Just to let you know, I'm slowly moving this and my other two fics over to archive of our own, now that I have lovingly been given an invite! So check them out there (username is countmeawake) :)
Derek put his foot down on the accelerator. Only a few more miles to go and then he'd be there, he'd save Stiles and kill whoever had kidnapped him and then all would be okay again. He'd already come to the conclusion that Stiles wouldn't ever forgive him. He'd never forgive himself for putting Stiles through such a thing. Whatever these wolves wanted, they were using Stiles to get to him and boy was it working. They were out of town now, so Derek put his foot down, not caring that Scott was holding on to the dash board out of terror in the passenger seat. Scott's words were a blur in his mind. He had one destination and one destination only. His body was only ready for one thing, and that was to see Stiles again. Alive.
He'd put the photo of Stiles' mom safely back in Stiles' wallet and that, along with his other belongings were in the back seat next to Jackson, who was still ranting about staying human. His words were a blur too, much like Scott's as Derek sped on. He was nearly there; he could almost taste Stiles' scent on his tongue.
I'll be there soon Stiles, hold on.
His stomach dropped and pain shot through him, filling his eyes with tears and causing Derek to slam on the brakes. He knew what that was. He'd felt it once before, the night Stiles was in the crash. The night Stiles was hurt. The familiar feelings of worry and dread crashed through his body like waves as he came to terms with what was happening. Scott's shouts of "what the hell was that?!" were distant now as Derek knew only one thing. Stiles was alive, but he was seriously hurt. He pushed his foot down once more on the accelerator and his mind focussed on only one thing. Stiles. Saving Stiles.
Punches had been thrown, and flesh had been slashed. Stiles was a bloody mess on the floor, his left eye swollen shut by werewolf #1's punches, his lip cut open by the very same fist. His torso was the worst. After not speaking at all of Derek's whereabouts, or about how many were in the pack, a knife was brought out in the hope that Stiles would speak. Seven slashes to the chest later, his shirt and blazer completely torn to pieces, Stiles was ready to die. He was exhausted. He'd convinced himself he wasn't going to see Derek again. Convinced himself he wouldn't see Scott's goofy face, or Erica's long blonde hair, or Isaac's dazzling smile. But he'd smiled throughout the torment, knowing that he'd won. He'd secretly won. He'd be dying for the pack, dying for his friends and his family. The last heroic thing he'd be doing.
He was a pretty good Batman after all.
Lydia had woken up sometime throughout the torture. He faintly remembered hearing her cry his name over and over, telling the werewolf to stop scratching and punching, stabbing and slashing at Stiles' broken body. He tried to fight back at first, he really did. But after a while he just lay there and took each punch, knowing each cut to the chest was a cut closer to his death, but also a cut closer to his friends' safety. He knew the pack would get there in time, Derek knew his scent like the back of his hand. He knew Lydia would get out okay, and that she'd be safe with Jackson and the rest of the pack. He was actually glad that it was him getting the punches and not Lydia. He didn't feel quite so useless anymore.
"I'm going to kill you now, I hope that's okay," werewolf #1 whispered into Stiles' ear, and Stiles laughed in his face.
"Considering you asked so nicely," he managed to croak, spitting out blood onto the old wood floor that was already covered with it.
Well, there it was. Stiles had finally accepted he was going to die. A wave of tranquillity washed over him, making each limb go numb one by one, breaking over his body as he felt pain no more. His vision blurred from black to normal, to black once again as everything went out of focus. He felt his body go under, give up from the fight yet he carried on. He wanted to carry on until the very end. Maybe he could hold out so he could see Derek's face once more. Just one more time, that's all he wanted.
He hoped his dad would be okay. He hoped Scott would keep him company after his death. He wished he could explain to his dad why he was giving up his life to save his pack, why he was being such a martyr for the cause. He wished he could just hug his dad once more and tell him that everything was going to be okay, he'd manage without Stiles.
But most of all he wanted to tell Derek to move on. He wanted to tell Derek that he would find another mate, and that soon he would be a distant memory in the wolf's mind. Blood was gushing from his wounds, he could feel that. His mind was going fuzzy from the blood loss.
