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The scariest thing about the change isn't that it hurts.
When Derek was a beta, it was a simple rearranging and slight shifting of muscle and bone, a quick moment of discomfort before the features settled and he was transformed. But when he watched his sister—and later his uncle—change from human to wolf, it had always looked violent, awful and painful. He wondered why Laura ever stayed in human shape at all when it meant having to go through such a horrible process. The one time he asked her, she had laughed it off, asking him in return how they were supposed to stay hidden if she was constantly running around as the wolf.
Now, Derek understands. Adapting to this power that was never meant to be his, he realizes she wasn't keeping them safe from hunters by avoiding the change. She was keeping herself safe from the wolf.
~
Jackson comes to Derek two weeks after the death of his uncle, asking for the bite. The wolf gives it to him, and it's only afterwards, watching Jackson scream and seizure before finally falling silent and still on his front doorstep, that Derek realizes he's not ready for this like he thought.
Derek doesn't regret killing Peter. If he'd let Scott do it, Scott would either be dead or have killed everyone else by now, so he knows it's better this way. But being an alpha is something Derek never even imagined would happen to him. He's always been a follower, dependent on family and pack, and even when he lost those things, roaming by himself hadn't been that bad because he didn't have the burden of another wolf to care for. When he came back to Beacon Hills, Scott became that burden—and in a weird way, so did Allison and Stiles and all these other humans that Derek would rather forget and ignore but who keep storming their way into his life time and time again—and it was hard enough dealing with the responsibility when he was just a beta, but now with this strength, this instinct directing him, he's terrified to use it.
As controlled as he is, with all of the experience he has being a werewolf from birth, it's hard to fight something that can overpower him so easily. Especially when that something feels so good and natural when he lets it take over, but he resists as best he can because he has to. Staring down at Jackson, wounds already starting to piece themselves together, he knows.
If he gives in to the wolf, all that will follow is blood.
~
The Hale house is still a burnt down husk, an empty coffin with too many souls buried beneath its wooden floors. Derek hates it inside that house. He has nowhere else to go, so he stays, but he'd burn the rest of it down until it was ash if he could.
The smells are the worst, because they don't go away, even so many years later. He'll be napping and roll over, his hand brushing something on the floor that the fire didn't get to and kicking up dust, and suddenly the entire room will smell like his mother, the scent strong enough to pull him awake and force him to choke on it. Picking up a broken lamp on the floor will stir up the scents of his cousins. Dusting off an old picture frame will summon the scent of his sister, and he'll know she touched this picture when she came back, maybe only for a moment or two, and he'll drop it like it's burned him.
He hates it, trapped inside with memories of the dead he can't escape, but knowing he's too dangerous to risk it, Derek doesn't step foot outside, counting down the days until the full moon.
~
The scariest thing about the change isn't that it hurts.
The scariest thing is how good it feels.
Above the woods, the full moon is high in the sky, and Derek can't stop it from happening. His skin hardens, growing tough like armor, and a coat of fur covers him from head to toe. The bones of his limbs grow and shift to make it easier to be on all fours and he feels the muscles in his body get thicker, stronger. His senses become so clear it's like he's stepped out of a box, denied sounds and sights and smells for years only to be hit with all of them at once, and the world is suddenly crisp and bright and his for the taking. Everything feels so good, he thinks about never changing back ever again, just running with the wind in his fur, heading out into nowhere.
He can smell the perimeter of hunters, circling his home several miles out but not far enough to escape his new senses. He knew they'd be there, with him being a new, untested alpha, and he wonders who he'll kill tonight to break the truce, or if he'll be lucky. Of course, that's about the time he smells Stiles breaking past the hunters, driving towards his home at reckless speeds, and he can hear him swearing and rambling over the roar of his Jeep engine the closer he gets.
The wolf doesn't care—as far as it's concerned, Stiles isn't pack because he's still just human, but he's no threat, either, and for that Derek is thankful. But Derek wonders angrily why he would be coming up here when he knows how bad it can get when the man isn't in control of the wolf. Knowing better hasn't really stopped Stiles from doing stupid shit before, though—why else would he be involved in any of this werewolf stuff if he hadn't learned his lesson—so Derek can only hope that what he sees and learns tonight, if he lives through it, will remind him not to try again.
