GloomyPearl: I'll be posting one or two chapters a week, possibly more if my time allows. Thanks for the review!

Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Please review if you like this one or if you have any constructive criticism!

Chapter Two

What You Want

Patience was not a virtue Derek was well versed in. He had been standing in the most heavily wooded area of Grove Hill Park just outside of Beacon Hills for nearly an hour. His hands were tucked in his pockets, his feet planted in the same spot, breathing steadily in and out, just waiting for his contact. She was never late, and, though she had a tendency for waiting around in dark shadows, she always made herself announced.

Derek exhaled loudly, partially out of frustration. Oddly, the time was passing by rather quickly with the thoughts running through his head. He knew he should be more focused on this woman, on her identity, on her motives, but he couldn't help but think about Stiles.

You don't have to do this alone.

Stiles had no idea what he was saying, what he was committing himself to. Even worse, the plurality of his statement meant Scott, Allison, and probably Jackson would be involved too. Scott could defend himself; Scott could stand at his side, but not the others. They were kids, seventeen year olds with no idea of the severity of the situation. Derek's distaste for Stiles ran very deep under his skin, but the thought of Stiles getting hurt angered Derek to no end. He had shared some of the most intense moments of his life with Stiles. It still meant something, despite the fact most of those moments were directly related to him pushing or hitting the frail boy. Maybe he didn't need to do this alone, whatever this turned out to be.

"Lost in thought?" said the precise voice that he had grown used to hearing over the past few months.

"It took you long enough."

"Sorry, I had some unexpected business to attend to."

Derek turned to the source of the voice.

"No, no," the voice warned, "you know you're not allowed to see me."

Derek sighed, "What do you need to tell me? And please be specific, these run-arounds are wasting my time."

It was silent for a moment despite from some rustling sounds. The woman was obviously human due to her scent and her fidgeting. Derek knew her scent, but had not been exposed to it enough to connect it to a face.

"These violent delights have violent ends, Derek."

"Shakespeare again?"

"Truth."

"And what is that truth?"

"Build your pack. You did as instructed and killed Peter Hale, which was smart. But now you need to exercise your strength as the Alpha and build your pack. There are others out there who can help you when the time comes, but until then you need your own support. Scott will not be enough."

"Not enough for what?"

Derek heard footsteps, soft on the damp leaves of the park. He exhaled heavily and clenched his jaw. Anger began to flood through his body. He could hear her heels pressing on the leaves that littered the ground before the balls of her feet touched down behind them. She was backing away.

"I'm not cursing a human, I won't."

"Then you will be alone when they come."

"They? The Argents?"

"No, they're much, much worse."

"How do you know all of this?"

"George Mallory once said that the highest of the world's mountains has to make but a single gesture of magnificence to be the lord of all, vast in unchallenged and isolated supremacy. Not everyone can attain supremacy with a single gesture, Derek. Sometimes you have to take drastic measures."

"I don't want supremacy."

"But they do. Heed my advice Derek."

The footsteps became rushed. The woman was leaving.

"Wait! I need your help! Who is Gerard Argent?"

Derek's question was too late; she was gone. In any normal circumstance Derek would have pursued her, caught her, and interrogated her until he got the answers he needed. But this woman was not ordinary. Her scent had a fragrance of power and enlightenment, her voice commanded respect, and she had proved a worthy resource to him since his sister had died. She was the one who directed him back to Beacon Hills, she was the one who told him about Scott's condition, she was responsible for so many things. An invisible hand guiding these events, Derek felt as though she was the director and he was merely following her instructions.

No matter his questions, he had his next step in mind: build a pack.

X-X-X-X

Scott jumped in shock when his locker door slammed in front of his face. Behind the once open door stood Allison. Her dark hair hung in loose curls that framed the amused expression on her face.

"Is my big, bad Werewolf scared?" As she whispered the words she leaned in close to his body. She slid her hands around his neck, intertwining her fingers on the back of it. Scott grinned and put his arms around her waist.

