Title: Fight For Me If Its Not Too Late (I Can't Believe This is How the Story Ends)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All belongs to Jeff Davis and MTV
Summary: Lydia was possessed on a Tuesday and it took until Saturday for Derek to notice.
A/N: Inspired by the tumblr AU meme: Stiles gets possessed. I love Stiles as much as the next Teen Wolf fan but I love Lydia more and felt that she would be the likelier candidate for demonic possession. So I took the demonic possession and combined it with 'Witch!Lydia and Grumpy Familiar!Derek' and so we have this. Huge thanks to athena606, Dani, and kT for their assistance with this story.
Wolfsbane. She fed him wolfsbane.
Lydia was possessed on a Tuesday and it took until Saturday for Derek to notice.
He hates himself for it; the feeling of failure burning with the wolfsbane coursing through his veins. He should've known. He was supposed to know, that was his job. Yet he didn't. He had been too caught up in the smell of her lip gloss, the buzzing tang of magick under her perfume. He was so used to her smelling different and Lydia had been trying more spells and Derek had thought the change in scent had to do with that. It wasn't like it was a sudden change either. She didn't smell like sulfur or the fires of hell. She smelled like the oil that blackened her eyes when he drank the aconite-laced iced tea without even thinking and all he thought was that maybe it was some new incense.
ihe thing pretending to be Lydia stands over him with a smile that would've been sweet if it wasn't for the inky black covering her eyes. She makes a tsking sound and shakes her head, curls tumbling over her shoulders and hands on her hips. "Back in my day the bond between a witch and her familiar was so much stronger. I've been here for five days – oh, don't look at me like that. Your face will stick that way." She nudges him with toe and he reaches out a hand but a sharp, stabbing sensation fills him from his core out and the air pulls from his lungs long with the shock of it.
Derek should've known that nothing about him had changed, not really. He'd been a fool once and it had gotten his family burned up. Fooled twice and he was going to get his pack killed. Again. While he's writhing on the floor in a futile, desperate attempt to relieve the burn all he can think is that he should stop being so naïve and trusting. He'd gotten so good at it but he was weak and lonely and the pull of making his own pack was too strong.
"You know, I never put much stock into wolves. I mean, you can get a perfectly good hellhound if you're looking for a pet and I don't know why you'd want to bind a dog anyway." It steps over him leaving in the wake of Lydia's new perfume a sharp, oily scent that's screaming abomination inside of his head and oh god, his insides are on fire.
"Maybe it's your dick that's attached to her instead of your essence," It muses and he can hear her going through things on the other side of the room and he knows their Lydia's things and he wants to make it leave them alone but the pain is becoming unbearable.
It's like being sixteen again and the new lifeguard was going down on him just days before the police show up at school to tell him and Laura that their lives were destroyed. He growls and his claws have extended and they rake across the grimy floor. He's not alone this time. He doesn't have to depend on a belligerent Stiles and a clueless Scott to help this time except fuck, how do you counteract iingesting/i wolfsbane?
It's different from gunpowder and crushed plant in his bloodstream, that much is abundantly clear. He can't shift and the wolf inside keeps trying to latch onto Lydia's presence while the human is screaming inside for the pain to stop and, "What have you done with her?" he grits out between clenched teeth.
Whatever it is, Derek doesn't know, he just knows that he doesn't have long and he manages to roll onto his hands and knees. His limbs tremble with the effort and he breathes in slowly and deeply before pretending to vomit in hopes that it will trigger his gag reflex. It takes awhile and he's had to go to his elbows to keep up until acidic black bile starts coming up. It feels like his intestines and throat are on fire but he keeps going, ihas/i to keep going no matter how much it hurts.
Whatever it is giggles and it's Lydia's giggle yet not Lydia's giggle at the same time. "She's safe and sound, don't worry. I can't blame you, by the way. She's a pretty one, that's for sure. Curvy and soft in all the right places and oh, you know this mouth was made to suck instead of cast. Bet you thought about it, haven't you? Wonder how you kept that from her."
He vomits for what feels like hours and finally nothing else come up and Derek finally collapses back to the floor. His cheek slides against the burning bile and he growls and rolls onto his back with his cheek burning. His limbs still tremble and he gasps for air and tries to think as the wolf snarls and snaps.
It putters around the room rambling about how it should've possessed that Allison girl. She would've been good but Lydia's too smart and would've known something was up from the start. It continues on, suddenly jumping from Allison to Erica. Erica would've been good but she reminds It too much of a soul-selling idiot from Kansas and Derek is desperately trying to stay alert but he keeps fading in and out of consciousness. He knows something It says might be useful later. He needs to pay attention. He can't pass out…
Out of habit he reaches for Lydia again through the link and it is then he realizes that the place where her presence hummed in the back of his mind is gone. It's empty. Cold. Endless. she's gone… she's gone… Lydia… she's gone.
It's not possible. How could the link be gone? Derek's mind races and he's not in any shape to do this because there's panic welling up in his chest that he hasn't felt since Scott tricked Gerard Argent into biting him.
Eventually It comes back over to him and a cold, soft hand pats his cheek and his skin crawls because Kate Argent used to do that and he knows It's not really Lydia but It's wearing her face and he doesn't want to tainted her with the comparison. Black eyes fill his vision and the glossy lips pull into a smile. "By the way, the name's Blythe."
Derek can't find his phone and for a heart stopping minute he thinks that maybe Lydia - ino/i, Blythe – has smashed it and then he remembers it's in the console of the car. The thought of that particular journey alone is enough to pull a frustrated growl from him. His throat burns with the reaction and he tastes the bitter, burning sensation in the back of his throat before he's heaving again. His shoulders shake weakly and he collapses back to the ground. The adrenaline is wearing off and the wolfsbane is still taking its toll. He didn't even drink that much and Derek hates to admit how much that scares him because if a gulp did this too him, exactly how concentrated was the wolfsbane? More importantly, how did she keep him from smelling it?
They're just more questions to add onto his ever growing list and he's just so completely exhausted. He trembles violently and vomits again and oh fuck, is that the jeep? Please be that damn jeep The sound of Stiles' jeep is as ingrained in him as the squeaks and groans the house makes and instead of praying for strength to get through another meeting without accosting the kid, Derek breathes a sigh of relief. He grabs onto that relief and struggles up to his feet, using the couch as leverage and when Scott and Stiles burst through the door he's at least upright.
"Derek!" Scott yells and then swears as he darts into the room. Stiles follows at a slower pace and his expression is unreadable but Derek can smell the anxiety rolling off of him. He feels a stab of pity and it's enough of a distraction that he allows Scott to manhandle him to the couch. "What happened?" Scott asks, breathless and Derek thinks that the pounding heart he's hearing is Scott's and not his own.
Derek's still looking at Stiles and Stiles is meeting his look unflinchingly. It's like an entire conversation is happening. An understanding and Stiles takes a deep breath. "Lydia was here first." First bothers Derek and he seriously begins to wonder how long he was on the floor because it couldn't have been that long ago that the thing wearing Lydia's face left.
"She attacked Jackson," Scott elaborates and he's in full on panic-mode. Derek thought that he'd broken that reaction but Scott was rattled. "I don't know what she did. The others are bringing him back here." Derek blinks at Scott. He heard the words but he can't quite process them. They just echo in the emptiness inside his chest. One thing manages to eventually register.
"It's not Lydia. It's something possessing her."
"Yeah, Peter's finally gotten to her," Stiles says and Derek feels his head shake.
"No. It's something else. It caused her eyes to go black." He clears his throat and remembers the way that emptiness looked at him from Lydia's smiling face and he leans back into the couch. It's shock. It's starting to take hold and Derek isn't quite sure if it's from what's just happened or an effect of the link breaking. "Called itself Blythe." It comes out in halting phrases. The poisoning… bits and pieces that It said and the way It smelled.
The last part confuses Scott. "You mean that wasn't some witchy thing?" and if Scott didn't notice it probably means that the others didn't notice either and that's a dilemma.
"This is your fault."
