Author's notes: So here is the second to last chapter, what I firmly believe to be the pivotal point in the story. Kind of fluff and angst…idk you decide. Enjoy!
He should have known better than to get attached, should have known that it would not end well. Didn't he learn his lesson seven years ago? Was the death of his family not enough to teach him that those he loved suffered? He'd thought years of keeping everyone at arm's length had finally built an impenetrable wall; but as he looked around the cramped vet's office he knew he was wrong. The group of teenagers had somehow managed to break through every barrier he'd had in place, even more disgruntling, they'd done so to his obliviousness. Didn't they understand by now that he could not protect them? After all, it was his coming back to Beacon Hills that had set the wheels in motion. Peter needed Laura, but he'd come first and she'd followed. He'd bitten Jackson and killed Allison's mother. He'd brought the Alphas to their door step. It was his entire fault….
He braced himself against the cement wall as another wave of unbearable agony ripped through him. He unwillingly let a low hiss slide through his teeth, earning distressed whines from his betas. It was in their nature to protect their alpha, but unless they could turn back the clock there was no stopping the torture.
The bond between mates is strongest when both consent, when both are fully aware who they are to the other. After marking the wolves (wolf in this case) can experience everything their partner does, both good and bad. When the mate is dying or in grave danger, the bond begins to tear at the body, the heightened sense beyond normal magnitudes. Everything he felt, every twinge or jolt was the result of the bond. It was weakening, meaning his pain was reaching unbearable levels. If Stiles died he would shortly follow; there was no avoiding it. But he accepted that, welcomed it even. It was his fault anyway; he should have never pulled him into any of this, it was wolf business.
He sucked in air through his teeth, vainly attempting to ignore the stuttering heartbeat in the adjoining room. They'd run as fast as they could, but it wasn't fast enough. He'd lost too much blood, could barely breath. Deaton took one look at the boy's mangled body, eyes sliding professionally over the grotesque gashes in his side, before setting to work. The others had to physically restrain him as Deaton went about his work, wanting so bad to save his mate the one way he knew how: the Bite. Scott had actually been the one who took him down, raging that if he didn't expressly ask for it, Derek had no right to bite Stiles. The others supported him without preamble, much to Derek's displeasure. But he knew they were right to stop him; they could still detect small traces of poison in Stiles, and no one was sure what would happen if an actual wolf bit him. He'd relented, and then the pain started.
His eyes stung from tears, but he refused to let the burning wetness betray him. Tears showed weakness, showed you cared. They didn't do much more than that, and if he was to be there for his pack he couldn't be weak. He was the fearless alpha; the protector of his betas. He couldn't afford to break now, not when they needed him the most. It was his weakness that cost him too much seven years ago and now it had cost him again. He couldn't care anymore, had to be a steel wall if he wanted to build his life again….if he could withstand the agony of losing Stiles.
He heard the door at the front of the vet's office crash open and his eyes snapped open. He looked at his pack whose faces had crumpled in misery. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the brief hallway, the heart thudding in the chest. A series of troubled whines slipped from his betas as the scent hit them. The sheriff stepped into the back room only moments later.
The man looked like hell. His normally groomed hair was sticking up in wild tufts; his face abnormally pale and haggard; his clothes covered in ash and wrinkled; his hazel eyes were bloodshot and rimmed red; his body visibly shaking; sorrow seeping from his pores. He looked around at them, eyes finding Derek sitting dejected against the far wall. The man's face screwed up in fury and he marched over, gripping the front of his shirt in a tight fist. Derek allowed himself to be jerked to his feet, unwilling to meet the murderous gaze of his mate's father.
"What the hell happened to my son Hale?" his voice quivered with barely contained rage and fear. "Where is he?" The sheriff shook him violently. Derek finally met his gaze, but couldn't say anything. The words refused to make any sense and his lips refused to move.
Scott stood and made his way to them. His eyes were round and large, much like the puppy Stiles called him. He lay a trembling hand on the sheriff's shoulder. "Sheriff you need to sit down."
