If You're Going Through Hell

Synopsis: Everyone is gone, dead. Derek and Lydia are the lone survivors, wondering how they will continue on or if it even is worth the effort. A familiar voice calls from the land of the dead with an idea to bring them all back, and Derek embarks on the adventure of an after-lifetime.

A/N: Doing a little bit of minor editing. No changes to the story itself, just fixing some mistakes that have been bothering me.

Chapter 1: A Proposition from the Dead

Everyone dies. It's a fact of life, and one that he was all too familiar with. It had been forced upon him 10 years ago when almost his entire family (and pack) had been murdered by Kate Argent. And it seems like it has never truly stopped since. The city of Beacon Hills was littered with the bodies of those he cared about. His sister, Laura, killed by an out-of-control Peter as he struggled to regain himself after the fire. Then Peter, by his own claws; though, he didn't remain dead for long the first time. Derek had barely even been an alpha before he experienced a new dimension of loss too, the deaths of his betas Erica and Boyd. They had lost Aiden and Allison during the standoff with the Nogitsune, the first devastating losses for most of his new allies. And then things cascaded out of control. The Deadpool saw the murder of dozens of supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills, many that he didn't even know were there. The Dread Doctors brought more senseless slaughter not long afterwards. They had managed to escape the Wild Hunt relatively unscathed (something that should have been impossible), but in its wake came the Anuk-Ite, driving the town mad with fear. The Primal Pack, Satomi's Pack, Brett, Lori, and countless others had lost their lives in the aftermath.

If that had been the end of it, he probably would have been alright. But, though the Anuk-Ite had been destroyed, the fear and the damage it caused remained. The people of Beacon Hills knew the Supernatural existed, knew that they existed, and it wasn't long before many redoubled their efforts to kill them under the leadership of Monroe. Isaac had returned, bringing news that the Skinwalker's refuge in New Mexico had literally been bombed by Hunters. Everyone there had died, even the powerful Kitsunes Noshiko and Kira. Isaac would have been safer if he had stayed away though; barely two weeks after his return, Jackson found what was left of the young wolf's body behind the movie theater. He was never quite the same after that, for the brief time he was still with them. Jackson had tried to track the ones responsible for Isaac's death alone. He was successful in finding them, but they were the ones who survived the confrontation. Ethan felt the death of his mate every bit as much as he had the death of his brother, and it was too much for him to take. He withdrew, refusing to eat or speak, until one night he disappeared altogether, leaving no trail they could follow. They all felt their bond with him permanently sever two days later.

Most of the pack had decided to go into hiding, hoping to wait out the confrontation and avoid any more losses. But death still found them regardless. Monroe managed to release some sort of toxin in Beacon Hills; they still don't know exactly what it was or how it reached them. But it did. The humans were not affected by it physically, but the wolves were severely weakened. All of the others, with the exception of Theo, were dead within a week. It still pained him to think of Stiles, Lydia, and Mason outside working themselves to exhaustion to give Parrish, Corey, Hayden, and Malia a proper burial while the rest lay inside too weak to even stand. Like with Ethan, the death of Malia sent Peter spiraling. He sought out the Nemeton before the others could stop him, though why remains a mystery to them all. Derek had been the one to find the body that time, riddled with wolfsbane arrows and cut to pieces, alongside the body of his only other remaining relative, Cora. The sight had been even harder to take in than when he came home after school to find his house and family gone so long ago.

They managed to go almost two months after that before they lost anyone else. A radio program had begun to air from the local station, dedicated to training the townsfolk how to best sharpen their pitchforks and join in the "noble hunt." It also gave updates on Supernaturals and Sympathizers still at large and ones recently "sent where they belonged." It was depressing to listen to, but helpful to know where their enemies' attention was and what was going on outside their hiding place. It was through the radio program that they learned of the deaths of Deaton, Braeden, Morrell, Chris Argent, and Sheriff Stilinski. Melissa had escaped and fled to San Francisco, and they all hoped that she at least would survive. But the raid took place before they could find out.