"You're handling this surprisingly well."

Allison planted a quick kiss on Scott's lips before she withdrew from his embrace. She slid her hand from his neck down to grab his hand before they began walking down the hallway.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just if I had known I would be your big, bad Werewolf I would have told you sooner. I feel bad that I didn't."

"I'm glad you didn't, honestly."

Scott stopped mid stride and turned to his girlfriend.

"Sorry, I feel like this is going to be a need-to-look-in-the-eyes kind of moment."

Allison smiled locked glances with Scott. His expression was one of confusion, not like it was unordinary for him to be confused. Scott, though half of the Werewolf population in this town, was not the smartest or most receptive person she knew. Lydia referred to him as adorably dubious.

"So before I realized my aunt was a psychopath I talked to her about that night in the school. I told her about how weak I felt and she promised to make me stronger. I know she was insane, but she did. She helped me be more confident and feel more powerful. If I had known you were a Werewolf from the start I probably wouldn't feel like I do now."

"How do you feel now?"

"Powerful, like I can take care of myself."

"And how would you have felt if I told you sooner?"

"Like the Peach to your Mario, the damsel in distress. These past few months haven't been easy, and they probably could have turned out much better..."

"But?"

Allison put her put her hands on Scott's cheek. His face was contorted like he was bracing for bad news, and she had the instant instinct to reassure him. She pulled his face down close to hers.

"But I'm happy, healthy, and in love. That's all that matters."

Scott grinned, "Okay. Me too." Allison and Scott locked their lips together for another moment, which was abruptly interrupted by Scott's groaning stomach.

Allison laughed against his lips, "I think you need to eat."

"No, no, no, I never need to eat again if we can stay like this."

"I need you well fed, if you're weak you won't be as fun when you take my clothes off."

Scott's eyes widened and a slightly evil smirk arched across his face before he said: "Lunch time."

X-X-X-X

"Just tell me this whole tortured 'Change me! I need it!' act is finally over."

Jackson glared at Stiles from across the table.

"What?" Stiles said through a half-full mouth of curly fries, "No douchetastically dick of a comment about driving a Porche instead of a Honda?"

Jackson exhaled heavily, "Back off, Stiles."

"All I'm saying is it's not meant to be, and you're better off because of it." Stiles swallowed and leaned forward, "You're smart, athletic, and whatever. You don't need the bite to be special."

Jackson eyed Stiles. He leaned forward, closing the distance between him and Stiles. "What's your angle here, huh? You're not going to change my mind, I will get that goddamn bite one way or another."

"Do you know how hard it was for me to compliment you? Projectile vomiting ninja stars would have felt better. Show some appreciation."

Jackson's eyes narrowed. He scoffed, slammed his back against his chair, and tangled his hands in his hair. "Jesus, Stiles. I just..."

"I know, I hate you too," Stiles nodded and then grinned, "but we're all we've got, man. We don't have to love each other, but trust me, we're in this together."

Jackson nodded and smiled as Allison and Scott took their seats beside them.

"A smile?" Allison sat her tray down beside Stiles. Scott sat across from her, "That's a nice surprise. And it doesn't even look like you're plotting something."

"Nothing at all," Jackson cut his eyes to Scott and to Stiles, "Allison, I need to tell you something."

"Okay?"

She had no idea what he had been up to over the previous few weeks. The things he did to Scott. How vehemently he tried to obtain that bite. As he was telling her he knew it probably wasn't the best idea, but it felt good to have everyone at the table know.

"I know you probably think I'm an asshole—"

"Nope," Allison interrupted, "I think you were confused, just like we all have been. Honestly, I'm ready to put this behind us."

"That's not exactly possible," Stiles stated.

"I mean the emotional part. Of course these things happened, but for whatever reason they happened to us. Honestly, my family nearly killed Scott, Jackson nearly got him killed too, and Scott could have killed all of us at some point…who cares anymore? We're together and let's just be thankful for that."

The boys eyed each other awkwardly for a moment.

