Only Bridges Burn
Spring's Joy
Stiles wakes slowly, his eyes fluttering open in a sleepy protest of the light filtering through the tent fabric. He shifts and pulls the heavy leather jacket - his blanket - more tightly around himself. Even seven years later, Derek still has this thing for badass looking jackets. Which is fine with Stiles, considering he's given them to wear more often than not. Inhaling sharply, he lets the now familiar smell of smoke and pine - something even a human can detect - sweep over him, and he relaxes, eyelids falling closed again. It's too early to get up, he decides.
Of course, Derek doesn't see it that way. Within moments of his decision, Stiles finds a heavy hand shaking him, and, murmuring a protest, he rubs one hand across his cheek and then sits up. He's had several years to learn that when Derek wants everyone up, you risk a dousing with icy water if you refuse to co-operate. There are worse sights to wake up to, the human reminds himself, smiling faintly as his mate steps back, fully dressed and impatient. Outside the tent walls, Stiles can hear the sound of a fire crackling, accompanied by the low murmur of a few voices. It's not often that he's one of the last ones awake, but last night was... well. His smile grows at the thought.
Derek raises an eyebrow at him with rakish inquiry. "Did you have a good sleep?" he asks, and his gruff voice is more than enough to brush away the rest of Stiles' sleepiness.
Grinning, Stiles shrugs out of the jacket and replies, "You could say that, yeah. Although it was the not sleeping part that I'm remembering right now." He stands and stretches, eyeing the Alpha with playful suggestiveness. "I'm wide awake now. Think they'd notice if you were MIA for a couple more hours?"
Shoving his hand through his thick brown hair, Derek pauses for a moment, as if tempted. He closes the distance between them with a predatory swiftness and clasps the back of Stiles' neck, pulling him closer. Even through a layer of clothes, his body radiates heat against Stiles' bare skin, and the human lets out a light moan, teasing but sincere all the same.
His breath hot against Stiles' ear, Derek whispers, "I think they'd notice. They definitely noticed last night. You were pretty... appreciative."
And then he is released, and Stiles steps back, flushed but not embarrassed. They've been together too long for that. "Hey," he says, bending down to snatch up a pair of underwear, "not my fault you guys have got good hearing. Good with the bad, right?"
A grunt is the Alpha's reply, and then he turns and pulls the tent's flap aside, letting in more light. As he leaves, Derek calls, "Well, I hope your human stamina is enough. Scott and I are planning plenty of fun stuff today." Stiles groans - the Alphas' ideas of fun are rarely on the same page as the pack's - and Derek laughs, a hearty exultation that is always pleasant to hear. He reminds Stiles, "Hey, good with the bad, right?" Another laugh sees him ducking away, and his departure is hurried by the boot Stiles' throws at him.
It doesn't take long for Stiles to slip into a black t-shirt and brown cargo shorts. He retrieves his boot from where it sits, a few feet away from their shelter, and grabs its partner before making his way down the sparse path that connects their clearing with the main meeting area. All around him, the sounds of crickets, bees and birds add a certain crispness to the late morning air, and it is just cool enough to be pleasant. The past several days, it has become hot as the day wears on, but for now Stiles lets himself enjoy the agreeable atmosphere of the forest.
Most of the pack is gathered around the fire pit, some of them still helping themselves to breakfast. Lydia and Ethan are missing, though Aiden is there, ravenously wolfing - heh, gets him every time - down sausage, eggs and bacon, and Danny is there too. Being late isn't exactly unusual for Lydia - he knows she likes to sleep in, especially now - but Ethan's absence is strange. The twins, despite being in their own serious relationships, almost always wake up at the same time, regardless of whether or not they are sleeping near each other. Stiles lingers at the edge of the clearing, though of course most of them will have heard him coming minutes ago.
He likes seeing his family likes this. Scott and Allison are close to each other, holding hands, and they've obviously finished their food already. Isaac and Cora are tossing a ball back and forth - throwing it at each other's heads, really - like the good friends they are, and Derek is leaning against a tree, his arms crossed, looking sharp-edged but not brooding like he used to be. The only scar on the otherwise typical scene is Danny, who is hunched over and picking listlessly at his food. Occasionally, the human glances over his shoulder, and it makes it obvious why Ethan is missing. Stiles sighs, his mood almost dampened by that one reminder. Sometimes - just sometimes - he can't help but wonder if some of them wouldn't have been better off without ever meeting a werewolf.
