Scott looked at him expectantly, Derek didn't really know where to start.
"So, umm... Hi." Scott tried to break the awkward silence that had fallen in the face of Derek's uncertainty.
"Hi." he still didn't know what to say.
"You're back."
"Yes... is that okay?" Scotts reaction verged on explosive
"Oh my gosh! of course it is Derek! Why wouldn't that be okay!? You're pack! Both of you, you'll always be pack, no matter what. Of course it's okay that you're back, it's more than okay. Its fucking fantastic." Scott was mildly affronted, but he softened when he saw Derek's face, full of confusion but also hope.
"But, I'm an omega, I broke the-" he paused, struggling with the wording. It had never been his choice to leave. "I'm not part of the pack anymore."
"No Derek, the Hunters used foxglove to dampen our pack ties and prevent us from sensing each other. Everyone in that building was an omega the minute they entered it. When you escaped there was no way for us to re-establish our pack bonds with you but you are still- always part of our pack." Scotts eyes flashed red and Derek felt the comfortable mantle of security, of pack settle over him. He let the energy wash around him, through him like a wave, let his wolf revel in the safety and power of belonging. After a moment he withdrew, there were more important things that needed talking about now.
"Stiles" Scott said, and it was a statement and a question.
"Stiles" Derek agreed.
"He's a... Spark?"
"Yeah."
"Which is..."
"A person who posses magic or magical ability"
"Which is different to being a supernatural creature."
"Yeah, we are magic. He can use magic."
"Right, and Transition sickness?" Scott squinted at him.
"Well." Transition sickness. Derek vaguely remembered his mother telling him about it when they studied Sparks and Emissaries. The Change, as it was (fairly jocularly) referred to by Wiccans, was a stage in the life of a human possessed of magic that signified the awakening of their ability(s). It was not something that was lightly disclosed to members of other magical groups, in the way that Anchors were not usually disclosed to other people - Scott's little band of heroes being the glaring exception. Apart from knowing the signs to look for Derek really didn't know anything about the process or what it would mean for Stiles and the Pack. He told Scott as much.
"So there's not really anything we can do, unless Deaton knows how to deal with it in which case we can still really only sit tight and wait."
"Pretty much."
"Does Deaton know how to deal with it?" Derek could practically see the cogs turning in Scotts head, working out what they would do if the answer was no. How they would help Stiles short term, who they could ask to help that might know how to ease the burden of the illness.
"Yes, I believe he does. To be an emissary he'd have to be a Spark, so he probably lived through a similar thing at some stage too."
"Oh thank god" Scott rubbed his eyes the way people do when they've been told good news after a period of fear and doubt. "Okay, okay. You said it wasn't supposed to happen for another twenty years, what did that mean?"
"Sparks aren't supposed to come into their powers when they're young. It's like... It's like not letting teenagers drink or drive." he mentally winced at the analogy. "Wiccans aren't supposed to become powerful until they can handle it. Most don't actually go through the Transition before their late thirties or forties."
"And those who do?"
"I have absolutely no idea."
"Right." Scott stared at the door into the exam room, inspecting what must be the very familiar grain of the wood. Derek took a moment to appreciate the ironically great circumstance, Deaton's clinic was possibly the most perfect place for the reunion to happen. Not only was Deaton a neutral force, the Emissary to the old Hale pack and now the unofficial one of the McCall pack (and yes, it was extremely weird to think of Scotts pack that way). It was good that it took place with just Scott and Derek, avoiding any fuss or posturing, not that he thought there would be any. Scott was a very unofficial Alpha, he lived by his principles and mostly ignored Wolf etiquette altogether. No, meeting only Scott was good because it meant he could now deal with the other pack members separately or in groups without needing to worry about his place. Scott had re-accepted him, and eventually, the rest of the pack would too.
The door in front of them opened and Deaton surveyed them. Before magnanimously motioning them into the room. They got up and soundlessly obeyed. It seemed the vet had lost none of his mystique and quiet command while Derek had been away. Such a shame.
Stiles was laid out on the table still. The chihuahua was in a box in the corner where Scott had deposited it on their way out. It whimpered a bit when Derek looked at it but his focus was elsewhere. Stiles had a little color in his cheeks, but it seemed a too tokenistic to be healthy. He was breathing deeply though which Derek recognized as a good sign, a sign that he was sleeping peacefully rather than trapped in a waking dream as he had often been while they traveled.
"Is he..?" Scott didn't finish the question he was looking at Stiles without the relief Derek had. He didn't know that this was better and it made Derek realize just how much worse it had been.
"He'll survive if thats what you mean" Deaton replied "We will have to wait and see to know anything beyond that"
Bloody cryptic vets.