Allison sighed, "This is why I need Lydia."

"How's she doing?" Jackson asked, "I haven't really had the time or gut to go see her."

"She's doing great," Allison optimistically chimed, "I mean, she's still asleep but they've ruled out the possibility of her being in a coma. Her parents said that the doctors say she's actually fine, but her body is healing. They said it's better she's like this for now because she'll heal faster."

"That's a bright outlook on her stupor," Jackson barked.

"Sensitive as always, right Sunshine?"

"Stupor, Stiles, stupor," Jackson attested, "it's a type of catatonia."

"All pessimism aside," Allison interrupted, "I'm sure she'll be fine."

"I'm sorry," Jackson explained, "I'm just still a little on edge. I'm not handling this anywhere near as well as you three are."

"I just got a compliment from Jackson Whittemore, my oh my!"

"Stiles, stop." Scott moaned, "You're handling this fine, Jackson."

Allison grabbed Jackson's hand from across the table, "I'm doing the best I can. And being cheery, even if it is obnoxious, is how I'm choosing to handle this."

Jackson nodded in agreement, "It'll balance me out, thanks."

"So what now?" Scott questioned. The fact that they could sit down at a table together and actually be able to speak without an outburst of post-traumatic stress is a feat that should have taken weeks. But, there were still plenty of unanswered questions.

"What do you mean?" Allison eyed her boyfriend.

"What do we do? There's still a lot to figure out," Scott leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper, "like why did Derek kill the Alpha instead of curing me? What is your dad going to do about me and Derek now?"

Allison and Stiles knew the answer, or at least information that would help uncover them. But they had both agreed to keep Scott out of it for fear he would rush headfirst into something that could hurt him. Allison put her hand on Stiles' leg; she knew it was hard for him to lie to his best friend.

"We take it as it comes," Jackson said, breaking the somewhat awkward silence that had surfaced, "right now I would really like to just take it easy. We still have lacrosse to exhaust us."

Scott and Jackson began to talk about the upcoming state championship. Stiles shared a serious glance with Allison before she looked away toward the cafeteria's open door to the hallway. Standing in the door, eyes fixated on her, was her grandfather.

"Shit." She whispered under her breath. Stiles leaned in to her, Jackson and Scott were still distracted, "Remember the man who wants to kill every Werewolf in sight?'

"The sexist one, right, because there's so many I get them confused."

"Shut up!" Allison looked around and hid her face, "He's standing in the doorway, staring at me."

Allison immediately stood and headed out of the cafeteria through another exit. Scott rose up to go after her, but was sat back down by Stiles.

"What's the matter with her, is she okay?" Scott interrogated.

"Of course she's okay! Why wouldn't she be! It's not like there's an Alpha wolf trying to kill her or anything! Just girl problems, son, calm down." Stiles words were so rushed that Jackson and Scott only understood pieces of it.

"Girl problems?" They asked.

"Girl problems!" Stiles exclaimed. He turned his eyes back to the doorway. The silver haired, yet surprisingly buff man was still standing in the doorway. If his eyes were guns, Scott would have had two bullet holes in the back of his head.

X-X-X-X

Stiles parked his Jeep outside of Derek's house. After seeing Gerard, Derek was the only person Stiles could think about. If Gerard was going to try to kill Scott, Derek could stop him. Derek would stop him.

"Derek!" Stiles threw the door to the charred remains open, "Derek!"

Where was he? Stiles rushed through all of the rooms on the first floor and out through the burnt down wall at the back of the house. Stiles ran back to the front door and peered out of it. Not surprisingly, Derek's car was not there.

"Genius, Stiles, no car no Derek."

Stiles sat down on the steps and cupped his face in his hands. That look on Gerard's face. He wanted Scott dead. Maybe he wanted them all dead. And Allison! Stiles felt horrible for leaving the school before checking on her. Scott would be so angry with them both for keeping this secret from him, and even angrier at Stiles for involving Derek. Scott made it very clear the night after Peter Hale died that he had no desire to ever see Derek again.

