A/N – Inspired by Spindiver's wonderful futurefic, I decided to do one of my own which will also be a sequel to "Aftermath". I was torn between calling it "Twenty-Something Wolf" or simply Season 10. Hope you enjoy.
Sheriff Stiles Stilinski ordered another beer, still unable to dull the pain after a whole year.
"You've had enough, Sheriff." Said the bartender politely.
"You want me to revoke your liquor license?" growled Stiles, a hint of red coming into his eyes.
Feeling the first surge of the change in almost 6 months, Stiles canceled the order and went back out to his police cruiser. The irony of it was, he simply could not get drunk. His body metabolized the alcohol too fast for him to get more than a mild buzz. Still, so as not to cause people to cast aspersions on his performance, he walked the three blocks from The Slaughtered Lamb bar to his single room apartment. Letting himself into its dusty silence, he threw himself into his easy chair and stared at the wall.
"Why? Oh God, why?" and gave himself over to grief. Lydia had vanished, for almost a year now. Jackson Whitmore had disappeared as well, leaving a similarly devastated Derek Hale. Initially suspecting foul play from the Argents, they discovered that Allison and Scott had made great headway within the family in promoting peaceful werewolf rights. None of the active members had any interest in hunting them, and there were no old grudges that could provide motive.
The two Alphas began the hunt in earnest, but the trail could not even be called cold since there wasn't one. They gave up after 6 months with literally not even a single lead to pursue, despite the procedural police missing person's efforts and the tracking skills of the two werewolves. It occurred to them that maybe they had run away together, rekindling a forgotten feeling they shared in high school…but neither really felt this was the case. The passion and desire they felt for their mates had not decreased in nine years since the day they became joined, and the feeling was mutual. Lydia had grown and mellowed over the years from a spoiled bossy teenager into a loving (and occasionally cat-mean) adult. Stiles was all she cared about, aside from her job as a fashion buyer for several obscenely wealthy celebrities.
As for Jackson (who had inherited his father's business and vast fortune), he had come home one day with a tattoo on his left arm showing two wolves under a full moon curled up together, and a caption reading "Derek & Jackson Forever", which he displayed proudly by wearing an endless succession of sleeveless shirts summer and winter. As soon as Derek saw it, he went out and got a matching one on his right arm. The tattoos had healed overnight, but refused to fade. Stiles consoled Derek one night when all the older man could do was sit on the steps of his house and cry floods of tears, constantly stroking the tattoo.
Around the time they had given up, both werewolves found out that the change no longer came at their call. Oh sure, if they put their minds to it they could shift, but it took fierce concentration to maintain the shape and they would revert to human almost instantly when they relaxed their will. It was almost as if the wolves inside them no longer wanted to come out, so grief stricken were they by the loss of the ones they loved.
Scott and Allison had remained together, living in the Argents home after the senior Argents retired and moved back to their ancestral home in France. Scott's mother had also married, and moved in with her new husband and his children in Seattle, Washington. He was a widower who had suffered a car accident and shamelessly flirted and hounded Melissa at the hospital until she agreed to a date. They were married within six months, and Melissa quit her job to be a full time housewife. They were extremely comfortable on his income, and he treated her like a queen. The kids adored her. Scott was a little distant at first, but when his new stepfather's children immediately took a fierce liking to their new brother, Scott gave in and accepted the change. He always wanted his mother to be happy, and he had to admit that she had made the right choice.
Allison had taken a position training Olympic candidates in gymnastics, while Scott became a Veterinarian, and also operated a canine obedience school, scoring a contract with the police department (thanks to Stiles) to train their police dogs. Of course, with a werewolf for a Sheriff, the dogs were seldom needed, so they were mostly used for show anyway.
Of the original Pack, with the exception of Danny (who remained in Beacon Hills with his werewolf partner Matthew) the rest had gone to college and pursued careers all over the country. They usually returned at least once a year, though with recent events, the current reunion had been postponed indefinitely. Danny worked in construction, while Matthew was a moderately successful artist, and the two were looking into adoption.
Derek had stayed with his teaching and coaching job, bringing Beacon Hills High to new heights in terms of academic and varsity success. He had taken a leave of absence to search for Jackson, and had yet to decide if he could handle returning to work. He certainly did not need the money; Jackson had given him power of attorney over all of his holdings, but it was something that he had truly enjoyed…until now. The spark inside him that led to his success was as dead as cold ash, and he would be no use in either capacity until it was reignited.
