Chapter Text
I thought that I’d been hurt before,
but no one has ever left me quite this sore
Your words cut deeper than a knife,
now I need someone to breathe me back to life
- “Stitches” by Shawn Mendes
It’s late and he is holding three heavy grocery bags in one hand as he pockets the house keys and shuts the front door with his right foot. The house is dark because his dad is working late and Stiles – who is still on his summer break – has spent the day at Derek’s loft researching and looking for clues as to where the Alpha Pack might have hidden Erica and Boyd. Ever since Derek came to Stiles just before the start of summer, shaken up and admitting that Erica and Boyd had been captured by an unknown pack consisting only of Alphas, Stiles has spent his days mostly by Derek and Isaac’s side, researching the Alpha Pack and the Betas’ capture. Summer is nearly over now, just two weeks of teenage bliss left before school starts up again and Stiles has to divide his focus between school work and research for the pack.
For the past couple of weeks they’ve barely gotten anywhere, and the frustration shows not only in Derek, but in Isaac and himself as well. The werewolves are anxious for their pack mates, and Stiles can’t even bring himself to think about what the Alpha werewolves might have been doing to Erica and Boyd for the past two months. He’s pretty sure that any scenario will cause him to throw up. There’s been no sign of them since Erica and Boyd’s disappearance; the same day that Derek discovered the sign on the door of the burnt down Hale mansion. Derek and Isaac tracked the scent to a point in the woods, but then it had disappeared in the middle of nowhere, with no further traces of it anywhere. Derek said he had never experienced anything like it, and that the Alpha Pack must have known of a way to completely block their scents. Stiles’ research proved futile in that area as well.
With his free hand he locates the light switch in the dark and flips it on, humming a soft tune which turns into a choke halfway through his mouth when he turns around and sees who’s in his living room. He doesn’t even notice the bags slipping from his grip and dropping to the floor.
Even though he has never seen them before, he immediately knows who they are. They might look human then and there, but he can sense something deadly in the way they hold themselves, even when sitting down on his parents’ couch – like they know nothing can touch them. Stiles recognizes it instantly because it was the same attitude Peter had when he was Alpha.
There are five of them, one woman and four men, but his heart is pounding so loud he can hear it in his ears and his mind is racing through different escape plans so he can’t properly focus on them. A man, one of the three people sitting on his couch, turns his head towards him. “Ah, our guest has arrived,” he says in a smooth British accent. He’s Caucasian with light brown hair and is wearing a pair of sunglasses – and really, who wears sunglasses inside? Douche bags, that’s who. The thought is tempting to repeat out loud, but for once in his life his brain stops the words before they can come out. Five deadly Alpha werewolves are in his living room: the normal word bravado that he puts on won’t cut it this time. His heart is beating rapidly – even he can tell that – and he is scared shitless, something which won’t escape the Alphas’ notice.
The man stands up from the couch and the person to his left – who is an exact copy of the man on his left, making them twins – hands him a folded white cane which the man takes, unfolds with a flick of his wrist, and then he stands up gracefully. Suddenly the sunglasses make sense, but a blind werewolf, and an Alpha on top of that? It is a weird combination, but probably none less the deadly. The man walks up to him and Stiles takes a step back until he is pressed against the front door. He stops about two meters away from Stiles.
The man rests his hands on the cane and looks at Stiles through his dark tinted glasses. “Stiles, how nice to finally see you in person. I have heard so much about you from our... common friends. It’s always nice to put a face to a name.”
Stiles’ expression darkens at the mention of Erica and Boyd. “Well, the pleasure is not mine. At all. So why don’t you tell me what you want before I take my dad’s gun and shoot you all in your Alpha heads. Repeatedly.” He spits the words out, body shaking slightly in fear but also in rage. These are the people who have held Erica and Boyd capture for two months, probably tortured or worse; killed them. He might not have known the teens that well, but he knows they were loyal and wouldn’t have said anything to these bastards unless the words were forced out of them.
