the small steps that others can't see Chapter 1: a scar does not form on the dying, a teen wolf fanfic

Rating:

General Audiences

Fandom:

Teen Wolf (TV)

Relationship:

Derek Hale & Peter Hale

Additional Tags:

Delta Derek Hale, Derek is Complicated, Hermaphrodites, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, Alpha Peter Hale, Laura Being An Asshole, Minor Character Death, Graphic Description, Survivor Guilt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Peter Hale, Sane Peter Hale, well he's working on it, Fluff and Angst, Psychological Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, suffocation warning, Hopeful Ending

Part 1 of the taking the long way home series

Summary:

But the day finally comes after Peter's been Alpha for nearly six months that his eyes open and he tracks Derek around the room. His eyes settle on blue and his throat works around the tube, rasping something that sounds like 'water', might be 'what', could be 'wait'. Derek barely has time to blink at him, startled, before his eyes are closed and he's gone again.

In which Derek goes back for Peter and they begin to heal together.

Notes:

Wow this got so much bigger than I planned, and let me say that I started this thinking it would be just a sweet story under 8k, maybe even under 5k. HA. It STILL isn't the big one I've been writing for years - I actually started this after I posted SS, but it kinda grabbed hold of my hand and took off.

Here's the full quote I got the title from:

"It's the days you have every right to breakdown and fall apart, yet choose to show up anyway that matter most. Don't diminish the small steps that others can't see."
― Brittany Burgunder

Chapter 1: a scar does not form on the dying

Summary:

First there's Derek.

Notes:

This was an experience, diving into this. Not the first time I've experimented in the Teen Wolf universe but it was the first time I started away from Stiles' POV. I think it did me good, to write someone different and work with a POV so different from what I'm used to. Ironically Derek is more like me than Stiles is so it was a...unique kind of feeling to just write out my own reactions instead of putting myself in someone else's shoes. Love my boys, all of them from One Piece to Marvel and Dragon Age, to the Wizardverse and Middle Earth and GOT to Naruto and back to Teen Wolf, hope I did them justice!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

It's been a long time since Derek's trusted anyone. Well, trusted them with anything personal, anything real. Sometimes he doesn't have a choice, he gets pushed into situations where he's forced to trust people he wouldn't normally put faith in, but those times don't count. The last time he trusted someone like that, the last time he chose to trust someone, people died.

He'd trusted Laura, had trusted her all the way to New York, three-thousand miles away from everything he'd ever known, the two of them running scared and alone. He'd trusted her, followed her into a tiny two bedroom flat with a leaky kitchen faucet and never questioned her. He'd believed in her, would have done anything for her, right up until she ordered him not to go back for Peter.

It wasn't that he blamed her, or even felt that guilty himself, for leaving Peter in the hospital those first few months. Sure he'd have preferred to find a way to transfer him to a local hospital, but he understood the panic and fear, the grief pressing against their fur until it felt like they were dripping with it. Retreat, lick your wounds, live to come back once it wasn't all so fresh.

The first time he'd brought it up she'd seemed sad and uncertain, but the more they talked about it the more Laura seemed to pull away from the idea. Finally it came to a head when she yelled at him, asking why he had to keep bringing it up, obviously they couldn't go back, what if there were still hunters watching for them?

"But what about Peter? He's alone there, Laura, he's pack and he's all alone. How can you just not care?"

It was Peter, for fuck's sake. It was their uncle, only eight years older than Laura, the one who taught them how to hunt when their Mom was busy with inter-pack politics, the one to sing Laura lullabies when she was little. He could still remember the way his uncle had grinned when Cora's first word had been, "Pe'tr.", the way he'd taught them about their heritage. He had helped Derek understand the history of his gender, the important role they played in the family but also why he had to be very careful with who he trusted. Oh his parents were always open to talk with him, especially his Momma and Grandmother, to give advice and share experiences, but Peter was the one who had been trusted with teaching him.

He'd been their favourite uncle, had coached Laura through presentations for classes and given her advice on boys, threatened the ones that hurt her feelings. He'd been more of an older brother to her than an uncle, laying on her bed and listening to her talk, letting her and Cora paint his nails.

God and Cora. Cora was his little mini-me, the one they all thought would take his place in the next generation, the most ruthless of them all. Oh she'd follow him and dress up in his clothes like Derek had with his Momma's when he was little, trailing his shirt hems while he watched over her like a benevolent god.

He helped Derek get through the feelings he had for Paige, had been the one to find him and stop him from approaching Ennis, had let him talk out the feelings again when Paige moved away a few months later. When he'd gone away to college the next year Derek had been moping around in the public library when he met her and he starkly remembered the way Peter's voice in his head had never really trusted Kate. Derek had ignored his instincts, had ignored every warning Peter had ever given him, and look where they were now.

Laura's face crumpled a little, "Of course I care, Derek, but I have to think about us now, about keeping us safe. It's been over a year and nothing bad has happened to Peter, but he's also not getting any better. I can't – I can't risk our safety for him, even though I love him, because he might not wake up. He might not ever wake up, but if we go back, and they found us here, we would just have to leave him behind all over again." She'd started crying and Derek had let it go, hugging her and giving comfort where he could.

