Archive of Our Own

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Claudia insists on staying in the valley. Noah can sense that others are near enough for discomfort, crawling closer through the wilderness with their cities and their ideas. He urges her to rethink, but she's gifted and stubborn and wins all the arguments. Being just over 8 months pregnant is not the only reason she wins, but it's enough for Noah.

The baby arrives late to murmurs in the camp, which has become much like a settlement. The child is strong and screams his feelings for nearly an hour before he settles against his mother. Claudia takes one look at him and falls more in love than she'd ever thought possible. Noah follows her gaze and her heart, and he brushes careful fingers over the tiny curling fuzz on the baby's scalp.

They call him Stiles, and he's something of a handful. He's got his mother's gift, a brighter spark that shimmers sometimes in the corner of Noah's eyes. The constant moving required by the communities keeps him busy, but not nearly cautious enough.

By the time Claudia is called back to the earth, Stiles has already taken on many of her duties, plotting course and keeping lists. They stay in the oak wooded glen, by her grave, for longer than they'd waited in the valley for Stiles' birth, the longest settling in their community's known history. By the end of their stay, Noah is asking pointed questions about their suspension and their needs, to his son's growing ire.

Stiles has never steered them wrong. His gift is different from others in the community. Claudia was from a different clan, passing in the wild where Hunters didn't like to travel. Stiles' gift came from her ancestors, travelers over greater distances than the clans of today could even imagine. The Sheriff governs their people, Stiles their future. When he finally says it's time to move, they do so quickly, with Stiles' eyes pointed in their intended direction.

Many years pass with Noah's governance and Stiles' guidance, and the community doesn't struggle as much as they had in generations past. He shuffles them from place to place, never any where for too long, which was to the comfort of all in the group. Stiles, young enough for the energy, old enough for the responsibility, starts to take over the day to day community leadership. Noah hangs back in discussions, letting Stiles handle more than many in the group thought was wise at first. Stiles takes to leadership, proving himself many times over in a relatively short period. His only undoing was his innate need to understand. Curiosity, which many in the life were not prone to, signaled a need to chase, over the need to migrate.

The fire that blazed controlled in the distance caught his eye barely a moon after Stiles gained his age of majority. The ceremony was mostly reliant on his own gift's sudden shift from growth to rest. A final signal letting Noah see his son was ready to lead him within their community, until the earth, and his wife, called him home.

Stiles, teaching two of their youngest about edible berries and herbs, hadn't yet seen the flickering light at the outer edge of the valley, so close as to be within reach. Noah breathes a sigh of relief, determined to keep his son's attention elsewhere.

"Honored Stiles, Why do the lights in the sky shimmer?" The younger child is asking. Noah smiles, as these questions are among Stiles' favorites. The term for the gifted seems so innocent coming from the child's mouth. Nothing like a Hunter's contemptuous mocking.

Stile's smile is much like his father's. "The lights we see are very far away. Farther than anything you can imagine. They have moving layers to pass through before we can see them." He holds his hands in front of his face, passing them back and forth to create a visual. "In the desert, when the sun causes the water mirage to appear, we can't see the sand underneath except in small moments, right? The light is like that." Stiles glances up at Noah smiling again. "It might make more sense when you're older." He tells the two children. "Alright, to your tent. Your mother is just about to look for you." He tosses them each a berry from his lessons and stands, brushing off his pants. The mother of the two calls out just as the children have started racing for her.

Noah wishes they'd been able to stay distracting for a while longer. "Lights in the sky? Where did you learn that?" Noah asks. Stiles' smile crooks at the corner.

"I learned from Mamo, before she got too confused." He says softly. Claudia hangs over them, gently drawing their memories. "She knew so much. From her dziadek." Stiles rubs at his shoulder and smiles more brightly at his father. "What's with the face?" he asks. Noah's face turns instantly blank, to his son's amusement.

"There's no face." Noah tries, adopting a more relaxed expression.

"Well. There was a face, before you smothered it. It was your 'I'm worried about something specific' face." Stiles teases. "Not to be confused with your 'I'm worried about someone specific' or 'I'm worried about things in general' faces."

"I thought Lydia was supposed to be the reader." Noah grumbles. Lydia, a gifted empath in their community, has told Noah he needs to stop worrying on an almost constant basis. "It's nothing. I'm worrying over nothing." He says. Stiles squints at him, an expression learned from Lydia when she was thinking about calling a bluff. His son is so normal, in that moment, so like steady, stubborn Claudia, Noah almost believes there's nothing to worry about. He inhales deeply and relaxes more fully in his son's presence.

"Alright." Stiles says finally, letting whatever he can read from his father's face be. "If you need to tell me anything, you'll know where I am." He says brightly, pointing at the top of the hill, designated as a lookout point. Exactly where Noah does not want him to be.

"I don't think you should patrol tonight." He blurts. Stiles goes to roll his eyes and then looks at his father again.

"There's the face again. Seriously, what is it?" he asks. He looks around, but in the evening quiet, the insects are the only thing making more noise than a whisper. The adults of the camp have settled, with their other half, or with their backs to camp and eyes on the outer perimeter. "Why shouldn't I patrol? It's my night, Jackson's probably already asleep." Stiles keeps his voice down, but there's a stutter in the whispers from nearby tents and Noah grimaces.

"I know. Just," He looks at his son, his wonderful, smart, curious son and knows that as soon as he sees the light on the far hill, he'll feel a sudden call. "There's a campfire." He points to the hill where Stiles is getting ready to post. "It's not close enough to worry about, but." Noah shrugs.

Stiles' eyes widen, his head snapping to focus on a fire he can't even see. "You think it's another clan?" He asks, not really paying attention. He starts for the top of the hill, Noah following behind.

"I don't know, Stiles. I don't think so." Noah sighs and glances around. The community has bedded down for the most part, their own fires covered or put out. They know how to hide better than whomever else is out in the wilderness tonight. Noah looks at his son's face. "You want to go look, don't you." he says resigned.

"I have to go at least find out. If it is Mamo's clan, we should let them know we're here. I'll be careful, Tata. You know I will." Stiles is still turned toward the glimpse of light he can see behind the trees. "I have to know." Noah sighs again and nods his head.

"Yes you do." He gives Stiles a critical once over, "You'll put on your hunting clothes. It won't hurt to have a little extra protection," Noah raises his hands, "Just in case it's not the kind of people you hope for."

Stiles leans his head towards his father, touching their foreheads together. "I'm sorry. I know you hate this part of me the most." He says quietly. Noah's breath of air is loud in their close space.

"Stiles, there is no part of you I could ever hate. I love every part of you because it makes you who you are." Noah leans back and cups Stiles's cheeks in his weathered palms. "Though I do wish you had a bit more of your mother's caution." He kisses Stiles on the forehead and releases him. "I expect you back within a day. Otherwise, I will send our people to come find you, and they will all be very cross if they find out you've lost track of time befriending others."

Stiles laughs quietly, "That was one time, and they were very helpful. Also, I was lost, and I won't get lost this time." Noah smiles, as best as he can with this sense of foreboding lingering over him. He's not gifted, but he has a keen sense of the universe, and something is telling him what Stiles is doing is dangerous.

He waves Stiles off, with a pat of food and a skin of water. A cold wind blows through his chest, an ill omen, and Noah gets the feeling that it'll be a long time before he sees his son again.

* * *

Stiles walks for hours. The stars, twinkling lights from far away, have shifted in the sky by the time he comes upon where the camp should be. He's learned in his travels how to walk silently. How to sneak on his prey. This encampment could be a fellow community, or a familial clan grouping. As much as he sometimes curses his need, he just has to know.

He's slipping through the branches and bushes. The fire is nothing but embers, kept alive by a small group of people. Two men and a woman huddled together. Stiles spares a thought as to why they don't build the fire back up if they're cold, when the younger blond boy happens to look up. He catches Stile's eye, fearful for himself at first, then with dawning understanding, fearful of something else.

The boy looks at the tent, not three meters away from where he sits and then back at Stiles. He mouths something and Stiles frowns and shakes his head, scattering curls over his forehead. The boy shoots another glance at the tent then very carefully places a hand on his left companion's kneecap. The man -dozing- jolts awake, violently, but silent. He stares at Stiles with dark eyes, a look of horror in his noble face. He motions Stiles to back up. Which Stiles finds odd. He's not stepping on anything. It's out of courtesy for the young woman, still sleeping, that he doesn't speak.

The younger one shuffles closer, moving slowly, to not make sound before he motions again for Stiles to back up. His lips move, but either Stiles doesn't speak the language, or the flickering of the embers is casting too ghostly of shadows because he doesn't understand again. He seems to be not welcome, but were that the case, the two men would have woken the woman by hollering at him. It's almost like...

He doesn't get to finish his thought before a steady snore starts from the tent. A clan leader then. Not welcoming and not charitable. Stiles creeps closer, ready to offer sanctuary for these three, stuck in the cold.

The woman wakes with a shake of her wild mane, from the sound of hissing her companions seem to be making, or the sudden tense jolt from their bodies. She grumbles at them unintelligibly then freezes when she sees Stiles. He smiles calmly at her. The only noise for a second is the chirp of insects before the woman inhales sharply.

Stiles has come close enough to see why they sit at the campfire. They're not clan members, stuck in the cold by a gruff leader. The shackles around their waists mark them as Hunter's bait.

The revelation comes too late, as the spell placed on the three chained to the tent stake snaps and the person hiding behind the tent jumps forward. Stiles, expecting something else entirely, is caught unaware.

"What have we here?" A drawl slithers through the clearing. "A gifted boy, sneaking into camp, instead of out of it." The man who climbs out of the tent behind the first Hunter is old. Old enough to be Stiles' father. He motions sharply to the man holding Stiles' arms behind his back and Stiles is thrust forward. "So, are you a thief, trying to steal my prizes, or just stupid." Stiles knows he can't answer, knows it's better to feign not speaking the language, than lead them to his people. What the Hunter's don't know will save the families he loves.

The man holding his arms binds them with some kind of rope, and Stiles feels his awareness, his gift, cut out of existence. He gives a cry, eyes widening in shock. There shouldn't be a way for someone with a gift to be cut off from it. It's given by the earth at birth, to be reclaimed upon death. He's never known someone to have it cut away like warmth by a frozen breeze.

The old one laughs and turns to the three young beings, tied to lure people like Stiles. "These three really are as good as the slaver said." He boasts. The curly haired one, the one who had first tried to warn Stiles away-- and how could he not have known-- struggles against his bonds. The old man flicks a hand out and the boy's head snaps to the side. "Shut up." He turns to the man behind Stiles. "Post him over there. We'll leave at first light. If he's got a gift, She'll want to see him right away."

* * *

Several days of exhausting travel later, they arrive at a Hunter Encampment. The camp is not what he's expecting. It's steel and wood and stone reaching far above his head. It's bars and chains and the quiet murmuring of language followed by the snap of angry punishment. Whips that crack above heads, occasionally catching on backs and legs.