The man laughs at him, like the puny human’s threats are a form of amusement for him, which is probably true. “Oh my, they told us you were feisty but I hadn’t imagined this; a human teenager threatening five Alpha werewolves. I think this is a first, don’t you agree?” he asks the other Alphas in that English drawl of his.
A huge man at least two times Stiles’ width answers the question. “If there were any others, they didn’t live to talk about it.” The brown headed woman standing next to him smiles at that, an air of reminiscence about her like she’s thinking back on all of the good moments of maiming and killing. Her teeth show through the smile and Stiles shudders at the sight.
Stiles tells himself that the hard swallow he takes is because he has a dry mouth and not because he is five seconds away from throwing open the door behind him and running to his car. “The point – would you get to it already?”
The man with the cane smiles at Stiles. “We have a – shall we say – business proposal to you. Stiles Stilinski: the boy who runs with wolves. That is quite the title, but how much is the Hale pack worth to you, Stiles? Is it worth a life, perhaps? Your life? Your father’s life?”
He has taken the steps before he can think properly about it, stopping just in front of the man and getting up in his space. His breath is shaky when he says the words, practically seething with anger. “Don’t you dare threaten my dad.”
The blind Alpha doesn’t seem at all bothered by Stiles’ proximity, and why would he? Stiles has no weapons on his body, and even if he did there were not one, not two but five Alpha werewolves in the room. Stiles is no more of a threat to them than a common housefly and everyone knows it. Still, he won’t let anyone threaten his dad, Alpha or not.
“It wasn’t a threat, only a simple question. We are not here to hurt you or your family, Stiles. In fact, we want to do the complete opposite.” Stiles takes two steps back and snorts at the man. His hands are shaking involuntarily so he clenches them into a fist and tries to stand fast in his place.
Stiles can’t believe the nerve of them. Do they really think he is that gullible? “Yeah right, you want to help us? Out of the goodness of your own heart, I bet? A fucking Alpha pack has no malicious intent? I don’t believe that for a second, hombre.”
The sigh the blind man lets out is both tired and annoyed. “You see, that right there is your problem, Stiles. You don’t trust anyone. It took Derek a year to gain your trust, and you convicted him of his sister’s murder a second after meeting him.” Stiles must have let his shock show on his face because the man says, “You didn’t think we’d walk into this blindly, did you? We’ve been here for a long time, longer than you think, hiding and observing, like we always do.”
How long is long, Stiles wonders. Since Gerard? The Kanima? Since Peter became Alpha and turned Scott? Then why the hell did they wait so long? On the other hand, if it was information on Derek’s pack they were after, there was certainly enough for them to read up on. Ever since Scott turned the entire town has been plagued by one supernatural event after another.
“What will it take for you to trust us? Time? A sign of good will?”
“You kidnapped Erica and Boyd, two innocent teenagers, and held them for two months while their families, Derek’s pack, and the entire community of Beacon Hills were worried sick. You say you have been here for a long time, yet you haven’t helped any of us when our lives have been in danger before; you just let a bunch of teenagers and a semi-functional adult run around when we had no idea what we were doing. You have broken into my house and threatened myself and my dad. You have done all this and you haven’t even told me what you want with the Hale pack or what this 'business proposition' is, so no, I won’t trust you. I won’t ever trust you.” He is shaking when he is done speaking.
One of his hands is still curled into a fist while the other is slowly moving inside his pants pocket and is about to press three times on the off button for his phone to send out a SOS to his supernatural emergency contact, aka. Derek, when a hand takes hold of his wrist so hard that he drops the phone back into his pocket. The hand belongs to the only woman in the room, the beautiful brunette, and though she has blunt human nails pressing into the soft skin of the inside of his wrist, she is no less deadly for it.
The woman tsks at him. “No phones allowed,” she mocks.
"Let go of me you bi-" he starts but before he can finish the last syllable the hand tightens so much that he lets out a yelp.
“Release him, Kali.” When she doesn’t do so immediately his tone becomes firmer and even Stiles can sense the power radiating from the man as he commands: “Now!”.
Stiles rubs his hurt hand and winces. Shit, it would probably bruise; most things did with him. At least now he clearly knows who the leader of the Alpha pack is and that Stiles is apparently not their chew toy for the night. At least not yet...