He saw the snarl on werewolf #1's face as he lifted up his fist for the last time and brought it down on Stiles' head.
His last thoughts were of his dad's eyes, so soft yet wrinkled around the edges from fatigue and age, and that dazzling smile of Derek's that made him so happy inside. He'd given up. But at least he'd given up happy.
Derek kicked down the door just in time to see werewolf #1 deliver the final blow. He saw the wolf's hand curl into a fist and bring itself down on Stiles' head, who did nothing in return but slump into a heap. There was blood everywhere, all over Stiles' chest and legs, all over the floor. Stiles was barely recognizable as his face was so swollen.
Derek wanted to kill everything in sight. He was angry at the wolf, himself, even Stiles. He choked back a sob as he knew what Stiles had done. He knew that Stiles had accepted the fact that his life was over in return for the pack's safety. He suddenly felt empty and numb. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Stiles' limp body. He didn't care that Lydia was screaming, or that Allison was crying. He didn't care that Jackson was running over to Lydia, or that the wolves were transforming in order to fight the omega. He didn't care that five more omegas appeared from nowhere, he didn't care, he didn't care, he didn't care. All that was on his mind was Stiles. The limp, lifeless body at the end of the room. The boy that had given up to save his pack, his family.
"Derek!" He heard a screech from Erica who had been bitten in the side by one of the omega wolves, and that made him snap into action. He looked around to see each of his pack fighting a different omega. Punches were being thrown and screams were being heard, all the while Jackson was in the corner trying to keep Lydia awake, taking off his shirt to stem the flow of blood on her forehead. There were five omega werewolves now, one fighting the Argents, and the other four fighting Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Scott. The main werewolf shot round from Stiles' body to face the rest of the wolves, and Derek gasped as he realized who it was. He recognized the tall man, his short dark hair tousled from fighting. "Luthor?!" He shouted, to which the rest of the pack raised their eyebrows in confusion.
"Congratulations, you have eyes."
"What the fuck are you doing?" Derek snarled and he could feel his eyes glow red and his claws sharpen. He could feel the anger in him turning into strength as he prepared to lunge at his former friend.
"Let's just say your family inspired me to become what I am today. Unfortunately, that inspiration ended when your sister killed my mate." Luthor said angrily, his eyes now glowing bright amber.
"Your mate?" Derek asked, his claws digging in to his palms as he clenched his fists tighter. He'd hear what the wolf had to say, and then he'd kill him. There was his plan.
"Jesus Christ Derek, you were born werewolf! I am not going through this again I've already been through it with this one over here," he said, reaching his foot back so he kicked the teenage boy behind him. Derek snarled. "And to think it took me nearly a year to figure out that it was your sister that killed Annie! I should have known really, they'd always had it in for each other. Laura obviously got too jealous that I had picked Annie and she killed her. A bitch-fight turned sour. What can I say? I'm a catch. I'm sure she didn't mean to kill her, but she didn't exactly show remorse did she? And of course she just happened to kill an alpha werewolf. Our alpha werewolf," he paused and gestured to the wolves fighting, looking around at the scene that was taking place, smiling at the bloodshed which angered Derek right to his very core. "Then she had to go and get herself killed...so what could I do? But it seems like I'm now even, your family has taken something from me, so...I've taken something from you. I'm surprised that you didn't turn this one over here." He reached behind to give Stiles another little nudge and Derek growled again, preparing to attack.
Derek felt his eyes burn with fire as they turned red once again as he sprinted forward towards the wolf he used to call his friend. This was his fight. He thought of Stiles and how much he loved his hair slightly longer. He thought of his fingers brushing his cheek in bed, he thought of the kissing that neck of his, and sucking on that spot he desired the most on Stiles' neck. These thoughts channelled into anger as he landed on top of Luthor, punching him over and over. He could hear screams of Erica and Allison, and finally a triumphant "Yes!" From Chris Argent, who had clearly killed one of the omegas. Derek didn't care. He didn't care about anything other than killing the person who had killed his mate.
