(Super quick AU: The morning after I published chapter 1, I woke up with a severe crick in my neck. Not kidding. It freaked me out more than I care to admit.)
Chapter 2
Reunions
Stiles had been feeling off all day. Not surprising, considering the crappy morning he'd had, and the crick in his neck was only getting worse. Stiles had burned himself on the coffee Scott insisted to buy for him earlier that day, and to top it all off, he'd fallen asleep during chem class. Lydia had woken him up with a not-so-gentle swat to the back of his head.
"You were talking in your sleep," she'd said and given him a wide-eyed look. "I figured you didn't want anyone else to hear you."
Her explanation came like a punch to his gut.
Stiles never asked if she'd caught anything of what he'd been saying. It was bad enough that his dad had been catching unbidden glimpses of his nightmares. Add Lydia to that exclusive club and Stiles would be just about ready to change his identity and move to Utah.
He'd managed to survive the day and the only thing remaining before he could finally head back home was lacrosse training - which he really wasn't up for.
The sleep deprivation constantly made itself known through sudden bursts of head aches, stinging eyes and dizziness. Scott had given him extremely worried looks all day (when he thought Stiles wasn't looking) and he didn't want to add to Scott's concern, having spent most of the morning trying to convince his best friend was he was fine.
And yet, somehow, he wanted to attend practice. Get his mind off the nightmares that had been haunting him. Possibly release some pent up aggression.
It was with a heavy heart and even heavier steps that Stiles made his way to the boys' locker room, where most of the other team members were already changing into their gear. Scott was there, too, and brightened up when he spotted Stiles at the door.
"I thought you weren't coming," he said with a relieved smile. "You've been kind of down today. Are you o-"
"For the last time, Scott," Stiles sighed and put his bag down with unnecessary force, "I'm fine."
"I can see that," the other boy replied dryly. "How many hours of sleep did you get last night anyway?" Scott asked, but seemed to regret having asked when Stiles gave him a dark look. "Dude, it's just a question," he defended himself.
"I don't know. Two?"
"Two?!"
"Maybe three." Stiles shrugged and attempted a casual glance at Scott. The other boy looked appalled and Stiles looked away, deciding instead to open up his bag and take out his shorts and shoes. "... Scott, don't look at me like that. I'm fine."
"How can you possibly be fine?" Scott hissed, tactful enough to at least lower his voice. "Three hours is nothing, Stiles! If my mom was here, she'd force you to take a nap right here and now!"
"Well then, I guess it's a good thing she's not here," Stiles drawled and started changing out of his regular clothes. Scott just stared at him, mouth slightly agape. "I don't see what the big deal is," Stiles went on, despite sensing that he should've just stayed quiet and let Scott work it out for himself. "At least I actually got some sleep."
Scott's eyes widened slightly and Stiles realized he'd made a mistake.
"Yeah, that's terrific," Scott's voice was trembling a little. He was getting upset and Stiles found it even more difficult to look at him. "I know you've been having these nightmares for a while now," Scott continued and ducked his head in front of Stiles to get him to meet his gaze. "This is verging on insomnia, Stiles."
"Your point?" Stiles knew he was being a dick. He didn't like being a dick. But Scott was being overbearing and it pissed him off.
"My point is, you should go home and rest! We don't have another game for several weeks, so it's not like you'll-"
"No." Stiles shook his jersey out of the bag and held it up in front of him, scrutinizing the front of it with unnatural concentration - purposely avoiding Scott's dumbfounded stare.
"... No?" Scott repeated. Stiles couldn't help glancing his way. An irritated scowl was rapidly forming on Scott's normally kind face. "What do you mean 'no'? You're in no shape for lacrosse right now! Stiles, if you keep this up-"
"What?" Stiles interrupted, threw his jersey on top of his open bag and gave Scott an angry glare. "What, Scott? If I keep this up, what'll happen? It's been over two weeks, and still nothing's changed. Nothing's happened. For all we know, I might just be going insane here."
"Stiles..." Scott looked like he wasn't sure what to say. Stiles responded by pulling off his t-shirt and, with a defiant glare to his best friend, reaching for the lacrosse jersey.
"Scott, I get it. I know I look like shit. I know you're worried. But damnit," he huffed and shook his head slightly, gazing downwards. "I need this. I need to go to school and practice and do my homework like everything's normal. What's the alternative? Go home and lay on my bed? Try to sleep?" Stiles scoffed and put his jersey on with stiff movements. Once the shirt was on, he paused. Afforded a careful look at Scott, who was still scowling at him with horrified concern.