It's not that Derek didn't get all that. He did, he really did, but another month had barely passed when he'd brought up the possibility of him going by himself to start the transfer. He would be discreet, would come straight back and let the hospitals do all the work of transporting Peter.

Later he would wonder if it was him suggesting he leave her behind, alone, that had brought that wild look into her eyes. Her red, red eyes. That voice, the voice that was to be obeyedobeyedobeyed clamping down on his inner wolf, chains sealing him up from leaving the city without her. She hadn't meant it as a punishment, she explained calmly, almost reasonably, but she had to keep him safe. She had to be a good Alpha.

And just like that, his autonomy was taken, again, for the second time in as many years. He wasn't sure if she really understood what that did to him, what it did to the Delta inside him to know that there was a pack member hurting and being literally unable to help. It scraped his insides raw most days, squeezing up tight inside his head like a virus and pressing against his thoughts so hard sometimes the migraines drove him shifting into a small ball under his bed for hours.

He felt doubly betrayed when it was obvious that Laura wasn't affected by the abandonment any more than if Peter had been a stranger on the street. How was it so easy for her to throw him away? Would she do the same to Derek eventually because he didn't agree? It took only a few months for Derek to move out into his own apartment, fleeing from Laura the only way he could without having the chains in his wolf pull taut. She dogged him that first year, not so much trying to understand as being exasperated as to why he couldn't just accept that she was right.

Instead he changed his locks and had wards installed so she couldn't just barge in when he didn't want her to. He got a job and spent three months of pay on replacing his front door with something solid and steel studded, reinforced with dozens of spells and a thick strip of mountain ash attached to the bottom so when he shut it nothing could get in. Oh Laura had fits over that door but save for giving him another Order there was nothing she could do to make him change it. She never did though, perhaps sensing that their bond was already frayed and thinning with every outburst.

He kept calling the hospital through it all, would make them set the phone on speaker by Peter's bed and talk to him until the battery died. Laura got involved with one of the local packs, never seeming to notice the way Derek shied away from her touch, shuddered when she'd scent his neck. It wasn't quite enough to break the bond between Alpha and Delta, but god Derek could feel it hanging by threads most days.

It was ironic to him years later that it wasn't Laura dying that had made him realise she was dead; by that point he hadn't felt the bond between them in nearly two years save for on the full moon when his wolf reached for it on a subconscious level. No, what made him drive across the country and storm back in Beacon Hills was the bond that snapped into place between he and Peter.

August 3, 2012

He finds him in the hospital, sits there at the side of the bed and holds his hand until the nurses make him leave. He can feel the bond in his mind, as strong as his Mom's used to be, so much stronger than the one he and Laura had ever had, so he feels secure enough to leave for a night. Promising to be back the next day he goes to find Laura. He buries her by the house that night in an unmarked grave for now. Her throat's ripped out but her nails have blood under them too, her mouth smeared over with it, so she'd fought back. It settled some animal instinct, knowing it was a fair fight and not a slaughter.

The Alpha had been weak, and so was challenged and beaten. Now he has a stronger Alpha, can feel it settling around the scars in his mind left by Laura's commands.

Derek hadn't even paid attention at the time because he could feel his wolf howling, roaring, demanding to get to the Alpha, to give support and solidify the bond. He'd left the city and never cared about the chains of her orders, had felt them snap under the pressure and weight of the heavy new connection. So he buries her but barely mourns, having lost his sister years ago. He leaves the wolfsbane inside the grave instead of lining the outside like he would if he was declaring vengeance, going back to where it had happened and turning over the dirt so the blood's covered by a good foot of drier soil.

Then he finds a hotel close to the hospital because he has things to do if he's going to take care of Peter, and he can't do them from the middle of the Preserve in the burnt out shell of his childhood.

August 15, 2012

It takes almost two weeks but he manages to get Peter transferred to Mount Sinai in their long-term care unit, in a room facing Central Park, looking down on a playground. Peter's the same, still staring at the ceiling when his eyes are open at all, but Derek doesn't worry overmuch. He can feel the bond thrumming between them, can hear the tiny trips in Peter's heart when Derek enters the room. His uncle's at least peripherally aware of him, and that's plenty. So he gets busy on the next step; moving. His current apartment's good enough for him but it only has one bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and less hot water than Derek would've liked. He has the money for something better but it's always seemed like too much trouble, having already warded the place and installed a totally new door.

This is for his pack though, so it's not only worth it, it's necessary. So just a day after getting back to New York he pays the rent for next month in his current place as an apology for not waiting until his lease is up and takes the door with him. He also digs out the plaster where the wards are anchored, his claws flaking away the paint and prying up the runes underneath. He could leave them since they aren't harmful but it's never good to leave magic lying around unmonitored, especially since Junko's unlikely to forgive him if her wards show up somewhere they aren't supposed to be.