“Case in point,” Stiles points out.
The man’s eyes are on Kali, and he growls slightly at her until she walks back to the couch and stands next to the biggest werewolf of them all, her head bowed slightly in submission. He turns back to Stiles. “Apologies for that. Kali has some anger management issues.”
Stiles snorts in desperation, looking at the tender red skin. “No shit.”
“But you know the risks from surrounding yourself with the supernatural, don’t you? Scott McCall almost killed you during his first full moon. You sneaked into the police car that held Derek Hale just after you had told the police that he had killed the woman who turned out to be his sister. Though, of course, you were in no danger from him - it seems he would rather hurt himself than let you get hurt.”
Stiles’ cheeks heat up but he tries to pretend that the comment doesn’t get to him. The man is lying, of course – Derek doesn’t care for him that much – but there had developed… something between the two of them. Spending almost every day for two months together had brought them closer together in ways he’d never imagined happening. They arestill so new, but it is good – great, even. Thinking about him brings a faint feeling to his stomach that he can’t stop. Not that he wants to – Derek is one of the only good things to come out of the horror show he’s been a part of ever since Peter turned Scott. When they are in the same room, everything sort of slows down and there's just the two of them, sneaking glances at each other and exchanging brief touches that makes Stiles faint hearted and light headed. Derek is much more himself around Stiles than anyone else, like his presence calms him.
He doesn't think anyone has noticed the changes between them, though, as they aren't exactly out and open about it. Isaac has been looking at them more suspiciously of late when they touch each other as they stand near each other and the soft expressions Stiles knows they have been directing at each other. It won't take a genius to figure it out, but Isaac hasn't commented on it so far. Scott hasn’t really been around lately so he can’t talk to him about it. Besides, he and Scott haven’t had a proper conversation together since Stiles yelled at Scott for lying to him and violating Derek’s trust by forcing him to change Gerard. Stiles suspected it wasn’t the first time someone had used Derek like that and he hated watching someone being used against their will, especially Derek who had been through enough shit to last him four lifetimes. Sometimes he still has nightmares about the defeated expression on Derek’s face as Scott pries open Derek’s mouth for Gerard to put his forearm inside. It had ended with Gerard dead, but the way Scott’s plan had been executed was wrong, and he had tried to make Scott realize that.
“You helped kill Peter Hale, but he could have easily killed you in his deformed Alpha form,” the Alpha continues to speak in a slow and steady manner. "The Kanima nearly killed you several times and Gerard Argent did hurt you, beating you up because you surround yourself with wolves.”
“What’s your point?” Stiles asks stiffly, because he is getting tired of going down memory lane.
“My point is that you are the least dangerous thing out there, and that we can provide protection from all supernatural beings. Both for you and your father. We have an Emissary who can cast a spell to protect you against any supernatural being with ill intent towards you. All you have to do is one simple thing for us.” The man has his attention at that, and going by the smirk on his face he knows it. Stiles has been almost constantly worried for his dad since this whole supernatural mess started a year ago. Scared is becoming a normal feeling for him, with all the supernatural incidents and all, but being scared for his dad’s safety is something else entirely. As the Sheriff, his dad is the one who finds the bloody dead bodies the supernatural coughs up, and he is the one who has to try to figure out what has happened to them without knowing all the facts. Stiles’ greatest fear is that one day his dad will poke his nose in a supernatural case and end up eaten or ripped apart because his teenage son is too scared to warn him about all the things that go bump in the night. He has already lost his mom; he can’t even imagine the world without his dad in it too. He refuses to. So when the Alpha says he has a way of protecting his dad from the supernatural, Stiles listens.
“What do I have to do?
The man grins in a way that suggests he knows he has hit the right buttons to get Stiles’ attention. If they have done as much research as they claim to have done, then they would know that Stiles would do anything to keep his dad safe. That doesn’t mean that he can't hate the fucking smug look on the man’s face. “What we need from you, Stiles, is simple: leave Beacon Hills immediately and don’t come back. Sever all ties with the Hale pack and the other werewolves of Beacon Hills, and break up with Derek Hale.” Stiles feels his breath catch in his throat. “We won’t ask you to leave your father forever, so you can return to Beacon Hills and its supernatural residents after two years have passed. I think that should give us enough time. You can keep in contact with your father and your human friends, but not the werewolves nor any humans who are or will in the future become a part of Hale’s pack.” He raises his hands to his sides in an outward motion as if to say: see, it’s that easy.