Stiles propped his arms on his knees and looked nervously around the house. For a half-incinerated haunting ground, it was especially silent. There were no sounds typical of old, or damaged houses. No creaking. No groaning. Just silence. Driven nearly insane by sitting still, Stiles jumped from place on the stairs. He paced around the foyer for nearly twenty minutes before he stopped and glanced up the stairs.

He had never been up there. Scott had never been up there, or never said he had. No one had been up there. Except Derek. Derek had been up there. Derek's long-jump perch was up there. Maybe that was where Derek's things were. Maybe that was where the hypothetical shower was. Maybe that was where all the secrets of all the Werewolves that had ever existed rested. Stiles stopped himself. His train of thought, though normally fast paced and skipped-beat just like that, was leading to him to once place: up the stairs. If Derek came home and he was up there, Derek would probably hit him harder than he ever had before.

Regardless, Stiles was in the upstairs hallway before he knew it. Unsurprisingly, most of the second floor had collapsed. Only two rooms remained intact. The first was on the left side of the stairway, the room above the living room. It was mostly empty, but there was a window with a circular hole in one of its panes.

"That's his spy corner," Stiles said to himself.

The room, unknown to Stiles, used to be Laura Hale's. The room Stiles went to next, the only other room intact, was very apparently Derek's. He opened the black door, burned just like everything in the house, and entered. His feet rested on a large throw rug covering the dirty, once hardwood floors. There was a dresser, which looked relatively new, a closet with Derek's clothes, a simple twin bed, and a bedside table. On the table was a book written in French and a used candle. Stiles opened the bedside table's top drawer and found a small collection of ragged, torn, and stained pictures.

His family…his oddly photogenic, strong jawboned family. It was a tattered family history small enough to fit in a bedside drawer, but what was likely Derek's only connection to his apparently large family. They looked so happy. Stiles kept shifting through the pictures. He saw Peter Hale playing with children that were likely his own, what had to be Derek's parents kissing, and a family photo that caught his eye. He counted the people in it: 36. The police report said 8 people died in the fire. That meant there were 25 Hales unaccounted for.

Stiles sighed and moved on to the next picture. In it, a young woman with long dark hair was hugging someone. The boy she was hugging was younger than her, with flat hair, no facial hair, narrow shoulders and a lanky body. If you added hair gel, a five-o'clock shadow, 50 pounds of muscle, darker hued clothes and a scowl the boy would be identical to Derek. Stiles looked around the room and placed the pictures back into the drawer.

He sat on Derek's bed and reflected on what he just saw. A joyful family. Stiles never spent much time contemplating what Derek's family had been like, but judging from Derek's cheerfulness, and Peter's sanity he assumed it was more dysfunctional than what those pictures showed him. Even moreso, Derek looked happy. Stiles couldn't help but think about how he could help Derek regain some of that happiness again. It was a small tug on his conscious to do so, but that small tug had a lot of strength.

"Where's the shower?" Stiles, always adept at distracting himself when needed, rose from the bed. He opened the only remaining door in the room and found, to his astonishment, a bathroom. Though the walls were tainted gray from smoke damage, the floor was tiled, the toilet clean, and the shower had a curtain on it.

"No way!" Stiles reached in the shower and turned it on. Water came out. Stiles jumped back in amazement.

"HOW!" he exclaimed. He turned off the shower and stepped back, rather pleased with himself. He went to walk out the door when he heard a car pull up into the driveway.

"Dammit, I'm dead." Stiles instinctively jumped into Derek's closet and closed the door. He pressed himself up against its interior wall. The closet smelled like fresh laundry. Stiles reached up above him on the upper shelf and found a dryer sheet lying there. Stiles grinned, Derek refused to make small talk but remembered ways to keep his closet laundry fresh.

The sound of footsteps down the hall snapped him back into the present. Stiles took in a deep breath, preparing for soft breathing as long as Derek was home.

"I am soooo dead," he whispered to himself just before the door to the room slid open.