It was a night like any other, as peaceful as these times could be. One of their alarms began to buzz, a warning that there were intruders nearby. Everyone jumped up to take their defensive positions, but with so few remaining, the Pack was quickly overwhelmed. They began to flee, forced to split into two groups as they tried to escape. Over 100 hunters and people from the city had surrounded them, and they all dreaded that this might be the end. Derek found himself captured, along with Scott and Liam. Mason was killed in the battle. The three trophies were taken to what Derek assumed must be the new hunter's headquarters downtown. The next three weeks were a blur of torture, pain, humiliation, and demands. They wanted the rest of the pack, wanted to know where they were, wanted to know how to finish them off once and for all. They held out though, not one of them gave away a thing, and for that Derek was especially proud, both of himself and his younger friends. In another lifetime the three would have been the core of a formidable pack, one that would have far surpassed the Hale Pack he grew up in.

When he was captured, Derek fully expected that his story would end there. What he never would have imagined is that the most unlikely trio in the world, Stiles, Lydia, and Theo, would mount an absurd rescue mission to try to free the captured half of the pack. But they did, those fools. And what's even crazier is that it almost worked. He awoke to the sounds of klaxon blares, gunfire, and shouts all around him. The power had been cut, stopping the electrical current that had run through his body for almost a month. He was soon free of his shackles, and guards, and helping the younger wolves to their feet when their three rescuers arrived, Lydia screaming her way through the door. They were forced to split up during their escape, Derek managing to make it out with Stiles and Theo while anxiously waiting, hidden, for the others. He knew something was wrong long before he saw Lydia struggling to drag an unconscious Scott out of the building. They had been ambushed, she told them, and she and the wolves had done their best to fight the onslaught. But Liam had not survived and Scott had been badly injured. Theo had always been a loose cannon, and the death of Liam destroyed the last of his self-control. He darted back into the building before they could stop him, the snarls and screams carrying from deep inside the building. Derek and Stiles took over getting Scott to safety while Lydia did her best to remain upright. He desperately wanted to go in and drag the Chimera out, kicking and screaming if necessary, but he was still too weak from captivity to be much help and felt uneasy leaving the human and banshee to protect their unconscious alpha alone. The decision was soon made for him when the building exploded, incinerating Theo and everyone else inside.

The once mighty True Alpha pack had been dwindled down to four members, only two of whom were actually werewolves. They didn't have to say anything, it was obvious they could not go on much longer. All of their allies, all of their friends, all of their families were either dead, captured, or impossible to reach. They were alone. And it terrified them. The only thing that really kept them going was Stiles. The young man had experienced true horrors in his short life, just like the rest of them. Perhaps even more so, because of his time possessed by the Nogitsune. The loss of his father and some of his closest friends had obviously taken its toll on him. But Stiles was their rock, their anchor. He kept them smiling when it seemed like they never would be able to again. He tended to their wounds with his own special blend of Druidic and medical knowledge, making sure they healed even when body parts had been amputated and organs were falling out. He forced them to eat, and drink, and sleep, making sure they were as strong as possible and ready as possible to fight whatever battle was going to come next. While he would never admit it to anyone, Derek had slowly fallen for the boy. Perhaps that was why his death hurt the most of all.

