If You're Going Through Hell
A/N: Hi all! So, I know a lot of people have mixed feelings about some of the later seasons of Teen Wolf. I do too. So, for this particular story, I'm leaving it rather open ended. The basic storyline and character introductions are needed from the show, but if you have a headcannon that's different it shouldn't make much of a difference. This story takes place a decent amount of time after the show ends, so it's entirely possible that other things have happened in between the two, some of which will be hinted at along the way. And, well, basically everyone is dead, technically speaking, so there's plenty of room for leeway. Anyways, hope you enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated!
Chapter 2: Journey to the Underworld
"You want…to go…what?" Derek had no idea if the Stiles-mist was being serious or not, but the idea was ridiculous.
"Oh, don't be such a splutterwolf," the Stiles-mist teased, "it's not that bad."
"Not that bad?" Derek was incredulous, "Your plan to bring everyone back from the dead begins with me dying so I can go to Hell?"
"What? Not at all. If you die, the plan can't work." The Stiles-mist said it with a touch of glee, before suddenly turning towards Lydia and becoming serious, "That's actually really important Lydia. While Derek is with me down here you have to make sure that his body stays alive, otherwise everything will fall apart and we won't be able to send anyone back."
"Stiles! What are you even talking about?" Lydia looked even more flustered than Derek felt, and that's saying something.
"It's important," he whined back at her, "I promise to send reinforcements as soon as I can to help you."
Lydia took a few deep breaths, concentrating on trying to process what he was saying. "Ok, Stiles, I want you to start at the beginning and tell us everything."
"Lyds, I can't, it'll take too long, and if they notice that I'm up here talking to you we're all doomed."
"Who? What? Never mind, just give us the quick version then," she said exasperatedly.
"Fine," the Stiles-mist retorted, and Derek chuckled inwardly at the pout that must have appeared on actual Stiles' face, "ever since I died, I've been doing some investigating down here. Ran into some interesting people too, but we can talk about that later. I found out that there is a way to bring people who died too soon back to life. It's a bit complicated – they have to be part of our pack, you need some sort of object that belonged to them or reminds you of them, so I hope you brought the bag of memories with you, we need the power of a Druid, a Banshee, and a living werewolf whose spirit has been brought to the Underworld, and it'll take time, because this place is huge and we will have to find each person we want to send back. But, and this is a big but," he paused in his rant to giggle to himself at that, "sorry, that was stupid. But, if we succeed they'll be alive again, and with the whole pack working together it shouldn't be as difficult to either get away from the hunters or put an end to their reign of terror up there…or here, I guess, since I'm up here at the moment too."
Derek and Lydia looked at each other with a mixture of apprehension and exasperation, not sure what to make of Stiles' idea. "Stiles," Lydia eventually began, breaking the silence that had built, "what are the risks involved in all of this?"
"Oh, there are lots of them," he replied ominously, "the biggest one is for you, Derek. In order to get you here, we'll have to separate your spirit from your body, which will be…unpleasant, to say the least. While you are split between the two worlds, if either part dies, your body or your spirit, then that's it, game over, we're done, which means you, Lydia, will have to make sure his body stays alive up here while I'm making sure your spirit stays alive down here. Derek, once we get you here, you and I will have to fight off enemies, sneak around some dangerous terrain, and do who knows what all else in order to find our friends, and we'll have to do it as quickly as possible, because your spirit and body can't stay separated for a long time. And then there's the rituals themselves that we will have to use to send people back. They can be…tricky, and it'll take both of us, Lydia, to make them work, so you and I will have to try and stay in contact while we're down here searching for people. And then there's the unknown variables – I don't know if we can find everyone, I don't know if it'll work for everyone, and I don't know what will happen to their spirits if we try and fail. We could end up doing more harm than good if it doesn't work. Maybe this was a stupid idea. I shouldn't have dragged you guys into this…"
"No Stiles, it's not stupid," Derek interrupted, "it's dangerous, yes, but we've faced danger together before. This is our shot at putting our pack back together, and I will do anything to make that happen."
"Stiles," Lydia said quietly, capturing their attention nonetheless, "do you remember when I told you what my greatest fear was?" Derek was confused, but the Stiles-mist responded with a whispered 'yes.' "Then you know how I feel about this. We have to try. If there is a way to bring any of you guys back, we have to do it."