Derek's attention suddenly snaps and focuses to Stiles and there's an expression on the younger's face. It looks blank at first glance but he can see the clench of his jaw, the slight flaring of nostrils. It's barely contained rage and Scott's voicing his protest but Stiles just shakes his head. "You're linked to her. Your job is supposed to be to make sure nothing happens to her when she's casting spells or walking the astral planes or whatever the hell it is that she does and now you're telling me that's she's possessed by a demon? What the fuck do you think this is? The Exorcist? Was she projectile vomiting or was this all you?"
Even with the beating he'd taken already, Derek's on Stiles in a flash, slamming him to the wall so hard that brittle plaster trickles down on them. His eyes are red, teeth bared. Stiles doesn't look nervous or terrified even if his heartbeat quickens ever so much. He just looks back at him, glaring still. Derek snarls and he can't even feel the shift he's so furious, can't think rationally and then Scott's between them. Derek goes flying back while Stiles crashes to the ground and Derek stays there against the wall watching Stiles glare and Scott look frustrated and torn.
"This isn't the time," Scott snaps. "We've got Jackson and Lydia to worry about, okay? Then we can have the pissing contest on whose fault this is." It's a voice of reason that Derek can barely hold onto. Everything's red and black and his heart is pounding and his chest is tight and he can't breathe now. He can't breathe and he falls forward again, braced on his hands. His claws scratch at the floor and there's pain twisting inside him, rushing up his core and up his throat and the only thing Derek can do is throw his head back and howl.
It shakes the walls and echoes through the house, loud and terrifying and twisted with pain. Despite the sudden and painful emptiness where Lydia used to be, Derek can feel the betas' responding to their alpha. It does little to comfort him.
It isn't Lydia.
Allison, pale, shaken and wide eyed says that Lydia's mom is away for some kind of retreat on the east coast. Lydia and her father weren't speaking so those bases are all covered. "If she fooled us this long, chances are she's having absolutely no problem fooling her parents." The brunette is still uneasy in their circle, old wounds poorly healed and she chews on her thumb in clear nervous habit. The humans (with Scott and Jackson) of the group don't mind her presence but Boyd and Erica still watch her movements constantly.
"She's taunting us," Boyd says and the situation is being taken seriously if Boyd is offering up opinions without prompting. "S'why she's back at the house. She knows she's got us blindsided."
"She knows we won't hurt her is more like it." Derek watches eyes turn to Stiles. He's sitting on the steps away from them with a book in his lap that he hasn't looked up from since the pack gathered almost two hours ago. If Stiles notices the attention on him, he doesn't show it. He doesn't even look up and Derek can feel his anger twisting in the air. Eyes begin to swivel to him and Derek meets their looks blankly. He knows he looks bad. Clammy, pale and wrung out. Not the kind of alpha that inspires confidence and he can't help but think that it's just a matter of time for Erica and Boyd to bolt for good.
"It's not Lydia doing this," he reiterates for what feels like the hundredth time. "Something has possessed her. It's controlling her."
"Like the kanima?" Scott asks and Jackson makes a sound from his position on the couch. The yards of white bandages are pink in places and there's sweat on his brow. However It cut him, the wound isn't healing as fast as it should be so he's stuck on the couch unable to move, unable to stalk Lydia down and Derek knows how much that's frustrating Jackson.
He shakes his head. "No, not like the kanima. More like a ghost or spirit or something forced its way inside her and it's taken her body for its own." The words taste like ash in his mouth. "Like a demon possession."
"So we grab her and perform an exorcism on her," Isaac says as if it's the most obvious answer and it should be. It should be the most obvious answer but Derek knows it's not that easy because nothing is ever, iever/i that easy for him and the universe isn't going to start doing it now.
"I really doubt 'the power of Christ compels you' is actually going to work in this situation," Stiles snaps. "If it is a demon, we have dozens of different religious exorcism rituals that might work or none of them actually work. Not to mention? Lydia's a witch, which, as we see with Jackson, means that she's got a helluva lot more ammunition against us than your normal possessed person. In theory." Stiles turns his look to Derek and he meets it and both of them refuse to back down. "If someone hadn't scared off all the witches when they showed up trying to help-"
"Stiles." It's Scott that cuts him off and instead of yelling like he might've done it is low and strong and quiet. Scott's alpha tendencies are rearing their head. "Lydia had a choice. She decided to stay here. What's done is done and now we have to figure out how to get whatever it is out of her. Ghost, demon, whatever and we all need to work together, okay?"
Derek watches Scott look at the rest of the pack and they exchange wary looks. He hears Stiles sigh and watches him get up from the steps to join the rest of them. "We need to find out if Lydia was doing any casting before she got possessed. If she was calling anything or doing something she wasn't supposed to." Stiles' flicks his gaze towards him and Derek shakes his head again. He's cold. Numb. There's this aching hollow inside of his chest that's threatening to suffocate him.
"I'll need to get into her room. See if I can find anything out of the ordinary. The bond… it means I don't have to be there every time she casts. The link's always open." iWas/i a cruel voice whispers. Gone now. Broken. Shattered. iHollow…hollow…hollow./i. Derek doesn't realize he's zoned out again, focused on that single feeling of hollowness until someone starts shaking him. He blinks furiously and focuses in on Scott's worried face. Nothing is said. Derek doesn't think he could speak any more if he wanted to and Scott just nods because Scott is understanding and sympathetic and he isn't broken and destroyed and shattered like he is after all these years of loss and heartache and no home and no pack.
"We'll fix this," Scott says, promise clear in his words and Derek just nods because that's all he's capable of doing any more.
The pack is reluctant to leave Derek and Jackson alone Monday morning for various and valid reasons that includes Jackson's injuries, Derek's worrying near-catatonia, and neither of them look particularly amused when Isaac mumbles out the reason why. Jackson snaps that he's 'fucking fine and you're all just overreacting'. Derek grunts an affirmative of his own and the fact that Jackson and Derek have never actually gotten along before, let alone agreed on anything until now? Is enough to send them all scurrying off to school and duty.
He hasn't slept since Saturday and it's wearing on him. Derek knows it isn't helpful but he's trying. So he flips through the papers Stiles and Allison gathered up and tries not to obsessively keep checking his phone.
The first text is from Erica whose on tracking duty. Lydia's left the house and she's going to follow her. Derek glares at the screen and the short message and he rubs his eyes and waits. And waits. And then finally a stream of messages. Isaac, Scott, Allison, Stiles. They all say the same thing:
L school. What do we do?
He wants to yell at them that it isn't Lydia. Lydia wouldn't do things like this but he has to keep it together. Saturday was unacceptable. He's the Alpha and it's his job to keep them together and keep them safe. So he does his best to push the hollow ache aside and focus. Focus on keeping them safe. Focus on what to do.
Keep me posted. Do not act
With that message fired off he knows it's the only surefire chance he has of getting into Lydia's room. The problem is that since the last time he's been there, he doesn't know if the room has been rigged. Lydia's knowledge of magic is limited but what she knows is fierce with protection and security her first priority.
"If you insist on making stupid dangerous plans to save the day then I'm just going to have to save all of you first." she'd said, hands on her hips and a flip of her hair. Lydia had brandished one of the thick tomes as he recovered from getting Erica and Boyd from the Alpha pack. It wasn't the last time she'd called him out on his lack of thinking and with what he's doing now? All he's left with is an ache in his chest and a bitter, sad smile on his face. She should be reprimanding him now.
Derek opts for the back door. Even without the connection to her he knows how to identify when she's done something. Possessed or not, the demon or whatever it is inhabiting her has to use at least some of Lydia's ability, right? Which means her signature would be in whatever spell was cast.
There's no spell on the door expect for the original protection that was Lydia's first and Derek walks into the empty house tense and unsure. Either all the spells are on Lydia's room or 'Blythe' thinks they won't try get in there. Both scenarios are just as likely and Derek hates being unnerved on top of everything else.
