12/27/2012
"We're going to get him back, you know," Stiles tried to encourage the solemn Erica. She and Stiles were the two first to be ready to get in the cars and head to the mines. They were both standing on the porch waiting for everyone else to come, and he'd been looking at her intently for some time now.
"Yeah…" she moaned to herself, while she looked at the horizon where the sun was starting to set. Stiles sighed. Unless she was ripping out the throats of the people that had taken Isaac to make her way to him, there was no way to cheer Erica up. Stiles gave up soon, as he heard footsteps approaching from inside.
"You guys ready?" Scott asked as he opened the door. Allison was behind him, followed by the other couple of the house, Lydia and Jackson bringing up the rear.
"Yeah, just waiting for everybody else," Stiles offered, as it was obvious Erica was about to be making any small talk anytime soon.
"Oh, here," Scott said, suddenly remembering something. "Derek asked me to give you these so you could get in. He said he was driving the two of you," Scott mumbled as he finally fished out Derek's car keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Stiles. He decided standing around was pointless, so he walked to the car and Erica followed him quietly.
As he opened the passenger's door, he asked Erica, "You want to ride shotgun?"
She simply shook her head and got in the back seat. If hadn't gotten used to that kind of behavior on her part up to that point, he might have snapped and demanded some kind of explanation. But, he knew better.
Either way, he had bigger fish to fry with trying to keep his lunch from escaping through violent projections.
He was so nervous he was feeling nauseous, and he refused to bring his seatbelt over his stomach unless it was absolutely necessary. Through the wing mirror on his side he could see Erica behind him, and through the drizzled windshield, he recognized movement at the porn of the house, indicating more members of the pack were getting ready to file out and into the vehicles.
It would be imperative for them to arrive efficiently, and at the same time. If one car strayed too far ahead, it would alert Marco's Betas of the Hales' arrival, destroying their advantage of surprise. But, Stiles wouldn't be the one driving, so he didn't think about that. He just focused on his stomach.
"Stiles," Erica suddenly spoke out of nowhere.
"Hm?" replied Stiles.
"Do you think we're going to live through tonight?" she asked. Stiles knew she was asking about Isaac more than about herself.
"I hope so," he said, and looked at her dead expression through the mirror once more. Derek had stepped off the porch and was approaching the Camaro in long strides. Everyone else followed and got into their cars.
Last night, Deaton had apparently come in his minivan. He got in the driver's seat with Ms. Morrell sitting next to him, and Scott, Allison, Lydia and Jackson got in the back. In Maria's Volvo, which she drove, was Andrew next to her, and Zachary, Peter and Michael were squashed in the back. Emma quickly jogged after Derek, having forgotten something and stayed a little longer in the house, and got in next to Erica just a few seconds after Derek got in his seat.
"We all ready?" Derek asked. Deaton's hand popped out his window a second later, giving a thumbs up, and so did Maria's. "Let's go, then."
The ride to the mines was torture. Either Derek's driving had gotten even more reckless, or Stiles' stomach was refusing to calm down.
"Okay," Derek said, while they were on the road. Stiles assumed that the occupants of all three cars would be able to hear Derek's voice over the engines and the tires. The Camaro was in the front, the minivan was second and the Volvo last. "There's not gonna be any time to waste to stop and get out. As soon as we get there, David is going to see us and set of the explosives. We're going to slam on the brakes and jump out of the vehicles. After that, you all know what you have to do."
The last comment was exceptionally reluctant.
"Yeah, and make sure you're not alone if that's possible," Derek mumbled after a few seconds.
Most of the car ride was heavily silent. Stiles was always aware of the abandoned miles that loomed in the distance over a heavily forested area of Beacon Hills. They were remote. A good choice for a hideout for a bunch of homeless werewolves. It was also eerily lifeless. They just looked empty, and… dead.
"Derek?" Stiles asked. Derek simply grunted and kept his eyes on the road. It would hardly be a five-minute drive if he kept speeding like this.
"Do you know if David's okay?" he followed up. Stiles hadn't actually been meaning to ask about David, he just wanted to have something to say to fill the quietness.
