Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All the other ones
Never made it this far
They all were dust
When they saw what you are...

You got me brainwashed
You got me so lost
You got me fucked up
Like you...

And if you lie down with wolves
You learn to howl

-----

Winter

“Master Hale?”

Derek looked up from the stack of reports on his desk, his eyes almost crossing as he focused on the maid standing at the door. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Yes, Penelope?” He wondered if his weariness was evident in his voice.

“Lord Hale has requested your presence in his study.”

Derek glanced out the window and saw night had fallen. He turned back to the young girl. “Thank you, Penelope.”

She dipped her head and ghosted away just as silently as she’d appeared.

Derek stood with a groan and stretched, hands pressed against his lower back. The reports were only supposed to take a couple of hours but he’d managed to get sucked into the details of a particularly macabre scene found after a witch realized her lover was running around on her.

The report ended with the witch being caught by his uncle’s men and put to death, of course. The nightmare was cleaning up the aftermath of the destruction she’d caused while trying to get away.

Derek shook his head as he made his way to Peter’s study. As he passed the paintings in the hall, he glanced up at the stern faces of his past family members. Hunters, all of them, from a long line.

As he approached the end of the hall, he reached out and gently stroked the frame on his sister’s portrait, staring up at her face portrayed so seriously despite the fact that she’d almost always been smiling, feeling the familiar wave of anguish threatening to engulf him.

Laura Hale, 78^th Matriarch

Derek still heard the last part of the inscribed phrase in Laura’s sarcastic tone. Three years after and he could still hear her laughing as the portrait painter scolded her for moving so much.

Closing his eyes to center himself, he blew out a slow, quiet breath before pushing open the doors to the cozily lit room beyond.

Peter sat in the large chair by the fire, a cup of tea cooling, ignored, on a small table by his left hand. The crystal glass filled with dark red liquid in his right hand had plenty of attention as Peter inhaled the aroma of his wine before taking a generous sip. He raised an inquiring brow at his nephew.

“You requested to see me?” Derek reminded him softly, his hands clasped loosely at the small of his back, feet spread as he unconsciously stood at partial attention.

“Ah yes.” Peter smirked and swirled his wine around idly. “Whittemore and Daehler found a human in one of the traps in the forest while on patrol today.”

Derek’s eyebrow rose. “I fail to see the importance. Unless the human was killed by a monster.”

Peter tipped his head in agreement. “Indeed, it’s not a very important discovery. However, this boy bears the mark of the Argent pack.”

Derek’s other eyebrow met the first and he felt his breath freeze in his chest.

The Argent pack…

“What would you like me to do?”

Peter’s smirk faded to something softer, almost like affection. “I’d like you to speak to the whelp. He’s little more than a child. He’ll most likely respond better to you than I.”

Derek fought not to wince. He’d gotten more than his share of criticism for his delicate treatment of monsters in the past, especially from Peter, though this boy was likely to be a lot less difficult to manage.

“I’d like for you to get the location of the rest of the pack. They can’t be far off. He’d only been in the trap for a couple of days and they wouldn’t leave a human pack member alone for too long. He was most likely on a scavenging journey. He’s in the interrogation room. Inform me of what you discover.”

Derek nodded, taking the dismissal for what it was, and quietly exited the study as Peter stared into the flames and rubbed the claw marks that marred his left cheek and jaw.

When Derek reached the hallway, he finally let out the breath that was stuck in his chest. It felt like a sob. He sagged against the wall, eyes closed, for a brief moment before he stood and squared his shoulders, striding toward the entrance to the bottom chambers.

As he hit the bottom of the stairs, the dampness in the air made him shiver. He exchanged a nod with the men stationed at the entrance to the hall and walked quickly past the doorways of rooms holding various creatures: the kelpie growling in the tiny tub of water in the first room, the hob babbling incoherently and bound in iron in the third room, the dryad keening face down, fingers dragging again and again across the cold stone floor in the fourth room.

The gagged and drugged banshee that the patrols had found months ago twitched on the straw mattress in the ninth room, her eyes rolled back in her skull, thin hands hooked into claws with the force of her convulsions.

The rooms went on and on. They hadn’t been there when Laura was alive.

At the end of the hall he nodded to another guard who opened the door to the interrogation room.

The first thing Derek noticed was the boy had large amber brown eyes. Huge eyes that almost dominated his face from that angle, framed with dark lashes that fluttered at him as the boy shivered on the floor against the wall attempting to make himself as small as possible.

The second thing he noticed was the boy was dirty. Very dirty. Most likely from the trap he’d been found in, the leg snare Derek figured, even though Peter hadn’t mentioned what type.

Mud dried and flaked off in patches on his left forearm, caked into the front of his sleeveless rough-hewn tunic and threadbare pants, up from his bare feet all the way to his knees, a dark streak painting the right side of his neck and continuing up into his clumsily cut brown hair - clearly he’d done it himself with a knife and perhaps no reflective surface, though judging by his appearance, a pond or puddle could have done just fine for him.

Derek realized a lot of the spots he assumed to be mud were actually moles that dotted all along the boy’s skin.

Derek watched as the boy studied him back in silence, his eyes slowly raking from Derek’s hastily patted-down dark hair to his well-loved black leather boots, avoiding Derek’s eyes, sitting with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He stared hard at the crescent-shaped insignia picked out in silver and green sewn onto the dark gray fabric over Derek’s heart, a slight frown wrinkling his brow.

The boy had to know about the Hales if he was part of the Argent pack. He’d likely freeze up, refuse to tell Derek anything and then he’d have to hand the boy over to someone who wouldn’t just ask questions.

Like Peter.

“What’s your name?” Derek asked in a soft voice so as not to startle the now quivering boy. He leaned against the wall next to the door and kept his posture relaxed, non-threatening.

“St… Stiles,” the boy whispered with his eyes trained on the floor in front of his feet now.

“Stiles. That’s an interesting name. Did you pick that for yourself?” Derek murmured, going to the small table placed in the corner and pouring himself some water from the pitcher there. He kept his blatant attention away from the boy, Stiles, but watched from the corner of his eye as he licked his cracked and bleeding lips, staring at the cup of water in Derek’s hand.

“Yes.” The reply was the slightest bit louder than the previous one.

Derek refilled the cup and pulled the chair next to the table to the middle of the room. He placed the cup of water halfway between the chair and Stiles’ place on the floor before sitting and leaning back in the chair.

Stiles stared at him, though still not in the eyes, lower lip gripped in his teeth as he waited for Derek to do something else. When Derek motioned to the cup, Stiles flinched at the motion of his hand. Derek slowly lowered his hand and placed both hands palm up on his thighs.

Stiles blinked at him as if surprised he hadn’t struck him. Now that he was closer, what skin Derek could see that wasn’t covered in mud looked to be marked with new bruises and old scars. The raw, angry looking red line across the meat of Stiles’ left shoulder and down his bicep showed where Whittemore and Daehler had tested for silver reaction and healing.

The testing didn’t account for the bruising around the boy’s wrists and neck, nor the scratches or small cuts along his forearms and across the left side of his face. A busted lip, a long dark red bruise on his cheekbone… Derek felt bile rise in the back of his throat.

Derek inclined his head this time, motioning that Stiles should take the cup. The boy stared at the cup and tentatively unwrapped his right arm and reached slowly for the cup, eyes flicking up to check that Derek wasn’t moving.

Derek sat perfectly still, his breathing easy and gentle and deep. He fought a smile as he heard Stiles match his breathing to Derek’s without realizing it.

Stiles pulled the cup to his mouth and held it with both hands, skinny fingers wrapping around the cup as he pressed it to his lips and closed his eyes. He started slowly drinking but ended up throwing his head back and draining the water, some of it dribbling out of his mouth and running down his neck, cutting a trail through the dirt and grime. He let out a gasp and sat back against the wall with his eyes closed for a moment longer before opening his eyes and looking right at him.

“Thank you.” His voice was louder, probably close to what it usually sounded like. “I haven’t had anything to drink in a while.” He dragged his fingers against the side of his neck, smearing the mud and the water together.

“You could’ve drunk some before now,” Derek informed him, still soft-voiced but speaking at a more regular volume level.

Stiles’ lips twisted in a tiny, ugly smile. “I know better than to trust Hunters.” He sat with his knees drawn up again but kept his arms propped on his knees versus wrapping up again. His head tilted slightly to the side as he peered at Derek, eyes flashing. “What do you want with me?” He frowned. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was just picking berries.”

Derek ‘hm’ed and leaned his chin on his left hand, elbow on knee. “I believe you.” He smiled. “While you were picking berries, where was your pack?”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed minutely. “Close.”

“Oh? Are they still close?”

Stiles snorted. “How would I know?” He gestured to his face and wiggled his fingers. “Don’t really have a bunch of extras so I can’t really keep track of them.”

Derek clicked his tongue. “But they know where you are.” He didn’t ask - he knew that if the pack knew Stiles had been taken, they’d surely tracked his scent and knew he was being held here. “Especially with your pack mark.”

Stiles scowled at him and put his hand over the cut on his left arm.

Now that he was really looking, Derek could see that the testing line ran right through the middle of a leafless tree picked out in scars.

“If it’s damaged, who says they’ll be able to find me?” Stiles whispered hotly as he tightened his hand over the line.

“They shouldn’t have cut through your mark. The mark… I know it’s important,” Derek murmured. Stiles shrugged, staying silent. “I think they’ll still be able to find you.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Stiles hissed. He glared at Derek. “But they won’t come for me. The good of the pack outweighs my worth.” There was a tiny smug smile curled on his lips.

Derek smiled back. “Are you the only human in your pack?”

Those amber eyes flashed again and Stiles frowned hard at him. “No,” he answered slowly like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to say.

Derek felt his eyebrows rise. “Really?” He leaned back, mulling that over. The information on the Argent pack was as thorough as they’d been able to make it - clearly they’d missed some vital bits. “How many are there?”

Stiles shrank back. He wrapped himself into a ball again, face turned away as he whispered, “I don’t want to talk anymore.” He let out a whimper and pleaded, “Please just let me go.”

Derek tamped down his sympathy and cleared his throat, rising from the chair. “I can’t do that.” He moved the chair back to its original place. “But we can stop talking for now.” He didn’t look at Stiles, instead heading for the door and speaking through the window to the guard. “I’m done for now. We’ll place him in ten.” The man nodded and trotted down the hall to relay the order to the other two guards.

“Ten?” came the soft lilt of Stiles’ voice.

Derek looked over his shoulder and nodded. “You’ll have a mat and a chamber pot. They’ll bring some food for you in the morning.”

Stiles raised his head, pinning him with his suspicious gaze. “You’re going to feed me?”

Derek shrugged. “We don’t want you to starve.”

Stiles snorted again and shook his head.

Derek waited for him to fire off a comment that showed the sarcastic spirit he’d gotten a glimpse of but Stiles remained silent, moving his eyes to stare at the floor again. Derek waited until the guard returned with another man and they opened the door. Derek motioned to Stiles to stand when the boy looked at him curiously.

Slowly, like every muscle in his body ached, Stiles rose to his feet with assistance from the wall. He shuffled past Derek, his arm brushing against the line of his body. Stiles’ eyes flicked to the door across the way from his and gulped at the sight of the banshee within, his skin going paler underneath the mud.

The banshee let out a shriek through her gag and Stiles jumped, flinching his way into the cell when the guard reached for him and keeping his back to the door as the other guard locked it behind him.

Derek stood for a moment as he watched Stiles look around the room, staring again at the mud all over him. “I’ll send some extra water down.” He bit his lip, unsure as to why he’d made the offer, as Stiles turned around and looked at him, head tilted as if puzzling something over.

Derek let him stare in silence for a few moments until he became uncomfortable at the gaze and shifted to leave. He’d almost gotten all the way to the end of the hall when he heard Stiles whisper.

“Thank you.”

Derek didn’t stop. He hadn’t done anything to be thanked for. And he wouldn’t be doing anything. Nothing at all.

-----

Derek slept for a few hours before being roused by the loud clang of his fireplace grate hitting the floor. He was sitting upright, crossbow aimed at the blonde girl who stood frozen in place, eyes wide and staring at him, with her hand out towards the grate before he even realized what he was doing.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out if he knew who she was. No, never seen her before. “Who are you?” he barked, blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes.

She made a wheezing sound before clearing her throat and dropping into a tiny curtsy. “Erica, my lord. I’m-I’m sorry. I was just going to light the fire for you and my hand slipped.” Her voice was throaty and deep but carried an undertone of fear.

Already tired of being spoken to like he was a monster, Derek ‘humf’ed and dropped the crossbow to the bed beside him. Rubbing his hands over his face, he sighed. “Fine, it’s fine. What’s the hour?”

Now that she wasn’t likely to be shot, she smiled at him and resumed her fire-building. “Just after seven, milord.” She stood back from the budding flames and placed the grate in its proper place. “Shall I tell the cooks to prepare something for you?” She looked at him meekly, hands clasped in front of her apron.

“Yes, but I’ll eat in the hall.”

“As you wish.” She dipped another curtsy and whisked out of the room on silent feet, just as quiet as the rest of the staff.

Derek flopped back against his bed, wondering where his usual maid Sarah had gotten off to - she’d been taking care of his chambers for years.

Putting it from his mind, he groaned and rolled sideways to his feet, shuffling to relieve himself before stumping his legs into clean pants and pulling a shirt and tunic over his head. He hissed as his feet hit cold stones when he stepped off the rug and he quickly pulled on stockings and his boots.

When he slumped into the hall, Peter raised a glass at him but made no move to start speaking to him. Neither of the Hale men were pleasant-tempered in the morning. He sat at his place at his uncle’s right hand and gestured to the manservant waiting at the side door. The man placed a plate filled with food and a cup of steaming tea by his right hand. Derek nodded his thanks and dug in, refusing to think about anything else until he’d finished.

Peter finished before he did but just waved at Derek to finish before they spoke. Derek obliged then leaned back with his hands wrapped around his cup, relishing the warmth leaking into his fingers as several servants cleared the plates from the table, leaving only another pot of tea and the necessaries before stepping back to their stations along the wall.

Peter tipped his own tea at Derek and smiled. “What did you learn?” he asked without preamble.

Derek frowned, thinking over his and Stiles’ conversation from a few hours ago before he spoke. “You were right - he really is barely more than a boy.” Peter nodded, waving his hand for Derek to continue as he sipped his tea. “He’s clearly starving. He said he was picking berries when he was caught in the snare. The pack must not be doing well with winter starting.”

Peter smiled, his teeth flashing. “Good,” he purred.

“He seems meek. Answers questions easily enough.” Derek shrugged, fighting off the idea of having to resort to more intense measures of questioning. “He should be easy to break, given the right kindnesses. He seems like one that would clam up during torture.”

Peter shot him a pleased smile. “Wonderful. Be sure to use that beautiful face to our full advantage. Keep me updated.” He drained the last of his tea and rose from the table, leaning in to whisper something to one of the serving girls as he passed.

Unsure if it was for something sexual or something mundane - and really not caring either way - Derek put it from his mind and thought about the task at hand.

Stiles was clever. Stiles was human, but he had wolfish qualities and he was strong from running with a pack for a long time - a very well-known pack, if not for the best of reasons.

Laura – “three years older, Derek, and now I’m ten so that means I’m old enough but you’re still too little” - and Peter had left for Laura’s first hunting trip before the sun came up.

Upon waking and seeing she was gone, Derek scowled and ambled over to his cousin’s home, choosing to play with the other children she kept watch over instead of staying home with mother and the Creature.

Derek was convinced the screaming would never stop. For something with such tiny lungs, his baby sister never shut up.

When he heard the bells, Derek’s head snapped up and he ran to the window. He heard shouts, the baying of dogs, and snarls.

Even raised by hunters and being told to stay put and be safe if something happened, Derek’s instinct to get to his mother overshadowed everything else. He ran from the house, slipping through his cousin’s clutching hands, and pounded down the lane to his home, sides aching and breath coming in painful hitches as he slid in something wet and hit the ground hard just inside the doorway.

Raising his hands, he saw his palms covered in red.

He looked over, feeling everything slow down, to see his mother’s sightless blue-green eyes, eyes that he’d inherited from her, staring at the ceiling. Her beautiful wave of dark hair fanned around her head was soaked with blood. He keened as he crawled over to her, fingers gently stroking the skin of her cheek that was quickly growing cold.

Derek avoided looking at the red ruin that was his mother’s neck and instead looked over to where the baby should have been sleeping in her bassinet before turning the other way and throwing up so violently he could feel his stomach muscles ripping and his vision whited out.

His limbs felt like loose string and he dropped, pressing close to his mother. His hand pushed against her ribs where he should have been able to feel her heartbeat.

Pleasepleaseplease, he begged and closed his eyes, desperately wishing to feel something against his palm other than fading warmth.

He lost all sense of time.

His cousin found him at some point and pried his hands from his mother’s blouse. As she carried his limp body over to where his sister sat gazing at nothing, her cheeks red and wet, he caught whispers of conversation.

“Almost fifteen of them… the Argent mark… burn the remains…”

Laura saw him and jumped up, sobbing as she pulled him close, and clutching at him so hard it broke through his numbness.

He raised his arms and squeezed back, his legs buckling and sending them both into a kneeling heap of tangled limbs as Derek started sobbing.

He looked up and saw Peter standing above them, staring down as he held a cloth to the side of his face, pressing hard against the freshly bleeding claw marks there. His mouth was tight, his blue eyes cold as ice. He trailed the fingers of his free hand through Derek’s hair and closed his eyes at the blood on his fingers.

Talia’s blood.

Peter clenched his hand so tightly it shook. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around both of them.

When Derek came back to himself, he stood panting in one of the indoor gardens, sweat-soaked and muscles shaking. Vegetable garden, he noted, his inner voice almost sounding far away as he stared at the plants that were living even with the cold creeping in with every passing day.

He forced himself to slow his breathing, pulling himself to stand straight as he wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed his ribs. Muffled sounds came from the tiny kitchen door nearby and he focused on the hypnotic lull of voices rising and falling.

Stiles was just a human. But he was part of a pack of werewolves. A pack of killers.

Derek sighed. He’d learn what he needed to – do what he was expected to do by his uncle. He’d glean information that they could use against the Argents. Then he could forget all about the foolish human who ran with wolves.

-----

Derek tried to speak to Stiles again that night and the night after that, but the boy didn’t even acknowledge him as he stood in the doorway of Stiles’ cell.

He stared ahead blankly, head back against the stone and eyes empty. He was still covered in mud and the tray of food sitting untouched, though the water was gone.

Derek checked back, sent bathing water and food down, each night with no change. On the eighth day, Derek brought down some of his old clothes – a long-sleeved shirt, tunic, and pants – and pushed them through the space at the bottom of the door. He left without attempting to speak to Stiles at all though he did smile softly in his direction.

Still no response.

Though understanding at first, Peter grew more and more irritable with Derek’s reports. After he’d dropped off the clothes, Peter summoned Derek to his study once more.

“Any changes?” he asked, more amicable that the last two days.

Derek was still wary. “No. Still not eating or speaking.”

“Hmm. And why do you think he’s behaving this way?” Peter’s tone was even but Derek felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“I’m not sure. I’ve attempted to speak to him each day, sent down food, even given him some fresh clothing.”

Peter barked a cold laugh. “You are too soft with these monsters, nephew.” He took a deep gulp of brandy. “You allow them far too much freedom. That’s why you’ll never be cut out to lead here. They’re not real people, they don’t deserve your niceties.”

Derek swallowed past the lump in his throat, stuck on one part of what Peter said. “I didn’t want to lead. I still don’t.”

“That’s what you picked up from that… well clearly you weren’t capable then and you haven’t gotten any closer to it.” He waved his hand at Derek. “Get out of my sight. If you can’t get the little freak to speak to you then there are other ways to get information about that damn pack of mongrels.”

“Uncle Peter…”

“I said get out!” Peter snarled, swiping his hand and knocking over his glass of brandy. He stared at Derek, chest heaving with heavy breaths.

Derek stared at him, confused as to who the man standing in front of him was. It was unlike Peter to behave in such a manner, at least not with him. He dipped his chin to his uncle and left the study, closing the door gently behind him.

He stayed up late that night, staring into the fire in his own study and thinking, interrupted only by a servant who entered to take his dirty linens. She curtsied to him and he nodded absently, forgetting about her almost as soon as she’d left.

On the ninth day of Stiles’ confinement, Derek trekked down to the chambers below once more. He nodded to the guards as he passed, as usual, and continued down the hall until he reached the door of room ten.

Stiles again sat against the wall perfectly centered in view of the door. His eyes moved then, flicked up from staring across the hall at the banshee to settle on Derek’s face.

He had new bruises coloring his skin. A lot of them. Derek clenched his hands then loosened them as he forced a smile.

“What can I do for you, Master Hale?” Stiles’ voice was hoarse, like his throat was sore, the tone of his words mocking and cruel.

“I’d like to speak to you.” Derek shrugged as if he didn’t care either way. He tried to make it like Stiles was in charge of whether they conversed or not. At this point, unless Derek wanted to hand him over to the torturers, Stiles was in charge. Though that hadn’t seemed to stop Peter from ordering it, clearly.

He scoffed and stood shakily. “Fine.” He stepped up to the door and waited while one of the guards unlocked it. He turned and walked back to the interrogation room without a fuss.

He did wait until Derek was walking in before pressing through the door at the same time, sliding the front of his body along Derek’s side before walking in and settling himself on the floor against the wall again, sitting tailor-style this time with his legs crossed. His eyes danced in amusement.

Derek swallowed hard, closed the door, and nodded at the guard to lock it behind them. He dropped the panel that kept the guard from hearing what was said in the room and turned back to look at Stiles.

He’d clearly used the bathing water as his skin was now scrubbed, though he was still grimy from his time in the cell. He wore the clothes Derek had brought him except for the shirt, despite the chill. The tunic hung on his shoulders, not quite as muscular as Derek’s, though he was only an inch shorter so the length fit him. He was handsome, Derek decided, in a lean sort of way, not that it mattered.

