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The message was from an unknown number that Derek didn’t have saved anymore, but the tone and emphasis on Stiles made him sure it was his uncle. When Derek was last in Beacon Hills, he had gone chasing after the hunters who followed the Argents, specifically Kate and Gerard. Using Chris’ connections to hunters who followed the code, and even those who are just as vile but gave him info based on his name alone, they gave Derek all the ammunition he needed.
Peter had stayed behind, bringing in Derek’s Betas into his own pack. Isaac, Ethan, Lydia, and Jackson were initially wary of having a resurrected werewolf as their Alpha, but Peter proved more than capable now that he had his sanity back. Cora had gone back to the pack that sheltered her in Brazil, the stress of the Alpha pack overrunning the town they grew up in proving to be too much and seeking safety that the town nor her family could provide. Not with one family member leaving the state and the other securing the town of threats.
The last time Derek had seen Stiles, the kid had just turned seventeen. Seven months had passed since Derek snuck into his room while he was out to leave a birthday gift and note. Aside from Peter, Stiles was the only one who knew he had left right away. What Scott was up to, he knew even less about. A lone wolf with the True Alpha spark that Deaton was feeding like he was some Chosen One messiah. Nothing good could come out of that.
For a long time, he thought that maybe Beacon Hills would be better off without him. One mistake, one misplace of trust, cost him everything. His family. His older sister. His uncle, briefly. Erica and Boyd. It was like every time Derek tried to make up for his past mistakes, they would always come back and force him into square one. As if to say, this is your punishment. Except for Chris, the Argents were all gone. For once, Derek felt like he could breathe, even if it wasn’t with the safety of his pack. Then he got the text.
The Sheriff is dead. Come get the kid before this place kills him, too.
Derek didn’t know why he was the one that was called for help. Stiles had been bordering the line between his and Scott’s packs, never favoring one but always willing to help the other. Derek was more than fine with whatever Stiles’ decision was in the end, but a part of him couldn’t help but be resentful if his pack wasn’t chosen. If he wasn’t chosen.
But Scott was his oldest friend, Stiles’ anchor alongside his father since his mother died. Now Scott and Melissa were the only ones left. Surely, Scott would be able to help Stiles? Did he really have any reason, any right, to interfere?
Derek should have said no. He should have ignored the text, blocked and deleted the number and message, and gone off back to New York. Where the only Hale property on the East Coast was an apartment in Brooklyn with barely any personal touches in the years it was lived in. He should have gone to speak to the Alpha of Greenwich Village, just like Laura had done, who always said the pack was open to any family of Talia Hale. He should have left.
I’m on my way back.
Welcome home, nephew.
Beacon Hills hadn’t felt like home for a long time. At the same time, though, he couldn’t help but feel that Peter was onto something.