Chapter 11: Home?
As it turned out, while Scott was at the hospital questioning Danny about why Jackson might want to kill him, he learned that Danny had actually been doing Jackson a favor. Danny was recovering some missing footage of Jackson while he was sleeping. On the full moon.
"Why would he steal the thing if he doesn't even know what's on it?" Stiles asked, frowning.
"What if someone else took it?" Allison guessed.
"Then somebody else knows what he is," Stiles replied, pressing his lips together.
Scott's eyes widened in realization. "Which could mean someone's protecting him."
"Like the bestiary says: The Kanima seeks a friend, right?" Allison asked.
"Oh, how wrong they are," Hope thought from inside the van, where she remained lazily sprawled out, enjoying the drama. She didn't need to be out there to know Jackson was listening—his enhanced hearing made sure of that.
She could have helped them translate the archaic Latin in the bestiary, but then she remembered Scott's distrustful face and Derek's general jackassery, and yeah, no. They could figure it out themselves.
"Okay, hold on," Stiles mumbled, holding his hands out in front of him as he tried to process everything. "So somebody watches Jackson make a video of himself turning into the Kanima and then just erases part of it so he wouldn't know? I mean, who would do that?"
Hope paused in thought. Who the hell was controlling the Kanima again?
…Nope. Couldn't remember.
She pulled out a flask of alcohol—one she had acquired through very hard work and questionable morals—and took a sip. Maybe the booze would jog her memory.
She glanced at Jackson, who was still shackled, tense, and visibly irritated. "Want some?" she offered, holding out the flask.
Jackson blinked at her like she had grown a second head. "What? No."
Hope shrugged and took another sip. "Your loss."
Meanwhile, outside, Scott and Stiles continued their conversation.
"You said the only thing you found online about the Kanima is that it goes after murderers. What if that's actually true?" Scott asked.
"Well, no, it can't be," Stiles denied, shaking his head. "It tried to kill all of us, remember? I don't know about you two, but I haven't murdered anybody lately."
"But I don't think it was actually trying to kill us," Scott argued, turning to Allison. "Remember when we were at Isaac's the first time? It just went right by us, didn't it?"
Allison thought for a moment before nodding. "You're right. It just ran off."
"And it didn't kill you in the mechanic's garage," Scott added, turning to Stiles.
"Well, yeah, but it did try to kill me and Derek in the pool," Stiles countered.
"Did it?" Scott questioned.
"It would've," Stiles shot back. "It was waiting for us to come out."
"What if it was trying to keep the two of you in?"
Stiles' jaw dropped. His face instantly morphed into one of utter disgust as Scott's suggestion settled in. "Why do I feel so violated all of a sudden?"
Hope snorted, taking another sip. Maybe she should've offered Stiles a drink instead.
"Because there is something going on," Scott continued, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "We don't know anything about what's happening with Jackson or why someone's protecting him."
"Know thy enemy," Allison murmured softly.
Scott and Stiles both turned to her with raised brows.
She shook her head slightly, as if she hadn't realized she'd said it out loud. "Just something my grandfather said."
"All right, I got it!" Stiles suddenly exclaimed. "Kill Jackson. Problem solved."
Scott stared at him in disbelief. "He risked his life for us. Against Peter. You remember that?"
"Yes, but what did we just find out?" Stiles said, crossing his arms. "He got the bite from Derek. It's funny how he just got exactly what he wanted by supposedly risking his life for us. So funny."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean he's not worth saving," Scott argued.
"It's always something with him," Stiles muttered.
"He doesn't know what he's doing," Scott said matter-of-factly.
"So what?" Stiles shot back.
"So, I didn't either," Scott reminded him, before turning to Allison. "You remember when I almost killed you and Jackson?"
Allison nodded.
"I had someone to stop me. He has nobody."
Stiles shook his head. "That's his own fault."
"It doesn't matter," Scott said firmly. "We can save him. We should try."
Inside the van, Hope rolled her eyes and muttered, "Ugh. This is getting sentimental. Somebody wake me up when we start punching people."
Jackson, meanwhile, remained silent, his gaze locked on the floor.
Save him? Save him?
He wasn't sure whether to laugh or scream. He felt like his entire life had been spiraling out of control, and now they were talking about him like he was some kind of charity case.
He wasn't sure what was worse—Scott's self-righteous "we have to save him" speech, or Stiles openly suggesting they just kill him.
Either way, Jackson knew one thing for sure.
He hated feeling powerless.