"I'm not sure. Technically, he's not part of our pack, so even if I could get a small idea of my Betas, David wouldn't be one of them. Either way, they won't be staying after the battle, so there's no point in them joining the Hales."
"What?" Erica asked from the backseat. "You guys are leaving?"
"Well… Yeah," said Emma, slightly guiltily. "We have packs waiting for us, back home, you know. They weren't too happy with letting us leave and fight for some other pack. My Alpha only let me leave 'cause I dropped Peter's name. They go way back."
And that was about it as far as their conversation went. Stiles just stared at the mines that came closer every second, but even then, he didn't speak. He knew Derek was trying extremely hard to look like he was calm, but Stiles knew he wasn't. He was about to have a panic attack, and his heartbeat was probably giving him away to the other occupants of the car. They were too preoccupied trying to figure out how to survive the next few minutes of their lives, but if they'd focused, they'd know he was borderline freaking out.
Soon enough, they were slowing down, but for this particular group, that just meant that they were driving at normal, human speed. Derek took a wildly sharp left turn, and the rest followed. Stiles regretted not putting on his seatbelt as he was sliding around in his seat. It was a short, narrow road, and halfway down it, Derek pulled his car to the side. It was a bumpy ride until he slowed to a stop, and the other cars parked behind him. They wasted no time in filing out.
"Stiles!" Lydia hissed as she sneaked up behind him. Everyone else was running around, trying to find their partners in a bustle of movement, and Stiles whipped his head around in a frenzied manner. He recognized his surroundings from the descriptions Michael and Peter had given him as far as planning went.
"We're up there," she said, and pointed to a small hill. The trees weren't even thinning at its top, which would give them sufficient cover as well as the night and the fog that was starting to form around them. There was no moonlight to give them away, not by sight at least – the clouds had already rolled in.
For a second, before he would be possibly seeing Derek for the last time, he turned and looked for his gaze. Their eyes met for a second, but Stiles already knew there was no time to waste. Everything that had to be said between them had already been made known. They simply gave each other a small, sharp nod, and they were both on their way.
Stiles' hairs were at attention as he weaved his way through the tress, closely followed by Lydia. As soon as they had entered the wooded area beside the street, the bustling from the rest of the Hales had decreased significantly. Things got ominously quiet as they got into position on top of the hill. Lydia expertly got her weapon ready, making sure the extra ammunition was easily accessible. Stiles noticed that Deaton and Morrell were at the bottom of the hill in front of them, the side where its face was much steeper. If they weren't careful, they could slide down. It was only five meters worth of a fall, but it could cost them their lives nevertheless.
Stiles saw Allison trying to take her position somewhere off to the left, deeper in the woods along with Emma. Their department was stealth. Lydia, and the three sorcerers of the group were responsible for ranged attacks. Everyone else was to simply charge, and use their strengths to their advantage. Stiles saw them all move up, and he begrudgingly realized that he would either have to wait for the enemy to come closer, or follow the other further up to get a clear shot. Between the fog and the thick growth, there was no way he would be able to shoot anything where he saw the werewolves had taken up their positions.
Stiles felt a newfound tension in his chest, and he knew that was probably Derek's. He could see an arm off in the distance being raised. Then it was lowered, but quickly replaced. This was repeated, but the third time was critical. Stiles took too long to realize that the arm was counting to three, and that it was probably his mate's.
At three, the explosives went off, and Stiles' world was rocked to its very core. The ground shook, lights flashed turning night into day, booming noises deafened him. Several large boulders detached from the face of the mountainside and rolled down, crushing anyone that might have been in their path. He was surprised how none of the people nearby had called the police.
"Shit," said Stiles.
"What?" Lydia whispered with a crazy expression. She was completely taken aback by Stiles' chatty mood at this point in the night.
"What if that didn't kill any of them? What if it just pissed them off?"
Lydia remained staring at him.