And then Lydia arrives from the direction of the clearing her and Aiden share, and the thought is wiped from Stiles' mind. Aiden leaps to his feet, as excited as if he hasn't seen her for weeks, and gently ushers her to the nearest log bench. Their relationship - all of their relationships - are special that way. Stiles is not sure if it is because of the things they've experienced together, or maybe werewolves just happen to be extremely affectionate to their mates, but it seems as if all of them receive joy every day in merely seeing their companion.
Speaking of which. Derek is not - quite - as demonstrative as Aiden, but he still grabs Stiles by the hand and drags him over to the fire. His arm is heavy but comfortingly familiar as it falls across Stiles' shoulders, and it stays there while the human grabs his own generous helping of food. The talk, previously confined to little conversations between pairs, gradually spills together, and eventually they are discussing the events of the day.
"We're going for a run today," Scott announces, elbows resting casually on his knees. He has grown over the past few years, put on enough muscle and weight to give him a physical presence that was absent previously. His personality is, if anything, stronger than before, and it shows in the way he good-naturedly waves aside the half-hearted complaints some of the pack - Stiles included - throw at him.
"It won't be too bad," he promises, smiling, and gives a sidelong glance to Derek, who takes it from there. They've done the good cop, bad cop routine for some time now, and it works. Everyone is already turned and waiting in expectant silence for the drill sergeant speech.
"What's with all the complaining?" Derek asks sharply, and though he gets the tone right, a grin is tugging at one corner of his mouth. "You guys knew what you were signing up for when you agreed to our camping trip! Three weeks of training, not napping, remember? And I don't know what Scott is talking about, because I've mapped our path, and it is going to be he - haha - ah, Stiles, stop - aha - stop, you idiot!"
Stiles pulls his fingers from the Alpha's generously exposed side and waggles them innocently. "What?" he enquires, varnished brown eyes widening into a guileless expression. "Why'd you stop?"
Derek splutters for a moment as the rest of the group begins to snigger, his lecture completely derailed. There's a flash of annoyance in his gaze, but as he catches Stiles' smaller hands between his own, it melts into self-aware amusement. Deliberately suppressed, he mutters something that Stiles doesn't hear. From the other side of the dying flames, Isaac calls, "What was that? Didn't catch that!"
The way the rest of the werewolves' snorts indicate he's lying, and Derek growls with mock fierceness, releasing his mate and standing. With an impressive glower plastered across his face, he exclaims, "He was tickling me! That's why I stopped. Happy?"
It is such a ridiculous statement, the pack erupts into laughter, and Derek grabs Stiles and lifts him to his feet, giving him a light shake. "You upstart!" he says. "You know, we can't have this kind of anarchy in the army. I'm going to have to discipline you for this." And his steady fingers trail along the human's jaw, to drop abruptly to his ribs. He tickles Stiles mercilessly, and a one-sided fight occurs as Stiles struggles to escape and gasps for help from his nearest friends, all of whom abandon him in his time of need. Eventually, Derek pins him on the ground, one hand encircling his wrists, the other still dancing along his side.
A rock is digging into Stiles' back, and he's been laughing helplessly for so long that it is just starting to hurt when the Alpha relents. Sitting up, clutching at his ribs and gasping breathlessly, Stiles finds that Scott has managed to regain order, and everyone is on their feet, back packs slung across their shoulders. Aiden is carrying two - of course, in her condition Lydia can't be expected to carry anything - and Stiles groans slightly when Derek offers him a hand and yanks him to his feet.
"You know," he pants, grabbing his own bag, "I'm going to regret that in about twenty minutes."
"Nah," Derek says, teeth flashing. "More like ten. Keep up."
He trots ahead, joining Scott in the lead, and the two Alphas guide their pack out of the campsite along the main dirt road, not going particularly fast. For the first bit, Stiles knows the werewolves will keep the humans company, but once they get to the mountain trail they'll go ahead and then run back in a continuous cycle, so that the 'weaker' of the group are always protected. Though they have learned this system from experience, Stiles privately thinks that anyone would have to be crazy to face Allison's crossbow, and he's a pretty good shot with his handgun, too. The rest of them are coming along in their various chosen disciplines, and he suspects that there's never been a more well prepared group.