Derek went to retrieve a cup of water from the table, took it and the chair, and sat in the center of the room, facing Stiles and remaining silent. He studied the moles sprayed across Stiles’ skin and the multitude of scars that he could see now that the mud had been cleaned away.

The previous bruises were more lurid than before, as bruises were wont to be while healing and though the scratches looked better. Except for the one on his pack mark; it was swollen, the skin tight and starting to discolor around the scarred edges of the tree.

Stiles noticed where he was staring and his bitter smile returned. “It’s going to kill me, you know.”

Derek jerked in surprise. “What are you talking about? It was only a cut with a silver dagger. It shouldn’t hurt you.”

Stiles shook his head, his smile now sad. “The pack mark is what keeps me alive.”

Derek shot him a look. “I’m sure it feels that way. The pack bond has been known to be very strong with its human members.”

Stiles snorted. “No, I mean literally. I will die because the bond and the mark have been damaged.” He rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together, peering deep into Derek’s eyes. “You want me to tell you the story?”

Derek nodded and shifted to be slightly more comfortable in the chair. It would be good, could help him glean information on the Argent pack. It also couldn’t hurt to keep Stiles talking and get him comfortable enough with Derek to tell him things.

If he thought he was dying then there’d be nothing left to truly keep secret anyway. Plus he was truly intrigued. Stiles smiled and raised his eyes, looking into the distance above Derek’s shoulder.

“I was born with a problem in my heart. It’s damaged.” He placed his hand against his chest. “The emissary said that I wouldn’t live past my third year. The Alpha at the time decided it wasn’t worth it to try and mark me since I’d likely die and weaken the pack bond.” He scowled but his face smoothed out again as he continued. “My mother was furious but couldn’t disobey him. I surprised everyone when I lived.”

Stiles stared down at his hands, twisting his fingers together as his voice grew lower, choked. “I was five when we ran into a bunch of Wendigos. You know what they are?” Derek nodded. “Before that, the pack had lost some people. The Alpha’s daughter didn’t like the way he was running things, always making us move, never settling down anywhere and claiming a territory. She was crazy, reckless, killing when she didn’t have to… it was bad. The pack wasn’t healthy.” He shook his head, tears running down his face. “We were almost decimated. It was a very close thing.”

He ran his fingertips gently along the tree branches scarred into his skin. “We were running. My heart couldn’t take the strain. I fell, grew weak and… and so dizzy. My mother pulled me away from the fighting and held her hand over my mouth and carved the pack mark into my arm as our people were slaughtered around us. I screamed and screamed and thought nothing in the world could compare to the pain. She pressed her bond onto me, broke her tie to the pack and forced it into my skin. My heart stopped hurting and I could breathe again. She smiled, kissed my forehead. The next second she was snatched away, her wrists and arms bitten open and there was so much blood.”

Stiles stared at Derek. “She gave me her pack mark and then she died. She was bonded to a strong pack member. She probably could have healed from small bites like that. The ones that did it were children.” He hiccuped over a sob. “But she’d already given up the mark. She died.” He shrugged. “After that, we recovered. Slowly. The Alpha was dying so the power was passed down. We burned our fallen, buried the ashes. We ran. We ran and we ran.”

He dragged his hands over his face, wiping away the last of the tears. “We didn’t realize that the pack bond was the only thing keeping me alive until I was twelve. We were ambushed in a marsh by a kanima and its master. It went after Sco-my pack mate. I jumped in front of it and got paralyzed but not really hurt. But the claws messed up the mark.” He pointed to a set of four small divots in his flesh at the base of the tree that Derek had assumed was part of the design. “I almost died. We fixed it, barely in time. Now it’ll happen for real.”

“And you’re okay with dying?”

He shrugged, lines of exhaustion running over his face. “I’ve seen so many places and so many things. Lost so many people. I’ve lived nineteen years. It’s a lot longer than I thought I would get.” He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Derek didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing.

Stiles finally whispered, “I have no idea why I told you all that.”

Derek stared at him, stared at the dark skin under his eyes, the long line of his neck, the bloom of his shoulders down to his spindly hands, the bottoms of his dirty bare feet. He studied the hitched inhale of every breath, the way his skin seemed to be getting paler.

Derek cursed himself and his stupidity. His inability to see this boy and equate him with the pack that killed his family… it was so very, very dumb.

Stiles wasn’t much younger than him, only two years, but something was missing from Stiles’ little tale’s timeline. He wondered when the Argent pack had sent the group that killed his family. He felt like he was going to throw up.

He cleared his throat and stood, moving the chair back to its original place. Stiles looked up at him when he heard the noise. “I have some business to attend to,” Derek informed him. Stiles smiled wearily and Derek was thankful he wasn’t a werewolf to hear the lie in his heartbeat.

“Alright.” Stiles stood and walked towards the door, stumbling over nothing.

Derek reached out and caught him without thinking. Stiles smiled up at him and Derek noticed that his eyes that close were flecked with gold. Derek took a breath and righted him on his feet before letting go and stepping back.

Stiles’ fingers trailed down his arm as they separated, his skin hot with fever, and Derek had to suppress a shiver at the lines of heat.

Derek was sure that Stiles was smirking again as he pressed close to him through the doorway and walked meekly into his cell, resuming his position against the wall. He wiggled his fingers in farewell and closed his eyes.

Derek’s skin prickled and he looked over at the banshee who stared at him with wild green eyes, her bound hands rubbing against the gag mindlessly, not trying to untie it but just stroking her fingers along the cloth. Her red hair was a giant snarl and when she tilted her head to peer closer at him, it shifted like it was alive. Her eyes were piercing and deep.

He looked away and strode off down the hall to head back to his chambers. The stacks of reports on his desk hadn’t gotten any smaller.

He dashed off a quick note to his uncle, mentioning the damage to the pack bond and the effects it was having on Stiles. He also noted the mention of power shifting from the old Alpha, Gerard Derek’s notes provided, and the strength that a human could gain from bonding with a strong enough pack member.

He rang for Penelope and handed her the missive before turning back to his desk.

When he finally fell into his bed hours later, he didn’t dream about Stiles. He definitely didn’t dream of pressing Stiles against the wall, placing his mouth to each and every mark and scar that marred his skin. He didn’t dream about lacing their fingers together and he didn’t dream about the soft sigh that Stiles would make when he finally pressed their mouths together.

Derek woke, feeling strange, as Erica started his fire. He blinked at her grumpily as she quietly and efficiently tidied his chamber before placing his breakfast tray on the table by the chair in front of the fireplace. She dipped her usual curtsy at him and smiled as she turned to leave the room.

“Wait,” Derek mumbled. Erica stopped and turned back to face him, curiosity on her face. “What happened to Sarah?”

She looked shocked that he’d asked. “She became engaged to the carpenter’s son. They married last week and have left to his new appointment in Cedartown.”

“They brought you in for me?” He wasn’t sure it was wise to bring just anyone in for his chambers. He dealt with the majority of the intelligence for the patrols and was his uncle’s right hand, just like he had been for Laura.

Erica smiled. “No, Master Hale, I’ve been here for two months now. Before I was assigned your tasks, I worked in the kitchen and minded the small children. Now I’m here and some in the gardens.”

“Hunh.” He shifted so that he was sitting up against his pillows. “And where do you come from?”

Erica’s smile was less bright. “Actually, not far from here. My parents died and left me penniless. I used to cook and clean for my aunt before I ran off. This is the same work. Except now I don’t get beaten when people are drunk.” She shrugged. “I traveled for a bit but the group I was with split up. It was either a brothel or this.”

Derek stared at her, blinking slowly and wondering if he was still asleep.

Seeing she’d told him too much, too fast, Erica shook her head. “Apologies for my boldness, Master Hale. I’ll leave you to your meal.” She bobbed her curtsy and slipped out of the room.

He shook his head, climbed out of bed, and got dressed for the day before plopping into his chair and inhaling his food. He barely tasted it and he gulped down his tea. He had plans to look in the library for recorded Wendigo sightings fourteen years ago.

Hours later found him at his desk as he flipped through records of sightings, slayings, clean-ups, and other monster information. There had been sightings of a group of Wendigos around the time that Stiles mentioned. They’d attacked a merchant caravan in Westwood, about seventy miles from Hale land, and the few survivors had gone to the local hunters in the area.

By the time the hunters sent out patrols that tracked and caught up with the Wendigos, all they’d found was a bloody scene of slaughter. Derek figured that must’ve been where the fight Stiles told him about happened. Where Stiles’ mother died. He jumped as a tray was placed at the edge of the desk.

Erica smiled softly at him. “You should eat something, Master Hale.” She went and banked the fire then walked around lighting candles before lighting the lamp on his desk.

Remembering Stiles’ mocking tone when he’d said ‘Master’ the night before, Derek frowned. “Just Derek, please Erica.” She looked at him suspiciously. He shrugged. “Sarah didn’t bother with it.”

Erica smiled brightly at him. “Very well, Derek. You haven’t eaten since breakfast. It’s past seven now.” She slid the research back and placed the tray in front of him, showing a firmness Derek wasn’t used to seeing from his chambermaids, though he’d just given her an invitation to be less formal.

He raised an eyebrow at her. She stared back.

When he picked up the bread and took a large bite, she smiled widely. “There you go.” She reached out and patted his shoulder warmly. He looked up at her in shock.

The servants, even when informal, didn’t touch him. Not unless expressly invited, which they weren’t.

She pulled her hand away slowly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. You just remind me of – never mind. I’m sorry.” She turned and hurried from the room.

Derek frowned after her. The touch hadn’t been inappropriate – more like a sisterly pat than anything else. It just… shocked him. He knew the last time someone had done that exact touch to his shoulder.

"Are you alright?” Derek asked, peering closely at his sister.

Laura huffed a little laugh and leaned back in her chair. “I’ll be fine.” She stared into the flames dancing in the grate as Derek poured her some tea. “I’m just so tired, Der.”

He pressed the cup into her hand and sat back in his chair. “Tired? Are you not sleeping well?”

She shrugged. “You know I don’t sleep. But it’s not just that.” She sighed, taking a sip of tea. “I’m tired of fighting this war. The ever-present threat of the Argent pack.” Her words were twisted with bitter weariness.

“You don’t want to pursue them any longer?” Derek didn’t know what to feel. He noticed a fine tremble starting in his hands and clenched them tightly.

"I don’t know if I do. It’s been eleven years, Der, and we really haven’t heard much about the Argent pack. If we ever hear anything, by the time we get there, they’ve already cleared off.” She set her tea cup down and rubbed her eyes. “They haven’t caused any trouble or unrest for eleven years…”

Derek stared at her, unsure of what to say.

To not want to track down their family’s killers…

As if reading his mind, Laura continued. “I miss them. Every day. Mother and… and Cora.” She exhaled shakily. “But the Alpha power has shifted at least once. The reports have come back that Gerard is no longer in charge. The dynamic of the pack has shifted as well. All the reports indicate nonviolence when they’ve been sighted.” She looked over at him. “I just wonder if it’s worth it to keep myself twisted up in hatred and anger. We could move on, Derek. We could continue to fight and to defend people against the bad in the world… but we could also allow ourselves to heal.”

“So you would forgive them for killing our family?” Derek hissed, suddenly angry.

“No. No, I wouldn’t have to. Don’t you understand? The monsters that killed them are dead. Dead! They were killed the same day our family was and they are around no longer. Have you even read anything about that day?”

Derek shook his head, anger giving way to fear. “I don’t need to read the details. I remember just fine.”

Laura scowled at him. “If all you have is the memories of a traumatized child, then no wonder you don’t understand my feelings.”

“You weren’t there!” he shouted. He was standing, breathing hard and staring down at his sister, not caring that she was officially the Hale Matriarch for three years, unofficially since sixteen, or that she was in charge of him.

“I know that!” She flew to her feet and looked up at him. “I know that I wasn’t there! I should have been! I could have kept you from that!” Tears ran down her cheeks and Derek felt part of his anger chip away. “I wasn’t there though. I wasn’t. I wish I could have been.” She stepped close, wrapping her arms around him and holding on until he returned the gesture. He pressed his face against her hair as they held each other in silence. “Just please try to understand.”

They stood in silence for a while.

“When did you get taller than me?” Laura asked suddenly. Her words were muffled against his collarbones and he chuckled wetly at her. “This is preposterous. I’m the eldest. It’s not fair.”

He leaned back and looked down at her, at her eyes so like his own, like their mother’s. “You’ll manage somehow.” He smoothed down the hair of her eyebrow and tweaked her nose. “It’s only fair after the years of picking on me.”

“Ha!” She threw her head back and laughed. “You were so easy. You really did believe anything I said.” She pulled back from him and gulped down the rest of her tea.

“I’m convinced Uncle Peter was tempted to drown us at least once a year.”

“More than once,” Peter chuckled from the doorway. He was dressed in full gear. “Laura, we have to be heading out if we want to get to the council meeting before nightfall.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes at Derek. “Right. Never a dull moment as the Hale Matriarch.” She went to the table where her gear was laid out and started pulling pieces over her plain shirt and pants. “Will you get the rest of the reports drawn up for me on chimeras so I can read them when I get back?” She asked Derek.

He nodded and helped her secure the straps at her elbows. “I’ll have them in time for you to read over them in your bath,” he teased.

She grinned at him and ruffled his hair before tying hers back in a quick braid. “You’re the best.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed softly. “I’ll see you soon.” She strode quickly out the door and Peter threw Derek a wink as he followed after her.

And he did see her soon, just not the way he wanted.

He was startled awake two days later when he heard wailing from the courtyard and ran out to see a grim and bloodied Peter riding unsteadily ahead of a wagon bearing a covered form.

For the second time in his life, he felt like the earth fell from beneath his feet.

-----

“I’ll answer yes and no questions. If you want,” Stiles mumbled from his usual spot on the eleventh day.

Derek frowned. “Why?”

“Honestly? I’m a bit bored sitting here while you stare at nothing and don’t talk. I’ve gotten used to you trying to get me to speak.” Stiles’ smile was playful as he slid down the wall and stretched out, feet nearly touching Derek’s. He placed his right arm behind his head and closed his eyes. “Plus who knows? Maybe you’ll learn what you’re trying to and you can let me go.”

Derek frowned, telling himself to stop before he could think anything to inappropriate about the long, lean line of Stiles’ body. “Fine.” He crossed his arms and thought of the various things he knew and didn’t about packs. He thought about pack representing family. Family. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Yes.” Stiles’ smile made Derek pause.

“Blood related?”

“No.” Stiles quirked his eyebrow and pointed at Derek. “Clever.” He rested his hand against his hip, tapping his fingers against the bone that jutted there and Derek swallowed hard.

“A brother?”

“Mm. Yes.”

Derek had to clear his throat before asking, “A sister?”

Stiles was quiet for a moment. He was clearly aware of Laura’s death. “Yes.”

“Do you like everyone in your pack?” Derek picked at the thread on the seam of his pants.

“Yes.” Warmth filled Stiles’ tone.

Derek could see him almost wriggling in happiness. “All of them?” Derek was doubtful. A person couldn’t like everyone.

“Yes.” Stiles looked over at him. “All of them.” Stiles grinned mischievously. “Do you not like everyone in your pack?”

Derek opted not to answer that. “I don’t have a pack.” Ignoring Stiles’ look of sympathy, he asked, “Is your Alpha a man?”

“Yes.” Stiles let out a laugh and shook his head a little like it was a funny question.

“What?” Stiles shook his head. “Fine. Have you ever had a woman Alpha?”

“No.” He added, “Not while I’ve been alive. Before I was born, yes.”

“You said that the Alpha’s daughter was angry because you didn’t have a territory then.” Stiles hmmed at him. “Do you have a territory now?”

Stiles smirked at him. “Yes.”

Derek smirked at him. “Will you tell me where it is?”

Stiles propped himself up on his elbows and looked up at Derek from under his eyebrows, smile turning slightly predatory. “No,” he drawled, voice low and smooth.

Derek stared at him, watching as Stiles’ tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. “I could make you tell me.” Derek’s voice had grown low too.

Stiles made a sound between a purr and a growl, or the closest he could with his human vocal cords. “Is that so.” He stayed up on his elbows but some switch flipped and his position on the floor became sultry, seductive.

He slithered across the floor and up to Derek, coming up on his knees, his hands placed on the sides of the chair, fingers pressed against Derek’s thighs. “And how, Master Hale, would you do that?” he whispered an inch away from Derek’s lips.

Derek swallowed, his hands twitching where they rested against his thighs. “There are a few ways I can think of.”

Stiles exhaled and his eyes closed as he pressed his hips against Derek’s knees. Derek moved his limbs further apart as Stiles shifted closer, almost chest to chest. “Resorting to threats of torture already? Surely I’ve not been that bad.”

Derek finally let his hands drift where they wanted. He trailed his fingertips up the sides of Stiles’ arms, eliciting a shiver from him and his eyes flew open as Derek leaned forward to say almost against Stiles’ lips, “It wouldn’t be torture, though I can guarantee you’d be begging by the end.”

Stiles made a low sound in the back of his throat that set Derek’s heart pounding. “You’re torturing me already. You’re so beautiful,” he murmured and tilted his head to run his lips along Derek’s jaw.

Derek tipped his head back and settled his hands against Stiles’ shoulders, clenching his fingers as Stiles licked a hot stripe just below his left ear. Stiles raised his hand, trailing it from Derek’s collarbone achingly slow down to his hip.

A loud pounding on the door made Derek jump, though Stiles just sat back on his heels, a wide and innocent expression on his face. Derek scowled at him then stormed to the door, lifting the flap.

“What?” he snapped, clenching his hand in a fist to feel his fingernails cut into his palm in order to calm himself down.

The guard on the other side seemed unperturbed by his angry tone. “It’s the banshee, Master Hale. She’s gotten the gag off and she’s calling for someone. I thought you’d like to know.”

Derek nodded, running a hand through his hair and turning back to Stiles who was already standing and placing the chair where it belonged. He stepped up next to Derek and smiled at the guard who gave him an unimpressed look as he unlocked the door.

Stiles trailed his hand along Derek’s lower back as he walked past him and down the hall into his cell, closing the door behind himself and chatting amiably with the guard who locked it behind him.

Derek shook his head and walked over to the ninth cell. He peered in and saw Morrell leaning over the banshee who had been shackled to the iron hooks along the back wall.

The banshee was alternating between mumbling and making tiny little shrieking sounds then tilting her head as if waiting for an answer. She looked vaguely birdlike and it set his teeth on edge.

It made Derek’s skin crawl but he stepped into the cell. He looked at the banshee but asked Morrell, “What’s she doing?”

Morrell looked up at him briefly but focused back on the banshee. “She appears to be trying to locate someone. There are several problems with this.” Morrell held up her smooth, dark hand with three fingers held up. “First, we don’t know if this person is alive or dead. Second, if this person is alive, we don’t know if this person can answer her back. And third, we don’t know if this person can find her.” She dropped her hand and started fiddling with a bowl and a bunch of dried herbs that she plucked leaves from and ground into a fine powder. “I’m going to sedate her again. I’d rather not take any chances, don’t you agree?”

Derek nodded. “She was calling for someone. Did she say a name?”

The banshee smiled suddenly, as if she’d finally gotten the reply she was looking for.

Morrell tipped some water into the powder and mixed it before grabbing the banshee’s face and wrenching her head back, pouring the mix down her throat.

The banshee gagged, coughing a lot of the mixture up onto her chest and onto the floor. Enough of it must have made it down though because less than a minute later, she sagged in her chains, eyes rolled back once more, mouth hanging open.

“Mostly nonsense and small screams.” Morrell started packing her things, rolling the herbs in paper and wiping the inside of the bowl with a cloth before placing everything back in her bag. She stood and brushed off her robe. “Two names. Genny.” She looked to Derek for some recognition and he shook his head. “And Erica.” Derek shook his head again. “Ah well. If she dies, I’ll cut her open and see if she’s really that different anatomically from a human.” She ducked her chin at him and left, looking mildly hopeful that she’d get to cut the girl open.

Derek looked at the banshee for a moment, studying her limp body, the tear tracks that ran through the dirt on her face. He stared at her but stopped seeing her as he thought over Morrell’s words.

“Genny.” That meant nothing to Derek but… “And Erica.” Erica.

Erica… who started working at the manor right around the time that the banshee had been found in the woods.

Erica who seemed too familiar with Derek after only working with him for almost two weeks.

Erica who knew Derek’s schedule and had complete access to his room…

Derek turned and left the cell, glancing at cell ten where Stiles was actually not against the wall for the first time but curled up on the mattress with his back to the door. He almost stopped to check on Stiles but kept walking, determined to find his chambermaid.

A cursory inspection of his room showed that Erica had already come and gone for the evening. A tray with cold meat and cheese and bread sat by his table, as if she’d known he would take a while downstairs and would need something that would keep.

Derek cursed and headed down to the kitchen. When asking the cooks about her, all he got was confused looks.

“Master Hale,” the head cook looked concerned, “there isn’t anyone that we know named Erica on the serving staff.” The rest of the servants nodded in agreement. “After Sarah left, Rebecca was assigned to your chambers.” She gestured to the mousy girl he’d seen before.

She dipped her head at him. “I’ve been in to tidy and took your cleaning, Master Hale.” He nodded. “The fire has always been lit by the time I get there. I thought you’d been rising early, fetching things from the kitchen yourself.”

Derek frowned then smoothed his face to neutrality, waving his hand in what he hoped was a casual manner. “Of course. I must be mistaken - heard your name wrong.” He smiled at her and she smiled back, a flush rising in her cheeks as she nodded, as if him noting her name - even a mangled version of it - was noticeable.

The cook smiled, relief rushing over her face. “To err is human, Master Hale... I read that somewhere. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Derek shook his head. “No, I don’t require anything else. I believe I’m going to retire for the night.”

“Very well.” She pressed a berry tart into Derek’s hand and bowed to him. “A snack before bed. Sleep well, Master Hale.”

Derek waved to her as he left and headed toward his chambers. He’d just wait for Erica to come and attempt to keep up the ruse in the morning and then he’d get some answers.

-----

Except Erica didn’t appear at dawn like she always did.