Over the past few weeks, Derek and Stiles had begun avoiding each other, unable to bear the mirror image of grief that they saw in each other's faces.
Tonight however, Stiles decided he couldn't stand to be alone anymore, and left his apartment running at superhuman speed through the woods to Derek's house.
Derek was outside on the steps again, staring up at the full moon. The pale orb had completely lost its power to stir the beast inside him, and he mourned the loss of his inner lifelong companion nearly as much as he mourned Jackson. Derek registered no surprise at Stiles' approach.
"Bad night?" Derek ventured.
"The worst. Felt a brief touch of the wolf in a bar tonight."
"You're one up on me."
Stiles sat next to him, and after s second, Derek put his arm around him.
"Where do you think they are, Derek? Where…the hell…are they?"
Derek shook his head.
"If I knew, I would be there this second. And I wouldn't want to be their jailor when I got there." He had pulled his arm back, and was stroking the tattoo again.
"Derek…there are a lot of things I don't know about being a werewolf even after all of this time. I still keep discovering new things. Is there anything in your…our, I don't know…lore that could help?"
Derek shook his head.
"Anything in the more supernatural realm that we could use? Crystal ball? Gypsy Fortune Teller?"
"I knew one once, but she died three years ago. Her daughter is not old enough to use her gift properly. Seers come into their powers at 13. The girl is 4."
Stiles pondered the impossibility of waiting nine more years for an answer.
"Shit. There has to be something, goddamnit!" Stiles got up and paced around the moonlit front yard.
"Could the Argents help us? They knew how to track us."
"Not better than we do."
"Damnit Derek! Don't just sit there! I feel like you're giving up!"
Derek was on his feet and over to Stiles in a second.
"Give up? GIVE UP? I would kill a hundred people to have him back! I would DIE to have him back! Over and over and over again! A thousand times! Don't EVER say that to me again!"
"You think I feel any less for Lydia? I loved her since I met her when I was a freaking kid! TEN YEARS I loved her before we finally got together! And I didn't even get to have her that long!" Stiles sank to his knees, more hot tears tracking down his face.
"Derek, I can't live without her. Please…just kill me. It hurts too much."
Derek pulled him roughly to his feet.
"She is still out there somewhere. So is Jackson. I would be dead already if I felt otherwise. Neither of us are going to take the easy way out. Somehow, someday...we will find them."
Derek pulled the broken younger man into his house, and led him to the guest bedroom. Then he returned to his own room, undressed, and lay down on the hard wood floor at the foot of the massive bed he and Jackson had shared together. To be in the bed without him…he felt as if that would be the final acceptance on his part that Jackson was no longer alive. Sleep was a hesitant and flighty visitor to both men until the small hours of the night.
Together they had the same dream. Jackson and Lydia, huddled in some sort of cell, disheveled and half starved. They sat on opposite sides of the cell, staring at nothing, until they heard a door slam and footsteps echo down a hallway. Then they huddled together, Lydia crying and Jackson with his arm around her (the tattoo visible in perfect detail) trying to comfort her while shivering and crying himself.
The footsteps got closer and closer, and their terror grew and grew, palpable in the essence of the dream.
To each of the sleeping men, it appeared that their mates suddenly noticed the dreamers present and invisible in the room.
The prisoners opened their mouths and shouted : "HELP US! GET US OUT OF HERE! PLEEEAAASEEE! HURRY! HE'S COMING!"
And as one, both men awakened in a fury of transformation.
The two Alpha wolves burst from the house, racing through the forest. The dream had left them some kind of scent, some kind of compass that their waking minds lacked. They felt with every fiber that this was the direction their loved ones were in. The forest floor flew by under their paws, animals fleeing at the sound and smell of them, even the crickets became silent. The dream was vivid at first, and yet, as their fully awake minds lost the tenuous grasp on it, the Alpha wolves slowed to a stop.
They shifted back to normal and looked at each other, shivering a little in the unseasonably cold night air. Transforming had destroyed what little clothing they wore to bed, though both men were beyond modesty at this point in their lives.
They looked around, realizing that they were on the very edge of Hale property, close to a cliff that overlooked a huge lake. To go farther would have meant a descent and a very long swim.
"Dream?" asked Derek.
"Yeah. What's it mean?"
Derek shook his head. "I have never heard of that happening before. It was almost like we were connected…like we got through to them working together."