The new flat's on the west side of Central Park almost directly opposite Mount Sinai, close enough for Derek to cut through it to the hospital and near enough to the reservoir to avoid the crowds from the sports fields on either side. The flat has a full balcony attached to the living room that faces outwards towards the park to let the sunlight through in the mornings and an open kitchen with enough counter space for four people and so much cupboard room that it's - well, it's fit for werewolves. The bedrooms are well-kept, a good-sized master with two slightly smaller rooms that sit on either side of the hall from each other, and a decently sized office space with a built in wall of bookshelves. There's two bathrooms including the ensuite in the master and a fire escape outside the room he claims for himself that trails down into the alleyway between the their building and the next.

The space was originally a loft but the owner of the building refurbished it to a flat while leaving the floor plan open and breezy. There's still exposed beams though and the outer wall is a solid dark grey brick that does something nice for the aesthetic that Derek can't quite describe. He forks over enough money from the emergency funds Laura had kept at her apartment for the next six months, getting permission from the landlord before installing the front door and hauling the old one down to storage.

Then he contacts Junko and spends an afternoon sitting on the couch watching Dexter and Downton Abbey on Netflix while she walks around the edges of the flat with a bowl of crushed up herbs, spitting her fire into it when she needs a fresh gust. He ends up with a double layer of fire protection and theft warding, accepting that she'll need to come back once Peter arrives to key him into the main infra-structure of magic. She installs several smaller charms for him against mould and vermin, hanging up a large webbed framework in the hallway between the bedrooms that will function as a kind of dreamcatcher to soften the grip of any nightmares.

It's nice to know people in the supernatural community, even if he mostly stays on the outskirts. People who know his family name also tend to know at least a basic summary of what happened to his pack, and he's never been good with pity.

August 31, 2012

Derek has had fewer nightmares with the bond taking up so much room in his mind, has better focus than he's had in years with a steady support system telling his wolf he doesn't have to be so tense, the Alpha will take care of them. Not exactly true right now, but his instincts aren't always logical and the thought helps anyway. It's a process, getting used to the feeling again, but he's so relieved and thankful for it that sometimes when he has an hour or two he'll just take a walk over to sit with Peter, taking what little pain he can – most of it seemed to be mental, not physical – and taking up the time by quietly reading aloud.

The first full moon passes with Derek sneaking into the hospital to lay beside Peter on the bed and tuck his face into his uncle's throat, careful not to disturb the breathing tube and IV drip snaking down the side of the bed. It's the first time Peter moves on his own, his body jolting after the moon rose and clamping a bruising grip down on Derek's arm where it's laying over his waist.

"'rek?" Peter slurs round a mouthful of plastic, his heart fast and scared in his chest, eyes finding Derek in the dark room. There are bars of moonlight cast over the floor but they don't reach the bed and the shadows leave them to stare at each other as those red eyes bore into him.

It's always been interesting to Derek that Alpha eyes are so different from each other – the colour as varied in shade and hue as the people they belong to. His mother's had been the colour of fresh blood, so dark they were nearly black with a strength like folded steel. Laura's had been a deceptively cheerful candy apple red, lighter and shiny and cold. Peter's are embers in a banked fire, burning at him from his uncle's gaunt face like a demand.

Even here in this place where they don't feed Peter enough for his biology, keeping him alive but slowly starving him, there's a strength to his wolf that's entirely pleasing to Derek's. It might just be instincts but it's been years since he's been around an Alpha that's a comfort to him instead of something he has to have to get by. It makes his hands shake a little in relief.

"I'm here," he says instead of any of that, wrapping his hand around Peter's arm and pulling until he finds his uncle's hand, "I'm right here, Peter. Alpha."

There's a rough, dry sound like a sob and Peter turns his head slowly with obvious, determined effort until his nose is half-tucked into the side of Derek's head. The plastic oxygen tube is digging into his forehead but Derek doesn't move except to tilt his chin up a tiny bit and press his throat to Peter's shoulder lightly.

"W'y?"

It's choked out into his hair but he feels it in his chest like something sharp and broken, digging up the guilt he's managed to keep buried this past month, focusing on Peter and what they would need. Now it burrows into him and squeezes his ribs, drying up his words and filling his mouth with the taste of ashes.

He can't say it, can't make himself speak the words, so instead he opens himself up to the bond, traces his mind over the scars his sister left there in his wolf. Peter feels them, curls tighter and hoarsely around the places the old chains had held. His spark soothes the last of the ache and Derek all but melts into the bed at the feeling of pack.

His throat trills a soft whine, gratitude wetting his eyes even as Peter starts to drift back under. Derek lays there the whole night, Peter dozing in and out, sometimes asking if Derek's still there and giving a shudder of relief when he's not alone. The third time he wakes up Derek explains how in a couple hours he'll have to go because the nurses don't know he's here but he'll be back for visiting hours later that day. Peter clutches at him but after a little while he nods and wraps a palm over the back of Derek's neck with painstaking effort, smearing his claim there. It doesn't really help with the fact that he's got to leave but then Derek hadn't expected it to.

