Preface
Right the First TimePosted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/2607179.
Rating:
Mature
Archive Warning:
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category:
Multi
Fandom:
Teen Wolf (TV)
Relationship:
Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Derek Hale/Paige
Character:
Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Paige (Teen Wolf), Talia Hale, Cora Hale, Laura Hale, Peter Hale, Scott McCall, Jennifer Blake, Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Isaac Lahey
Additional Tags:
Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Additional Warnings Apply, Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Don't copy to another site
Stats:
Published: 2014-11-12 Completed: 2014-11-25 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 12316
Right the First Time
by d_aia
Summary
Derek was fifteen when his timer activated and almost sixteen when it stopped. As if that wasn't enough, it started back again ten minutes later. What was a teenage werewolf to do when he suspected his mate didn't want him?
This is the story of how Derek Hale lost his shit. (Spoiler: there were consequences.)
Notes
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the locations.
Additional Warnings: Non-Con because Derek is underage, Kate is still Kate and that's not okay. Also potential triggers: death of a loved one and temporary character death. Please remember the graphic violence warning in the beginning; the violence is featured prominently and it's rather graphic. If you have read it and think there's anything else I need to add, leave me a comment, but I think that's it.
Update: Tuesday.
See the end of the work for more notes
Chapter 1
Derek was fifteen when his timer activated.
He was trying to figure out why the remote didn't work anymore, fiddling with the batteries like he had seen Laura do—complete with exasperated face, even though this was his first try—when a beep came from his wrist. He froze and looked at it in awe. There, red question marks blinked cheerily, making him grin so much that his cheeks hurt.
"Mom!" Derek yelled. "Moooooom!"
"For goodness's sake, Derek," Talia, said absent-mindedly from the office, not bothering to raise her voice, "get some new batteries and be done with it."
"But," Derek whispered, his heart pounding. "Moooooooom!" he yelled even louder.
The panicked scraping of the chair was heard barely a second before the door slammed and he heard hurried footsteps on the stairs. Another 'bang', this time from the kitchen, and his dad, was coming too. The porch door creaked and Derek could hear his little sister, Cora—who had gotten her own timer the day after her tenth birthday, four months before—ask Laura what was happening.
Peter, appearing out of absolutely nowhere in the same room as Derek, answered, "Well, Derek either has news—usually, that he's in some sort trouble—or he's in trouble with our dearest Alpha for crying wolf. Entertaining, either way."
Throwing a glare Peter's way, Talia carefully approached Derek. "What is it, honey?"
Derek showed her his wrist, controlling his trembling with difficulty, not wanting to show that he was nervous.
Talia looked at the proffered limb, uncertain as if not knowing what she was supposed to see. And then it visibly clicked. Derek's timer had activated. It was just red question marks for now, a sign that his mate was still underage, but it would still chime if he were to meet her or him or any combination thereof.
It wasn't important for the werewolf, one way or the other, and they could very well tell who their mate was without the blinking lights, but the invention allowed the supernatural— wolves and a few other species, in particular, due to their monogamous nature—to come out of the woodwork and say 'hey, we're here, we're not all dangerous and you kind have to accept us because some of us have human mates'. It also worked better when the human knew the wolf was their other half and didn't have just the wolf's word and behavior that they were soul mates—a guarantee.
That was one of the reasons why wolves usually got one implanted by the time as soon as it was legal—their tenth anniversary. There were many humans who did it too, but others waited a few years; hell there were humans who did not have them at all. In fact, some werewolves—like his uncle Peter—did not have them either. In the end it was a choice.
"That means that they are ten, right? If they only got their timer…" Cora said pensively, eager to find out what she could about her brother mate. "That means they're in my school if they are from here. Derek could come to my class, have a sniff."
"Or they got their timer late," offered Peter unsympathetically.
"Not too late," said Laura, rolling her eyes, "otherwise he'd have more than question marks."
Talia sighed.
Peter smiled slyly, "Oh yeah. How old is your brother? How do you know he's not the underage one?"
Laura opened his mouth to answer, but Derek's dad interrupted, ever the peacekeeper. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is that we know Derek's mate is alive, safe and wiling. Congratulations, Derek!" Damian said, looking him in the eye. "The rest we'll find out in time."
Derek was almost sixteen when the timer stopped.
It made a soft sound, like a whimper, and then it went blank.
Derek froze in his seat, at school, during Physics. He just stopped functioning. The teacher noticed his lack of movement and asked him what was wrong, but he couldn't answer. He felt something—fear, panic, grief—and it was everywhere, drowning him, covering him and he couldn't think, his brain stuck on a single thought that was like a bullet ricocheting endlessly, every time producing a stabbing sensation of pain.
His mate was dead.
The teacher had her hands on his shoulders, kneeling in front of him, and saying something. He couldn't hear. Derek, wishing to be left alone, showed her the wrist. Her eyes softened immediately. She stated inhaling in an exaggerated fashion and Derek, able to understand that she wanted him to follow suit, did so, breaking the wall between him and the real world.
"It doesn't mean your soul mate's dead," she whispered, once Derek had calmed down. "It could just mean that for whatever reason they had their timer removed."
Derek settled down when he heard that. Because it could happen. They could have removed their timer. If they were children, their parents could have removed it for them. Or, if they were older, they could have wanted to wait until Derek was an adult.
What Derek didn't dare to think—what he thought anyway, deep inside his mind—was what if they aren't ready? What if they're never ready? What if his mate, didn't want to be his?
Sure enough, not even a minute later, the timer chimed again.
"See? A glitch and nothing more," she smiled and patted his shoulder.
Derek had a day to go until he would be sixteen when he covered up the timer.
Timers didn't get glitches. Everyone knew that. It was in case someone had a heart attack or something else life threatening from a bad news, like Derek had just gotten; they had a hundred redundancies. Timers simply do not malfunction. It is unheard of and it wasn't permitted. But, people trying to get them out with screwdrivers? Those are in the news every couple of months.
His mate tried to gouge Derek out of his life.
It hurt. More than he wanted to admit or cared to talk about. But Derek had his pride. He was captain of the basketball team for supernatural, his grades were good, people kept telling him he looked hot and he had a lot of friends; he wasn't a loser and if his mate didn't see that, then they were the one that was stupid.
That day, he woke up, slipped a basketball wristband over his timer without glancing at it and met Paige.
Paige was awesome. She was a human, a pretty transfer student, a witty cello player who was romantic, but still practical. And the way she looked at Derek, like she could see something the others didn't, something more, strong and beautiful; it was addictive. He knew she wasn't his mate, but was also aware that she would never go as far as possibly hurting herself to get rid of him.
Their love was filled with laughter and stolen neck kisses. It was easy, comfortable and simple—everything he could possibly want from a first love. He hoped it would be like that for many months, even years, to come. But when she excitedly let him know that her parents had finally agreed to let have a timer, that she hoped it would match his and he could finally tell her that they were meant for each other like she was sure they did, his world became barren. She saw his face, asked him what was wrong and gasped when he showed her his wrist.
"I thought you covered it up because it didn't show anything," she spoke softly shocked.
Derek put the wristband back on, careful no to look, and shrugged. "They don't want me." When Paige looked like she wanted to defend his would-be mate, he shook his head, "I just know."
Because Paige heard the pain in his voice or because the timers were not discussed lightly, she nodded and came back to their conversation. "We would have been really good together," she said. The strong woman that she would become could be seen now in the way she handled her pain—her tears flowing free, her chin jutted out, her dark brown eyes in pain, but her smile true.
Those same two reasons were why Derek swallowed back whatever words of protest he had, leaned closer and kissed her for a final time.
