Chapter Three

A scream woke him.

The body in his arms jerked and thrashed, soft whimpers spilling from its lips in between shrill screams. Tears streamed down its cheeks and with every sound that left it, Ares felt his heart breaking.

Two weeks had passed since Stiles had been saved from the Nogitsune and while during the day he seemed to be getting better, it was vividly apparent at night that he wasn't. Every night since the younger man had left the hospital, Ares woke to his husband screaming and struggling in his arms. Each time, he'd wake the teen with soft kisses and gentle caresses, until those beautiful amber eyes flew open.

Each time his heart broke just a little more.

His husband wasn't okay.

Every time Stiles woke, he broke down in Ares' arms begging for forgiveness he was convinced he didn't deserve. The man tried to assure him that everything was alright, that it wasn't his fault, but somehow, he didn't think the message was sinking in.

His eyes narrowed and his lips twisted into a silent snarl.

Of course, it didn't help that some of Stiles' "pack" did blame him for what had happened, namely Scott McCall and Lydia Martin. Both had cornered Stiles and after tearing into him with their words, they made sure to tell the teen that he was no longer pack, orders of Derek Hale.

He'd never seen his beloved so broken, and it made him hate the pack even more. The body in his arms stilled and he pulled his little husband closer as the teen finally settled, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead.

"Shh, it's okay. I've got you. You're safe now." He soothed and Stiles nuzzled closer to him, whining like Ares had seen the wolves on Discovery channel do.

His arms tightened and he found himself thankful that their son was deeply asleep.

"You're safe now."

*/*

Derek frowned deeply as he stared at the group of teens gathered in his living room, immediately noticing one glaring absence.

Since killing the nogitsune a month previous, Stiles hadn't attended a single pack meeting. At first, he'd thought it was because the boy was getting counselling to deal with his PTSD toward the events, or that he was still in the hospital or Eichen, but now he couldn't help but wonder if it was something else.

He'd known for months that Stiles was hiding something from the pack but after the disastrous end to their relationship (something he admitted was his own fault), he hadn't thought it was his right to ask. Instead he tried to keep their relationship strictly platonic, and for a while it had worked. The bitter tinge of hurt had slowly evaporated from Stiles scent leaving behind the teen's natural scent of cinnamon and honeysuckles, Adderall covering most of the other's chemo signals. After Allison and Aiden's deaths, he'd hoped Stiles would try to reconnect with the pack instead skirting on the outskirts of it, but instead the teen avoided them, the hurt that had once vanished back and stronger than it had ever been.

He'd tried to corner him, but the only time anyone had the boy's exact location was when he was at school. After school, he'd go to his house, cook dinner, then leave again, vanishing until he reappeared at school the next day. With school coming to an end the day before and the rest of the pack in his living room celebrating, he'd hoped the teen would show up so he could check in and see if he was okay. Instead, everyone but Stiles was present, even Peter, although his uncle was looking around the room with a small frown. The Beta had bonded with Stiles the best out of all their packmates and he wasn't surprised that the man had noticed Stiles was missing. He knew what the man was going to ask before the question even had a chance of leaving his lips.

"Where is Stiles?"

Everyone fell silent, most looking around the room as if just realizing their wayward human was missing and he felt his frown deepen when Scott and Lydia both continued as if they hadn't heard the question.

"Scott? Lydia?"

"What?" The former snapped mulishly and he glared at the pup.

"Where. Is. Stiles?"

Lydia bit her lip, obviously warring with herself before she huffed out a sigh and looked away.

"We- We told him he wasn't pack."

Derek's heart stopped.

In the brief time he and Stiles we're together he'd come to realize that family was everything to the teen. The pack was part of what the boy considered family, even if he was convinced they didn't feel the same. It had taken him forever to convince his friend otherwise. When Derek had ended their relationship, he'd tried his hardest to convince Stiles that even if they weren't together he was still pack, it had been slow going but somehow, he'd thought he'd managed it.

If what Lydia was saying was true, however, then she and Scott had just ruined all the work he'd put in to making the boy believe him.

He'd never wanted to hit either of them more than he did at that moment.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one. Peter was snarling at the duo, his eyes a bright iridescent blue.

"You did what?" He growled, voice low and nearly artic in quality.

Danny was glaring at the duo, as was Ethan, who'd only just started to heal from the loss of his twin. Both he and Chris had made it abundantly clear they didn't blame Stiles for the nogitsune's actions, as had Isaac. He'd thought the rest of the pack agreed.

Seems like he was wrong.

"Stiles has more right to be pack than anyone in this room. I trust him with my life. Not only is he our pack's emissary, he is also one of our main strategists and researchers. You had no right to say that to him, not after everything he's done for us. I'm gonna call him, when he gets here I expect you both to apologize."

The two didn't respond, glaring at him like stubborn, unruly children and he was tempted to treat them as such but thought better of it as he pulled out his phone and dialed the human's number. It rang twice before a tired voice sounded.

"Derek."

"It's pack night. You aren't here, again. Get here."

"I'm sorry, truly I am, but I'm not pack so I'm not coming. Besides, I'm busy."