The scars are slowly starting to ease away from Peter's face with the Alpha power to encourage the healing, and Derek knows it won't be much longer until he has to check him out from the hospital before people start looking closer.

Making back out of the hospital is markedly harder than it was getting in but he manages, ducking out a maintenance entrance and finding breakfast in a little diner that has real maple syrup and thick bacon he could eat until he dies. It's another few hours until the hospital will let him back in so he goes back home for a nap and to sign off on the delivery of the new bed frame he ordered when the man buzzes his door around ten.

He leaves it propped up in the room that will be Peter's, heading back to the hospital and checking in. He sits with his uncle for several hours until a nurse wakes him up with a sympathetic smile and suggests he goes home for today. Giving his Alpha's hand a squeeze he nods and thanks her, brushing Peter's hair back from his face and trailing a palm over his arm before heading out.

Once he's back home he spends an hour setting up the bed and then crashes in his own until the sun wakes him up the next day. It's been a long time since he spent a full moon with someone else and it's telling in how rested he feels, his wolf content and lazy under his skin. It's nice, good, and he lounges for another hour in bed before getting up.

The week is largely spent at work making up the time he'd taken off for the day before the full moon and the day of. It's landscaping, largely peaceful and surprisingly rewarding, so he doesn't mind working an extra day or two.

It's a quiet couple of weeks after that, but an offhand remark from one of Peter's nurses about how his scarring seems to be getting better makes him realise he's not running out of time, he is out of time. He starts the process of withdrawing Peter that afternoon, filling out the paperwork and signing waivers, submitting them to the administration with a small smile. The woman he talks to a few days later asks him questions about how much he knows, is he aware of how much work will be involved, has he done his research, is he prepared at home for the equipment needed – the answers seem to satisfy her that he's fully aware of what he's getting into.

She gives him a shrewd, assessing look and he explains how he's been saving up to do this and finally got everything in place, he's just been waiting on his previous lease to end before he brings Peter home It takes over two hours to get everything signed and talk out all her concerns but eventually she nods, agreeing to process the papers and making sure he knows who to contact should he have any questions.

September 21, 2012

The sun is hidden behind clouds on the day he wheels Peter out of the hospital but he can feel it in his bones just the same, warm and pack and pleased. It makes his wolf want to wriggle and he runs his fingers through Peter's hair after he loads him into the car. He left his father's Camaro in storage, buying what he can only refer to as a mom car, but hey it's got really good safety reviews and it gets great mileage so he's fine with being the dude who drives the van. It's also got great storage and the wheelchair doesn't even need to be folded up before it fits in the back. He does, because he doesn't want it rolling over his landscaping stuff, but it's the principle of the thing.

It's obvious that Peter has started to wake up, at least to Derek. There will be whole minutes where his heart spikes and his eyelids start to move, but they're never for very long and he never speaks. Those moments fill Derek with both hope and frustration but he's patient, taking his blanket off his own bed and draping it over Peter's to give the man his scent at all times when he can't be there in person if he starts to flicker.

And so they go. Derek keeps working on integrating Peter into the apartment, pulling his books out of the family storage and setting them up in the living room, buying better stuff for the kitchen in general because there was no way Peter would have let him get away with the ones he'd been using to get by. He found that just the knowledge of having someone, especially his Alpha, to look after was lifting him out of the fog he'd settled into over the past five years.

He was raised a werewolf in a family of werewolves; he's never had much bodily shame, has never had a need for it, especially considering how much the rest of his family worked to make sure he knew he had nothing to be ashamed of. Rather, he was special, not strange, and woe to any fool who might suggest otherwise. He's probably the best suited person to care for Peter outside perhaps an actual 'were doctor or nurse. Giving sponge baths and cleaning bedpans actually have a positive effect on his Delta after being unable to help for so long, feeding the need Derek feels to take care of his injured pack mate, his injured Alpha. So he just adjusts his schedule, takes an extra day off work here and there. His crew leader allows it when he's made to understand Derek's situation, saving him the need of finding a new job.

It's not that he has to work – well, not for money, anyway. Right now he could probably get away with quitting and cutting his days down to caring for Peter and watching Netflix but his mind has been too loud for him since that first morning after he spent the night with Kate. Just a little too sharp, a little too twisting in his own skull to leave him in peace when he's alone with his thoughts. It's why he sleeps with thunderstorms playing, why he works outside with the sounds of the city no matter where he turns, it's why he doesn't like people touching him.

And it's definitely why it drove him insane to have his own sister wrap hooks into his fur and anchor him here like a bitch on a leash.

September 30, 2012

The second full moon is just as clingy as the first, both of them in Peter's bed under the blankets, Derek talking quietly about everything that's happened and how he thinks Peter's getting better. Explaining how he's working on getting paperwork falsified to show Peter had gone to a plastic surgeon because once the spark heals the scars there will be questions.