Derek was sixteen for six months when he met Kate and his timer stopped for the second time.
He wanted the timer gone. The idea of a mate held no appeal to him, the romantic crap spewed by his parents, his sisters, the news, the entire culture, was not for him and even his uncle called him bitter. Peter was of the opinion that he hadn't thought about his problem and was simply fleeing from it. He hadn't, but why should that matter? Could no one understand that he was in pain? That the word 'mate' brought up feeling of betrayal?
"I'm not hurt by anything," Peter finally lost his temper letting his fury show in something other than quips and cunning games. He was speaking loudly, glaring accusingly and his movements choppy, "You are not like me, because while you feel like you lost something, I don't. Never have."
That was the last he spoke to Peter of it. His parents were adamant that if this was truly what he wished, than he could remove it himself once he was eighteen. His choice, his signature. They were hopeful that he would change his mind, but also wanted their children to make up their own minds about the important things—life, careers, mates. So, he agreed to do it himself when the time came.
In the meantime, he met Kate, an older woman who didn't care that he had a soul mate waiting for him somewhere. "Why shouldn't we have fun now?" she asked wickedly when told her he had an active timer. She showed him her timer. It was blank.
With Kate, it was all about sneaking around behind everyone's backs, getting away with having sex in the craziest of places, dodging the county Sheriff—which wasn't that difficult, his soul mate, and wife, was sick; it made Derek feel uncomfortable when he stopped a second to think about it—and his men, introducing him to all kinds of kinks, things he didn't necessarily agree with, but did because he didn't want to seem a whiny teenager. She called it being subtle and truly living and not upsetting the man when he had enough on his plate and furthering his education. None of it involved stopping, considering or talking about it and that was what Derek needed.
Until his timer stopped again.
Almost ten minutes, like the last time. But this time he couldn't just take it. He couldn't just build himself back, too much had happened. The disaster with Paige, the distance he put between himself and the pack—his pack, his family—the whirlwind with Kate, it was all too much.
Exploding out of English, his teacher's words echoing angrily behind him, Derek found himself running through the woods towards his house. He hadn't even realized when he left school, not really. All he remembered was the call of home. Like a wounded animal, he needed his den, the familiar scent, his Alpha; he needed to breathe and just be.
When Derek got there, he stumbled in shock. Almost imperceptible, he could smell Kate and other two people. Their scents were disguised and he recognized them mostly off Kate's scent. They had come together, there was no doubt about that, but why? Was that… mountain ash in Kate's hand? It was.
Derek made sense of what he was seeing after a few precious seconds and broke into a desperate run. He reached them just as Kate was preparing to close the mountain ash barrier, dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt he had lost in their 'adventures'. He smelled strong chemicals, unwashed humans, indifference and pleasure. His vision tunneled, concentrating on reaching Kate before she threw down the last of the powder and locking inside the werewolves so that his mother, father, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents were left helpless—both humans and werewolves—to what she had planned next. The only reason they were all in the house was to celebrate his father's birthday and the only reason Kate knew about that was because he had told her.
With clawed hands Derek reached for Kate, plunged the claws into her shoulders, turning her so she was to the back toward the house and dragged her away. He had not foreseen Kate's immediate and vicious struggle, but his own guilt and anger made him more than a match for her. As soon as they clambered away he shouted towards the house in between panting breaths, "Mom! Get out of there, now! You—"
Kate had managed to drop the powder and reach for a dagger. She had quickly stabbed into his belly. Derek felt pain and nothing else for a long moment. When he came to, he saw the hilt protruding from his abdomen and Kate almost free from his grip. He put a foot on her back.
"You have to get out of the house," Derek yelled. But his voice didn't function right; it was difficult when he was gasping for air. It was said maybe slightly louder than normal.
As Derek heard doors opening, he pushed with his leg launching Kate off his claws and into the ground a few feet away. He thought he heard his name shouted, but he only saw Kate laughing as she tried to get off the ground, but her right leg didn't seem to be cooperating. Her shoulders and arms were bloody from claw marks and she couldn't push her way up. She still tried, nonetheless. Kate would lift a few inches of the ground, fall again and uttered a groan of pain, between increasingly hysterical chuckles.
Derek stumbled awkwardly, dizziness washing over him as he struggled to get out the dagger. He couldn't see well enough to have a grip on it. His moves were choppy, uncoordinated. The dagger kept moving. It was not where it was supposed to be when he reached for it. He tried to hold his breath, but that didn't help; it made him lightheaded instead.
"Almost got your pack," Kate spat, trying her luck with crawling. She couldn't keep her weight on her shoulders. She fell again and whispered, "But you, I got you good. Near the heart." She nodded, mumbling to herself as she tried to push herself backwards with her left foot.
Derek snarled. He knew what she meant. Wolfsbane. The dagger had been coated with it. Furious, he blindly grabbed at the hilt, finally withdrawing the poisonous weapon. He threw it at her. It hit Kate in the neck. Blade forward, the flat of it parallel to the ground; it was clearly a lucky shot—off center, but managed to puncture her artery. A gush of blood accompanied Kate to the ground. She twitched once, twice, then stilled; dead.
Brought to his knees, by the wolfsbane, Derek could see his family. They were safe. His mother ran towards him with Laura. Peter got a handle on the two humans, poised as if to study a bottle. B he was frozen, watching Derek. A bit further, his father had Cora wrapped in a hug, Cora facing away from him, shushing her while his worried green eyes were focused on Derek. Hitting the ground, Derek realized he had been falling a long time. He was absently curious about it. It still wasn't long enough. He wanted to know that everyone was good. '
A trembling hand turned him.
"What kind of wolfsbane, Derek?" Talia asked desperately.
Derek smiled. "Is everyone okay?"
His mother howled while ripping open the triskelion box, making him flinch. Someone was not fine. That was the Alpha's mourning howl.
"Everybody fine, except for you silly," Laura said, petting his hair, with unsteady hands. "What kind?"
They had been told the effects of each one in health class, and he could tell in which category his symptoms fell, but when Derek tried to say the color but he couldn't remember its name. "Sunny," he whispered.
"Sunny?!" Laura started crying. "No. The wolfsbane, what kind? C'mon Derek."
"Corn," Derek said, weakened.
"What?!" Laura sounded slightly hysterical.
"Yellow!" his mother shouted, choosing the plant in a hurry from the small bouquet in the box found in every werewolf house, uncaring about the way she handled them. Derek wanted to tell her to be careful, but he didn't have the strength. Laura took the flowers, shoved them back in the box and she ran with them somewhere, while his mother was burning the plant. He was so tired. "You mean yellow, right Derek?"
Derek nodded. He closed his eyes. Just for a second.
The sun in his bedroom window woke Derek up. He didn't know how much time it had passed, but he did know that all his family was alive. And he knew one other thing—he had decided that he would keep the timer. Bad things had come from having it, but his family was alive today because of it and he couldn't make himself get rid of the small watch ticking away the time until he met his mate. He'd never look at it again, but when the time came and it chimed, that was when he'd make a decision.
Chapter 2
Chapter Notes
Update: Tuesday.
Derek was thirty-four when he found his mate and he didn't know if it was a good thing; he didn't think it was bad one, either.
As he was walking through the park to reach his favorite restaurant, Derek saw from the corner of his eye a beggar. His mind was on his latest on his lunch, but especially on his latest case. He thought about how to better approach the fact that the star witness was a cocaine addict and if he could manage to get a conviction without her. Drug addicts were not the most detail orientated people out there in the first place, so her having seen the defendant wasn't such a big win. Plus, the defense would have a field day discrediting her and that would not only cast doubt on the case he build, but would serve to humiliate her further. He needed to think of something better. That was when Derek turned his head, putting him in direct eye contact with the beggar.