It's arranged almost like a tree stump, Stiles feels. The walls of the city surround it protecting, with rings of permanent buildings drawing into the center, a bustle of life and termites.

They take him to a building on the outer wall furthest from the entry they came in. A militant rumble, consisting of horses and the occasional crack of a gun shot makes Stiles want to run. They take him past a stable, past barracks where curious eyes follow him in his rope bindings, and into a room occupied by a large table, several chairs, a desk, and a woman doing paperwork.

The woman looks up as they enter. "Dalton, what have you brought me?" She says. Her voice is honey sweet, eyes deadly intent. Dalton, the old hunter attached to the end of Stiles's rope leash, drags him forward.

"Mistress," He says, forcing Stiles to his knees. "We found this one trying to free some of the others we caught." The woman puts down her pen.

"I see. Gifted then?" She laughs delicately, "Honored, I mean." Her tone is cruel. She stands and walks around her desk towards him and Stiles is even more on guard, for all her movements are meant to put him at ease. "Where are you from, Little Wildling?" The woman asks. Her blonde hair and blue eyes make her look like the deity's in Stiles legends. "A community? One of the local Clans? I've never seen you before, but I try not to dally with Wildlings too much." The dangerous way her mouth is posed makes him think more of the demons. "Don't feel like talking?" She glances at the brutish men behind him. "That's ok, Wildling. A few days in the stocks will help your tongue loosen." He sees her malicious grin and closes his eyes as they drag him out.

He spends two days alone, in the middle of a horse paddock. The men and women in camp don't look at him for longer than a glance to make sure he's still there and secure.

The morning of the third day, after a particularly lively night in the camp, another man is brought into the paddock. He's attached to a metal post not far from where Stiles is similarly tied. Unlike Stiles though, the bindings on his wrists are metal, not the rough hemp rope.

The woman returns, swaying hips and devious smirk. "Looks like your full moon luck just ran out, Puppy." She says, and Stiles jerks back. The man attached to what must be a silver coated stock post, bares his teeth at her. "Now, now, Mutt. There's no need to be nasty. We could be quite good friends." She crouches next to him and softens her face. "You and I could do great things together." She says voice as soft as dandelion fuzz.

The wolf, because with the silver pulling his wrists back, Stiles can already see the black poisoned veins running up his forearms, growls again and his teeth are slightly less human shaped. The woman's smirk returns. "Well, I've already got one guest I'm buttering up, I imagine I should afford all my guests the same treatment." She turns to a young woman standing barely out of the sun. "Make a note, this one gets no food or water for three days." She glances over at Stiles. "How long has that one been here?"

The woman looks at the pad of paper she's carrying. "Nearly three days, Hunt Mistress." She says in a clear voice.

"Wonderful." The woman stands and slides over to Stiles. "Are you ready to talk, Wildling? Another day or so and you might be dead."

Stiles gulps. Hunters are one thing, Mistress of the Hunt implies something else entirely about this beautiful sadistic woman. He stares up at her, honestly not sure whether the act of not understanding her language was worth it or not.

The wolf begins howling. It's loud and sounds mournful, but the spark in the wolf's eyes as he tilts his head back and stares at the blonde woman is fierce.

"Shut him up. We don't need an entire pack coming down on us." She snaps. The hunters standing behind the wolf swing a thick baton at the wolf's stomach. The howl cuts off with a grunt and the woman points at Stiles. "Bring him inside. Give him a little water and see if you can make him talk." She glares at the wolf, then at the Hunter woman she'd been talking to before. "Allison, come on, Gerard will want to know how the last raid balanced out." With another sour look at Stiles, the woman stalks off.

Allison points at two men, then to Stiles. " You heard Mistress Argent. Take him to the guardroom and give him some water." The men hop-to, probably meaning this Allison is important. She watches Stiles for a second before she turns away, hurrying after the woman, Argent.

"You're lucky that wolf shook her up." One of the guards tells him. "Kate Argent is a woman accustomed to working for her prize." He sits Stiles on a chair and sends the other man to get water. "You should tell her what she want to know or it can get," He glances around, "messy."

Stiles opens his mouth to respond, finding two and a half days in the summer sun has dried his throat. The water helps some, wetting the sandy rasp of his tongue. "I won't." he says slowly. The guard nods and ties his hands back around the chair. "She'll be back for you then." He says. He motions to the other guard and they leave the room, and Stiles to his thoughts.

* * *

He dreams he's home. He's gotten away from the hunters in the woods. His gift springs to full life and he's able to find his way back to his families, his father.

He wakes to the sound of whimpers. The wolf, he sees when his eyes pry free from their crusted, swollen state, is in the room with him. The boy, dark dusty tangled hair and soft brown eyes, looks about as bad as Stiles feels. But the wolf seems to be focused on Stiles. Stiles licks his lips in an attempt to speak, and winces at the feeling. His lips are split in multiple places, torn and scabbed. The way his face twists in response to pain causes one of them to open again and he can taste blood.

"Don't." The wolf coughs out. Stiles flicks his eyes up to the other man and blinks. "You'll hurt worse." The wolf's teeth are out, partial beta form. Stiles and his community don't have much contact with the other wild wanderers of the forests. Mostly, they're all trying to avoid this exact scenario, but Stiles knows the man must be in either a great deal of pain from the silver cuffs, or might be drugged with some kind of Hunter trick.

"Stiles." He manages, though his throat hurts worse than the fever he'd had when he was eleven.

"'m Scott." The wolf says. He tilts his head, whining at the pull of what looks like a broken collar bone. "She said she'd be back once I healed up." He stares at Stiles. "I don't want to scare you, but I think you should tell her what she wants." Scott looks at him, shame faced and yet resolute. "I can't watch another beating like that and I don't think you'll survive."

Stiles listens and silently agrees. "She's going to have to kill me. I can't let her get to my families." He swallows sharply, half from pain, half from the dryness in his throat.

Scott nods slowly. "I understand." he says simply. then leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. Stiles isn't sure what he's going to do.

Several moments spend in silence, before Scott's eyes open and he focuses on the door. A few seconds more pass before Stiles can hear it too, boot steps on the wood hallway. Light enough to not be guards.

Allison jerks the door open and shut behind her. "I need you to listen to me, and do as I say." She stares into Scott's eyes and then Stiles's. "I've sent a message to a nearby Emissary. You have less than an hour before the alarms will sound." She passes a knife to Stiles and then throws a small key by his feet. "You have about half an hour before the guards come back through here again." She stares into Stile's eyes again and has his extreme attention. "You must be out of this room before the emissary gets here, or you won't be found." She gives them both a tight smile. "I know this doesn't help much, but I'm sorry. Good luck." And then she's gone. Stiles can't feel much of his fingertips, but the wooden handle of the knife in his palm is heavy and comforting.

The bindings on Stiles take nearly 5 minutes for him to saw through. Scott's take another few to extract from his skin where its grown in poisonous bubbles around the shackles.

Stiles can barely stand, his legs too weak to carry himself to the door. He pushes at Scott, "Go. You have to go." Scott doesn't reply, just grabs Stiles around the waist and pulls him out the door. The guard's heavy footfalls seem to echo around the corner as Stiles hobbles, mostly under Scott's power, away from their room.

"Emissary?" Stiles huffs out, barely breathing with the pain of jostled limbs.

"Pack gifted. When 'wolves are changed they usually lose their gift, Wolf magic is too strong for Mother Earth to override. But occasionally, an honored one will have a compatible gift and Mother Earth and Luna work together. We call them Emissary." Scott huffs his own breath out. "If my pack is the one nearby, our Emissary is capable of doing some serious damage."

Stiles is so very tired. He clings to the feeling of Scott holding him up, but just as they reach the front door, the guards from their room come galloping down the hallway. They reach for their batons, and Stiles is feeling worn and scared. Scott remains a warm presence against his side. He can't feel his magic. He can't call for his community. He can't even lift his arm to help defend. He sags a few inches further and closes his eyes.

It's a blessing from Earth herself, because in the next split second, a flash so intense it scalds Stiles's eyes -even closed- crashes into the men. Stiles jerks in surprise and eyes snap back open.

There's a woman standing at the other end of the hallway. Her hair is dark and long, eyes shining. An orange flame covers her, extending to the wicked sword she's carrying.

"Emissary." Scott breathes and he seems to deflate under Stiles. The door behind them crashes inwards, but Scott turns to the intruders and smiles.

The man in the doorway seems to see Stiles first, before Scott and then turns to the woman with the Kitsune's gift. "Both?" he asks her gruffly. She nods and Stiles is just about ready for his own slow deflate.

"Please." He says wiggling an arm at Scott. "Help him." The man steps forward and Stiles is shocked at his intense eyes, before his own vision fades to black.

* * *

When he wakes this time, its to the feeling of soft shade from a tent overhead, the gentle hum of people far away, and the scent of hay and musk that Stiles associates with the herding clans to the north. He opens his eyes to a well kept brown cloth.

The tent's walls are open, a sign of a Summer-seeking tribe. The glade he's resting in is beautiful. Trees and grass and little wildflowers in a multitude of colors. Stiles can hear the faint sound of a creek nearby. Water making its way towards the sea.

He has no idea where he is.

His eyes feel less puffy. Not healed completely, but everything on his body hurts infinitely less than it had the last time he woke. There's a woman setting up objects on a small table not far away, and she smiles at him when she notices him looking. He's nervous for all of three seconds before he realizes she has Scott's smile and eyes.

"I'm Melissa," she says. Her skirts are fashioned like the women of the Clan to the North, and her coloring is similar but, he's never seen her before. The Clans can be big, but he's met everyone belonging with the Mahealani's, and She isn't them. "You've met my son Scott." Stiles nods slowly. His bones don't ache, but that could be from healing, or it could be from drugs. "I'm sorry." She says holding a hand out when he tries to get up. "Hayden was our Honored healer, but she had an accident last autumn and the change took it over. Noshiko is our medicine woman, but Healing isn't a gift for her or I, just a calling." Melissa sits next to him.

"Where?" He croaks. The week or so stay at the Argent Camp had left him dry. Melissa raises a cup to his lips.

"It's just water. Sip slowly. This is the Hale Pack. Our Alpha is Talia, she's seconded by her daughter and heir Laura. I'm from the McCall family. I used to belong to a community, but Scott was sickly as a child so I came looking for a way to save him." She touches a wet cloth to his face, cleaning off some of the dried blood. "Scott says you're an Honored One?" She asks. He closes his eyes, feeling safer with her than he had since he'd left his father.

Inside himself was... empty. His gift, usually tugging with the beat of his own heart, was not just silent, but missing. "I-" he starts choking on the words. "I've lost it." he turns to her. Her eyes are shining in worry and grief.

"You've been limited. Some of the Hunter Camps have people who work for them." She scowls. "We don't call them Honored, but they do have gifts. The Argents have several, that we've been able to identify. At least one can put a limit on gifts, be they of earth or moon."

"Scott. He was stuck in half shift." Stiles understands. Melissa nods.

