"Derek, you have to use something besides anger, today," Scott insists. "You've wasted two days since Deaton suggested you try something else and we—"
"Wasted?" Derek repeats incredulously. "Wasted?"
"Yes!" Jackson agrees. "We're exactly where we were before. It's like beating our heads against the fucking wall. It doesn't make any sense. You haven't even tried-"
"I've been killing myself trying to figure this out!" Derek insists.
"Nobody's saying you're not trying, dude. We're all pissed and exhausted and frustrated as hell. That's why we've got to start changing it up instead of running in circles. We need something different," Isaac implores.
"If the anger doesn't work, nothing's going to work."
I don't have anything else to pull from. Nothing that's strong enough. Don't you idiots get that?
"Would you just fucking try?" Jackson pushes, his annoyed bitchface out in full force. "Because I have things to do besides serve as a living pincushion for this foray down memory lane."
"You have things to do?" Derek demands, closing the distance between them and scowling down at Jackson. "You're tired of this?You want to be done?"
"Derek, come on," Scott says, hand on Derek's shoulder trying to pull him away. "He didn't mean it like that. Chill out."
"I'm so sorry this is an inconvenience to you, Jackson," Derek continues scathingly. "I'm so sorry you feel victimized on behalf of your packmate who has enough trauma in his head to employ every shrink from here to the Atlantic! How could I ever do this toyou? What was I thinking?
Oh wait! Maybe I was thinking that getting Stiles his fucking life back is more important than our comfort and convenience! MaybeI was thinking that Isaac's spent the past three nights sleeping in the recliner at my place so he can wake Stiles up from nightmares that may never go away! Maybe I was thinking about how Stiles has to fucking maul himself to control the shift because he doesn't have enough decent memories to find an anchor and the full moon is in six days! Maybe every fucking thing I've done in the past week has been focused on helping him and if you get a little frustrated along the way at being a 'pincushion', you're just going to have to suck it the hell up like the rest of us."
"Gee, Derek, can't imagine why he'd find you scary," Jackson retorts, voice carefully unaffected.
Derek pushes him hard and pins him against the wall, gripping at his shirt collar. "Shut the hell up, Jackson," Derek orders, voice low and deadly.
"Derek, stop it! This isn't helping anything," Scott insists, pulling at Derek's arm.
"If you don't like the way I'm doing this, you can leave," Derek tells Jackson. "Otherwise, let me know when you three are healed up for the next round."
He shoves Jackson back against the wall again before releasing his collar and storming out the back.
Isaac follows Derek to finds him punching the shit out of the back wall of the clinic. After five or six solid connections that have to be breaking fingers, Derek lets out a growl of frustration and turns to lean wearily back against the brick, sinking to sitting with his head in his hands.
Ah, fuck, Derek. Why can't you ever just admit when shit's getting to you? Why's it always got to be an explosion like this?
Isaac moves to sit next to him.
"Feel better?" he asks.
"Fuck off, Isaac," Derek mutters.
"Guess not then."
"Anger is the strongest emotion I have," Derek tells him, a phrase he's been repeating through the last two days of infuriatingly unsuccessful memory work.
"I know."
It's practically radiating off you to one degree or another 99% of the time.
"If anger doesn't work, nothing will."
"You heard Deaton. It'll work, but it's not going to get as precise as you need it to be."
"I'll make the anger work."
No, you won't. You've got to try something else.
"Your hands are broken," Isaac says, nodding to Derek's bruised and bleeding knuckles.
"Better than Jackson's face," Derek grumbles in reply.
"True."
"He's right," Derek admits dejectedly. "No wonder Stiles is fucking terrified of me."
Isaac hates seeing Derek in moments like this. After the anger vents itself so intensely, there's not much left but the guilt or self-loathing or whatever other self-deprecating emotion that was driving the anger in the first place.
"You're doing the best you can. It's not your fault. This version of Stiles was always going to be scared of you. You're his Alpha."
"That's not an excuse."
"Here," Isaac says, placing his hands gingerly over Derek's to pull some of the pain and change the topic for at least a moment or two.
"You don't need to—"
"The better you feel the faster you heal," Isaac reminds him. "Your words, not mine."
Derek rolls his eyes but doesn't pull his hands away. They sit in silence a few minutes more. Isaac's trying to read something from Derek's face to gauge how bad this downward spiral might get, but Derek's keeping it carefully void of anything but anger as he glowers at the pavement.
"Okay, so anger's your strongest," Isaac concedes, "but what's second strongest? There's got to be something else."
"There's really not."
"Dude, come on, you're not that pathetic," Isaac teases.
Derek doesn't reply, but when his eyes meet Isaac's the unspoken Yes I am fucking shatters his heart. Isaac forgets too often that Derek's twenty-two with just as much emotional baggage—hell, more—weighing on him as the rest of them. It's easy to look past it, especially when Derek's always trying to bury it, but it's definitely still there.
