Chapter Text
It was 1812 and Derek was 29 year old, and the war against Britain was declared. He was not really prepared to go to war, but he tried to seem brave an unkempt when he arrived at the war camp in Detroit by horse carriage. He followed instructions he was given and kept a blank expression on his face. Honestly—he hated the lieutenant and didn’t like being ordered around in general, but what was he going to do?
The first four days were extremely boring. Derek got handed his gun, was ordered around some more and more often than not had to just sit around and wait, knowing that soon he would have to march his way towards his death. He is obviously fucking ecstatic, because yay; everybody likes to do that!
He was not getting friendly with anyone. He hadn’t even talked much to all the other soldiers. What’s the point anyway? What are they going to talk about, how they hate being there? No, that’s just stupid. Derek decides there’s no use in making any friends. All the other soldiers just cared about whether he had cigarettes or not, anyway.
But on the fifth day—exactly four days before he’s supposed to march his way toward the enemy line and hope for the best he doesn’t get his head blown off—something changes. More people arrive at the camp, and normally Derek would be unfazed by new soldiers, but one of them approaches him quite late in the evening when most of the others have already disappeared in their tents. He sits beside Derek on the damp grass and starts picking at it, almost like he’s a little nervous.
“Hello,” the man eventually mumbles, and when Derek lifts his head to see the his face, he sees a small smile. The man looks out of place in military gear with his small, frail body and shy expression, while Derek is basically model soldier quality with his defined muscles and resting bitch face (although emotionally, he really is not). Derek huffs and turns his head back forward. “I do not smoke,” he states. He waits for the man to get up immediately, but he doesn’t. Instead he stays quiet for a while again. “Uh—what?” he says then, sounding thoroughly confused by the answer. Psh.
Still, Derek turns his head back to look at the man again. It’s almost amusing how his face is scrunched up completely in confusion, with his mouth slightly agape and fingers still pulling out bits of grass from the ground. Derek huffs again, only this time it almost sounds like a laugh. “If you’re looking for tobacco, you won’t find it here. I don’t smoke. But be free to ask just about any other person here. Perhaps you’ll be lucky and won’t even have to ask,” he explains.
The man’s eyebrows twitch upwards comically and he finally closes his mouth and nods. “Alright,” he says, and Derek is about to turn his head again, because now the man is definitely leaving, probably having lost all interest in Derek whatsoever. “I don’t smoke either,” the man tilts his head and Derek is still looking at him, and he is still looking back, still sitting there. He can’t help but think that this is new, but doesn’t voice his thoughts.
“So what do you want?” he raises an eyebrow, because he hasn’t been asked for anything but some sort of tobacco product. The man shrugs and smiles, less shy and more genuine this time. “Nothing,” he says. “Just a conversation.”
“A conversation?” Derek asks again, and the man nods, still smiling warmly. “Should we try again? We should try again. Hello,” the man laughs, “I’m Mieczyslaw.”
Derek is still slightly overwhelmed when he shakes Miecz’ hand, not sure whether he should continue the conversation or just get out of there and back into his tent to avoid further interaction. He makes up his mind eventually when he can’t stop playing over the man’s name in his head. “Derek. Your name…?”
“Oh goodness, don’t even ask. All you need to know is that my family is actually Polish. You may call me Miecz,” the brunette man laughs and brushes a stray strand of hair behind his ear.
Derek nods, still silently contemplating what his next actions should be. He doesn’t really want to get friendly with anyone, they’re at war, hence it’s probably less likely for both of them to survive and if they get to know each other on more than first name basis—it probably will turn out for the worse, one way or another. Even still, knowing this, he doesn’t want to leave. This Miecz person is very intriguing, and seems to also be interested in conversing with Derek. So he stays, sat on the cold, damp grass, watching the horizon.
They both stay silent, Miecz picking at the grass and Derek just looking at the sun that is slowly setting and soon will go out of sight. The silence should feel awkward, but somehow it doesn’t. And maybe that has something to do with the fact that just having someone close to him is nice; but he doesn’t know and doesn’t care.