He usually coils his scent up inside him so he doesn't get noticed by just any stranger, but for Peter he lets it out to fill the apartment. It doesn't go beyond the walls; he would know, he paid good money for those wards so they better hold. It's not that he thinks he'd be harassed – not exactly, since Deltas are respected and typically understood to be off-limits in civilised society, but he's not been interested in anyone the way they would be interested in him, hasn't been for years. In his darker moments he wonders if Kate broke something in him, questions if that's not what he deserves for trusting her.

But Peter tucks close and breaths like he just broke into open air for the first time in years, and Derek's wolf is more than happy to pump out as much happy Delta scent as it can. Derek starts to get a little high from the feedback loop between them in the bond and he spaces out for nearly an hour, the bliss of it soaking down into his belly and tugging at the wolf until he's sprawled over Peter and humming quietly. The Alpha doesn't make anything of it except to tighten his hold on Derek when he comes back to himself, looking more than a little choked up at the trust.

Peter doesn't speak. That's something that Derek was prepared for but Peter is obviously struggling with. He can make sounds but struggles with swallowing sometimes. It's not something Derek can help him with, really and that frustrates both of them. He's done the reading, understands the basic pathology of it, even has exercises for Peter to work on once he fully wakes up, but he can't just breathe or swallow or talk for him – he wouldn't want to. The Alpha spark keeps him breathing easily enough to make his sounds during the full moon but Derek isn't sure that will last once he wakes up.

Derek's perfectly fine with the silence to be honest. Not that he wouldn't love to hear his uncle's voice, but he couldn't complain right now if he tried. Something that Peter doesn't yet understand is that he's already a better Alpha in an hour of quiet holding than Laura was in the last six years with her constantly talking. And god that's hard to think about; his uncle's lost six years of his life and will never get them back. For him the fire has happened just a few minutes ago, the wounds are fresh and raw even if his broken bonds have scarred over.

Derek finds himself talking about his work with the St. Mary's Park and installing a trio of weeping willows in the Trinity Church Cemetery up by Sugar Hill. He's worked on quite a few inner-city parks and playgrounds with his team and he finds himself explaining how working with the earth gives him a grounding sense of surety that's helped keep his wolf centered since the fire. To have the scents of green things, dirt under his fingernails and grass-stains on his jeans, it calms some part of him that longs for wide spaces and leaf-littered paths through the trees.

Peter listens until the night ends, slipping back under until his grip goes slack, his arms relaxing back to give sides like dead weight. It takes Derek only a few seconds to decide he doesn't feel like moving and he's asleep before he can question it, snugged tight to Peter's side, the sense of pack pressing him to the bed with warm hands.

September 6, 2012

Derek doesn't report Laura missing until her work calls him as her emergency contact to try and get in touch with her five days after he returns to New York. She's apparently been on a two week vacation from work, presumably taken so she could deal with whatever had happened in California, but since they no longer live together and they haven't really talked in a long time, police don't look at him for more than a cursory glance when he reports her missing.

He pulls up the emotions from five years ago when he had realised that Laura was no longer the sister he'd grown up with, that losing their family and the pressure of the Alpha spark had apparently twisted her, and cries until his face is blotchy when they can't find her. She's on the other side of the country buried in the woods. The policeman who brings him the news is sympathetic, promising they they'll keep looking, not to give up hope, but Derek's already wondering how long he'll need to wait after they called the search off to take control of their joint account and get hers signed over to him as her next of kin.

He doesn't doubt that the police searched long and hard, vivacious young girl like Laura with a family tragedy background, pretty and doing well at work with a bright future ahead of her. They'll never find her.

It's not that Derek didn't love his sister, because he loved her with all his heart, would have taken on the world for her, done anything in his power to make her happy. But she stopped being his sister a long time ago.

The thing is. The thing is Derek doesn't go to the police station right away. It's perfectly understandable that he would go to her apartment first to see if she's there, look around to see if he can find anything on where she might have gone. So he does, making sure not to put on his gloves until he's gone inside and touched both the bathroom and bedroom doors, turning the bathroom faucet on and off before pulling on the leather.

What he finds doesn't really surprise him, he knew something had lured Laura home, though it is confusing. He tucks the photos and envelopes away in his bag, rescues a tiny fern he remembers from when they first got to New York, and makes copies of all the legal documents on their family bank accounts, lawyer transcripts, and hospital records for Peter she has, putting the originals in his bag and replacing them with the copies. He also clears out the stash of emergency money she has hidden away in her bathroom closet, deciding that whoever searches here doesn't need to have any idea how much she kept on hand. He also takes some time to go through her laptop and make sure there's nothing incriminating in it, either towards Beacon Hills or the supernatural in general. He loads all her files onto a USB and leaves it unplugged and on to kill the battery.

First he makes sure she has her own wards for muffling sounds and then he knocks over the kitchen table and chairs, scatters the DVD case by the hallway over the floor. He breaks the shower rod off in the bathroom, tears the curtain and snaps the towel rack in two, leaves a dent in the wall with the doorknob and breaks the lock on it like he did the front door. A few picture frames get knocked off the wall on his way back to the living room, leaving tiny grooves near the places where the frames were like someone clawed at the wall while being dragged. He'll get the ones of their Family back from evidence eventually anyways. Making sure he hasn't missed anything he leaves her phone on the floor in the kitchen with the screen cracked, her files already scrubbed of anything suspicious.