Nothing looks different. Nothing looks out of place. The light on the answer machine is blinking as he walks through the kitchen and up the back staircase. It's an ode to Lydia through the years. A toddler on Santa's lap, first day of school, school pictures and Halloween peppered throughout. It reminds Derek of the house before the fire. There had been thirteen of them and his mother and her siblings were crazy about documenting everything. Birthdays, school events, and milestones of all their lives. Every Christmas there'd be a big pack photo and his mother would place it in an album along with a retelling of the year.
The lack of Lydia's family photos is obvious and Derek remembers her saying that after the separation she took all the family photos before her mother could toss them.
His boots don't make a sound on the carpet of the upstairs hallway and it feels endless. The white doors are all closed. A decorative side table holds a few more pictures and they're all things Derek focuses on to keep himself going. Each silent step feels like he's pulling a boulder. More difficult each step so he focuses on the little points in the hallway he can work towards until he's there in front of Lydia's door.
He has the house to himself. No one is there but him and he curses silently and twists the door handle and pushes open the door.
Derek almost falls to his knees at the assault on his senses. Instead he stands in the doorway and just breathes in the scent of Lydia: Flowers and vanilla and sugar from her perfumes. Ink and old paper from the grimoires she hides under her bed. The smell of fresh laundry and something inherently iLydia/i; the electrical charge of magick twisting through everything and tying it together. He stills smells ihim/i there and the smell of pack but mostly him. Them. Witch and Familiar and he never thought before he'd actually miss that, even if it had only been a few days since he'd last been in her room.
He peered down over her shoulder at the book she had opened. Lydia tapped a passage and turned her head to look at him but she hadn't realized how close he was. She inhaled sharply, red lips parted and his eyes flicked down to look at her mouth.
He didn't realize he was leaning in before she pushed the chair back into him, the top of the chair hitting him in the gut and she moved away with the scent of hibiscus and red hair. "I've got mid-terms this week," she said and snapped the book shut and put it away on the shelf. "So I'll see you Saturday, alright?"
It finally occurs to him that he can't smell the demon (or spirit or ghost or whatever the hell it is). No oily, bitter smell that he scented. She's been here. Derek knows that with complete certainty so how is there no change in scent like there was before? Curiosity has him finally stepping into the room and alarms don't blare and lightening doesn't strike him down. "What the hell?" he mutters.
Someone chuckles behind him
Derek jerks around to see Blythe leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. It mimics the normal Lydia perfectly: the cream knit sweater, the black skirt and knee-high boots. Strawberry blonde hair carefully pulled back in a messy twist. The smile is the same and Derek would buy it if it weren't for the lack of light and spark in her eyes.
"It's rather rude to just come into someone's house uninvited," she scolds in a gratingly playful tone. "But that's your thing, isn't it? Aren't you supposed to come through the window?" Derek doesn't answer her. He shifts his weight instead and turns to face her fully. His eyes glow red in response to the threat and Blythe giggles again and shakes Its head. "Rude, rude, rude," Blythe tsks and wanders over to Lydia's vanity and picks up a container of eye shadow. "I never liked wolves. Pesky creatures. All this pack dynamic, protect everyone, etcetera, etcetera. Of course you had the few Omegas out there that were all too happy to do someone's bidding for a bone." The smile on her face curls cruelly and she glances over at him. Blackness spread across Lydia's blank eyes until they're pools of ink. "So tell me. How'd that council allow you to remain her familiar?"
He doesn't particularly want to answer Blythe. Derek would be much happier pulling her from Lydia's body and destroying her but that isn't an option and this was supposed to be reconnaissance. He can do reconnaissance so Derek lets the red fade from his eyes and he isn't quite sure if he wants her to do the same. If staring into Lydia's hazel eyes would make this easier or harder.
"They said the risks of doing that weren't worth it," he says and that smug look on her makes him want to hit something. "Why are you in her? What do you want?"
"Oh, so we're playing twenty questions now, are we?"
Derek shakes his head. "You're possessing her. What do I have to do to get you out and get her back?" There isn't much use holding things back at this point. Not after her show of knowledge she shouldn't have the other day but he doesn't have to expand on any of it. He doesn't have to give away more.
"Awww, the pup wants his mistress back. So sweet…" It sing songs. "So, what is it that you're worried I'll do?" She tosses the eye shadow from hand to hand and looks thoughtful. "Hurt another member of your ipack/i like I did that cutie-pie? Mmmm, no, not right now. Not as long as you stay out of my way." She makes an amused sound and meets his eyes with the emptiness. "It's really quite simple, dear. I was bored, Lydia was wide-open in all the right places and what can I say? I've always wanted to be a redhead." She sets the container back on the vanity and straightens. Derek can smell the oily scent now, sudden and sharp and there's the smell of magick with it. Derek feels the air charging up and he takes a half step back towards the door but it slams shut, the lock clicking into place. "Now now, Derek. It's discipline time. I told you it was rude to sneak into a young girl's bedroom."
She raises a hand and Derek sees the electricity on her fingers and he knows in his gut what she's going to do because he's seen Lydia do it before. He can stop her. He can tackle her and destroy her before she could react but that means that he'd be destroying Lydia and faced with that decision, Derek just freezes. Every fiber of his being would much rather die than hurt her and Blythe knows this. She opens her mouth and Derek braces but instead of a spell, Blythe gasps and doubles over. The oily scent thickens but the magick begins to wane and strangled, angry sound issue from her. When Blythe's head snaps up, the black is half gone from her eyes and there's pain etched in every line. Then: "Demon."
It's Lydia's voice coming out. Truly Lydia's voice and he instinctively moves forward but Lydia stumbles back to her knees and hisses. It's a strange and unearthly sound and it stops him. The hiss falters into a sound of agony and the black disappears from her eyes revealing Lydia underneath. "Run, you stupid wolf." She raises her hand and he feels the push, the caress of her magick pressing him back then she's hissing again. It snaps Derek out of the trance. He hates this. He hates this so much.
Derek runs. He breaks Lydia's door in the process but it doesn't matter. He runs, chased by an otherworldly howling as Lydia fights and he doesn't stop, not until he gets back to the house. Jackson's startled as Derek burst into the house out a breath with a look of shock in his eyes… He's demanding to know what's going on when Derek drops to his knees in the foyer. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he breathes for the first time in days and he realizes then that Lydia told him what they needed the most.
Demon.
The forest is full of fog and moonlight cuts swathes through the trees. Her scent, so familiar, is impossible to find but he can hear her. She's screaming and the only thing Derek can do is focus on it and follow the trail. It's a terrible sound – anguish and terror; full and true desperation and while part of Derek wishes it would stop, he still wills her to keep screaming.
As long as she's screaming he knows she's alive and he can find her…
Derek wakes from the dream clammy and sweating, trembling from head to toe. By this point he's used to the dreams that come with the bond, appreciates them now even if at first he wasn't particularly fond of them. It's a product of that link, a connection on the physical and ethereal planes. Part of Derek tries to reason that the dreams about Lydia are nightmares and nothing more. The possession broke the link, so there's no way he's literally searching for her on the dreamscape.
The other part of him, the smaller part that's been beaten and burned and lost holds on because maybe, just maybe, it's real.
While Derek keeps searching in his dreams, the rest of the pack keeps pounding the pavement. Lydia has never been the most appreciated human of the group (that honor has gone to Stiles, as much as Derek doesn't like to admit it). He knows, recognizes that it's guilt left over from that horrific night on the lacrosse field and the weeks and months that followed but it isn't like Lydia is one to openly share her innermost secrets. Lydia Martin is still as guarded as ever; that even being bonded to one another, Derek knows he's only scratched the surface of her.
The pack pulls together even though, as Erica eloquently snarls one night, they're in over their heads because a ifucking demon/i has possessed Lydia and what the hell can they do to fight a demon? Their best chance was the vet, Deaton, but he's been out of town for months which leaves them with the internet and the books Allison sneaks out of her father's study. While Stiles had more luck finding information on lycanthropy (there's only so many offshoots), finding information on possession is like shooting into the dark. Too many religions and cults and lexicons to sort through. The name 'Blythe' is nowhere to be found.
