Stiles looked over the weapons he had liberated from the few stupid hunters that had fallen into the traps he had set around the Preserve. So far, he had caught three, all dead by the time he arrived on scene so their weapons and gear were all he had to go on to figure out what they were planning. He had also set special wards around the pack house the first night they had arrived, nearly getting caught by Aiden and his brother who had been doing a perimeter check. He had kept his distance from the pack as much as he could though he had the suspicion that they had figured out that he was in town for sure after he had rescued Scott and Isaac from one of the hunter's traps. Those hunters had learned quickly that bear traps worked both ways.
"Any luck?" He asked when he sensed the presence of Deaton. The Hale Emissary had always been Stiles' secondary point of contact in Beacon Hills, the Nemeton being his first in a weird twist of events. Turns out playing Go on its stump with the Nogitsune had made the damn thing think they were friends. It would often send him apparitions when it thought he needed to turn his focus to Beacon Hills and fed him information on supernatural creatures that it knew about through their bond. It was actually pretty useful.
"No. How long can you keep the cloaking spell going?" Deaton said without coming any closer than the doorway. That was fine by Stiles, he wasn't too happy with the vet since the vet had thought it wasn't important to tell Stiles that there had already been hunters in Beacon Hills terrorizing Stiles' pack before Stiles arrived. It would have meant that Stiles came earlier and dealt with the problem before it had grown to this magnitude. Stiles sighed and half turned to watch Deaton out of the corner of his eyes
"I will have enough and if I don't you will get me what I need to renew it." Stiles commanded in a cold steely tone. He watched as a shiver ran through the Emissary with pleasure. It was always good to remind Deaton that he wasn't the most powerful magic user with interest in this town. Not anymore at least.
"Of course." Deaton said before retreating out of the room. Stiles turned his attention back to the weapons. The first two sets were made to do damage to a wolf. The third would have done some serious damage to Stiles if he had been a druid. Being the magical mutt he was though, it didn't do much more than give him a mild rash that was easily fixed.
"They've caught on that something magical is attacking them back." Stiles mused to himself fingering the third crossbow. He was so lost in thought that he missed Deaton leaving the cabin until it was several hours later and his stomach was growling.
"Hmm. I guess I should go eat." Stiles said turning away from the collection of weapons to go find anything that might have been left behind by the cabin's actual owners. It was off season for tourists and campers so Stiles didn't have to worry about anyone wanting to use the cabin and even if someone did show up a simple spell would easy their mind and send them away again. There was an open packet of stale Triscuits in one of the cupboards but nothing else. He munched on a handful as he surveyed his board that mapped out the frequent locations of all the pack members. Once the crackers were all gone, Stiles tossed the box into the trash can and grabbed his bomber jacket. He needed to really eat and that would require him to go to the preserve.
Derek wasn't sure what had tripped the motion sensors that he had placed around the preserve until he reached the clearing. The once vibrant clearing was full of dead grass and even some of the trees on the edge were clearly dead as well. Standing in the middle was a lean figure that looked vaguely familiar. The person was male and had brown hair that was sticking up in every direction like he had been electrocuted. His skin was pale in the fading light. When the figure turned to face him, Derek felt like all the air had been sucked out of California. Stiles. It was Stiles. Derek took a step forward on instinct only for Stiles to hold his hand up to stop him. It was only then that Derek realized that he was almost at the edge of the circle of death. He stood there, not taking his eyes off Stile, until the human glanced back at him several minutes later and nodded. Derek rushed forwards, tackling Stiles to the ground and straddling his chest.
"Where. Have. You. Been?" Derek snarled. He was caught between wanting to punch Stiles and wanting to scent mark him. Scent marking won. Derek nosed into Stiles' neck, breathing the smell of autumn leaves, cinnamon, clove, sugar, and something electric that he knew was magic. He rubbed his own scent on the human's neck and shoulder, marking him as pack.
"Calm down big guy." Stiles said, pushing lightly at Derek's chest and Derek could hear the amusement in his voice. Derek straightened up but didn't get off the human to look Stiles in the face. It was then that he noticed his eyes. They were so very different and Derek immediately recoiled away from the body that had been under him.
"You're not Stiles." Derek growled getting to his feet and getting ready to attack. Not-Stiles sighed and stood slowly.