"The Alpha was able to free him from it. I don't know if she'll be able to with you or not." Melissa's apologetic smile was soothing to Stiles rising panic. "You should rest. You've been asleep for nearly two days, but you're not fully healed."

Stiles can feel his eyelids drooping at her suggestion. "You're Honored too, aren't you Melissa." He slurs.

She laughs. "Only a little, dear boy." And he sleeps again.

* * *

The Hale pack is most gracious. They can't tell him where he was in relation to his community (something about going where the air smelled right, and the woods sounded full of game), but they feed him and share their clothing. Scott, healed by proximity to his alpha visits and helps his mother entertain Stiles for another few days. Hayden, now honored by the moon instead of the earth but still natural enough in healing, deems him able to get up and walk around.

The woman with the fox fire, Kira, visits with Scott too. She and her family had been members of the neighboring Ito pack when she'd met Scott and decided to join the Hales. She'd been born with the Fox Spirit from Earth and the Wolf from Luna, following in her mother's footsteps and became the Emissary for the Hale Alpha.

Derek comes, in his own time. The man who caught Stiles and Scott as they'd collapsed in the Argent stronghold. The man with the intense eyes that glow werewolf blue when Stiles just stares at him the first time he showed up.

"I'm glad you're doing alright." He says, reining in the glow of his born wolf eyes. "I heard it was a near thing."

Stiles huffs out a laugh. "I'm too stubborn to die." he says confidently. Derek snorts.

"That I'd believe. You told us to save the werewolf before collapsing." Derek smiles and Stiles can feel his heart pound hard.

* * *

Derek becomes something of a guide.

Talia, his mother, his alpha, tells Stiles that it was Derek's deep and historical understanding of the Luna blessed, that allowed her to bring Scott back to himself. Stiles questions him on it for many days, hoping he'll be able to work something out with his own gift.

He walks with Derek in the morning. Derek is willing to walk slowly to begin, as Stiles heals all his wounds. They walk to the nearby river, to the trees in the east, to the great plains just beyond the edge of the village. Sometimes they stay together for a few hours, talking and learning, sometimes they're together until the stars come out and they tell what they know about the legends of patterns woven in the night sky.

Stiles fits. With Derek, with the pack. He learns more than he'd ever knew to wonder about the wolves in the world. About those gifted by Mother Earth and Lady Luna. About the Emissary and their roles throughout legends and history.

He learns about the legend of the Father wolf, besotted with the Moon, his mate, and the reason all wolves sing to her to lead them back to their families. He learns about the many generations of wolves before Derek, all leading back to a land called America, where wolves once lived in secret harmony with humans. He learns that wolves mate for life. Stiles is curious by nature, and Derek is a natural teacher.

"Were you Honored, before being a werewolf?" Stiles asks him one afternoon. Derek has lead him to a small gathering of Birch trees, not far from the camp, that house a drey of young squirrels. The creatures, nearly as curious as Stiles himself, fling them selves from tree to tree, trying to get all angles of their biped observers. Stiles is delighted to sit and watch them jump and run on the branches.

Derek huffs a laugh. "I was born a wolf. I've never not been Luna blessed." he says. He's watching Stiles in much the same way Stiles watches the fauna. "What was your gift?" he asks. He asks so few questions, to Stiles's unending barrage.

Stiles takes a moment to really think about his gift. He's had it, a part of him, for so long and never thought about what it would be called. "It's a little bit of luck. My mother could sometimes tell the future."

Derek looked at him with a quizzical eyebrow. "Sometimes? I thought Earth gifts were as constant as Lunar ones."

Stiles tilted his head. "She died when I was young, so I never really got to understand her gift as I do mine, but She could see many futures, not always attuned to my communities needs. Once she saw a mudslide push a lake over the edge of a cliff. The whole valley beyond the lake was flooded and the lake drained. Many years later we came to the lake basin. The mudslide had been covered in new growth and the lake below dried but for a few stagnant ponds." he shrugged. "She saw things, but not all of it pertained to us. For the most part, she lead our community because she'd been born to, in her own. My father," He swallows and smiles wanly at Derek. "My gift is similar, but not as broad. I can-" he stops again and sighs. "-could sense events and places my family needed to be present for. I didn't see things, usually. Just got a feeling of when we needed to move camp, which direction, where we could stop again."

Derek stares at him. "You... can tell the future?" he seems to shake his head. "I shouldn't be so surprised. The Honored we've met have always been, well, gifted. But to actually have an indication of the future." The smile he sends to Stiles is blinding. "That is amazing."

Stiles smiles back, dimming slightly. "Not so amazing. I still ended up in a Hunter's camp." Derek reaches out, slowly and rests his hand over Stiles' knee. Stiles looks at it before turning his face to Derek's. "I don't- I can't stay Derek." He says softly. He places his hand over Derek's. "I could stay." he says suddenly, an angry, crazed tone to his voice. "I could stay, fall in love," He holds Derek's hand gently in his. "Learn the seasons, roam the forests."

"You could be content." Derek whispers, longing. "But you'd never be happy. You have people out there and you'd never be able to leave them. Not forever." Derek curls over his knees, arm still outstretched and hand grasping at Stiles's.

"I'd never forgive myself." Stiles says sadly. "I could love you, but I'll always love them, too." He lets Derek's hand curl back into the wolf's body. Derek is nodding.

"Come on. We should-" He stops and his head raises with such violence Stiles startles. "Something is wrong. I smell-." He jumps to his feet and bolts towards the camp.

"Derek!" Stiles calls after him, scaring the young squirrel that had been tempted closer. "Derek, wait!" Stiles follows him, running as fast as his only human legs can take him. He gets to a place he can see camp between the trees and gasping with the effort, bursts through, to see the Pack tents in flames.

* * *

He goes for the main tent first. Most of the pack is a mix of wolf and human, but the most fragile (if one can call humans running with wolves fragile) live near the central tent. Melissa is ushering her pack mates to the far side of the small clearing, to the dense copse of trees. Talia roars from somewhere between the most burned tents and the sharp sound of weapon fire.

Stiles skids to a halt in front of Melissa. "Hurry, You have to get the little ones into the trees and away." She's telling Hayden. The girl nods and Stiles can see her eyes are shining amber. She sees Stiles and points to the river. "Scott went to get water. I don't know how much help it's going to be if they keep setting things on fire," Stiles grabs her arm.

"Who?" he asks, breathless from his run.

"Hunters." She says in a growl. "I don't know how they found us, but they sent an Omega in first. Talia was meeting with him and they stormed the Pack Tents."

Stiles is hit with a feeling from his gift. So intense, unlike anything he's felt before. It bowls him over onto his knees, with Melissa calling in his ear, sounding miles away.

He's sorting through the feeling. A push-pull of emotion and pain. Staggering to his feet, he stumbles in the direction Melissa had pointed. Towards Scott and the river.

Scott is half turned, growling at the woman on the other side of the bank. She raises a gun, unsteadily. "I'm sorry." She's sobbing.

Scott is muddled by the fangs in his way. "How could you?" Stiles thinks he's saying. "We're Luna Blessed." His claws flick out and Stiles splashes into the river beside him.

"You." He says staring at the girl. She looks even younger now, cleaned up, hair tied back. The woman, barely more than a girl, Hunter bait that had been there as Stiles was trapped. Stiles puts his hand on Scott's shoulder. "She's hunter bait. She probably doesn't want to be here." Scott growls at him again.

"Isaac, they keep Isaac." She says in a heavy accent. "I do not fight. I keep you from escaping, Isaac is freed." Another Roar from behind them reminds Stiles that the Hunters are advancing on the Pack.

"Run." he says to her. "Run and Hide. Tell them you did everything you could. Let us help the pack. We're not escaping." He kneels in the water, becoming a smaller target, but Scott growls louder.

"Stiles, she's betraying her kind."

"She can't help it. If Isaac is one of the men with her, they're pack. She can't do anything else." The woman is crying heavily, hands still tight on the weapon. "We don't need to escape, We just need to get the fires put out." One of the wolves cry again. "Scott!" he says. Scott looks back towards the tents, the buckets by his feet take his attention and Stiles breathes. "Go." he says to Scott. "You can carry more and faster than I can. I'm right behind you."

He can vaguely hear the trumpets of the Hunter tribe bellowing in the distance, a retreat he hopes. He wants to help with the tents, with the pack, but his gift is pulling him here. Right here, sunk halfway up his thighs in river water, staring at the scared blonde woman who had unwillingly helped deliver him to Hunters.

"I'm sorry." She says again.

He nods at her. "I know it wasn't your fault. But if anyone dies from your weapon, that can't be forgiven as easily." He holds his hands out flat to her. "I need you to lower it." The black hole in his chest, now swarming with the overwhelming return and strength of his gift is too full to sort through. He can feel pain, and the ache of loss, and the feeling that this, right here, is what needs his attention. He turns his eyes back to the girl. "Isaac. Is he the curly haired one, or the giant one?" he asks.

She chokes on a sob and gestures at her hair with one hand.

"Right. He tried to warn me. What's your name?"

"Erica." She whispers. The river drowns her out, but with the addition of daylight, he can read her a little.

"I'm gifted, Erica. Honored." She nods, maybe a common type of prey for her and her unwilling cohorts. "My gift is telling me I need to be here." He starts to stand and is frozen by the report of a weapon and Erica's scream.

"Well that's just too fortunate," Kate says from behind Erica. "I was planning on killing her in peace. I guess you'll get to go too, oh Honored one."

* * *

Kate's sneer is favoring death, Stiles can tell. He goes to stand again, to run to the pack, or to Erica, he doesn't know. She's across the river, laying dangerously close to the water. She's ten feet away, with the river's widest, deepest point directly between them. He gets a foot beneath him before Kate cocks her weapon again.

"Now, now, Honored one." She calls. "Little wildling, still aren't you?" She laughs at her own joke.

"Why have you attacked this pack. They're doing nothing wrong. They haven't hurt anyone." He considers pleading with her, but the black depths of her eyes tell him it would be in vain. "Hunt Mistress. The tribes used to believe in a code. Hunt those who hunt you, but the Hale pack has done nothing!" He's yelling now, half afraid of drawing the attention of the pack, half hoping they'd come for him.

Kate laughs again. "You've been with them what, a week? You know so little about the world, Honored One. They're wild dogs, led by a force no one can stop. Eventually, they all break through the mask and become the beasts we know them to be." She stares at the carnage behind him. "You don't know the damage they cause. To normal humans."

"I don't believe that." Stiles says calmly. "No human is destined for evil deeds. Sometimes they commit them, but it doesn't mean all humans are evil."

Kate opens her mouth to say something no doubt fanatical, when her attention goes to something over his shoulder again. "Well. If it isn't Derek Hale." She coos. "Always the handsome one, weren't you Derek." Stiles can't look behind himself, not without taking an eye off the gun in Kate's hand. He hopes Derek runs past, far away from the crazy woman in front of him, but he suspects with a chill in his throat, that Derek is about to do something Stiles will never be able to survive.