Stiles decided he needed to appease the other boy. Couldn't handle that scowl. Didn't like other people worrying over him.
"Scott," he continued, tone much softer than before. "We don't even know what's wrong with me. We don't know why I keep having those nightmares." Stiles took a step closer and put his hand on Scott's tense shoulder. "Until we do know, I'd like to at least pretend everything's fine. Can you let me do that?"
Scott stared at him, an anxious wrinkle still present on his forehead, and eventually nodded slowly.
"Fine," Scott pressed out through gritted teeth. Stiles attempted a grateful smile, but it faltered when Scott continued. "But don't think for a second that I won't be keeping my eyes on you," he said, jaw pulsating with tension. "I will send you home if I think it's necessary. If you so much as stumble out there. I don't care what you say. I'm not going to stand by and watch you crash and burn just because you want to pretend everything's fine when it's clearly not."
Scott grabbed his crosse and made for the door. Stiles gave his back a crooked smile.
"And if I refuse? You'll drag me home by your claws?" He joked and was slightly taken aback when Scott looked back at him, eyes glowing with withheld anger.
"Count on it."
The sky had taken on a slightly pink shade, signaling the approaching evening, even though it was still only half past four. Derek looked around helplessly on the street where he'd lost track of the trail. He took a deep breath through his nose, desperately trying to find the scent again, see the crimson ribbon, but couldn't.
Asphalt, grass, pipe tobacco from the old man sitting on the bench by the park, melted cheese from the pizzeria further down the street...
The scent that carried that odd mixture of deer blood, spices and incense wasn't there. Like it had suddenly evaporated. How was that even possible?
"Shit," Derek spat and dragged a hand across his face. He'd been following them for several weeks, hundreds of miles, only to lose track of them now? It was as if they'd known all along and were now taunting him.
Derek still didn't know what they were up to. Not the details, anyway. Making an educated guess, however, Derek was fairly sure that the group was after Scott. He didn't know why, when or how. All he knew was that they were dangerous.
Derek racked his brain, trying to remember. What had they been talking about that night?
Foggy, blurred images popped up before his inner vision. Derek closed his eyes and focused.
Boston, two weeks prior. Night. Susan's bar. Derek was on his fourth beer when the odd scent of the group suddenly alerted his senses.
Susan's bar was frequently visited by wolves and other non-human species. They shouldn't have stood out the way they did, but Derek's instincts rarely failed him.
Three males, two females. All alphas.
They'd been sitting in a corner, two tables away from him, discussing matters that Derek didn't understand. Gibberish. Nature magic. Stuff that would've made him roll his eyes under normal circumstances. But for some reason, the group caught his attention.
"The stones don't lie, Philip," one of the females insisted. "He's in California. You dragged us all the way here and you were, of course, wrong. We killed a kid for nothing. Thanks to you, we ended up on the wrong side of the whole fucking country. Time for you to listen to me."
"Don't test my patience, Vanessa," one of the males said, voice low and threatening. What he said next was drowned out by the sound of loud laughter from one of the men sitting by the bar, flirting with the bartender, and Derek sent the man an irritated look. It took a few seconds for him to once more tune into the conversation two tables away.
"-you're saying, but it's not too late! I can sense it," the other female said, voice eager. "He hasn't bonded yet. The gate is still open. But we need to hurry!"
"Remember, the timing's essential," one of the males said calmly, "The full moon will give us the power we need. If we rush the process and try to force it without the moon's help, it won't work. He might die."
"And in the process, we might lose our alpha powers," said the first male, Philip, with an impatient sigh. "We know what the legend says, Marcus."
"The next full moon is 16 nights from now," said Vanessa. "We'll make it there in time, no problem."
"Yes, but once we get there, we have to find him first. His scent might be tricky to pinpoint," Marcus pointed out. Derek scowled with confusion. What the hell were they talking about?
"We might need a few days to find him," Vanessa agreed.
"We'll need more than a few days if we're going to search through all of California," Philip grumbled.
"We won't, you idiot. Once more you underestimate the power of my stones," Vanessa snapped. "It's around here somewhere," she said and Derek heard the rustle of paper being unfolded - possibly a road map.
"... I've never heard of that place," the third unidentified male mumbled. "Beacon Hills? Like the mountain?"