Derek sat fuming, sleep deprived, as he stared from his doorway to his cold fireplace and back over and over again. He kept nodding off, jerking awake as his chin hit his chest.

As the patrol called the ninth hour of the morning, Derek gave up waiting for her and headed back down to the basement.

Stiles was back in his usual position, staring across at the banshee with his forearms on his propped up knees, hands hanging loosely. He grinned at Derek when he appeared in the doorway. “Hello there.”

“Speak with me.” Derek motioned for the guard to unlock the door without replying to Stiles’ greeting. He walked into the interrogation room and fetched a cup of water. He heard Stiles walk in, the door shut and lock behind him, and the flap dropped down. He looked over as Stiles drug the chair into the center of the room and bowed at Derek with a flourish.

“Sir, your chair.” Stiles stood and clasped his hands behind his back. “Will that be all, Master Hale? Shall I get your satin pillow so thy dainty rump does not hurt thee while sitting?”

Derek snorted, shaking his head as Stiles distracted him from his frustration. “You are terribly disrespectful.” He sank onto the chair as Stiles sat on the floor and shrugged.

“I’m dying. What do I care?” He did look more tired than before, Derek noticed, a very slight tinge of grey in his skin. “It’s either the slow death through the mark damage or the slow death through torture.” He grinned. “Though I wouldn’t mind the kind of torture you mentioned yesterday.”

Derek felt himself flush. “Ah, well.” He shifted in embarrassment at having said such a thing, especially to a prisoner held in a cell against his will…

Stiles wagged a finger at Derek. “Tsk. Mustn’t take back such a lovely threat.” He coughed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. “Sorry. I’m a little tired today. My hall mate was up all night screaming,” he joked quietly.

Derek sighed. “Yes, she’s been known to do that.” He let the silence sit as he mulled over the Erica situation, wondering where she was, how she was involved with the banshee.

“Would you like to play the question game again?” Stiles asked quietly after a few moments.

Derek laughed. “It’s a game now?”

Stiles shrugged. “Certainly. You’re trying to ask the right questions to get me to tell you things. I’m only answering ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and perhaps a little more… I’m challenged to answer you without answering you.”

Derek laughed. “Alright.” He bit his lip in thought. “Does your pack number larger than ten?”

“Yes.”

“Does your pack number larger than twenty?”

“No.”

“Larger than fifteen?”

“No.”

“Interesting.”

Stiles laughed. “Not really. We’re pretty boring, actually.” He laced his hands together in his lap. “Another.”

“I don’t know why you’re so keen on me asking. If I find out enough, my uncle will send patrols out and your pack will be killed.”

Stiles sighed. “I know.”

“Then why?” Derek watched as Stiles’ eyes flicked around under his eyelids. “Why are you telling me anything?”

“In the hopes that you’ll understand,” Stiles’ tone was soft, almost pleading.

“Understand what?”

He sighed. “If you don’t already know the answer, I’m not going to be able to tell you.”

Derek scowled. “That’s just intentionally frustrating. You’re being cryptic on purpose now.”

Stiles laughed loudly, shoulders shaking. “Now would be the time for it.”

“Because…”

“Because I’m dying.”

Derek mulled that over, trying to think of something else to ask. They sat in silence for several minutes. “The Alpha’s daughter…” he began to speak without realizing. Stiles cracked open an eye and looked at him. “Where is she?”

Stiles closed his eye again and his smile broadened. “That’s not a yes or no question.”

Derek made an impatient sound. “Fine. Is the Alpha’s daughter alive?”

“No.” There was dark satisfaction in his voice.

“Do you know that for sure?”

“Oh yes.” Stiles’ smile was starting to bother Derek.

“Did you do it?”

“No. Wish I did though.”

“Do you know when? How?” Derek realized he’d asked more than one question again but he didn’t care. He wanted to know. There was something pulling at the back of his mind…

“Oh, yes, I know how.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Yes.” Stiles let out a dark laugh. “She and the group of betas that left with her happened to make the foolish mistake of killing the seventy-seventh Hale matriarch.”

Derek’s body flushed cold, then hot as he stared at Stiles’ ugly smile, the cup of water slipping from his numb fingers. His breath locked in his chest. He couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t brea-

A hand pushed his head down between his knees and clasped almost painfully tight on the back of his neck, blunt nails digging into his skin. Another hand pressed against his back and he felt the vibration of words through the chest the top of his head was pressed against.

“Breathe. In, one, two. Out, three, four. Come on, Derek, with me.” Stiles pulled his hand from Derek’s back and grabbed one of his clenched fists, flattening it until his hand was splayed over Stiles’ chest. “Focus. Feel me breathing? Just like me, come on.” Stiles kept his hand pressed over Derek’s as he breathed in and out slowly, steadily. Derek clenched his other hand in the side of the tunic Stiles wore, Derek’s tunic, pulling them closer together.

Derek tried to focus on the words but ended up focusing on the uneven heartbeat beneath his hand. Thump… th-th-thump. Thump… th-th-thump. He felt sweat trickle down his neck as he stared at the floor between Stiles’ knees, dragging breaths into his burning lungs.

He felt Stiles bend his head down to rest against the back of his. Stiles ran his nose across the crown of his head, dragged his lips against his hair, and murmured, “It’ll be okay. Just breathe with me. Come on, Derek, do it for me.”

Derek’ stomach churned. He wanted Stiles, oh god, did he want. The dreams hadn’t stopped. If anything, they’d grown more intense, more detailed. Yesterday had only made things worse.

“Just so you know,” Stiles started, breaking Derek out of his head, “I didn’t mean for it to seem like I was glad your mother died…” He squeezed Derek’s fingers with his own over his chest, the firm hand at the back of his neck now running through the short hairs there. “I was just glad to hear when Kate was dead. She was awful. A truly terrible person, the worst I’ve ever met, wolf or human, even though I was so young.” Stiles made a sad sound. “But I am so very, very sorry that she went after your mother.”

Derek drug a shuddering breath into his tortured lungs. “It… it wasn’t your fault. You were just a child when it happened. You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

He took another deep breath and let what he’d just said sink in. He unclenched his free hand from Stiles’ side and settled it on his hip. He moved his head up from Stiles’ chest and pressed his face against his collarbone, lying with his lips inward and almost against Stiles’ neck.

Stiles shuddered as he exhaled again. “If I’m to stay serious and supportive, you’re going to have to move a little.” He swallowed shakily. “I’m not going to be able to focus with you doing that.”

Derek moved slightly further away. “I just… I wonder why?”

“Hmm why what?” Stiles continued running his fingers through the back of Derek’s hair. He was so tactile, likely a by-product of being in a pack, whereas Derek had barely touched or been touched by another person in three years.

“Why did she go after my mother?” Derek’s voice cracked and he took another deep breath.

Stiles tilted his head. “I’m not sure actually. I think she just wanted to prove that she was powerful. She thought that going after your mother would gain her the respect she desired so much.” He squeezed Derek’s fingers again. “But all she did was hurt people and leave behind a feud that’s ended up with a lot of people dying for no good reason.” He sighed. “Sometimes the mistake of one person can damage the lives of so many. But after a while, you have to ask yourself, can we let this all go? Could we allow ourselves to heal?”

Derek froze. He pulled back and looked at Stiles. “I… have you heard that before or did you just think it?”

Stiles shrugged. “Someone said it to me once. It seemed like a very good thing to think.” He slid his hand from Derek’s neck to cup his face. “You are incredibly smart, Derek, and exceedingly kind. I think you can understand that sometimes things are a certain way but that they can’t stay that way forever. Or else we end up twisted and ugly inside with no hope for anything good again.” His eyelashes fluttered and he swayed.

Derek latched onto his sides. “Are you alright?”

Stiles huffed out a laugh. “I’ve been telling you, Derek. I’m dying. Despite my penchant for dramatics, I'm not lying.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Derek’s. “I need to know… how many days have I been here?”

“This is the twelfth day.” Derek smoothed his hand over the back of Stiles’ neck, noticing again how hot his skin was, this time slicked with sweat. “Is this about the mark or being away from the pack?”

“Both.” Stiles’ voice had grown quieter and his body sagged closer to Derek’s.

“You’re very closely bonded to them.” Derek frowned. “You’re… you’re not mate bonded are you?”

Stiles chuffed out a laugh. “Of course not. They’ve been after me for three years to find someone but…”

“But?” Derek waited for him to finish the sentence for a full minute before frowning. “Stiles?” He pulled back and Stiles flopped bonelessly in his arms, still breathing but chest rising and falling in fast little motions. His lips were like a slash of fresh blood against his sickly pale skin and the circles under his eyes were like two dark craters in his face.

Derek cursed, sliding down to lift Stiles under his legs and carry him to the door. He kicked at the wood until the guard lifted the flap.

“I need to place him in bed. He’s got information he still hasn’t given me and I can’t let him die without telling me first.” Derek barked in his gruffest voice.

The guard jumped to it, unlocking the door and swinging it open before running down the hall and ensuring the door to cell ten was open. Derek shook his head. “I’m taking him to Morrell.” The guard nodded and waved him past.

Derek was concentrating so hard on not dropping Stiles that he almost missed the banshee pressed flush against the bars of her cell. She reached her hand out and the very tips of her fingers traced the line of Stiles’ ankle. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she stared at Stiles. Derek looked away and strode quickly to the end of the hall and up the stairs.

Derek knew what a banshee’s tears meant.

As Derek headed towards the infirmary, he recalled that he also knew how eager Morrell was for new specimens.

Perhaps… perhaps it wouldn’t go amiss to keep Stiles in his chambers where he could keep an eye on him. Just until he got better.

Derek changed course and headed up to his room, pushing past the couch in his study and into his bedroom. He gently laid Stiles down, pushing and pulling the rumpled sheets and pillows around until he was laid out with a pillow under his head and the blankets tucked up to his hips.

Derek leaned closer and saw that the skin around Stiles’ pack mark was almost decomposing, flesh colored dark purple and red and almost black.

Fetching the pitcher and basin, Derek dipped a cloth in the cool water and placed it against Stiles’ forehead. The younger man jolted and Derek froze, studying him for any other signs of responsiveness.

Seeing it was an involuntary movement, Derek continued to pat Stiles down with another cloth, gently wiping along his neck and arms, avoiding the necrotic pack mark.

He sat back and finally decided to just wait. Pulling a chair over, he reached out and settled his elbows on the edge of the bed to watch in case Stiles’ breathing changed or grew worse. He was still panting, though it was softer now.

Derek watched and waited, slipping his fingers into Stiles’ limp ones. He even maybe let himself hope, even if it was just a little bit.

The next few hours killed his hope slowly.

Stiles dipped in and out of consciousness, but even when his eyes were open, it wasn’t Derek that he saw. A whole range of names: Scott, Allison, Melissa, and Lydia - Stiles seemed to be having whole conversations with Lydia, though Derek couldn’t understand most of the mutterings coming from Stiles’ mouth, her name kept popping up.

Derek dutifully wiped the sweat from Stiles’ brow, trying to coax water into his mouth but Stiles kept coughing it up. Derek was worried. If he couldn’t make Stiles drink something, couldn’t break the fever that made Stiles feel like he was on fire… he would die for certain.

Too afraid to go to Morrell lest she decide to kill Stiles anyway, not stupid enough to ask his uncle for assistance, and too exhausted from being awake for nearly two days straight, Derek slipped into unconsciousness as he sat next to the bed, his fingers tangled with Stiles’, dreaming about apples and the smell of fallen leaves.

-----

Derek woke to the sound of soft voices and the clink of porcelain. He blinked and sat up slowly. Confused, he looked around. He was in his bed and the sky was dark. He was alone.

Stiles had been there, had been sick, dying…

He tumbled out of the bed so quickly that his feet almost tangled in the sheets. He staggered into the study and froze in the doorway.

“Hello, Derek,” Erica purred.

He blinked at her stupidly, completely at a loss for what to say. Her stance was confident, her voice full and smooth, and her smile was wicked and sharp. “I see you’re beginning to grasp things a little more,” she chuckled. “Please, join us. We’ve got tea.” She gestured to the tray on his table.

Derek stood there for a moment more, again convinced he was still asleep. He finally pushed through the doorway, intent on going into the hall and yelling for some guards to detain his chambermaid when he pulled up short.

Us. We’ve…

Stiles sat in Derek’s chair in front of the fireplace. His skin was still pale, but in a much healthier way, his eyes bright and lit up with his smile. A bandage wrapped around his arm where the pack mark had been about to rot off the night before. His legs were tucked up under him and he had his arms hanging loose off his knees the way he always did.

At a loss for what to say, Derek merely stared before he snapped his jaw shut and frowned. “What the hell is going on?” he practically growled, still tired and still scared and also relieved because Stiles looked so much better, more alive.

Stiles looked at Erica, who just shrugged and sipped her tea, before sighing softly. “Derek, we need to talk.”

“Oh, yes, I can see that.” He pointed to Erica. “She doesn’t work here. She’s a spy. An imposter.” He looked at Stiles. “And so, clearly, are you.”

Stiles frowned, a look of hurt flashing over his features. “Derek. It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, then what is it?” Derek laughed bitterly. “Trying to kill me? Kill my uncle? That’s what your pack of monsters does.” Stiles rose from the chair, reaching out to Derek. He jerked away and shook his head. “No. Don’t. Don’t touch me.”

Stiles took a step back, swallowing slowly and holding up his hands. “I won’t.” His voice hardened and he stood up straight, proudly. Derek noticed they were the same height. “I would like to talk to you and when I’m done, if you’d like, you can call your men and have them detain us.”

Erica squawked her disapproval. “Stiles, really-”

Stiles turned his back to Derek to fully face her. He muttered something Derek didn’t quite catch but Erica flinched and dropped her eyes, scowling, before mumbling a sullen, “Yes.”

Stiles turned back to Derek, a small smile on his face. “Would that be acceptable?”

Derek stared, his mind racing. He’d tried to save Stiles, save this boy who ran with monsters, save this infuriating clever beautiful liar - he’d lied to Derek, lied about everything, evidently. But the healing that he spoke of, echoing Laura’s words so perfectly… “Fine.”

Stiles brightened slightly. “Really?”

“Yes.” Derek strode over and sat in his chair noting Stiles’ amused smile as he perched on the arm of the chair Erica sat in, the girl wrapping her arm around Stiles’ hips as she resumed drinking her tea. “So you know each other.”

Stiles smiled down at Erica, who grinned back, and ran a hand over her hair. “Yes. She’s the Emissary to the pack.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at them. “And why has she been posing as my chambermaid?”

“She needed to get your measure. Be sure that you were as good of a person as your sister said you were. Turns out, Laura was right.” Stiles’ eyes were filled with sympathy.

Derek felt the edge of panic creep up on him. He stared at Stiles, remembering his uneven heartbeat and imagined the beats under his hand, taking a deep breath, then another. “How,” he choked, “how did you know my sister?”

“She came to meet with our pack several times. I was quite fond of her.” Stiles’ voice was soft. Derek felt like he was the beaten prisoner now, the two watching him from the chair looking beautiful and slightly wild, but also extremely careful about how fast they breathed, making no unnecessary movements.

“I only met her once,” Erica offered, her eyes sad. “She was incredibly kind. Strong. Beautiful.” She shrugged and set her tea cup down.

“She was,” Derek whispered. He took another deep breath, shaking his head. He had to focus. “You said she met with your pack.” Stiles nodded. “Why?”

Stiles smiled. “To discuss a treaty. She said that she knew what went on. She had been keeping track of us, our comings and goings, our power shifts. She said that she was ready to start anew.” Stiles’ smile turned sad. “She asked if we were ready to let it go.”

Derek sat back heavily. “She mentioned something… about being tired of all the fighting.” He rubbed his eyes. “She talked of healing. Of change.” He looked at Stiles. “She was the one who talked of healing, wasn’t she?”

Stiles nodded. “She was.” He shifted, slipping his feet between Erica’s leg and the side of the chair. “She spoke with our Alpha at the time, Chris.” Erica whimpered and Stiles rested his hand on the back of her neck reassuringly. At Derek’s confused look, Stiles sneered. “He was murdered. The same day that Laura was.”

Derek frowned, shaking his head. “Laura wasn’t murdered. I mean, yes she was killed, but it was a rogue…” He trailed off and stared at Stiles’ hard expression. “What, exactly, are you telling me?”

“They were murdered because they were speaking of peace. Laura had introduced her Right Hand to our Alpha and his second and our enforcer. The day that they died, they were all headed to a meeting with the Council, right?” Derek nodded. “They weren’t just meeting so that the Hale Matriarch could mingle with the rest of the heads of the Families. They were going to introduce the treaty and attempt to get the other hunters to seek treaties with their local packs.”

“It wouldn’t have worked. The other families keep similar practices as we do.”

Stiles looked at him hard. “We, Master Hale? Don’t you mean, your uncle?” He tilted his head. “I seem to recall that you were very kind to me while I was in your prison cell. You didn’t hurt me, though you could have, and you even game me some of your clothes…” Stiles plucked at his shirtsleeve. “Granted, this one, I took.” He grinned. “You could have told your uncle so many things but you haven’t told him anything, have you?”

“Perhaps I should have,” Derek grumbled. “So what are you trying to do here, get me to believe in your cause? Join up with you and sign a treaty?”

Stiles shook his head. “It really is funny how life works sometimes, but no. That’s not why we’re here. You have one of ours and we came to get her back. It really was just pure luck that you were the one who came to question me when I got caught.”

Erica smacked his arm sharply. “I was doing fine here. If I’d a little more time, I could’ve gotten her.”

He turned to her. “I know you were fine. But Allison isn’t doing well without her mate. The cub is due in a month and Lydia needs to be there.” He smirked at her. “Plus, Boyd was worried sick about you when you stopped writing.”

Her cheeks burned in blush and she swatted him again. “You almost died.”

“Well, thanks to you, I didn’t.”

“It was a stupid plan. If I’d been there, you never would’ve gotten away with it,” she grumped.

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “It was the only thing that I could think of - and it’s working, so far. Though the whole almost-dying thing was unfortunate.”

“I can’t believe you took so much. The dosage was too high.”

“Well I didn’t have my Emissary to measure it for me. The next time I need wolfsbane and Bella Donna, I’ll be sure you’re on hand to mix it up for me.” He winked at her and she growled, flashing her small human teeth.

Derek noted that they both had a lot of clearly wolfish tendencies, but the growling was the most odd, he decided as he watched them bicker while he mulled over the information they’d given him.

“Who is it?” They both jumped and looked back at him. “Who is it that we have?”

“Lydia.” Stiles propped his hand on his chin. “You know her: red hair, green eyes, very scream-y.”

“The banshee?” Derek was beyond confused. “You have a banshee in your pack?”

Erica snorted. “She’s not even the strangest, just the creepiest.” She smirked at Stiles’ look of disapproval. “We have a Kitsune, a Phoenix, and a Werecoyote too. Add to the fact that our Alpha is-” She jumped as Stiles pinched her and actually looked sheepish.

“Back to the point.” Stiles’ tone was firm and he pulled his feet down to stand. “We are here for Lydia and we want her back. We need your help to get her out.” Stiles held up his hand when Derek opened his mouth to argue. “We’re trying to be peaceful, nonviolent, like Laura talked about. But if we can’t have Lydia this way, Erica and I will leave and return with our pack and things will not be pretty. Lydia was singled out and purposefully taken from our territory because of what she is.”

Derek shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. We don’t know where your territory is. Our intelligence doesn’t even show that you have a territory at all.”

Stiles gave him a pitying look. “If you think that you’re getting the whole story from your uncle, then you are sadly mistaken.”

Derek threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that there is a lot going on right now. I need my pack mate back. Now.” Stiles sighed and bit his lip. “If you’d like, I’ll tell you the rest. But not before we get Lydia back.”

Derek looked at him, the stubborn set of his mouth, the strength of his shoulders, his clenched hands. Derek thought of his sister’s words - words that she’d shared with Stiles and his pack. She’d been killed - murdered - when she’d only been seeking peace. And his uncle…

“Alright. I’ll help you.” He stood. “But you have to swear to tell me what’s going on.”

Stiles held out up his hand. “I swear it.”

“Hmm. So I get her from the cell, release her to you, that’s it?”

“Pretty much.” Erica stood too, stretching her hands above her head and grunting. She dropped her arms and smiled. “We’ll handle the rest.”

“Part of the pack is waiting for us just outside your property.” Stiles wiggled his toes and Derek noticed he was still barefooted. “After that, we’ll disappear and you won’t have to worry about us again.”

Derek was shocked at the flare of pain that rose at the thought of not seeing Stiles again. But he nodded, choosing not to comment. “And what am I to tell my uncle when he asks why the banshee is gone?”

Stiles smiled at him and it was once again quite predatory, this time with blood lust. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find plenty to talk about.”

Derek narrowed his eyes but nodded, leaving the study and changing into a clean shirt and tunic, splashing some water on his face. He stared into the basin as the water rolled off his face and hit the surface of the water.

Was he really helping a pack of werewolves, the pack of werewolves he was supposed to hate the most?

He sighed and scrubbed his face dry. No more second-guessing.

He reentered the study. “So how are we to do this?”

Erica smiled. “You will walk down with Stiles and he’ll go back in his cell. He’ll distract the guard while you ask to get into Lydia’s cell. At that point, I’ll cause a distraction and they’ll come to investigate. Then you two get Lydia and meet me in upper gardens. We can get out from there.”

Derek nodded then frowned. “How will you know when to cause the distraction?”

She and Stiles shared a look. “I’ll know.”

“Well, with yet another cryptic remark, please, let’s be off,” Derek snarked, starting to doubt this would work at all.

Erica laughed. “If I don’t see you again, Derek…” She moved closer and wrapped him in a tight hug. He stood frozen, his arms hanging in the air by her sides. “You’re a good man. Remember that.” She stepped back and disappeared into the hallway with a wink and a flash of blonde hair.

Derek looked at Stiles who looked after her with a fond expression. “Is she always like that?”

“What? Huggy and slightly scary?” Derek nodded. “Yes. Yes she is.” Stiles started out the door. “Lydia is even worse.”

Derek snorted and followed after him, slipping ahead of him as Stiles lowered his head meekly, hands clasped in front of him, shoulders slumped just enough. Damn, he was a good actor.