"Kate. We were friends once." Derek says mournfully. He steps forward, in front of Stiles. "Why?"

"Because Darling, as I was explaining to the Wildling here, You aren't people. You're beasts, and I'm a hunter. It's my job to take you down." She levels her gun at Derek and Stiles is too slow to stand. The shot rings out and Derek splashes into the deep part of the river and away out of sight.

Kate is laughing still when Stiles gulps a breath and dives after Derek. If he can reach him- If he can only hold his head above the water- Derek might live.

The water is even icier as it closes over his head. He jerks as Kate fires another shot to his left, barely missing his shoulder. He swims fast, assisting the current of the river in its gaining speed, until even he can't control the push of the water.

Derek seems to remain just out of reach. Stiles can see, from the brief moments his and Derek's heads are both above the water, that Derek's eyes are closed and his face is slack. He doesn't respond as he's caught for a second on the branch of a fallen tree.

Stiles grabs onto him. Hoping to find that Derek is just a bad swimmer, not that he's- But there's a pulse in Derek's veins and a warmth that has little to do with the blood spilling out of his chest. Stiles hugs him tight, trying to swim out of the rushing current and to the more calm waters of the shores.

The water doesn't release them and to Stiles' utter shock and increasing fear, he can see a great rock not far ahead, and then the freedom of open air where a river should be.

He hooks Derek's arm around his shoulder, holding with all his might as he reaches for something, anything to stop their plunge. But it's too late. he turns once more to Derek, wrapping arms and legs against him as they tumble over the edge and into the darkness of the water below.

* * *

He wakes with a shiver of cold air on his face. He's alone, he's frozen to the bone, and for the first time in a long while, he wants his mother's warm hands on his face. A wash of wetness spreads over his cheek and he raises his head slightly from the pebbles it's laying on. He sees the water, the ground, turning he can see the sky and feel the bump behind his temple.

He sits up frantically, turning and searching, hoping with all he is and has ever been that he's not too late. He spots Derek half a shore away still and silent.

"Derek!" he yells. He can barely hear himself over the lapping of the water and tries again. "Derek!" The man twitches and slowly flips from his front to his back, and Stiles can see the bloody patch over his heart. "Derek." he moans and crawls over to the wolf.

Derek is panting which Stiles would normally count as better but is not in this case, as Derek can't get enough air into his lungs. "W'lvsbane." he mutters and Stiles presses a hand over the other side of his chest.

"Derek, hold on. I'm going to-" he breathes out a sob. "I can fix this. I can do something."

"Stiles," Derek says, breath short. "It's ok. The pack will come for us. We'll be ok." Derek's words are meant to be comforting, but the face he's trying to put forward is one Stiles doesn't believe. The pounding in his chest has nothing to do with the exertion from his heart, which is beating its own procession. His magic wants him exactly where he is, and Stiles fears it's to witness the death of the love of his life.

"I love you." Stiles says, gasping for breath, for the quiet afternoon they'd been robbed, for the nights under the stars where words meant nothing and everything at once.

Derek's eyes flash and he gets one leaded hand around the back of Stiles' neck. "I love you." he says, with the intensity to match his flashing blue eyes. "I will always love you." His eyes stay blue and Stiles can see the labor of breathing.

Derek pants for a moment, not getting enough oxygen, when his head turns to the far end of the pool. Stiles doesn't look away. "I'll find you, Stiles. I will find you and get you to your people." Derek's hand falls, too heavy to hold up any longer. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He gasps out.

By the time he finally looks at what Derek is seeing, it's too late for Stiles to do anything but rage. The slavers, happening on their perfect mark, are on him and Derek's face is tears and agony.

Stiles screams as he feels their hands grab more securely to his arms and shoulders. Screams his pain and hatred, his anger at the world, and all it's people. The men behind him curse and pull him away, taking two men to Stiles' lone form.

"He's a fighter. He'll be good stock." One of the men behind him manages through huffing breaths. "He's got some muscle on him." Stiles struggles again, pulling with every ounce of his being back to the river, back to Derek and what might be his last moments.

"Too bad the other one isn't going to make it," the other man says, and the breath is punched out of Stiles. He slides to his knees, nearly disrupting the slavers tying his hands with treated rope. "He looks mighty strong too."

They're talking about Derek. Derek who is staring at him. Derek who's hand is reached out gripping the grass as if to pull himself to Stiles. Derek, who has black veins crawling up the side of his neck and black blood over the edge of his mouth.

Derek who is dying and Stiles can do nothing. Nothing at all to save him. Derek's eyes close and Stiles can see black spots in his vision.

Stiles breathes in one last shallow breath, then his own eyes close and he knows nothing more.

* * *
The men who find them take him several day's ride from the river. Opposite the direction Scott had told him the Hunter's fortress was. Opposite the direction of the Hales camp. Opposite the direction back to Derek.

Stiles is numb. Numb and tired. They'd given him something strong and dulling, when they'd found out he was gifted. They're too cautious about what his gift could be, to allow him to gain access to it. Stiles doesn't much mind at this time.

After all, his gift from the mother Earth had led to Derek's- to the river. To the death of Stiles' heart. He sits in the corner of the tent they set up on the third day after a light drizzle turns into a full monsoon. The tent holds three or four other people. They're timid and shy away from the slavers, huddling against each other, friend over foe. They try to share food with Stiles, hoping he's sure, to feed and bond with them, To be an Honored, fearless protector . He turns them down and turns away and they leave him to his misery.

His gift slides out of the drug's hold a few times, but he ignores it. Wants nothing to do with the feeling of betrayal it brings. Eventually, it fades again, to the point of Kate Argent's hex, and Stiles can't usher any feelings of dismay at that. He is numb, in every sense of the word. He walks when his captors say walk, he sits when they tell him to sit, drinks enough to stay alive, eats less than that. His fellow slaves, for he is a slave now, if they want him to be, stick to their own group as they travel Luna only knows where. And Stiles feels nothing.

He sleeps as soon as they drop him near a campfire, drugs doing their best to pacify his brain. He can hear the men laughing at something, possibly him, and closes his eyes.

When he opens them, he's in a clearing surrounded by oaks. The world feels warm and just slightly hazy, as if someone had opened a smoke house nearby. The smell of clean rain and green growth catches him off guard. The only smells with the slavers, was sweat and unwashed bodies and the occasional hint of wood smoke. He turns and his breath catches as he sees his mother, her sun backed outline standing not far away. She comes to him, reaching a hand as if to stroke his hair. He leans into it, but can't quite feel her fingers, just the heat of a palm and the shuffle of wind.

"Kochanie." She says, her voice something he remembers clearly, more clear than the color of her hair, or the scent she carried to ward off bugs. "You're a long way from home. A long way from me." She brings her forehead to his and the emptiness of the air pulls a sob from his lungs.

"I tried, Mamo. I tried to lead our families, just like you and Tata did. I did my best."

Claudia nods, "I know you did, my love. But-" She smiles at him and something in his heart thaws, just slightly. "You're not done yet, ukochana. You have to go back."

He bows his head. Tears running wetly off his nose and cheeks. "I don't even know where I am." he says softly.

"Then you know where to start." She tilts her head and brushes a kiss on the air in front of his forehead. "My little Honored one." She says. Her incorporeal hands cup his cheeks and he looks at her again. "Know who you are, and you will find where you must go." He blinks and he's alone in the clearing, the trees rustle silently as the wind picks up. He opens his eyes.

One of the women in the group of other slaves is pulling a damp cloth over his forehead. She blinks at him and smiles hesitantly. He nods his thanks with a small smile of his own and closes his eyes into a deep slumber.

The other captives have rallied around him, now that the fever seems to have changed his mind. Stiles eats, and drinks as much as his body had forgotten it needed. He tries not to think too much about- much of anything. Instead he gets to know that the woman with the cloth is called Harley, and she, like many of the others who were captured, wants nothing more to do with these slavers.

The group of slavers bring them to an encampment looking like the beginning of the Argent's stronghold. There are no walls, as such, just metal cages where the captives are shoved as soon as they arrive. Stiles, they dose again, but either they run out of the drug, or it's effects aren't as potent, because Stiles' head remains clear. He's calm, but it's now mostly by his own determination.

He tells the others to do as they're told. Don't make trouble if they can help it, and to keep their heads down. The group is kept mostly together, helping out with the hauling of supplies between one end of the camp and the other. It's a Hunter tribe of some sort. They speak in a tongue Stiles picks up pieces of, but when they speak to his group, they have the same accent that Erica had spoken with.

Stiles learns they're lead by a woman who looks older than his father. Older than most adults Stiles had ever seen, save for those with specific gifts of longevity. The camp has the ropes with the dampening magics like the Argents and Stiles suffers it for a night. The spell slides over his wrists and falls to the ground where he stomps it with his foot. No spell can hold his fury, boiling just below the surface, and he sees new understanding and awe in the eyes of the other captives in his group.

He learns what he can, including about the other gifted in camp. He learns the Honored ones are being gathered and bound and the rage in his heart grows ever more. He's there nearly two weeks before he catches a conversation about what exactly the tribe is after.

The Argents are looking for gifted individuals, Wildling, emissary, or Clansmen, and have called in all their favors from all the Hunter Tribes. The batch Stiles is now part of, are being gathered to be decided whether to help the Argents, or keep them in case the Argents are amassing an army.

Stiles can guess that the way Kate's hatred of Luna Blessed burned, the whole Argent tribe feels the same. He can hear himself growl at the thought of fighting against other gifted, for the sake of Tribal wars. He spreads this news to the other captives, who talk to others among the camp. Stiles can feel the fragility of the balance shifting. He needs one strike. One good swing to change the camp from Hunters to Captives.

He promises those nearest him, who spread it far and wide. He will get them out, if it's the last thing he does.

* * *

The tipping point comes with a familiar face in the crowd. Stiles is hauling bags of what feel like rocks, but are labeled as something for the kitchen, when he feels a twinge in his chest. His gift, shallow and reluctant pulses for a moment, causing him to set his eyes to the Northeast edge of camp. He spots a head of brown hair, followed by a glimpse of brown eyes and nearly bites his tongue off. He goes about his day without another twinge, but glancing around like he's being haunted. One of his captive roommates pats his shoulder in concern, but Stiles shows her a toothy smile and flicks his eyes around his person.

Scott waits until nearly midnight to approach the metal cages.

"I'm looking for Stiles." He whispers to Harley, nearest the door. She wakes with the sun to begin with breakfast. She stares at Scott for a moment before she shakes her head.

"I don't know what you're asking me for. I don't know who that is." She says. Scott huffs a breath and flashes his eyes at her.

"My name's Scott, I've been looking for him." If Stiles had been able to get to him first, he would have cautioned against letting people know he was Luna Blessed. Some of the captives in other cages had been here a very long time and were starting to pick up the Hunter's loathing for 'wolves. As it was, Harley was a good sort. She looks at him a moment more before nodding and standing.

