**** AUTHOR'S NOTE**** Ah, finally the sequel to Don't Give Me Up, ironic since now I'm hoping you guys haven't given up on my story and the promise of a sequel. Doing a Master's degree is really eating up all my time and motivation, but I'm soldiering on #brave :D ENJOY
Stiles' POV
Stiles wasn't ashamed to admit that he blacked out sometime during the latter stages of the spell, he was proud in fact, that his already fragile grip on consciousness only slipped as the agony in his body increased to an unbearable level.
He held out for as long as he could…
He did his best.
But nobody came.
And that's okay because as soon as he let go, it all stopped. All the pain and the disappointment, the sadness and the anger. All of it went away, and something new began growing in its place, something blindingly bright and burning with an intensity to rival a thousand dying suns.
Eyes flashing open Stiles inhaled deeply as a soft exclamation of surprise fell from his bloodstained lips "oh". Distantly, Stiles registered the sound of a voice speaking but the words didn't sink into his brain, he was too distracted. Did the sky always look that way? He wondered absently whilst stumbling to his feet, his heart thudding in his chest.
It was so…beautiful.
He wanted to touch it, to soar up and run his fingers through the milky way like a freshwater stream, and watch as the constellations part under his touch.
We could if we wanted too.
Tilting his head slightly to the side Stiles listened to the soft whispering in his brain, smooth and hypnotic as it crooned sweet nothings into the odd blankness of his mind.
We can do anything we want Stiles because we're a Spark, a being of unlimited power. Can you finally feel it? coursing through our veins like liquid gold?
Fingers twitching at the words, the teen licked his lips almost subconsciously, the rusted tang of blood bursting across his tongue as he finally realised what the light pulsating inside his chest like a miniature supernova was.
His spark.
No more skinny, defenceless Stiles, a burden to the Pack, to Scott, to our father….to Derek.
He liked the sound of that.
Stiles hadn't felt strong in a long, long time.
"Stiles?" a soft pained whisper broke through the haze which had swept over him like a tidal wave when the voice spoke. Head snapping around Stiles stared blankly at his dad and Derek, eyes taking in the way his father was crouched defensively over the werewolf in heavy confusion.
He hadn't even noticed they were there.
Taking a step forward Stiles almost stopped, his senses momentarily blowing up with the sickly smell of blood before he quickly managed to block it out. Something tugged at his gut, like dread but stronger, and Stiles found himself moving without thought, closing the small distance between himself and the injured Alpha. Almost instinctively Stiles' spark reached out, assessing the damage as the teen cradled the werewolf's face in his hands. The sheer list of broken things in Derek's body wasn't promising at all, especially not when the Alpha wasn't healing as he should be.
"Sourwolf" Stiles breathed out, a sad frown tugging at his lips. Derek was dying, desperate gurgling breaths as punctured lungs filled rapidly with blood, growing further and further apart until finally, they would stop. His dad was talking to him, but he needed to concentrate, he needed to save Derek, leaning down slowly Stiles moved on instinct and slotted his lips against the werewolf's focusing on pushing his Spark through into the other man.
The kiss was wonderful.
It was everything Stiles had hoped kissing Derek would be like, and completely opposite to every single kiss the teen had shared with Nick. Every single thing about Nicholas was like playing with fire, a passionate and all-consuming game that made Stiles yearn for more like some sort of addict crying out for their next fix. But fire was dangerous, it takes and it takes and it takes until there's nothing left, nothing but ashes and smoke.
Derek, in stark contrast, was like the ocean. Deep and mysterious to most, but not Stiles, no, he could see the beauty in the unfathomable blue waters, could appreciate the soothing lull of the waves that in a split second could turn into somebodies watery grave. The ocean was quiet, but it demanded respect in a different way then fire.
Feeling his Spark work quickly and thoroughly to knit Derek's skin, bone and organ tissue back together Stiles finally pulled back, confident that the Alpha would survive. Standing up Stiles almost flinched when the voice returned to his head, the same cloud of confusion falling over him as it did before when he woke up.
The voice was meaner this time, vicious like poison in his brain and dredging forth fears from the deepest and darkest corners of his psyche.
He's afraid of us Stiles. Look at him, he's staring at us like a monster. Staring at us like we're something dangerous. Disgusting even.
We need to leave, we need to run.
His dad held out his hand, and he stepped back instinctively. He could feel it, the trepidation trembling just beneath the surface of his father's facade and shame began to swell inside of his chest.
"Mischief?"
Unable to handle the crushing weight of his own father's fear of him and what seemed like a thousand other indescribable emotions that the older man was experiencing at that moment, Stiles reached out for the Spark within and tugged, never flinching as a white light swallowed him whole and he felt himself disappear.