They had been on the move again, always on the move, always trying to stay one step ahead of the hunters that were ever on their trail. They had been scouring the woods well outside of Beacon Hills proper for a new cave to hide out in, Stiles providing the usual background chatter to lighten the mood. It was the sudden silence that told them something was wrong. The image would forever be ingrained in Derek's mind; he doubted he would be able to forget it even in death. He had whipped around to ask what Stiles was about to say next and instead caught the smell of fear and blood and pain as he saw an arrow sticking out of the young man's throat. He began to choke as he fell to his knees, Scott and Derek racing to catch him as Lydia stood in horror, hands covering her mouth while tears began to fall. More arrows began to fly around them, and they quickly dragged the boy behind the cover of a thicket as Lydia turned in the direction of their attackers. The scream was the most bloodcurdling he had ever heard her give, rupturing both his eardrums even though she was facing the opposite direction and levelling a few dozen trees in front of her. They did eventually find the body of the three hunters who had attacked them, but not before they had to watch helplessly as the life drained out of Stiles eyes. He gave one last small smile, clasping each of them on the shoulder in a silent good-bye before he stopped breathing and slumped to the ground. More hunters arrived, and they were forced to abandon his body and take off in desperation once again.

Scott finally came undone at that point. He had been strong to the end. He had lost the first love of his life, he had lost friend after friend, he had seen other friends turn against him, he had endured unimaginable pain, he had done the impossible and rose on his own strength of character to become a True Alpha, he had lost his own beta and so many other members of his pack. And through all of it he had remained strong, he had remained their leader, their alpha. But Scott could not endure losing his brother. Stiles had been with him since the very beginning of his supernatural journey, had guided him every step of the way and supported him against all odds, even when no one else would. Stiles had fought for Scott, loved Scott, the two had been inseparable practically since birth. And so, as heart-wrenching as it was, Derek understood why Scott did it. In truth, he was very tempted to do the same. The pain had become too much, the loss had become too much, and in the end, Scott took his own life.

The discoveries of Stiles and Scott's deaths were cause for celebration for most of Beacon Hills. With the alpha and his second out of the picture, things seemed to calm down. The radio program was still aired of course, and the danger was far from over, but most people seemed content to let the omega wolf and banshee hide out in the woods without feeling a need to actively find and kill them. Derek and Lydia took up residence in a secluded section of the Preserve that was next to impossible for humans to get to (he had carried her, protesting all the way, in order to get them to it). Life became very dull for the last supernaturals in Beacon Hills. The days passed by slowly with nothing to do except stare at one another and listen to the short wave radio they had managed to find. Days became weeks, and weeks eventually became months. Life in the rest of the world moved on, and only the die-hard hunters remained active. They had spent nearly six months alone, just the two of them, when Lydia made a declaration that would change the course of history.

"I want to go to the Nemeton."

Derek had very nearly been asleep, lounging on his favorite patch of grass near the stream that flowed through their little sanctuary, but the girl's words had him wide awake instantly. "Why?" he spluttered, after taking a moment to make sure she was serious.

"I don't know," Lydia replied, eyes glazing over slightly as she rested her chin on her hand, "I just feel like I need to go there, like there is something waiting there for me."

"Yeah, there's definitely something waiting there," Derek snorted derisively. "Hunters," he added, seeing the look of confusion on her face, "they've had the Nemeton under surveillance forever, or did you forget what happened to Peter and Cora?"

"No, I haven't forgotten," she said incredulously, "I remember them all. Banshees feel death far more acutely, in case you've forgotten." Derek remained silent, melancholy feeling slowly increasing. "Actually, I think that might be why I want to go there."

"Lydia," Derek started carefully, "if you feel like someone is going to die at the Nemeton, then that is the exact reason why we shouldn't go there."

"No, that's not it," she said with a huff, "it's more like, someone wants to come back from the dead, or speak from the dead. I don't know, I've never felt like this before, but I know I need to go to the Nemeton for whatever this is."

Derek gave her a small, knowing smile. "Lyds, I would give anything to bring them back from the dead, or even just to talk to them again. But we both know it doesn't work like that."

"But it does," she said, eyes lighting up slightly, "Peter came back from the dead, and the Darach was going to die before she was saved by the Nemeton. Some of the Chimeras that Jordan took to it were also resurrected. It actually has quite a recurring history of doing this."

