A/N: This fic isn't as fleshed-out as my last one (and the two aren't related), but I wanted to get the idea out as soon as I could after the S2 finale. I guess this is my take-off on the new threat introduced in 2x12 and, as such, will probably become an AU relic once S3 airs. It'll be Derek-centric, but some sections won't include Derek at all; besides him, it'll mainly feature Peter, Scott, and Stiles later on. There's a slight chance the rating will go up later for violence, but that's it.
—
Derek feels them howling more than he hears it.
Down to the deepest parts of him. It's not just because he's a wolf. The instinct is already familiar to him, the urge to get up and run—the howl is a cry for help and the pack only survives together. He knows the restlessness, the jump in his chest.
It's because he's their Alpha. It's because it's Boyd and Erica, who turned their backs on him and ran when he couldn't protect them, and he rebuked them for it but they were right and nothing's changed. Not a goddamn thing. What did Deaton say to him? You're still an Alpha…but as usual, not a very competent one.
Derek presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.
He knows that, too.
"Ooh. They don't sound very happy."
Derek's hands curl into fists. "I can hear that."
"It's all right, Derek." Peter Hale sits beside him on the stairs, assumes a fatherly tone. "They were willing to take their chances alone. They were aware of the risks."
"They weren't aware of the Alpha pack." Derek stands abruptly, descends the stairs. The proximity of his uncle is making his skin crawl. The man agitates him like nothing else, awakens all sorts of unpleasant self-directed negative emotions he's been trying to move past for some time now. It's remarkably dispiriting, seeing all his hard work crumble away under the insouciant ministrations of Peter Hale.
"Bad timing, that's all. Derek, you can't be so hard on yourself." Peter rises as well, uncoiling smoothly. "You didn't know the pack would get here so soon."
"Yeah, well, now they're here." Derek hovers in the threshold, stares out at the thick late afternoon mist rolling sluggishly through the trees. "And they appear to have Boyd and Erica. Presumably to get to me."
Peter glides up behind him. "Oh, no. Don't tell me you're actually thinking of going after them. They're not your responsibility anymore."
"Really?" He turns sharply. "Because I seem to remember making them a dozen promises and I haven't kept a single one." He glances out again at the trees. "At least not yet."
"Derek. Please." He practically whines. "You know this is some sort of trap. I'm worried about you."
"I'm gonna have to face them eventually, one way or the other." Derek takes a deep breath. "Might as well do it while I still have a chance at saving Boyd and Erica."
"Then please tell me you'll at least bring reinforcements." Peter lays a concerned hand on Derek's shoulder.
Derek jerks away. "No. I'm not gonna fight them. I can't present myself as a threat."
"If you go there alone…" Peter tilts his head a little, meets Derek's eye. "…do you really think they'll just let you leave?"
He cracks his neck. "Guess we'll find out."
—
He's expecting Scott and Isaac to show up—they'll have heard the howls too—and they do, straight from lacrosse practice. Scott is particularly upset (of course, him and his frustrating insistence on taking responsibility for any trouble that ever pops up within a ten-mile radius of him). "What happened to Erica and Boyd? Why did they howl like that?"
"I'm pretty sure they've been captured." This sounds bad. And it looks bad, too, with his treacherous ex-dead uncle lurking behind him, smiling airily. "There's…another pack in town."
Derek explains briefly what he knows, which isn't much. Isaac's heard of the Alpha pack before, but Scott's flabbergasted. "What the—why didn't you tell me about them before?!"
"Because I didn't want you to flip out and do something—reckless." He manages to bite back the word stupid just in time. That's not even fair to say now, considering Scott's unexpected sneakiness is what saved them all from Gerard in the first place. "It's okay. I'm gonna go get them back. But you need to just stay here and don't get involved." He meets Scott's gaze, holds it for emphasis. "Okay? I mean it. You're no match for them."
"But you—" This from Isaac, who hesitates a little. "If you're going alone, then—you'll be no match for them either."
"I can take care of myself." Something he's been telling himself for years. He can't remember if it's ever been true. "If I have to worry about you two, this is gonna be ten times harder. So just please, listen to me for once and keep your heads down. All right?"