It’s starting to get a little cold when Miecz breaks the silence.
“So… war, huh?” he says. He sounds scared as hell and chokes out a dry laugh, eyebrows furrowed together when he just stares at the pile of grass he picked out of the ground with concentration. Derek notices the discomfort and anxiety around the conversation, but if Miecz started it, it must mean he wants to talk about it. Derek hums.
“It is really stupid, isn’t it,” he mumbles, “how after one war has stopped another has to start immediately after? It’s stupid how we can’t just act like people and talk through things instead of bombing and shooting each other for years to end up with three times more poverty and starvation. It’s stupid we are supposed to go to war without any fears when we know exactly how it’s going to end, even if we don’t die in action.”
Miecz lifts his head then, and looks at Derek. He looks a little surprised as he nods and swallows. “Yes,” Miecz whispers. He is about to say something else, but before he can start Derek interrupts him because he is fairly sure he knows exactly what the man was going to say. “I know I look like a man who has trained and waited for this all his life, but that is just the outer appearance,” he shrugs and leaves it at that, because he rather not tell too much about himself to a complete stranger. He turns his head back towards the horizon where the sun has already fallen behind the trees and there’s a beautiful reddish hue lining the skyline.
“You’re not like all the others,” Miecz suddenly states, and though Derek doesn’t look he knows the man has edged a little closer. “Are you—you’re afraid, aren’t you?” Derek glances at him, and he’s sure the expression on his face tells the truth, but even still he won’t say it aloud. “You’re different, too.”
Miecz smiles and bites the inside of his mouth. He looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. Instead he just gets up, brushes his hands on his pants and straightens his back. The smile on his face doesn’t falter as he takes a few steps back. “Nice to have met you, Derek,” he says before turning around on his heels and heading for his tent.
Derek stares at his retreating back and tries to understand what exactly happened just then.
Somehow, the days get more bearable.
It’s still infuriating to have to sit around and get “emotionally ready for the war”. Which, honestly; a really infuriating order. You can’t get emotionally ready for war. Miecz takes Derek’s mind off it a little, though. It’s really weird, how they don’t actively seek each others company but somehow always end up in the same spot every night, or sometimes when they have free time and they don’t want to lie around in bed. They couldn’t sleep anyway.
It’s also weird how Derek already considers Mieczyslaw his friend, even when he upon first arriving decided he was not going to openly talk to anyone about anything else than equipment or the “yes sir” he’s already grown tired of. Miecz, though, is so different that Derek couldn’t really help it. Derek’s never really met anyone like that; so vibrant, happy and alive.
Mieczyslaw is still positive, though still visibly scared. And Derek—he just wants to protect Miecz, for some reason. He wants Miecz to get through this war alive and well, preferably without trauma. The things he gets to know about the man are enough to tell him that Miecz is not supposed to be anywhere near guns and should rather be protected at all costs, because he is so precious.
So, maybe Derek is a little more attached that he should be. But it’s not his fault the man’s laugh is like music to his ears, or the smile on his face lights up like stars in the sky, or that he is so unbelievably honest that it should be impossible. Mieczyslaw talks about beautiful things like the flowers on the meadow at home. He talks about love and how he wishes that maybe someday he would have someone that would love him through not only one but several lifetimes.
He grabs onto Derek like a leech, itching at the back of his mind at all times, the way his brown hair falls on his face or the way his voice sounds like honey. Derek knows it’s stupid, but he… likes Mieczyslaw.
They sit on the same spot they met, only a day before they start marching North. Derek doesn’t think he can sleep, so he doesn’t bother getting up even when the sun is well over the trees in the distance.
“Are you well?” Miecz asks suddenly, concern lacing his voice as he peers at Derek from the side, brows furrowed and lips pursed. Derek huffs, “You look ridiculous like that.” He knows he is avoiding the question way too obviously, but he really doesn’t want to talk about it. Mieczyslaw only frowns deeper but lets it go, biting hit fingernails absent-mindedly as he picks at the grass again with the other hand. “I’m really afraid,” he whispers and scrunches his nose, like he hates to say it, but has to. Derek blinks at him—yes, he knew that, but somehow it’s still a surprise.