“You will have to move within a week from now. We know your father is limited on money since paying off your mother’s medical bills, and though you can probably get a scholarship at your school of choice, we’ll provide you with a sum large enough that you’ll live comfortably for years. We can’t allow you to tell the truth behind your moving, so you’ll have to make up a suitable explanation, but from what I have heard, you will have no trouble lying.”
“I don’t want your hush money!” Stiles rages. His brain is going through the proposition, thoughts swirling at what it might mean for him and his dad. His dad would be safe from everything supernatural that wished to hurt him. Two years away for his dad’s lifelong safety? Though his thoughts keep wandering, sorting the facts and looking for weak spots, he knows what his answer will be.
He’ll do anything to protect his dad.
“No matter. The money will be transferred if you agree; if you don’t want to use them that is up to you.”
He side-eyes the blind man. There has to be some kind of bigger catch. “Will the spell last all his life? What if the emissary dies? Does it have any restrictions? Is it for every supernatural being? What if new supernatural beings emerge? How do you know that he’s protected against all of them?” He runs through all the loop holes he can think of, stopping for a well needed take of breath when he’s done. If he’s doing this, if he’s letting go of his friendships and his… Derek – oh God keep it together Stiles don’t think about it don’t think – for two years, then you’ll be damn sure he’ll see to that there are no loop holes in the deal.
The smile he gets in return is almost fond. “I’ll let our Emissary answer that.” No sooner has he said it, the door behind Stiles opens up and Stiles’ body is so tense that he startles at the motion. A woman enters the house, closing the door behind her and Stiles knows her, because he had sessions with her before school ended. Private sessions, where he’d told her private things about himself and he feels the anger flare up inside him. Now he knows one of the Alpha pack’s sources: Ms. Morell, the school’s guidance counsellor.
“Of fucking course!” Stiles is one second from gripping his hair in frustration.
“Hello, Stiles”, she says in her soft voice, the same voice she had used when he told her about his problems and his worries.
Stiles doesn’t want to look at her. “I need a drink.” He strides past the werewolves into the kitchen and uses one of the chairs to stand on in order to reach the tallest cabinet where his dad hides the strong liquor. He takes a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey and steps down. There’s a clean glass on the counter and he fills it halfway up. When he turns around he sees one of the twins standing in the doorway to the kitchen and keeping an eye on him. Stiles rolls his eyes at him. “You’re not getting one,” he declares and takes a long sip of the drink.
Halfway through the drink he takes a deep breath and walks back into the living room with the glass in his hand. Ms. Morell – okay, screw that, she’s not getting the decency of being called Miss when she broke her confidentiality agreement with him – Morell has walked past Stiles’ dropped groceries and is standing next to the blind Alpha. Stiles eyes the eggs that have broken in one of the bags, but some ruined groceries are the last of his worries right now. He turns to the Alpha pack’s emissary and tries to convey his extreme dislike for her through his hard expression. “No deal is being made until you explain in great detail what this spell is and I am satisfied that there aren’t any loopholes involved.” He hopes he sounds tougher than he feels.
Morell smiles at him understandingly. “Of course. Where do you want to begin?”
It takes her one and a half hours for her to explain and dismantle every loophole that Stiles can think of, during which Stiles finishes his drink and sits down at the dining room table, legs stiff from standing so long and from all the tension he is probably giving out in heaps. Each time Morell talks he has to fight back the urge to throw something at her – like a knife – because he can’t believe that one of the people he had trusted with the non-supernatural version of the shit that has been going on in his life, turned out to betray him. Although mostly he is scolding himself over how stupid he was to trust a stranger – even though she was supposed to be a trustworthy professional. He should have realized it before, and the fact that he didn’t makes his stomach queasy.