Stiles melts out of his own sleeping place and reaches through the bars to grab Scott's shoulder. "I'm glad to see you." he says genuinely. For perhaps the first time since... since the river. Stiles feels something like hope blossom in his stomach.

Scott grins at him and grabs at Stile's elbow. "I've been tracking you since the raid. Just couldn't get into camp without suspicion."

"How did you manage?" Stiles says keeping an eye on the surrounding huts and buildings. These hunter's tend to keep regular hours, but it wasn't unknown for a guard to come check the cages at night.

"The Calaveras are calling in all their resources. I think they're planning an attack. I pretended to be a latecomer from another tribe, here to help." He grins. "They didn't even test me with silver or anything."

"Some of the Tribes have Luna Blessed members." Stiles says absently. "How-" he cuts himself off, gearing for the question he doesn't want to ask. "Where did you pick up my trail?" He asks.

Scott's eyes grow wide. "We found Derek." He blurts, and Stiles goes a little limp. "We found him and I started tracking your scent." He rubs his nose with the hand not still holding Stiles' arm. "It was a little old and disappeared for a little bit, but I kept tracking the slavers that took you, and it led me here. I figured that if the slavers were still here, you probably would be too." He beams at Stiles as if expecting a pat on the head.

Stiles stares at the ground and grates out. "What...happened to Derek's- to Derek?" He almost doesn't want to know. Can't take the heart ache that accompanies those ideas, those words.

"Talia and Noshiko took him back to the camp." Scott says seriously. "He was in pretty bad shape, the wolves bane had reached his heart and it didn't look good." He pauses for a second, probably in response to the tightening of Stiles' hand on his neck. "He was alive when I left the river, but other than that, I don't know. I came immediately to find you." Scott tips his forehead to meet Stiles' through the bars. "I'm sorry." he whispers.

Stiles nods. "I have an idea, but I'm going to need your help." He says, pulling back. "We need to get all these people out of the cages and if they want, to freedom."

Scott tilts his head, listening to something Stiles can't hear before he drops Stiles' arm and pulls away. "Someone's coming." he whispers harshly before melting into the shadow of a nearby building. Stiles pulls away from the front of the cage, as a trio of people come from the main camp.

"I'd heard you bought a gifted boy found with a dead werewolf by a river?" a woman was saying. As she stepped into the light of a nearby lantern, Stiles felt his stomach clench. Kate Argent has somehow weaseled her way into a camp on the edge of attacking the Argents.

"Brunski's gang brought a new batch in, Mistress. I haven't heard if there were any gifted in that group."

"Brunski's an idiot." She says dismissively. "He wouldn't know a gifted if it lit fire to his ass." She gestured at the cages. "Is this where you keep the gifted?" She asks dryly. The guard leading her shakes his head.

"No, Mistress, they're kept in a more secure facility further in." He appears to blush in the lamp light, at Kate's sweet expression.

"Well, then I don't want to see unwashed slaves. I want to see the gifted brutes." She turns an eye on the cages and Stiles hunches further back. She turns a second later and with the guard stuttering excuses, leaves the area.

Harley turns to him a second later. "She's the one who..." She gestures at Stiles. "Broke your heart?" She guesses.

Stiles' expression blanks. "She killed someone. Someone I loved. Love." He shakes his head and his hear hardens. "I'm going to rip her heart out." Harley blinks and nods. He turns to the others, listening to his cold declaration. "Listen, if that man, Scott, if you seen him, I need you to listen to what he says. He's going to be the key to getting us out, but only if you trust me." He sees several of the captives nod and nods back. He lays down in his sleeping spot and stares into the distance, as night turns to dawn.

* * *

Stiles sees Kate around the camp for the next two days. Even picks up a haul near the tent she's been granted during her stay. For a tribe set on defending themselves against the Argents, they are sure pulling all the stops for the Argent Mistress of the Hunt. Stiles manages to stay out of her way until the very last night, when he spots her in the opening of her tent. She's speaking harshly to a blond haired person laying prostrate on the floor of her tent and for a second Stiles thinks it might be Erica.

His heart leaps, if Erica is recovered, then maybe the bullets from Kate's gun weren't so terrible. Derek- He doesn't complete that thought and is grateful for his reluctance to deal with problems or hope as the curly haired male from Erica's company raises his head. Isaac. He waits until Kate goes sashaying towards the kitchens and eels his way into the tent.

Isaac has his back turned to Stiles, but from the way all the muscles tense up, Stiles is not the only visitor he's had.

"Isaac." He says softly. Isaac turns and his face goes white. His mouth opens and his eyes widen.

"You." he breathes.

"Yes. Me. I'm sorry. For not listening that night." Stiles says. Voicing something he'd thought many times over the past few months. "I'm sorry for Erica, too." He says. Isaac cringes and tears well up in his eyes.

"She was my sister. In all the ways that matter." Isaac says. He has a different accent than Erica's and the surrounding camp. Softer and more formal, like Stiles' mother's own language.

"She came to the camp I was staying with." Stiles says. He's not sure why he wants to tell Isaac about Erica's deeds, about her death. Something in his heart is telling him it's the right decision. "She came as a ploy to get the Argent's close to the Hale pack." Isaac's tears fall, but he looks Stiles in the eyes. "She told me they were holding you. Kate was holding you, to use against her." Isaac nods and sniffles.

"Mistress Argent has Boyd and I. She has many gifted tucked into corners, held against each other." He holds his hands out and Stiles can see the recent rubbings of hemp rope. "I have a gift that she finds useful. I'm insensitive to pain. Mistress Argent can inflict great amounts of torment on me and I don't feel much of it. She keeps me around as a threat to her enemies. And her inferiors." Isaac scrubs a hand over his face. "No More." He looks at Stiles, eyes sharp and flinty. "How can I help?"

Stiles wants to hug him. Wants to help him release the guilt of Erica's loss, of the fear he's inflicted, the pain. Instead he glances back at the flap of the tent and gestures for Isaac to follow him. "I'm getting everyone out. Everyone. Gifted or not." He looks at Isaac again. "You might know some of them. Sounds like the Honored are being passed around like favors." He scowls and agrees, "No More."

Isaac isn't held in the tent by anything other than the fear of retribution. Kate had shown him once what would happen if he displeased her and he'd never seen such raw pain on Erica's face. He swore to her, to Kate, that he'd never mean to displease again.

He leaves the tent at a slow shuffle.

"I know you're scared." Stiles coaxes. "But if we want to do this tonight, before she gets back, we have to go. Now." He turns to the path into the main encampment, where the gifted are held. "Go tell them. Convince them. Tell them that enough emotion, enough rage can break the spells on them. The binding can't hold something bigger than itself." He hands a small bag to Isaac. "Here. Take this for the ones who want to help." Inside are small filings of metal, picked up from the floor of the blacksmith and bent into useful shapes. "Tell them to cause some havoc. We want the hunters confused and preferably weaponless."

Isaac takes the bag and looks up from the ground. "Was she... brave? In the end?"

Stiles swallows. Throat suddenly dry. "She stood her ground. She didn't blink and she did what she needed to do. To protect you." Isaac nods and disappears down the path. Stiles turns back to the cages and begins to spread the word.

* * *

In the end, the riot Stiles wanted, wasn't what he got.

The riot Stiles got was bigger, meaner, and full of more rage than he'd ever hoped for.

It starts with a cage door exploding out from its place. The occupants of the cage scream and huddle away from the opening. Stiles has to yell a couple of times before they understand and do as he tells them. "Run!" The other cages lose their doors and suddenly all those who were captives are no longer so. They run through the camp, grabbing clothing and weapons, axes and hammers and strips of metal.

The first few hunters who get killed make Stiles feel triumphant. The next few, less so; Stiles hadn't thought about deaths. Merely the lives of the people imprisoned. He moves through the camp with the others, going where his gift says he can do the most good. It seems eager to lead him, now that he's listening again, and he stops the deaths of many people, Camp inhabitants and freed slaves alike. He sees several gifted flee through the tents, not stopping to cause chaos or to make others hurt. He wishes them safe journey to where ever they have to go. Others he guides into raiding the armoury, the smithy, the stables. Soon there are animals and people milling about, unsure of what exactly is happening.

The on-duty guards rally first. They try shooting into the crowd, but hit mostly tents. They try rounding up the freed captives and failing that, begin fighting for their weapons back. Stiles lets himself and the people around him get pushed into place, into hopeful victory.

Scott joins in just as Stiles is thinking to call a retreat, if only to be able to count his escapees and leave himself. The Luna Blessed man stops beside him and throws his head back. The howl feels like nothing Stiles has ever felt before, and Scott's eyes go golden.

"You met Kira, right?" Scott asks through bared fangs. "She's not the only emissary we know." He says, grinning. An answering howl, powerful and abrupt comes from the east where the biggest trees often block the rising sun. Stiles can't help but grin back. He lets himself back into the fray, tying up the hunters he finds and leaving them off the main paths, hopeful that no one goes murder happy. He'd understand, but having that on his conscious is beginning to weigh on him.

He tells some of the recent captives to make themselves scarce, that the riot was coming to an end and everyone needed to get to safety when a familiar deadly voice calls his name.

"Stiles, right?" Stiles is rigid with his own fury.

"You have a lot to answer for." He tells Kate's calm face. She has Isaac in her hands, or not. Stiles looks closer and sees a short sword pushed through Isaac's shoulder, holding him in place. He can't feel the pain, but he has the terrified face of someone who knows that something is wrong, and will be made worse with movement. Stiles freezes.

"Did you know Derek and I used to be... friends?" She asks, as if there aren't a hundred or more screaming, shouting people close enough to hear her speak. "We were. Even considered courting for a while. Of course, that was before he realized I was using him to get more information about his pack. The Hales and the Argents used to keep to the same territory. How we could ever associate with those mongrels, I'll never know. My Grandmother was Matriarch then. I was young. I suppose I didn't know better. It's been so much better since my Father took control." She twists the knife holding Isaac. "Of course, there's something to be said for their healing abilities. It's a shame the Hale's gifted healer became a bitch. She might have been useful." Isaac lets out a soft whine and Stiles takes a step forward.

"Leave him alone. It's me you want." He says. He's not sure she really does want him, but surely his gift, or the idea of whatever his gift might be would be enticing to her. She takes a step towards him, dragging Isaac on his knees with her.

"You are a thorn in my side." She says. She's halted in her steps by the howl Scott had prompted earlier. He'd disappeared behind some tent on fire, and Stiles had heard his growling head towards the kitchens. The howl full of power comes from behind Kate and she whips around, dropping Isaac's skewer and drawing the pistol.

The man behind Kate has a powerful torso. His eyes burn blue and his teeth bare white in a twisted snarl.

"Peter," Stiles heard her breathe before she is yanked unceremoniously into the air. The wolf, the emissary Peter tilted his palms at himself and Kate skims over, screaming obscenities.

"Mistress," he spits, a taunt instead of a title. "you have caused too much trouble. For me, for my kin." His eyes stare into hers and for the first time Stiles can see the kind of fear in Kate's body that she's used to inflicting. "I should think this is a too peaceful end for someone with such devastation behind her." Peter's claws seem to soak up the moonlight as he slashes them in confident arcs across Kate's throat.