"Well, if we are all in agreement," the Stiles-mist said, mischievous tone returning, "then let's begin!"
The process of setting everything up was a long one. Fortunately, it seemed that Stiles did count as a Druid, or at least he seemed satisfied that things were working the way he wanted them to. The biggest challenge was that, since he was nothing more than a talking, floating black mist, Lydia had to do all of the actual work, much of which was very detailed and challenging. Derek was very little help, as many of the Druid elements involved included mountain ash, mistletoe, wolfsbane, and other things that he could not touch without suffering from terrible side effects. The smell alone was already causing him problems.
Their first step had been to set up a barrier surrounding the Nemeton's clearing. Apparently, the sudden apparition of the black mist had sent the hunters guarding the tree stump scurrying, Stiles told them with a chuckle. But they weren't naïve enough to believe they would be left alone forever. The barrier would confuse anyone wandering nearby, forcing them to avoid the area. It wasn't foolproof, anyone with a determined enough reason to reach the Nemeton would be able to break through, but it should deter most wandering passersby and give Lydia a heads up if uninvited guests were coming. Derek was sent to gather supplies (firewood, food, water, etc.) for Lydia to use in their absence as a way to test the strength of their deterrent. It had taken all of his willpower and focus to push past the sudden need to drop everything and go to about 15 different places in order to get through.
"Excellent," was the Stiles-mist's reply when he returned, "that should keep this place about as safe as possible then for you, Lyds."
"Why didn't you ever use this while we were in hiding?" Derek asked with just a hint of accusation in his voice.
"I didn't know about it," he answered, sadly, "it's something I learned down here."
"Who taught you all of this stuff?" Lydia asked.
The Stiles-mist chuckled slightly. "Deaton's grandfather," he exclaimed, laughing at their expressions of surprise, "whose name is also Deaton, so that could be a little confusing. George Deaton died about 60 years ago, so he had never met his grandson. He agreed to help me learn more about Druid rituals in exchange for stories about what happened to the Deaton family and Hale Pack after his death. Apparently," he hurried on, seeing that Derek and Lydia were about to interject, "being an emissary to a werewolf pack is often passed down or inherited. The Deaton family were emissaries to the Hales for over a hundred and fifty years."
They chatted some more about what George Deaton had taught Stiles while they returned to their work. With the barrier complete and supplies gathered, they began to prepare for the rituals needed to send Derek's spirit to the Underworld and return the spirits of their dead friends to the Living World. Again, it was complicated work, and the only thing Derek could really do to help was set out the individual objects from their "bag of memories" that would be used as markers for the returning spirits. It was a bittersweet project, since Derek had refused to look at any of it in months. He found himself overwhelmed by the emotions seeing these simple objects brought forth.
"That's good," Stiles said quietly, watching from the stump of the Nemeton, "those emotional connections are needed for this to work properly. The stronger your feelings are attached to these markers, the easier it will be to get the people they belong to back here." Derek sniffled slightly, then returned to his work in silence as Stiles went back to instructing Lydia in designing one of the mountain ash runes next to the Nemeton.
It was slow work for Derek. He kept getting choked up by the memories his task brought up. But he took Stiles' advice and let the emotions surface instead of trying to bottle them up. The first one wasn't too bad, Allison's silver arrowhead that defeated the Oni. Derek had never quite known where the Huntress' loyalties lay, but he knew her connection to Scott and the others had been crucial. The next one nearly crushed him inside though. He reached inside the bag and pulled out Isaac's favorite scarf. He could still smell his beta's scent faintly, even after all this time. They had all given the young wolf grief over it countless times, but seeing it again and picturing the young man who had once worn it with pride took the wind out of Derek's sails. It was several minutes before he could continue. Next came a vial of kanima venom. Jackson had, grudgingly, given them quite a few of these while he was alive, and they had been enormously helpful in slowing down the hunters on several occasions. This one was all that remained of him.