Two timers started to chime.
Damn it. Why now of all times? Was it too much to ask for a freaking steak in peace?
But there he was: his mate. The beggar was young on a second look, something boyish about him, under the grime and the thin blanked he wore over his shoulders. His eyes, amber colored and large, widened even more as his heartbeat started quickening. That would be a reason as to 'why' he tried to gauge his timer out; he most definitely had to have some sort of problem to end up on the streets. His smell, which was not as rank as it should have been going by the way he looked, was a mix of lavender, mint, books, dirt, sweat and metal, but was now tainted with alarm. It made Derek want to flash his eyes, growl and protect his mate. That he was the cause of such of feeling in his mate was unsettling.
"Hi," Derek began awkwardly, crouching down to be at eye level with the beggar who was sitting on the ground. If it helped ease a bit of his mate's discomfort, well that would be a lucky coincidence. "I'm Derek."
His mate gave him a trembling smile, not calming a bit.
"Do you want to tell me your name?" Derek asked softly as to not scare his mate further.
No such luck. His mate's only answer was a pair of frankly huge eyes, reminiscent of frightened woodland creatures, a smooth rosy mouth caught in pout and a hand raised in a greeting. A shy smile made an appearance on his face, but was gone quickly.
"Do you come here often?"
His mate shrugged.
"Can you speak?" tried Derek.
Grinning, as if Derek had said something amusing, his mate nodded.
"Is this a bad time?" asked Derek feeling foolish. Like his mate had anywhere else to be. What would constitute as a bad time for a beggar, anyway?
Nodding frenetically, his mate almost displaced the dirt on his cheek and oh, he had a constellation of moles, how great was that? Did he have them on his whole body? Would Derek ever be allowed to find out?
Surprised by his mate's answer and suspicious of the skittish behavior, Derek nonetheless accepted it. Was else could he do? "Okay, I get that. But how will we find each other again? You sleep near the park? Do you stay in the park?" Derek enquired helplessly.
His mate started to shake his head, but then reconsidered. He looked at Derek yearningly and sighed. An idea seemed to occur to him, however, and he became alive and filled with energy for the first time in the conversation—if you could call it that; more of a monologue really. He mimed a rectangle with writing on it.
After a few tries Derek figured his mate was referring to a business card. He frowned, doubting the abilities of a beggar to reach a phone without any sort of crime involved. And he had something against prosecuting his mate. That was just the kind of person he was.
Getting out a business card, Derek paused before handing it over. "Nothing illegal, okay?" He waited for his mate to nod before passing it over.
His mate did a double take on seeing the card. He started incredulously at Derek with his mouth hanging open. Studying the card once more, an injured moan escaped him.
"You know me. You've heard of me," Derek said carefully. "As a werewolf or as an ADA?"
Lifting two fingers, his mate smiled wryly.
"…Both?" Derek asked uncertainly.
His mated nodded. On the one hand, it was to be expected; the Hales were pretty well known as Beacon Hills was their pack's territory and a beggar would at some point have problems with the law, meaning that the name of an ADA and the DA—his mother and Alpha—would be familiar. Still, that didn't mean Derek was especially happy about it all.
Derek was dragged out of his thoughts at the touch of his mate. He put his hand gingerly on Derek's forearm and gently pushed, silently telling Derek it was time to go. His fingers formed the universal sign for calling somebody and he smiled encouragingly.
Heaving a sigh, Derek took one last look at his mate, closed his eyes to feel those long fingers curled around his forearm once more and, with a last whiff, turned to go.
"Suspect heading towards the park. I repeat, suspect heading towards the park. Stilinski, you got him?" came a voice faintly as if from a far away player or small radio. "Be advised, the suspect is a werewolf."
Things happened—as they say in witness's testimonies—very fast. One second Derek was trying to gather his wits in the aftermath of the strange encounter while a man ran into the park, fangs gleaming in the sun, the next, his own claws and fangs were out and he felt his mate flash by him. Then, with competence and economy of movement, his mate struck the wolf with an electrified baton once in the stomach making him crumple forward; the second time, keeping low, in the backs of the knees; and a final time, rising, a good thwack over the back of his neck and the werewolf fell, dazed.
Not giving the time for the werewolf to reorient himself, his mate was upon him, gathering the wolf's hand at his back and locking a pair of wolfsbane-lined handcuffs in place.
"I'm placing you under arrest," his mate said, voice surprisingly gruff. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. You have the right to ask us to contact your Alpha and let them know you are safe and in custody. We will do this within twenty-four hours of you having provided us with their name and contact information. Have you heard and understood these rights as they have been read to you?"
The werewolf struggled in his hold.
"Have you heard and understood these rights as they have been read to you?" his mate repeated.
"Yes!" the werewolf yelled and bucked.
His mate, doing a great job of ignoring the werewolf's fighting, put a hand on his left ear and said, "Got him." Turning luminous eyes on Derek, he beamed, "Hey, Derek! I'm Stiles. Stilinski. Deputy. I'm undercover today and the radio picks up on our voices and that shi—stuff gets recorded and that's why I couldn't talk! Sorry!"
Derek blinked. That was a twist he didn't saw coming. His world was slowly, almost reluctantly, rearranging.
Until the werewolf bucked again, nearly succeeding in throwing his mate—Stiles—off. "Stand still or I'm adding resisting arrest to those charges!" Stiles said loudly and firmly. The werewolf bucked once more.
"If you move one more time," Derek growled, pissed off, "I'm going to add interference with a first meeting when I take you to the SC."
Derek didn't usually take trespassers on the Hale territory to the Supernatural Council, even though it was his job as the Pack's Second. He didn't have fond memories of it after he ended up having to defend his case for killing Kate. His mother had represented him and had inspired in him the love he had for law. But the place still made him uneasy and he usually left SC business to his Alpha. Though it ended up with him declared the victim of statutory rape and his actions as being done in self defense and defense of others, it had been… messy. Now, he would make an exception. After all, the werewolf did unknowingly interfere with one of the most serious events in the life of a werewolf and nobody said that Derek wasn't vindictive.
"And I will win," Derek enunciated, eyes flashing, power in his tone.
The werewolf whimpered and stood still.
"Thanks for that!" Stiles exclaimed, laughing. "It's nice to have the support of our supernatural counterparts."
Stiles lifted the werewolf off the ground and, after signaling Derek to follow him, marched the unknown werewolf straight to an unobtrusive silver car parked nearby. After shoving him in, Stiles turned, beaming. He took a deep breath and started, "To answer your questions—which was very frustrating staying silent in the first place, you have no idea—let's see: Stiles; not really, I prefer the preserve, but sometimes things happen; yes, I love to talk and if you're unlucky you'll find out just how much; it was a bad time, but now it isn't; yes actually, my apartment is close; I don't stay in the park, except when I do; and to answer your last two—I won't do anything illegal and I know of you both as a ADA and as a werewolf, because I'm a deputy so I have to know these things." He blinked his large eyes at Derek expectantly.
Feeling as if he hadn't recalibrated enough for the downpour of words, Derek blinked back. "So, you have a phone?" he asked somewhat stupidly.
"I have a phone," confirmed Stiles, grinning.
"Give me a call once you've booked him," Derek finally managed in the face of Stiles's smile. "Or after your shift is done, I suppose."
"I'll call when I'm done in booking." Stiles winked. "See you later, Derek."