Derek fought the urge to laugh as they headed down the stairs towards the basement. Though the closer they got, the less urge he had to laugh and the more twisted his stomach got. By the time they started walking down the stairs, Derek’s nerves were completely on edge and he was fighting off nausea.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and gestured back to Stiles. “His health has improved. Place him back in his cell.” One of the guards moved forward and grabbed Stiles’ arm, moving him down the hall. Derek bit back the angry comment he’d been about to make at the treatment and looked at the other guard. “I need to see the banshee.” He followed after the other guard and waited as he unlocked the ninth cell.

He could hear Stiles speaking to the other guard as he stepped into the cell. “Leave it open, I’ll only be a moment.” The guard looked unsure but nodded at Derek’s scowl before walking away. Derek focused his attention on the banshee - Lydia.

She looked up at him with a blank stare, her gag gone once more. She must have been quiet and not drawn attention to herself or someone would have put it back on her. Her lips were chapped, skin around her mouth raw from the fabric.

He heard the alarm bells start to peal as the sound of boots ran past. He stared at Stiles through the doorway as he calmly removed the key to his cell from his sleeve and unlocked the door before trotting over to Lydia’s cell.

He brushed past Derek and fell to his knees in front of Lydia whose face suddenly broke into a smile. He reached up and cupped her face, thumbs rubbing along her cheekbones. “Lyds, Lyds it’s me,” he crooned.

She sighed happily, running a hand through his hair. “Genny,” she mumbled and pressed her face to his neck.

“Genny?” Derek asked, remembering that Lydia had called out that name before.

Stiles smiled crookedly at him. “It’s short for Genim. It’s my given name. I’ve gone by Stiles for years, but we were babes together.” He shrugged and looked back at Lydia. “Lyds, we’re getting out of here. Come on. Can you walk?”

“Of course, Genny.” She stood shakily, leaning on Stiles for a moment before straightening. She held his hand tightly, her eyes flicking over his bruises, the bandage on his arm. Her eyes squeezed shut and she let out a tiny gasp. “Allison?”

Stiles chuckled. “At home and waiting for you.”

“Has… is she…” Her voice was gaining strength and also pain.

“Not yet.” He smoothed a hand over her hair and she leaned into it. “She’s been waiting for you.”

She opened her eyes and frowned at him. “Why are you here? You aren’t supposed to be here. It’s too dangerous.”

He shook his head. “There’s not time. You can scold me properly later.” He turned and looked at Derek. “We’ve got to get to the gardens.”

Lydia’s eyes focused on Derek and he fought off a shudder. She stared hard at him for a moment. “I see.”

Derek had no doubt that she saw a lot more than he expected. “Follow me.” He lead them out and up the stairs, pausing on the landing and holding a hand back for them to wait as he strode across the hall and pressed the catch for the servant hallway. He peeked in and listened carefully before waving them over. They moved swiftly into the doorway and Derek shut the door to the passageway, plunging them into darkness.

“Damn,” he muttered, fumbling along the wall to find the lantern that was supposed to hang there. He heard Stiles and Lydia whisper something before fingers slid against his own.

“Come on.” Stiles’ voice was quiet. “We don’t need a light.”

Derek stumbled slightly Stiles pulled him away from the wall. “We need to go right.”

“Alright.” Stiles began walking in that direction and Derek realized Lydia was in the lead, picking her way along as if the brightest light filled the passage. He shuddered again and Stiles’ hand tightened around his.

When they reached the first turn, Derek directed them left, then right, then left again, the whole time remembering playing in the passages when they’d first built the manor house, popping out and scaring servants and his sister before she’d given up being so dignified and deciding to join him.

Their destination was easily spotted. A ladder led up to a slatted metal grate and the light of the full moon poured through the hole, casting a perfect silver circle onto the floor. He felt Stiles’ hand tense once more before he let go and stepped forward, face tipped up to the light.

The moonlight painted his face in pale light and he sighed, shivering as if letting the past few days fall away from him. Lydia joined him and he looked down at her, grinning as she butted her head against his shoulder.

“Well hey there, pretty pack-sister mine,” Erica’s voice floated from the grate. She moved the metal to the side with barely a sound. “Ready to come home?”

Lydia grinned up at her. “I think I’ve actually missed you.” She started climbing the ladder and Stiles moved below her to help if she slipped. She reached the top and Erica helped her through, rubbing her hands along her arms and her nose along her cheek.

“She’s scenting her,” Stiles informed Derek. He smiled up at the girls. “It’s reestablishing the pack ties.” He looked like he was about to start humming from contentment, his skin flushed and his eyes bright. He scrambled up the ladder and was wrapped into the reunion.

Derek followed and exited the passage into the upper gardens where the moonlight was even brighter, throwing the flowers and trees into stark relief. He looked at the three of them as they pulled back, all smiles, and felt a pang of loneliness. He turned his head to look at the East Wing and noticed the smoke, heard the faint shouts. “Holy hell, what did you do, Erica?”

She cackled. “Turns out barrels of flour are extremely explosive, did you know that?” She patted Derek on the arm. “I didn’t hurt anyone. Blew up the kitchen and started a little fire in the guest quarters. But no one was around.”

A faint howl rose up behind them and the three pack members turned toward it, heads cocked and smiles even brighter than before. Erica tipped her head back and gave an answering howl, pitched low enough that only the pack should be able to hear it.

Derek quirked an eyebrow at her. “I thought you weren’t a wolf.”

She grinned and, again, it was sharp. “If you lie down with wolves, you learn to howl.” She looked between him and Stiles and winked at him. She leaned closer, murmuring, “Just for future reference.”

He felt heat rise to his cheeks and he nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.” She popped a kiss onto his cheek and turned to Lydia, lacing their fingers together. “Come on, sweets, let’s get you back to your mate.”

Lydia nodded to Derek as she followed Erica to the small gap between the shrubberies. He watched them slip through and heard faint yips and growls that he assumed were happiness at getting their lost pack member back.

He turned and found Stiles standing in front of him. He held his breath at how close the other man was. Stiles was studying him, eyes running over his face, his neck, chest, belly, hands, hips, legs, then back up to his face. Stiles stepped closer and Derek felt the heat of him against the front of his body.

“You wanted me to tell you what happened.” Stiles’ voice was soft. Derek nodded, his throat too dry to talk. “Alright.” He reached out and ran his hand through Derek’s hair, hand setting at the nape of his neck. “Put your fingers to my neck.”

“Why?”

“So you can tell if I’m lying.” When he didn’t move, Stiles took Derek’s hand and placed it against his pulse point, just under his jaw. “Your name is Derek Hale.” His pulse remained steady. “You are a giant bird.” His pulse jumped slightly. He looked at Derek in question.

“Okay. Tell… tell me what happened to Laura.” Derek’s other hand drifted to Stiles’ side.

“Your sister and my Alpha were going to make a declaration of treaty at the Council meeting. They met three days before and introduced their seconds to each other. Peter was there. He was Laura’s Right Hand and he met them all. He knew what she was going to do.” Stiles swallowed. “He was not happy. He covered it well, but I could tell.”

Derek felt a knot in his chest tighten. He nodded for Stiles to keep going.

“They left for the Council meeting and I followed them, even though I wasn’t supposed to. I was worried about my father being alone with an unfamiliar Hunter.” He licked his lips and looked over Derek’s shoulder before looking back at him. “I’m glad I did. About an hour into the journey, satchels of wolfsbane were thrown from the wood along the road. Then the arrows followed. I jumped out, yanked my father from the saddle. Chris was too far away. I-I couldn’t get to him in time.”

Stiles’ eyes close tight and he clears his throat before continuing. “Laura was enraged, trying to order the men to help but they all just stood there and watched as Chris died. My father and I hid in the woods and waited to see what would happen. The hunters were circling back, though, so we had to leave.” He paused, eyes flicking to Derek’s, and took a deep breath. “The last thing I saw before we left was your uncle slicing a knife across your sister’s neck.”

Derek jerked hard and threw himself back, falling on the ground. He stared up at Stiles, shaking and speechless. Stiles’ face was open, his eyes filled with pain and wretched sadness as he watched Derek process the information.

Peter… Peter had killed Laura. He’d killed his own niece. Because she wanted to stop fighting the pack that shared the same name as the wolves that haunted her family.

Because she’d wanted peace.

“I know you may not believe me,” Stiles whispered. “You have no reason to trust me. I know that.” He took a step forward, fingers twitching like he wanted to touch Derek but he held back. “I just thought you should know.”

Derek nodded, still feeling cold all over. He heard shouting close to the gardens. “You should probably go.”

Stiles’ eyes squeezed shut, face scrunching in pain as he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I should.” He backed up one, two steps and stopped. “I… uh, well…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

Derek tilted his head. “What?”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this… but I… I trust you.” He moved and squatted down next to Derek. “If you need to find me… go into the wood there.” He pointed at a small mountain visible over the top of the shrubs. “Go due West, off the path, and you’ll find a tree.”

Derek snorted weakly. “Yes, a tree in the wood. Imagine.”

Stiles grinned. “You’ll know what I mean. Trust me, it’s hard to miss. From the tree, follow the marks.” He tapped his upper arm, the spot where his pack mark lay. “Just in case you need me. For anything.”

He nodded, thrown by the offer. Stiles had just told him exactly how to find his pack. “Anything?” he found himself asking.

Stiles smiled grabbed the back of Derek’s neck, dragging his face along his cheek and neck - scenting him - and licking a stripe beneath his ear again, before pulling back. Stiles’ teeth were decidedly sharper than before and his eyes flashed bright crimson as he repeated, “Anything.”

He was gone before Derek could even think of moving, disappearing through the shrubs and into the night. The sounds of happy yips and howls and growls sounded again as they greeting their pack mate.

Their Alpha.

Derek stayed on the ground staring at the space between the shrubs for a long time.

Chapter Text

Oh dear I pray
So I wait by the moon
Knowing your stray
Silhouette hunts you too

Still I chase you down
Couldn’t keep away
Fever’s coming now
I want the high again

You got me brainwashed
You got me so lost
You got me fucked up
Like you

-----

Derek stood in front of his fireplace, running his fingers absently over the mantle. He turned at the sound of a cleared throat.

Penelope curtsied to him. “Master Hale, I’ve brought your correspondence.”

“Thank you, Penelope.” He sighed, walking over and settling at his desk. “Would you send for some tea to be brought to the library? I’ll be there shortly.”

She nodded, dipping her head. “Absolutely.” 

"Thank you,” he murmured, already distracted by the various letters on the tray.

A missive from the Carter family mentioning that they would be at the Council gathering in a fortnight; a rejection from the Gutierrez clan, that wasn’t good, Derek frowned and set that aside for working on later; a coded message from Whittemore speaking of the recent releases of Supernaturals from the dungeon, returning them to their homes or as close to them as possible.

The last envelope was smaller, the paper more coarse, and Derek knew exactly where it was from even before he ran shaking finger tips over the edge.

Almost two months he’d gone without any contact at all, with February coming to an end. He’d been convinced that Stiles had run off with his pack and forgotten all about him, the stupid Hale man who still cried about his sister and wasn’t quite brave enough to do anything worthwhile.

He broke the black wax seal and pulled out two small pages covered in scrawling handwriting.

Derek - this may sound incredibly foolish… but I have not the slightest clue what to write to you. So many thoughts run around my head…

Do you despise me for my secrecy? Or is it what I am that repels you? Are you repelled at all? I have so many too many questions for you and I can only hope that you would be willing to write back to me, despite my keeping things from you.

On to other things: word has reached us about Peter and his injury, though not the extent or the severity. We are… curious as to how he fairs. Erica sends her regards and also her apologies. It was not her intent to hurt anyone, though I cannot say that I feel any need to apologize. He is not a good man.

I am, however, loath for you to lose any more family members.

It seems as if there really is nothing for me to say.

There have been increased sightings of hunters nearby and I’m sure you know why, though I myself am confused and concerned.

We will be falling back into the wild for a bit, pulling away from town and living off the land - we’re very good at it, as you can imagine.

I suppose, more than anything, this letter is to let you know that, well… I think about you. I hope that you are well.

If you would like to write back, bring your message to the tree - though try to venture no further as we will have things in place to assure our safety, though Erica tells me our precautions should not harm you as long as you bear us no ill will. Not all of them are strictly non-physical things. Cryptic and mysterious, I know.

Remember, if you need anything, you do know the way.

- S

Derek read the letter twice, then once more before taking it over to the fire and making sure it was burnt up with no traces left. As he watched the paper curl and smoke, he thought of the line I think about you over and over again.

Eventually, he headed to the library and sat next to the fireplace by the back window. He looked outside into the overcast day before glancing over at Peter who’d been propped up by his man servant.

The edges of bandages peeked from under his clothes and his lap was covered with a heavy blanket. Derek kept his eyes away from his uncle’s, waiting for him to initiate conversation or not. He looked out the window again, noticing that it was snowing. He thought of Stiles’ pack and wondered if they were prepared for the weather.

He mulled that over for a few moments until Peter wheezed loudly and Derek’s gaze flicked over to him.

“Will you mourn me?” Peter’s voice was raw and his breathing, wet.

The pain bloomed so brilliantly in Derek’s chest that he had to close his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose. “Of course I will.” He opened his eyes again and pinned his uncle with his gaze, letting his pain shine there. “Not as I mourn Laura, or as I mourn mother and Cora, but I will mourn you.”

“Good,” sighed Peter.

Derek scowled at him. “I hope you understand that I’ll choose to mourn the man you were – my loving and doting uncle – and not the lying, manipulative murderer that you really are.”

“Ha! You would see it as murder. You wouldn’t have understood. You couldn’t have understood.” Peter’s voice grew rougher and he coughed, his spittle foaming pink in the corner of his mouth.

Derek reached out with a cloth from the tea tray and gently patted his uncle’s mouth. “If you hated them that much, why didn’t you just tell Laura, attempt to speak with her instead of killing her?”

Peter turned his icy eyes toward him and Derek was surprised to find warmth still shining in them. “I always loved you best, you know. Even before everything, even after.” His fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach out and touch but Derek didn’t help him. “You look so much like her, you know. Laura looked more like her father. But you, you are so like Talia.”

“Thank you, Uncle Peter.” Derek felt exhausted and stood, gesturing to the hovering servant. “Please bring him back to his room.” The man nodded at him as he strode out of the library, hands clenched and shaking.

He stalked through the halls, no destination in mind, and ended up in front of Laura’s portrait.

“I thought that the past three winters were the worst, but I was wrong,” he muttered, bitterness twisting his words. He stared up at Laura’s face and scowled, whirling away from the portrait and storming back to his study.

By the time he made it up the stairs, some of the heat had faded from his temper. He moved to his desk, straightening the papers there and taking the letters he needed to reply to over to his chair-side table.

His reply to the Gutierrez letter was perhaps a little less than diplomatic but firm - that he would accept no treat with a clan that refused to even show up to the Council meeting. If they desired to remain so stubborn then all support from the Hale Family would be rescinded. It was a bluff. The Gutierrez clan needed none of his support. They were the strongest Hunter family in the area and Derek needed them to agree with him.

His reply to the Carters was decidedly friendlier. He mentioned that he looked forward to seeing them and that he appreciated their willingness to hear him out.

The coded message back to Whittemore was brief - commending him for his good work, telling him to keep it up, and letting him know that, should he need anything, he should contact him.

Jackson Whittemore had always been, in Derek’s opinion, a not-particularly kind person but not necessarily a bad man. He followed orders; adapted to the type of leadership he was given.

Under Derek’s firm, but infinitely more benevolent guidance, Jackson had become less likely to strike out, more likely to spare a kind word. Gods knew he smiled more than before.

Matthew Daehler was even easier: had adjusted immediately. Once the new rules were established, he immediately followed them without question. It was a weight off Derek’s mind.

The people of Hale Manor were adjusting as well as possible, given the circumstances.

The sun was down and the fire almost embers before Rebecca appeared. She carried a tray that she placed on his desk. She bobbed her head at him, her cheeks flame-red as she stirred up the fire, stocking it high.

He nodded to her but kept working, decoding other messages from his people, writing new ones to other families, preparing for the council meeting.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Master Hale?” Rebecca asked in a tiny voice.

“No, thank you.” He attempted to smile at her, mind still caught up between yes, it is time for change and thank you for your continued support and I think of you I think of you I think of you…

“As you wish.” She bobbed a curtsy and retreated, a last look thrown over her shoulder.

He rubbed his eyes, dragging his hands down his face, and sat back. He stared into the fire, his mind a whirl, unsettled thoughts swirling like the snow in the wind outside his window.

The next day, as he sat in the library again with Peter, he paused in reading from a book of poems and asked, “Why did you take Lydia?”

“Hmm… who is Lydia?” Peter’s eyes were glassy with pain.

“The banshee.” Derek stuck his finger in between the pages and leaned forward, drinking deeply from his cup.

“Ah yes.” Peter hummed to himself for a moment before he grinned sickly. “She was insurance. If something were to happen to me, then she could bring me back.”

“Back from the dead?” Derek felt a shudder run down his spine. He’d seen a great many things that could be considered unnatural, but to bring someone back from the dead… “Surely you are joking.”

Peter’s laugh was enough to make Derek cringe. “I am not. But the spell wouldn’t have taken. I don’t have any dark spark for it to latch on to. I would have to be one of them for it to work. And that… that I would never do.” His grin became even more twisted. “Keeping her here after I realized the spell wouldn’t work was really only to hurt that pack of mongrels.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at his uncle. “You were going to kill her.”

“Give her to Morrell as a pretty new play thing. Though the end result would have been the same, make no mistake.” He chuckled and it had an edge of madness in it. “Do go on, would you? The best part is coming up.”

Derek looked back down at the book in his hands and opened it again, resuming reading where he’d left off, his skin still prickled at the crazed gleam in his uncle’s eyes.

Four days later, Penelope appeared in his doorway looking less than composed, for once, which made Derek worry.

“Penelope?” He put his book face down on the table and stood.

She bowed her head, clearing her throat, chin trembling. “M-Master Hale, Morrell is requesting your presence in Lord Hale’s room.”

Derek pushed past her without thanking her, hurrying through the corridors until he skidded to a halt in front of the door. His hand shook as he pushed it open, seeing Morrell sitting by the bed where his uncle lay.

“What is it?” he croaked, crossing quickly to the other side of the bed.

Morrell’s mouth twisted and her eyebrows quirked up. “He’s not well.” She mopped at Peter’s face and Derek’s stomach dropped at the dark fluid on the cloth. “He doesn’t know me, nor does he know any sense of time.” She sighed and sat back. “You should speak to him. He most likely won’t last the night.”

Derek nodded, his eyes watering and he hastily swiped at them before moving to take Morrell’s chair. “Uncle Peter?”

Peter’s head lolled towards him. “Ah, Derek…” His mouth worked for several seconds. “Tell me, would you… how are things?”

Derek shook his head. “Things are fine. Don’t worry yourself about it.” He put his hand on Peter’s who twisted his fingers, pulling Derek closer.

He blinked slowly and whispered, “Where is Talia? She should be here.”

Derek felt bile rise in the back of his throat. “Peter, mother is dead.”

Peter frowned then laughed. “Of course she is. Of course. We’re all dead, aren’t we?” He kept laughing over and over, his muscles locked in a grotesque line. His mouth spewed over with bloody foam and dark fluid.

“Peter?” Derek could hear how small his voice was.

Peter didn’t answer. He just kept laughing and laughing until it sounded like sobs were being wrenched from his wide open mouth.

Morrell grasped Derek’s shoulder as Peter’s hand tightened against his painfully. Peter shook once, twice, then his body slumped back against the twisted sheets. His breathing was shallow. His piercing blue eyes flickered back and forth as his last breath rattled from his lips, peppering them with blood and bile.

Derek felt cotton-coated, his head dropping as his stomach roiled and threatened to rebel.

“I am sorry for your loss. May he find peace.” Morrell pulled her hand away and bowed to Derek, arm crossed over her chest. “I hereby pledge my allegiance to the Head of the Hale Family. My Lord.”

Derek nodded, pulling himself straight, and allowed her to kiss his right hand, next to the Hale Family ring. He’d been acting as the Head of the Family since Peter’s illness but now, it was suddenly, painfully real.

Everything he’d never wanted, the mantle placed on his shoulders regardless of his wishes, a heavy and pressing weight.

“I accept your pledge…” He took his left hand from Peter’s, watching as the pale fingers lay limp against the blankets. “And I swear to honor your fealty with acumen, strength, and candor.”

They murmured in unison, “So mote it be.”

-----

Spring

Derek moved the back of his wrist across his forehead, mopping up the sweat. It was oddly warm for late Spring and walking in the woods in the early afternoon didn’t help. He almost tripped over an exposed root and as he stumbled past it, he broke through the trees into a clearing.

When Stiles had told him about a tree… he’d mulled it over, certain that Stiles hadn’t actually told him anything, didn’t actually trust him, and was perhaps intending to send him on a wild goose chase in the woods, despite the letter, despite everything.

But this tree - Stiles had been correct. You really couldn’t miss it.

The tree was wider than Derek’s outstretched arms - which he did hold apart and measure - and incredibly tall. Derek’s neck cricked as he tried to see the top, head craned back. The bark was thick and an odd shade of almost silvery grey.

He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over a patch that had the distinctive markings of claws. A fizzle of something buzzed in his hand and he snatched it back, flexing his fingers and expecting them to show some sign of the tingling. His skin was unmarked but he decided not to touch the tree again.

He looked around, wondering how he was supposed to find the pack mark amongst all the other trees. He walked a circuit around the tree twice before he saw the rocks. Moving over, he noticed that they were smooth, fist-sized, and silver and very deliberately placed in the shape of the Argent pack mark.

Derek smiled and walked through the break in the trees, eyes easily catching the marks now. On a small tree, scratched into the side of a large rock, over and over until he reached another break in the trees. He looked around before stepping out, realizing that he was deep in the woods, in an area that he’d never been before, despite having explored the area frequently as a child.