It made so much sense now. The burning feeling, the feeling of being spiritually held together by a rope of sorts. The longing feeling if they had been away from each other for too long. Then the burning had stopped after they accepted their feelings for each other and were together once and for all. Derek's body had chosen Stiles as a mate, and Stiles had accepted. Stiles had wanted him.
The room was dark, lit only by a lamp in the corner near Stiles, the light bouncing off the still teenagers face, accentuating his bruises and sending shots of pain and longing and anger throughout Derek's body as he looked at him. The window had been shattered by a stray arrow from Allison's bow in the fight, so the room was now colder than ever. But of course Derek couldn't feel that. He couldn't feel anything. He was numb. Each punch and scratch from the wolf he was fighting felt of nothing, his entire focus was on killing the wolf that had taken away Derek's final chance of happiness.
He heard another yell of triumph, this time from Erica as she had overpowered her omega and killed him, snapping his neck as he hit the floor at an awkward angle. The Argents and Erica were now helping Scott, Isaac and Boyd who were yet to kill theirs. Lydia was now unconscious as Jackson lay on the floor, yelling at her to wake up and rocking her back and forth as if he were insane. Derek couldn't even bear to look at Stiles anymore.
Despite being an alpha, this former beta, this omega was winning. He could feel scratches on his chest, the blood seeping through his tank top. He could feel his bones ache, and his head feel like it was about to explode. He could feel every punch to the face, each one more painful than the last. He fought back, he fought back as hard as he could, but he had to face the fact he was losing.
A distant voice of "GET STILES!" was heard, and Derek recognized the voice, faint in his mind as being Scott.
Yes, get Stiles. Get him out of here so I don't have to see his body anymore. Don't let anyone else hurt him, touch his body.
Another blow to the head and his vision became blurry, he felt Luthor bite, hard into his shoulder as he cried out in pain.
Just get Stiles out of here.
He was moving. He could feel himself curl his fist into a ball. He was in a lot of pain, but at least he was moving.
"GET STILES!" He heard Scott say, and suddenly he felt three pairs of hands on him. He opened his eyes, his vision all but a blur but he still recognized the outlines. Scott was by his head, Erica by his feet and Isaac by his chest. His hands became free once more as he heard the chink of metal being broken and the cuffs being thrown across the room. He could see Erica's face, scrunched up in pain and covered in tears. His eyes travelled down to his chest to see Isaac's veins turn a weird black colour and flinch slightly. What were they doing? Were they killing him even more? Sending him to his death faster? Why was Scott in on this?
Then suddenly his mind was clear. Pain from his chest and his legs was beginning to fade slightly. His headache was going. That familiar wave of tranquillity washed over him once more, but he knew what it was for this time. The wolves were getting rid of some of his pain; they were trying to heal him. He wanted to shout at them, tell them to stop, hell he wasn't even sure why they were here. How long had it been since he had passed out? He felt awful. He wanted to tell them to stop. This was his pain and his pain only; he didn't want the others to feel what he felt.
"Fucking hell Stiles, you took a few blows," Scott whispered by Stiles' ear. He smiled and, even though it pained him, it pleased him too that Scott could still crack a joke in a time like this.
But nothing, nothing had prepared him for when he looked over into the middle of the room. He could see Jackson holding Lydia out of the corner of his eye. He could see the Argents and Boyd fight three wolves, and Stiles almost revelled in the fact that they looked like they were winning. But when he looked at the two figures standing in the centre of the room, he could see who was winning that fight. And it wasn't Derek.
Stiles wanted to scream. He wanted to shout at Derek for going on some sort of suicide mission. He wanted to shout at Derek to tell him that he wasn't dead, look! He was still alive. He wanted to shout at Derek to stop and run away, to not get hurt anymore because it was hurting him in the process. Physical pain had absolutely nothing on mental pain, and right now Stiles was suffering from both. He felt strong enough to shuffle and move his legs, standing up and thanking Scott silently for holding him when he wobbled.
"Derek!" He called out with all of his might, his lungs burning from the ache. The choked sound that erupted from Stiles' body was not enough to stop the fighting going on in the back, but it was enough to stop werewolf #1 from slowly killing Derek.