Derek's brain decided it was high time to simply melt so he though he mumbled an agreement, but couldn't be sure.
Derek wasn't sure what was happening, but he was happy.
He had found his mate and Stiles was a whirlwind of wit, long fingers, amber eyes and sarcasm. Derek seemed to be spending most of his off time basking in his mate's presence and getting to know him a bit better. The urgency of unasked questions that Derek couldn't bear to ask, gave a sense of fragility to the whole process. Why had the timer stopped? Did Stiles know about it? Did he really try to gauge out his timer?
It was Stiles's idea to have a barbeque for their families. Derek thought it was a wonderful way to make them all know each other with no pressure and good food. Of course, then a universal truth occurred to them both: families are complicated. It took five minutes until they reached that particular conclusion.
"It's only going to be my dad," Stiles said. "He remarried my best friend's mom, but they won't come."
Derek frowned.
"It's complicated," Stiles pleaded with him. "His mother is only supporting him and he… well, his soul mate is Allison Argeant. And they live in SoCal now because, you know, she isn't allowed in town anymore." Derek did know, by virtue of being the reason the Argeants were banished from Beacon Hills. Stiles flails a bit, hurrying to cover up the awkward silence. "He says he won't be coming without her?" Stiles swallowed. "Like, it's stupid, I'm aware of that. I think he's aware of that, too. But, he's stubborn. Or possibly noble and doesn't want to make you uncomfortable. At the same time, maybe it's like a choose-your-side thing and he chose hers. Or maybe it's all three." He nodded. "Yeah, I think it's all three."
There was more silence and some twitchiness from Stiles every a couple of seconds. Derek tried to put himself if Stiles's shoes. He'd want his best friend there. "Scott could bring her if you want him there," Derek offered, mouth dry.
Stiles scratched chin. "Yeah… no."
Derek had no idea what that meant. "What does that mean?"
Making expansive gestures, that were probably meant to express something that was difficult to verbalize, Stiles finally heaved a gargantuan sigh. "It means that the Argeants were banished for a reason," he said voice unbearably serious compared to the clowning earlier. "They are still hunters, if sanctioned ones. The grandfather is in the wind with a couple of 'wanted for questioning's in several incidents involving werewolf disappearances and there are four more of warrants for possession of illegal weapons. But those are from, like five years ago. He's been MIA ever since.
"As for the current Argeant Matriarch she's kind of… intense, even Scott admits it. Something between 'sadistic', 'sociopath', 'psychopath', 'manipulative person', 'dominatrix' and I don't know, 'mind reader'. It's not really my field or my problem until she breaks the law." Stiles shrugged and scratched his cheek. "And Allison is a cute girl. Pretty. Gorgeous smile. Looks kind of like the birds braided it for her in the morning; you could drown in the sweetness. And Scott loves her." He smiled understandingly.
"But I'm not so sure about her," Stiles confessed, looking away. "There's something about her determination that tells me 'stay away, here be dragons'. Which is a good thing when she's on your side, it's just that I'm not sure werewolves in general, and the Hales in particular, are on that side. Her dad, Chris is the most normal one. And that's saying something because frankly he scares the shit out of me."
That was an incredibly accurate profile of the whole family. Stiles was more perceptive than anyone would have guessed. Of course, Derek might not be the most objective person. Still, he didn't want to be the reason Stiles didn't speak with his stepbrother and best friend. Not to mention, it would divide his whole family. "I'm sorry," Derek volunteered, shyly. He wasn't the best with words outside a courtroom. Especially, when he cared about the other person. "Can I help fix it?"
Stiles face did a complex thing and, seriously, since when were faces so flexible? "No. And you don't have to be sorry." He stepped closer to Derek, one hand coming up to cup his face. "We had our problems before this."
"But—" tried Derek.
Leaning in to give Derek a small kiss on the cheek, Stiles smiled staying close. "When his timer activated at a lacrosse game, it was a whole thing—a 'Romeo and Juliet' type thing. He forgot about everybody else. I wasn't upset at the time. But now… I think I am, a bit," he whispered.
Derek could honestly say that he had almost forgotten what they were talking about. When Stiles was this close, his hand warming the skin of his face, his cheek tingling with the pressure of Stiles's earlier kiss and his breath on Derek's lips, everything else tended to disappear. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.
Kissing the corner of Stiles's lips, Derek leaned back to watch him. When he saw Stiles's tongue dart out to lick that place, like he could still taste Derek on his lips, Derek groaned, sank one hand in Stiles's hair at the back of his head and brought their foreheads together. Smiling stupidly, Derek looked into blurry, large amber eyes and he realized that even if it didn't end up being everything he'd ever wished, he was still glad he had the opportunity to experience this closeness with somebody once more.
"My family is big. Actually, no, my family is huge, but we don't all live in Beacon Hills. Cora, for example, my youngest sister, went to Mexico with her mate. It's going to be my mom, the Alpha—I'm her Second as you probably know," Derek waited for Stiles's nod before he continued, "and her mate, my dad. There's Laura—my older sister, the Alpha-to-be—her mate, Jennifer and her Pack Second, Peter, my uncle. They're on the other side of the Preserve.
"I'm going to go ahead and include the Betas in, because they're Pack. So, we've got Isaac, Erica and Boyd, the last two are mates. And Laura tells me that one of her betas knows you? Jackson?" Derek frowned when Stiles's face fell, "He's a prosecutor, so I know him a bit." What he meant was that Jackson was his underling and it stood in his power to make his life a living hell. By the size of Stiles's grin, he got the message loud and clear. "And his mate knows you too. Lydia?"
Face palming in a ridiculous—and amusing—manner, Stiles mumbled from behind his hand, "I had the biggest crush on Lydia. She ignored me mostly and I wasn't really demonstrative, since I knew that you were somewhere. Until Jackson happened."
"And?" prompted Derek, sensing that wasn't all.
"And they weren't very nice about it?" asked Stiles dryly.
Derek squinted suspiciously. "That's pretty rude of them, but I got the feeling that there's more."
Lifting one shoulder and gesticulating with his other hand, Stiles said, "They aren't my biggest fans, that's all. And they probably told Laura all the ways I'm not 'right'." He made air quotes and rolled his eyes. "Wait. That doesn't make sense."
"It doesn't." Derek tried to appease his mate. "I'm sure that now that you have found somebody else, they will have forgotten all about your crush."
Stiles gave a little derisive shake of his head. "I'm not talking about Jackson and Lydia—though I've got to say, you're underestimating their viciousness." He licked his lips slowly. "Why are there two packs and just one Alpha? And aren't you supposed to be your sister's Second, be like a second-generation type thing?"
"It's… complicated. And very simple, at the same time." Derek pondered as to how better explain. "That was the idea, at first. But then, mom and Peter had different opinions about a lot of things. And, let me tell you, their conflicts were not constructive. Laura, though, had mostly the same opinions as Peter and they thought they could spilt the packs and the territory would be more of a family thing, then a pack thing.
"Both Laura and I could benefit from a more experienced wolf. If there's a problem, we'd face it together and when mom passes the Alpha spark she could decide who deserves it more." Derek tilted his head at the sound of Stiles's heartbeats increasing, but decided to get on with the story, hoping that it would calm Stiles, "We all know it's going to be Laura. Then, nothing changes, basically. I'll be an Alpha without red eyes, just like Laura is now."
Stiles was opening and closing his mouth as a fish. Only he didn't seem to be in search of water, he seemed in search of words. "Clearly," he finally said, "I know nothing about being a werewolf, because while you were explaining, I was imagining how it would play for humans. And it wouldn't. It would be all about betrayals, looking good for the king and making others bad." Stiles shrugged. "I guess it's different for werewolves."
