I feel guilty for this not being up last night, because it should have been, but my internet cut out and I didn't have any way to upload it. So hopefully the extra few hours didn't make too much of a difference, either way sorry for the wait and I hope you enjoy. . . as usual thank you so much for all the reviews, they keep me wanting to write and I can never be grateful enough. You guys are awesome as a fandom, seriously!
When he came to he was still in the woods, his face pressed into the dirt and leaves on the ground, the scent of damp barely managing to permeate the overwhelming stench of blood and death. And now grief was intermingled with those scents, gradually layering on top of them until Stiles knew it would be all he could smell. He knew tears were leaking from the corner of his eyes and his entire body hurt with an echo of a pain he couldn't remember having been inflicted as he pushed himself up into a kneeling position.
A whine was already building low in his throat and the sound was cracked as it crept out, forcing its way past his lips. For a long moment he forget how to move and then his body was doing it for him, his muscles bunching and forcing him to bend over double, dropping back onto all fours as he gagged. Somewhere in the back of his mind, memories of another life pressed for his attention, the scene in the vet's clinic with Derek succumbing to the effects of wolfsbane. More tears forced their way out of the corners of his eyes, forging salty tracks down his pale cheeks, his skin smeared with blood and dirt like it was warpaint. He gagged again at the acrid taste filling his mouth before one of his arms wrapped around his stomach and he threw up.
The black blood splattered across the ground in front of him and he stared at it for a minute, bitterly wondering why Derek had never had this problem after he had killed Peter. Except no, no he didn't want to think that. He didn't want to acknowledge that because this wasn't happening. He was going to get back to the others and find out that this was all a massive mistake. And that was what he told himself even though the thrum of power through his veins was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Mixed in with the grief and the pain coiling in his gut, layered on top of that feeling of weakness that came from being reduced to this figured retching on the ground, that power was slowly building.
It made him want to tip his head back and howl a sick sort of triumph up to the sky. It made him want to snap and snarl and bite. It made him want to build a Pack, but then the wolf inside of him whined and protested and reminded him that he had a Pack. He had a Pack and he could taste their grief on the back of his tongue, he could feel it descending over his thoughts as a grey sort of haze. And that was why when he did tip his head back, turning what was suddenly a muzzle up to the darkening sky, the howl was a mournful one. The sound was choked almost, desperate and he knew that it would sound to anyone listening like it had been punched out of him. Except, that was a quality shared by the howls that mingled with his own, not quite as strong, but desperate in their own way.
He counted them in their mind, pegging names to the voices. The loudest was Maggie and then Lee, both of their sounds bold and almost brash in their volume, but that only made the pain all the more evident. Weaving tentatively in between their voices was Isaac's howl, soft and respectful, but there nevertheless. The others picked up not even a heartbeat after the first three and Stiles wanted to whine at the same time as he howled when he realised he couldn't hear the voices of Tina, Jay or Lucas. He even thought Brady's was missing for a moment before he heard it, broken and cracked and obviously forced out of an injured throat, but there nonetheless.
There was a bitter hollowness to the sound of their howls though with the absence of Rory and Lucy. The vibrancy and life that had normally been injected into their song was gone. There was no less love, but the pain seemed to outweigh it in that moment.
The others kept howling even when his voice faltered and finally cut out and he started crawling before he could really remember how to move, but then he was flying. A part of his mind told him that this was Alpha form, that this was what it felt like, but everything else crushed those thoughts and feelings down before they even really had time to register. There was a desperation intensifying in his chest with every frantic thud of his heart and he was practically tripping over his own feet – paws now he realised – as he followed the scent of blood and heartbreak.
He burst into the clearing in a mess of dark fur and clouded eyes, melting back into his naked humanity just in time to be wrapped up in Maggie's tight embrace. Others latched on quickly, clinging to the comfort that came from Pack, that came from Alpha no matter how new the title. Flesh slick with blood and sweat slid together as each person scrambled to find some sort of purchase, their limbs all locking together in one tight, impossible knot. Whines built up around him until he couldn't work out which ones were his and which weren't. All he could do was wrap his arms around as many of the bodies crushed against him as possible. All he could do was cling back and offer them up anything he could to try and help ease the pain that was threatening to choke the air out of his lungs.
He only vaguely registered Maggie's head pushed up under his chin, or Jason's arms around his waist, he only just managed to recognise the fingers squeezing his to be Sax's or the face tucked into his shoulder and the tears splashing against the skin there to be Martin's. But he wouldn't realise until later that the blood coating his abdomen wasn't from any wound he had received, but rather had been smeared there by Isaac's tangled curls. He wouldn't know until they all tumbled away from each other much further on into the night, when the exhaustion had set in and the need to just move became pressing that the lap cradling his head and the body hunched protectively over his face belonged to Derek. He wouldn't even begin to think about what that could mean for probably the longest time out of everything.