Derek is quickly proven right. His lungs burn, his sides ache, and after the first twenty minutes, Stiles bleakly wonders if Allison will shoot him if he asks. That outlook is pretty common, and once his body adjusts, the light jog becomes easier, his stride lengthening to accommodate the uneven ground they soon find themselves travelling over. The forest around them has become darker, and the dirt path under their feet has dwindled to what could hardly be called a deer trail. They have passed a few people on the way - a few hikers, a small family - but Stiles thinks that they're pretty much alone after about half an hour.
He's correct, because, one by one, the werewolves break away from the group, leaving Isaac behind for the first cycle. Pulling in deep, strong breaths, the slender young man quickens his pace to catch up with Danny, who has been running by himself. His athletic form shows absolutely no fatigue, but his shoulders are hunched, his gaze dropped to the ground. He glances over at Stiles but says nothing, jaw tensed into a tight line.
Damnit. I thought this trip might help Ethan get over it. Wishful thinking, obviously, and Stiles knows that Derek wouldn't just 'get over it' if the same thing had happened to them. But still, it hurts to see any of his friends struggling like Danny and Ethan are, and Stiles has honestly hoped that things might be mended between the two of them. I guess it isn't going to be so easy.
They are silent for a time, but Stiles is already starting to feel a burn in his muscles, and if he leaves the conversation for too long, he won't even be able to talk. So he breaks the tension. Or tries to. "Heeey Danny," he puffs with his usual earnestness. "How are things with you and Ethan?"
The look the other man gives him is more than a little exasperated, but Danny must have known someone would ask sooner or later. It's a bit hard to ignore the fact that, since the incident, the two are hardly seen together, and more often than not Ethan is off on his own. It's even harder to disregard Ethan's refusal to speak with Derek or Scott about it, because frankly, that means trouble. A lot of trouble. Both Alphas are extremely powerful - sometimes unintentionally so - and to deny them any request is difficult for the Betas. That Ethan has managed it means that he is in an extremely turbulent, emotional conflict with himself and, as understandable as that is, it isn't good for the pack. It makes things strained.
Fumbling for words, Stiles is about to try again when Danny starts speaking. "How are things? Well, look around. Do you see Ethan anywhere? That's how things are going."
"I... see." Not much more to be said than that. Everyone knows why Ethan is acting so distant, but Stiles was hoping Danny might have a way to bring him back. "Do you... where is he now?"
"Around." The single word is loaded with grief, because it is implicit that Ethan's not around Danny. Stiles feels his throat close up in automatic sympathy. He doesn't interrupt as the other continues, anguish and anger and guilt drenching the increasingly agitated speech. "He said he'll come back. Didn't say when. He was... he hasn't been himself. Not at all. And it's not his fault, I know it isn't, but sometimes I can't help but remember, and he sees that I remember, and it hurts him so much, and that's all my fault, because it wasn't something he can control, and I'm the weak one for not letting it go, but I just wish that he would let it go and I get angry and..."
The tirade doesn't end so much as die away, and silence reigns again, battling only against their labored breathing and the heavy thuds of their feet hitting the ground. Danny's lips are pulled back in a grimace - maybe he regrets speaking at all? - and Stiles is simply at a loss for words. He glances sideways at his running companion, but his face is turned away, the visible skin smooth and undamaged. It is only his right side that is horribly scarred.
Well, not just his right side, Stiles grimly concludes. There are plenty of other scars, even if I can't see them. He doesn't want to imagine what it would be like if Derek suddenly changed, seemed to go out of his mind, and attacked him. The thought is physically sickening but, set out in his mind, he can't help but picture what had happened. Danny and Ethan, cuddling in their apartment during the full moon. Ethan suddenly stiffening, becoming totally unresponsive. And then, abruptly wolfing out as Danny tries to shake him awake. Danny's screams as Ethan strikes him four times across the face and chest. And all of it happening within moments of Aiden learning that he was going to be a father.