“It’s okay to be scared,” Derek says finally, and grabs the man’s hand in his own. Mieczyslaw looks at Derek and nods. “I know,” he smiles weakly.
They don’t speak. No one speaks. They just walk, and they haven’t even walked more than a couple miles yet but it already hurts. His feet are complaining about the destination, no doubt. His whole body is telling him to run for the hills, but even if he had the energy; his mind doesn’t want to.
His mind wants to keep following the men in front of him, because he can spot Mieczyslaw up ahead. There’s at least ten men between them, but maybe at some point he can convince the people in front of him to let him get up behind him. Who wouldn’t want to get farther back, away from the danger? He’s the one who would be the joke.
Derek hears yelling from up ahead and everyone halts, a silence so intense falls that a hitch of breath would break it. He can’t take it, if this is it, he doesn’t want Miecz to be alone. He just wants to see his face, and he knows it’s a little selfish but he pushes through until he’s behind the man and he sighs softly, nudging him in the side softly.
Mieczyslaw turns, slowly and expectantly until his eyes fall on Derek’s, and he smiles a little. He opens his mouth, but Derek lifts a finger to his lips and he nods. It makes Derek jump slightly when Mieczyslaw’s hand slots again his own and squeezes. His insides melt into a puddle and it takes the nerve off slightly.
And then there’s a bang that completely destroys the moment and then there’s a couple more. His fingers tighten around the gun hanging from his neck instinctively and he starts pulling Miecz behind as soon as he hears someone shout the word “attack” and suddenly they’re all running.
Derek has to let go of Miecz’ hand when he reaches for his gun, but he won’t leave his side.
He sees the British men run up the hill and toward them. For a while, they’re all just running at each other, but soon some troops realise they should find cover and jump into moats that are scattered around the ground. Derek pulls Mieczyslaw down into one and breathes deep for a while. He feels like he can’t breathe but now is not the time for panicking.
“Cover the left,” he tells Mieczyslaw, who is breathing twice as hard as him with his eyeballs budging out of his head. He swallows and nods aiming his gun at the left, where there are men running both towards them and away for them. Derek does so, too, gun pointed to the right with his finger on the trigger.
His blood flows in his ears when he pulls the trigger the first time and it hits someone, but he concentrates instead on the sound of buzzing in his ears and not the feeling of I’ve just killed someone.
There’s banging and screams and gunfire and bombs and sounds of cannon fire and his ears are starting to hurt, but he isn’t that scared anymore. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, but he doesn’t fear anymore. He thinks he’s doing well, and that Miecz is too, and that maybe they’re going to get out of this alive. His heart doesn’t calm down, though, the frantic beat of it threatening to break out of his chest.
Derek can barely hear it over the sounds of war and his own blood in his ears but Mieczyslaw suddenly yelps and Derek can see him being pulled up and away from the moat by a British soldier. He notices now that they’re mostly overtaken, and can hear the sounds of his the American army leaders yelling for them to retreat, but he jumps up and runs after the man with Miecz.
The yelling of the lieutenants and sergeants gets more persistent the farther he gets, but he doesn’t stop for anything but shooting someone in the gut to prevent getting shot himself. He sees the expression on Mieczyslaw’s face as he struggles to get out of the hold around his neck and he dies a little inside. He doesn’t even mind the nagging thought in his mind that’s telling him you’re going to die you idiot, you’re going to die if you don’t turn around right now.
When Derek gets close enough, he just dives. He knows he might have hurt Miecz doing that, but hurt was better than dead.
The British soldier falls with an oomph and Derek holds him down with his hands, gun long forgotten somewhere on the ground behind him. He turns his head to where he saw Mieczyslaw land, and is relieved to find him looking back. “Go,” he tells, a little out of breath. “Run, go!”