"Well, aren't you just a breath of fresh air…" she whined snidely. If Stiles had been planning to go on, he was cut off. A loud, ferocious howl sounded from somewhere of in the distance. Stiles gulped. They were coming for them.
"We can't actually do any damage from here," he pointed out.
She sighed. "I know, we need to get down there." They both slid down the face of the hill, managing to stay upright, and joined Morrell and Deaton.
"What are you doing? Your posts are up there!" she shrieked.
"We can't do anything from up there!" Lydia countered. There was no time for arguing. Rustling sounded from where the wolves were lined, indicating the arrival of their first opponents, about fifty meters ahead. All four of them got into their fighting stances.
There was a loud yelping and a blast of motion as the first wave of opponents hit the Hale pack. Stiles recognized Zachary's broad shoulders smashing one of the fours wolves that had charged, into a tree nearby. Those four were heavily outnumbered, and Zachary made short work of the first one. The other three were taken care of by the rest of the pack, who had used their unfair advantage in numbers as much as possible. There were no risks to be taken now, and Marco had just made a very stupid mistake the Hales would be unbelievably naive to let slip by. Now, there were seventeen of the Hales, and fourteen of their enemies.
The nine wolves of the front line advanced, and the four attackers behind followed them. Stiles glanced to his side to find Allison and Emma, but they had disappeared.
Please don't get killed, Stiles thought. He felt much safer being in the presence of the two experienced adults.
Suddenly, the front line stopped, but Stiles and the other three kept going until they met them. It was obvious they could do nothing with all the trees blocking their line of sight.
As soon as he had approached her, Erica whipped her head around to meet Stiles' gaze. If her serial killer looked crazy and scary before, now that she was wolfed out, it was enough to make Stiles run towards the other direction.
"Stiles, what are you doing up here? You're gonna get yourself killed!" she grunted.
"Don't worry about us," Stiles reassured her.
That was when all the wolves turned their heads towards the mountainside.
There were footsteps, but they weren't running. They weren't charging to defend their lair. They were calm, and purposeful.
Soon enough, there were multiple figures discernible in the mist, and the approached quickly. Five werewolves, already shifted, were getting closer and closer by the minute.
What the hell? Why are they walking like they're strolling in the park? Stiles thought.
He was about to panic when their faces cleared up. Marco was in the middle, and Janice was right next to him. Apparently, she was his right hand now. A dozen other wolves were fanned out and following him. Marco was bringing out his whole pack, exposing them to the fangs and claws and magic and bullets of the Hales. That was entirely reckless.
Only, he had a defense.
As he walked, he dragged behind him Isaac, whose hands were tied behind his back, whose mouth was shut with a rag tied tightly around his head and whose face and clothes were covered in blood. Marco clutched him by the hair, and Isaac stumbled behind him clumsily.
"Isaac!" screamed Erica, at the top of her lungs. She broke out from the line and charged like a wild animal.
"No!" Scott yelled, but it was too late. Marco snapped the fingers of his free hand, and two of his Betas sprang forward, one of them being Janice. Erica primitively destroyed the throat of the first wolf in one slash, and he dropped to the ground in a lifeless heap. Janice, however, was much more careful. She saw that Erica was blinded with rage, and used logic to faint right, and quickly change course and go left. As she did, she let an arm loose, carving Erica's abdomen open effortlessly.
She dropped to the ground, dead.
All of the Hale wolves dropped on all fours and howled for their fallen ally. Stiles just stared. He was barely paying attention to Isaac, who had been fuelled with enough anger to shift, rip the ropes apart and kick away from Marco to manage and join his pack once more. David had also come in from somewhere off to the side.
"Erica!" Stiles called. He half-expected a response, but he wasn't getting one. The tears came to him, and he hadn't even noticed them. A moment after, the werewolves of both sides charged wildly at each other. Animals shrieked, shouted and slashed in the name of their honor, and Stiles tried to do whatever he could to help avenge Erica's death.
Conjuring up a fireball, he threw it up into the trees, and a flaming branch fell on top of a blond man. He screamed in pain, and Andrew took advantage of that moment of weakness to slash his throat. Marco and Derek chose that moment to shift into their Alpha forms; two big, black wolves simply circling each other while their two packs simply went berserk behind them.