Thinking about Peter, Derek had to say, he didn't think they were all that different.
Chapter 3
Chapter Notes
A reminder to read the warnings again.
It started out okay, it slipped to bad and then it got worse.
Meeting Derek's parents was relaxed and good humored matter. That was promising. As for Derek, his new status went mostly smoothly for the Sheriff.
Watching them with sadness so readily displayed that it made Derek cringe, the Sheriff said sincerely, "I hope things will work out for the both of you." And then wondered away.
As Derek was panicking and thinking of ways to distract his mate from following his father with his eyes, blank expression on his face, Stiles suddenly turned and grinned.
"That went okay," Stiles said, pointing towards his father.
"Bilinski," Jackson's voice rang out, "we see each other again!"
The Sheriff stopped, took one look at the situation and decided to slowly distance himself. Derek's parents were on the other side of the clearing next to the barbecue, but Laura, Jennifer and Peter lifted their heads from the where they were bent over some papers at the table next to them and turned to see them better. Isaac, Erica and Boyd were also nearby, at the other table bickering over pineapple. Feeling the pack's attention shifting they too became silent and observant.
The grin on Stiles's face froze. "We see each other all the time, you're a prosecutor."
Jackson laughed mockingly and threw an arm over Stiles's shoulders. "Yeah, but we don't get to talk! There are so many memories! Remember the times you played lacrosse?" Jackson paused for a second. "Oh, wait, that never happened. Huh."
"Not talking is perfect. That way, nobody ends up with their nose broken." Stiles wiggled out of Jackson's hold. "You're simply too pretty to continue talking, don't you think?"
Lydia regally took a step forward, putting her directly in Stiles's path. "Nice to see you when you're not drooling after me," she said patronizingly. "These are new shoes. Wouldn't want them to get wet with your slobbering."
They were all in the preserve, somewhere close to the woods, everybody was mingling, a mish-mash of different actives. Until these pups tried to double tag Stiles, a member of their own extended pack. They should know better. Jackson should, at least. Derek immediately and furiously put Jackson on the shit list. He didn't know how it used to be, but there was somebody on Stiles's side now and Jackson, as well as Lydia, should expect trouble when they were taking potshots at a wolf's mate, with Derek within hearing distance. But they would learn. Well, Derek had a feeling Stiles could hold his own—only it wasn't about that, but rather, the pack should feel safe and each member should be comfortable.
"Speaking of memories," Lydia continued, "do you remember that time in high school when you followed me all over town, buying everything I wanted, just so you can hear my voice as I was ordering you around?" Her heart remained steady. It was the truth. "I guess it's a good thing Derek's the type to be in control, because honey, I don't see you topping anytime soon," Lydia smirked wickedly, her heart not skipping a beat. "Or is it just me that you want as your Mistress?"
Derek felt ill; not at the thought that Stiles was a submissive—although it wasn't Derek's thing, but they hadn't gotten anywhere near that stage—or at the thought that Stiles liked somebody else before him but at the humiliation his mate must feeling to have her say that in front of everybody, including Stiles's father. Then again, maybe Stiles would like it; Derek didn't know that much about submissives. But then Stiles met Derek's eyes and a flash of something bleak enough appeared on his face that Lydia stepped back. It wasn't clear if the banshee perceived the darkness of the expression as a threat, or if she remembered Derek—or the Sheriff, who had in fact gone to the opposite part of the clearing when Lydia had started to talk—standing there.
With a bright smile and dark eyes, Stiles quickly, but delicately took Lydia's hand and kissed the back of it. "I would never do anything to ruin your shoes," Stiles swore. "And of course I remember. After you ordered me around and got me so hot, you let me eat you out in the phone booth at the park." Wait, the park got built when Stiles was in college. But his heart beat the steady thrum of the honest. "You moaned my name so prettily and grabbed my hair."
Jackson seemed more than confused and his heart accelerated into a faster rhythm. Derek would have guessed that there was another detail in there that wasn't right. The looked at each other and Derek flashed his fangs, growling. He would have his mate's back as a friend if nothing else. Jackson seemed torn between running away and staying next to his mate with so many predators around.
And oh, there was something dangerous in Stiles's eyes as he said in a husky voice, "It hurt so fucking much, but I loved it." Lydia was watching Stiles, disorientated and with morbid curiosity. She also smelled of lust. "You fucking gushed Lydia. My mouth was full." Derek's eyes fell on Stiles's lips and the way they rounded the words as he went on. "I'll never forget, afterwards, the feeling I got when you told me you loved me," Stiles stated as if he would pronounce a death sentence—somber, sad and defiant.
Sure enough, a snarl came from Jackson. Which prompted another one from Derek, but Stiles was unmoved. He barely glanced at Jackson, keeping his focus on Lydia.
"You will not screw this for me, Lydia. I don't know your reasons and I don't care," Stiles spat. His expression finally matched the unusually dark color of his eyes. "You're not the only one who can control her heartbeat." Ah, that made total sense. Though people found it easier to go the opposite way, thinking about something scary to get it pounding and it wouldn't make a difference if they told a lie, it was possible. "Stop this," Stiles hissed.
Lydia took on an affected air and turned to look at an angry Laura. Shrugging she said, "I have no idea how you'd be in bed. I doubt that such a play would even occur to you." She sniffed and flipped her hair, weighing him, "You are vanilla through and through."
"Nothing wrong with vanilla," Stiles accepted her less than gracious surrender. "I was always more for equality than for dominance and submission." He looked Derek in the eye and what he said next sounded more like a confession, "We'll never make a decision fast if it concerns the both of us, but there won't be any dictators."
Derek nodded.
"What?" Laura stormed over. "Just like that? You're what… happy in your choices?"
"It's not any of your business, Laura," Derek said. "Stay out of it."
"Your pretty mate is the one that brought it up!" Laura furiously exclaimed.
Stiles lifted a shoulder. "Only after you provoked me."
Derek was lost. "What?"
"She made—persuaded, my mistake—Lydia say those things thinking that we'd… actually, I'm not sure what the end goal might have been." Stiles frowned.
"To make us argue?" asked softly Derek, incredulous.
"Don't make that hurt puppy face, Derek," Laura said, though she didn't meet his eyes. "You've done a lot of crazy things because and for this one. I think you deserve an explanation. Why did your timer stop twice?"
Stiles's pulse jumped and he hurriedly turned towards his father. When he saw the man on the other side of the clearing he relaxed a bit. He threw Derek a look he couldn't decipher and then, bouncing on the soles of his feet, his body angled towards Laura.
"Woah, it's been a real issue, huh?" Stiles asked sweetly. The question, next to the big, bovine-like eyes, made him look a lot younger than he really was.
Laura's eyes narrowed. "Yes, it's been a fucking issue."
"And you've thought about it all this time?" Stiles inquired idly, while scratching his forehead.
"Yes," said Laura from between clenched teeth.
"Mmhmm." Stiles stepped closer to her and brushed her shoulder, hand coming back sooty. "And were you distracted enough to forget that the Nemeton ash is illegal?" Stiles lips' spread in a disturbing cartoonish smirk.
Confused, Derek watched the pack. He hadn't smelled anything and by the looks on their faces neither did the rest. It kind of mingled with her scent. They had somehow gotten used to Laura smelling like sweet ash. Peter's reaction, however, gave Derek the chills. He seemed to have figured something out.
"What?" Laura asked, dazed. "I didn't even… How did it… How do you know what it is?"
Stiles snorted. "I'm surprised that you don't. When everybody wants it, the Sheriff Department makes sure to know how it looks."