He took a deep breath and stepped through the break, seeing a path that lead to a sharp curve before coming up short as he heard a soft gasp and suddenly the tip of a sword was aimed less than a foot from his throat.

He slowly raised his hands and looked over the tiny creature that held the sword, the blade never wavering, even as she did, her face ranging from angry to terrified then to firm resolution in the span of five seconds. Her long black hair was windblown and crackled with static. Her large dark eyes flashed an orangey-gold but they were cold. She chattered something that he didn’t understand and he shook his head. She sighed, rolled her eyes and tried again.

“I said, Who are you? What business do you have here?” Her voice was light but strong, deeper than he’d thought it would be from such a small girl wearing such bright colors.

“I was told to come here if I needed anything.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that so?” Derek nodded. “Don’t move.” She lowered the sword from his throat but kept it pointed at him. Derek had no doubt that she could whip it up and into his neck before he’d have the chance to breathe. The girl whistled sharply and loudly then stood back as if to wait.

They didn’t wait long. A tall, dark skinned man turned the corner of the path and paused, taking in the situation. “Is there a problem?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth as he moved closer to the girl.

“He said that he was told to come here if he needed anything. That’s all,” she informed him, shifting so that they were equally in front of and slightly to the side of Derek.

“Hmm.” The man chucked his chin at Derek. “Who told you that?”

Derek frowned, wondering if he was talking to the right people but figured he couldn’t really go wrong. “Stiles.”

The man grinned a very small grin as the girl let out a squeak. He tipped his head back and gave a little growling howl before crossing his arms and leaning against a tree, clearly waiting for someone or something.

A girl with wild sandy blonde hair tumbled through the brush, bits of branches and leaves sticking to her clothes. “Yeah?” she panted, clearly having run from wherever she’d been.

“Malia, stick with Kira. I’m going up to the den.”

“You got it.” Malia snapped a jaunty salute and ambled over to the girl with the sword, Kira.

“You should follow me,” the man said to Derek. He turned without a second glance and started walking back around the curve of the path.

Derek glanced at Kira who saluted him with her sword with a smile and Malia who just looked at him, head tilted to the side and eyes flashing blue. He nodded back at them and trotted to catch up with the man. When he came up almost even, the man looked back at him.

“Derek, right?”

“Yes.” He glanced down to the path as he almost tripped into a pothole.

“Hmm. I’m Boyd.”

“Pleasure,” he mumbled, moving a branch out of his way. “Where are we going?”

“Like I said, to the den.” He smiled at Derek. “You do want to see Stiles, don’t you?”

“Yes.” He could feel his cheeks heat at Boyd’s slight smile.

“Well then, there you go.” He didn’t speak again as they wound through more trees and over a small creek.

A few moments after, as they were about to break through the trees again, Boyd cracked a full on smile and stepped through, stepping to the side to let Derek pass.

When he cleared the trees, Derek paused, taken aback by the massive and beautiful wooden house that sprawled through the clearing. He glanced to Boyd who looked up at the house with pride then gestured for Derek to follow him around to the back.

As Derek passed closer to the house, he could see the different charms lining the doorways, carved into the wood and hanging as metal chimes that sang softly in the light breeze.

Rounding the corner of the house, Derek almost balked at how many people were running around, laughing and shouting at one another as they played some kind of game and wore clothing that clearly didn’t belong to them if the tall blonde boy with curly hair wearing a way-too-small female undergarment over his clothing ran past him followed by a brown haired boy with deep dimples in a far too big jacket darting after was any indication.

“Hide and Seek,” Boyd offered in a whisper, nodding his head at the proceedings. “They wear each other’s clothes in order to throw off the senses of whoever is Seeking. There’s a certain order that you’re supposed to find everyone. This time, it’s below your standing in the pack then back around to above you. Last time it was by order of first names.”

Derek smiled and murmured, “It looks like fun.”

Boyd gave another of his barely-there grins. “It is.”

“Alright,” called a voice that sent shivers down Derek’s spine.

Stiles, blindfolded and shirtless, stepped out from behind a tree, waving his arms in front of him. “Ready or not, here I come!” He wiggled his fingers, raising his head and scenting the air. He lunged at a boy with floppy brown hair and a slightly crooked jaw that dropped and rolled before jumping up and running away, his green shirt billowing behind him.

“Scott I know that’s you. I’m gonna get you,” he sang in a warbling tone, taking a leap towards someone in a large knitted hat and sweater that Derek recognized as Lydia when her curtain of red hair flashed as she threw her head up and laughed while running away.

Stiles growled, claws out and teeth growing sharper, face shifting underneath the cloth. Scott ran by again and Stiles shot after him, fingers catching in the fabric of Scott’s shirt which he shucked, almost howling with laughter as he put on a burst of speed and Stiles fumbled with a handful of fabric but no quarry.

Stiles slowed down and stumbled closer and Derek froze, uncertainty flowing through him.

Maybe Stiles hadn’t intended for him to ever come here, had just been saying that because he’d just shattered Derek’s entire world view… and the letter, it could’ve just been idle amusement, nothing serious… though Erica clearly knew he’d written and he’d mentioned Derek to Boyd…who was now moving off to a large back sitting area where a sandy-haired older man and a black haired woman stood looking at him. A brown haired girl stood with them, cradling a squirming bundle as she stared at him, a half smirk on her face.

The decision to flee was taken from him when Stiles raised his head to scent the air again. The Alpha froze, arms limp at his sides as his body turned towards where Derek stood alone.

Stiles shifted back to human, his blunt-nailed fingers twitching as he reached up to tear the blindfold from his eyes - eyes that flashed red at seeing Derek there, raking along his form. Stiles was breathing hard from the chase as he stared at Derek, hair sticking up in odd little tufts that Derek remembered being softer than rabbit fur.

Everyone else in the clearing stopped too, the laughter and shouting growing silent as they turned to stare at him. Derek noticed from the corner of his eye a few of them raising their heads and sniffing while some just stared, though one or two of them smiled.

“Derek.” Stiles’ voice was soft and he moved forward with his arm raised before stopping, his limb falling back to his side.

“Stiles,” Derek croaked through a suddenly dry mouth. He was sure that everyone in the clearing could hear his heart pounding, probably smell his nerves.

Stiles smiled at him so brightly it made his stomach swoop. “It’s really good to see you.” He turned and gestured to the pack members that had moved to stand in a loose circle around them. “This is my pack. Everyone, this is Derek of the Hale Family.” Most of them nodded, some just kept staring, eyes flickering from human to ‘wolf.

“Hello.” Derek nodded to them and cleared his throat. “Stiles, I came to speak to you…” He looked down, unsure how to continue with the eyes of Stiles’ entire pack on him, knowing that their Alpha and packmate had been held under Derek’s home, beaten, starved, drugged…

Stiles bumped his shoulder. “Come, walk with me.” Stiles looked over at the man who he’d been trying to catch, Scott, who nodded and started shooing the other pack members towards the house.

Stiles turned, flicking his eyes to the tall blonde boy with curly hair still wearing the lacy camisole and then to the tall blonde man with straight hair. Both moved forward, stopping a few paces away and taking up opposite posts.

Stiles moved further away and Derek followed after him, studying the other man’s form as he moved fluidly next to him, all bumbling clumsiness gone. Stiles had healed completely, not surprising since he was an Alpha, and his pack mark looked completely healed as well, even though Derek could see a very faint line left over from the cut.

They stopped at a cluster of carved out logs resembling benches that circled a dug out and stone-laid fire pit. Stiles sat on the center one and scooted over so Derek could sit next on the log next to him, settling on the thin cushion that lay on the seat.

Derek looked at the other two men standing nearby, clearly waiting for Derek to make a wrong move.

“They can see us but can’t really hear,” Stiles assured him. “I mean, they could hear us if they really wanted to, but they won’t listen, out of courtesy’s sake.” The corner of his mouth quirked then dropped.

Silence settled between them and stretched on for a few awkward moments.

“I wanted to tell you -”

“I didn’t realize how -”

“You first,” Derek prompted, watching Stiles watch him.

Stiles nodded and looked down at his hands. He didn’t say anything for a while. Then, quietly, “You never replied to my letter.”

Derek nodded. “I wanted to… I wondered what to write.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been very busy. There’s been a lot going on.” He reached out, hesitating before he ran his fingers over the back of Stiles’ hand. “I really did like the letter. It was… good… to know that… that you think of me.”

Stiles huffed a laugh, his cheeks pinking. “I wanted to tell you who I was, what I am, but I couldn’t. I had to get Lydia out of there. Surely you understand that. But, you’re angry with me about it, aren’t you?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “I was. For a bit,” he admitted, shrugging. “But I understand now. You have to do things at times that may surprise you afterwards.” He gestured to their surroundings. “Take this for example. Never would I have thought that I would be in the Argent pack territory and speaking to its Alpha cordially. And you were right about a lot of things. Peter, mainly, and Laura.”

Stiles squinted at him, chin tilted in question. “And what else have you found out?”

“That Peter knew all along what Laura was planning, who she was speaking to. She saw only the opportunity for peace and moving past the ugliness in our pasts.” Derek sighed and shook his head. “Peter… he could only see monsters, only feel hatred.”

“He’s dead,” Stiles whispered, not looking at Derek, “isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Stiles dropped his head into his hands. “More bloodshed, more lives taken,” he mumbled through his fingers. “It’s got to stop.”

Derek frowned and rested his palm on Stiles’ back. “Why are you so upset? I know you had no love for him.”

Stiles barked out a laugh, the sound distorted, and rubbed his face before running his hands up through his hair. He looked at Derek and his brown-gold eyes were wild, but not from the ‘wolf. “I wax poetic about peace and healing and moving forward. Then my coming to your home ends with your uncle dying, taking the last of your family – just another Argent pack member killing a Hale.”

Derek’s chest clenched in pain. “No, no. Stiles – that’s not… I mean, yes – you being there did mean that the truth came out and, in order to get Lydia out, we had to cause a distraction. But Erica is clever and she did make sure that no one was around.” He scooted minutely closer, catching Stiles’ clenched hands in his. “Peter wasn’t hurt from that. He was running after you and your pack. Did you encounter anyone while you were leaving? Or even move to avoid someone?”

Stiles’ forehead wrinkled and he nodded. “There was a group of people in the woods. We smelled wolfsbane and silver so we just went another way. No one ever looks up.” He grinned before it slipped from his face. “What exactly are you saying?”

“Peter knew something was going on. He and a few others went out and waited for you. He…” Derek cleared his throat and Stiles squeezed his hands. “He fell into one of the traps laid for Supers around the perimeter of the property.”

Stiles’ breath whistled through his teeth. “It wasn’t as tame as the leg snare, I imagine,” he murmured.

Derek shook his head. “It was a particularly brutal kind. He lost a lot of his ability to function – poison destroyed a good portion of his body. It was really just a matter of time.” He looked at Stiles who now stared off in the distance, mouth tight. “So, you see, your pack did not kill him.” He waited for a response and when he didn’t get one, he whispered, “Stiles?”

“Hm?” Stiles blinked, dragging his eyes back to Derek. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking...” He shook his head. “The world is so strange at times.” He shook his head again and slapped his hands on his thighs. “Well then. Is that all you came to speak to me about?”

Derek inclined his head. “There is one other thing.”

Stiles leaned forward slightly, eyes curiously bright. “And that is… what exactly?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips and Derek had to remind himself to focus on the task at hand.

“I’ve spoken to the Council.”

Stiles leaned back, a look of confusion on his face before he schooled his features to blankness. “Indeed. And what have they to say?”

“They would meet with you in an official capacity.” Derek smiled. “They are curious as to what benefits all could have from a treaty.”

Stiles stared at him before his face split in a giant smile. “That is amazing news, Derek.” He squeezed Derek’s hand. “Laura would be very proud of you.”

Derek felt his chest clench, though the pain was less now than before. “I can only hope she would be.” He chuckled. “I haven’t always done well by her standards, but I feel close to her - doing this. Working towards something that she believed in so heartily.”

Stiles’ smile softened and he reached out, brushing the back of his fingers against Derek’s cheek in a butterfly-soft caress. “I know she’d be proud of you. As am I.” His cheeks pinked again and he cleared his throat, standing suddenly and motioning towards the house. “I’d be glad to speak to your Council, though you have to know that there will be many negotiations before we even speak face to face.”

Derek stood as well, following Stiles across the yard once more, passing the two guards as he said, “Of course. Your safety is my utmost concern.” The one with straight blonde hair snorted and Stiles shot the man a look.

“I know that,” he reassured Derek, clapping him on the arm. “I didn’t even think to ask, did you have much trouble finding us?”

“I only found you because you’d told me how. If I hadn’t known, I would have gotten hopelessly lost. It took me quite a while as it was.” He flexed his fingers, remembering the tree. “Also, I feel as if the tree would have kept me at bay should I have had any ill intent.”

Stiles grinned at him. “Did you touch it?” He gestured to Derek’s hand. “Itches a bit, doesn’t it?”

“Itches? It feels tingly to me.” Derek held his hand up so Stiles could see there wasn’t a mark on him.

“Hmm. Interesting. You should speak to Erica about that. I’m not sure she’d be able to give you a solid answer, but…” He shrugged and tilted his head, smiling.

Realizing Stiles was listening to something he couldn’t hear, Derek looked over at the porch, eyes roaming over the pack. He felt slightly less daunted by their scrutiny.

Stiles must have noticed because he nudged him gently. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.” He moved closer to the porch. He turned and pointed to each pack member. “Scott, my Second.” Scott nodded to Derek, arms crossed and face wary. “Allison, my Enforcer.” The girl holding the baby dipped her head at him, dimples flashing as she smiled sweetly at Derek. “Isaac, my other Enforcer.” He pointed to the tall curly haired boy who had by now pulled off the camisole and was looking at Derek with a blank, icy expression in his blue eyes.

“You know my Seer, Lydia.” Derek nodded to the banshee who smirked at him, her lips tinted with dark red stain as she moved to stand next to Allison, slipping an arm around her waist and tilting her face into the kiss that Allison pressed to her cheek. “And my Emissary, Erica.” The blonde winked and blew Derek a kiss from where she stood next to Boyd, a hand resting on her swollen stomach.

“My personal Council: my father John,” the older man who frowned at him, “Scott’s mother Melissa,” the black haired older woman who sent him a soft, knowing smile, “Danny,” the other brown haired boy, dimpled and still wearing the large jacket from the game, “and Boyd,” who just flicked an eyebrow at him as he rested his arm across Erica’s shoulders. “Last, but not least, Jordan.” He gestured to the other tall blonde who smiled, his eyes flashing orange. “You already met Kira and Malia, I assume.” He twiddled his fingers at the baby in Allison’s arms. “They haven’t decided what to call the pup yet, so I’ll have to hold off on introductions. Suffice to say that she’s beautiful.” Allison grinned at him as Lydia rolled her eyes.

“Hello.” He cleared his throat, suddenly unsure again in front of Stiles’ pack, his family. “It’s an honor to meet all of you.”

Stiles squeezed his shoulder. “I know it’s a lot to take in at once.” He looked at his pack and grinned. “Who wants to finish the game?”

Most of them broke into smiles, though a few kept their cold gazes on Derek.

It was Lydia who spoke up first. “Why finish? You were going to lose.” She smirked at her Alpha and shot Derek a wink. He smiled at her weakly.

Stiles squawked, pressing a hand to his chest. “Lose? Preposterous! I’m the Alpha. Of course I was going to win.”

Everyone laughed at that and the mood of the pack shifted to one that felt less tense to Derek who smiled at Stiles’ obviously over-exaggerated distress.

“You always say that,” Scott said, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. “Being the Alpha doesn’t mean that you’ll ever be better at this.”

Stiles growled, Derek assumed playfully, judging by the stuck out tongue from Scott. Stiles pointed his finger dramatically. “That, sir, sounds like a challenge!”

“Perhaps it is.” Scott jumped off the porch and skipped around Stiles and Derek in a circle. “Our guest can watch, if he’d like, while you lose.” He danced away as Stiles snatched at him and darted forward a step.

“Would you excuse me?” Stiles bowed to Derek. “I need to catch a whelp with ridiculously atrocious manners, no offence Melissa.” He bowed to Melissa too who rolled her eyes and waved him away, turning to say something to John.

Stiles grinned toothily at Derek who gestured for him to go on. “My thanks.” He whirled and darted after Scott who whooped then took off down the yard. Many of the others jumped down from the porch and joined back in the game, though Isaac and Parrish kept their posts near Derek.

“Would you like to sit?” Derek turned to see Allison gesturing at a spot on the edge of the porch next to where she sat. Isaac’s mouth pinched but he said nothing, despite his clear wish to.

“Thank you.” Derek took the seat and looked over at the baby girl in Allison’s arms. “Stiles was right.” Allison quirked her eyebrow at him. “She’s very beautiful.”

She smiled and he was hit with the full force of her dimples. She reminded him of a princess from one of the books of fairy tales he and Laura had been read as children. “Thank you.” She looked down at her daughter. “She’s already so stubborn. Just like her mother.”

She narrowed her eyes at Lydia who hummed happily next to her before jumping off the porch and onto Danny’s back as he ran by. He grabbed her legs to keep her on his back and charged towards the group, jumping over Stiles who rolled on the ground, grabbing out at legs with his eyes screwed shut.

Derek looked at Allison and cleared his throat, looking away as he murmured. “I’m sorry about your father.”

Allison stiffened, her fingers tightening on her daughter’s blanket for a moment before she smiled softly at him. “And I’m sorry about your sister.”

He looked at her for a moment before he nodded, cheeks burning with humiliation. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to bring up your father the very moment I spoke to you.”

She reached out, squeezing his hand. “We’ve all lost someone, whether it be to natural causes or other people. If we refuse to speak about them, we dishonor their memory. My father and your sister saw the potential for a brighter future.” She looked down at her daughter who was waving her little fists. “I’d like something like that.”

“I would too.” He watched as Stiles ran after and finally tackled Scott, who rolled with his Alpha into a laughing heap of limbs. “You really haven’t decided a name for her?”

Allison snorted. “Oh, Lydia and I have had a name picked out from the beginning but Stiles refuses to acknowledge it because it’s based off his birth name.” She bopped her girl on the nose. “Her name is Genevieve, of course, after her godsfather, Genim.” She grinned at Derek’s chuckle.

His stomach gargled and Erica drawled, “Haven’t you eaten anything, Master Hale,” from behind him.

He turned and frowned at her. “What did I tell you? Please just call me Derek.”

The blonde threw her head back and laughed, hand pressed to her stomach. “Oh, I have missed you, Derek.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I wasn’t asking for amusement, though. We were in the middle of making the evening meal. It should be ready in a couple of hours. I assume you’ll be joining us?”

Derek shrugged, honestly not sure, now that he’d already told Stiles what he needed to and gotten him to agree. Though, it didn’t seem like the Alpha was going to be doing anything serious for a while, judging by the screeching cacophony coming from the yard. The sun wasn’t quite ready to set. He could make it back to his camp in time for nightfall and then some.

“I have a camp set up on the edge of the wood. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” John muttered darkly, moving past them and heading into a side door, slamming it behind himself. Derek looked at Erica whose mouth pinched in sympathy.

“He’s going to have a little bit of a hard time adjusting, I think.” She shrugged, eyes sad. “It’s hard to trust when you’ve been burned before.”

Derek nodded, understanding Stiles’ father’s reluctance. “It really isn’t an issue. I can go.”

Allison frowned. “No, I think it best you stayed. Stiles wouldn’t want you to go back so quickly.”

Erica smirked. “Hmm, he certainly wouldn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Derek asked, feeling frustrated that he was missing something, again.

“You have more to talk about, I assume.” She shrugged and Derek frowned, not buying her innocent act. She didn’t have enhanced hearing but for some reason, he believed that Erica always knew a great deal more than she let on.

“Fine,” he replied slowly, clearly suspicious. “I still need to make a trip back. Check in with my people so they know I’m alright. But I’ll come back tonight.”

“Wonderful. We’ll see you in time for dinner.” She clapped her hands then stumbled slightly over the lip of the open doorway into the kitchen. Boyd’s arm darted out and caught her, holding her tight against his body. She slapped lightly at his limb, glaring. “I am perfectly capable of walking, thank you very much. I’m pregnant, not an invalid! No one treated Allison like this when she was pregnant!”

Boyd sighed like it was something they argued frequently about. “Allison is a ‘wolf and even she wasn’t allowed to do a lot of work.” His voice trailed off as they moved further into the kitchen and Allison snickered next to Derek.

“Poor Erica.” She shook her head. “She’s a very powerful Spark and she hates being told what to do. But it’s only the second pup so the pack is being very protective and she is human.” She smiled down at Genevieve. “We’re just glad that Gen will have someone to grow up with. It’ll be like before, I hope. Where there were groups of little ones all running about.”

Derek smiled too, remembering the slew of cousins before it was just he and Laura in the large, lonely manor house. “It’s always more fun to grow up with other people your age around.”

Allison nodded. “There was always someone to play with.” She laughed. “Or quarrel with. But it was never dull, that’s for certain.” She shrugged, hefting Gen higher in her arms. “Speaking of exciting things, I have to take her for a nappy change.” She nodded at him. “I’ll see you later on this evening.”

He nodded back, waving his fingers at Gen who gurgled at him. Allison laughed as she went inside.

He stayed sitting on the porch, just soaking in the laughter, the sounds and smells of life and family, the bright sunshine. He smiled and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and wondering what they were cooking. It smelled amazing.

Someone plopped down next to him and he looked over, smiling at the panting, sweaty Alpha that lay sprawled on the wood next to him.

“I need to go back to my camp,” he informed Stiles after a few moments.

Stiles opened his eye, watching as he continued to pant lightly, his chest rising and falling. It reminded Derek of their time in the interrogation room, though the angle was different. “Will you be returning tonight?”

Derek smiled. “Erica invited me for dinner.”

Stiles laughed, throwing an arm over his eyes. “She would. She’s always trying to feed people.” He sat up, twitching his head to keep the sweat from his eyes. “Would you like someone to go back with you or do you think you can find your way?”