"Stiles!" Lydia shrieked at one point, and Stiles jumped forward out of instinct. A gunshot rung out and a loud thud followed. A werewolf had jumped down from the top of the hill, and there blue smoke emerging from his arm now, where Lydia's wolfsbane bullet had hit home. His arm was raised nonetheless, about to strike down on a defenseless Stiles who was still face down on the ground.
Without blinking, Morrell and Deaton let loose a frenzy of lightning, frying a clean hole through his chest. He dropped like a fly.
"What the hell was that? There shouldn't be any more of them!" Lydia squeaked.
"Obviously, we've been lied to," Deaton concluded. "We need to stick together," he went on as another pair of Marco's Betas emerges from behind some trees. As they ran on all fours towards the small group, Stiles scrambled up off his feet. Before any of them could shoot anything at the approaching target, a whistling noise pierced the air. One of the wolves dropped to the ground with an arrow through his head, and the other was soon missing a head after Emma had just dropped from the skies to the rescue. Emma was soon gone, and Allison hadn't even appeared.
"They're good," Morrell remarked inappropriately.
"We can't stay under this hill, more Betas could jump on us," Lydia observed.
"Yes, we need to move," confirmed Deaton. The group of four moved deeper into the forest, where the shrubbery would provide better hiding. The hands-on battle had moved further towards the mines, and it was barely audible now, save the occasional scream or howl. Stiles realized he had not seen the beginning of Derek's battle with Marco. He had no idea how his mate was about to fare.
Suddenly, there was running.
Without giving it a second thought, Stiles pulled some fire out of thin air, spun around and willed it to fly off. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was enough to fuel fireballs twice the size he had manages to create during any training session, and at half the time.
His attack hit one of the advancing wolves, who caught fire and crashed to the ground, rolling along. Lydia let a bullet loose into his skull, quickening his death. Then, two female wolves came from the other direction, and Morrell fried the one on the right with her lightning once more. The second, the one Deaton had taken care of, simply stopped dead in her tracks when he had lifted his hand at her. She appeared as if she were choking, and Deaton's fingers slowly closed until they formed a fist. Then, he yanked his hand back and the tortured wolf dropped forward with blood spurting from her mouth that hung lifelessly open.
Stiles decided to ignore that absolutely merciless murder as the group moved toward the general direction of the mines, where they hoped they would be able to contribute to the battle and find no more casualties on their part.
Eventually, they ran into some seven werewolves in a circle, in the middle of which were Maria and her son, Andrew.
The group rushed to the aid of the pair, but their opponents had already lunged at them. Fire, lighting, claws and bullets brought Marco's Betas to the ground, leaving behind only two after only just one wave's worth of an attack. But the harm had already been done.
Andrew screamed in fury and buried his claws in the faces on the remaining Betas. Shoving them to the ground, he clenched and unclenched his fingers, using his claws which were buried deep inside their skulls to churn around the contents and cause as much of an agonizing death as possible. They were both flat on their backs, unmoving. As quickly as he had shoved them in, Andrew removed his claws from their lifeless heads and kneeled over the body of his mother, weeping his tears into her slashed throat.
He held her tight in his arms and howled his agony away, but to no avail. There was nothing to be done now.
"It's okay," he whimpered to her. "It's okay. You're going to be okay," he sobbed harder until words couldn't be made out and he gave up trying to speak.
"How touching," a female voice said. All the Hales, except for Andrew, turned around to see Janice and four Betas. "His mommy is dead."
"If it isn't the bitch," Morrell remarked coolly. Under other circumstances, Stiles would have appreciated her choice of words. Janice clicked her tongue.
"Now, that's not very nice, is it boys?" Janice said, her words turning from a girly voice to a animal growl as she and the four men shifted.