The pack had gathered the story in bits and pieces. Some from Scott's mother, who was working a shift at the hospital when Ethan rushed in, Danny unconscious in his arms, both of them covered in blood. Some from Aiden, who had been so emotional that he hadn't at first noticed that some of his feelings were definitely not his own, but when he had had rushed to the hospital and stopped his twin from... something. And even less from Ethan, who said that he'd felt Aiden losing control and had tried to help him and lost himself as a result.
The little bits of information - some guesses and speculation - had painted a picture so tragic it had actually split the group for a time. Aiden and Ethan had left for a couple of weeks after Danny was discharged from the hospital and after seeing Lydia move in with him. Both Derek and Scott had become withdrawn, certain that the incident was somehow their fault as Alphas. And, guilty as he was about it, Stiles had felt a certain - tension - when he was with Derek. The free, naive and absolute certainty was gone. It felt like a voice was constantly muttering, 'What if...?' When he'd spoken to Allison and to a lesser extent, Lydia, they had said they experienced something similar.
And Danny. What he had gone through didn't bear thinking about. Numerous stitches that would never completely seal up his scars. Several broken ribs. And something else broken as well, a trust that had run steady for more than five years. It was no one's fault, but everyone was to blame.
The pack has recovered, though. It is now a bit more than two months since the incident, and Stiles thinks about the laughter shared in the morning. It was loose, easy, something like what they used to have. It gives him hope, just as the despair radiating from Danny counters any optimism he could possibly feel. Time, I guess, Stiles tells himself, but it is an extremely unsatisfying answer to the problem, and he certainly can't repeat it to Danny. Instead, Stiles reaches out, grips his friend's shoulder for a moment, and then moves away, giving him space. It's all he can do for now.
Aiden is the third werewolf to be their 'escort'. Isaac and Cora had already taken their turn while Danny and Stiles talked, and now the healthy twin jogs beside his wife, occasionally reaching out and touching her hand or shoulder or stomach. He does it so often, it might have been strange, but Stiles knows what it is. A reassurance. A way of reminding himself that they're both still there. That they're both fine. That he's there to protect them.
They stop not too long after that. Almost four months pregnant, Lydia might be able to go for longer, but Aiden isn't having any of that, and as she isn't very fond of running anyways, Lydia doesn't argue with him. Or at least, that's what Stiles suspects. She'd probably win an argument, and that would involve more running, so he certainly doesn't complain about her compliance. They've been sitting in the grass of a small clearing for a few minutes when Scott shows up, Derek at his side, and it's clear that something is off.
Both of them are tense, and their curt motions bring all of the group in closer, humans at the front and werewolves - Isaac and Cora have also reappeared - at the back. In a hiss that isn't above a whisper, Derek says, "There are five more of us nearby. Isaac and Cora saw them. Three males, two females. We're not sure if they know we're around - they probably do, considering all the noise we've been making - but we can at least hope that they don't, and start being quieter."
Scott took up the instructions without a hitch, and there was nothing funny about the way he and Derek worked seamlessly together. If anything, it was a bit intimidating. "If they do know we're here, we need to be prepared. They might be friendly - and we'll hope they are - but our luck doesn't run in that direction very often. I want to remind you all that, regardless of what they say, we only attack them if they attack us. I do not want a repeat of our last encounter. Are we clear on that, Aiden?"
The sharp question makes Aiden jump, but he nods quickly after, his face deliberately stoic. They were lucky his recklessness hadn't gotten any of them hurt last time, and he knows it. Stiles is pretty sure they don't need to worry about him blowing up and starting a fight that could have been avoided, especially with Lydia here.
Both Alphas nod and Scott continues. "We're going to continue on our way. For all we know, they're just some Omegas passing through. But we stay as a group, and we try and be quiet."
There is a suppressed murmur of agreement, and the group breaks apart. It doesn't escape Stiles notice that the werewolves stay on the outside, a mobile wall of muscle, fur and teeth, and that none of them stray too far from their partners. Derek is no exception. He is only a few feet from Stiles at any one time, and his head swivels around so quickly, it would have been funny if it was a different situation. As it was, adrenaline coursing through his veins, Stiles is slightly annoyed. They think we're weaklings they need to protect. What has all this training been for if they don't think we can actually defend ourselves?