“I think I’ll be alright. I really should be going if I want to get back by nightfall.” He tipped his head to Stiles who smirked back as he rose up to his elbows. Derek swallowed, trying not to think about the last time he’d seen Stiles like that, and dropped his gaze.

“Hurry back.” Stiles’ voice was husky and held the hint of a growl.

Derek nodded and hurried around the edge of the house, ignoring the burning in his cheeks. Good Gods… Stiles had such a strong effect on him, turning him into a stuttering idiot with only a glance and a shift in his posture. He shook himself and started back the way Boyd had taken him.

He reached the break in the trees that would bring him back into the main wood and looked around for Kira or Malia. He heard a soft sound and saw a gray coyote with blue eyes. It blinked at him and curled its upper lip before disappearing into the brush. Malia, he figured, from the eyes.

The trek through the trees took less time than before. In a short time, he passed the large tree – giving it a wide berth – and came out where he’d entered. A short distance away, he saw the edge of the tents and smelled a fire.

He whistled a short tune to alert the guard of his identity and emerged with his hands out in front of him. He nodded to the two men on guard who nodded back, standing aside to let him pass into the campgrounds.

“Hail Hale,” Jackson quipped, grinning at his own joke as he popped up from a seat around the fire, arms held wide as he bowed.

Derek laughed and rolled his eyes. “Such a wit, Whittemore.”

Jackson laughed, tossing his head and gesturing at the wood where Derek had emerged. “What? No furry entourage?”

Derek shrugged, walking further into camp and heading towards his tent. “I’m sure they sent someone after me, if only to make sure I didn’t hurt my stupid human self.”

Jackson clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you can handle a little stroll in the woods.”

He followed Derek to his tent where he gathered up his bedroll and a small pack, shoving tightly rolled spare clothing into the leather satchel. He waffled over taking the early stages of the treaty papers then decided to take them just in case. He placed them and a few spare sheets of paper into a solid case with a few charcoal pieces.

“I’m not sure what time I’ll return tomorrow,” Derek explained, looking around and mentally checking off what he’d packed, wondering if he’d missed anything.

“Mm.” Jackson nodded, looking pensive. “What was it like?”

“What was what like?” Derek was convinced there was something he needed but couldn’t remember what it was. Something he’d made a note to get while he’d been tramping through the brush on his way back.

“Their camp. Or territory. Whatever it is.” Jackson leaned against the tree outside the tent, watching Derek through the opening. “Was it primitive? Established?”

Derek turned, brow wrinkled. “Why do you ask?”

Jackson shrugged. “I’m curious. They’re people, just the same as us,” he dipped his head at Derek, “and I wonder how they live, what they’re like.”

Derek shrugged in return. “They’re… well they’re just people.” He shook his head, deciding to just deal with whatever he’d wanted and forgotten. “They’re a family. They eat together and live together and some of them are coupled - bonded - and, I don’t know. They’re just… normal.”

Jackson nodded, pulling at his bottom lip and looking at the ground like he was mulling something over. “Normal…”

Derek had to smile at the utterly serious look on Jackson’s face. He tied the satchel up and fastened the bedroll on top of it. “Yes, Jackson, normal.” He clapped Jackson on the shoulder and hefted the pack onto his shoulders.

Jackson nodded and gave him an earnest smile, following him back towards the edge of the camp. Derek accepted a canteen of water from one of the guards and nodded his thanks. Jackson walked with him past the guards and stopped at the edge of the wood.

“I wish you a good trek, Master Hale.” He dipped his head, a sarcastic gleam in his eye that made Derek smile. His snarky demeanor slipped slightly and Derek looked over his shoulder to see what had made that happen.

Isaac stood fifteen feet into the woods, just slightly out of the trees, enough to be seen. He tilted his head, letting his blue eyes flash to gold and back. His blank expression slipped slightly, a toothy smirk curling his lips as he ran his eyes over Jackson who - Derek turned back to look at his new right hand - looked utterly gobsmacked at the sight of the tall boy who wore only low slung, well-worn pants and had leaves in his curly hair.

“I’m sure it will be utterly uneventful,” Derek replied jovially, clapping Jackson on the shoulder again and startling the shorter man who blinked at Derek then glanced back at Isaac before clearing his throat.

“Right, right. See you tomorrow.” He saluted then turned back to camp, his back stiff with, what Derek assumed, fighting the urge to turn back around.

Derek snickered, wondering if it was just Stiles’ pack or if it was all ‘wolves that had the wild, earthy attractiveness without even seeming to mean to. He headed into the wood, glancing at Isaac whose face had gone back to the blank mask.

“His name is Jackson, if you wondered,” he said as he passed and watched Isaac’s eyebrow flick up then down.

“I didn’t.” His voice was softer than Derek imagined it would be, though there was a thread of steel that ran at the base of it along with a tone of reproach.

Derek shrugged, smiling. “Very well.” He kept walking, not speaking to Isaac any more through the trip, though he did hear Isaac faintly whisper ‘Jackson’ a couple of times, as if testing the name.

He didn’t see Kira or Malia when he passed back through the gap that led to the house. He noticed that Isaac was no longer following him though and assumed he’d stopped to guard the area.

As he came up on the house, he saw the front door was open and a warm golden light spilled into the gathering twilight. He stopped, awed and slightly envious, as the pack members milled around past the windows. He could hear laughter and someone was singing.

“You can go inside, you know.” Derek didn’t jump, though he was startled by the silent appearance of Stiles’ father, John. The older man stepped up on Derek’s left side, keeping his distance as he stared at Derek hard. “Stiles is waiting and Erica has been working very hard on the meal.”

Derek inclined his head at John, though didn’t move to go inside. He had a feeling that John had approached him with intent. They stood in silence and listened to the wood settle as the sun slipped fully past the edge of the horizon.

Finally John sighed, rubbing his shoulder. “I have no reason to trust you.”

“I know.” Derek kept his voice calm, arms loose at his sides.

“The last time a Hale attempted to speak of peace to the Council, my Alpha was killed and I almost died along with him. I would have if not for my foolish, headstrong idiot of a son.” He turned, looking at the house. “Now, my Alpha is also my idiot son and he’s been enchanted by a Hale, just like Chris.” He eyed Derek. “What power is it that you people have?”

Derek shook his head. “I honestly have no idea. I never expected any of this to happen.”

John barked out a laugh. “None of us expected this, least of all me.” He shook his head, rubbing his arm once more. “Best go on in. My son is griping at me for interrogating you. Though that is my job as his father and his own council.” The last part was clearly meant for Stiles who appeared in the doorway and pointed at his father with a frown. John smiled back, shameless, and faded back into the darkened woods where he’d come from.

“Glad to see you made it back in one piece, though I dare say you aren’t unscathed from your journey,” Stiles grumbled as Derek made his way up the front steps.

“Well, Isaac made sure I didn’t lose my way.” He smiled at Stiles’ false look of innocence. “And your father is just looking out for you. He wants what’s best for you and the pack. I can see that.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, a tiny smile on his face. “You would think he’s right, wouldn’t you? I swear, I’ve wondered these months if introducing you two would ever be a good idea. You’re far too alike.” He shook his head and moved inside, stepping over Malia who sprawled on the floor on Kira’s lap, tawny limbs twisted up with the other girl’s as they ate from the same bowl, spoons battling over chunks of vegetables.

Erica threw her arms up when she saw him. “There he is! I wondered if you’d decided not to return.”

Stiles leaned over and kissed her temple. “He’d be missing out on the best venison stew in existence if he hadn’t.”

She threw a chunk of bread at her Alpha’s head and handed the other part of the loaf to Derek along with a bowl of the stew. “He’s obnoxious but completely correct. My stew is the best.”

“Hear hear!” Danny and Scott called out in unison, waving their spoons.

Stiles motioned for Derek to join him at the very large table dominating the open room. He sat down and started eating, eyes closing in bliss at the first bite. “Erica, you are a goddess. This is the best venison stew I have ever eaten.”

“See?” Stiles demanded, pointing at Derek’s happy face.

Erica rolled her eyes, though she smiled at Derek. “Thank you. There’s plenty, if you’d like more.”

Derek nodded then turned as Lydia slid into the seat next to him. He nodded to her, but continued eating, not bothered by her piercing gaze any longer. She tilted her head, eyes shifting from him to some far off thing then back to him.

“Well, isn’t that interesting?” she breathed then turned to her own bowl, daintily but quickly demolishing the stew and bread.

“I’m sure it is, darling,” Allison muttered as she slid onto the bench across from them, Gen resting in a sling on her chest as she ate her stew at an angle to avoid dripping any on her sleeping child. “Can we avoid looking into people’s futures? It’s terribly rude.”

Lydia shrugged and grinned at her mate. “Whatever you say, love.”

Derek finished his bowl and folded his hands on the table, watching as the pack subconsciously formed around Stiles, pulled toward his bright joy, contentment practically rolling off the lot of them.

Derek added a few comments when brought into a conversation - he could tell that some of them were continuing to take his measure - but mostly he just listened and basked in the feel of family.

After a while, Erica stood and went to a wall covered in small rows of shelves, pulling down three markers. “Alright, tonight it’s Scott, Parrish, and Kira on clean up duty.” She placed the markers on a new row and shifted all the others down.

The three pack members stood, reaching out and gathering the bowls from the others. Scott actually smiled at him as he took Derek’s bowl and headed towards the large basins set up by the open windows.

Stiles stood, jerking his head at Derek. “Did you bring anything of interest in that bag?”

Derek heaved an exaggerated sigh. “It’s terribly boring, but I have the most recent treaty from the last Council meeting.” Stiles tried to hide the grin on his face. “I know you’ll likely fall asleep, but we can look over it.”

“Very well.” He grabbed a small lamp and headed down a hallway that lead away from the main room, turning into a room that looked more like a magpie’s den than that of an Alpha werewolf. Small knickknacks, shiny bits of rock, interesting looking pieces of wood - bits and pieces of things littered the shelves around the room. “I must warn you though,” Stiles kept speaking, dragging a bench closer to the small desk, “if you put me to sleep, you’ll have to put me to bed. I hate falling asleep at my desk.”

Not sure if Stiles was intentionally teasing him or just had no idea the effect the words had on him, Derek held his breath then released it. He moved toward the desk, only flicking a cursory glance at the simple, neatly-made mattress sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. He settled on one side of the bench and started pulling out the papers as Stiles lit another lamp and put one on each side of the desk.

“Now then, let’s have a look.” Stiles read through the treaty, pulling a piece of paper of his own from a small drawer in his desk and making notes, muttering to himself and ending up with charcoal on his left cheekbone. “Alright, I think that should be a good start for any meetings that I attend.” He smiled winningly and glanced down at his own notes.

Derek reached out and rubbed the black mark with his thumb. Stiles’ eyes jumped from the page to Derek’s eyes, flicking down to his mouth then back to his eyes.

“Sorry,” Derek murmured. “You have a smudge, just here.” He rubbed his thumb over the spot again, dragging gently over Stiles’ skin and the Alpha’s eyelids flickered for a moment before he smiled.

“I’m a mess,” he breathed, holding up his smudgy hand. “Always been a bit scattered.”

Derek nodded, dropping his hand. “I can imagine.”

“Can you?” Stiles’ eyes danced with mischief as he leaned a bit closer, though there wasn’t a lot of space between them on the bench as it was.

“Mm.” Derek hummed, drawn closer himself from the proximity of Stiles, his scent, the way his eyes looked in the lamp light. He focused on Stiles’ lips, bitten pink and wet from his darting tongue, slightly parted, breath coming soft.

“Let’s go!” called several voices at once, followed by joyous howling, and Stiles groaned in exasperation, dropping his head to the side on the desk. Derek cleared his throat, standing and shoving the papers back into the case.

“Where are you going?” he asked, tying the strings that kept the hard case shut.

Stiles snorted, head still down on the desk. “A run,” he replied, his voice muffled, “and we have a fire most nights. The moon is waning, headed towards new. It’s something we almost always do.” He sat up, pulling away a paper that stuck to his forehead. “You can sit by the fire while we run, if you’d like.”

“Alright.” Derek followed Stiles out, leaving the satchel in the Alpha’s room but taking the blank paper and charcoal with him. Stiles gestured for him to take the same spot they’d sat in before, though he didn’t sit next to Derek, choosing to stand and bounce on the balls of his feet as the rest of the pack joined them. The dark was settling in and Derek’s eyes were adjusting pretty well to the small lamps placed around the pit.

Erica settled on the log directly across from him and muttered a few words, flicking her fingers at the stacked wood and smiling as the logs lit up in a whoosh. She grinned up at Boyd and pulled him down for a kiss, hand wrapped in his shirt. She released him and he kissed her hand before moving toward the darkness, shucking his shirt and throwing it back at her.

Derek glanced over his shoulder and noticed that the other ‘wolves were disrobing and he could hear popping and groans as they shifted into their full ‘wolf shapes.

He hummed to himself, curious about the full ‘wolf shape but deciding that watching would be rude. He looked instead at the flames, watching as they took on a slightly blue tinge, then green, before flickering to normal orangey-red.

“Herbs,” Erica piped up, placing a pot on a hook and swinging it over the edge of the fire to heat. “For health and good hunting, among other things.” She smiled as she took her seat again, shifting until she found a comfortable position, pulling and pushing at her cushion.

“Did you always know you were a Spark?” Derek leaned back too, enjoying the calm created by the fire and the stars and the light Spring breeze.

She snorted, folding her hands over her belly. “No. Pretty much all of the story I told you before is true. I was practically my aunt’s slave and she beat me frequently but it was for the things that kept happening that no one could explain. Then someone else saw me making the flowers bloom in the garden. They decided to drown me as a witch. They trussed me up and dunked me. I was dying.” Her eyes were dark and the fire reflected back in them eerily. “I saw a dark shape in front of me right before I passed out. When I woke up, I was looking up at Boyd’s face and his eyes were bright gold.” Her voice was soft edged and slightly reverent.

“How did he know to rescue you?” Derek murmured, soothed by her tone and the flickering light.

“Well, he didn’t, specifically. The pack was passing by my town and heard the commotion down by the water. Chris told everyone to stay back and he and John went to investigate. Boyd didn’t listen, obviously, thank the gods. He said that he just couldn’t stay still, like his skin was on fire. He ran all the way down the dock and dove right in, pulling me out and pushing air into my mouth.” She laughed. “The Elders in the town were scandalized. Not only did someone rescue the witch they were trying to kill, but it was a colored boy who then put his mouth on that of a white girl.” She put the back of her wrist to her forehead. “Can you even imagine?!”

Derek shook his head. “I can see you didn’t exactly come from an enlightened town.”

She shrugged. “My Ma and Papa were good people. But,” she peered at him, “every family has their black sheep. Most of my relatives were awful, hate-filled monsters who were entirely human and used their god to reason away their sins.” She rose and pulled the pot off the fire with a hook. She pulled three mugs from a box next to her and poured the steaming red liquid in. She walked around the pit and handed him one.

“Thank you.” He pulled the cup close, smelling the tea. He felt like his whole body slumped. “This smells so good.”

Erica nodded as she set another cup on the log to Derek’s left then returned to her seat with her own cup. “It’s Red Griffin tea.” She too inhaled deeply and leaned back, smiling slowly. “It’s for relaxation and a lot of people use it for meditation.”

“What’s in it?” Derek asked as he took a tiny sip, trying not to burn his tongue.

Erica snorted. “You really don’t want to know.”

He looked at her with startled eyes then back down at the relatively innocent looking liquid. He shifted his cup minutely and caught the red tinge again. “Perhaps you’re right.”

She giggled and took a sip. “It’s nothing to worry about, but some of the ingredients trouble people. It’s like hating onions – you eat a wonderful dish. Half way through, someone tells you there are onions in it and suddenly the dish loses all appeal.” She shrugged and took another sip.

Derek took another sip. “It tastes perfectly fine.”

“It should,” Lydia replied, breezing over with Gen in her sling and settling at the spot where Erica had put the other tea cup. “It’s wonderful tea. My favorite, actually.” She raised the cup to Erica who smiled. She turned to Derek. “So, how do you like our territory thus far?”

Derek smiled at the banshee, noting that she rocked ever so slightly back and forth to soothe the baby. “The pack has made quite a home here.”

She smiled at him and her eyes lit up. “We have indeed.” She smirked into her cup. “I trust that it wasn’t too far a journey for you to make?”

Derek squinted at her, not sure he liked her tone. “Not too far. A little over an hour to the wood, about an hour in, then the same back; it’s nothing extreme.”

“Wonderful.” She drained her cup. “It should be no trouble for you to come back often then.”

“Lydia.” Erica’s tone was a warning.

“Oh, please. I didn’t say too much.” She jerked her thumb at Derek. “He’ll be here often enough with the treaty being worked out and I imagine we’ll be at that gods awful manor house quite often as well.”

“What’s wrong with my house?” Derek asked.

“That’s what you took from that?” Erica asked incredulously. She laughed. “Goodness, this will never happen at this rate.”

“What did I say about the ambiguous statements, Erica?” Derek grumbled.

She only grinned in response and drank more of her tea.

Lydia rose from her seat and filled her cup once more, offering the pot to Derek but he shook his head. He was a little too relaxed for his liking and several of the pack still didn’t seem to like him very much. He was too anxious. She shrugged and returned to her seat.

They settled into a relaxed silence, Erica and Lydia seeming to slip into a meditative trance. Derek himself felt utterly relaxed, eyes watching the fire and mind drawn in. After a while, Derek wasn’t sure how long he’d stared at the flames, they heard a howl that had both women smiling. Derek looked askance at Erica.

“They’ll be heading back soon. They’ve gotten another two deer which is good.” She looked up at the sky where the moon gleamed in a slender smile. “They don’t always hunt well on the new moon.”

Derek looked up too and caught sight of the bright sliver of moon. He kept looking, noting all the stars and thinking of charting constellations when he was younger. He searched the sky until he found the Wolf. The Hunter only appeared in the fall and winter months, with the Wolf in the spring and summer months. A perpetual chase, Laura had said when they studied the stars as teenagers.

The rest of the pack returned to the yard half-dressed in clothes they obviously kept in the woods, like the pants Isaac had been wearing earlier in the day.

Stiles padded over and dropped on the ground next to Derek’s seat, streaked with mud but in a decidedly happy way. He looked up at Derek and his eyes shone.

“Good hunt?” Derek noted Scott and Boyd bringing the deer to the house.

Stiles stretched and leaned back against the bench, his arm brushing Derek’s leg. “Yes. The smaller buck gave us a good run.” He looked around as the pack filled in the spaces left on the logs.

Derek noticed that there was definitely an order to how the pack was seated, and that all of them were there. Allison moved to sit with Lydia on the left. Isaac sat directly next to them with Kira and Malia on his left. Erica was directly across from him, like before, and Boyd joined her. Parrish, then Danny, then Melissa and John. Scott settled directly on the right side of him, giving Stiles a strange look. Derek looked around and realized that he was sitting in the Alpha’s seat… with the Alpha at his feet.

As usual, ever so eloquent, he uttered a confused, “Uhm…”

Stiles smiled up at him, an expression of innocence shining on his face. “Something wrong?”

“I suppose not.” He looked around at the pack that either watched him or watched their Alpha. John looked like he was about to break his teeth, his jaw was clenched so tight, but other than that, they looked merely confused, curious, or amused.

“Good.” Stiles settled back, arm pressed more firmly to Derek’s leg and folded his hands over his stomach. “Story time, please, my dear sweet Erica.”

Erica rolled her eyes and started telling small fairy tales that Derek was familiar with, but could barely pay attention to. The heat of Stiles’ skin burned through his trousers and seared his leg, but he didn’t dare move, lest he lose the contact. He sat stiff for a while until Stiles shifted even further and pressed his back against Derek’s legs, his head tilting and resting on Derek’s knee. He said nothing, just thought maybe… and settled more comfortably, following the stories.

After the fire burned down to almost embers and Erica had rambled into sleep halfway through a particularly gruesome version of the Cinder Princess, Derek started to nod off, slipping into sleep himself as Boyd took over telling the story of slippers filled with blood.

He woke briefly, some time later, on his bedroll, tunic and boots pulled off, belt and belt knife placed above his head. He blinked and looked around, noting Stiles sprawled on his mattress next to and slightly above him. The Alpha’s body was loose in sleep, muscles lax and eyelids flickering with deep sleep.

Derek watched him for a few moments longer before a yawn took him and he pressed his face into a pillow that smelled strongly of Stiles. He blinked twice and fell back asleep.

When he woke the next morning, Stiles’ limbs were wrapped around him tightly, making Derek wonder if he were some kind of clingy beast instead of a ‘wolf. Stiles snored softly, mouth open a little, chest rising and falling quickly. Derek also understood why Stiles had his bed on the floor when he stretched carefully and bumped into a sleeping ‘wolf the color of dark cocoa that snorted and twitched but kept sleeping next to the coyote he’d seen the day before and a small orange fox with more tails than he’d ever seen on one before. He looked down and saw another ‘wolf the color of honey curled around his feet, asleep on its back with all four feet in the air.

Derek lay there, listening to the soft sounds of morning, watching the sunlight filter through the windows and let himself pretend, just for a moment, that this was how he always woke up: Stiles wrapped around him, warm breath on his neck, and surrounded by people who cared about him.

He heard a noise by the door and looked up, eyes catching with John’s. He didn’t move, just watched Stiles’ father look at him and his son. John didn’t say anything and, after a few moments, just shook his head and walked down the hallway, disappearing towards the main room.

Derek kept lying there but all his sleepy comfort was gone. This wasn’t his life. He needed to get up and get back to camp.

Dislodging Stiles was a lot easier in theory than in practice. He tightened his grip, whining under his breath and trying to snuffle closer. Eventually Derek just sat up and Stiles slid down slightly to cling to his waist.

“Stiles,” he whispered. “Stiles, I have to get up.”

“Nnn…” Stiles groaned, rubbing his nose into the curve of Derek’s waist. “G’t’sleep pup.”

“I’m not a pup. I’m Derek.” He was having a hard time keeping from laughing.

“D’rek pup…” Stiles mumbled then took a deep breath. He took another and his eyelids flickered open. “Hey.” His voice was rough and low with sleep.

“Would you mind letting go so that I can get up?” Derek asked politely.