Scott is still plainly mistrustful, and Isaac's not much better, but they back off, and that's all Derek can do for now. He kicks them out, and after they leave, he turns on Peter. "You. They know not to trust you, so if you think you'll be able to—"
"Derek! Please!" Peter raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. "So accusatory! I came back because I want to live, that's all. That's all anyone really wants, isn't it?" He has the gall to look hurt. "I've learned my lesson, and I'd rather abandon my considerable ambitions and settle for keeping my neck intact this time around."
It sounds reasonable, but Derek's instincts are pounding away at the back of his skull. You cannot trust this man. And on its heels: he killed Laura. Louder: why is he still alive?
Derek forces himself to focus. Erica. Boyd. He has more immediate things to worry about. "If you try to trick Isaac and Scott, if you try anything, I will kill you again. And again. As many times as it takes."
As he walks out the door, Peter calls after him. "If you say so, Derek. But we all know how good you are at keeping your promises."
He doesn't turn around.
—
He's maybe a couple of miles away when it happens.
He remembers seeing that Omega being cleaved in half by Gerard, and he imagines it would feel something like this, a thick, inexorable slide that cuts straight through his middle, sloppy but absolute. He's running, so when he falls he skids forward across the leaves, clutching at his stomach, his chest, but it doesn't hurt. It's just this big chunk of him that's been hollowed out suddenly, left him gutted, weak. And he realizes that he no longer knows where Boyd and Erica are.
He could feel them before, on some level so primal he's barely aware of it, but now he's lost them, just like that. He doesn't know why. Still, he's got his other senses, and he picks up their scent without too much trouble.
He goes more cautiously now, catches a tremor in his limbs every so often. Whatever happened is still sending echoes into every corner of him. But he can't afford that right now. Still an Alpha, but as usual, not a very competent one. Derek shakes his head violently. He will not let this rattle him.
By the time the other wolves make themselves known, he's regained his composure. He doesn't address them. If they want to talk, they'll talk. He just keeps moving, following the scent. He's never strayed this far into the woods before, but he's got a good idea of where he is—Windham, which shares a border with Beacon Hills to the north.
The treeline breaks and the first house looms before him. It's big, and nice—or it would be nice if it were finished; one of the wings is still skeletal, a frame of pale wood and unmoored Tyvek banners luffing a little in the inconstant breeze. Erica and Boyd aren't in there. He walks past it. The other wolves follow him, casually, forming a loose group several yard behind him. The breeze whips past him, and he counts the scents: four, five. Probably all Alphas.
Two more unfinished houses. There's not even any construction vehicles, just slumped-down piles of dirt and mulch, trenches welling with rainwater. This site hasn't been used in a while. The last house at least looks completed, and that's where the trail is leading him. He doesn't break his pace.
Windham Pines Model Home. Open weekends 1-4 p.m. or by appointment. The door's slightly ajar, and he puts his hand on the sign and pushes it open. Here, definitely. He can hear them now, the dry timbre of Erica's breathing, the weight of Boyd's. The hallway is empty, and he strides down it, letting his boots click on the varnished wood.
There they are. Sitting on a cream leather couch. Not even restrained. But they don't need to be. There's two wolves flanking them, male, neither particularly large, but they've got a lazy confidence that Derek's sure they could easily back up.
He's not worried about them anyway.
"Derek Hale."
A woman. She's older than him by at least ten years, and shorter by nearly a foot, but Derek feels like he's lost this already, whatever power struggle he was prepared to enter into to negotiate Erica and Boyd's release. Because she doesn't sneer or growl when she speaks, doesn't try to intimidate him. It's like she just knows she's got him beat, and is simply waiting for him to realize it so the whole process will go more smoothly for both of them.
He remembers telling Peter he wasn't going to fight.
He remembers telling Scott not to do anything reckless.
Not a very competent one.
He swallows the anger. Anger feels good, in the right dose. But he'll let it run later. For now, he has to keep it corralled.
The woman smiles at him, not quite friendly, but sharp, and utterly polite. "We need to talk."