"I knew what it was," Laura defended feebly.
"Then you won't mind telling me how it got all over you," Stiles said in a calm, almost professional manner.
"I don't know," Laura whispered, confusion coloring his every word.
In a second, they all forgot about it, because it barely took three heartbeats before men with guns circled the clearing.
"Derek Hale," a grandfatherly voice said. "Long time no see."
"Gerard Argeant," growled Derek. He felt Stiles come up to his shoulder, standing with him against the old hunter, the others gathered at their back. His Alpha was waiting for a sign on how to proceed.
Lydia suddenly took a deep breath. She screeched as per her banshee nature. It was only after she stopped and the silence wrapped heavily around them that Derek processed the name she called – 'Stiles'.
While Derek was blinking fast, trying to orient himself, he felt a splatter of warm liquid on his left side. On Stiles's side. And Derek froze. He couldn't seem to be able to move and see for himself if his one of his worst fears just came true. Derek couldn't… quite… get a grip on his thoughts. He felt detached. Nightmarish imagines were circling through his head, along with others from an idyllic future next to his mate.
Derek lost any notion of time. The sounds became louder; his skin more sensitive to the liquid; his eyes were blurry and his scent went away—all that remained of it was the taste of iron on his tongue. He was confused and trying to fight it, to break the surface of whatever came over him, to not let it drown him. But he couldn't. And he screamed. Inside his head, he screamed and trashed uselessly.
"No, no, no," denied frantically the Sheriff.
Derek's world just came back on, but this time it was him, who didn't have the courage to turn and see.
"C'mon, kid!" sobbed the man. "Don't leave me alone."
Against his will, Derek found himself twisting in increments. First, he saw the blood on himself. Then, he saw the Sheriff lying crumpled on the ground. Finally, he saw Stiles; his light blue v-neck soaked in blood, a familiar wound in his neck, the knife in his right hand. He had probably pulled it out himself, not realizing that he would bleed out faster. His lips were curiously devoid of color. He was smiling reassuringly at his father as his heart beat painfully slow. Once. Twice. Three times. And it stopped.
Stiles was dead.
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," chanted the Sheriff.
The Pack was rendered mute with shock. The Sheriff murmured pleas were the only sound that could be heard in the silence. Derek decided, somewhere separate from himself, that Gerard had thrown the knife and the familiar placement of the wound gave the reason away. Gerard was taking revenge for his daughter. But Derek couldn't believe that he might have been guilty, even indirectly, of Stiles's… that it might have been his fault. He couldn't convince himself to move. It was as if his movement would make it real.
A cruel laugh cut through the stunned silence. "Well, I suppose you have the right to your grief," pronounced Gerard cheerfully, like an impish grandfather. "Not that you afforded us the same courtesy, but we aren't monsters."
Slowly, Derek started chuckling. It took him by surprise. Hysterical, uncontrollable guffaws shook his body and frightened everyone around him. Derek was beyond caring. He distantly thought he finally cracked.
"You're calling us monsters," giggled Derek helplessly, "after killing a deputy whose involvement in all this was the soul mate prescribed to him by fate." His mirth stopped abruptly. He had said the words; he had admitted that Stiles was dead. Derek felt sick to his stomach.
Gerard smiled sadly showing off white fangs. Vampire. Figures, it had to have been some sort of creature to take them all by surprise. "It was unfortunate."
"Unfortunate?!" shouted the Sheriff, impotent rage coloring his voice. "You just killed my son, you fucker."
Delicately, Gerard sniffed. "He shouldn't have gotten mixed with mutts."
Stuttering incoherently the Sheriff stood and lounged at Gerard. Derek stopped him halfway there. He held the Sheriff gingerly, but firmly.
"He's a vampire," Derek begged. It was the only thing he could still do for Stiles, protect the person he loved most in the world. He found himself repeating, "He's a vampire." Derek didn't know what else to do.
"An undead?" Talia spoke up, disgust written plainly in the lines of her face. She, along with Peter and Laura, made her way in front of the Sheriff and Derek. "And you call us monsters?"
"I can't have very well still been the aging human, now could I?" Gerard asked. "It was necessary."
"Didn't hunters have a code?" Peter said conversationally. He was in between Laura and Talia, but it was surprising he chose to talk at all. Or maybe it wasn't. He always valued pack. "What happened to killing themselves before becoming one of the supernatural? It became old fashioned? Pesky, that accountability thing; I agree, very annoying." He unsheathed his claws, provoking eight other sets of claws out.
"The circumstances demanded it," Gerard yelled, spittle flying.
The other hunters-turned-vampires closed it on them. There were ten of them each wielding wicked looking knifes, coated in a purple substance. It didn't take a genius to know what it was; the hunters did love their wolfsbane.
Derek stared at them, fury boiling in his veins. But he had a job. One that was more important than his thoughts of vengeance; he had someone he needed to protect. Damn it, but he wanted so much to rip Gerard's head off and watch it bounce in the undergrowth. He wanted to take his time, slowly tear off Gerard's arms and legs and only after Derek watched him writhe in agony, chocking on his own borrowed blood, Derek would take a branch and plunge it into his heart. He wanted Gerard dead by his hand.
Laura growled, fangs flashing in the sunlight. "You won't get out of here alive."
"Of course I will, you all have something you need to protect," Gerard sneered. "Well, except the Sheriff." He spared a condescending smile for the man and Derek found himself using his werewolf power just to keep the man in the Pack circle. "Tell me, Derek, what does it feel like to lose that one person who understands you in the whole wide world?"
Derek snarled.
"That's what you took from me. Kate was the only member of my family who truly understood; who saw you as you really are: monsters. And you took her from me. You made my whole family leave this land. Our land. Because she was doing the right thing," said Gerard righteously. "This is all on you, Derek. All on you." Derek closed his eyes, the words hitting him like wolfsbane bullets. Gerard smirked at the sight of his pain. "And it's just the beginning."
The hunters attacked. Unsurprisingly, the Sheriff planted himself over his son's body, took aim and shot the nearest one. It slowed him down enough to make him an easy kill, via branch to the heart, for Erica. On the other side, Laura ducked under the knife of a hunter and managed to make him impale himself. Pressing close, Laura then punched through his rib cage, tearing out his heart. Derek saw Lydia use her bag strap to snap the sun glasses off a hunter's face, exposing his sensitive eyes to its light. His scream was cut short by a branch through the heart wielded by Jackson.
Almost everywhere around him, hunters burst into the dying fire that was custom for their race. There were four more shots, and a shout from Boyd, while Derek did his best to protect the Sheriff. He shouted Laura's name and managed to sneak a kick to one hunter that had gotten too close, propelling him into Laura's claws. Derek turned away from the glare of the flames. That was the only reason he saw Gerard come from behind the Sheriff.
Derek quickly pulled the Sheriff out of the way and safely behind him. His eyelids dropped in sorrow and his stomach revolted in disgust when Gerard stepped on Stiles's corpse to get to Derek. The Sheriff shouted and shot Gerard, but the old man had managed to throw off his aim by reminding him in such a horrible manner of his son's death. He missed and Gerard slashed forward with a knife bathed in yellow wolfsbane. Apparently, it was an Argeant family thing.
Not being able to leave the Sheriff and not having the certainty that he would be safe anywhere else, Derek's only remaining course of action was grabbing the hand with the knife. His own hand trembled against the vampire's strength. When Gerard added another hand, orienting the knife towards Derek's heart, Derek had no choice but to bring his other hand up, pitting his power against a fucking hybrid hunter-vampire with a grudge. It was a stalemate, but Derek didn't for a minute think Gerard didn't have any tricks on his sleeve. He frantically tried to think of something he might do. There was nothing.