Stiles turns away, his stomach for blood leaving him with the flip side to the triumph from earlier. He hears the gurgle of Kate's breath leaving her, and can't feel anything but numb. The woman, the beastly creature worse than any she'd looked down on, dies quickly and without another sound save for the thump her body makes dropping to the earth.

* * *

The aftermath of the rage, is the quiet. His rage burned a hole through his chest, through to his stomach and it sits there, curdling the acid.

Peter washes his hands in a nearby rain barrel, before approaching Stiles, who is dully shocked to find himself on his knees.

"You must be Stiles." Peter says, calmly for someone who just ripped a woman's throat out. Stiles nods. "I see. Well. I believe it's time for us," He raises his head to the crowd of former slaves behind Stiles. "For all of us, to leave." Peter places a hand, not the one he'd killed with, on Stiles' shoulder and pats it twice. "Many of you would like to return home, and with a little assistance from my pack, we'll get you there." His pack melts out from the shadows and Stiles forces himself back on his feet.

Isaac is still sitting, huffing breath a few feet away and he reaches out to carefully draw the sword from his shoulder. The magic sitting under his ribcage is silent and still, not urging him to do or go anywhere, so he hopes that means Isaac will heal.

"We need to separate." He says to Peter. "The Argent Tribe will be following their Mistress." Kate's body is behind him, slowly growing cold.

Peter looks at him and smiles, a slightly off color smile that makes Stiles' adrenaline kick up again. "I suppose we should." He gestures at the remaining members of his pack. "You could come with us. Come join my pack. I think you'd make an excellent fit with my wolves." The suggestion both scares and excites Stiles and he half smiles in response.

The wolves of Peter's pack are trying to round up the stragglers. Those who are still lingering, as if waiting for direction. Some of them fade off into the darkness of the trees with some of the wolves, some left and some right. A group refuse to budge, looking at Stiles uncomfortably like a messiah.

Isaac makes a small noise before he's looking over the piercing of his shoulder. "It looks like it's healing up." Stiles says, turning to him and appraising the injury. "If what Peter says is true," Peter snorts. "You could go with him and find your pack."

"I don't have anywhere to go." Isaac says softly. "I don't have a pack, Erica and Boyd were my pack." Stiles looks at Scott who nods.

"Then you'll come with us." He says to Isaac. He looks at the rest of the former slaves gathered in a cluster, waiting for him. "You can all come with us. It won't be easy, but we're heading to the Hale Pack territory. I can't promise you'll be safe there, hunters are immoral creatures. But Alpha Hale is fair and will make sure those who want to stay are welcomed to the best of her ability." He looks at Peter.

Peter eyes him for a moment. "You won't come with me? You could be highly placed in my pack, Honored one."

Stiles shakes his head slowly. "I've still got things I have to find." He tells Peter.

The Emissary shrugs and walks the direction several of his wolves had gone. "Talia knows where to find me, if you change your mind." Peter says. Without a backwards glance, he and his wolves have taken nearly all the former captives and disappeared into the woods.

Scott comes up in front of him, concerned and victorious. "Peter is Talia's younger brother." He says placing a slow careful hand on Stiles' shoulder. "He's a little... off. Which is why he left our pack and made his own." Scott glances off where Peter had left and tilts an unsure smile at Stiles. "I think she'd hoped it would mellow him. Guess we'll see."

"It doesn't matter to me. If- I need to find my community, my family. And if Erica's still with your pack, we need to stop there first. These people deserve the chance to rest somewhere more safe than this camp." Stiles says. He's tired and he wants to go home. He wants to see his Dad again. See his mother's grave again. See Melissa, and Erica, and the kitsune Kira. See Derek, or pay his last respects. "How far from the pack are we?" He asks Scott.

"About a days walk East and two or three more South from there. The only sure route I know is to follow the river then head to the mountains." Scott stares off in the distance. "I should be able to backtrack my own path." Stiles nods.

"Is there anything left to take with us?" Stiles asks as he strides off in the direction of the food supplies. "four days isn't a quick journey." The tugging under his sternum is pulling him the opposite way from his steps, and he stops, turning in the way it wants him to go.

"The food tent is that way. Stiles!" Scott calls after him, but Stiles is moving quickly. There's a covered cage square and dark. Stiles moves close to the flap that pulls away to allow the cage door to open and is surprised by the vicious growl that comes from underneath. His magic is pulsing now, in the rhythm of his heartbeat under his skin and this is where he's meant to be.

He reaches for the flap again and flips it sharply over the top of the cage, opening it to the air. Two pairs of bright golden eyes pierce from out of the darkness within. Scott comes up beside him and visibly startles.

"I didn't hear them. I still can't smell them." He says wonderingly. "Let me-" He pulls the heavy cover off the top of the cage and the two werewolves inside cringe at the sudden influx of light and air.

"Easy." Stiles hums at them. "Easy, it's ok. We're not hunters." The girl, thin and long haired eases up from the furled crouch. She steps cautiously up to the bars and sticks her fingers up through them. her nose follows and she makes a grumbling sound.

"Cora?" Scott whispers. The shifted wolf inside the cage turns to him and blinks her bright eyes. "That's the Alpha's daughter. Her younger. Cora?"

"Boyd!" Isaac shouts from not far away. He runs to the corner, where the male wolf had been grimly baring his teeth. At Isaac's call, the big male shifts and balances on his toes. "It's Boyd. She- they told me he was dead." Isaac says crying softly.

"How long have they been in there?" Harley calls from a good ten feet away. "If you couldn't smell them, what other magics are on the cage walls."

Scott turns to Stiles. "If it's the same kind of magic that got me, only an Alpha will be able to help them." Stiles nods, feeling out of his depth. The magic in his soul has stopped thrumming. This was his mission, where he'd needed to be. But letting out feral wolves, with a four day journey ahead of them. How was he supposed to keep them and everyone else safe.

"We don't have a choice." Stiles says. He reaches for the latch of the cage and pauses. "Scott, you have Cora, Isaac try to keep Boyd. We can't leave them here, the Argents will be coming to kill anything left." He takes a deep breath and flips the latch.

Surprising him, once again, the wolves don't leap out to attack at once. Cora struggles with herself for a moment, before she steps through, calm and collected. She puts a hand out to Boyd, who snarls and snaps at it.

"No." She says, in a higher version of Derek's voice and Stiles feels like he's been slapped in the face. "No, Boyd. There's no need for that." Boyd stops his growling with a short grumble, then skulks out of the cage. Cora turns to Isaac. "He's bitten, not Moon-born." she says, as a fact. Isaac nods. "We've been in there for too long. Him more than me. We'll be ok, but it's going to take Mama to unstick the magic." She says. Stiles isn't sure if she's talking to him or to Scott, because her eyes are on Boyd, who has shoved his face into Isaac's stomach.

"We're heading there now." Scott says. Glancing at Stiles, who is still staring at this girl who could be Derek's twin, Scott gestures at the people standing with Harley. "We have to collect food. Only what we can carry." He gestures at the wolves. "We'll be able to hunt a little, but it's better to keep on the move." Stiles shakes himself out of the daze and nods at Scott's words.

Their band, three werewolves, two Clansmen, two wildlings and Stiles, head out into the dusk of night, leaving the burning remains of the Hunter camp behind them.

* * *

It takes to the next midday for Scott to pull Stiles aside. "We're being followed." He says.

Stiles looks at him and nods. "You can smell them?"

"Horses, and I can hear bird calls." Stiles raises an eye. "Bird calls that shouldn't be heard around here. Bird calls Hunters like to use to communicate."

"Alright." Stiles nods. He glances at their little group. "We'll be less easy to stalk if we split up." Isaac is staring at them, the only one to have heard. Cora and Boyd have been spending each rest stop trying to center themselves with their wolves, trying to break the magic on them.

"I'm thinking the Wildlings know where they're heading." Stiles says. Scott nods. "They've been watching the stars at night and the sunrise each morning." He calls them over, Harley leading the other. "You know where you are." He says.

Harley nods and smiles at him. "We were going to escort you to your pack." She says cheerfully.

"They're not my- look, you need to break off now." She frowns at Stiles. "We're being followed, but we think we might be a less easy target if we break off into small groups." He's not looking at Scott as he says. "I'm the one they want, aside from Peter. I would have killed Kate myself if he hadn't. And I started the riot, they'll take me and stop there." He has no proof of this, except the feeling in his gut that is separate from his magic.

Scott scowls, but holds his tongue. Harley looks at him for a second, before turning to her fellow. "We'll leave as soon as the stars appear." She says, to him and to Stiles. He nods and heads back to the packs of supplies.

Isaac comes over, unable to be ignored anymore. "You can't send me away." He says confident, but almost pleading. "Boyd and I can't find Erica on our own. We-" He looks at Scott. "We haven't been wolves long enough to be able to follow your scent after so many days."

"But I have." Cora says. She's leaning on Boyd's shoulder behind them and even with the feral eyes and beta change over her face, she looks in control. "I'll take Isaac and Boyd, and the clansmen, however long they want to stay." She says. Stiles closes his eyes.

"That works. Because I'll stay with Stiles." Scott says. Matter of fact. Stiles wants to scowl himself, but he honestly hadn't thought he'd gotten away with trying to sacrifice himself.

"If you stay, it'll be a fight. They might not be satisfied with just me and you." Stiles whispers. Scott just looks at him, resolute.

"Alright. We'll break off as soon as the Clans are ready." Cora says. She pats Boyd's shoulder and turns to the people left of their little group.

Stiles wonders how many of them will make it back to Talia's pack, and wishes to all gods- from Mother Earth to Blessed Luna- that they all make it home, wherever that is, safe and sound.

* * *

They break off. Scott and Stiles wait for the wildlings' stars to appear. Harley hugs him before she leaves, and whispers, "You'll be alright, Honored one. Mother Earth watches over you." before she and her kin fade into the brush.

He and Scott break from the wolves, Isaac, and the clansmen and head counter to their path. They leave enough evidence to lead the hunters, hopefully intrigued by their path, away from the main group. Stiles turns to tell Scott that he doesn't need to come with him, but Scott is already looking at him, calm and collected, and the tug of magic beneath Stiles' ribs thumps once, in the understanding of brotherhood.

They make it a day, before Scott tells him he no longer hears or smells anything suspicious. This in itself is suspicious, because up until now, Scott had been able to hear and smell everything about their followers.

"The gifted, the one they have under their thumb that can limit things. It must be him." Scott says and Stiles agrees.

"We'll hope it's that and not that they've turned around to hunt Cora and the others." Stiles says. They pick up the pace, away from the pack and everything Stiles wants to run towards.

The night falls quickly, turning the sky a smothering dark shade. They've come to a meadow. Clear of trees, and most underbrush. They startle a herd of deer, bedded down for the night at the edge of the trees, and the herd stands, panicking, ears flicking towards the trees on the other side. The lead deer, antlered impressively shakes his head and takes off down into the meadow and to the left out of sight.