Looking around at his handiwork he almost wishes he had some blood but thinks he's done alright to make it look like some kind of break in and kidnapping. Then he goes to his apartment, shredding and dumping his gloves into several different dumpsters and tossing the last bits into the East River on his way over. Once he gets home he puts the documents in a filing cabinet, stuffing them in alongside his own records he's kept over the years like his resume, the jobs he's done for the landscaping crew he works for, and his own personal bank transcripts. The money he counts out to be just over eighty-thousand dollars.

It seems like so much after six years of never ever touching the money he knows is there, but it's not even a drop in the very deep well dug out by multiple generations of pooled pack funds and all the insurance payouts. Putting it out of his head for now, he cuts the money down pragmatically, a hefty half of it going into their rent for the next half a year. Splitting the other half, he puts some into the new van he bought, contracting the kumiho from the bookshop on Hillside Avenue to reinforce it for him.

The rest he puts into purchasing a full setup of used hospital equipment, asking the staff of Mount Sinai what he needs for home care with a coma patient and then deciding what Peter can do without. He's already healing, could always breathe on his own even before the spark was passed to him, and Derek can literally monitor his heart without any kind of equipment so the list shortens considerably. It's a sweet, cloying, back-of-the-throat-make-your-teeth-ache kind of irony that Laura's money will go into helping Peter recover in the safety of Derek's home.

Lastly he arranges a consultation with a pack out in Pennsylvania about how to help a pack member recovering from a coma. He takes a day to drive out and do it in person as a sign of respect for information they don't have to share, but it turns out to be a good visit. They give helpful advice, not only pointing out some things he hadn't considered before, but also offering some recommendations on who he can contact when the time comes for both mental and physical therapy. He thanks them, pays them for their time, and asks if he can call again if he has more questions, which they agree to.

After a day goes by in which he finally stops his bombardment of Laura's phone, having started the day her office called him, enough time has passed that he feels secure in going to the closest precinct and reporting her missing.

October 4, 2012

The first two weeks that pass after Derek brings Peter home are mostly full of Derek absorbing Peter's care into his daily schedule and making sure he's performing his new duties correctly. Derek's agreement with the hospital stipulates that a specialist visits twice a week to check up on the patient and make sure that all guidelines are being followed, so he checks once with the man about the legs exercises but they don't talk beyond that. It's something that worries Derek at first, the possibility of someone seeing Peter wake up or noticing the fading scars, what would he do if the specialist reported something suspicious? He finds out though that it's a little amazing, all the different fields that supernaturals have spread through.

When the hospital calls to make sure he's alright with Peter's care being transferred to a different doctor, he doesn't really think anything of it. The trouble with growing up surrounded by werewolves and witches is he never had many dealings with human hospitals so he's unsure if this is normal or not. He doesn't want to draw attention to their situation so he accepts - one human doctor is much the same as another, right? They'll be here to check in on Peter, not chat with him, so he's fine with it until the receptionist - probably going for comforting or reassurance - tacks on that this new specialist requested their case. By that point though it would only cause questions if he refuses, so now their stuck.

This woman is different, he can tell the moment he opens the door the next day. She smells of hot sand and dry winds, her features softly angular, her face dark tan and heart-shaped. Something of cat in her bearing, the musk of a heavy, thickly furred animal wafting around her body. She doesn't move, doesn't enter his den. Instead she waits patiently, her black hair piled up in a bun on her head, her grey-green eyes watching him as his wolf raises it's hackles.

He doesn't quite understand the feelings he's getting but the woman is dangerous, his instincts are telling him, the press of teeth at the back of his mind filling his mouth with the stretch of fangs. His gums prickle and the canines are taut behind his lips, the whisper of a growl in his throat even as he tries to calm down, his eyes flashing flatly when he blinks rapidly.

She interrupts his little meltdown when she jerks at the sight, startled. He's watchful, taking in the wide eyes she gives him and the bared throat she carefully tilts her head for. Her face is slightly chagrined, a contrite twist to her mouth, "I apologise. I knew who he was, who you were, but I didn't know – I didn't realise you were a Delta. I'm sorry. My name is Dr. Ahnya Carter and I'm the specialist assigned by Mount Sinai hospital for Peter Hale's biweekly check-up. I mean no harm."

Derek nods stiffly, unsure on whether or not he can force himself to invite her in but willing to be polite. It's a close thing and he nearly shuts the door in her face but he manages to step back and to the side, allowing her a couple of feet to slip past him. To her credit she gets verbal permission before stepping inside but the moment her foot hits the carpet Derek has to lock his muscles to keep from lunging. What is she – her scent is relaxed, could even be considered meek in her regret, but somehow she's still so intimidating that his protective instincts are vibrating.