Until the tip of a knife shone out of Gerard's chest.
"Derek!" shouted Stiles.
And Derek didn't have time to think. He took advantage of Gerard's confusion, lifted a clawed hand and ripped his head off his shoulders. A spray of blood came first, then bits of sinew and spine and finally, the flames that announced his death. But Derek barely paid attention to any of it, because behind what used to Gerard, stood Stiles—alive.
Although his clothes were still soaked with blood, Stiles was smiling sheepishly. There was no trace of the wound. No hint that he had ever been anything else than alive. He was holding the knife that was used on him and vibrating with energy as usual.
"Stiles," the Sheriff passed a stunned Derek and gave his son a hug. "You scared me."
Just like that. As if the Sheriff had been expecting it. And he had, Derek realized. His cries over Stiles's body—pleading words that Derek had discounted as the way a father was unable to accept the truth—were for his son to come back to him, the way he stood over Stiles's body like he guarding it, they were all signs that he was half expected his son to return. But he hadn't been sure. His grief was real.
"Hey everybody," said Stiles awkwardly, flailing a hand in some sort of demented wave.
There was a pause as everyone tried to readjust to the new information. With a whoosh, the last hunter disappeared in a blaze, her demise completely ignored by the pack. They were watching Stiles even with two of them—Derek's father, who had a branch sticking out of his side, and Boyd, who needed Erica to support himself as part of lower leg was apparently crushed, but slowly healing—injured.
"That's unexpected," observed Peter.
More staring followed that thought, until Derek finally realized that his mate was alive and stepped to give Stiles his own crushing hug.
Wait. If Stiles was dead for approximately ten minutes, then came back to life, that meant… That meant he really had died when Derek's timer stopped. Both times. Stiles had died and come back to life and Derek was an asshole for believing the worst. Derek realized that if Stiles hadn't been able to do whatever it was that he had done, Derek could have lost him when he was thirteen. He wouldn't have known Stiles at all. That made him tighten his embrace.
"How?" Derek asked in Stiles's hair, not being able to step back yet.
"I'm a Spark," shrugged Stiles as much as he could with Derek's arms still around him.
"A what?" questioned Peter, interested.
"A Spark." Stiles finally compromised by turning into Derek's hold to speak with the others. His long-fingered hands were wrapped around Derek's forearms. "Someone who has one second—a spark of magic—to decide when they die if they want to return or not."
Derek nuzzled the back of Stiles's ear, delighted he had his mate back and willing to suspend his disbelief for ten more minutes. When he opened his eyes he saw that the pack was in various stages of befuddlement (Jackson, his dad and sister), calculation (Peter and Lydia), adorable confusion (Isaac), amusement (his mother, Erica and Boyd) or concern (Jennifer). Derek closed his eyes again, inhaling his mate's scent and feeling a sense of peace.
"Why haven't we heard about your kind before?" asked Lydia suspiciously.
Stiles's smugness emanated from his skin and right into Derek's nose. He felt a corresponding mischievous grin take over his face just as Stiles answered, "Lack of research?"
Lydia's answering growl was surprisingly accurate.
"Actually, my dearest Lydia," said Peter in a sweet tone that practically announced to everyone he was going to put the cherry on the cake, "he is right. There are references to 'Snaps', 'Flips' and 'Twists'. The name is different, of course, it could depend on the country I guess, but they do figure in the supernatural literature. They are so rare as to be considered an endangered species. Because of their status they don't need to declare it."
Lydia frowned. "Twists are able to take the inconsistency of ghosts and always having a foot on the other side," she quoted to prove the differences. "Furthermore, it said that in their time of death, an angel and a devil comes to them. Each must convince the person quickly or risk losing that person's soul, doomed to roam the earth as a ghost outside of their grasp."
Peter smiled and looked at Stiles.
"It's all inside of you until you die the first time. Then, it's all drunk kittens, because cats are on both sides of the fence, and zombie dogs if you happen to pass by where one is buried," Stiles rolled his eyes, feigning nonchalance, but Derek was sad at the admission. It meant that Stiles had never visited his mother's grave. And if he did… well, Stiles had managed to get past that. "The second is false. There's no one fighting over my soul," Stiles chuckled. Derek knew that was not all. Stiles was tense underneath the wide smile. "And the third is half true. I mean I do get to be a ghost for a while if I linger too much, but I disappear eventually." There was definitely something more underneath this one.
"That's how you knew about Laura being covered in Nemeton ash," said Peter with a leading smile. He had a plan of some sort. "It's dead. You felt it."
"Yes," answered Stiles warily.
Jennifer looked scared and Peter casually strolled in her direction, talking all the while. "You can manipulate the ash?"
"Normally, no." Stiles was clearly suspecting something. "The Nemeton makes it possible."
Peter caught Jennifer by the hand. "Then you can free poor Laura?" he asked with a smirk, staring into Jennifer's eyes all the while.
Laura opened her mouth and closed it. She shook her head, as if shaking cobwebs. Trembling, she nodded to Stiles.
Stiles blinked and took a step out of Derek hug and to the right. He extended his palm. Slowly, ash began to flow into it. And not just off Laura's clothes. Her eyes, nose, mouth, ears were secreting the grayish powder. Even her skin. What was more damning, her timer reactivated and started a new countdown. Derek could not be sure, but he saw over eight hundred days on it. He would have said it was impossible, but it obviously wasn't—Jennifer was not Laura's mate.
"Jennifer," Laura whispered, betrayed.
Glaring at Peter, Jennifer finally turned cold eyes on Laura. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."
Derek felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned to his mate. "What?" he mouthed.
Furious, Laura asked, "How was it supposed to be?" Then softly, "Why?"
"You are an Alpha," Stiles mouthed carefully.
Frowning, Derek shook his head.
"Gerard and I had an agreement," Jennifer said unfeelingly. "I bring you to the clearing, he kills you all."
"What?" choked Laura.
"Listen to me," Stiles whispered to Derek, "I am Spark and not a Twist or Snap, because I have a werewolf as a mate. You have a Spark as a mate. What's a werewolf with a Spark, Derek?"
Derek was wildly confused. "An Alpha?"
"After that, he would have avenged his daughter and I would be an Alpha," Jennifer explained.
Laura shook her head. "How would you even become an Alpha?"
From her part, his Alpha, seemed in pain and was as confused as all of them. Except Stiles. And Jennifer. And Peter. And Lydia, who seemed to catching on quickly. Well, maybe she was just confused.
Derek was distracted by the turn of their conversation. He was not the biggest believer in coincidences. Today least of all. He turned his attention to Stiles, since he seemed to know what he was doing.
"I chose you as my mate; I want you to always be a part of my life," whispered Stiles.
Derek's smile was large and happy.
"Everybody knows it's going to be you, honey," said Jennifer. "I only had to create a link between us like the one between you and your mother. That way, when you all died, I would take over—have all the benefits of a powerful Alpha, with none of the weaknesses and a territory."
"Argeant didn't succeed," Laura said passionately. "And Peter caught on to what you were trying to do. You lose."
"Whatever role you will play in my life, what's important is that you be in it. I accept you as my mate," whispered Derek, looking into deep amber depths and feeling like coming home.
"Ah," said Jennifer as if that did not pose any problems whatsoever. "I may have forgotten to mention that I started siphoning the power since Gerard first appeared. That's the reason your mother faltered and your father got stabbed by a branch as a result. Though luck."
Stiles smiles and got close to Derek, leaning forward gently.