Stiles blinked up at him then seemed to realize that he was holding onto Derek. “Oh sorry.” He slid back and lay flat, stretching his arms above his head. “I tend to latch onto people when I sleep.”

Derek laughed quietly as he stood, gathering up his satchel and stuff from the night before. “So I noticed.”

Stiles laughed and reached out to the dark brown ‘wolf. “Scott, wake up buddy.” He poked at Scott’s ribs. Scott rolled away from the offending digit with a grumbling sound. Stiles sat up and looked at everyone that had joined them in the night. “Good morning, Isaac.”

Stiles wiggled his fingers at the honey ‘wolf who moved, rolling to his feet and blinking at them sleepily before padding past Derek and down the hall into the main room. Derek looked back at Stiles who grinned before lying on top of Scott and singing something that sounded like a child’s lullaby about moonbeams and white lilies and the scent of cold leaves.

After changing and splashing water on his face, he stared out the window at the beautiful scenery for a moment, blinking to fully wake himself up. He dragged on his socks and boots, secured his belt and knife, and pulled a clean shirt over his head, forgoing the tunic. While shoving his old clothing into the satchel, he heard someone else singing and headed into the main room seeing Lydia and Danny cooking.

John was the one singing, holding tiny Gen in the crook of his arm and swaying back and forth. He crooned the same song Stiles had been singing to Scott. The girl stared up at him, enraptured.

“Good morning, Derek.” Melissa passed by him with a smile and a basket, her hands covered with dirt.

“Morning, Melissa,” he returned.

“Staying for breakfast?” The older woman asked as she joined Danny and Lydia and began washing the vegetables she pulled from the basket.

“Ah, no. I have to be heading back.” He rubbed his eyes. “The members of the Council have been waiting for Stiles’ response. I need to get back and let them know of his decision, start planning the meeting.”

“Where will it be held?” John asked, done with his singing and swaying and handing Gen to a heavy-eyed Allison, her hair a giant tangle on one side of her head. She smiled toothily at Derek and walked over to Lydia, pressing against her side.

“We’re planning on having everyone gather at my manor, so as to keep everyone on as neutral ground as possible.”

John narrowed his eyes as Stiles walked into the room with a still furry Scott behind him, though Malia and Kira had shifted back. The two girls padded out and plopped down at the table, reaching for the bread and honey placed there.

Stiles smiled at his father and put his hand on Derek’s shoulder, guiding him towards the door before John could say anything else. “I’ll see you out.”

Derek sent a wave to everyone as they called out their farewells. He slung the strap over his shoulder and plodded down the stairs, boots thunking behind Stiles’ silent bare feet.

“When will the meeting commence?” Stiles asked at the edge of the clearing, blinking in the sunlight.

Derek cleared his throat, trying to steer his thoughts from the way the sunlight made Stiles’ eyes shine the color of dark whiskey. “Hopefully in a fortnight. I’ll be sure to let you know for sure when I find out.”

Stiles smiled and rubbed his hair. “Alright.” He took a step back, then another and waved before he hopped up the porch steps and went back inside.

Derek turned to hide the heat in his cheeks and started the walk back to the camp, a smile on his face the whole way.

-----

The next week passed in a blur, couriers running in and out of the Hale manor laden with messages concerning the meeting. When the final date was confirmed, mid-month in May, Derek took Jackson and a handful of guards and rode out to the woods.

He dismounted, left his horse with Jackson, who frowned and did not pout, and walked to the tree, which he judged to be about half way. He shifted back and forth for a moment, suddenly self-conscious, before he took a deep breath and let out a long howl.

Even he had to admit, it was pretty bad, breaking halfway through, and so he tried another one. The second howl was stronger and smoother and he finished it with a grin.

He settled down to wait, perching on a nearby rock and studying the way the tree moved in the breeze that didn’t blow outside of the woods. He was watching as the color of the bark darkened then lightened when a dark gray ‘wolf with brown markings popped up on the other side of the clearing.

He nodded, not sure which pack member it was. “Hello. I came to pass along the date of the Council gathering but I don’t have the time to make it all the way to the den. Could you please let Stiles know that it’s mid-month in May?”

The ‘wolf nodded its head then disappeared back into the trees, flicking its tail at him with a chuffed out breathy growl.

“Thank you,” he called softly, knowing the ‘wolf could hear him, and headed back.

He wasn’t sure why he expected Stiles and the pack members he’d chosen to bring along to announce themselves in a formal way. Of course they wouldn’t. But he wasn’t prepared to find Stiles lounging in his chair by the fire three days before the meeting.

Derek jumped and spilled the glass of water in his hand all over himself.

Stiles didn’t laugh but his eyes danced and his shoulders shook as he dipped his head and said, “Master Hale, so good to see you again.”

“I’d ask how you got in,” Derek said wearily as he set the glass down and headed back into his room to get another shirt, “but I know I wouldn’t get a real answer anyways.”

Stiles did laugh then. He waited until Derek reappeared in a dry shirt before he stood and admitted, “It wasn’t easy, precisely, but I do love a good surprise.”

“You would,” Derek muttered darkly, tossing a cloth down to get the water off the floor lest he slip on it later. “Have you a preference on sleeping quarters for the pack? I can give you one of the guest suites on this floor or you can stay on the other side of the house, though the Council members will be staying there.”

Stiles shook his head. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. The guest suite on this floor would be good. I had to bring Erica.”

Derek frowned, not sure that was such a good idea and told Stiles so.

“Well she is our Emissary. It would be wrong not to bring her.” He shrugged. “Besides, she listens to me only when she desires. She also told me that if I tried to stop her from coming, she’d freeze me in my half-shift and leave me that way. I decided to humor her so, she and Boyd will take the room and the rest of us will fill in the spaces between.” He gave a sheepish smile. “There’s also a couple pack members that will be staying in the woods, just in case.”

Derek nodded. “If you think that’s a good idea, I support it.” He tossed the sullied cloth into his hamper. “I think it best not to disclose where you’ll be staying and this part of the house will be closed off to everyone save those I choose.” He grabbed a slip of paper and silently read off the names of the attendees listed. “Jackson, Daehler, a few of the men and women, and the household staff.”

Stiles nodded and walked around the room, touching everything, picking up small things and turning them over in his hands, trailing his fingers along the mantle and over tabletops and the backs of chairs. Derek watched him, utterly confused. Stiles just looked at him and said, “You don’t look like you’ve slept in a while.”

Derek laughed and it sounded brittle. “I haven’t.” He shook his head, feeling worn out. “There’s been a lot going on. So much to plan and time is running out.”

Stiles smiled at him gently and placed a soothing palm on his back. “Come spend some time with the pack. They’re waiting out in the woods. We can get them and you can relax a little bit. Everything is going to be fine.”

Derek nodded and they went downstairs and onto the wall overlooking the garden. Stiles leaned against the parapet and let out a short howl. Shadowed forms starting moving in the woods, coalescing into people as they neared the gardens.

John stepped out first, followed by Boyd with Erica on his arm. She grinned up at them as a smirking Lydia stepped out behind her, followed by a blank faced Isaac whose eyes flicked around observantly. Danny and Jordan nodded up at them then faded back into the woods.

Stiles saluted them then he and Derek walked down to meet everyone. The next several hours were spent with Derek showing the pack around the property, studiously avoiding the stairs that led to the rooms under the house.

Even better than Erica’s love sonnet to the kitchens, was John’s wide-eyed regard of the library and Isaac’s utter fascination with the hall of portraits.

The best part of the night was when John settled on the couch in the guest suite then covered his eyes and started counting. All the ‘wolves scattered, cackling with glee.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and dragged him along as they flew down the halls and hid in a spot that seemed terribly clever until they got caught by John, then another spot where they were found by Boyd.

The next round, they stumbled from hiding spot to hiding spot, ending up in an alcove behind a suit of armor, pressed chest to chest and grinning giddily into each other’s faces. Stiles held his fingers against Derek’s lips and whispered, Shhh, even though he couldn’t stop laughing either.

The best part, in Derek’s opinion, as he clutched his sides and laughed so hard he almost cried, was the sound that Stiles made when Erica popped up next to the suit of armor and grabbed them.

-----

The first hour into the Council meeting, Derek wanted to bash his head against the table.

The second hour, he contemplated that pulling his eyelashes out one-by-one would be more productive and less painful than what was happening.

By hour three, the Carters had gotten the Calaveras to calm down about territory and giving the Bite to children and innocents, thus making the argument about forcing the Bite onto people. Taya Calaveras implied that anyone who was forced into the Bite should be killed for their own sake. Isaac flushed, rose from the table and left, which upset Erica, who threatened bodily harm to Patrick McBrayer when he insinuated again that her baby would eat its way out of her womb, which had him threatening right back, which made Boyd growl, which had Antonia Strider’s hand inching towards where, Derek knew, she kept a vial of powdered silver up her sleeve. Lydia sucked in a deep breath and let out a tinny shriek that had everyone clapping their hands over their ears.

He looked over to the corner as people spoke over one another, trying to make a point or start a fight, he wasn’t sure. The Gutierrez family hadn’t shown up en masse, just sent one representative. A quiet man, middle aged and solemn. He said nothing, just sat and listened and watched and judged. Derek was sure that every single thing that was said would be relayed back to the Head of the Family.

When they adjourned for the day and everyone went their separate ways, Derek and the pack snuck out to the woods and ran around playing Leap Frog with Danny and Jordan, trying to burn off the angry energy. Erica sat and wove string into a startling likeness of Patrick McBrayer but Derek didn’t say anything, figuring if the man was going to be cruel, he could get his karmic due a little early.

Derek ended up staying the night in the guest suite, curled up on the floor with Stiles and Isaac and Lydia while John read aloud from a travel journal. The older man slept on the couch and Erica and Boyd took the bed. The others talked then eventually dozed off where they lay. By the middle of the night, when Derek woke briefly, the mattress was on the floor and they all slept in a huddle, Stiles once again wrapped tight around Derek, not that he minded as he slipped back into slumber.

The second day was less annoying but decidedly more torturous and hateful.

While the topics actually were on important things, questions and answers that were necessary for the talks to do well, the insults were deeper, more subtle and well-timed for full devastation effect.

When one of the Gabriel sisters threw out Laura’s name, Derek’s head snapped up. He watched as Stiles growled, his eyes flashing red as he leaned forward and whispered something decidedly unpleasant, if all the blood draining from her face was any indication.

As he leaned back in his seat, Stiles looked over at Derek and gave him a smile that had Derek melting into his boots and he had to take a moment to step out and get some air.

The end of the day proved marginally better than the evening prior. They weren’t trying to change the world, just their small piece of it, but it was extremely hard work.

The reason Stiles’ pack was the only one in attendance was that the only other pack within two hundred miles refused to get involved where they believed they would be murdered on sight, per Erica’s information.

The other Supers that lived in groups didn’t even respond to messages that Erica had sent out, also figuring for swift death. None of the representatives denied or agreed to the statement, but several refused to make eye contact.

Before heading upstairs, Derek clapped Brandon Carter on the shoulder and the other man wished him a good afternoon as they parted ways at the bottom of the stairs.

Derek brought Jackson with him and introduced him to the small part of the pack, enjoying how he and Isaac watched each other from the corners of their eyes, and sharing a wink with Stiles when the Alpha noticed it too. That night he acknowledged to himself, if not out loud, that he would end up in the guest suite with the pack and brought his own pillows and blankets from his room.

The third day was a break before they continued on the fourth day. The meetings got very ugly and edged towards violence, though never quite reaching all the way to a physical brawl.

The small break through around midday came when Erica leaned over, still arguing vehemently with Patrick, and placed her hand on top of Antonia’s, healing the swollen cut on her palm. Erica didn’t even notice, just kept bickering with the older man about the idiocy of Speciest behavior while Antonia just stared at her healed flesh.

Antonia looked at Derek and asked, “Did you know she could do that?”

He hadn’t, but Derek just shrugged and smiled at where Erica sat, slowly turning red from her temper. “She can do many things. Right now, I believe she’s contemplating strangling Patrick.”

Antonia nodded and kept glancing down at her palm, flexing her fingers and turning her hand back and forth. She turned to Patrick and engaged him in a debate about holy water and its uses and Erica blinked, confused. She turned her gaze to Derek who just smiled and pointed towards his hand.

Erica blushed. Later that afternoon, she told Derek it was an instinctual thing, healing, and that she hadn’t even realized she’d done it. John hugged her around her shoulders and told her that kindnesses, even accidental ones, were never a bad thing.

That night, Jackson joined them for the pack gathering and ended up curled next to Isaac who sat looking down at the top of Jackson’s head with a thoughtful frown on his face for hours before he finally fell asleep.

As much as Derek wished the Council meeting would end and everything would be solved, he wished that the warm nights with the ‘wolves didn’t have to stop.

On the fifth night, after dinner with the pack, Derek accepted the tray from Rebecca in his study and carried it to his room himself, setting it on the small table by his window.

“Do you think things are going well?” Stiles asked idly, sprawled across the bench at the end of Derek’s bed, twirling his fingers in the fringes of the blanket there. He decided not to go with the rest of the pack when they went to gad about in the woods and Erica was napping while John read in the guest suite.

“I suppose so. Everyone seems to be open to the idea of peace. I think the fact that you and your pack are here has a lot to do with it.” Derek made two cups of tea, one with sugar, one without. “It shows them that you want peace too, that you’re not monsters.”

Stiles’ grin was razor-sharp as he took the sweetened tea Derek handed him. “We could be if we wanted to though. That’s holding them back.”

Derek nodded. “That is true. But most of the people in that room have shown monstrous capabilities in the past.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “It’s just one long, frustrating dance at this point. Getting people to meet in the first place was the big part.”

“And you succeeded in doing that. There’s not much more left at this point. The negotiations may take a bit longer but it won’t be more than a month or so, I think.” Stiles shifted forward, putting his elbows on his knees.

“You’re right.” Derek mulled it over, pulling at his bottom lip. “It really only should be a month before we get to the final drafts.”

“And then you won’t need us anymore,” Stiles said to the floor.

Derek turned, frowning in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Stiles huffed out a laugh. “Well, once the treaty is signed, we will be friendly allies and nothing more, isn’t that right?”

“Is… is that what you want?” Derek felt cold all over and it was like something was slipping from his fingers.

Stiles looked up at him, eyes intense. “No.”

“Then what do you want?” Derek felt like even his heart beat was on hold, waiting for Stiles’ answer.

Stiles took a deep breath and smiled, a curl of the corner of his lips. “You.”

Derek stared at him. “Me?”

Stiles snorted. “Yes, you.” He sighed and leaned back, elbows resting on the bed. “You in my den with my pack, around the fire, laughing with my father, chasing the pups, eating and sleeping and living and belonging, because you do – you don’t belong here alone in this big, lonely house. This place is like a mausoleum and it reeks of sorrow and regret. You belong with us.” He bit his lip. “You fit with us, Derek, and you fit with me.”

“I… I feel like all those things could be so easy,” Derek admitted, not looking at Stiles. “Like, we could fit in each other’s lives and it would be so seamless… but there’s so much between us, pasts and everything, and all the logistics. I have a purpose here, a role to fill. There’s so much to think about.” He sighed. “Surely it can’t be that easy.” Derek shook his head and sat down next to Stiles.

“It could be,” Stiles murmured, drifting closer.

Derek looked at him, sitting so close and yet so utterly unreachable. “Nothing is ever that easy.”

“We could be easy. Then everything else would follow.” Stiles tilted his head and leaned forward, gently placing his lips on Derek’s, barely a caress, before pulling back and smiling.

“How do you know?” Derek’s voice was weak, his question like an exhale.

“Because you’re my mate,” Stiles said, like it was so simple, even threw in a casual shrug.

Derek’s heart started pounding and he jerked back, stricken suddenly by the realization that Stiles was right. His mind raced, checking details as he ran through them. It could be that easy… Stiles was right and Derek knew he was right because he was Stiles’ mate and… and… and he loved Stiles. He loved Stiles.

He was falling in love with Stiles.

He laughed, insanely happy all of a sudden, and looked back at Stiles whose face was closed off, body stiff. “Stiles?” He reached out a hand and Stiles stood, moved out of his grasp.

“It’s nothing.” Stiles’ voice was warped with heated bitterness. “Forget I said anything.” He strode to the door that led to the study. “Obviously I’m just an idiot… I mean… nevermind.”

“No, Stiles, wait. You’re not an idiot. What did I do?” Derek felt half-mad. He was in love with Stiles, had realized it, and now Stiles was walking away?

He looked around his study – no, not there. He burst into the hall and looked around but Stiles was gone.

“Dammit.” Derek hit the wall, resting his forehead against it and breathing heavily for long moments. “Dammit.” He had ruined everything and now… now…

No.

He shook his head, scattering the negative thoughts before they could take hold, and stood straight, determined to find Stiles and tell him what was what and beg him to forgive his inability to say what he felt before he thought everything out and everything would be fine. Everything would be perfect.

He didn’t see the figure behind him but he felt the blow to the back of his head.

It felt like it took a long time for him to reach the ground.

The rug in the hall was so soft against his cheek.

Everything went dark.

-----

Derek awoke to snarling and high-pitched screaming.

He blinked blearily, the effort required to lift his head almost too much. He rolled it on his neck and saw Isaac, one arm lashed to a metal wall of a cage, the other swiping wide, claw-tipped and dripping red. He growled and gnashed his teeth, snapping at the blurry people trying to subdue him.

“I... Isaac…what…” Derek mumbled, his tongue sticking in his dried out mouth.

Isaac’s head snapped over to him and he started pulling harder at the arm that was secured. “D’rek.” Isaac’s mouth was filled with fangs it was too small to hold.

Derek blinked over and over, trying to keep his eyes open but he could feel his consciousness slipping. His head dropped and he heard Isaac howl in pain and the sound of manic laughter before he fell away again.

The next time he woke, he was alone and he saw too much blood and something gory covering the floor and the smell of it, heavy and cloying in the back of his throat, made him retch, his stomach emptying so violently that he saw white stars behind his eyes before he passed out again.

The third time he came back to consciousness, he rose from the dark in stages. First was hearing, which wasn’t worth much as wherever he was, it was silent. The next one was smell, which he wished he hadn’t gotten because now, in addition to the disgusting scent of slaughter, he could smell his vomit. When sight finally came, he ached for nothingness again.

He didn’t know how long he’d been passed out. But, gods, his body hurt, like he’d been severely beaten and he had a sudden thought of Stiles, bloodied and bruised in his family’s dungeons and still capable, planning. He took a deep breath and looked around, trying to get his bearings.

He appeared to be in some sort of cell. The basic layout was there: stone walls and floor, a pot, shackles that held Derek’s wrists and only gave him a foot, little more, of space to move. The metal cage across from him was something that Derek was unfamiliar with, but he’d never really gotten in line with the darker side of Hunting life.

The door opened and Derek shut his eyes, letting his body go loose. He watched from under his eyelashes as two men carried someone into the room. He didn’t recognize it as Isaac until they’d lashed the ‘wolf to the cage and his head flew up as he twisted to keep his bare back from pressing against the metal. The men ignored him and finished securing his arms before leaving and locking the door behind them.

Once alone, Isaac’s head dropped and he breathed harshly, a bubbling sound coming from his bloody and bleeding lips. Derek shifted the tiniest bit and his head flew back up, wild gold eyes huge and dangerous.

“Isaac,” Derek whispered, trying to break through to him. “Isaac, it’s Derek.”

Isaac’s only answer was a savage growl that set the hair on the back of Derek’s neck standing up.

“Isaac.” Derek kept his voice even, strong, and sat up, looking Isaac directly in the face. If Isaac was an Alpha, it would have been an issue, but a Beta shouldn’t have as many problems with full eye contact. He put his hand to his chest. “Derek.” He pointed to the softly growling ‘wolf. “Isaac.”

He blinked at Derek for a while, breaths coming out bloody and wet. Derek whispered his name again and again. Gradually, his muscles stopped clenching and his breathing became smoother. He shuddered twice, full body shaking that made Derek wince internally as Isaac’s back pressed to the clearly silver cage.

Derek just watched, silent and patient, as Isaac calmed down, staring hard at him and keeping full eye contact. Derek kept whispering, until the name seemed to lose the intended meaning and shifted into a mantra of power that made his lips feel numb.

Finally, Isaac croaked, “Derek.” He coughed and spat out something thick and solid and black that made Derek want to throw up again.

“Are you going to be okay?” Derek tried to keep his voice down, unsure if they were being listened to or not. Isaac would be able to hear what he said even if he barely breathed the words.

“More or less,” Isaac grunted. “More worried about you.”

Derek shook his head. “I’m not that hurt. Not nearly as bad as you.”

Isaac shot him a strange look and opened his mouth before closing it again, looking like he was focusing on finding words. “You’ve been… unconscious for days. Heard your heart or would have thought they… that they had… ugh, you looked dead.” He looked frustrated and angry at his inability to speak.

Derek stared at him, trying to figure out if there was anything wrong with his head. He still felt dizzy but didn’t notice anything else. He could still feel all of his body, since everything was sore and throbbing. He hoped he didn’t have any swelling in his head or he’d be dead for real when he went to sleep.

“I feel okay, just really, really sore.” Derek shifted slightly to put less pressure on his left side. “Did they beat me? I don’t remember?”

Isaac nodded. “They had you bound and slung over a horse. I was It – I thought it was Boyd going by. But I could smell you so I followed. They had more people. Took me too.”

Derek hummed. “How long have we been here?”

Isaac shook his head. “Don’t know.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was almost like a plea.

Not wanting to push, but needing to ask, Derek gestured at the pile of carnage by the wall. “What happened over there?”

Isaac’s blank mask, the one that said Pack Enforcer, slipped back onto his face. His voice utterly level and calm, he said, “I was upset.” Derek just blinked back at him and the mask slipped a little bit. “You wouldn’t wake up.”

“You’ve been listening to my heart this whole time. Couldn’t you hear it then?” Derek tried to keep his voice gentle.

“Couldn’t think. Everything was really loud. There was so much anger and sorrow.” He got a far off look in his eyes. "The pack connection... I was drowning in it, the rage..."