“Derek—“
“Go! I’ll be right behind you, run. Get to cover. I promise,” he spits and with one serious look Miecz is up and running back to the direction of camp.
He isn’t really paying attention to the man below him anymore, and so the stinging pain of a sword piercing through his stomach takes him by surprise. He looks down and sees the tip of the sword bayonet disappearing into his skin and the clothes he’s wearing. And then there’s the blood, warm and sticky as is starts seeping through the fabric of his jacket.
The man under him grunts and Derek’s hands go slack against him as he gets pushed off and the sword gets pulled out from his stomach and the man bolts, runs off and leaves Derek. He starts gasping for breath, because the searing pain is too much. It starts numbing though, after a few moments of gasping and spluttering. His vision starts to blur around the edges, and he passes out with the taste of copper in his mouth and the sound of his own gasping and spluttering of blood in his ears.
Rustling, and someone touching him on his neck. Muffled voices and steps heading away from him. Derek doesn’t know what’s going on, and at first he thinks he’s at home, but the pain that pulses all the way through his body with every breath reminds him what happened before he lost consciousness.
He tries to open his eyes, but they flutter and roll backwards into his head and his limbs won’t move. He swallows around his mouth when hands reach under him and lift him up like he’s weightless.
“Miecz, I promised—I,” he slurs and coughs, giving up on talking. Someone hums above him and it’s almost eerie how quiet it is apart from the sound of feet crunching dry leaves on the ground.
“You’re going to be fine,” an unfamiliar voice speaks. Derek panics, heart fluttering fast again and breaths coming too frequent. He soon stops breathing altogether and coughs again, because every breath hurts like hell and he might just pass out again.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” the man speaks again and lays one hand on top of Derek’s chest. Something warm spreads across the spot and suddenly almost all of the pain is gone. “Sleep.”
Derek doesn’t have to think twice before falling right back to sleep.
There are sounds of ticking and laughter. His head pounds with every sound and he groans. The laughter halts and there are some hushed voices he can’t quite make out. He is confused as to where he is, or why literally everything hurts.
His eyelids are so heavy it takes him a good while to get the half open.
The first thing he sees is a fancy, wooden ceiling with a chandelier hanging from the middle. He turns his head to the side and sees a big room with a dressing table and a wardrobe. The ticking noise is coming from the other side of big door in the other side of the room. He groans again as he tries to do anything more than turn his head from side to side.
That’s when the doors burst open and a brown haired woman walks in, trailed by an older looking an that’s trying to keep her from intruding. But she looks merely concerned, and Derek doesn’t mind. Actually, he really wants to know what’s going on.
“Where am I?” he croaks, and the woman looks at the older man behind her. She returns to Derek with a friendly smile. “You’re safe,” she says and fiddles with her fingers excitedly. “Nice to see you awake. You were almost dead when Peter found you.” Derek looks at the man she addressed as Peter and then back at her. “Why would you save me?”
Peter chuckles, and the woman throws him an ugly look. She walks closer to Derek in the bed and offers him some water he didn’t notice she was holding. He accepts it graciously, gulps the liquid down his burning throat and sighs at the heavenly feeling of wet. He feels a little better, even if his stomach is throbbing with the aching pain in his stomach. Derek grimaces.
“Are you well?” the woman asks, hurriedly and turns to look at Peter again. He walks closer too, this time, and places a hand on her shoulder. Derek doesn’t answer, and they both just stare at him for awhile before doing anything. Soon enough, the woman exhales sharply and frowns. “What’s your name?” she asks, crossing her hands over her chest and looking contemplative.
Derek takes a deep breath, because the last time he spoke it hurt like hell and he felt a little out of breath later. “Derek,” he breathes out, and the woman’s face lights up. She smiles, wide and sincere as she nods. “I’m Laura. This is Peter, my uncle. We saved you because we are looking for a new… family—and you would’ve died if we hadn’t taken you here,” she tells. “Peter will surely explain better. Won’t you?” The man only nods curtly and gestures for Laura to leave the room. She does after a little reluctance, closing the door with a small sound.