As for Peter? Well, even if he could help them, he was nowhere to be found, not since they'd dealt with the alpha pack months ago.
It also doesn't help that wolf packs are notoriously difficult to find so finding out if anyone else has dealt with something like this before is near impossible. Many take the living off the grid ideal to whole new levels and Derek is still trying to decide if it's worth the risk to leave town and track the old fashioned way. There's also the obvious route of contacting the Alpha Pack and Derek doesn't realize how seriously he's been considering that route when Chris Argent actually knocks on his door one afternoon with an evasive looking Stiles and Allison beside him… with a whole box of books.
"Not even rock salt?" the hunter asks levelly while Derek stands in the doorway wondering what dimension he's now come to live in. Derek opens his mouth to speak but he can't find any words besides 'what?' and he doesn't want to be at a loss for words around this man. Chris however just grunts and shoves the box of books in his hands and it's heavier than it looked and it looked pretty damn heavy to begin with. "Allison? Stiles? I've got a bag of salt and a couple rolls of duct tape in the trunk." He takes in patchy beginnings of restoration on the battered house and grimaces. "Try lining everything that can be considered an entrance."
Allison moves to follow the order without a moment's hesitation but Stiles looks between Derek and Chris and it's obvious he's trying to decide which one he's supposed to listen to. Stiles, however, isn't a wolf and Chris Argent has that fatherly ordering tone and it's that one he instinctively listens to and he hurries off to go help Allison. This leaves Derek alone with the hunter who he just can't quite pin down.
"Allison told me what was going on," Chris states the obvious. "I don't have many books on demons. I haven't dealt with them personally." He shakes his head and Derek still just looks at him because this is his life. His life where one of his pack members is possessed by a demon and he's vague allies with a damn iArgent/i.
"I've heard stories," Derek finally offers and he takes a step back to let the older man in. The rest of the pack is out of sight but he knows they're watching. Listening. He can see Chris' moment of hesitation at walking into a wolf's den but the sound of Stiles and Allison working together seems to reassure him and he comes in. "Never heard of actual possession though."
"Most haven't," Chris admits and takes a look around. The interior at least is different from when he last showed up. Slowly but surely Derek's been restoring the place so it's spotty. Bright spots of new wood against the ash stained remnants. Derek supposes that the right thing to do would be demolish the place. Start from scratch, but Derek would rather not. He's tired of starting from nothing. "That's everything I have that's reliable. I placed a call to an old colleague of mine in South Dakota."
A hunter's colleague never spells good news in Derek's experience and setting the box down on the steps he crosses his arms and looks at Chris Argent who gives the same respect back. That's how the man is. Honor bound to a fault. "Do we need to be concerned?" is the obvious question but Derek asks it because it needs to be said. He's tired and he feels so old. He's tired of being hunted by kanimas and police and hunters.
"No. Singer's a good guy and hunters don't come in on each other's territory. I've made it clear that Beacon Hills and the surrounding area is off limits. They want to come around? They have to go through me."
Since the 'incident' as Stiles likes to refer to it (much to the annoyance of Jackson), Derek and Chris had come to a kind of truce. With neither of them being particularly verbose and when they were it was backhanded threats; nothing had really been hashed out so to have him be so blunt about it was yet another thing that caught Derek off guard. He wasn't normally like this but the effects of the bond being broken was still having annoying side effects that he didn't like to acknowledge.
"Thank you," is all Derek can really say to that but it's enough because Chris reaches down and picks up one of the books.
"First rule for dealing with a demon? Rock salt and Devil's traps. And with all this remodeling you're doing, might be beneficial."
Stiles and Allison work fast. Stiles lines the doorways and windows with a line of salt and Allison follows duct-taping it down. It's not pretty and it's a bit obvious but Chris says that it'll keep Lydia from getting in. Jackson asks about how they're going to get the demon out of Lydia and Chris admits that he doesn't know but he's waiting from a contact. So all they can do is sit, study, and wait.
It was June and the heat wave that settled on the town had been suffocating. Heavy and thick, moisture hung in the air and he thinks about Victoria Argent while he lies on Lydia's bed reading one of the grimoires she found on eBay. Said witch is stretched on her stomach across the foot of the bed with her own book. Derek watches her over the top of his book. He was pretty sure that highlighting a grimoire was against some kind of witch rule but he doesn't say anything because it's Lydia and a highlighter and not even the hounds of hell can take it from her. He feels her humming at the edge of his mind; a crackling light pulsing with contentment and the thread of doubt coursing under it. The link lets him feel her and in turn she can't feel him but she can pull power from him. It's not a wholly balanced trade but such is the bond between witch and familiar.
"Why don't you try?" he suggests and flips a page like he's still reading. The bed shifts underneath her movements as she rises to sit back on her feet.
"Do you know anything about runes?" she asks and Derek knows that it's special, her saying that to him. The admittance that she doesn't know something. Even if his own knowledge is limited, he can at least put her in the right direction. Putting his book aside he takes hers and looks at the symbols spread across the page
"Not much," he admits. "But one of my cousins tried to learn." Derek doesn't say much about his family but with Lydia opening up to him a fraction at a time, he finds himself doing the same. "It's an alphabet."
Lydia huffs and a trickle of sweat works its way down her neck. The air conditioning is broken but she has every fan in the city in her room to get the air circulating even if it doesn't do as much as she likes. Her skin's flushed a little and she's wearing her pajamas still – a cotton tank top and shorts as it's too warm for satin (not that Derek knows she wears satin or anything like that…) "I know that. I read that you can use them for protection."
Ah. "And you want to protect the house." She makes a humming sound of agreement. "I was thinking about doing that." He doesn't look at her when he says it, still looking at the book in his hands but he feels her eyes flick to him. That's when he feels it. It's hard to notice but he can smell the charge in the air and the tendril of soft warmth spreads over his back, like someone stroked it. It's that sensation which has him looking up at her and there's a soft if somewhat smug expression on her face.
"I know your existence revolves around me now but I figure if I can pull power from you, I should be able to give some back. You know, hold you together until I can get there and save your hairy butt." Which is a perfectly valid explanation except that it distinctly felt like someone was stroking his back. He's learned now (or at least has an easier time) recognizing different notes in Lydia's voice. Her heartbeat hadn't changed rhythm but there was a certain tone to her voice.
He's staring at her. Derek's aware of that and Lydia looks at him longer than most before she reaches for the book. "Also? I think you should go with goldenrod for the kitchen. Keep it light."
Derek's eyes snap open at the sound of a clearing throat and he looks across the creek to see his Uncle standing there, a dark spot against the golden hues of the fall foliage. Peter looks the same as he did months ago in jeans and a dark shirt. He smells the same too – a scent so familiar that it hadn't woken him from his dream, so ingrained it was into his memory. He's awake now though and he rises with a growl low in his throat and eyes flashing red. He's still the alpha between the two of them and Peter's absence was unacceptable if he wanted to be part of the pack. Especially now; Especially when they could've used him.
"Sorry to wake you up, kiddo," Peter says mildly. "You're not in usual tip-top shape, I see."
"Hitchhiking get too boring for you? Tijuana not what it used to be?" he throws back. A little part of him is relieved to see the other man back, long ago childhood memories of Uncle Peter talking cars with him and how important pack was. Peter smiles infuriatingly in reply and comes a little closer but still maintains his position on the other side of the water.
"I came as soon as I heard. How is it that you end up with the most troublesome pack, I'll never know. I mean, it's not like the kanima was your fault. Who could've seen ithat one/i coming and witches?" Peter hisses through his teeth and shakes his head. "Soulfinder, actually. Apologies. I knew Lydia was always special. Unique. A pity. She always seemed so strong despite the cracks." He looked genuinely sorry at that and shook his head.
Derek works to suppress his snarl at the way Peter spoke of Lydia. Although his Uncle had managed some semblance of redemption when it came to the Alpha pack, Derek hadn't forgotten what had happened to Lydia in Peter's attempt to resurrect himself. Nor had he missed the way Lydia reacted – a stinging scent of fear and anger and a palpitating heart.