They lapsed into silence. Derek was tired and confused, wanted to lie down but he was concerned about his head. Isaac eventually passed out, sagging forward in his chains with his arms pulled at terrible looking angles.

Derek sat, thinking long and hard about everything that had led him up to that point. He was trying not to spiral into dark thinking, desperately trying to formulate a plan when the door opened again. He blinked, confused at the amount of light coming in the door. He wasn’t sure what time of day it was.

“Oh look, Master Hale has finally woken from his beauty sleep!”

Derek flinched, anger and betrayal rolling through his body when Matthew Daehler stepped through the door, a large smile twisted on his lips. Isaac’s growl was low, a warning.

“What’s the matter, Derek? No words? Nothing to say?” Daehler laughed and walked further into the room, kicking at Isaac’s legs with silver-toed boots that had the ‘wolf thrashing and his skin splitting open.

“Stop it! Stop that!” Derek lurched forward, getting pulled up short by his shackles.

“Oh, you don’t like seeing him hurt, do you?” Daehler cackled and kicked one last time. Isaac groaned and growled again. Daehler grinned and swung his leg in a kick at Derek’s ribs instead.

Derek fell back, gasping and clutching at his side. “Why are you doing this?” he coughed.

“Oh Derek, you simple, stupid man.” Daehler squatted down and smiled. “You cry and moan about peace, changing everything for these stupid beasts and you even find yourself a Mate!” He laughs and shakes a finger at Derek. “You want us to change things to make life easier for the monsters that kill our families and steal our children. That is very, very wrong.”

Derek wheezed, his blood running cold at the mention of a Mate. He was suddenly terrified that they had Stiles in another of these cold, stone rooms, locked away as a prisoner once more and being tortured by a man that Derek thought he could trust.

“Answer me!” Daehler shouted and kicked Derek again.

Isaac threw himself forward, face twisted in fury. Derek held up a hand to try to soothe him and gasped, “You didn’t ask me a question.”

Daehler kicked him again. Then again. And again.

The darkness reached out again and Derek felt like he was drowning.

He heard singing, the next time his consciousness returned. He stared at Isaac who hung in the chains again, eyes closed as he sang in a soft voice.

“Moonbeams danced… on lilies – white and fine as pearls... still can smell the leaves – so cold… the last moon before I loved thee... was the last moon e’er I was ah-lone…”

Derek couldn’t help the sound he made when he tried to move. He looked into Isaac’s gold eyes. “How long?” he rasped.

Isaac bared his teeth. “Three days, give or take.” He shifted, chains rattling, and said, “This can’t be good for your head.”

Derek’s laugh felt like it was punched out of him as his muscles clenched in his sides and stomach. “Oh, gods, please don’t be funny right now.”

Isaac snorted. “I’ll do my best.”

“Any more visitors?” Derek lay back fully on the floor, arms resting as softly on his chest as he could manage.

“A few. No one I knew. Maybe you would have.” Isaac sighed. “One of them smelled familiar, like I’ve encountered one of their family before.”

Derek mulled that over. “That means some of the Council. Daehler knew you were staying in my part of the house. He also knew that the pack usually ran around after the meetings.” He closed his eyes, trying to piece it together.

“Do you think Jackson knows?” Isaac’s voice was small.

Derek didn’t know… he’d thought Daehler was adjusting so well, but he clearly hadn’t. Jackson could just as easily be involved with this plot.

Easier, Derek thought, you introduced him to the pack, gave him the general area of the pack territory, let Isaac get attached…

“I don’t know.” He hoped not. Gods, he hoped not.

“They talked about the Mate thing again.” Derek looked at Isaac who looked apologetic to be bringing it up, clearly sensing Derek’s distress. “Daehler thinks we’re Mates. He doesn’t know about you and Stiles.”

Derek smiled. “And how do you know about Stiles and I?”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Even if I couldn't feel it in the bonds, I know what ‘wolf courtship looks like. I may have been Bitten, but Chris brought all of us up knowing our traditions.” Isaac smirked. “Stiles has been doing anything he can to give you a hint ever since you showed up at the den.”

Derek frowned. “I noticed something about the fire and figured the sleep clinging was something. But I haven’t noticed anything else.”

Isaac wrinkled his nose. “You reek of him, Derek. I think he rolled around in your clothes, because I can smell him on you right now and it’s been how many days that we’ve been here?” He shook his head. “Does he touch you without seeming to think about it but looking really happy?” Derek nodded. “He’s been scenting you. I can’t believe you didn’t know. Human noses are so weak…”

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” Derek said sarcastically, “but I grew up as a human Hunter who didn’t need to know how ‘wolfs found and courted mates, only how to kill them.”

“Maybe it’s time you learned.” Isaac’s smirk dropped and his creepy mask slipped back as he whispered, “It’ll be better to pretend we are. Don’t worry, I won’t Mark you. I have my sights set elsewhere.”

Derek was about ask what he was talking about when the door opened again and Daehler came in, beat them, taunted them, then left. This time, Derek didn’t pass out, for which he was grateful. The only problem was that he had a close up view of Isaac’s healing process, bones shifting back into place, flaps of skin knitting back together, blood drying on top of the other blood.

Later, perhaps a few hours, perhaps another day, Daehler entered the cell again. This time he was followed by Jackson, which answered their question from before.

To Derek, Isaac’s soft exhalation may as well have been a scream. Derek could hear the pain in the sound, though none of it showed on his face.

“See, Whittemore, our fallen Lord and the savage beast.” Daehler laughed.

Jackson smirked and stepped closer to Isaac, looking into his eyes that flickered from blue to gold and back again.

“The beast has rather fetching features, doesn’t he?” Jackson’s voice was cold and cruel and a tone that Derek had never heard before.

Daehler laughed. “You certainly do have twisted tastes, Whittemore.” He waved his hand. “But far be it from me to tell anyone how to live their lives. It’s not like it’s a person anyway.”

“Interesting.” Jackson looked at Derek and sneered before turning to Daehler. “I’m in.”

“Splendid!” Daehler threw his arms up in welcome. “Come, some wine to celebrate a new member of our cause!” Jackson turned and headed back out, Daehler shooting Derek and Isaac a dark look before locking the door behind him.

“Isaac?” Derek whispered after a few moments. No reply came and Isaac kept his head down, curls obscuring Derek’s view of his face, though the ‘wolf was breathing hard. Derek let it lie.

The second time they saw Jackson, Isaac’s eyes were less than blank, they were dead. He stared straight ahead and gave no reaction as Daehler pummeled him, though he did curl his lip when he started in on Derek.

“Whittemore, would you like to contribute?” Daehler finally asked, wiping the blood on his face with a dirty hand, smearing even more of it all over his cheek.

Jackson grinned at Daehler and slipped his hand into Isaac’s bloody hair, making a fist of his curls and wrenching his head back. Isaac didn’t make a noise, though the position pulled his mouth open. Jackson pressed his mouth to Isaac’s with a savage force, making Isaac’s lip split again. Jackson pulled back and spit the blood onto the ground, pulling at Isaac’s already healed lip with harsh fingers.

He turned and smirked at Daehler. “Oh, this is going to be such fun.” He released Isaac’s hair and moved toward Derek. “Even better, how destroyed to you think it will make the ‘wolf when I fuck his Mate in front of him?”

Daehler threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, Whittemore! I knew you were the right person to bring in on this!” He clapped Jackson on the shoulder and led him toward the door. “Let’s let them stew on that for a while. Then, we’ll starve the ‘wolf and let him free.” He peered through the slats in the door, his eyes lit up in a crazed gleam. “We’ll see how strong the urge to protect is when faced with fresh meat.” His deranged laughter rang in the room long after he’d left.

Derek swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “Isaac, are you okay?”

Isaac didn’t answer, just wiggled his mouth around. Derek wondered if maybe Jackson had hurt him worse than just a split lip when Isaac spat two silver keys covered in blood onto the ground a few inches from Derek’s foot.

Derek looked up at him and he opened his mouth with a gasp, showing his bleeding tongue that slowly healed as he watched. “Damn silver,” Isaac muttered when the skin of his tongue was soft pink once more.

Derek stared at the keys and let a giant grin break over his face. “I guess that answers our question about Jackson.” He picked up one of the keys and started fiddling with his shackles.

Isaac smirked. “I suppose it does.”

Derek stopped trying to unlock the shackles and looked over at Isaac who was healing, though much slower than when they’d first been taken. Derek tried to remember the last time they’d had water. It had been even longer since they’d had food.

“I think we should try to get a little sleep before we do this. Jackson will likely be sure their next visit is the last one but I don’t want to still be locked up. You either.” Derek stared at the keys resting in his palm.

Isaac nodded, weariness showing in every line of his body. “Probably best.”

Whereas sitting in the cell and waiting to be beaten before was bad, sitting with the keys warm in his palm was torturous for Derek. He wanted to sleep but he was worried he’d still be asleep when Daehler decided to come back and he wanted to be sure Isaac was freed when it came time.

He fell asleep anyway but Isaac’s whispers woke him. “Derek. Hey, wake up.” Derek blinked awake and looked at Isaac who was pulling at his chains, head cocked as if listening and eyes closed. “They’re coming.”

Derek sat up and immediately tried both keys on his shackles. He got them open with the second key and set them down gently, trying not to rattle them. He strode close to Isaac who jumped at him, snarling, before pulling back and whimpering. Derek stopped. “Are you okay?”

Isaac took a deep breath and let it out shakily. “It’s close to the full moon.” His voice had a whining undertone.

“How good is your control?” Derek asked calmly as he reached out and unlocked Isaac’s ankles, letting the ‘wolf adjust to standing before he reached to unlock his arms.

“Good enough.” His voice was shaky and Derek could see the fine trembling running along his limbs.

“Okay.” Derek stepped back slowly and Isaac watched him, still standing with his arms up like he was chained. Derek crouched down and put the open shackles on his wrists.

Daehler’s laugh preceded him into the room and Derek couldn’t suppress a shudder. He leaned his back against the wall, resting on the balls of his feet. He was ready. He glanced over at Isaac whose eyes looked absolutely mad.

The door opened and Derek reevaluated his definition of “good enough” as Isaac launched himself across the room, snatching Daehler from his feet and ripping out his throat in a spray of hot blood. Derek felt drops of it hit him and they were so hot, he felt burned.

He stood, shackles dropping as Jackson stared at Isaac too, frozen.

Isaac stood, his entire front soaked, and growled softly at Jackson, walking toward him. Jackson backed away slowly until his back hit the wall. He held up his hands but Isaac walked closer until he was almost touching him.

“Isaac, now’s really not the time,” Derek warned, guessing what was going on.

Isaac growled but slowly backed away.

Jackson let out a breath and nodded to Derek. “Derek, fancy seeing you here.”

Derek grinned at him. “You are an idiot and I’m very glad to see you.”

Jackson’s signature smirk flashed. “Everyone always is.” His expression slipped slightly. “I have to warn you, Michael Carter was here, speaking with Daehler. He’s been in on it, sent his brother to get information and to feel things out. They hooked into Daehler and well.” He shrugged and gestured at their surroundings.

Derek sighed, rubbing his eyes. “How long have we been here?”

“About a fortnight.” He frowned. “The Council is still at the house. I’ll tell you more later. We have to get out of here first.”

“Where are we?” Derek asked as he pulled his shackles from the floor and draped the steel links over Isaac’s wrists.

Jackson grimaced as he rifled through Daehler’s pockets and found a ring of keys. “Next town over in one of the Carter houses.”

Isaac grunted and sniffed, wrinkling his nose at Derek. Derek took the meaning and said, “Someone from the pack should have found us before if we’re not too far out.”

“I think one of the Carters is a witch.” Jackson peered out into the hall. “Not that I understand that. They hate Supers. But it’s convenient I suppose. Besides, the pack left, disappeared in the middle of the night, though they left a note so I’d know where they went.” He gestured for Derek to follow him. “This way.” He slipped out before Derek could ask him anything further.

They walked down the hall with Isaac behind them, head bowed, just in case someone saw them. Derek expected for the escape to be as easy as when he’d gotten Lydia, Erica, and Stiles out of his house. When they reached the end of the hall and several Hunters stood there, waiting, he knew he’d been mistaken.

Jackson lunged forward, grabbed a man’s bow, disarmed him with it, took the quiver, then stepped back, aiming the bow and firing it at another Hunter before Derek had even moved. Isaac roared and jumped past, taking down three of them at once.

Derek picked up a dropped staff and caught one of the Hunters across the face. The man slumped and fell. Derek looked around and saw that all the other Hunters were on the floor, Jackson was still standing, and Isaac was in partial shift, but didn’t seem any bloodier.

Isaac, seeing where his eyes were, said, “Daehler deserved to die. These men are just stupid,” and shrugged. Derek smiled and followed Jackson towards the door.

When they showed up at the Hale Manor, walking into the main hall while the Council members ate lunch, they made quite a picture: Jackson, tired from not sleeping for so long, eyes bleary and clothes rumpled; Derek, filthy and limping and bruised and a little bloody, leaning on a staff; Isaac who looked like a one-man massacre.

They would have had more of a problem convincing the Council of the Carters’ betrayal if Brandon hadn’t lunged over the table with a bread knife, attempting to stab Derek.

Gutierrez looked at Derek and nodded, saying in a gravelly voice that he and his family would take care of the rest of the Carters, which was way more than Derek expected.

After that, the Council members voted and came to an agreement that would be suitable for the first draft and Derek took it, hands still dark with grime, to bring to Stiles.

After that, the three men went upstairs and split off to different rooms to clean up, though they ended up all falling asleep in Derek’s study after a mild dinner of bread and broth.

The next day, they started for pack territory as the sun hit its peak. They stopped at the edge of the wood, Isaac almost vibrating with his need to return to the den and his pack. Derek felt on edge as well, as if there were pieces of him missing. Derek removed his pack from his horse and placed it by the wood before handing the animal off to one of the men riding with them.

Jackson pulled up but didn’t dismount, choosing instead to reach down, holding his hand out for Isaac. Derek turned away as Isaac clasped Jackson’s hand and they whispered to each other.

Only when Isaac stepped up next to him did Derek turn. Jackson gave him a mocking salute, like normal and said, “I’ll get things order for you before your return. Do try not to spend too long canoodling in the woods.” He smirked and turned his horse, kicking up dust and disappearing with the guards and Derek’s horse.

“He’s terribly insolent for a Right Hand.” He said to himself and sighed. “Ready?” He asked Isaac, turning to the ‘wolf with a smile. Isaac nodded and started through the trees. Derek slung his pack over his shoulder and followed.

“So…” Derek prompted, glancing over at Isaac.

The blonde rolled his eyes and said softly, “We have an agreement” and left it at that.

Derek nodded and pushed a branch out of his way, almost stumbling into a hole.

“Why haven’t we run into anyone?” Isaac wondered aloud as they made their way through the brush and came up by the tree.

Derek shrugged as sweat dripped down his face, exhaustion still weighing on him, the straps of his pack pulling his shoulders down. “I’m not sure. Stiles probably pulled everyone in and closed quarters, like before. Can you feel anything?”

Isaac tilted his head, focusing, before shaking his head. “Nothing good. The pack bond is in total turmoil right now. I’m not sure what’s going on.” He grimaced. “It’s just one jumbled mass of confusion and anger and gloom.”

They continued the trek in relative silence, eyes and ears attuned to sounds in the underbrush that would reveal a pack member. They reached the edge of the break into the main clearing and Isaac paused, staring at the house and shifting from foot to foot.

“Derek…” He huffed a sigh, scratching at his neck. “Thank you.” He looked down at his feet.

Seeing how uncomfortable Isaac was, Derek shrugged and pushed his shoulder lightly. “Thank you. If you hadn’t come after me, I would have probably gone mad.”

Isaac took a deep breath and full on grinned at him. He nodded and walked into the clearing, taking the porch stairs two at a time. Derek stayed at the bottom and watched as he reached for the door but Boyd threw it open before he could even touch the wood and Derek heard Erica start crying. Scott jumped out and latched onto Isaac, almost knocking him over. Isaac hugged Scott tight and jerked his head at Derek, motioning for him to go around the back of the house as more of the pack poured from the door.

Derek nodded to him and walked around, hearing the sound of joyful whooping. He walked into the back yard and saw nothing, wondering why Isaac had sent him back there. He dropped his pack onto the back porch and leaned against the wood, muscles trembling slightly from the hard walk. From the front of the house, a chorus of gleeful howls rose up and Derek heard a single answering howl in the woods beyond the fire pit. He waited and took a deep breath, braced and hopeful.

Stiles burst from the trees wearing only filthy moon-run pants, skinnier and a sweaty, chest-heaving, bloody mess with tear tracks down his face and his hair sticking up at all angles. He kept running for a few paces before he caught sight of Derek and jerked to a stop, body shaking. He stared and shook before he slowly started forward again.

Derek took a step toward him, then another, not stopping until they met in the middle painfully hard, Stiles throwing his arms around Derek’s shoulders as Derek wove his arms around his waist, pulling the werewolf as close to him as he could.

“Oh gods oh gods I thought I… I thought… I couldn’t find you and I…” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s neck, taking in a deep lungful and making Derek shudder as he pressed his lips to the spot below Derek’s ear that he liked so much, a growl rumbling in his chest.

Derek didn’t know what to say, couldn’t say anything that would make sense, so he said nothing, choosing instead to squeeze Stiles tighter, rubbing his cheek against his neck and naked shoulder, scenting him, claiming him.

Stiles laughed and it almost sounded like he was crying. He pulled back slightly, enough to look Derek in the face. He traced a finger over the line between his eyebrows, the small lines that had started around his mouth, over his stubble. He rubbed his thumb over Derek’s cheekbone. “I missed these eyes.” His tone was reverent and his voice shook.

“I missed you,” Derek breathed, leaning forward to press his forehead to Stiles’ before pulling back completely, hands trailing down until they locked with Stiles’. He took a deep breath and pressed his lips to Stiles’.

Stiles whimpered and clutched at his arms, pulling him in flush again and swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. Derek sighed into the kiss, opening his mouth and letting Stiles delve his tongue into his mouth before doing the same. Stiles dug his fingers into the meat of Derek’s arms and made a sound in the back of his throat that had Derek’s heart hammering. This was not the soft press of lips from before – this was earth-shaking, world-shattering, and perfect.

Stiles pulled back with a gasp, lips red and swollen and wet and Derek didn’t want to stop kissing him. The Alpha whispered, “Wait, wait…” and pressed his forehead to Derek’s, panting. “You know that what I said – I mean it.” He looked at Derek. “I can’t have only part of you, Derek, not when I feel like this, like I will die without you. I thought I was going to die without you...”

Derek rubbed his back, trying to sooth him. “You said we could start with us being easy. Then everything else would follow.”

Stiles nodded, biting his lip. “I did. I did and I meant it and–”

“I love you.” He cut Stiles off. “I was going to tell you then, but my mind, it just ran away with me and I was thinking all good things, I swear and I-”

Stiles cut him off that time. He pulled their faces together and slotted their lips. “I was wrong: you’re the idiot,” he murmured.

Derek grinned. “I’m your idiot, if you want me.”

Stiles laughed and kissed him again.

----- 

Epilogue

“I’m home,” Derek called, tromping up the porch steps and dropping his satchel to the ground when Gen launched herself at his legs.

“Dewek!” She turned her head up to smile at him, her mess of brown hair framing her pretty little face that was smeared with jam. Or blood.

Derek wouldn’t be surprised by either.

“Hello little princess.” Derek scooped her up, swinging her around as she giggled.

Erica smiled at him and turned her cheek up for the kiss she wanted him to place there. He laughed and kissed her, setting Gen onto the counter. “Everyone already out?”

She nodded, portioning out herbs for tea. “Lydia’s in the back with the twins. Can you bring Gen back there? She’s supposed to be helping her mommy with her cousins.” She aimed a stern look at Gen who pouted but let Derek pick her back up and walk her to the nursery.

She gabbled at him, talking a mile a minute about rocks and leaves and bubbles and biscuits before she smooshed his cheeks together and laughed.

Lydia looked up at him, smiling as she bathed Thayer, who kicked in the water. Ronin was already dressed in a clean nappy and sleeping in the crib, fist in his mouth, gold hair drying in tight waves.

“I come bearing your daughter, fair lady,” Derek proclaimed, rolling Gen down his arm and presenting her, giggling, to her mother.

“Ah! So you went off to save the day and brought back a goblin?” Lydia bopped her daughter on the nose, leaving soap behind which made Gen’s eyes flash gold and her adorable growl come out.

“Farewell, sweet princess, this humble goblin must leave.” He kissed Gen on the head and shooed her toward her bed. He stuck his tongue out at Lydia who did the same back before turning and starting to sing, Gen trying to imitate her with her two-and-a-half year old warble.

Derek walked into the back yard, eyes on the almost full moon. A day, maybe two, then it would be at its zenith. He tossed his head back, casting a baying howl into the ether. When he was done, he dropped his head and grinned, proud of himself. He was getting better.

His answer came quickly enough, a ringing melodic howl that he recognized Allison’s. It was her turn to be on watch for the run. He shifted his weight, settling in to wait.

A low shadowed form appeared at the edge of the wood, moving forward then straightening up to full height. Stiles stepped into the silvery light, casting his features into an ethereal aspect, and Derek caught his breath, the way he always did when he saw the other man.

Stiles grinned at him and sprinted over the grass, looking like the Super he was, body lithe and movements almost too quick and fluid to follow as he crossed the yard.

Derek leaned against the porch, smiling at Stiles as he sauntered up, immediately wrapping a hand around the back of Derek’s neck and pressing his lips to the spot behind his ear, fingers pressing gently into the bite mark at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“You’re very good at that,” he murmured, his lips raising goosebumps along Derek’s skin.

Derek grinned. “I like to think I’m very good at a lot of things.” He ran his hand down Stiles’ side, sliding over the bare skin and making the wolf shudder.

“You are forbidden to leave again,” Stiles groaned, pulling Derek into a deep kiss, lips curved into a sharp smile, red gleaming in his eyes. "I'm happy you're home," he whispered.

Derek was happy too.