When the light left his skin and retreated inwards once again Stiles found himself in an all too familiar apartment. A sinking feeling birthed itself in his stomach and Stiles hugged himself for comfort, why was he back here?
The voice answered.
Safe here, nobody can follow.
Frowning Stiles shook his head, speaking his fears out loud without fully meaning too "what about Nick?".
Dead.
Blinking Stiles felt the air catch in his throat in shock and a pain blossoms across his chest like an ache. He knew it was wrong. Knew that his love for Nick was a twisted mockery of the real thing, and drenched in nothing but manipulation on the Warlock's part, but it still ached something visceral to hear of his former boyfriend's death.
A tear slipped out and the teen rushed to brush it away, angry with himself for feeling sadness for a person who lied and used magic on him to change his memories, to knock him out and tie him up and drug him. Come to think of it, Nick probably used his magic a lot of other times and Stiles just didn't realise. Why would he? It's not like the first thing you think of when you meet a hot guy who's interested in you is, 'Could this person be supernatural and using magic on me?'.
No, because that's ridiculous!
Rubbing his hands up and down his face Stiles resisted the urge to scream in frustration, he was making excuses up for himself. He should have known someone like Nick wouldn't want anything to do with him without having a sinister ulterior motive.
He was so STUPID!
His spark pulsed angrily and something shattered in the apartment causing the teen the pause and look around in confusion before spotting Nick's vintage whiskey decanter set in thousands of tiny pieces on its slate tray. Sighing softly the teen collapsed onto the couch and ran a shaky hand through his hair, no wonder his dad was frightened of him, he was unstable, out of control. He was everything he didn't want to be the moment Deaton told him about his blasted spark!
No, we're strong. Everyone else is just jealous.
Jealous of us, of our power.
They want to trap us, make us weak.
As the voice spoke something began to bubble to the surface of his skin through his veins, a spiderweb of black that seemed both gas and liquid at the same time the way it shifted and moved with each throb of his pulse. Stiles watched both weary and fascinated as the black essence made its way around his forearm, twisting around his wrist before expanding to cover the back of his hand almost as if it was cradling it.
We won't let them.
Derek's POV
He didn't understand, couldn't understand. Because one moment Stiles was there, caressing him, kissing him.
And the next, he was gone.
It didn't matter that his wounds were healed, it didn't matter that Nick was apparently dead, killed by John's own hand.
None of it mattered.
Because he didn't save Stiles.
He didn't keep his promise.
John assumed he was in shock, and Derek didn't bother to correct him, just sat there on that damp grass in front of the lake and hated himself. Hated himself for failing once again at being an Alpha and protecting his Pack.
"We should get back to the car, son. I don't …. I don't think Stiles is coming back here tonight" the sheriff's hand gripped his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly, the picture of strength in a crisis as if Derek couldn't smell the sheer despair rolling off the older man in waves. Nodding Derek stood up, wincing slightly in disgust as the fabric of his shirt stuck stubbornly against the skin of his abs, glued there by the corpus amounts of blood he'd been leaking only moments ago.
He really needed a shower.
Both men remained silent as they trekked their way back up the hill and back to where the car was parked, neither in the mood for talking. To Derek's surprise, instead of climbing into the passenger seat John stopped outside of the driver's side and held out his hand "give me the keys, I'll drive". Furrowing his brow the Alpha opened his mouth to argue only to receive a frighteningly firm look. "You nearly died tonight kid, and I don't know where that falls on your fucked up supernatural scale of trauma but for me, it falls pretty high. High enough that I don't think you're in the right state of mind to be driving. So give me the keys".
Huffing out through his nostrils Derek held back the urge to pout like a scolded child and handed the Sheriff the keys reluctantly before sliding into the passenger side, scowl fixed firmly in place.
"It's late, we're best off getting a motel room for the night and then we'll come back tomorrow and have a look around for any clues as to where Stiles might have gone" John reasoned as he turned the key in the ignition and waited for Derek to respond. Clearing his throat Derek uttered his consent as the older man slowly drove them back onto the main road. "Yeah sure. Sounds like a good plan".
The motel they ended up at smelled of mothballs and stale cigarette smoke with the most outdated 80s decor you could ever imagine, but it had a (relatively) clean bed and a (semi) working bathroom so Derek found himself unable to complain. He could afford much better, but right now the last thing on his mind was upgrading the services because all he could hear in his mind were Laura's words of warning.
"You and your pack need to stop it, because if you don't… then you're all going to lose Stiles, and a lot of innocent people are going to die"
He'd failed.
He'd lost Stiles.
And now people were going to die.
Tears hidden underneath the lukewarm spray of the showerhead Derek let the blood roll off his skin and swirl down the rusted drain in rivers of light pink as he pretended not to hear the broken sobbing of the Sheriff through the paper thin walls.