Stiles has barely a moment to feel somewhat sorry for breaking the quiet of the night, before the whistle of an arrow buzzes past his ear. The twang of string comes from behind him and another arrow imbeds itself not two feet from where the nearest deer had been curled.

In an instant he and Scott run towards the clearing. Archers emerge from the forest in front of them. They're stuck, in the middle of the grassy field, no safe place ahead or behind.

They turn back to back. Keeping an eye on either side. Stiles looks after the path of the Deer. He wonders, idly, how fast he'd have to be to get out of range.

The woman steps out in front of him and he recognizes her. She's no longer carrying a pad of paper, but her brown eyes assess him just as they had when they'd pressed the knife in his hands. The young woman, Allison, Stiles recalls, aims her bow at his head.

"You're a tough boy to follow." Comes a rasping voice from behind him. Stiles resists the urge to turn his back on Allison and glances over his shoulder. "You and the mutt can stand down. We're not here to kill you." He sounds old, and Stiles can imagine the wrinkles on his face. "Not yet, anyways." The hunter's laughter rings from between the trees.

"What do you want?" Scott calls. His claws must be out, because Stiles can hear the lisp of his voice over wolf teeth. "We've done nothing to your tribe."

The forest is silent, holding its breath. The old man coughs roughly, and it echoes into the silence.

"Nothing, Mutt? You've killed my daughter."

Stiles feels his stomach bottom out. "We didn't." Stiles pleads, to the woman, to Allison who helped him once. He closes his eyes and seals his fate. "We didn't kill her. I did."

"You don't have wolf claws that I can see boy. It must have been your pet." The man is coughing again, his words as bitter as dandelion stalks.

"It was me. I'm gifted by Mother Earth." Stiles says quickly, before Scott can say anything. "Let him go. He wasn't involved with what happened to Kate."

The man coughs again, louder and longer. "You don't get to speak her name, Wildling." His voice is gravel and torture and death. Stiles feels a shiver in his chest. His gift thrums once.

Stiles looks again at Allison, her hands twitching on the bow. Hatred fills her face, but her eyes are sad. "Kate Argent took me away from my family, the people I love. She bought me and beat me and took away my gift. She hunted me and so many others, people who hadn't broken any law or code. People who hadn't caused any harm, she took them and broke them." Stiles is looking at Allison, when the shame of truth forms over her face. Her mouth purses, her eyes clasp shut, and the sorrow shifts from inside to out. "She killed and enslaved innocent people. Maybe she didn't deserve to die, but neither did they."

Allison's hands shift on the bow again and she relaxes her arm. "He's right." She says softly. The men and women beside her take their eyes off Stiles and Scott for a second to stare at her. "They're right." She says louder. "Kate wasn't following the code. She was trying to gain strength, and broke many of our laws to do it. She threatened and killed and tortured who she needed to, to keep our family in power." Allison's bow falls to the grass. The people following her lower the points of their arrows and look at each other confused.

"Lies!" Argent screams. He's struggling to breathe through another coughing fit, and Stiles turns slightly to lay eyes on him.

He's pale. White with sickness, sweating and old. Younger than Stiles thought he'd be from the gasp in his voice, but old enough that most Hunter families would have passed the leadership. Male hunters didn't rule into their elder years, when thoughts turned too soft to stand, or too hard to bend.

"Grandpa," Allison says. She's crying. Her voice choked and wet. "Let them go."

"These monsters-" He starts, coughing again and again. "They killed Kate. Your aunt." He's wheezing and struggling with breath. A man, eyes pale as moonlight, steps up behind him, bow not quite dropped, but not quite pointing at Scott or Stiles.

"Gerard, what have you done?" He asks. Gerard Argent makes a garbled sound, mixing with the coughs.

"I've done what I had to. As Kate did." The man with moonlight eyes closes them shut in contemplation.

"The dead werewolves. The gifted slaves, the way Victoria-" he opens his eyes and they seem to glow brighter than any werewolf's. "Father. What have you done?" His voice is terror and stone. Sharp. Obviously, Stiles thinks, he knows what Gerard Argent has done. "You have broken the code of the Argent Tribe. You have conspired to harm those who have not harmed us, and I strip you of your title." The man's voice is cold as the top of a mountain and just as treacherous.

"I second." Allison says, clear and controlled, though when Stiles glances at her, she still seems to be crying.

One by one, the hunters in the clearing and the trees lower their weapons, several murmuring "Witnessed." as they began looking at the younger man.

Gerard screams in anger and anguish. "You don't see the power we could have!" he shouts at his son. "Think of all we could do, with their power and a few gifted slaves!"

"Father." The blue eyed man says sharply. "You bring disgrace to your tribe and your family." He nods to a woman just behind Gerard and the sound of metal shackles clink with the renewal of Gerard's screams. He's taken back through the woods.

Scott turns his head to Stiles and raises an eyebrow. What just happened?

Stiles shrugs, not sure where they stand with the disengaged hunters still surrounding them.

The man steps forward, stopping when he sees Scott's bristling claws. "I am Chris." He says. His bow passes to another hunter and he continues forward unarmed.

Stiles pats Scott's shoulder and steps forward too. "I'm called Stiles." He says. He holds his hands out to the sides slightly, the traditional greeting of one community leader to another.

"Stiles." Chris says. "I can't undo what my kin have done." he starts.

Stiles shakes his head. "No. You can't. You can begin to repay, by calling a tribunal." Chris looks unsurprised. "The hunter tribes must all know what your tribe, your father tried to do." He says. "And must make a pact to never let it happen again." Chris nods.

"Let the wolf go." Stiles continues. "I'll come with you, to answer blood to blood, for Kate's death. But you have to let him go."

"Stiles!" Scott protests. Stiles holds up a hand and the wolf's jaws click shut.

"That won't be necessary." Allison says from behind him. Stiles turns to her. "I will be named Matriarch of the Argents. He was my grandfather, and my father the oldest of the line. I am the eldest female descendent of the last Matriarch and I'll take her place now that Gerard has been stripped of title." She looks at her father, who nods slightly.

"You'll release me again?" Stiles says, feeling a tug start from his chest. It pulled towards the false dawn, creeping over the horizon.

"I release you." She says formally. "Again." Chris looks like he might protest. A tribunal was one thing, but disregarding the laws of Blood for a hunter was crossing the line. One must answer for the death of a tribe member. "I think there will be a few changes within the Argent Tribe." She says. She levels her chin at her father's complaint, and relaxes slightly when he nods again. "We can't take back what has been done, but for all the days forward, you and your pack will be safe from the Argents. As long as you harm no one."

"I don't come from a pack." Stiles says, "But Scott's pack is lead by Talia Hale. I'll hold you to your word, and so will she." Allison swallows, recognising the name and nods at him.

Stiles turns away from Allison, and faces Scott. "Alright, buddy. Let's go home."

* * *

After watching the Argents turn their backs and head towards their stump city, Stiles makes Scott walk for a few hours, doing his best to hide their trail, before allowing them both to collapse. They sleep for a while, neither keeping much watch, until midday, when Scott finally wakes and yawns loudly enough to wake Stiles.

"Did that seem too easy to you?" Scott says between licking crumbs off his hands. They'd passed most of the food to Cora and Isaac before they'd left, more concerned with ease of speed than sustenance.

Stiles sighs. "Maybe?" He scratches into his hair before he sighs again. "Probably. Either way, we need to warn Talia about the Tribunal. If nothing else, more Hunters in the area would be something she'd want to know." He aches to see her again. Even with the sorrow of seeing Derek's features in Talia's face, he feels a tug towards her that has nothing to do with his magic. Or, maybe almost nothing. The pulse in his chest thrums a few times before sharply stretching into the distance.

"What on earth?" he says, confused. His gift had always been a tug, gentle, if persistent. This was more of a yank, uncomfortable and repetitive. Scott stands beside him and Stiles realises he's already walking. "Grab the-" he says, waving at the small bundle of items they'd brought with them. He's walking quickly, Scott hard pressed to keep up without breaking into a jog. "I don't know what it's doing." Stiles confesses at Scott's look. "My gift isn't usually able to take over my body."

* * *

They walk for days. turning this way and that in the forest. Stiles gets a few hours of sleep each day, his gift seeming to calm as the sun breaks over the horizon. As the sun moves above and behind them, the yank becomes fierce again and they're on the move. Stiles is beginning to wonder if it's his gift's way of maturing, though he's past the age of maturity.

They break into a copse of trees, just before dawn, when the yank becomes a gentle tug again. Stiles takes a full breath of the cold night air for the first time in what feels like a long time when Scott, also taking a breather, suddenly shoots his nose in the air. "I think..." he says, wandering quickly in the direction they were heading. "I know where we are." He says a minute later. "The pack comes here towards winter, because the game is better." He turns to Stiles and grins. "Stiles! We're almost home!" He sees the frozen look on Stiles' face and his grin falls. "The pack. We're almost to the pack."

Stiles forces a smile. "Good. I can't wait to see Melissa again." He stutters for a moment. "And Derek's..." His eyes close and he feels Scott's arm around him.

"Whatever happened. You know you have a home with us." Scott says softly. It's the complete certainty of that, which gives Stiles the energy to stand taller.

"I can't wait." He says.

Another day, and they reach the camp by the river. Or where the camp should be. Scott's nose is in the air again, as Stiles looks at the remnants of the encampment he'd grown to love. Only a few weeks had passed, since he'd thrown himself over the waterfall with Derek. The birch trees over in the distance, the last place he'd felt truly happy. The camp is still and quiet, and Stiles despairs for a moment.

"They've moved to the summer place." Scott says. He's joyous. Finally on the track towards family and home. "It's a few hours and we'll be back!" Stiles nods woodenly and goes to refill his water skin from the river.

Somehow, he finds the place. He's seeing Erica again, the ghost of blond hair and sad, desperate eyes. The flinch after the bang of the gun. The cold rush of water over his face. Scott knocks him out of it, placing his own hands over Stiles where they're still submerged in the water.

"Not long now." He murmurs and Stiles nods.

* * *

Scott straightens two hours from the abandoned encampment. "I can hear something." He says quietly. He's listening so hard he nearly trips on a root. Stiles grabs his arm and steers him, the pounding in his chest suddenly from more than his gift.

"Something?" Stiles asks, barely daring to hope.

"Someone!" Scott says. "They're howling for us!" The shift over takes him and the sound that comes from his throat is as loud as it is cheerful. "We're almost there!" He says.

Stiles bites his tongue and says nothing. Wishing he knew what he was doing. Wishing he had the guts to tell Scott to go on without him.

It's not ten minutes later, that Scott stops in his tracks. He's been listening to howls that are faintly growing closer. Close enough for Stiles to hear also. There's a howl much closer than any other Stiles had heard before and Scott's breath stutters out. "Stiles."