Derek's eyes widened at the mention of his home town. What business did they have there?
He wanted to smack himself when he realized who their target was. What other reason could they have?
"Idiot," he'd murmured to himself. The group fell silent and Derek tensed up. Did they realize he'd been listening? With a swift motion, he pulled up his cell phone and pretended to text.
He heard the shuffling of chairs being pulled out and casually glanced over his shoulder. The group was leaving. They were wearing hooded jackets, effectively hiding most of their faces as they walked by - except for one of the males who didn't seem to care about hiding his features. He was tall and looked to be around forty. Black hair with silver stripes, combed back in an elegant wave. As the group walked past his booth, the man suddenly locked eyes with Derek, who somehow managed to suppress the shudder that threatened to run up his spine.
The man's eyes were a deep, glowing crimson and Derek was suddenly very aware of his own omega status, resisting the urge to lower his head in submission as the man quietly observed him. Derek felt a soft throb behind his eyes as his irises revealed their icy blue color - a natural response to the unknown alpha's intense gaze.
The few seconds that passed felt like hours and Derek had to physically force himself to avert his gaze and look down at his phone instead, feigning disinterest.
All of a sudden, the alpha snatched Derek's phone from his hands and dunked it into Derek's still half-full glass of beer. The screen flickered helplessly for a few seconds before going black. Derek watched it die, mouth agape. He turned to the alpha with wide eyes.
"The fuck's your problem, asshole?" He spat, quickly deciding that it was better to act like a random omega who didn't know better rather than someone who'd actually been listening to their private conversation. He held the glass up to the other male with an accusing glare. "You owe me a new phone!"
The alpha scoffed softly and followed his group out the door without a word. Once they were gone, Derek inhaled deeply, registering their scent.
Following them seemed like a terrible, terrible idea.
"... I've had worse," Derek concluded and pulled his jacket on before leaving the bar.
Simply following them to Beacon Hills hadn't been too challenging. It had taken the group eleven days and twelve nights. Derek made sure to stay at a safe distance away from them. Hiding his scent as best as he could. They never seemed to catch on.
Now Derek wondered if they'd actually allowed him to come. Maybe they'd known all along? Maybe they'd known ever since that evening in Boston? Derek wasn't an idiot. He understood why the alpha had destroyed his phone that time. It wasn't just a display of dominance. It was so that Derek wouldn't be able to tell anyone what he'd heard, if he'd heard. The unknown alpha had given himself and his crew a head start.
Whether Derek had actually been listening to them or not didn't seem to matter. Clearly, the group wasn't about to take unnecessary risks.
So why had they allowed him to follow them all the way here? If they thought for even a second that he might have connections to the person they were hunting, why would they let him come? As soon as he found Scott, he'd obviously warn him. They must've known that.
"Maybe I'm overthinking this..." Derek mumbled to himself and looked around once more. Maybe the group hadn't realized he was following them. Maybe they simply hadn't been bothered to cover up their scent until they actually reached the town. Scott would know right away if unknown wolves entered Beacon Hills. They were obviously trying to hide.
That's it, Derek told himself and decided to try and find Scott. The group was already in town, that much Derek was certain of, even if he couldn't track them.
He glanced at his watch - 4:38. There was a chance Scott was still at school. Derek decided to start there.
Stiles hated to admit it, but Scott might've been right about not attending practice. It was idiotic of him to be on the field when his entire body screamed at him to lie down and rest. When his head was throbbing with pain and felt two sizes larger than normal. When light jogging made him want to hurl.
But he'd be damned if he was going to show it. He'd made a big deal out of wanting to be there. Had a fight with Scott over it. Scott had been pissed. Stiles was going to get through practice if it was the last thing he did.
Which, judging by the way his legs trembled with each step, it actually might be.
Stiles gritted his teeth and tightened his grasp on his crosse.
Get a grip. You can do this.
"Look alive, Stilinski!" Coach shouted from the bench and waved his hands at Stiles, urging him to start running. They were doing laps and had two more to go. Stiles had two and a half, as he'd stopped briefly to catch his breath, watching absentmindedly as his team members all ran past him.
He started running once more, ignoring the stars he kept seeing, and miraculously made it through the exercise. Force of will. But practice wasn't over and Stiles dreaded the next phase.