Peter clears his throat and tries a smile, but it doesn’t really work reassuringly, like Laura’s does. Derek is kind of unsure of the whole place, but even more so of Peter. Derek stares back at him blankly until he just sighs and starts glaring back.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Peter says slowly. “I saved your life.”
“And you want me to believe that? Where am I?” he huffs annoyingly, because Laura hadn’t given him an answer earlier. “Are you from the British army? Am I a prisoner of war now?” Peter snorts and shakes his head. “You, boy, are not very wise. No I’m not from the British army and no, you’re not a prisoner of war. What kind of a prisoner gets to sleep in a room like this?” he gestures to the bed and the windows. “As I said, I saved you. Shall we take a look?”
Derek eyes Peter nervously and then stares at his stomach. He isn’t sure what it’s going to look like, if it’s still a gaping wound with bandage on top or a stitched one, and he is a little curious. He only knows it feels tight every time he moves and there’s a slight tickling sensation around the spot. So he nods quickly and looks as Peter lifts his shirt slowly.
What it reveals makes Derek blink, because that is not humanly possible. There’s no stitching, but still his skin is almost closed around the wound. There’s only a small hole, probably the size of the nail of his little finger, and there’s only a little red and blue around it. He blinks again, several times, because this must be a dream.
“Good,” Peter suddenly declares, with a smile on his face. Derek lifts his gaze back to him so quickly his neck hurts from the quick movement. “What in god’s name is this supposed to mean?” he squeaks, eyes the size of saucers as Peter smiles at him—a little more friendly this time, less tense.
Peter hums and nods at the wound. “The healing means your body’s accepting the bite. That’s good.”
“The bite?”
“Ah, yes. That I should tell you about,” as Peter smiles wide and toothy Derek notices his canines grow into pointed fangs while his eyes transform into a blood-red and his nails become claws. Derek’s mouth drops open and his frown grows deeper, while Peter just looks excited. Is he dead? He’s probably in heaven. Or hell. He’s definitely in hell.
“I’ve given you a gift by saving your life,” Peter states, and with his fangs filling most of his mouth he sounds a little garbled. “On the next full moon you’ll transform into a werewolf.”
“Why?” Derek asks. He didn’t ask for it. In fact; he wasn’t even asked or informed at all. He is panicking a little, because he already tried pinching himself out of it, but that didn’t work. Which means he’s not sleeping. Which means he’s either drugged or the world just got all kinds of weirder.
“Why? To save your life and give you a better one. Are you stupid?” Peter looks frustrated with the fact that Derek doesn’t understand that this should be a good thing. He doesn’t seem to grasp the fact that maybe Derek liked his life as it was and that maybe he would’ve rather died than become this. He huffs and puffs for awhile when Derek doesn’t answer, and that’s when he decides Peter definitely has some anger management issues.
“Why can’t you just appreciate it? I gave you life and home. My pack is strong, the Hale pack is a safe place for you.”
“How can I be sure of that? How can I know that you don’t just want me in your pack for your own good?” Derek tilts his head and lifts an eyebrow. Peter looks like he’s about to blow up for a moment, snarling his teeth at Derek, but all of that’s gone in a deep breath and Peter chuckles. “You’re so stubborn,” he points out. “You’re a beta, by the way. Act like it. I’m your alpha.”
The last words are growled in a way that makes Derek instinctually bow his head and avert the man’s gaze, who hums proudly and clicks his tongue. “You should sleep some more,” he orders and back out of the room.
Derek doesn’t think he can, but sleep consumes him quicker than ever before in his life.
It took Derek about a week to fully recover, and he was introduced to the life of a newly-born werewolf fairly quickly. His first full moon was horrible, to say the least. He doesn’t really even remember much more than waking up a pile of leaves with ripped, sweat soaked clothes and hungrier than he’s ever been in his life.
Peter and Laura had come and found him later, wandering back to the mansion. He was met with Laura’s happy smile and Peter’s blank expression. “Impressive,” he had said, and Derek didn’t understand at all. But he tried to not pay much attention to the little, meaningless things. He had some way bigger things right now to cope with.