"She's plenty strong," Derek counters. "You ripped out part of her soul to come back to life and that's how the damn thing got in." Peter's conciliatory look only serves to annoy him further and he steeples his fingers and taps them against his chin.
"I know how to save her."
It's a sense of déjà vu – 'The Incident' all over again. "You always know how to save them, don't you?" Derek's voice is sharp, saying everything else. Where were you? Why didn't you leave anything behind? You think you can come back now like Superman?"Is it Jackson's turn to save her now? Or do I actually have to kill her this time because you already know that isn't an option." Neither is the first one, although it's less because of its feasibility and more because the idea of Jackson rescuing Lydia makes his stomach knot uncomfortably.
"Why? Because you're her familiar or because she's your alpha female, and you want her to be your mate?" Peter's tone is equally blunt but not as sharp. Rhetorical more than anything and he just looks smug. "Lydia's brand of witch walks both worlds. Their beings are open to anything floating around out there. Sometimes things get in that aren't supposed to."
"And that's why I was her familiar. To keep her anchored and it didn't work. I can't do anything." He hasn't admitted it out loud yet but there's just something about Peter that brings his more negative emotions to the surface. "I can't sense her. The bond's broken and the demon exorcist expert says that he can't find a damn thing on Soulfinders and that we're shit out of luck. So why don't you stop with the lessons and get to your damn point or go back to whatever it was you were doing."
Peter doesn't look particularly pleased with his attitude but Derek's at the end of his rope and is long past caring. Even though he isn't pleased, Peter still looks thoughtful. "The link isn't broken," the beta says. "Not the way you think it is."
This time Derek actually goes through with the snarl. "Enlighten me."
"You love her." It's said without preamble like the rest but it hits Derek in the chest hard, knocking his heart out of rhythm for that moment. "Not just because you're her familiar and not just because she's your witch but because even without the bond, you're ripping at the seams from being without her and I guarantee she's going through the same thing and that demon is spending more energy fighting to keep itself in power than it is trying to do whatever it is demons want to do."
He grits his teeth and clenches his fists. Some semblance of grounding but Derek doesn't argue this time. Peter seems satisfied. "You've wrapped yourself in your anger and your hate and your guilt all these years, Derek, but I'd think by now you'd understand the healing power of love. Now, that out of the way, let's talk about how you're going to save Lydia."
The Camaro is too familiar to take and Stiles' jeep is too old and also too familiar so Derek goes out and doles out more money than he probably should for a 1996 Bronco. Its fuel economy isn't the best but from the looks of the map, he's driving through the mountains the whole way and the Camaro complains enough going up the rocky drive to the house.
(It's Scott who voices an opinion on the car while the rest of the pack looks on skeptically. "The battery's twitchy," he says out of nowhere. "Don't push it too hard with the off roading. Did you look at the weather? Battery doesn't do too good in the cold either. Land Rover's might be foreign but it probably would've been the better choice."
The others kind of gawk at Scott whose fallen quiet and occupies himself with his phone. Derek sees the way Stiles is looking at Scott – a similar tightening around his mouth. Derek doesn't understand what's going on until it occurs to him that years back there used to be a ' & McCall' next to the Campbell on the Campbell Automotive sign on Third Street. )
Derek rolls around the idea of hiding the car somewhere and crossing the border on foot but that would add too much wasted time, not to mention there wouldn't be a guarantee that the car would still be there when he gets back. Which means that he has to make sure his papers are in order for Border Patrol. Problem is that now with the bond broken and his loss of Lydia means that the little things – things that he's been able to control since he started shifting when puberty hit – are now as annoying difficult to do as they were then. So trying to take a good passport picture is at least in the top five of things he can't control anymore.
He exits the post office to find the Sheriff looking over the Bronco. The most frustrating thing about the man besides the whole former fugitive status is that the man is always calm. His heartbeat never falters, even when he lies because Derek knows that the man's lied to him. That's how interrogations go but not once did Sheriff Stilinski waver. There was more to that man than he let on and that was why Derek approached him slowly. "Sheriff. What can I help you with today?" He didn't have time for this. There was an itching under his skin, a tightness to his muscles that hadn't gone away since that Saturday and the last thing he needed right now was to be another Person of Interest for the Beacon County Sheriff's Department.
The Sheriff was holding a manila envelope, which he taps on the hood of the Bronco. His mirrored aviators are on and even with his enhanced eyesight; all Derek can see is his own reflection looking back at him while he and the older man all but size one another up. "Nice car," Stilinski says and even though they both know that he's there for something else, it's a familiar exchange between the two of them. Somehow Derek isn't sure if that should be a comfort or not. Either way it's a front, they both know that Derek knows that.
"Thought I'd give my other car a break until I get a real driveway," Derek answers and he keeps his eyes from flicking to that envelope that's being tapped on the driver's side window.
"Stiles mentioned you were working on rebuilding. So you're back for the long haul then?" The mention of Stiles isn't conversational either. The year of the murder of Laura and Jackson's failed initial attempt at becoming a werewolf more or less kept Derek and Stiles from interacting much save for a couple of times and that was a good thing, all things considered. It was only a relatively recent development that Stiles had been spending so much time at the Hale House, what with the pack and Lydia and Scott. So far no shotgun threats had been made but Derek knew they were being watched. That ihe/i was being watched. It wasn't exactly normal for a man Derek's age to spend his time with high schoolers. Beacon Hills wasn't Happy Days and he wasn't the Fonz, no matter how often he wore his leather jacket.
"I am. Stiles has been a great help at getting a lot of that in motion." It had actually been Lydia's idea, in a middle of one of her tirades during a pack meeting and Stiles had latched on. 'Team Stydia' he'd declared them. Which had only made Derek growl at the stupid name melding that reminded him of the gossip rags Lydia insisted on reading and then shoving into his car console or to bookmark a page in one of her spellbooks.
The Sheriff nods and makes a thoughtful sound before looking at the envelope he held. "He mentioned that Lydia Martin's in a bit of trouble." His voice is even and level, not quite open yet for Derek to answer. More of a statement and Derek had the feeling that Stiles hadn't quite mentioned it the way the Sheriff was implying on the surface. So he doesn't verbally answer but he offers a curt nod of confirmation. "And that's what the car is for." Still even and level and Derek knows that this time he has to answer properly.
"I think I found a way to help her out and since I don't have school to worry about, I offered to go." It was the truth when you stripped everything away and Derek returns the mirrored look calmly even if inside he was anything but.
Another nod from the Sheriff and he finally holds out the envelope. Derek hesitates for a moment before taking it carefully. A glance at Stilinski tells him nothing so he opens the flap and pulls up a couple of papers.
Authorization of Civilian Deputization greets him in bold black letters and there's no hiding the surprise on his face. No disguising the widened eyes and raised eyebrows and when he looks back at the Sheriff this time, he's taken his sunglasses off and he's giving absolutely nothing away.
"Border patrol's been tougher these past few months and I don't think that driver's license is going to get you through without a few questions." How the hell he knew about where he was headed, Derek had no idea but something starts to move inside of him, something he hasn't felt much these days. "Any problems they can call me."
"I don't understand." His voice is hoarse and small and nothing like the alpha that he is.
The Sheriff nods to the envelope and Derek looks in to find something else. It's a badge, the plastic sleeve slippery in his fingers with a magnetic strip on the back. And holy hell it says F.B.I above his driver's license photo. Even if most (alright iall/i) of his interactions with the sheriff have been less than friendly, Derek recognizes the man under the badge. The worried father and it strikes home to Derek that he's being looked out for like how Peter used to. How his father used to. Chris Argent is one thing – at the end of the day they're mortal enemies, but him and the Sheriff? It's complicated.
"Called in a couple favors. It all checks out." The sunglasses go back on and he clasps Derek's shoulder with a firm hand and what can only be interpreted to be a reassuring squeeze. "Safe driving." Derek can only look after him as he heads to his cruise and gets in without another look.
There was more to Sheriff Stilinski than he let on.
"I'm coming with you."