Her excitement grew with each breath, and Derek could tell that there was not going to be any way of changing her mind now. "Fine," he said, smirking at the triumphant look on her face, "but if we are going to do this, we do it my way. We're safe here, and I'm not about to go rushing into danger and lose the only friend I have left."

Lydia looked touched by his words. The werewolf had already said more in this conversation than he had in the past two weeks, and she knew that showing any feelings at all was incredibly difficult for him. "I agree. We need to be careful and make sure no one knows we are there, or where we've been."

"I'm only going to ask this once, and I want you to be completely honest with me," Derek had an indecipherable look on his face as he spoke, gaining her complete attention, "are you absolutely sure this is something we need to do?"

Lydia stared intently at him, almost like she was staring through him, before resolving herself and answering. "Yes. I'm not sure yet what this is or what it means, but I know that I have to go to the Nemeton. There's something, no, someone, there calling to me."

Derek sighed, confident that, while Lydia knew what she was doing, they were likely to not survive this trip, even with the decreased presence of the hunters. "Alright, you stay here and pack whatever you think we will need to take with us, I'll start scouting around the area to make sure no one else is nearby."

They each set about their respective tasks. Lydia was done quickly; in truth, after spending most of a year on the run living in caves and abandoned buildings, they had very few possessions with them anymore – a few weapons, cooking utensils, some herbs and things Stiles had used for healing and protection, the "bag of memories" containing pictures and objects from their fallen friends, and the radio. It all fit into two backpacks and Lydia had them packed within an hour. Derek, on the other hand, remained out scouting until nightfall, finally deciding that the way was as clear as it could be for them to begin their journey.

It was a slow one. The Nemeton was not far away, but Derek refused to take any risks, so between creating false trails, doubling back several times, scouting ahead to make sure the path was safe, and occasionally leaving the ground to jump from tree to tree, it took the better part of a week to finally reach their destination. Lydia had steadily grown more impatient as they got closer, finally taking off altogether on her own when they got close to the Nemeton's clearing and forcing Derek to give up his stakeout and follow after her. There was an electric buzz in the air as they got close to the Beacon, and it made Derek uneasy. His instincts were screaming at him to run, that they were walking into a trap, but he did his best to quiet his inner wolf and follow the banshee's lead.

That is, until the banshee suddenly stopped and gasped. Derek was in front of her in a flash, guarding her from whatever it was that caused the reaction. In truth, he didn't know what it was. They had reached the edge of the Nemeton's clearing, the stump of the once majestic tree still dominating the landscape and the electric humming in the air more intense than ever. The surprise, though, was that they were not alone. A solid, black thing rested on top of the stump. Derek couldn't tell what it was, and his brain went into overdrive trying to process what he was seeing and why he hadn't sensed the presence before they got this close. Before he could finish figuring it out though, the thing seemed to realize they were there, and it spoke.

"Oh my Gawwwwd, it's about time you got here," the voice was oddly familiar, but Derek was too stunned to place it. He heard Lydia inching forward behind him and stuck out his arm to try and stop her. The thing on the stump didn't move, but did continue talking, "do you know how long I've been waiting here? Of course you do, that was a stupid question. But do you know how hard it has been to just sit here, for a whole week, with nothing to do and no one to talk to, while I waited for you? I mean, come on! I've never been able to sit still for like two minutes. I practically died all over again just from boredom!"

The thing seemed to be quite amused by its statements and began to laugh. The laugh is what brought Derek back to reality. No, it couldn't be, he thought to himself as he heard Lydia behind him whisper the name aloud. "Stiles?"

"Yep! In the flesh. Well, not exactly, obviously. But it is me!" Derek could not believe it, could not contain his joy at hearing the young man's voice again. In that moment he didn't care if it was a trick, if he was going crazy, he was just so happy to be around his lost packmate. He leapt forward into the clearing, intending to wrap up the thing in a crushing wolf-hug, but as he tried to pounce on it, he found himself flying through whatever it was and landing in a heap on the other side of the Nemeton.

