Derek doesn't dare let himself believe it. It's impossible. People can't just come back.

But Peter did.

If anyone could do it, if anyone had a way, wouldn't it be him?

Stiles shakes his head. "That's impossible." He looks at Derek, says desperately, "That was a lie, wasn't it? He's lying. He's just—planning something, and he's trying to string you along—"

"Was I lying, Derek?" Peter asks. "Am I lying now? We can bring them all back. Together. We can make the Hale pack whole again."

His heartbeat is steady and clear, and he knows it. He's already smiling faintly before Derek shakes his head, once.

"But—"

"What's the matter, Stiles?" Peter asks innocently. "Don't you want poor Derek to have his family back again? Or was that all just a lie, too. Maybe all you really want is for Derek to be... left alone."

"Not like that," Stiles snaps. "He's twisting everything, Derek, you know I wouldn't—"

"I don't think Derek knows you at all, Stiles," Peter says.

"But he knows you," Stiles snarls. "You killed Laura. You got Paige killed. All you've ever done is manipulate him, and and and break—"

"I gave Derek some advice he chose to take," Peter says. "What happened to Paige was tragic." His eyes go faraway. "Imagine the horror I felt, finding them. Poor, fragile Paige, frozen in Derek's arms. He wouldn't let go of the body for hours. He kept trying to warm her up again."

Derek shivers, stares down at his hands. He can still feel her last shudder of pain, hear the last little gasp—

Peter's cool palm settles on the back of Derek's neck.

"I made a mistake, Stiles," Peter says quietly. "I trusted a stranger over family. If I had only taken her to Talia..."

"Why didn't you?" Stiles asks. But he's not looking at Peter. He's watching Derek, eyes heavy and sad. At his sides, his hands are doing that thing again.

Half-reaching, half-catching.

"You and I may be more alike than you'd think, Derek," Peter says. "But we can't go back. We can only learn from our mistakes."

"Derek's only mistake was taking your advice," Stiles says, eyes barely wavering from Derek's, and of course. Derek's staring back. Like a lovesick idiot. "Why did you even want Paige turned so bad? Why did you care?"

"'Why do you care?'" Peter echoes. "It's such an interesting question. One Cora just had to ask. She couldn't understand why you studied Derek's life so obsessively. Why you learned every inch of him. Almost like—"

"Like a guy with a crush?" Stiles says, breaking his gaze to raise his eyebrows at Peter. "Wow, you're a genius. Real eye for subtlety."

"Like it was research," Peter says. "Like Derek was one more monster you keep yourself up all hours of the night preparing to deal with. Just in case you had to."

It just keeps getting worse.

"But even the nogitsune who took up residence in your head didn't get this much attention," Peter says. "Derek was always... special."

"It wasn't research," Stiles snaps. He's not looking at Derek at all anymore, and his eyes are dark and flint-sharp. "I get a little obsessive when I like someone, okay? Ask Lydia. Actually, don't. I'm Prince freakin' Charming next to how you stalked her."

"Lydia brought me back," Peter says. "That kind of relationship is... special."

"Yeah, 'Very Special Episode: Beware Uncle Bad-touch' special," Stiles says. "You don't care about anyone but yourself, but we're supposed to buy you suddenly being this benevolent parental figure? You crushed the back of Derek's skull. He's still healing what you did to him. And he's supposed to think we're the bad guys?"

Why is Stiles still pretending he cares? Derek can't understand it. Scott stopped lying ages ago.

The worst part is, it feels like he isn't pretending. Even now, knowing everything, some part of Derek still trusts him.

It's infuriating.

Some part of Derek still wants to tear from Peter's side, run to Stiles, hold him until he stops—

Peter's hand tightens over the back of Derek's neck.

"What are you doing?" Stiles demands, panic arcing all through him. "If you hurt him again, I swear to God—"

There are bright new tears in his eyes.

And Derek, Derek—

Derek needs to get a grip on himself, now.

Peter isn't hurting Derek. Pain like a steady, uncompromising ache is lifting, fading. And he's not just pulling pain. Under the ache, old, stiff wounds are repairing quick as a time-lapse capture. Disappearing. Already, Derek isn't just healed in places.

He's unbroken.

And then there's just the ever-steady pressure on the back of Derek's skull. Peter puts both hands on Derek's head like he's receiving a blessing. When he pulls away, the pain is gone.

Peter's eyes flash blue.

Nothing hurts at all, but Derek is suddenly heavy with the weight of his new debt. If Peter's a beta again, if healing Derek is the reason his family can't come back—Derek didn't need that, humans heal slowly all the time, he can take the pain, the stiffness, he should have said it was fine—

But when Peter takes his hands off Derek, his eyes flash red. Derek hangs his head, breathes, breathes, breathes.

He's never been more relieved.

"You can stay here with Scott McCall, and let him tear the last of the Hales apart," Peter says. "Or we can restore the pack to what it always should have been."

Derek looks at Stiles one last time.

"Trust family, Derek," Peter says. "Don't make our old mistakes."

"We are your family," Stiles says. "We could be. I could—God, Derek, he's lying! Just let me explain—"

But Derek can't listen to him anymore. Peter could've lost it all healing Derek. His eyes went blue.

That has to be real.

Which means Peter really can bring them all back. Derek really can undo all his mistakes, he can fix all of it.

He looks up at Peter and nods, once.

Peter smiles.

Presses his palm, heavy, on the back of Derek's neck.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, just wait," Stiles says, blocking the door with his body, both arms stretched wide. Like Peter couldn't peel him from the wall if he wanted to. Like Derek—

No, Derek can't touch him. He doesn't trust himself that much. Already, his wolf is scrambling against the walls of its cage in protest, trying to take over again. Stiles is its anchor, and it won't let go, no matter what the human parts of him know now.