"And now—What the hell? Where did it go? Where did my power go?" demanded Jennifer.
Derek captured Stiles's lips.
"You!" cried Jennifer.
Derek opened his eyes and moved to pull Stiles behind him a little too late. That is to say, Stiles had already become immaterial. With a great air of innocence, his mouth parted in a mocking 'oh' when one of the hunter's knives passed right through him.
"What are you Derek?" Stiles challenged.
Feeling power rush through his veins, Derek smirked. "The Alpha."
Though Derek heard shouts and murmurs from his pack, they were in the background. The power became a tingling sensation that took over his lungs and heart with a crushing force. He shuddered through a breath.
"Chose light," whispered his mate's voice in his ear. "Chose light and come back to me, Derek."
Suddenly, Derek world was grey. He spun around in place where there was fog and not much else. It was rolling around, fat and easy. From the right poured light and warmth; from the left poured inky blankness and cold. It seemed pretty easy—heaven and hell. Not it wasn't. One had to be life. It was dying and life. But why would Stiles want him dead? And Derek had to make his decision fast because time was ticking. So he, for once, didn't listen to his own misconceptions about what they might represent and decided that his mate knew what he was talking about as he apparently did this whole shit fest. Derek stepped into the light.
And woke up looking at the world through from a new angle. His arms and legs different, his senses better. Derek tilted his head. Upon seeing Stiles, kneeling and smiling at him, Derek waggled his tail broadly. Wait. What?
"You look confused," Stiles said, leaning forward and scratched at his cheek. He contemplated for a bit, before flailing his hands. "You're a real wolfie!" he cheered. "Does that help?"
Derek barked and nipped softly at Stiles's blood soaked v-neck. He thought about how much more useful it would be to be able to pronounce words and, lo and behold, he was human again. A naked human.
"What happened?" Derek asked.
"You attracted the Alpha power to you. Jennifer split. The others are after her, after they gave her a leading start waiting to make sure you were okay. My dad's after them to make sure everything's legal," Stiles said, oddly concise. "And, just putting this out there, how are you real? You look photo shopped." His eyes scraped over Derek's torso.
Derek laughed a tad hysterically.
The trampling sound came closer.
"Heads up," Derek said. He couldn't help himself and stepped protectively in front his mate, to Stiles's complete and utter exasperation as evidenced by frankly exaggerated sigh. But Stiles didn't say anything, so Derek took that to mean that his mate was willing to grant Derek this one thing.
Out of the woods came Jennifer running. Only moments after her, five werewolves—claws and fangs out. Derek guessed the others had given up. After several more moments, a puffing Sheriff.
"Are we in a comedy?" asked Stiles watching them run across the clearing. "Is that what's happening here?"
Derek took off to intercept Jennifer, changing forms easily as he went.
"Really?!" yelled Stiles. "'Cause they weren't enough werewolves."
Jumping up, Derek grabbed Jennifer's forearm in a powerful grip. He may or may not have crushed a bone; or two. Either way, there was blood pouring in his mouth.
As Jennifer was falling, Stiles—who apparently followed Derek even when he thought Derek was being stupid or redundant—appeared. He gestured with his hand, drawing a circle in the air. Almost immediately the ash he had gathered followed his orders and settled down in a circle with Derek and Jennifer inside.
"Your mate doesn't care very much about you, Alpha," Jennifer said, pained. "The little Spark closed you in with somebody who has managed to steal already an Alpha's power."
It was a weak manipulation. Derek snarled with his fangs still deep in her arm. And if he felt a bit of unease at the sight of the circle, nobody needed to know about it.
"It's not mountain ash," said Stiles dryly, "which is a type of tree. This is actual ash from the burning a different type of mystical tree altogether. He can cross it, you can't."
Pffft. Who said Derek had been nervous? He hadn't been.
"What happens now?" Stiles asked sleepily.
They were in Derek's bed, cuddling and Derek was very proud of that fact.
"I don't know."
Stiles opened one eye. "I wasn't asking for an official comment. You don't have to be sure."
"What's your opinion about Peter?" Derek asked instead of answering.
"He's smart. Calculated. Protective."
Derek hesitated. "He's more calculated then protective I think," he explained. "We're two packs still. I'll talk it over with mom and we'll settle on something. But the other half of the pack it's going to suffer some changes. Laura will not be fit to be an Alpha, not even one in name only. She doesn't have the confidence anymore. Maybe she'll get it back with her mate, maybe faster, maybe never—the important thing is Peter will be the Alpha in the interim. He gets what he always wanted. The question is what will he want next?"
"Complete power," whispered Stiles.
Derek nodded. "He can't take me on as a werewolf. I'm his Alpha. But he's sneaky."
Both eyes now open, Stiles said, "You're not a normal Alpha, though. If you to lose the status, I'll just give it back to you."
"And we promised we're going to be in each other lives. So he has to…"
"Kill me," said Stiles soberly. "And make sure I stay dead."
Derek squeezed his eyes shut. "How did you know what happens when you don't make a decision?"
Stiles was petting Derek's hair, lost in thought. "It all started when I was ten. That time the decision was simple—go to the light. That's the only one dad knows about. I was in the yard, fell off the tree house and cracked my head on a rock. Then mom explained to me that she was like me and tried to explain it. I didn't really understand.
"Then half a year passed, she got sick and she died." Stiles shrugged, trying to smile bravely through the tears Derek could see shining in his eyes. "She returned as a ghost. Said it took her a lot of time to decide, because her passing was so painful and long, that she felt disorientated by the absence of it."
Derek gathered Stiles into his arms, regretting asking the question and, at the same time, needing the information.
"That's when I decided to walk angrily in the woods. I still can't explain what the mountain lion was doing there, your pack—our pack—chased most other predators out," Stiles shook his head ruefully. "I just lost my mom, who was a ghost, my dad was drinking a little too often and I didn't want to fight anymore. I went into the darkness. And surprise, I was alive. That's when my mom and I resolved the last puzzle we ever did together.
"You see, it sees your life as it is right now and it mirrors it. If you have the objectivity to analyze your life by the cold facts and not whatever you're feeling, you can always tell which is which," Stiles said, eyes dark. "In theory. Only, people are never that clean cut. Some will always choose one or the other because they are tired, they want to punish themselves, they are hedonistic, all sorts of reasons really. Others will get stuck and become ghosts. It depends I guess." He took a deep breath. "The thing is—"
"You can't be sure that you're going to return," Derek interrupted gruffly.
"I don't die that often, though. Three times, yes, but I was in mortal peril a lot. I usually phase," Stiles smiled reassuringly.
"Why didn't you phase today?" There was a tiny bit of reproach in Derek's voice.
Stiles rolled his eyes. "How many people were behind me, Alpha?"
Oh. Right. Changing the subject. "What happened to your mom?" Awful subject change.
"She dispersed a couple of days after we agreed on the choice," Stiles said sadly. "I don't know why or what happened; if it was natural, or she found peace."
There was a long pause in the room, both of deep falling prey to their restless thoughts.
"I hope Peter won't try anything," Derek whispered.
"And if he does, we'll deal with it," reassured Stiles. "Now, I really want to see if those abs are real."
Derek laughed. "How do you plan to do that?"
"All sorts of ways." Stiles smirked. "Firstly, by an industrious application of lips and tongue. Secondly, I was thinking about—"
Derek interrupted Stiles with a kiss. It was dirty and sloppy. No care whatsoever; pure sex. And it was good. But most importantly, what made it glorious, was the person he shared it with.
"I'm glad you're here," Derek confessed.
Afterword
End Notes
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