"You never heard of it because two Alphas are never in the same area. There we were, sleeping in the same house. With a single purpose."
Derek had to agree. It was the only explanation that made sense.
"What's across this lake?" pointed Stiles.
"Mountains, hills. Keep going and you get to the border with Washington."
"Do you think they are still around here?" Stiles looked around, as if expecting them to be hidden behind a tree.
"I believe they are closer than we think."
Together, the men walked the long distance back to the house.
Stiles began spending every night at Derek's, even sleeping in the same room with him to maximize their proximity to each other and hopefully have the dream again. It did not happen, although on occasion they shared more commonplace dreams. Derek suggested they give it some time, maybe the working together needed time to build up in force. Nothing changed after a week, and both men were frustrated. They began digging at each other, snarling at each other and almost came to blows on two occasions. Stiles finally returned to his apartment so that they could cool off.
One thing that the dream had accomplished was the reawakening of the wolves inside them. In fact, they found themselves on the jaws of a transformation at the slightest provocation.
Stiles had pulled over a speeder, who made the unwise decision of arguing the ticket. He flipped out his cell phone threatening to call his lawyer. Stiles suddenly stuck a furred and clawed hand into the window and crushed the cell to tiny bits.
Derek almost mauled a cashier at the supermarket when he was informed that the credit card reader was down. Both men took to staying away from situations that could set them off.
In frustration, the two went to see Scott and Allison (not that they expected help, but because they just needed someone to talk to). The happily married couple listened to the story in silence. Scott shrugged his shoulders, as if to say "I have no idea what to tell you." Allison was looking intently at the two of them, as if trying to find a clue in what they said.
The evening you had the dream…the two of you shared…some closeness?" she asked.
They both got revolted looks on their faces…then realized there was more than one meaning to the word 'closeness'.
"You mean when I put my arm around him? I guess that was…closeness."
"Have you two ever done anything like that before since Stiles became an Alpha?" asked Scott.
Both shook their heads no.
"Nothing else happened on any other night, and this was the only thing that was different. It must be you two…comforting each other that caused the connection."
Neither Stiles nor Derek looked pleased with this information.
"Think about it. Two Alphas, creatures meant by their very nature to avoid each other. Why? Is there some hidden power in being together, even greater than a bonded pack? C'mon, use Occam's Razor."
"I just shaved this morning." Said Stiles rubbing his cheek.
Derek rolled his eyes. "She means, use the simplest solution that fits all the facts. I should have thought of this. But what can we do?
"Isn't it obvious? The two of you need to spend the night together, in the same bed. In very close proximity." Said Allison.
Scott snorted at the look on Stiles' face, but then covered himself quickly.
Derek just looked lost in thought, gazing at his tattoo.
"I know Stiles probably feels this even more than I do, but I can't…do anything with him. It would be a betrayal to Jackson."
Stiles nodded emphatically. "Lydia might get turned on, and then I'd have to do it at least once a week."
"I'm not asking you guys to screw, although it would probably work. Get over your Alpha tendencies and instincts, and comfort each other, hold each other. Think how much both of you want the same thing; to rescue the people you care about. You really do not have a choice."
The two returned to Derek's house. Looking at each other awkwardly, and wishing there were any other way to do what needed to be done, they went upstairs. Stiles headed towards the master bedroom, but Derek stopped him.
"No. Not there. That bed is for Jackson and me only. I don't even sleep in it without him." Derek's face would brook no argument.
"Derek, the other beds in the house are all singles. We'll be right on top of each other…" He trailed off, realizing that was the whole point of the procedure.
They took the room that Stiles used last time (the bed was still unmade).
Stiles took out his thick set of flannel pajamas and put them on while Derek washed up for bed. When Derek came in, he was still in boxers. The tight toned body looked as if it hadn't aged a day in ten years. Maybe werewolves lived longer than people. Stiles brushed and washed, returning to note with alarm that the boxers were on the floor, and Derek was under the covers.
"Strip. Now. Closeness, Stiles. No sex. Just closeness." Derek stared at the ceiling while he said this. Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but Derek stopped him.
"Don't be the thing that stands in the way of me finding Jackson, Stiles."
After a long moment, Stiles obeyed and climbed over Derek to get the side next to the wall. He lay facing the wall, and only flinched slightly when Derek curled into him and wrapped an arm around his waist. Both men prayed for sleep to come quickly.