He frowned, hearing the tell-tale sound of pots and pans being moved around, Sinatra playing in the background. It had stunned him when Stiles had admitted he was fond of older music, until the teen mentioned that he and his mother had listened to them together up until he death. The boy owned all his mother's vinyl disks and her old record player. He loved using it while he cooked, said it helped him clear his head.

"Stiles-"

"I'm sorry, Derek. I have to go."

"I expect you at tomorrow's meeting."

There was silence on the other end and for a moment he feared the teen had hung up, then he spoke in a quiet voice, so unlike his normally vibrant tone.

"I'll be there."

The phone clicked and he frowned at it then at Scott and Lydia.

"Fix this." He growled and they nodded.

"Fine." Scott replied, pouting and he rolled his eyes.

What made him think making a pack of teenagers was a clever idea again?

Oh right. Stiles.

Goddamnit.

*/*

Exhausted topaz eyes, glowed in triumph as they stared at the two sleeping forms in front of them, their owner paying no mind to the glowing red vine-like patterns burning themselves up his arms, back, and neck.

He'd finally done it.

Three weeks of hoping and researching, of sleepless nights and memories of blood-stained snow, three weeks of being haunted by the knowledge left behind by the nogitsune after it had left his mind and soul violated and broken. All of it had come to fruition and this…this was the result.

The nogitsune had left behind knowledge on reviving those wrongly killed by the Oni, whose primary jobs were to serve as either the nogitsune's enforcers or it's executioners, never both.

Being that neither Allison or Aiden had ever hosted the creature, nor had they consciously protected it from the Oni, their deaths were unjustified and therefore they qualified for the ritual.

He was so glad they qualified.

Letting out a gasp as the burning in his body reached his heart, he leaned forward and curled up on the Nemeton's giant stump, allowing the darkness to take him under.

Maybe, just maybe the pack would let him come back now.

Maybe, he'd finally redeemed himself to them.

*/*

"Allison?"

"Aiden?"

Everyone stared at their two previously dead Packmates in shock, then at the exhausted teen standing a little way behind them.

"Y-you, how?" Derek whispered amazed and Stiles shrugged.

"There's a ritual in one of my books called Rite of Justice. It judges those that were wrongfully killed by the Nogitsune, or the Oni, but the caster has to know the dead personally." He looked down.

"I know it doesn't justify what I did but-" He was cut off by Chris who pulled him into a strong embrace, the man's blue eyes suspiciously wet.

"Thank you." He murmured and Stiles swallowed thickly, fighting back tears of his own. "Thank You."

Allison and Aiden exchanged a grin behind his back, having spent most of the ride over trying to convince their stubborn friend their deaths weren't his fault.

Maybe, the pack could help them get him to understand it wasn't his fault.

Allison's grin darkened into a dangerous smirk, especially when they landed on Scott and Lydia.

Even if some of them needed an extra little push.

*/*

Stiles was smiling again.

Ares grinned as he watched his husband dance around their kitchen singing along with Dean Martin as he cooked. After three months, his beloved was finally healing from his possession by the dark spirit and he couldn't be happier. Smiles came to the teen's lips faster, especially when it was only the three of them, and he was laughing again, the sweet sound filling the halls of their small two-bedroom home. It helped that he and Bazyli were spending more time together, the seven-month-old adoring his mama so much that he'd started to mimic the smaller man's facial expressions to a tee, hazel green eyes more intelligent than any other baby he'd ever seen.

His eyes drifted to the thick vine-like tattoos winding up his beloved's arms, and neck, knowing a matching set ran across the other's torso and back connecting to a giant tree branded over his spine. When his husband had admitted what he'd done at the Nemeton to bring his lost friends back he'd been furious. He couldn't keep nearly losing his lover, not with their son and his own heart depending so heavily on the other's continued survival.

He'd told him, in as blunt a way he could that he didn't give a damn if any of the wolves lived or not. All he cared about was that Stiles made it home because at the end of the day, he didn't care about any of those strangers. He cared about was his husband, the mother of their son. Bazyli needed his mama, not wolves he'd never met.

Stiles had stared at him, topaz eyes wide and full of tears but he hadn't argued. Instead he'd hugged him close and nodded, voice breaking in the darkness of their bedroom as tears he'd tried to contain escaped him.

"I understand." He'd whispered. "I understand."

They hadn't spoken of it again but he knew that it was far from the end of it. He could only hope that next time, he wouldn't lose his beloved.

He could only pray Bazyli would grow up with his mother around to see it.

A cold feeling pooled in his gut and tried to shove it away.

His family was safe.

Everything was alright. It had to be.

He joined in with Stiles' rendition of Volare, trying to drown out the voices in his head.

He never had been all that great at lying to himself.

The doorbell rang and his heart leapt in his throat as he went to answer it, hyper aware of Stiles standing at his back, having grabbed their son when he went to stand.

On their porch stood two uniformed Beacon County officers wearing somber expressions.

"Hello, are you Ares Cisneros?"

"Yes Sir." He replied, heart pounding a rapid tattoo in his chest.

"Can we come in, Sir? It's about your mother and your sister."

TBC…