Scott glanced around the area as if sensing something was off. "Where's Hope?"
Allison looked over at the van, then at Stiles. "Yeah, where is she?"
Stiles waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, she's taking a nap."
Allison frowned. "In the middle of all this?"
"She has a very specific approach to stress," Stiles muttered.
Scott and Allison exchanged a look before heading to the van to check.
Scott pulled the door open, expecting to see Hope sprawled out lazily, Instead, there was nothing. No Hope.
Just Jackson, who blinked at them, unimpressed. "If you're looking for the alcoholic idiot, she wandered off about ten minutes ago."
"Alcoholic? Where did she got alcohol from?" Stiles asked in worry, Jackson looked at him in irritation "How would I know?"
Stiles froze, eyes widening. "Oh, come on! I leave her alone for five seconds?"
"You literally said she was sleeping," Allison pointed out.
"Well, yeah! I thought she was! She looked like she was!" Stiles exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "She lied to me, okay? Just—just stay here, keep an eye on Scales McGee, and I'll go find her."
"Wait—Stiles," Scott started, but Stiles was already jogging off into the woods, muttering under his breath.
Hope wasn't sure where she was going, only that her feet kept moving.
The alcohol was not helping her memory. If anything, it was making things worse.
She leaned against a tree, blinking up at the sky. "Who the hell am I?" she whispered.
She didn't know.
She had memories—snippets of things that didn't fit. A life that felt like it belonged to someone else. A world that felt different from this one.
Her head throbbed.
"Why am I here?" she muttered. "How am I here?"
Her chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
And then—
"You absolute menace of a human being!"
Hope blinked blearily as Stiles skidded into view, panting. "There you are! Jesus, I was this close to filing a missing person's report!"
Hope stared at him for a long moment before slurring, "I don't think I'm a person."
Stiles' breath caught.
The usual sharp, sarcastic spark in her eyes was gone.
He hesitated before stepping closer, voice gentler. "What do you mean?"
Hope let out a shaky breath. "I don't know who I am."
"You're Hope," he said, because duh.
Her head shook. "No, you don't get it." She squeezed her eyes shut, fingers curling into her sleeves. "I don't remember. I don't remember anything. Before this town? Before you guys? There's just… nothing."
Stiles felt something cold settle in his stomach.
That didn't make sense. Everyone had something. A past, a home, a history.
But Hope—
His mind raced, connecting dots he hadn't paid attention to before.
Her weirdly specific knowledge. How she had known he was looking for Boyd before he even told her. How she knew Jackson was the Kanima before any of them figured it out.
How she never talked about her life before coming here.
Stiles swallowed. "You're… not from here, are you?"
Hope looked up at him, her greenish-blue eyes glossy from both alcohol and something deeper.
And that was the moment. The moment something shifted between them.
Because Stiles knew.
He had no idea where she came from, how she got here, or why she knew things she shouldn't.
But she was lost.
Hope's hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she stared at the ground. The weight in her chest was unbearable, pressing down like an unseen force, suffocating her.
"I want to go home, Stiles," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I really want to go home, but I… I don't know where home is…"
Her breath hitched as tears blurred her vision. She hated this. Hated feeling this raw, this lost.
Stiles froze, watching as her composure cracked right in front of him. His stomach twisted—he was good at deflecting, at throwing out jokes to lighten the mood, but this? This was different.
"Hope…" His voice was softer now, more careful.
She let out a hollow, broken laugh, shaking her head. "Hiraeth isn't just longing for a place—it's the ache for a life that might have been, a home that was never mine, and the pieces of myself I left behind in every world I've touched."
Stiles stared at her, his pulse pounding in his ears.
Every world I've touched.
Something about that phrase lodged itself deep in his brain, something he should question, something that didn't make sense—but right now, all he saw was the way she was falling apart.
And screw logic. Screw explanations.
Because in this moment, she wasn't some mystery to be solved.
She was just a girl who didn't know where she belonged.
Without thinking, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her forward, wrapping his arms around her in a tight, secure hug.
Hope stiffened, caught off guard, but then—slowly, hesitantly—she melted into the embrace, her fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie like a lifeline.
"You have us," Stiles murmured against her hair. "I don't know what's going on with you, but I know you're not alone. You have us."
A choked sob escaped her, and Stiles held on tighter.
Maybe she didn't know where home was.
But for now, for this moment—
This felt close enough.
