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He breaks in for Erica. For Boyd. This is his fault and they need him.
The feeling of pack pulls at Derek from the other side of the wall. He punches through stone and the pull gets stronger - finally. They’re here; they have to be. Derek will take them to the loft or Deaton’s. He’ll take them wherever he needs to, as long as Erica and Boyd are safe.
He’s not looking for her. He never was.
She was a room full of pink and black and zebra stripes. Purple high tops and beat up ballet shoes piled up in the hall. Constantly re-healing skinned knees from learning to flip ollies behind the grocery store with Ian. She was queen and instigator of Macaroni Thursdays. Ate pineapple on her pizza and never grew out of begging Michael to hold her upside down over the porch railing until her face turned red.
Derek taught her to ride his hand-me-down bike when she was five and a half. Her feet barely reached the pedals. Later, she taught Derek the fine art of throwing a tea party.
Sometimes at night she climbed out onto the roof and howled until one of them joined her. In the mornings, she belted out Kelly Clarkson in the shower loud enough to wake half the house. Mom always thought it was impressive someone so small could make so much noise.
Only she shared in his unholy love for Fall Out Boy and AAR. She was the only one he sang in front of, because he was self conscious at the best of times and she never laughed when his voice cracked, not once. No one heard the parts of him she did. The two of them were the youngest; while Laura was closest to his age, she was closest to his heart with or without the four years between them. He still can’t listen to ‘Sugar We’re Goin Down’ because it was her favorite.
She was tiny and brilliant and fearless. She looked like their dad.
At fifteen, Derek thought he was in love and killed her. Killed them all.
It’s stupid, but he’s can’t help hoping Erica will be the one who steps out of the shadows, even though the girl doesn’t feel like Erica. Doesn’t smell like her. But there’s something familiar, something that catches Derek’s attention, draws him toward her. The moonlight slinking through the hole in the wall reflects off her hair - auburn, not blonde.
Derek freezes. No. This isn’t. This can’t be right. He would’ve known if she was. It’s been almost seven years. He would know.
She is a truth he carries with him, like his parents, his brothers, his aunt and cousins. She’s dead.
But-
“Cora?”