Derek handled the next several markers a bit better. There were the pieces of Kira's broken sword, Liam's lacrosse jersey (he had refused to part with it even when it became obvious he could no longer play on the team safely), Mason's journal (complete with his own research into the supernatural world that was surprisingly helpful), a doll that had belonged to Malia when she was a young girl (it matched the one that had been her sisters that she insisted should stay at the wrecked car), photographs of the twins (one with a cocky-looking Aiden had been thrust into the bag by Lydia when they first had the idea of memorializing their fallen friends, the other of a sappy-looking Ethan had been the only picture Jackson kept in his wallet), then there was a letter that Hayden had written to Liam (he had forbidden anyone to read it when he put it in the bag after she passed away, and they had all kept their promise even after his death), a watch that had been given to Corey by Mason on his birthday (his first birthday present in years, the boy had been a wreck for two days after that), and a card that had belonged to Theo (the pack had all signed it, some more reluctantly than others, and given it to him when he officially joined the Pack). There were a few other simple ones as well (Parrish's nametag, the Sheriff's badge, Deucalion's walking stick, Chris Argent's silver bullet, the gun Braeden had given him, a necklace that had belonged to Lori, and a wristband that had belonged to Brett).
When he reached the last few markers, Derek struggled. The next to come out of the bag was the remains of the shirt Boyd had been wearing when he died. Derek had first kept the tattered garment as punishment for himself, a constant reminder of what he had allowed to happen to his beta. Eventually, though, he had come to find comfort in the familiar smell after the young man's death, and had offered it as the very first "memory" when they began to assemble this odd collection. It took several minutes before he could compose himself to pull the next item out, a small stuffed Catwoman that Stiles had bought after they realized Erica was dead. When he offered it for the bag of memories, he told them he had originally bought it to leave at her grave; but, since she didn't have an official grave, he had kept it as his own memorial for her. And then he pulled out the framed photograph. He had been avoiding this one, working up the courage to look at it. The picture was of his family, the entire Hale Pack, taken three weeks before the fire. Seeing their smiling, happy faces brought back lots of memories, some happy and some painful. Peter had given it to him about two years ago, after they had reconciled some of their differences and come to terms with the past.
The last two were the hardest though. It took every ounce of willpower he had to pull out Scott's inhaler. The memory surfaced easily, it was the day they had first compiled their "bag of memories." They had gathered the various objects left behind by their fallen friends, talked about them and held their version of a memorial service for them, and had just been about to seal it when Scott stopped them and said he had one more thing he wanted to add. They had all been confused when he held out his inhaler and insisted it be included as well, Stiles making a comment about how Scott was not dead and better not be telling them that he was dying. Scott had smiled at the comment, replying that he wasn't dying. Instead, he wanted to include this as a reminder of where they had come from, how much they had changed (for the better) since joining the world of the supernatural. It was a memorial to their past lives, but also a reminder that, no matter how bad things would get in the future, it had been worth it. After Scott's actual death, Derek and Lydia had come to a silent agreement that it would be their memorial to Scott himself as well.
Derek completely collapsed with the last marker. Even though it was the most recent addition to the "bag of memories," somehow the keys to Stiles' Jeep had managed to shift to the very bottom of the bag. The day after his death, Derek, Scott, and Lydia had (cautiously) returned to the place where they had been ambushed in order to retrieve his body. They had been devastated to find that the hunters had carried it off like some sort of prize and denied them the opportunity to lay their friend to rest properly. In truth, it had probably been the final nail in Scott's coffin. They had scoured the woods for hours, but the only thing they could find were the keys to the long since abandoned old Jeep that Stiles had refused to stop carrying around with him.
"Maybe we can resurrect my car along with everyone else," the Stiles-mist eventually said from his perch atop the Nemeton. The sound Derek made was either a laugh or a sob, it was hard to tell which. "Hey now, you all can make fun of her all you like, but that Jeep saved our lives more than any other member of this Pack, she deserves another shot at life," Stiles attempted to sound offended, but he broke off half way through, lightening the tension in the air with his quirky humor. When Derek looked up, he noticed he must have been more distracted than he had realized. The sun was beginning to set, and Lydia had already completed the intricate runes encasing each of the markers he had laid out.
"Stiles," Lydia began as she started to outline the runes around the Jeep keys, tears glistening on her eyelids as she worked, "what about the people we don't have markers for?" Derek looked around at the objects scattered about the clearing, beginning to picture people he would like to bring back who weren't included in this group. Cora, Laura, his parents, Deaton, Satomi, Melissa (unless she is actually still alive, since they hadn't heard anything for a long time)…
"I'm not sure," the Stiles-mist interrupted his train of thought, "it might be possible to send some of them back without a marker, though it will be really challenging and could just as easily fail. We might be able to make some of these markers work for more than one person, if we find someone else who had a really strong connection to one of them. Or, if we send a few people back, they could go searching for something we can use as a marker for someone else while Derek and I stay here and continue searching for the people themselves, or spirits in this case."