"Derek, no," Isaac protests. "Don't look at me like that. There's not just anger in you. You've got plenty of other options."
"Yeah, sure," Derek scoffs.
"What was it before it was anger? There was something else before that; there had to be."
I've seen the old memories. I've seen what you used to be like, and it's nothing near the darkness in you now.
Derek's quiet so long Isaac's not sure he'll get a reply; he can't say he'd be surprised. It's kind of a personal question, and Derek's never been one to do the whole sharing and caring thing. The memories he's shared in the past several days have taught Isaac way more about Derek than the past eight months of knowing him.
"My family," Derek says finally.
Really should've seen that coming from a mile away.
"So what about the pack then?" Isaac asks.
"This pack isn't a family," Derek replies bitterly.
The words hurt more than they should, but Isaac tries not to show it. He'd be pissed at him for saying shit like that if Derek didn't look so fucking dejected right now.
"It's my family," Isaac counters with a shrug. "In case you forgot, you guys are pretty much the only thing I've got."
Derek looks back to him guiltily. "Isaac, I didn't mean—"
"Look, I know we all fight. We all suck at communication. We can annoy the piss out of one another. We butt heads and fight. We're dysfunctional as hell on several different levels, right down to the kooky uncle. I get that we're not even remotely perfect, but we don't have to be the Waltons to be a decent family. We've been to hell and back a couple times now, and we survive because we're together. Anyone in this pack would lay down his life for a packmate. That's what matters at the end of the day. I say that makes us a family in our own right, doesn't it?"
Derek's staring at him open-mouthed like Isaac just sucker punched him in the gut. Isaac looks away, suddenly embarrassed at the confession that sounds insanely cheesy now that he stops to think. Still, it doesn't make the argument any less true.
"Yeah," Derek agrees eventually. "Yeah, guess we are."
"So use that, you dumbass," Isaac urges. "At least give it a shot. If we're enough of a pack to endure against alphas, we should be enough of a pack to lend you a little feel-good memory mojo. You've just got to stop being a stubborn ass long enough to try it."
He reaches a hand to the back of his neck to check that the wound's closed up and ready to go again.
"Come on," he continues. "You don't even have to go back in and deal with Jackson first. Just focus on the pack and try again out here with me . If it doesn't work, we'll go back to the anger thing. Okay?"
Derek nods and raises a newly healed hand to the base of Isaac's skull.
Please let this work. Oh please, please, please or we're all going to lose our fucking minds with frustration. Please just let this work.
"Haven't you memorized that yet?" Peter asks coming to stand in front of Stiles and peering down at the scrapbook in Stiles' lap.
"Yes, Peter."
"Of course you have," he says with a sigh. "Stiles, I know that book just freaks you out. Why torture yourself?"
"This is who Derek wants me to be like. This is who he wants to fix me to be."
"That's because Derek can't recognize a fucking gift when it's staring him right in the face."
Stiles isn't entirely sure what Peter means by that, so he just reiterates, "When I'm more like this Stiles," he says, gesturing to the book, "he's less angry."
"So you memorize facts about a life you don't remember and study facial expressions your face has forgotten how to make? All so you can give Derek the illusion that you're relaxed and happy with him?"
"Derek doesn't it like it when he can tell I'm confused or afraid," Stiles replies, "so I should learn not to show it."
Peter reaches to touch Stiles' cheek gingerly and turn his face upwards.
"You're such an excellent, beta, Stiles," he says earnestly, "so eager to please."
"Thank you, Peter," Stiles replies, blushing at the praise.
"It's such a shame your Alpha can't see it," he adds.
"Derek has more important—"
"No, Stiles, he really doesn't," Peter replies. "There is no excuse for ignoring the promise in a beta like you. You should have an Alpha who appreciates you as you are, not one who's trying to reverse such impeccable training. A beta like you should never have to doubt his value to his Alpha. Derek should make such better use of you. He should let you know that you are the best and most precious of all the betas in this pack."
"Thank you, Peter," Stiles says again, trying to focus on the humbling praise and ignore the critique of the Alpha in the words.
"If we got away from Derek, if I were your alpha, I would never try to change you. You would always feel like an asset, never like a burden. I would make sure of it. I would appreciate how hard you work to please your Alpha and treat you with the care you deserve."
The unfaithfulness of the words frightens Stiles, and he doesn't know how to reply.
What are you saying, Peter? You can't be suggesting we turn our back on Derek and leave the pack. I must be confused. We can't leave. That kind of disloyalty is unforgivable. We can't.
"Would you like that, Stiles? Would you be a good beta for me?"
"Derek is my alpha," he reminds quietly.
He tries not to shudder at the way Peter's eyes darken at the comment.
"Yes, and I'm just your Second," he replies; the smooth flattery gone out of his voice and replaced with a brusqueness he's not sure he's heard from Peter before, at least never directed at him. "So I guess I'll just have to make as much use of you as I can manage from this position in the pack."
He knows better than to pull away when Peter grabs his wrist too tightly and pulls him toward the bedroom.