Apparently he's broadcasting pretty loudly because she lets her bag drop to the ground and puts her papers on it before sitting down right where she's standing. Her wrists are exposed to him, her face as open as it can be considering she smells like a cat and cats are by nature subtle and wary. There's a bit of feather oil about her too, mixing with the sandy scent until he's staring at her incredulously. The doctor doesn't object when he leans a bit closer and takes a rudely deep breathe through his mouth, tasting the sun-drenched desert wind on his tongue.

"Sorry," he clears his throat once he's gotten himself together enough to back up to the kitchen table and sit on a chair like the actual civilised person he could swear he is. It's been a long time since he reacted that viscerally and his hands shake minutely as he runs them over his hair to flatten where it's prickled up like the hackles of his Delta.

"No, I'm sorry, you have nothing to apologise for. As I said, I wasn't aware – but that's no excuse – I should've called ahead to speak with you before just arriving like this. I knew you were both werewolves and I'm used to the common Beta being protective, but I've never worked directly with a pack that had a Delta."

Okay so he knows in retrospect what just happened. He's not stupid, he knows that he's been subconsciously denning for months now but Derek would like to point out that his weird, instinctual, like, hindbrain understanding is totally different from being confronted with a predator at his stoop. His wolf is in overdrive at the awareness of a fully-grown sphinx at his front door when he has a comatose Alpha inside and he's the only line of defence. Completely and utterly terrifying is a decent way to describe the feeling, though it doesn't cover the overwhelming need to smash her perfectly nice face full-frontal into the nearest potted plant, shove her back into the hallway, and slam the door shut behind her. But maybe that's just Derek.

He offers her a seat and she slowly stands and brings her things over, brushing off her slacks and sitting opposite him with her hands flat on the table. He wasn't aware how he'd tensed back up but now his shoulders drop a little and he lets his lips twitch ruefully.

"First time for both of us then," he finally offers, rubbing his forehead and resisting the urge to look in the direction of the hallway. It's ridiculous, he knows, okay? He gets that she's a doctor, can see her hospital badge clipped to her bag, Peter's files stacked up to the side, but a very large part of him just wants to toss her out the fire escape. There are stairs, she'd live, but he'd get an embarrassing amount of satisfaction out of it. He doesn't do it, of course, but the window is cracked and he figures he can always make the attempt if something goes wrong.

"Mr. Hale?" her voice is soft and her brows are crinkled in concern, "Do you want me to leave? I can arrange for a different specialist to take your uncle's case. I only took it away from Dr. Foster because he's unaware of the supernatural but we have several practitioners and specialists who can fulfil the requirements. My feelings won't be hurt, I understand defensive instincts can be very strong in these kinds of situations."

It's the compassion in her voice that pulls him out of his racing thoughts, helping him to calm down and absorb what she's saying. She's patient with him, letting him gather his thoughts, her body language obviously open and non-threatening, her head still tilted to the side to let him see her throat. It doesn't fix the churning in his gut, but it does help. It soothes his wolf to see her exposed this way, humble at the tips of his claws.

Metaphorically, of course. He wouldn't put his claws at a sphinx's throat unless there was no other option. He can't see her wings, can't feel the oppressive force he knows they have in battle, but he's trying to learn honesty with himself. There's not a lot he could do to even the playing field between them if she wanted him dead. She doesn't because she's just a person, not a monster. A doctor. Peter's doctor, that lump of good sense speaks up from his mind, poking his defensive posture until his shoulders grind reluctantly back down from where they've managed to creep upwards towards his ears.

"No," he grits, working the words around until he can say them without his teeth bared, "No, I have to get used to this. The world isn't going to wait for me to freak out every time someone scary comes along. No offense."

The woman smiles wryly, "None taken, I am a lot to spring on someone, especially a denning Delta with an injured pack mate. I'm just here for Peter's check-up."

And there his scalp goes, bristling up over the crown of his head in a curt shiver. She didn't mean it like that, he can tell, but he can't help but register a threat anyway. He suppresses the sensation of ants crawling up the back of his neck for a polite nod and standing to show her to Peter's room.

There's a tense moment in the hallway at the threshold of the master suite when the sphinx gets a little too close too fast, but they get past it without more than a warning grit of fangs and a blinking flash of silver. Peter's eyes are shut when they come into the room and Derek can tell from his heartbeat he's deep under the grip of the coma, not nearly as close as he's been skirting these past few days. He's not sure what that means, whether it's a good thing or something he should be worried about – and it suddenly occurs to him. He has someone he can ask now, someone who at least understands the situation, if not the specifics.

He won't lie, he doesn't trust Dr. Carter, but it's not like he really trusts anybody else either. So it's not her fault. They end up talking for a while about what's been going on with Peter and what exercises he's researched for when his Alpha starts to wake up. The doctor can't tell him to what degree Peter will recover or how quickly but she's hopeful because of the rate he's been progressing since the spark transferred to him.

"Werewolves are one of the most resilient supernatural species in the world, Mr. Hale. I can't speak for his mental or psychological health but from what I can see Peter stands a very good chance of making a full physical recovery. You'll understand I hope why I can't promise anything but I can offer my opinion."