"What about their bodies?" Lydia asked, seemingly satisfied with Stiles' answer, or lack thereof, "If they come back, are they going to go back to wherever their bodies are? That'd be horrible; some of them are buried, some of them are being held as trophies by the hunters, some of them are in pieces and unrecognizable…"
"No, we don't have to worry about that," Stiles interrupted her ramblings, "as long as the process works, they will appear here, right where their marker is. I don't know what will happen to the bodies they used to inhabit, my guess is those will either stay dead or disappear. One of the enchantments we need to do after the sun goes down will provide new bodies for their spirits to take over when they return to earth."
"What?" was all Derek could manage to say in response.
"It's like a more intense version of what the Darach did to reconstruct her body. I have no idea what it will feel like for anyone who comes back to life, but on the outside they should look the same, more-or-less." There was quite a long pause after that.
"Well, ok then," Lydia said to break the silence that followed that statement. "We'll worry about that part later."
"Good idea," the Stiles-mist was obviously pleased at the change, "It's starting to get late and we need to begin these rituals if we are going to do it before sunrise. Which, oh yeah, we need to finish before sunrise…I may have forgotten to mention that part earlier."
"Stiles!" Lydia exclaimed exasperatedly.
"Sorry," he said hastily, "it's not like I have any of this written down. I'm working entirely from memory here, and I didn't even know most of this stuff could be done until I started talking to Grandpa Deaton."
"Fine," she relented with a huff, "what's next?"
Derek watched in fascination as the Stiles-mist spent the next three hours teaching Lydia the proper spells and incantations necessary to make everything work. By this time the sun had completely disappeared, the only light in the clearing coming from a small fire Derek had started and the moon shining above them. They took a short break to allow Derek and Lydia time to eat (something they hadn't done since the morning), while Stiles entertained them with idle chatter and memories of things they had done when they were younger and all, well, alive. It wasn't as painful for Derek to talk about the past now that he had latched on to the idea that he was bringing the people they were talking about back to life.
Finally, the time came. Lydia, with Stiles' guidance, had finished the enchantments on the markers, made the final preparations to the runes that would send Derek to the Underworld, and added a few extra elements to the barrier surrounding the clearing. It was time for Derek to meet his Maker, or Stiles. Preferably the latter. He lay down in the center of the circle Lydia had prepared, gazing up at the moon directly above his head. The full moon is about a week away, he thought aimlessly as Lydia trapped him inside a circle of mountain ash. He listened as Stiles and Lydia both began chanting in whatever language was required for the ritual to work. It was all Greek to him. Actually, it might be Greek, he thought, if the Lycaon myth is true. He felt himself becoming lethargic as the chanting continued, slowly falling into a stupor, and then falling asleep altogether. Except, it wasn't like any sleep he had ever experienced before.
Derek wasn't sure if the ritual was working, but he knew it was doing something. He felt like he was floating, no falling, no flying. He was being stretched and pulled apart in all directions, but he was also being crushed and suffocated. He could feel his skin melting and burning and being plunged into ice water, but he also knew that he wasn't moving. It was surreal. It was painful. It was confusing. And, all at once, it was over.
Derek felt himself land on solid ground, tentatively flexing his muscles and breathing a sigh of relief. The sigh caught in his throat though as he took in his surroundings. The smell of sulfur, death, and decay was overpowering. He was in a cave by the looks of things, with a river of lava flowing in the distance. Craggy rocks continued as far as the eye could see in the dimly lit darkness. But the most terrifying of all was the beast standing right in front of him. It was easily eight feet tall, with powerful wings that jutted out from it's back and razor sharp talons for fingers. The thing looked to be entirely made of muscle, solid black skin pulled taught against. It looked like something out of a nightmare, or a very old Disney movie that Stiles had forced him to watch. Derek's instincts finally kicked in, and he turned to run. But before he could move a step the monstrosity spoke.
"Welcome to Hell, Sourwolf."