Even in his efforts to be more of a team player, Jackson still has his moments where he thinks that just saying something about his wishes would make it so. Derek's had to pull rank more than once but after the first few times, Jackson started fighting back. Erica has that tendency too.
Derek mentioned to Lydia once that it must be a blonde thing and she laughed before they started launching into every dumb blonde joke they knew. Her laughter still resonates in him as he zips up the duffle bag and spares Jackson only the briefest of glances. "No."
His agitation is potent and Derek doesn't have to keep looking at him to know his jaw is clenched and his hands balled into fists.
It's been a dance between the two of them ever since the whole familiar business started. After Jackson fully shifted, Lydia's love for him the key, their relationship hadn't rekindled and it had become clear that it was Lydia who was blocking that. To the relief of the pack, Jackson dealt with it and moved on. Everything had seemed fine until Lydia grabbed his hand and his soul and pulled him back.
"I owe this to Lydia."
So it seemed that now was the time that every look, every mutter, was going to come at a head and Derek wasn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed. Regardless he owes it to Jackson to look at him properly and he stands there, arms folded over his chest. He watches Jackson falter, his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.
"Lydia and I have been through a helluva lot more than you two have. She—" Jackson stops with a grimace and runs his hand through his hair. "Just because you have that stupid familiar link doesn't mean you can throw all of that away. I owe her. I'm going with you."
"Jackson, I know that this is hard." The words taste as clichéd as they are and Jackson's eyes narrow but Derek can't back pedal. "You not coming with me has nothing to do with Lydia, I promise. Look, with Peter back, I need someone here whose going to keep everyone in line. Isaac and Erica weren't around the last time and Scott can't keep the peace iand/i keep Peter in line. That's why I'm putting you in charge." Surprise is clear on Jackson's face. As manipulative as Derek feels, it's the truth and Jackson can tell. "Scott'll bring everyone around and you'll make sure no one does anything stupid." That's just how Jackson is. He won't put himself in harm's way if he can help it. Jackson's face is almost comical but things are far too serious for Derek to even crack a smile.
Derek slings the duffle bag over his shoulder and fishes the keys to the car off the bed. "I'll bring Lydia back," he says, voice low and firm. "And I'll send that bitch back to hell."
It's a half-day's drive up the coast. Derek leaves as soon as he's packed which means that night hits a couple of hours into the drive. The Bronco doesn't drive as fast but the engine's just as big and he speeds up the highway and into the mountains with the windows down and the cold night air biting at his too hot, too tight skin. The air is damp and so green, a different smell than California and he catches himself thinking that maybe they should move up here. The true wilderness where no one can find them and hurt any of them.
It's a pipe dream. He knows that much. It's hard enough to up and move a pack but a pack of teenagers with families still around. He can't move them all which means who would be there in Beacon Hills to protect Scott's mom? Boyd's parents? Not to mention Jackson and Lydia would throw a fit if they had to go 'rustic'.
Lydia.
Her name slithers through him, nudging into the cracks and it warms him as his mind ticks to the memories. His body and soul, the wolf, they all recognize the bond unwittingly forged between them. Sure they had looked for a way to break the bond between witch and familiar but the effects of breaking it proved more drastic than the last and by the time they did find something? It hadn't mattered any more.
You're ripping at the seams from being without her and I guarantee she's going through the same thing and that demon is spending more energy fighting to keep itself in power than it is trying to kill us.
Was the bond truly broken now? Derek can't feel it anymore. He can't hear the whisper of her thoughts on the edges of his mind. He couldn't feel her joy, her anger, her sadness but his being still screamed for her, screamed and snarled at the iwrongness/i of it all.
"And that's why you're going on this trip," he mutters to himself. Peter seemed adamant that he can still save her and that he's the only one who can. No pressure, naturally. Derek sighs and reaches for his thermos of coffee only to find that it's empty. Tossing the container back over his shoulder he grips the wheel and catches the sign just in time. Twenty miles until a rest stop and road construction ahead. Great.
Harrison Mills is a small town, nestled right in the valley surrounded by lakes. Derek crosses the bridge just as the starts to rise over the ridge. The Sasquatch Inn is more bar and grill than it is an inn but the parking lot is still peppered with motorcycles and pick-up trucks of the locals not ready for last call or heading out to the camps.
Derek's body creaks and pulls in protest when he gets out of the car. Only stopping to pump gas on the drive up cut an hour out of his time but his body sure isn't happy. Being in the valley surrounded by the scent of igreen/i and water and earth is almost enough to send him running wild through the woods to stretch his legs.
He takes a step and his knees buckle and it sends him back against the side of the Bronco. His body is actually shaking and it hits him how tired he is. He's barely slept in weeks and Derek can feel it in the back of his mind. Even with his level of stamina, he can only go on for so long. His eyes shut and he breathes in, trying to center himself, trying to pull strength from inside and it feels more difficult than it used to be. He's close. He's made it this far and he stands at the doorstep of a witch who might actually be able to help him save Lydia.
He's not quite sure how long he stays there against the car with his eyes shut and he will forever refuse to admit that he fell asleep there in the sunlight but that's what happened. He fell asleep standing up in a gravel parking lot in front of a motel-slash-pub in the middle of the mountains.
It's the scent of magick that wakes Derek up. Not the crunch of gravel under shoes or the 'you okay?' that floats over. It's the scent of magick, that familiar electrical scent that pulls you in instead of warns you off and for the briefest of moments, still stuck in the haze of sleeping and awake, Derek thinks he smells hibiscus and vanilla under that charge but when he snaps open his eyes it's not a redhead with wide hazel eyes. This woman is taller, slimly built under the long sleeved black shirt she wears. Platinum blonde hair brushes against pale cheeks and she looks ghostly. Colorless. Even her eyes are a light gray. He can smell the peroxide amid the magick and the smoke clinging to her. She doesn't look upset or wary. Confidence is clear in the line of her shoulders and the tilt of her chin and he wonders if it's the magick. If she wraps it around her like a cloak the way Lydia does to hide the fear or if she's taken that magick and wields it like a broadsword. She stops a few feet away with a hand on her hip and it's such a Lydia pose that it hits him square in the chest. Broadsword it is then.
"Didn't think you'd be here for another few hours." Her eyes travel up and down, taking him in and even if he's used to it, it still makes him uncomfortable. Problem is that he can't just glare back at her when he needs her help. It answers his question though. Derek didn't even give himself time to make contact, let alone remember her name. He'd left that up to the rest of them and just drove.
"Well it's an emergency," he says. His voice sounds raw to his ears, strained and low and rough. She makes a knowing sound and nods her head towards the inn before walking away from him.
They actually walk past the inn and instead the witch leads him down a beaten path into the woods. It's not far but the crush of trees drowns out the noise of the road and the bar and he's hit with that urge to go running through the forest again.
Tamara (she mentions on the walk) leads him up the path to a cabin, the wood weathered and worn and shingles missing from the roof. The garden that grows around it, the vines that climb give away where her priorities lie. It's not much prettier inside but it's nicely kept and the main room is dominated by a butcher-block table.
"It's a little cliché," she says with a shrug and kicks the door shut behind them. One of the walls is dominated by a bookshelf stuffed to the gills with books. "But it's home. So, that Soulfinder got herself in a bind, huh?"
The growl starts before Derek can catch it but the witch doesn't seemed bothered by it. "She's been possessed," he says gruffly. "Not by choice."
Tamara regards him with an assessing look and Derek meets it unflinchingly this time. "I'm guessing there's a lot of 'not by choice' things going on down there. I didn't think any of it was true."
Derek knows a challenge when he hears it and even if he's too tired for all of this. Even though all he wants is to just make everything better so it could go back to being as normal as they got in Beacon Hills. Even with all of that he crosses his arms and shifts his weight. "What do they say?"
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because I'm an Alpha and that's my pack you're talking about."