"Which is?" Derek isn't sure how he gets the words out but his breath is suddenly in his head floating around instead of in his lungs where it should be.

"I believe it should only be a few more months before we see a marked improvement. Now, you have to be aware that sometimes these things plateau; it may get harder to see improvement from day-to-day. What we have to remember is to see the big picture from where we started, not where we want to be. The process of recovery, even with an alpha werewolf's physiology, takes time and patience." She's so kind that Derek wants to hate her, wants to crouch over his uncle's still form and snarl at her. But he just can't; her body language is all sympathy, strangely submissive like she knows how he's feeling. He still wishes she weren't watching him, wishes she wasn't here where they're vulnerable, but he can't bring himself to be rude to her when she's given him so much hope.

"Thank you," he manages instead, and she accepts without comment. Bringing forward her papers she writes for a minute while he gathers his composure enough to finish their discussion.

It's an eye-opening visit, and not only because of what she can tell him about Peter's situation. It's not the first time he's interacted with a doctor – he had cousins who weren't as 'supernaturally inclined' as he and his sisters were, after all – but it is the first time he's gotten to see first-hand how different it is when the doctor in question is fully aware of the situation. He's a little stunned at what a huge difference it makes to be able to vent about the frustration he's feeling. Not only because of his Delta instincts but also just as someone who's never had to deal with a prolonged recovery like this. The worst his cousins had ever had was a case of measles and a case of mild asthma.

He must've still been openly broadcasting his emotions because before she leaves Dr. Carter hands him a list of names. She explains that they're the names of several supernaturally aware psychologists and therapists in the area.

"Hey," she mildly interrupts his attempt to argue, "This is me giving you the names of people I would trust to take care of Peter's mental well-being. If you want to talk to one of them – or even a few – that's your business. I'm not going to lie – you being healthy would help you both, but I won't pretend to understand what you've been through, what you're still going through. I can't, and to say I can would be disrespectful, so I won't. I'm not here to push you or pressure you into a corner, I'm here to help Peter. However I can."

He does take the list of names in the end, sticking it with the rest of Peter's files. She's right, it isn't her business. Still, he thanks her and walks her out, unsure after he shuts the door if he did it to be polite or to make sure she's left his den.

It can be both, he finally tells himself firmly.

February 8, 2013

Peter's started to open his eyes briefly when Derek touches him but he's as quiet as ever, his eyes a murky, fevered purple. His face is healthy again, if more than a little gaunt, his ear is red but no longer raw-looking, his neck and shoulder smoothing out more by the day. There's still heavier scarring down his side and along his hip, his leg so dark red it's nearly black and shiny like a beetle's carapace after so many years. It'll take time, but Carter assures Derek that he's healing, and the visible signs of it make Derek grin stupidly to himself as he waters the little aloe plant.

Not all of the waiting is filled with excitement though. Derek doesn't have to search himself hard at all to find the thick knot of worry tucked up under his ribcage. He can feel it soaking into his mind some days, thoughts whispering through reminding him that he's going to have to tell Peter. He's going to have to explain what happened to their family, why their pack was all but wiped out – he's going to have to tell him whose fault it was.

It's something he never told Laura, and he wonders now what her reaction would've been to knowing that her baby brother let a killer in the door. Whenever he thinks about his family, about that night, all he can see is a scene from Watership Down.

" Our warren, destroyed.

Destroyed? How?

Men came. Filled in the burrows.

Couldn't get out.

There was a strange sound.

Hissing, the air turned bad.

Runs blocked with dead bodies.

I couldn't get out.

Everything turned mad.

Warren, herbs, roots, grass...

... all pushed into the earth.

- Men have always hated us."

The mix of emotions tends to make him retreat from the memories but with Peter starting to wake up more and more he doesn't have that luxury. He can't suppress it much longer, he's going to have to deal with it, and it's getting closer every day. He knows it's not healthy, refusing to deal with what happened, but what is he supposed to do? At this point he's not sure if he could talk to someone, much less that it's worth it. What good would talking about it really do – it's not like it would change anything. Not like it would bring them back.

He sits by Peter's bed all day that day, alternating between reading and talking quietly to his uncle, sometimes just staring out the window. It's a strange argument of feelings in his stomach; the relief and excitement of Peter finally being lucid enough to try talking versus the dread and guilt of having to explain how Derek killed their family because he trusted the wrong person.

So he sits there until he can't, until he has to go eat, go do something to settle the roiling anxiety threatening to crawl up the back of his throat.

Notes:

Let me just say, go look at some of the prices for a flat on the edge of Central Park - it's ridiculous.

I encourage anyone who's never read Watership Down to do so. It's an excellent book and the original passage on that conversation is much more visceral and has better imagery, it just wouldn't fit here. Also this short conversation was always very powerful to me.

This is the animated version from the 1978 adaptation. (FFNET took away the link, just go look it up on YT.)

Thank you for reading!