"I'm not the Stiles that you remember but I am what's left of him." Not-Stiles said. Derek growled and moved to pounce on the imposter. He never made contact, Not-Stiles seemed to vanish from the spot he had been in and reappear a few feet to the left
"Please Derek." Not-Stiles begged in the same way that Stiles always had. It made Derek even more pissed.
"I don't care who you are. You're not Stiles." Derek roared, in full beta shift and close to a full wolf shift. Not-Stiles froze.
"I am Stiles, Sourwolf. I could tell you a million things that I've shared with you and no one else if I thought that you'd believe me. But I know you won't." Not-Stiles said softly. Derek roared, loud and menacing but Not-Stiles didn't even flinch. He seemed to sag in on himself like a balloon that part of the air was let out of.
"I'll rip your throat out!" Derek roared as howls sounded in the distance. The pack was coming to back their alpha up. Derek knew it would only take them minutes to reach his location. Not-Stiles kept glancing between Derek and the woods beyond Derek's shoulder
"Please Der, it's really me." Not-Stiles said in a pleading way but Derek wasn't going to fall for it.
"I don't believe you. You're an imposter." Derek growled. Not-Stiles wilted even more, turning his gaze towards the ground. Derek could hear the pack approaching rapidly. It would only be a few more moments before the front runners broke the tree line and were able to assist him in taking this imposter down. Not-Stiles looked back up as Scott, Isaac, and Boyd broke the tree line and came to a halt behind Derek.
"I missed you guys. I'll take care of the hunters, I promise." Not-Stiles said softly and he sounded so sincere. Derek leapt forward but Not-Stiles was gone. Whirling around Derek didn't see the imposter anywhere.
"Was that…" Scott began but trailed off in uncertainty.
"It wasn't. Just another trick of whatever is after us." He said between heavy breaths. Anger was pouring off him as he spun and headed for the pack house. The rest of the pack followed at a distance. He could hear them murmuring amongst themselves but didn't care to listen. His mind was running through the different creatures that he knew that could the imitate scent of another person. He couldn't think of any but thought that if a druid had Stiles captive they could probably create a scent that was close enough to Stiles' natural scent to fool Derek initially. Derek knew he would have to get close to the Not-Stiles next time to try and figure out the creature's real scent. That lead to the next problem. If the Not-Stiles had the real Stiles captive they would have to mount a rescue. Derek's heart clenched at the thought of his mate being captive to such a vile creature. The creature had been a cruel twisted version of Stiles that Derek knew would have happened if the Nogitsune had taken over. He couldn't get the way those pale eyes had stared at him or the way he had sounded just like Stiles when he called Derek Sourwolf. Slamming his way into the pack house, Derek made a bee-line for the basement stairs where there was a home gym for him to punch his anger away in.
Stiles collapsed onto the hard, stone floor of the cabin where he had been staying. Teleporting hadn't taken much energy but the fact that Derek had called him an imposter. That he'd used that oh so familiar threat to rip Stiles' throat out but the words had missed the playful edge that had told him Derek wasn't serious. Derek had been dead serious with that threat. Stiles knew deep down that he would have to avoid the pack as much as he could from this point on, not only had they seen him but the didn't believe that it was him. He would have to protect them from a distance and from the shadows. The cloaking spell would protect their home, no hunter would be able to follow them there, see it, or remember where it was if they had been there before. Any magical means of trying to find the pack house would result in a very nasty explosion and the same results. The pack would be safe for as long as he could keep the spell going. Wiping the tears from his face even though he didn't remember crying, Stiles turned back to his web of connections and let himself think. It turned out, thinking was an incredible useful tool. His mind had improved dramatically when he had gained control of the magics inside him. Not that it hadn't been pretty damn amazing already but now it worked as fast as a computer, finding connections through little details that most would have missed. It had helped him get through his undergrad in less than two years as well as the PhD in both mathematics, chemistry, and the third PhD he was working on which was biology. Stiles' mind was a wealth of information and he never forgot anything, both a good and bad thing. He sat there all night, connecting a thin line of information that would hopefully lead him to where the hunters were staying. So far, he had had no luck but there were only so many places for these bastards to set up camp and Stiles would find them. He wouldn't lose the pack.
"Please, please G-d." Stiles begged, choking on the holy name that he no longer could say. He needed to protect Derek Hale at any cost. He couldn't lose his anchor, his Sourwolf.