"It's alive!" Luthor called out and his hands flew up into the air as if to praise God, "Derek look, it lives!"
Derek's growl was barely audible as he moved along the floor. He was down, but he definitely was not out. Stiles could see that. He could also see the knife on the floor by the window, but Stiles knew that one move of even a finger and Luthor would snap his neck. Stiles could tell that this wolf had been trained by an alpha. The way he stood, proud of himself in the centre of the room.
Suddenly the omega wolves weren't fighting at the back any more. Stiles was knocked to one side and the room span, confusing his thoughts and causing him pain. What was happening? He could hear Scott cry out in pain, he could see Allison on the floor with an arrow sticking out her leg, and he could see Chris Argent violently bring down a sword on an unconscious werewolf. Scott, Erica and Isaac were no longer behind him; they were fighting once more, fighting for their lives and their pack's safety. He had to do the same. Stiles knew what he had to do. He looked over at Derek, who's eyes were full of disbelief and astonishment that actually, no Stiles wasn't dead, he just wasn't the most alive person in the world at that point.
"We can't have this, can we? We can't have you alive, not when my mate is dead. That wasn't part of the plan."
Stiles could feel the chill on his chest from where his shirt had torn and left gaping gaps for the wind to rush over, contrasted with the warmth of the blood trailing down his chest from the still open wounds. He looked down and it reminded him of when he watched the waiter pour the blood-red liquid into the glass, staining each side as each droplet continued to fall from the top of the glass even after it had finished being poured. That seemed like so long ago.
Stiles had been given a second chance. He wasn't going to die this time. He was going to live, and Derek was going to live. He was going to be able to kiss him once more, and run his hands over his body as they both lay on the sofa watching movies.
He was going to be able to hug his dad once more and eat takeaway when his dad couldn't be bothered to cook. He was going to be able to goof around with Scott and talk about gossip with Lydia.
Luthor cocked his head to the side, his eyes wide and insane. He crouched, his face shifting into wolf form as he sprang towards Stiles, who stood completely still. His eyes however shifted over to Derek, who reached out for the knife he'd managed to move over to, throwing it to Stiles who had caught it with his right hand. Before Luthor could land his jump Stiles had plunged the knife straight into the wolf's chest, stopping him dead in his tracks as his feet landed to the floor. Stiles didn't let go of the knife until he saw specks of blood appear at the sides of Luthor's mouth as he coughed, the light go out in his eyes as his legs gave way and he dropped to the floor at an awkward angle, never moving again.
Nobody spoke. Everybody stopped fighting to notice the dead body, the body that had caused all of this pain and heartache. The body that had scared the lives out of the pack for the past month. The body that was now dead on the floor. The body that Stiles had killed.
The omega wolves surrendered and ran as fast as they could out of the house. No one ever saw them again; they were obviously there under Luthor's orders.
Everything seemed still. Stiles dropped the knife which made a deafening clattering sound. He felt numb again; his legs gave out from underneath him as his head exploded in pain.
But he never hit the floor. He felt himself fall into those all-too familiar arms which clung to him tightly.
"Stiles? Stiles don't you dare fucking leave me," he heard, and he opened his eyes to look up. He had hoped to live, but his body clearly wasn't having any of it. It was just too exhausted from all the trauma. It needed sleep, and Stiles was willing to grant its wish. He'd seen Derek's face one last time.
He tried to muster up some words to tell the wolf, to tell his mate that everything was going to be okay. He wanted these arms to be around him always and forever, for no other reasons but his own selfish need. He wanted Derek all to himself; Derek was his mate, his guard wolf. They were each others.
He felt himself being lifted up and the room span around him. He wanted to throw up and black out at the same time. He had no muscle control anymore, his thoughts were alive but his body was limp. "Stiles stay with me I swear to God..."
"Never..." Stiles managed to choke out, his own selfish want getting the better of him as he looked up to Derek's face which sent a wash of peacefulness throughout his body, starting from the top of his head right down to his toes, "never...let me..."
"I'll never let you go," Derek said, shaking his head frantically and Stiles could feel the wolf clutch him tighter to his chest as Stiles finally gave into the darkness.