"Just wait, okay?" Stiles pleads. "My dad will be here soon, he can tell you—"

"Are you going to hold us here?" Peter says lightly. It's a cold, pale Us, not one Derek would have ever thought he'd choose to be part of, but this is bigger than Peter. This is the Us of the Hale pack.

And Stiles is standing in their way.

"Don't make me have to hurt you," Derek tells Stiles, and tries to sound like he could.

"You won't," Stiles says.

It's not smug, but he's so sure. He knows exactly how well he's twisted up Derek's head. Malia called it instinct.

Derek can't stand it.

"Try me," he says, as coolly as he can. He squares his jaw, straightens his spine, tries to become something like the other Derek, the one who must have known all of this already.

Stiles doesn't move.

Derek steps forward—

Scott shoves Stiles behind him, roaring, eyes flashing red. Derek's throat goes lava-hot and full of sharp things.

Stiles makes a show of fighting Scott's protective stance, trying to get out from behind him, reaching for Derek, but its a trick. It all has to be a trick. It's too clear now.

Derek barely looks back at all before following Peter out into the day.

He expects to break down. Expects to sob, maybe howl, to lose the little bit of control keeping him together.

Nothing happens.

"Tell me how it works," Derek says. His voice is unbelievably steady.

"Divine energy," Peter says, as if that explains anything.

"Divine energy."

"The Aztecs believed there was a finite amount of life force in the world," Peter says. "But they had methods to keep it replenished. My revival was based on those methods." He watches Derek for a moment. "Don't look so dead-eyed, Derek. You don't need Stiles. We can bring Paige back too. The girl with whom you should have had forever."

You don't need Stiles.

Derek spends days turning it over in his head.

It's the first time he's heard Peter lie.

Peter's apartment is small and cluttered, nothing like Derek would have expected. It's almost as if he and Peter have switched apartments, as if older Derek's sprawling, cold, empty space should be Peter's, and this small, close to cozy place should be Derek's.

"It's always going to be Scott," Peter says, while Derek examines the spines of Peter's library. A thin film of dust comes away with his fingers. "Stiles will always choose Scott. Scott will never be your brother, Derek. And Stiles will always be his."

Derek doesn't say anything.

Doesn't react at all.

There's only one bed, and no couch.

Derek lies on his back on the little porch and stares up at the moon.

Stiles is awake, huddled in on himself against his own bedroom wall, dark circles under red eyes staring hard at nothing. His hair is a mess.

He barely sees Derek walk past him.

And then...

His eyes flicker left and go wide, and a surge of relief fills the room around them, feels like finally breathing.

He stands, arms out, reaching-catching, and then he's all around Derek, hugging him hard, until Derek's wolf finally stops fighting, and Derek realizes he's been holding his breath.

"You jackass," Stiles says. "I thought you believed him. I thought—"

The words catch in his throat.

It's a dream, so Derek can't speak. He just watches Stiles, watches the color come back to him. Watches him breathe.

His heartbeat is white water rapids going clear, calm, and he takes Derek with him.

"Did he hurt you again?" Stiles asks, and Derek has a vague notion of pain just before Stiles' hands burrow under Derek's henley, long fingers finding the delicate still-healing skin around Derek's wounds. The long sharp slashes he gave himself in his sleep, still half-healing. "He's sadistic," Stiles says, covering the torn skin with both hands, helping it knit back together under his wide palms. "He breaks everything just to break it. It's the only thing that means anything to him."

Derek really needs Stiles to stop talking. This can be okay if there are rules, if none of it is real, he can still have this, but he can't stay if Stiles keeps talking, and he knows he can't pull himself away.

"It was all lies, you know," Stiles says, lifting his hands slightly to see the progress. "He just leaves things out, so it sounds like—"

Derek kisses him.

This is the Stiles who wouldn't leave, the Stiles who ran in front of Derek's feral wolf, this is the Stiles who wanted to tie Derek to his pack, to protect him. This is the Stiles who wasn't lying, who isn't laughing, right now, at how stupid—

But Derek won't let that Stiles ruin this.

Stiles' mouth is soft and careful, then harsh and desperate, his hands roaming Derek's body, checking for new wounds, settling over the back of Derek's neck, claiming and reclaiming. His eyes are warm, flaming, amber into gold, dark at the edges. He watches Derek like he's afraid to close them.

Derek knows he's staring again, but that's okay. That's okay here.

He's so fucking stupid for holding on to this dream so tightly, but this is all he has. When it's over there will be Peter's apartment, Peter's plans, Peter's hand on the back of Derek's neck, and it doesn't fit like this does.

I— Derek almost says, but speaking is against the rules, so he catches it in his teeth, swallows it back. He kisses Stiles quiet again, doesn't say anything.

Doesn't let go for anything.

He wakes up alone on Peter's porch, Stiles' scent fading in the air all around him.

"Dad," Derek decides. He doesn't wait for whatever stupid, mocking comment Peter has in his throat. "Dad comes back first."

He needs someone with no ties to Peter at all. He needs someone he knows he can trust. He needs someone to tell him what to do. He needs to see if this can really work, if there's a point to hoping.

He needs his father.

"I don't think you've fully thought this through," Peter says. Derek's eyes narrow. "We can bring them all back together."

"You keep saying that," Derek says. He's tired of this, of Peter's long, melodramatic tones. His great sweeping sentences. Like Derek doesn't realize that underneath all of it, Peter never actually says anything. "But you're forgetting something."

Peter raises his eyebrows, waits.

"I may not trust them," Derek says, and lie, lie, it's such a pathetically obvious lie. "But I don't trust you either." His voice goes steady, certain. "If you want my help, you'll show me how it works. You'll bring back my father."

Peter looks at him for a long time.

Then he says, "If you insist."