Derek's not sure what he's expecting when he hears, tastes, smells Stiles bursting out of his car to run up the front steps and storm inside, but it's definitely not a net of silver.
"Holy shit," are the only words he hears—the rest is the pounding of Stiles' heart from where he stands; the dull roar of his Jeep's engine where he left it still running outside; his breathing, hard and rushed and panicked before it turns quiet and hushed at the sight of the wolf—before the net hits his skin and he howls because it hurts, and the wolf panics.
There's more to the net than silver. It's something the Argents came up with, no doubt, because it's got him changing back, something silver can't do on its own. He's howling and growling and breaking the wood beneath his claws as he tries to escape, but then he's just a man again, screaming and writhing against the floor with burning, naked skin.
The pain is blinding and he already longs for the safety of the wolf, the form where his strength certain and his senses so clear it's like he can see the entire world from where he stands. He doesn't hear Stiles above him, shouting his name and begging for a word, a grunt, anything to show that he's still alive, until Stiles tugs the net off of him and shakes him. Something about the touch sparks him awake, and for a second he's terrified that the wolf will come back, grab Stiles by the throat and cut him open, but it's just him, finally in control.
"Shit, shit, shit," Stiles is hissing, hands moving from Derek's shoulders to his neck, finally settling on either side of his face, "I swear to God, I would totally punch you in the face right now, because that worked last time, but I'm sort of terrified you'll eat me right after, but please, please Derek, don't be dead. Allison's dad said this would help, not freaking kill you. Oh my God, I didn't just kill somebody. You can't be dead, I do NOT want to be an actual murderer. Oh shit, my dad is going to be so pissed—"
"Stiles," Derek coughs, winded and weak, and Stiles' mouth shuts with a loud click of his teeth.
Derek can't summon the strength to open his eyes, too much pain still coursing through him while his body tries to heal itself, but he can feel Stiles relief in the way his breathing changes and his heartbeat starts to slow. For all that his senses have been dulled, he can still take in Stiles, sharp and clear. Maybe he'll think about that later, but right now he doesn't notice.
He has a lot of questions, but there's only one he's really concerned with at the moment since he's thankfully not dead and the wolf is, for once, not trying to claw its way out of his subconscious.
"Why are you here?"
He can smell the change as Stiles goes from stunned to smug immediately, and Derek would smack him for it if he wasn't hurting all over.
"To save your sorry ass, obviously."
Derek tries to sit up and groans, falling right back down onto the splintered floorboards beneath him. He hisses as it digs into his skin and without a word, Stiles grabs him and pulls his upper body onto his lap. Derek would tense up if his body were capable of it, the position too similar to the way Laura used to sit with him—familiar, loving, safe. Instead, too tired and hurt to push himself away, he lets Stiles shift his body into his lap and poke at his collarbones.
"I don't need saving," Derek protests lamely, because he shouldn't, especially not from himself. It's his job to save everyone else, even if he's done a shit job of it and now he can't even control the powers he has.
"Well, uh, I think you do, and I've done it at least twice now so I'm sort of becoming an expert. Still waiting on a thank you, actually."
"Keep waiting," Derek mumbles, and he feels oddly relieved when Stiles laughs. He realizes this conversation is far too casual and calm to be normal after what just happened, but he pretends it's fine for a few minutes anyway and stays where he is, lying prone on the floor with his head on Stiles' hip.
~
The truce with the hunters is still on, if a bit shaky—"The Argents found out about Jackson and are kinda pissed, dude," Stiles had explained when Derek was recovered enough to speak more than four words at a time—but Derek's just relieved his first full moon as an alpha didn't end up with someone dead.
It's another four weeks until he has to try to deal with the wolf and the change again, but with the waning moon, it's easier, and there's always the net to remind him what will come if he does give in.
But the wolf's whispers are different. The clawing and howling aren't for blood as often as before, and it's not more pack that it wants, either.
The night of the full moon, the wolf had decided Stiles was other; not pack but not a danger, either. But now, Stiles' scent, still lively and present in the otherwise dead and silent house, comes in crisp and clear with a new label.
Mate.
And the scariest thing is how badly Derek might want it, too.