Tamara actually giggles at that. She actually giggles and suddenly the crackle of energy fills the small space and he can see the slightest of glowing on her fingertips. He's a familiar though and he's grown used to magick and the magick of a Soulfinder is a lot more powerful than a forest witch. "Oh, you iare/i adorable, aren't you? Maybe I should get an alpha for my familiar if they're all so funny as you." She waves him off and reaches for a stack of books on the floor. "Is it true that you're her familiar?"
Derek grits his teeth. "Yes."
She hums. "Can't believe they let her get away with that. Well, Soulfinders are so rare and, oh, you know." Derek doesn't actually know and everyone has been so goddamn evasive about the whole thing.
"Why don't you tell me?" he says more than asks and he looks at her. Derek can feel his eyes flash red and the crackle of magick thickens as Tamara looks back at him with books in her arms.
"Well that's going to make this a bit more complicated," she finally says and drops the stack on the table. "Do you have a good memory or do you want to take notes for this?"
It was just supposed to be a quick drive up into Canada. Meet the witch; grab whatever it was that he needed to get whatever it was out of Lydia and head back. That's all this was supposed to be and Derek had comforted himself with that fact.
He's not supposed to be kneeling in freezing, waist deep water having some grizzled old woman stand over him dumping buckets of water over his head chanting in some dead language while Tamara stands on his other side adjusting his arms to make sure the lit candle doesn't get wet. Derek's pretty sure that there's something nibbling on his big toe.
"Look, you overgrown puppy," Tamara snaps as the old woman pauses in her water dumping. "This is supposed to be a cleansing ritual. Kind of necessary if you're actually going to go through with this." She hits one of his shoulders with her own growl. "So irelax/i already. Geez. You wolves are really uptight."
Derek has to resist the urge to gnash his teeth at her. It's not like he'd have much of an effect anyway but he'd still feel better. Instead, Derek just glowers and huffs a little. "Water's cold," he mutters. Even with his higher body temperature, the lake is freezing cold and if he's feeling cold, he can only imagine how cold the witches are. Infuriatingly, neither of them seems bothered. What's more is the old woman actually chuckles and he feels her bony hand on his head, stroking his plastered hair and he looks over at her.
Her face is worn and wrinkled and she's an elder so he doesn't growl at her. There's something in her face, in her filmy green eyes. Her other hand comes up and cups his cheek. Her skin is cold, damp and frail but he can feel the magick humming through her veins.
"iYou/i are the one whose cold," she rasps and the look she gives him reminds him so much of his mother that Derek suddenly feels tears sting his eyes. The old woman seems to understand this and the hand moves from his cheek to press against his chest over the pounding of his heart. "These holes were mending and now they're ripped open again. Shattered windows." His mouth is dry but the stinging in his eyes grows as she starts to make a shushing sound. Her frail hands grip his arms and lead him up out of the water and she holds onto one of his arms to bring him back to shore where the fire crackles on the beach. Derek dimly hears Tamara behind them but his senses focus on the murmurs of comfort and how much he's reminded of his grandmother, the elder of the pack who passed long before the fire.
Pebbles dig into his bare feet and he sits heavily on one of the logs. The old woman sits beside him and holds his hand in hers. "You have passed the first trial."
"Trials?" He finds his voice and it's small and tired but he doesn't care. That's how he feels. Insides outside. Small. Useless.
She nods. "Admitting that you have been weakened." Derek opens his mouth to protest because all he had said was that the water is cold but she squeezes his hand. "You are of few words, boy-wolf. You do not like to admit anything, even to your Soulfinder." She eyes him, a strange smile on her face.
You've wrapped yourself in your anger and your hate and your guilt all these years, Derek, but I'd think by now you'd understand the healing power of love.
It clicks. After all these months it clicks and Derek feels everything go out of him at the realization. Peter is right. He loves her… he's in love with Lydia. The old woman hums in approval as though she's reading his mind and she lets go of his hand. "Good but there is still more to do."
It's just like his dreams. The woods are filled with fog, the moon full in the sky above. Derek stands in the small clearing looking up at it where it hung full and large in the sky, illuminated not the cold blue of his dreams but a burnt orange Harvest Moon. It has been a month since Lydia was possessed.
Tonight is the night he's getting her back or he'll die trying.
The rest of the pack is scattered through the forest doing what they need to do which means that Derek's alone in the little clearing. His breath plumes white in the air and somehow the fog doesn't reach his little circle and Derek still doesn't know a lot about magick but he figures that it's probably an effect of the circle he made hours ago. He stands in the center of it, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his leather jacket and he waits.
There's no doubt in his mind that Blythe will come find him. He can feel the magick in the air still even though those hours have past since he said the first incantations. Tamara and the old witch confirmed to him that just because the demon is possessing Lydia's body doesn't mean the magic belongs to it. That moment that he saw Lydia through the haze confirmed that Lydia's had to make a choice of whether or not she fights the possession and let's Blythe loose with her magic and familiar link or she cuts off everything and sits on the lid of her essence to protect them.
Protecting them is what Lydia would do and it's so iLydia/i that Derek's heart twists just thinking about it. She's counting on him to get her out of this and that's what he's doing. He's just sorry it's taken so long.
The moon is high in the sky by the time he hears the crunch of footsteps coming towards him. Lydia's strawberry blonde hair is bright in the darkness, easy to spot even with his enhanced eyesight. Despite the cold night, the demon is wearing a summer dress; Lydia's favorite cream lace dress except she's not wearing a jacket and her hair curls over her shoulders. This time It doesn't even try to pretend it's actually Lydia – The eyes are lightless, that oily black blotting out everything that makes Lydia Lydia.
"You were gone for awhile," she purrs and it's confirmed that all pretenses of Lydia is gone. The cadence is wrong. The tone, everything about it is wrong and the white hot rage burns inside his gut but his face remains composed. Passive.
"I was looking for a way to destroy you," Derek says from his side of the clearing. No more is he presenting the frantic, lost familiar. No. He's the Alpha now. All alpha, all cool, calm collection with the ability to rip someone apart just under the surface. His statement has It chuckling and It flick's Lydia's hair over It's shoulder and takes another step forward, not entering the hidden circle he stands in. Not yet. Derek isn't worried. Not yet.
"Have you? And did you find what you were looking for, pup?"
"No," Derek answers honestly and It doesn't look surprised in the least and Derek didn't expect it to. "There's no way I can find to destroy you but I do know what's going on inside Lydia's body."
The eyebrow raise is uncomfortably familiar but Derek pushed the feeling away. "Oh? And what, exactly, is going on inside Lydia Martin's sweet, supple little body?"
It's trying to get a rise out of him but he won't let it. He won't give in this time. He looks down at the ground and kicks a stone like a boy kicking a tin can down the street and takes a casual step forward. "Lydia's soul isn't fighting to overthrow you. She's fighting to keep you from using her magic."
It looks mildly surprised but easily accepting of Derek's statement, which confirms its truth. It shrugs. "She'll tire out soon enough." It's been a month though and Lydia's still working on holding down the magic tight and she can hear it in the tone.
"I can re-establish the familiar link."
He has to be careful now especially as It looks intrigued by his offer. It crosses Lydia's arms and cock's Lydia's head and looks at him with those disturbing black eyes. "And what's that supposed to do for me? Are you saying that you'll just give Lydia up?"
Derek exhales slowly and takes another step towards the demon. "I can help unlock that magic you so desperately want and you will leave us alone. I have more than Lydia to think about."
It chuckles and shakes It's hair back. "Right, because you're the big bad Alpha. You think you're being noble, giving up your sweet little witch to save the rest of them. I never pegged you for that type." It makes a thoughtful sound and steps forward and if it would only take one more step… but the demon stops just on the edge and looks around. "What makes you think I'll buy it? That I'll say yes?"
It's Derek's turn to shrug and he doesn't move this time. The ball is in Blythe's court now. She has to make that final step into the circle. "My family was murdered. My uncle killed my sister for Alpha status and members of my pack like to leave me on a regular basis. At least letting go of Lydia now means that it's on my terms for once."