In a low mutter, because he knows Derek will be able to hear, Stiles says, "Danny will need you more than me. So will Lydia."
True enough. The former is white and shaking, his hands running nervous tracks across the raised tissue on his face, and though the latter has her head up defiantly, she is biting her lip and gripping the stun gun in her hand with more force than necessary.
Derek inclines his head, but he doesn't move away. Stiles just hopes that, if things go crazy, he'll do what's right and help those that actually need it. For his part, the slender human holds his handgun - loaded with wolfsbane bullets - firmly. He doesn't shake. His father gave him countless lessons about being strong, about being steady and brave even when you're terrified, and he isn't terrified now. Surrounded by his pack, Stiles is calm and secure.
That doesn't mean he doesn't flinch when, moments after they begin to move, a humanoid figure jumps out of a dense stand of trees about fifty feet away, to be followed by four more. They stand silent and tense, and Stiles' eyes aren't strong enough to see their expressions, but he has an almost overwhelming feeling of foreboding. Ever since meeting Derek, ever since Scott was bit, it has seemed like meeting more werewolves was never a good thing. It always resulted in fighting and pain and sometimes death.
But this isn't going to be like with Erica and Boyd, Stiles thinks to himself fiercely, and he is surprised both by the ferocity in his chest, and the fact that his thoughts turned to the long dead werewolves. He thought he had moved past their deaths, but the bitterness and sour fear that powdered his view makes him wonder.
The standoff lasts for maybe a minute, but eventually it is broken as Derek steps forward a few paces. Stiles tenses, hating even that space between them, and looks anxiously to see the other werewolves' reactions. They glance at each other, and seemingly of one mind all of them move forward. Stiles is alarmed to note that they are all partially changed. More than that, closer up, he sees that three out of the five have blue eyes.
His voice flat, containing a uniquely 'Derek' coolness, the Alpha calls, "That'll be far enough. Who are you, and what do you want?"
Stiles winces. Derek has certainly become a better Alpha - more patient, understanding and willing to trust - but he has not improved his social skills. As he put it, that was what Scott was for. Scott seems to sense that, because he strides forward and stands side by side with his fellow Alpha, face calm and friendly.
"What he means is, sorry for the mistrust. We've had some negative experiences with other packs. Would you mind telling us who you are, and if we can do something for you?"
The werewolves exchange another look, and then one comes cautiously forward. He's big - taller than Isaac - and has spiked blonde hair that only enhances the impression, although it contrasts sharply with his age, which Stiles guesses to be at least thirty five.. He doesn't seem very aggressive. "My name's Rand. These are some acquaintances of mind. As for doing something for us... You wouldn't be Scott McCall, would you?"
In unison, the Beacon Hills pack stiffen, humans and werewolves alike, and Rand holds up his hands, looking even more wary. Scott glances back, and Stiles sees that although he makes a calming gesture, his eyes are going red.
"I'm Scott, yeah. How did you know?"
Rand mirrors the young Alpha and looks behind him. One at a time, his pack comes forward, pausing just before they pass Rand. "We were given information by a source that wants to remain anonymous. We were told you were out of Beacon Hills, which was perfect."
The ominous words are hardly finished when one of the other werewolves, a younger woman with unusually long black hair, bursts out, "Rand, we've finally found them! We've been looking forever. Can we please just do it?"
A flicker of displeasure crosses Rand's heavy brow, and Stiles observes him closely. The tall blonde man must be an Alpha, which means he's worth watching. The rest of the Beacon Hills pack seems to agree, because their focus fixes on him, and as if he can feel their unblinking stares, Rand hesitates.
Humming and hawing, he says, agonizingly slowly, "Well, we've been looking for you. We wanted to find you. And here you are. Now the question is, what to do? I think that the best thing to do would be to talk about it and -"
"No, Rand. I'm done talking." If the Alpha looks hesitant, the black haired woman is positively twitching with energy. She leans forward, steel blue fixed on them, and Stiles isn't the only one who draws in his breath, strain clenching his muscles almost painfully tight, and waits for what seems to be an inevitable attack.
She takes a forceful step forward, tosses her head to flick back her hair, and declares, "We want to join your pack."