instincts flared as she spotted a lone boy at the center, barely holding his own against three others. She could hear their jeers, their taunts carrying through the night air, and saw the defiance in the lone boy's stance, though he looked worn down, as if this wasn't his first fight of the night.

Without a second thought, Vivian started toward them, her pulse quickening. She approached calmly but with purpose, her voice carrying a tone that was both firm and undeniably commanding. "Alright, that's enough. Leave him alone."

The bullies hesitated, their sneers faltering as they took in the sight of her—tall, calm, and clearly not intimidated. She held her gaze steady, daring them to argue. After a moment, they muttered something under their breath and slunk away, throwing one last glare over their shoulders as they disappeared into the shadows.

The boy she'd just helped—no more than sixteen, by the looks of him—didn't seem grateful. If anything, he looked more annoyed than relieved. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her with narrowed eyes.

"I didn't need help, you know," he said, his tone sharp and defensive. "Especially not from some woman."

Vivian raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her gaze as she studied him. Despite his bravado, he looked worn out, his clothes torn, a faint bruise forming on his cheek. But more than that, there was something about him, something in his eyes—a guardedness, a wariness—that told her this wasn't just a kid with an attitude. He was a survivor, someone who'd learned to rely on himself and no one else.

"Is that right?" she replied, crossing her arms in response. "Well, you could've fooled me. Because it looked like you were getting cornered back there."

He scowled, his jaw tight as he glanced away, clearly not used to being challenged. "I was fine. Don't need anyone fighting my battles."

Vivian sighed, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "Look, kid, I'm not here to fight your battles. But if you're going to act like you don't need anyone, maybe don't pick fights you can't win."

He bristled, a flash of anger in his eyes as he straightened. "I don't pick fights," he snapped. "They just... seem to find me."

She didn't reply immediately, instead taking a moment to take in his scent—the unmistakable scent of a werewolf. It was faint, but she could tell he was newly turned. He still smelled like fear, like someone who hadn't yet found their place in the world of the supernatural. A hint of compassion softened her expression as she met his gaze.

"You're a werewolf, aren't you?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

The question seemed to catch him off guard, his face hardening as he looked away. "What's it to you?" he muttered.

"Just curious," she replied, shrugging. "You don't meet many teenage werewolves around here who aren't part of a pack."

At her words, his expression shifted, something flickering in his eyes—resentment, maybe, or a hint of sadness. But just as quickly, he covered it with a mask of indifference.

"I don't need a pack," he said flatly. "I don't need anyone."

Vivian took a step closer, keeping her tone gentle but firm. "You know, there's nothing wrong with letting people help you. Everyone needs someone at some point. Even werewolves."

He looked up at her, a mix of defiance and curiosity in his gaze. "Why do you care?"

Vivian hesitated, unsure how to explain the tug of sympathy she felt for this kid. There was something about him—something familiar in his defiance, in the walls he'd built around himself. He reminded her, in a way, of herself when she was younger. But she sensed it was deeper than that, as if their paths had crossed for a reason.

"What's your name?" she asked, changing the subject slightly.

The boy hesitated, as if wary of giving away even that small piece of information. "Rafael. Rafael Smith."

"Alright, Rafael," she said, offering a small smile. "Do you have somewhere to go tonight?"

He frowned, the guardedness returning to his expression. "Why do you care?"

Vivian shrugged. "Just asking."

There was a long pause, and in that silence, Vivian could see the answer on his face. He was alone, no family, no home. A pang of sadness hit her, though she kept her expression calm. She knew what it was like to be without a family—to feel lost, unwanted. But no one deserved to face that, especially not a teenager who had been thrust into the world of the supernatural without anyone to guide him.

"Look, Rafael," she said gently. "If you don't have anywhere to go... there's a place not too far from here. Somewhere safe. I know you don't want anyone's help, but sometimes... it's okay to accept it."

He looked away, the anger fading from his expression, replaced by something softer, something almost vulnerable. But he quickly masked it, pulling his hood up as if to shield himself from her kindness.

"I'll be fine," he muttered, though his voice wavered slightly. "I don't need a stranger helping me out."

Vivian nodded, respecting his choice but still feeling the urge to help him. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small card with her number on it, holding it out to him. "If you ever change your mind, or if you need anything... give me a call."

Rafael hesitated, staring at the card as if it were some foreign object. After a moment, he took it, stuffing it into his pocket without a word.

"Thanks," he muttered, barely audible, before turning and walking away, his form disappearing into the shadows of the night.

Vivian watched him go, her heart heavy yet hopeful. She knew she couldn't force him to accept her help, but she also knew that she'd be there if he ever did. And as she stood there, the image of Rafael lingered in her mind, a quiet determination taking root within her. She hadn't known him for more than a few minutes, but something told her their paths would cross again.

As she returned to her car, her thoughts returned to Alexis and Derek, to the life they were building together. Perhaps one day, if Rafael ever needed a place to belong, he would find it with them.