And it wouldn't be until the sun started to show itself above the horizon, until everything in the clearing was glowing an eerie shade of orange in the morning light, it wouldn't be until then that he'd lay eyes on Rory and Lucy. They were curled up together, immortalized in death in a way that was as befitting as it was horrendous and heart-wrenching. It had obviously been Lucy to die first, the wound on her throat unhealed and obviously the final blow. Rory was relatively untouched considering, his body curled protectively around Lucy's, his face buried into the side of her neck as he obviously sought out the last of her scent.
Stiles wasn't sure if he had ever put much faith in the tale that the stronger the bond between a mated pair, the more tragic the ending should one half be torn from the world. He thought it made perfect sense though now, when he looked back at how Lucy and Rory had always seemed like the perfect couple, the unbeatable ones that were always going to make it together no matter what. It had never been possible to imagine one without another, to imagine one half without its partner and even though it made him feel ill inside to think of losing both of them, he wasn't afraid to admit how fitting it was for them both to have remained together.
He'd never put much faith in the saying that a wolf without it's mate wouldn't be long in this world, but he did now. And it sort of made him want that at the same time as he could never imagine having that sort of devotion for another person. But then he supposed love like that wasn't something you imagined, it was just something that grew over time.
They buried them not far from where they lay, keeping them locked in their final, eternal embrace. They buried them beside their other fallen Pack mates and beside the two new werewolves that Derek had lost, beneath the grass of their final battleground. The rest of the bodies were burnt, but Stiles wasn't there for that part. None of his Pack were. Instead they lay again in a tangle of limbs and bodies, huddled close enough together for the heat to be stifling, each one of them latching on to some part of Stiles, seeking the heat of his flesh.
And he wouldn't say he was surprised that Derek wound his way in amongst them, smelling like dirt and sweat and faintly of death, but he also smelt like home and like Pack when he pulled Stiles against him and tucked Isaac under his other arm. And the rest of Stiles' Pack responded as though it was the most natural thing in the world, shifting and untangling slightly to accommodate Derek, to cling to him to before the knot of limbs tightened again.
He supposed that easy sort of acceptance was probably a message in its own way, it was probably telling Stiles something about this situation, was informing him of something that he hadn't yet picked up on. But he knew he could wonder about it later on, could dwell on all of the possibilities and panic even if it was fitting, but he'd leave that for when his brain was back online again. He'd leave that for when the pain wasn't so great and the wound wasn't so fresh, for when his Pack didn't clutch at him with clawed fingers and when whimpers and keening sounds and broken heartbeats weren't the only thing that he could hear.
He didn't know how long they stayed like that and he couldn't say if even a single one of them had actually managed to drift off at all. He didn't know if anyone felt any better, or if even they felt anything at all yet, but he supposed those were answers nobody would have the answers to for a long time.
He didn't even know who made the decision to move first, couldn't have said for the life of him, but suddenly they were all falling apart and breaking away from that frantic huddle and even though maybe he should have been the last to remain Stiles made no complaint when Derek lifted him from the ground. Derek didn't let go of him once, just stepped out of what remained of his clothes and moved them both into the shower and under the heavy spray of water. And when Stiles' feet finally hit the tiled floor and he reached out to wind his arms around Derek's middle, the wet slide of flesh wasn't in any way sexual. There was nothing but comfort in the way that Derek held him tight against his body, his fingers sliding through the back of Stiles' hair and his nails scratching comfortingly against his scalp.
Both of them watched the murky, pink-tinged water swirl down the drain.
He couldn't say that the pressure weighing down on his shoulders or the tightness in his chest lifted any, but feeling the sturdy reality of Derek's arms around him and watching all the events of the past twenty four hours – or now over that he supposed – wash away down the drain, it definitely helped. He had no idea why, but it helped.
It was only when the water turned cold and forced a shiver out of Stiles' body that Derek moved them back out, his skin never losing contact with Stiles' as he dried them off. "Please don't make me leave," he muttered, the first words he'd spoken since he'd woken up on the woodland floor broken and cracked, the desperation ringing in every word.
Derek's large hands held his face between them, his thumbs smoothing over Stiles' cheekbones and of all things, for some reason he couldn't help but focus on the water droplets clinging to Derek's eyelashes when he looked down at him. "I'm never letting you go again," Derek promised, the words so sincere and determined sounding that it broke something inside of Stiles and he crumpled visibly for the first time since this whole thing had begun.
He couldn't explain why it felt like a beginning when Derek caught him, curling up with him on the cold tiles and holding him as salty tears mixed in with shower water and broken sobs racked through his frame. He couldn't explain why it felt like a release when he suddenly sound himself gasping for breath, his heartbeat too loud in his ears and Derek's voice frantic and pained as he begged him to match his breaths, as he forced him to stamp down on the panic and drag much needed oxygen into his lungs. He didn't know why it was right that moment that he finally felt like something inside of him was stitching up and healing over, an invisible wound that not even he had been able to see. But it did.