A black wolf sprints towards them from the trees. Stiles, had he not been somewhat warned by Scott's joyous expression, would have been very much afraid at this huge creature. It's fur is ink black, the kind the Mahealani clan have traded with. The wolf's eyes are a stunning blue and Stiles, very briefly, can't breathe. "Derek?" he asks, voice not more than the wind. The wolf bowls into him and he's thrown into the ground.

The wolf slides its tongue over his face and its nose into his hair and pushes its forehead to Stiles, and Stiles is still not sure, until he looks into the eyes again. "Derek." He says, choked with laughter and tears. His hands go into the wolf's, Derek's, ruff and pull himself as close to Derek's body as physically possible. "Derek." He says again, fur coating his wet cheeks.

Abruptly, Derek is man shaped again and kissing Stiles, with tears of his own. "I'm sorry." Derek's beautiful, Earth gifted voice says into Stiles ears. "I would have come to you. I would have found you. The Alpha told me to be patient. She said she called to you, through Luna, and that you were coming, but I didn't want to wait." He pulls back a few centimeters, and looks into Stiles' eyes with his human multi-toned ones. "I'm sorry. I should have found you anyways." He breathes into Stiles' space and says, "I love you."

Stiles kisses him again and again, his hands holding Derek's face. "I love you, Derek." He says, laughing and crying again. "I thought I would never see you again."

It goes on for a few more moments, before a gentle clearing of a throat pulls them into the surroundings. Mostly into the fact that Derek is sitting, naked and public, in Stiles' lap. Derek turns an evil eye on Scott, before shifting into a full wolf again and curling up on Stiles' lap. Stiles hugs him until the rest of the welcoming committee arrives.

Talia kneels next to him and hugs him. "I called on Luna to find you. You were only close enough to hear a few days ago. I knew you were coming." She whispers.

"It took us a long time to get here," Stiles says, looking at the pack, Laura, Melissa, Noshiko and Cora behind Talia's shoulders. "We made it home."

* * *

Stiles's reunion with the pack is sweet and crazy and exactly what he needed after his time in the Argent Camp. No one looked at him like he knew what to do next. No one needed anything from him. He was able to sit with Derek, now clothed, by the bonfire and relax into the atmosphere of the pack.

"I love it, here." He says, looking into the stars and then into Derek's beautiful, alive, eyes. "I love being here with you."

"I love you." Derek says, kissing the top of Stiles' head. "But I know you'll never be fully content, here." Stiles shakes his head.

"I can be. I can learn to be. I missed you and I love you too much not to be." He feels like it sounds true to his ears, but his heart must give something away, because Derek just looks at him. "I'll always love my family, and I'll always miss my Father. But I will be happy, here, with you." Stiles leans his forehead into the spot on Derek's neck where it fits them together perfectly.

"I thought you could be. Until I thought I'd lost you." Derek says. His breathing is even, but Stiles can hear something in the tone of his voice. "I thought you were gone forever, I was stuck, in the ruins of my pack's camp, and you had been taken. I love you, I will always love you, until Luna fades away, but losing you like that," He shudders and presses his chin more firmly to the top of Stiles' head. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Stiles blinks for a moment. "I'm not leaving you, so I don't know where that leaves us." He says. He's quiet, terrified that Derek will ask him to leave, terrified that he'll ask him to stay.

"Stiles, I've talked to the Alpha. She's sent messengers to some of the nearby packs, asking about communities that are still missing Honored ones." Stiles' heart pounds and stutters. "She thinks she's found yours. She gave me her blessing to go with you and find your family. Become part of it, if you'll have me." Derek's heart is matching him, thud for thud.

Stiles presses his face into Derek's throat more firmly, leaving wet streaks down the tawny skin. "Stiles?" Derek asks, concerned.

"Yes. Please. Yes." Stiles says into his chest. Derek's arms curl firmly around him and they sit until the fire goes out, until the other revelers have left for their tents, until they're left with the moon as their only companion.

If she and the stars shine particularly bright that night, well, Stiles will take it as Luna's Blessing.

* * *

Epilogue.

They leave at dawn. The Pack had all said their goodbyes the evening before, under the moon, as many of the traditional ways of the Luna blessed require. Derek's reason for leaving the pack isn't unheard of, just unusual, and necessitated the use of blessing rituals to give him strength and luck on his life path.

They left under they eye of the Alpha, still up, apparently, as the luck was conditional on the Alpha's strength. Stiles threw her an only slightly nervous wave, as Derek bowed in the lupine fashion, throat bared and eyes averted.

He'd been adamant on packing lightly, trusting in the luck from his Alpha to get them where they needed to go. Stiles carried the majority of the supplies, while Derek carried the important things from his life with the pack.

Noshiko had supplied them with several herbs, good for healing and trade. Laura with a set of hand knit scarves, the chill of fall creeping up on them all in this region. Cora sent them off with a kiss on the cheek and a four petalled leaf, she'd said Isaac told her brought luck. She told them she'd searched for hours among the grassy patches for two of them, so they'd better bring more than luck.

Erica was the only one of the new members who didn't see them off. She'd been quiet and avoiding since Stiles had returned, or maybe before that. It came to a head several nights after he'd joined up with the pack and pulled her off to have a long stilted talk about fault and blame. She'd avoided them both less, and Derek had taken to her quickly, forgiving her trespasses for the ones she'd called family. She hadn't been able to see them off, because of the awful morning sickness brought on at all times of day. She'd learned to sleep when she could, bracketed by Isaac and Boyd.

Scott joined them for a while, kissing Kira goodnight after the jaw cracking yawn had startled her into fox mode just before dawn. He walked with them down to the lake a few hours out of camp. Then he'd set up a fishing pole, pulled out a set of breads fresh from Melissa and bid them swift fortune. Derek had rolled his eyes, but Stiles ruffled Scott's hair and turned so the sun was on their left.

They made their way for several days, walking in the sun and laying together under the moon and stars. Wondering whether Stiles' families were happy, whether they'd gone north for the summer, whether Derek's pack would change their routes, now that the River camp was full of so many bad memories.

They stop at the top of a tall hill. Derek leads him up the narrow path until he can see over the edge. "That's the Argent fortress. The one Kate had you."

"That's where we first met." Stiles says, making a kissy face at his love. "Best day of my life."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Do you remember how long you travelled to get here?" He asks, gently. "Do you remember where the sun was? or the Stars?"

Stiles nods and tells him all he remembered. They set off, giving the Argent settlement a wide berth. Stiles had told the pack of the Argent's promise, but no members were willing to test it.

Stiles doesn't see anything familiar. Not until the sixth day of travel, when the mountain in the distance as something of a familiar shape.

"I think we were by that." He tells Derek. "We didn't really move by landmarks, when I was leading." He looks down at his stomach. "I mostly just followed my gift. It lead me where I needed to go." He pokes at it now. "I'm not sure why it's not doing that now."

Derek tilts his head. "Could be a conflict." He says considering. "Luna is the one my pack shows for. Maybe She's leading us where we need to go through luck and her blessing. Maybe Mother Earth is taking a break for a while."

"But I'm not an Emissary." Stiles says instantly. "I'm ruled by Earth, and my gift should be too."

"But you're part of the pack." Derek says expectantly. "You are both Earth and Luna blessed. Maybe they have to give each other a break when it comes to you." He teases. Stiles throws a pebble at him. "Hey! Do you have a better idea?" He asks laughing. The look isn't familiar on Derek's face. Even before the attack, Derek had been more of a smile enigmatically, if at all, kind of wolf. Stiles loves what laughter does to Derek's face.

They head towards the mountain, walking well into the night. They rest, as even Luna's light has faded to make walking unwise. Stiles is up, listening to Derek's soft snores, when the feeling under his ribs warms gently and tugs in the direction they'd been going. He smiles and falls asleep to the familiar feeling of nomadic movement.

When Derek wakes them in the morning, it's with a soft growl. "Someone is coming." he says under his breath. Stiles is awake immediately, his stomach tense, and still pulling.

"I think-" Stiles says, rolling to his feet. Before he can say anything else, soft footfalls bring a person into view.

Stiles blinks and holds his hand out to stop Derek. "It's-" He says, and then he's across their little camp and into the arms of his father.

"Tata," Stiles says, his voice ragged and watery. Noah is looking a little bedraggled too, shocked and amazed and a little like he'd just seen a ghost. "I got lost." Stiles says. Noah chokes on a breath and reaches for his son, pulling him tightly into his chest.

"It's ok, Stiles, you found us."

* * *

They celebrate with the Community's traditions this time. There is the playing of instruments, the laughing of children (some new to Stiles, since when he'd left the only children old enough to run around had been the twins, who were now too old for all that little kids stuff), the continued hugging of Stiles, Noah, and Derek too.

Noah and Derek are fast attached. Noah finding the story of Derek saving Stiles from the Argent Fortress more thrilling than Stiles helping Scott find the perfect courting gift for Kira, or Stiles rescuing Laura from the beehive. (Stiles doesn't tell his father about Kate Argent's death, or the way he'd leaped into the river after Derek had been shot. His father doesn't need a heart attack.)

The families have changed little since Stiles last saw them. Lydia had decided to accept Jackson's proposal, and was currently showing with child, which Stiles would not have foreseen with any gift from Mother Earth. Stiles suspects Lydia's child, (he's pretty sure a girl, but it's just a gut feeling) will be the next leader of the community. They'd gained a few new members while travelling. Stiles usually vets them very carefully, but he trusts his father had asked all the right questions. He's sure Liam will make a wonderful addition, but he's not completely set on Marin just yet.

Stiles takes the few weeks between his reunion with his father and the next full moon, to woo Derek with his family's traditions. Derek catches on about the time Stiles skins a rabbit and roasts the meat with special herbs he'd spent two days looking for. The fur had gone with another to make a soft pillow for Derek to sleep on. Well, mostly for Stiles to sleep on, since he loved cuddling with anything soft and warm, but Derek didn't mind.

Two weeks before the full moon, he feels a tug above his belly button. He sits up from where he'd been resting his head on Derek's stomach as the wolf lay in the warm sun. Derek didn't spend much time in his wolf form, the community didn't mind, but the children loved Derek and spent more time with him than at their chores. It was as he sat up, that he realized Derek was happy here. Happy in the way Stiles would never have really been with the Hale Pack. He put a hand over his gift and grinned at Derek.

"It's time to move."

* * *

The party took place beneath the full moon, joining Derek and Stiles. The community stood on one side, the Pack on the other for the ceremony. Noah said the traditional nomadic blessing of the Community, about duty and love and honoring the path of life. Talia said something equally as traditional for the Pack, about strength and trust and loving with loyalty. Both Derek and Stiles teared up during their parent's speeches, but neither so much as Scott, who had to excuse himself after the ceremony to clean his face.

Luna made her best showing, bright and beautiful. Touching each attendant's face with a loving hand. At the end of the night, as she fell back beyond the horizon, Stiles took Derek's hand and formally moved to begin their lives together. With the Hale pack and the Stilinski Community moving in constant rhythm, neither was ever too far away from the other.

And they all lived happily ever after.