"Get them," Janice simply instructed. The men jumped forward, and Morrell's lighting brought down one of them, while one of Lydia's bullets brought one down as well. Whatever spell Deaton had been trying to use, failed and the Beta was soon on top of him, pinning him to the ground. He opened his mouth to rip Deaton to shreds, but blue smoke billowed from his temples where Lydia shot him. An instant before the last Beta reached Stiles, Morrell brought him down with her trick.
Janice opened her mouth as wide as it would go and screamed like a rabid dog. There was running behind her, but she paid no mind. Instead, she threw her body at Stiles, and before he could conjure anything up, she had him pinned by the throat to a tree.
"Nighty-night," she said snidely, and went to slash his throat. Being so close to death, Stiles' hands reacted on their own, producing a fireball the size of a soccer ball and slamming it into her stomach. Her breath was knocked out of her as her clothes caught fire and she flew backwards through the air. Landing on the ground, she tumbled backwards until she came to a stop at Isaac's feet, who had been following her scent.
He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her off the ground, drawing a scream of agony from her.
"This is for Erica," he said, and bit down hard on her throat. He ripped off half of it and spit it out in disgust, covering his face and clothes with her blood in the process. He proceeded to discard her rag of a now dead body and let it burn away.
"Isaac, where are the others? Are they holding up their own?" Deaton asked, unfazed by the gore. Isaac simply nodded towards the direction of the mines, and remained frozen where he was, looking at Janice's body burn.
The four decided to leave Isaac and Andrew behind, and head for the mines. They ran to the rescue of whoever might need their help, until they saw the two Alphas struggling with each other in a big ball of black fur. There was growling and howling and barking, and the Betas' battlefield was not too far off. Stiles would have been able to make out faces if it hadn't started raining.
"Stiles, come on, there's nothing you can do here! You're going to get yourself killed!" Morrell urged him and grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along to where all the Betas were. Stiles wasn't paying attention to walking, he was looking at the two Alphas.
They were almost identical, and Stiles tried to make out which one was Derek. Trying to maybe pick up on any emotions, or some kind of aura, or something, he found that it was nearly impossible. Then, he realized that he had stopped walking.
He looked behind him to see where Lydia, Deaton and Morrell had gone, only to see them running off. He almost ran after them. Almost.
He turned back around, and remained mesmerized by the two magnificent creatures battling each other. One of them, he wanted dead. The other, he wanted to be with for the rest of his days. And he couldn't even tell them apart. At one point, the two giant wolves fell apart and growled at each other. Their fur was bloody and their fangs were showing, and one of them had his back to Stiles. Then one that was facing him glanced at him for a second with those big red eyes, and Stiles could recognize them anywhere.
Derek was the one facing him, and Stiles could get a clear shot at Marco. He tried conjuring up a fireball, but the rain was too heavy. Derek glanced at Stiles again, and for a moment considered urging him to run away. But, that moment was all Marco needed. He lunged at Derek and the two wolves rolled away.
"Derek!" Stiles screamed, and ran after them. He saw that they had stopped, and one of them was on top of the other. From the eyes, he realized that Derek was beneath Marco, facedown. Then, keeping Derek pinned to the ground, Marco bent over and bit Derek's shoulder, hard.
Derek howled in pain through the night, and Stiles needed no more encouragement. The fire that flew from his hands hit Marco immediately, and the rain that stood in its way was turned to steam instantly. Marco fell flat on his back, but the rain quickly drenched out the flames. However, before the big Alpha managed to recover, Derek winced through the pain of his wound and jumped over him. Without wasting a moment, he bit Marco's throat and ripped it to pieces, finally killing him.
Derek spat out the piece of charred, wet and bloody wolf flesh and rolled over, collapsing on his back next to Marco's body. His disguise as a wolf faded away, and he was soon, once more, in his human form. As he lied naked on the damp leaves, Stiles could really see the extent of Marco's damage on his body.
The most recent bite left deep, bloody gashes from his shoulder to his stomach, causing him to bleed excessively and whimper in pain.
"Derek, no!" Stiles begged and ran to his side. He fell down next to his mate and realized that even the wolfish healing process wouldn't be enough to save him. Stiles' tears mixed with the rain.