Hope clung to Stiles like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Her breath came out in shaky, uneven gasps, her fingers twisting into the fabric of his hoodie as if letting go would send her spiraling into some unknown abyss.
She hated feeling weak. Hated that she was breaking down like this in front of him. But God, she was so tired. Tired of pretending she had it all together. Tired of shoving down the gnawing sense of displacement that had been haunting her since the moment she woke up in this world.
Stiles didn't say anything for a moment. He just held her. His arms were firm, steady—offering comfort without demanding anything in return. She wasn't sure if that made her want to cry harder or pull away, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't feel completely alone.
After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual. "You know… for someone who always has a snarky comeback, you're kind of breaking my heart right now."
Hope let out a breathy laugh, but it was thick with emotion, her face still buried against his shoulder. "Yeah, well, congrats. You're getting an exclusive front-row seat to my existential crisis."
Stiles shifted slightly, tilting his head so he could look at her without letting go. "Hope…" His voice was careful, like he was picking apart a puzzle in real time. "You said you don't know where home is. That you've left pieces of yourself in every world you've touched."
She tensed, realizing her slip.
His grip on her arms tightened, but not in an aggressive way. More like he was grounding her. "That's not just some deep, poetic metaphor, is it?"
Hope swallowed, her throat burning. She could lie. She could throw out some sarcastic deflection and hope he let it go. But Stiles wasn't an idiot. And more than that—he cared.
And after everything, after this moment… she didn't want to lie.
"I don't know what I am, Stiles." Her voice was quiet, but raw. "I don't remember where I came from. I don't know why I'm here. I don't even know if I was supposed to be here." She exhaled shakily. "I just woke up one day, and everything felt… wrong. Like I was living in a place that was never meant to be mine, walking around in a life that wasn't mine."
Stiles' brows furrowed, his eyes searching hers. "And you remember nothing before that?"
"Flashes," she admitted. "Feelings. Sometimes I get these weird instincts, like I know things I shouldn't. Like how I knew about Jackson. Or how I knew you were looking for Boyd." She sighed telling a white lie, She can't say this universe was a show in her world, that's how she knew what's gonna happen next. That would be unfair to him.
"But I don't know why I know. I don't know if it's something I was told, or if it's just… part of me." She continued feeling worse for not being completely honest with him. She can't be, She doesn't have a choice. His world will turn upside down if she tell him the truth or maybe he'll think she is a lunatic that belongs to a mental asylum.
Stiles leaned back slightly, studying her, and for once, he wasn't wearing that usual skeptical, sarcastic expression. No, this was different. His gaze was sharp, thoughtful, threading together pieces that had never made sense before.
And then, he grinned.
Hope blinked. "Seriously?"
"I knew you were weird," he said triumphantly. "I mean, I knew it. But, like, mystical weirdo from another world? That's next-level even for Beacon Hills."
She stared at him. "That's your reaction? Not 'Holy shit, what does this mean?' Not 'Oh my God, we need to tell Scott'? Just—'Cool, you're an interdimensional mystery'?"
"Hope, my best friend is a werewolf, and last week I was nearly murdered by a giant lizard version of Jackson." He gestured vaguely. "At this point, this is, like, barely top five on my weirdness scale."
Hope let out an unexpected laugh—genuine, unfiltered—and just like that, the crushing weight pressing on her chest lifted just enough to breathe.
"I don't know what's happening to me, Stiles," she admitted, her voice softer now. "And I don't know what's going to happen next."
Stiles met her gaze, the humor fading just enough to show how seriously he was taking this. "Then we figure it out together."
Hope swallowed. "Together?"
"You think I'm gonna let you deal with this alone?" He scoffed, giving her a light shake. "Nah, you're stuck with me now. Sorry, but you're officially my problem."
She stared at him, something warm and unfamiliar unfurling in her chest. "Stiles…"
"Nope. No take-backs." He pulled back, gripping her shoulders with an exaggeratedly firm nod. "From now on, you and me? We're on the 'Solve Hope's Whole Freaky Identity Crisis' team."
She exhaled, shaking her head in amusement. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're my ridiculous now. Deal with it."
Hope let out another breathy laugh, wiping at her eyes. "Fine."
Stiles grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulders as they turned back walking toward the van. "Great. Now, let's get back before Scott starts worrying or Jackson murders Allison out of pure boredom."
As they walked, something settled in Hope's chest. The ache was still there, the questions still unanswered—but for the first time, it didn't feel so unbearable.
Because maybe she didn't have a home.
But maybe—just maybe—she was starting to find one.