Derek still can't believe it worked. The burst of familial loyalty that came out of Isaac today, something he never really expected to hear from any of his betas, was enough of a satisfying surprise. He didn't dare to consider that the luck would hold and the weak hope that this pack might actually form into some kind of family would prove more than enough to add so much exactness to the memory control.
But it did. It does.
And now we can start to help Stiles.
He drops Isaac at his foster parents'. Isaac needs to show face there for a while and grab a change of clothes before coming over later to help Derek explain everything to Stiles. Derek needs to recharge before he tries the memory transfer with Stiles. He doesn't want to risk being anything less than top shape when they start this. They'll start slowly tonight, just one memory, maybe two.
Derek's still trying to decide which one to pick. Half of the times he's protected Stiles, it's been against someone who's now a packmate—Peter at the hospital, Isaac in the jail, Jackson as the kanima—and it's not going to help anything if the memory just leaves Stiles more confused than at the start. In the end, he may decide to share a memory Stiles isn't directly involved in. That would take a level of confusion off anyway, not making him see himself in a capacity he doesn't remember, and it gives Derek more moments to choose from. He could even show Stiles memories of protecting the other betas from the Alpha Pack. That might the most relatable, meaningful option to start off with.
He's so lost in thought that it takes him longer than it should to realize no one's in the den when he walks into the apartment. In the next instant, he takes in the sounds coming from Peter's room—the sounds of muffled whimpers and groans of pleasure—that make Derek so sick to his stomach the only thing that could possibly quell the bile rising in his throat is the immeasurable rage that floods his senses.
He doesn't remember bursting in here, though the door's off its hinges. He doesn't remember shifting to beta form. He doesn't remember pulling Peter away from Stiles and pinning him to the wall, claws planted deep into his uncle's chest. Nor does he remember the several blows he seems to already have landed to Peter's face.
"Please, Derek, please, it was my fault," Stiles whimpers, and it had to be his voice that brought Derek back to awareness. He's naked and trembling, cowering at Derek's feet as he sobs, "He was trying to help me, Derek. I begged him to help me. I was weak, Derek. I'm sorry. So sorry. It's my fault, Derek. He kept it from you to protect me. I shouldn't have let him take the risk , Derek. I shouldn't have put myself between my Alpha and Second. I know better, Derek. I know my place. I'm sorry, Derek. I should've offered to you both equally. Please, Derek, stop, take what you have to from me, but Peter didn't—"
"What the fuck did you do?" Derek demands of Peter, trying and failing to tune out the onslaught of apologies and offers Stiles is making to try and appease Derek's wrath. "What did you do to make him—"
"I didn't have to do anything, Derek," Peter replies with a grin. "That's the beauty of it."
"You fucking sociopath, sorry excuse for a—"
"All I did was allow him to act as he was trained to," Peter continues, voice smooth and controlled as he gloats, "and he loved me for it, Derek. He felt more at peace and at home on his knees and in my bed than he's been any time he's with you."
"You shut the fuck up!" Derek commands with a blow to Peter's jaw that has Stiles sobbing out apologies and begging for mercy with renewed fervor.
Peter just chuckles. "Oh, Derek, all your little plans to get him back, your fruitless attempts to fix him, they aren't worth shit, and you know it. You really think you can fix that pathetic, broken thing that's quaking at your feet? Look at him."
"So I'm supposed to take advantage of him because he thinks this is normal? I'm supposed to let him think that he exists purely to serve me and fuck me and—"
"Exactly," Peter replies as though it's the obvious conclusion. "We both know he needs an Alpha who can really handle him, one who's Alpha enough to play to his instincts and not be blinded by the weakness of human sentimentality. You don't deserve a beta like him."
Peter shifts, shoving Derek back with a growl. "And when I take him into my pack, he'll thank me for it; he'll be more happy and content to serve me than he could ever be with you, stuck trying to mimic the boy you lost because you're not even Alpha enough to defend your own territory."
There's venom in Peter's words and treachery in his eyes. No remorse, no regrets, just the fruition of a plan Peter's been waiting to act on; he's as desperate as ever to gain the supremacy of being an Alpha at any price—lives, sanity, whatever it takes—and Derek should've known better than to think anything was beneath this shell of a man masquerading as human.
None of the others would ever be convinced to desert and swear allegiance to Peter to start a new pack; they know exactly what the alpha power does to him. Stiles though, Stiles is the perfect candidate—well-trained, easily manipulated, and blindly loyal once he's been claimed—and then Peter would have the power that comes with the unyielding devotion of a beta to catapult him back to an Alpha position.
Well, you can't have him, you sick fuck. Over my dead body.
There you go guys! I know you fucking hate Peter because of what he has done to Stiles baby but it will be resolved! Thank you for all the support this story has been getting and my other story (Stiles is Derek's Only). Keep up the good work!
Kik: Thewarriorcatchick2
Stay a sourwolf ~AlphaHook