The subsequent silence is a long one as the demon stands just a few feet away rolling his words over, dealing with whatever is going on inside Lydia's mind. Derek knows though that the allure of having Lydia's power will be enough. Still, there's tendrils of doubt curling around his heart and it's difficult to breathe. Then –
"Alright," and Blythe the demon steps into the circle.
Flames shoot up the instant both feet are inside and Derek backpedals to put space between them. "I bind Bethel, I banish you of this power you have," he starts shouting and his heart is pounding so hard but he has to do this. He has to get Lydia back. The demon spins around to look at the wall of flame illuminating the clearing with the bright yellow glow with an unearthly screech that he heard before, in Lydia's room that day.
"I bind Bethel! I banish you of this power you have long held!" He yells and the demon contorts, bending back and twisting like a contortionist. It continues to screech before it sudden straightens and looks at him, teeth bared.
"You son of a bitch," it hisses and flies at him, sending them both to the ground. His back hits the ground and the moment he touches the skin of Lydia's arms he feels a shock go through him. The demon must have felt it too because he can feel Lydia's body convulse and he recovers faster. He throws her off, reminding himself that whatever happens, Lydia will be okay when they're done. When this is all over.
"I bind Bethel!" Derek yells for the third time and the wind kicks up, sending the fire roaring higher around them and the heat is almost suffocating. There's a crackling under his skin like how he used to feel when Lydia did magick but it's harsher, more electrical. He can feel his heart skipping, his breath shortening into small gasps. "I BANISH YOU OF THIS POWER YOU HAVE LONG HELD!"
The demon screams and the flames shoot up, licking at the branches of the trees surrounding them and Derek ignores it for now and gets to his feet as fast as he can. In the distance he can hear the howls of the pack as they come closer and he's there dragging Lydia's body up. Her eyes are gray, the black fading to a murky grey.
"Derek," she whispers and it's her. It's Lydia coming back and then the black starts coming back and he has seconds. Only seconds.
"Simul obligo et veneficae carmine!" He pulls her hand to press against his heart, her skin cold even through the fabric of his t-shirt. In turn he holds her down on the ground as she continues to writhe; his hand pressed over her heart in turn. The foreign words, Latin, sound strange in the air and Derek realizes that it's his voice. His voice has lowered in pitch and risen in volume, echoing all around them over the sound of the crackling flames. The air is filled with smoke and the smell of burning wood and leaves and Derek feels the heat around them but he doesn't move. The demon isn't gone yet. It's still swirling inside Lydia's body, still clinging to bone and sinew but with every blink, Lydia's eyes change from black as ink to white, to normal as she fights inside with Blythe.
"Hurry," Lydia gasps, her lips trembling and her nails dig into the skin of his chest, clawing at him for something to hold onto.
"istud sit pars alterius, ut fiat!" The words trip over Derek's tongue despite three years of high school Latin but it's doing its job and his hand against her heart begins glowing. It's hot but not painfully so and it starts to spread over her skin. He can feel the heat growing from her hand pressed against his chest, can see the glow out of the corner of his eyes. "Simul obligo et veneficae carmine istud sit pars alterius, ut fiat!" Derek looks down at her and her eyes blink clear and it's iLydia/i looking back up at him with her skin turned golden and sparkling from the glow. "I love you."
It's then that Lydia throws her head back, screams, and the clearing explodes in a ball of light and fire.
Derek inhaled sharply, his eyes snapping open and he began hacking, his lungs filled with dust and the pain from having the wind knocked out of him. He was dizzy, limbs heavy and muscles sore with each violent cough and he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head with the pressure. The air was filled with dust and debris, making it difficult to see around him. His head felt sticky and he started to lift his hand to feel the wound but something wasn't right.
He turned his head slowly; the pressure pounding and he saw his fingers entwined with someone else's. How that had happened, he couldn't remember and his eyes traveled slowly up the bruised arm, the tattered sleeve to see a shock of red hair under a coating of dust and dirt. Lydia.
It came back to him then like a punch to the face.
Lydia and Stiles over the book. The boy chanting while Lydia drew sigils with mathematician speed. He had been standing over them, keeping the attackers at bay until the spell could be finished.
Stiles' yell as they became overwhelmed and the sound of the baseball bat hitting one of the attacker's in the head. Lydia's chanting then Lydia's scream and the scent of her charged blood in the air.
He had reached for her, to catch her before she hit the floor and then there was heat and light and nothing. All he could remember before that nothing was how her eyes, usually such a warm hazel turned a bright and brilliant green.
Lydia shifted, making a sound and his hand squeezed her instinctively. She'd be fine. The wound was healed and –
How did he know that? Lydia moved again – her head this time and she blinked her eyes slowly and met his. Something tickled in his mind; confusion and pain and fear and they weren't his, was it? It felt foreign, rapidly switching from one to the other like hummingbird wings and somehow… somehow he squeezed her hand again and Lydia sighed before her eyes shut again.
Derek inhales sharply and immediately he begins hacking. His lungs burn almost as badly as they did after he drank the wolfsbane but this time they're aggravated with the smoke in the air. It fills his nose, diminishes his eyesight and his ears are absolutely iringing/i. He can barely hear anything let alone smell.
"Derek?"
Lydia's voice is soft and clear despite the smoke. Exhaustion is clear in her tone, small, and not like the normal Lydia but he knows it's her. He can feel the long missed warmth nudging in the cracks inside of him, warming him from the inside out. Still, there's the note of fear pulsing and he feels worn out and wrung out.
"We did it," he says tiredly and somehow manages to do so without coughing. "How do you feel?"
Lydia doesn't answer immediately and he knows that she's taking stock of everything but she's fine. iMy foot hurts/i he thinks and rotates his left foot. He doesn't actually feel much except the shift of dirt under his boot but then he feels the pain. It's sharp and sudden and –
Not his.
Come to think of it, he wasn't even thinking about his foot hurting either. He rolls onto his side and he starts coughing again as the smoke aggravates his lungs and Derek realizes that he hadn't spoken. How would he have been able to without coughing.
Lydia? he thinks this time.
Yes? That's Lydia's voice. Distinctly her voice and it's inside of his head. It's soon followed by a groan that he can hear through the ringing and he squints over to look at Lydia struggling to sit up. Her dress is torn and there are twigs and leaves stuck in her hair. She's a dirty mess and to Derek she's never looked more beautiful. iStop being such a sap,/i she scolds and it filters through his mind and although it sounds annoyed, there's a warm sensation and the phantom feel of her pressing against his chest.
iI didn't say anything,/i he thinks again and he can see the quizzical look on her face as she coughs.
Derek starts to realize that some of the sensation he's feeling aren't actually his feelings either. Whatever the bonding spell Tamara had given him, he's starting to wonder exactly how powerful of a bond it was meant to create. The bond between witch and familiar meant that Derek could get a sense of her moods, like an enhancement on his ability to hear the beating of her heart but they'd never been able to communicate and Lydia wasn't able to read much off of him.
Derek? Lydia asks and her lips don't move but it's as good as her regular voice. iDid you just bind our souls together?/i
He looks down at the ground under his hands. The ringing in his ears is starting to dissipate and he can hear the pack coming closer to them calling for them. iI'm sorry/i he thinks because all he gets from Lydia is a jumble of emotions that are threatening to overwhelm him and he can't quite find where his thoughts and feelings end and hers begin. iThere was no other way to save you/i.
Derek turns his head to look back at her. Lydia struggles to stand and starts pulling twigs and leaves out of her hair and he recognizes what she's doing and he doesn't need a frighteningly strong soul bond to know that she's doing the same thing she always does: Putting on her mask. However this time she stops after she's pulled the last twig from her hair and she stumbles over to him. Derek can only watch her, look at her beautiful hazel eyes and as soon as she's within reach he grabs her hand and pulls her too him, crushing her to his chest. The reaction is sudden – it's a crushing wave of light through the dark, a heat and melding between them and the jumble of emotions vanishes leaving just one. It fills him inside, illuminating every dark corner and he feels Lydia's shoulders shake and her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and her palm press against the spot over his heart. The feeling is indescribable for a brief overwhelming minute.
I love you too
It's like coming home.