"Dude, are you okay?" he heard Stiles ask as he looked back up, determining that the thing speaking with Stiles' voice was made of some sort of black mist. "Yeah," he continued, as if reading Derek's thoughts, "I'm not a real boy anymore, no body or anything like that. You won't be able to touch me while I'm here. I also don't have a heartbeat anymore, so your lie detector won't work either!" He said it with such carefree nonchalance, as if this was a regular, everyday occurrence, that Derek could only look on in wonder.

"How are you here?" Lydia asked, at some point having made her own way to the middle of the clearing and now tentatively prodding the mist with a finger, studying the thing in front of her.

"That's a really long story," the Stiles-mist said, turning to face her (maybe, it was hard to tell if it even had a face). "The short version is that I stole the body of a demon and used its powers to come up here and talk to you guys." Derek could hear the smug expression that would be Stiles' face, if he still had one, and he felt himself wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.

"You stole…what?" Lydia spluttered. The Stiles-mist began to cackle again, and Derek found himself chuckling along with him. Lydia looked more bemused than amused, but he could see the twinkle in her eye that gave away how she really felt. "You know what, never mind. It's probably better if I don't know."

"You're right about that," the Stiles-mist replied, regaining his composure. "Man, it's good to see you guys again. I've missed you both so much." Derek felt something inside him break at the simple statement. All he could do was nod in agreement.

"We've missed you too Stiles," Lydia said for the both of them, a single tear trailing down her cheek. "I wish you were still here with us, all of you."

"Hmm. That's actually what I came here, and waited for an ENTIRE WEEK here on this stupid stump, to talk to you about." Even though there was no real face to look at, Derek could instantly tell that the trademark mischievous look accompanied the statement.

"What are you plotting?" he asked, trying to conceal the hint of a grin beginning to form.

"Wellllll, I might have an idea." Derek and Lydia stood in silence, waiting for the Stiles-mist to continue. "I think I've figured out a way to bring the pack back to life, at least the majority of…"

"What!" Derek yelled in excitement, "You can come back? All of you? When?"

"Hold on there Sillywolf. I can't promise that it'll work, or even if it does that we can get everyone back."

"But you think you can, right?" Lydia interjected quickly.

"Yeah, I think I can," and Derek could tell the smile on the Stiles-mist's nonexistent face must spread from ear to ear. "But I need your help, both of you."

"You don't even need to ask, you know we will help any way we can," Derek said, quieter this time but still excited. This was the first good news they had had in months.

"I'm glad to hear you say that," the Stiles-mist said, mischief lacing his every word once more, "because this is going to be the most dangerous thing we have ever done."

"Stiles," the other two groaned.

"What? I've been dead for six months, cut me a little slack and let me have my dramatic moment!" They simply groaned again at his remarks, a little more subdued this time at the reminder that he wasn't truly with them. "Yeah, I know, that wasn't my greatest come back ever. I guess I'm losing my touch. Anyways, my plan is dangerous, and difficult, and could go wrong in a million different ways, and it could kill you both, but if we succeed the McCall Pack will live again."

"Just tell us what we need to do," Derek said, eager to have a plan of action again after so long, especially a Stiles plan of action. Lydia nodded in agreement beside him.

"Lydia, I'm going to have to walk you through some rituals. They have to take place here at the Nemeton, which is why I came back here. They will only work with the combined powers of a Druid and a Banshee, so I'm hoping I qualify enough for the first part. I should, Deaton taught me quite a bit before we lost him, but if it doesn't work you'll have to find an actual Druid before we can go any further." Lydia nodded her head stoically, as if these statements were simple, everyday occurrences.

"What about me?" Derek asked quietly, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

"I need you to come with me," the Stiles-mist responded, mischievous cackle present once again.

Derek groaned inwardly before asking his next question, knowing the answer was probably not going to be a pleasant one. "Come with you where, Stiles?"

"Why, to Hell of course."