They were practicing dive shots. Stiles wasn't good at them and could really use the practice - but dive shots hurt. Especially if done incorrectly. Which Stiles tended to do.
Scott seemed to have read his mind when he looked over and gave Stiles a stern look through his cage. Stiles turned away from him and walked over to the other team members. The ground was undulating under Stiles' feet as he positioned himself at the back of the line that had formed in front of the goal.
Coach blew his whistle and the players moved. One by one, they approached the goal by running a half-circle and then diving, swinging their crosses in varying angles, attempting to confuse the goaltender in order to score.
Scott, of course, managed to score and land in an irritatingly gracious manner. As did Liam, though his landing was rougher.
When it was Stiles' turn, his legs felt like two blocks of heavy rock. Jumping was out of the question, as was running. Instead, Stiles compromised by jogging the half-circle, hoping their coach wouldn't berate him for it. As he approached the goal, he struggled to muster up the strength to jump and dive. It hurt. He felt weak. Stiles immensely regretting not taking Scott's advice now.
As he forced his legs to sprint off the ground, Stiles literally felt the last of his energy drain out of him and he fell to the ground with a pained grunt - too exhausted to even swing his crosse. The ball meekly fell out of the net of his crosse as he dropped it on the ground and rolled towards his team members, who stared at him and seemed too shocked to even move. Stiles wasn't the best player on the team, but he wasn't normally this bad either.
"Stiles!"
Scott's voice sounded distant and gurgly, as if they were under water. Stiles blinked rapidly, desperately fighting to stay conscious.
"Stiles, you need to get up," Scott insisted, pulling on his arm. Stiles managed to sit up. The helmet felt like it was about to crush his skull. He pulled it off and took a deep breath. Once he'd regained bit of his balance, he carefully peered at Scott, who looked completely horrified. It made Stiles feel even worse.
"Scott, I-"
"I'm sending you home," Scott said, voice tense. "Go change. Now."
"Scott," Stiles tried again, voice breaking. Scott didn't look at him as he pulled Stiles off the ground and pushed him towards the locker room, making Stiles stumble a bit.
"Coach, I'm taking Stilinski off the field," Scott yelled to the middle aged man, who only nodded and watched the pair walk off with an unreadable expression. Once the two were back inside, Scott proceeded to pull his own jersey off, ignoring the confused look Stiles gave him.
"What are you doing?" He asked, voice low. Scott didn't answer, instead pulling out his jeans and continued to change into his regular clothes. "Scott, why are you getting changed? I can walk home on my own."
"Please," Scott spat and gave Stiles a look that effectively shut Stiles up. "As if you were going to go home after this? I can tell when you're lying to me. You lied to me this morning, and you're lying to me now. So I'm walking you home. You have no say in this."
Stiles stared at the other boy for a few tense seconds before he slowly changed out of his jersey, hissing as his sore muscles protested. Neither of them bothered to shower. Stiles didn't mind. He just wanted to get out of there.
Five minutes later, Stiles was standing outside the lacrosse field and watched from a distance as Scott spoke to their coach, who seemed reluctant to letting Scott go home, but eventually nodded and sent Stiles an odd look through the fence. He averted his gaze, pulled up his hood over his head and shoved his hands deep down into his pockets as he waited for Scott to return.
"Let's go." Scott started walking and didn't look back to make sure Stiles was coming with him. Stiles followed him anyway, but made sure he remained two steps behind. He was in no mood for talking and hoped that Scott would respect that.
They'd been walking in extremely uncomfortable silence for nearly five minutes when Scott abruptly turned around and fixated Stiles with an angry glare.
"Why didn't you listen to me? What's wrong with you? You're supposed to be the smart one in our relationship! Christ, Stiles, you got three hours of sleep! Three! That's how long most of my power naps are! This has been going on for almost two weeks! You're not eating, you're not sleeping, you're not doing anything that you're supposed to be doing! And you thought you'd just walk out there and play lacrosse like you're not about to pass out from sleep deprivation? Are you fucking kidding me?"
Scott was panting slightly by the end of his angry rant. Stiles couldn't look at him. Guilt pulsated through him and made him feel small. Smaller than usual.
"I thought-"
"You thought that you'd be fine, I get it," Scott huffed and threw a hand up. "That's what you've been telling us all day long, that you're fine, you're fine! Were you trying to convince us... or yourself?"
"I..." Stiles swallowed tightly to make the lump in his throat go away. "I don't know. Okay?"