After his first full moon, things were… okay. He ran a lot with Laura to spend some of his crazy levels of stamina to be able to catch sleep, ate a lot and learned to fight with Peter. Most of the time Peter was being nice, as ice as he could at least. Sometimes he would snap when Derek wouldn’t listen, but Laura had said that was normal alpha behaviour, so he didn’t pay much attention to it.
They would sometimes run through the woods together. Peter said they were “hunting”, but they didn’t actually catch any animals—or, really anything—so Derek didn’t fully understand. The look on Laura’s face told him he also didn’t want to know, so he didn’t push it.
He tried to enjoy the perks of this new life, the speed, the strength. But there were also the bad things, like the heightened senses. He knows it’s crazy, but it sometimes felt like he caught the familiar scent that reminded him of Mieczyslaw and he would long to run that direction faster than the wind and make sure the man was okay, but he couldn’t. Peter was his alpha, and he thought it was pathetic how Derek was so stuck on this one man, and so he would just order Derek to stay. And Derek would, because he had no choice.
Derek hated the restless, lone nights when he couldn’t sleep or even cry, because Laura or Peter could sense it. He sat in his bed and stared at the wall while digging his claws into his palms and trying to think about anything else, anything other than Miecz.
Two, three and then four months pass in a blink. Derek is almost fully comfortable with Peter and Laura and the fact that he’s a werewolf. It’s still sometimes weird how Laura wants to scent him, and how he actually likes it too, or how he can hear, see and smell things he shouldn’t be able to. Peter also keeps giving him these looks sometimes, and it’s nothing short of chilling but he ignores it. Instead he focuses on the feelings of family, pack and love.
There are moments when it’s so easy to be a part of the pack. It’s when he talks to Laura about everything and anything, when they have dinner together or when they talk about extending the pack. Derek doesn’t really show his feelings, per say. At least not like Laura, who pours everyone of her emotions out like a tidal wave, whether it’s happiness or sadness. He was never good at that, but now that he’s… different, it seems even harder.
Laura notices, like she always does. Seriously, Derek is convinced she is some sort of psychic. Can werewolves be psychic?
“What’s on your mind?” she asks one night, tentatively, carefully. Derek turns his head to look at her. She has her whole face scrunched, like a petulant child who couldn’t get her way. He wants to laugh at that, almost does, but the pain twisting in his whole being shivers through him. Instead he smirks, sad and weak. “Someone different,” his voice is barely a whisper. He doesn’t trust it any louder, as it wavers a little already.
“Like us?” Laura asks, head tilted and eyebrows raised. Derek shakes his head, “No.”
“Different how?” she frowns, clearly confused. Derek shrugs and sighs. “I don’t know. He’s just—not like anyone else.” Talking about Mieczyslaw makes his heart pound harder as thoughts of him flood his mind. He swallows around the lump in his throat and breathes through all the pain and loss.
There’s only the sound of his heart beating hard in his ears for half a minute, before Laura continues. “What’s his name?” she whispers and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. He takes a deep, shaky breath before answering.
“Mieczyslaw,” he chokes out. He feels almost pathetic, how he feels tears pricking at his eyes and the feeling of wanting to howl his pain out to the forest in the back of his stomach, heavy and distracting. “I only met him a few days before you found me. But he was—I can’t even describe it. There was something about him that drew me in, how he talked and talked and talked and never stopped. How he was so,” he sighs, “different.”
“And I—I betrayed him. I promised I’d be right after him, but I wasn’t paying attention and then the other soldier stabbed me in the stomach. I thought I’d die, and I didn’t really want to because I wanted to protect Miecz, I want him to be safe. And now I can’t keep him safe, because I got myself almost killed and then captured.” Derek frowns at his hands, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
“And how do you feel about him? Do you love him?”