His fragile emotional state aside, the information Morell gives about the spell seems legit. Of course Stiles isn’t an expert on magical spells that protect you from the supernatural, but he has his brain, and has seen enough movies where the protagonist fails to see the obvious loophole in the contract that Stiles refuses to make the same stupid mistakes. He had wondered why he or Derek hadn’t come across the spell before since they'd done a lot of research into anything that could help them find Erica and Boyd, but Morell clarified that by saying that the spell was of her own creation and that only a few knew of its existence. Fascinatingly enough she has managed to create a spell that recognizes the supernatural properties in peoples DNA, and has modified it so that none who wear it will be hurt by the supernatural with ill intent towards them. It becomes a protective shield around the person, protecting them from the supernatural, but it does not protect them from, say, a werewolf that shoots them with a gun since the gun isn’t supernatural in any way.
Morell spends over half an hour assuring him that the spell won’t ever wear off, even if she, the spell caster, dies, and that it can be taken away, but only if the person with the protection audibly consents to have it removed by herself or another mage. Even ill-intended magic is protected against, and the more she speaks, the more he knows that this is something he is going to agree to. He can sacrifice two years away from his friends, his dad and his childhood home if it means that his dad has a lifelong protection against everything supernatural. He has to.
His mind is quiet for once when he finishes asking all the questions about the spell that he can think of, which he takes as a good sign because it’s been a while since his mind has taken a break and he hasn’t been bombarded with stressful thoughts. He breathes easier now that he knows there’s a possibility that his dad won’t be hurt by the supernatural shenanigans happening in the world, though his chest tightens painfully when he thinks about everyone he has to leave behind in order to make that happen.
“If I agree to this, I have some terms of my own,” Stiles says matter-of-factly. The blind Alpha, who had introduced himself as Deucalion, perks up at that.
“Of course,” he agrees, and snaps his fingers at one of the twins who had been typing on a laptop while Morell explained everything to Stiles. What he had been writing, Stiles has no idea. The twin – the same one who followed him to the kitchen judging by the clothes – nods at Deucalion and rests his fingers on the keyboard. Deucalion looks back at Stiles. “Go on.”
“I want everything in writing, because though this contract won’t be legal in the eyes of the law because of its supernatural aspects, fair is fair.” He doesn’t mention out loud that he wants a contract so that he has proof which he can use to potentially ruin their reputation if they break it – which he is betting that they will. He thinks his second meaning is heavily implied, though.
At Deucalion’s nod he continues. “Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd have to be returned alive and well to the Hale pack before tomorrow at midnight. I want it on paper that none of you will ever hurt any of the members of the Hale pack, my friends, or my family in the future. If any of you hurt them, even as much as shed a drop of their blood or bruise them, the contract will be broken. If you break it, everything goes back to the way it is now, but the spell will continue to remain on my dad and myself for as long as we wish it to. That’s non-negotiable.”
Stiles can hear the sound of the twin writing on his laptop as he speaks, but he is too busy thinking of any more terms to give it any notice. “You all need to sign the document and I will have two weeks, not one, to move away on. After those two years I want you gone from Beacon Hills and I never want to see you again.” There is a newfound courage in him as he stands up from his chair and walks up to the couch where Deucalion is seated. That feeling in his gut is back, the one that tells him he is about to make a deal with the devil. “Promise me all this, and you have a deal, Alpha.”
The typing stops and he watches as the faces of all the Alphas turn into various states of pleased. Deucalion’s expression is the most guarded, but there is no hiding the slight turn of his lips. He rises and takes a looming step forward, cane clicking against the floor. “We agree to your terms on one additional stipulation: if you should choose not to follow the conditions set and break your part of the contract, you don’t stay away from them for two years, you stay away from them for twenty.”
Stiles feels his blood turn cold. The thought of accidentally breaking the contract and having to spend twenty years away from his friends and his hometown is completely frightening to him, but imagining his dad dead at the hand of a supernatural creature terrifies him to his core.
He knows what his answer is, what his answer will always be.
He’ll do anything to protect his dad.
“Deal.”