"Sti—Stiles," grunted Derek. Speaking caused tremendous anguish.
"Derek, stay here. Deaton is going to fix you, don't worry," he whimpered through his sobs.
"I love—you."
"Derek, don't say that you're not dying," he cried. He sobbed for a few seconds and looked at Derek's blank expression. "You're not dying!" he screamed until his throat burned, as if that would be enough to save him.
"T—Tell Peter I love him—too."
"Derek, stop! I said you're not dying! You're going to be all right!" Stiles could barely see anything through his tears, until he could feel his heart threaten to beat out of his chest. That's when he saw a light, that's when he felt his hands move of their own coalition.
A tendril of yellow light emerged from his fingertips and whooshed around Derek's wounds, effortlessly slipping in and out of flesh, disobeying the laws of matter. Slowly, the flesh healed, and the blood the rain kept washing away stopped being replaced. It was about half a minute when all the gashes had been removed from his skin, and Stiles actually believed himself when he said that Derek was going to be okay.
"Derek? Derek, wake up!" he instructed and grabbed Derek's face in his hands. He slapped him a few times, but nothing.
"No, no, no, no, Derek!" he screamed again, and he stood up. He pressed his hands to his temples as he went through the torture of looking at Derek's body. He turned away and sobbed silently, until he saw Marco's body, still in its Alpha form.
Stiles' face twisted in agony and he threw a fireball at it.
"You killed him!"
He threw another one, and the survivors slowly started returning form their battle, approaching the commotion.
"You killed Derek!"
Stiles' vocal chords were straining, so he gave up yelling and doing magic, and resorted to some more primitive, satisfying methods. Falling on all fours, he started punching Marco in the ribs, where his fur still burned. Stiles was also burning his knuckles, but that was the least of his worries.
"Stiles!" Scott screamed, and grabbed Stiles off of Marco's body. He wrapped his hands around Stiles' body and arms, and held him close as he flailed about desperately wanting to resume his assault. The rest of the pack arrived as well, and they stayed behind watching Stiles slowly calm down and drop to his knees besides Derek's dead body and calm down until his furious screaming was reduced to pathetic, silent sobs. Scott was kneeling beside his friend.
Allison clutched her mouth and shut her eyes tight as her tears mingled with raindrops. Her father put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He had arrived with some other hunters to the rescue of the pack: Allison had called him. Jackson held Lydia, Peter stood beside them and stared in disbelief. Morrell and Deaton looked to the ground. Isaac came up from the back, holding Erica's corpse, and Andrew followed, holding his mother's body. Zachary, David, Michael and Emma stood in a row, and each showed different degrees of shock.
Stiles looked up another time at Derek, but he wasn't even breathing. He couldn't even feel any emotions coming off him.
"Damn it, Derek, get up!" he yelled and cast a healing spell for as long as he could. Nothing happened.
"Derek, wake up!" He cast it once more. After nothing happened again, he looked at Deaton desperately.
"Help me!" Deaton didn't respond. Stiles ignored his implication of the futility of trying, and he cast the spell one last time.
This time, he put his entire being into it. There was everything in there: all the memories he'd ever had of Derek, all the times he'd pushed him into a wall, all the times he'd threatened to kill him, all the times Stiles actually feared that Derek would kill him. Every time that Derek kissed him, every single time that Derek made love to him, and the fact that this sour bitch of a wolf managed to get Stiles to go from hate to love in one day.
Derek coughed.
"Derek?" Scott called softly. Everyone's eyes widened by at least twice their normal size.
"Derek," Stiles said, more urgently, and shuffled closer to his body. Derek coughed once more and shut his eyes tight as he groaned.
"Say something!" commanded Stiles. Derek took a few deep breaths before actually forming words.
"Did we win?" he asked and exhaled heavily, keeping his eyes closed. Everyone jumped and ran to Derek. They were all standing and crouching and kneeling near their Alpha, smiling from ear to ear, now that the dark moment of uncertainty had gone by.
"Yeah, we won," chuckled Stiles.