“He is half of my soul,” Derek admits, “as poets say. I loved him before I changed, I think. When I was still human. But now—it feels even more intense than that. I almost… crave his smell, and I can’t understand it.” Laura nods, stiff and knowing, like she’s completely aware of what Derek is talking about. “You should tell Peter,” she says with a smile and pats his shoulder. “He’ll tell you more about why it’s like that. He told me once.”
Derek blinks at her for awhile, and then nods. “Thanks,” he whispers. “Anytime,” she smiles wider, nuzzling his nose against the side of Derek’s face.
The next day, when Derek attempts to approach Peter, to tell him, he gets yelled at.
“Don’t even start,” Peter snarls. “I heard. I don’t care about your mate.” Derek stares at the alpha, not really sure what he should do. All he knows is that the word mate makes his insides twist and give him the uncontrollable will to whine. He grits his teeth and clenched his hands into fists as he huffs out at Peter. “Tell me,” he growls. “Tell me what it means or I’m running away.”
Peter chuckles, though his face shows no humour. His red eyes and fangs indicate that he is angry, fuming. “Why do you so wish to die? I knew I shouldn’t have bitten you, but Laura kept insisting we needed more wolves in our pack. We don’t need you! Hell, I don’t even need her!” Peter shouts suddenly, knocking a vase to the floor—completely out of spite. “You’re all so stupid!”
Derek stares at the shards of porcelain on the floor and then at Peter, who is clearly out of his damn mind. He knows he should just leave and wait until Peter’s cooled off again, but he wants to know so bad his legs won’t budge.
“Tell me,” he growls again and flares his nostrils. Peter just laughs again—manic and hysterical—before pouncing on Derek with a claw a this throat, tsk’ing and shaking his head as they dig deeper. “Obey me, beta.”
“Peter?” Laura gasps from the doorway, and Derek looks at her through half-lidded eyes. She looks shocked, and somehow Derek isn’t even surprised. He knew something was off about Peter, something was not right from the first moment Derek saw him. And now he knows what it is; he is completely and utterly insane.
“Oh, Laura,” Peter coos. “Dear niece. How are you on this grand day?”
“What is wrong with you?” Laura spits and takes a few careful steps toward the two. Peter’s eye twitches and his claws dig even deeper. For awhile, Derek’s vision blurs. He decides he seriously hates dying when he starts gasping for breath after Peter crushes his windpipe.
“I knew it from the start,” Peter snarls. “I knew he had something wrong with him. He’s in love Laura, and that’s not good. People are not good. They threaten us, our pack. You know that! And he is dangerous, too. He wants to be alpha. I could see it from the start, how he got so good at everything so quickly. He is dangerous, Laura. We have to kill him.” Laura eyes Peter for a long while, eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape. She huffs and shakes her head. “You’re crazy. What’s come over you?” Peter sighs dramatically, “Oh, god. Do I really have to kill you too?”
“Stop it, Peter,” Laura begs. “Let him go and stop all of this right now.” Peter huffs at Laura’s words and turns to look at Derek again. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says. “I’ll relieve you, don—“
It’s not even a blink of an eye, it’s faster than that. Suddenly, Derek drops to the ground and where Peter’s hands were digging deeper into his skin and steadily making him edge closer to unconsciousness—and then it’s all gone. He still can’t breathe probably, and doesn’t even dare and try to talk, one hand on his neck; trying to stop the bleeding.
He lifts his head up—heavy and unwilling—to see Laura on top of Peter, holding him down and no doubt ripping his throat open. With her teeth. Which Derek isn’t really fazed by, he’s actually supporting that idea. If Laura wasn’t doing it (and if he wasn’t still choking around his crushed windpipe as it healed slowly), he’s pretty sure he would.
His head lolls forward again but he doesn’t need to see anymore, because Laura is handling the situation. She is taking care of Peter.
“Hey, it’s okay now,” Laura says after awhile, having stumbled her way to Derek. When he glances up, he sees her biting down on her own lip and slumping down next to Derek like she’s too tired to hold herself up. “It’s alright.” Derek isn’t really sure whether she’s talking to him or herself.