"No, not okay!" Scott's eyes were wide with worry and fury when Stiles finally managed to meet his gaze. "Stiles, you nearly passed out just now. I told you to go home and rest but you insisted that I should let you practice anyway. So I let you. And what happened?"
"I was wrong," Stiles admitted, feeling a sting of irritation in his chest. "You were right and I was wrong. Is that what you want to hear, Scott?"
"That's not even the point!" Scott exclaimed, smacking a hand to his forehead with frustration. "You're not getting it!"
"I think I'm getting it just fine," Stiles snapped back, voice teetering on cruelty now. "I'm the weakest link, right? You're just watching out for me, since I'm so fucking incompetent!" Stiles spat and slammed a fist to his chest. "Command me, oh great alpha!"
Scott looked as though he'd been slapped.
Stiles was instantly filled with regret. It hurt more than all the aches he'd endured throughout the day combined. A storm of emotions swirled around in Scott's brown eyes and Stiles found himself unable to look away. His eyes burned as his vision blurred.
"... Scott," he said, voice thick, "I'm sorry-"
"Scott!"
Stiles flinched, startled by the sudden call, and turned around. He knew that voice. Hadn't heard it in a long time, but he'd never forget that voice. Derek Hale emerged from the park, jogging towards them with a distressed frown. Scott gaped at the older male.
"Derek?" They grabbed each other's fists in a peculiar kind of handshake that reminded Stiles of a warrior's greeting. Once the two released each other, Derek nodded at Stiles and gave him a lingering, warm look. Stiles swallowed and managed to nod back, overwhelmed by the sudden reunion.
"I know this is sudden," said Derek in a rushed manner. "But we need to get out of here. People are looking for you."
"Huh?" Scott held his hands up. "Slow down - what are you talking about?"
"People!" Derek repeated, frustrated now. "Alphas. A whole pack. I've been following them for nearly two weeks. They seem to be after you and I don't know why. I'm betting it's not to join your fan club, though. So we need to get out of here and gather the rest of your pack."
"Do you think they want to make him join their pack?" Stiles asked.
"I don't know," Derek said, scowl deepening, "but the thought has occurred to me. Wouldn't be the first time an alpha pack wanted Scott to join in. They seem to have been looking for you," he said and turned back to Scott.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, they were talking about it. I overheard them. Seem to be using some pretty unorthodox methods, too," he said with a scoff. "One of them was talking about how she used stones to pinpoint your location."
"But that's-"
"I know," Derek sighed and pinched the bridge between his eyes. "But they did find you, so it's pointless to argue over the authenticity. They're here, Scott."
"Alright, let me make a quick phone call," Scott said as he pulled out his cell phone. Stiles watched as Scott quickly dialed Liam's number and brought the phone to his ear, only to freeze as he looked back up. His eyes widened and irises instantly burned red as he gazed past Stiles shoulder.
Stiles felt a shiver run up his spine as he slowly turned around. A small group of people stood on the other side of the road, watching them intently. Three men and two women, all with glowing crimson eyes. One of the male alphas clasped his hands together and smirked, sending Derek a soft nod.
"Thanks for leading us here, omega. It would've taken us several days to find him on our own."
"Good dog," another male drawled with a mocking snicker.
Stiles threw a fearful glance at Derek, who looked completely horrified as the realization struck him. He hadn't known, Stiles concluded and was immediately filled with sympathy for Derek. The alphas had been using Derek to track Scott down all along.
"What the hell do you want from me?" Scott growled, sharp canines sticking out from his upper lip. The group chuckled softly amongst themselves.
"You?" The man quirked a contemptuous eyebrow at Scott. "We don't want anything from you."
"It's him we're after," one of the females chirped and extended a well-manicured finger.
Stiles swallowed and took a step back. The female alpha was pointing directly at him.
TBC.
So, I'm actually a bit unsure of whether or not Derek is actually an omega. We all know that he's "evolved", which is super badass and all, but he also doesn't belong to a pack right now (as far as we know) and that makes him an omega regardless of his evolved wolf-powers, right? (Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.)
Sorry for the delay. I was actually planning to update last week, but work has been kicking my ass. Chapter 3 is already in the making. Hope you're enjoying this story so far. Again, I'd love some feedback. It's been a while since I wrote fan fiction, so I'm painfully aware that I may be a bit rusty. Don't be afraid to lay it on me. ;)
- Caeva