The man looked at the boy coldly. "Not until I know what happened to Stiles." His words were clipped and forced, as if any moment he would explode. They left little room for argument, but Scott pressed on.
"Please, we can explain everything, but Derek can't. He won't answer us or move. Look at how easily you man handled him. If he wasn't in shock do you think you could have easily done that?" He was pleading now, his voice steadily growing into a heart wrenching whine.
The waited in tense silence for what felt like an eternity before the man released him and sat in one of the nearby plastic chairs. His knee bounced up and down with suppressed energy, much like Stiles. He kept his gaze pointedly on Scott as the boy dived in to the tale, filling the sheriff in on everything that had happened that night. Derek squeezed his eyes closed, willing himself to block out the events that had led to this moment.
He instead stood and numbly made his way over to Lydia. The girl was mumbling incoherently, face buried in Jackson's neck. He knew she was suffering, blame causing her to go into shock. He didn't know exactly what happened in that basement, but whatever did occur had been her decision. Still, Stiles condition was not her fault, and she needed to know that. He reached out and gently touched her arm. She jerked as if electrocuted, unfocused eyes searching his frantically. Her heart was thudding far too loud, her breath hitching as she inhaled. How long would she be this way? How many more terrible nights would she have to endure?
"Lydia it's okay…it's okay." He whispered soothingly. Jackson's arms tightened momentarily. It was hard for him to let his mate out of his sight after all that had transpired. Derek couldn't blame him, but felt a twinge of longing to hold Stiles like that. What he wouldn't give to feel the warmth of the teen's arms wrapped around his neck…
He swallowed thickly. Damn it, he couldn't do this. He was never meant to be alpha; that was to go to Laura. She was the strongest of the children; resilient and resolute when it came to decision making. She rarely displayed emotion, and even on those rare occasions it was brief and controlled. If she was in his place she would not allow them to see her break. No, she would be a statue, an example to follow.
Derek returned to his wall, reluctantly looking at the sheriff again. The man's lips were pressed into a tight line, hands fisted at his sides. His eyes sparkled, but there was something different about his demeanor. He caught him staring and stood to his feet. Derek winced as the man brushed past him, heading towards the tiny room where Deaton worked. "When my wife was dying I was there. It killed me to watch her waste away to nothing, but I was there every day, making her laugh and smile. The doctors and nurses pitied me, saying I was only prolonging my and her suffering. I didn't care one iota about any of them; I wanted to be there for her regardless the repercussions. I held her hand when she died, when her lungs finally collapsed. I was there."
Derek said nothing. Stiles had never spoken about his mother, even after everything that had happened between them. Even after Derek had grudgingly given little snippets of his old life, the boy had remained silent and private; Derek hadn't pressed. But here was his father speaking of her as if she were there beside him. His expression remained blank as he spoke, his voice void of any emotion other than anger. The sheriff looked over his shoulder at him. Derek shuddered under his scrutiny. There was no question where Stiles had inherited that bone chilling look.
"You shouldn't be here. And I think you know that." His words were soft, but hard. The sheriff moved out of the way, gesturing to the door.
He gulped, feeling fear unlike anything he'd ever felt. He knew what the sheriff was trying to say, but the man didn't understand. He wouldn't just watch Stiles die, he'd feel it. He'd feel the process as the boy's soul was torn from his body, leaving behind a frozen corpse. Could he be there?
His feet moved slowly against his wishes. He heard the pack stand and follow him as he neared the door. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air, churning his stomach. He hesitated before pushing the door open and stepping into the room. Deaton ignored them as they filed in, working vigorously. Sweat was on his brow, face contorted in concentration yet peaceful. His hands moved fluidly over the boy's body, attending every bruise and scrape visible.
Derek suddenly felt weak when his eyes fell on the body. The skin was still pasty white, though covered in blue and purple blemishes. The chest rose and fell rapidly with each labored breath; the heart was beating sluggishly as each minute ticked by. His side was still somewhat gapping open where Derek's claws had torn through it. He wanted to vomit, but swallowed the nausea. He had done that, he deserved to view the damage. He focused instead on the boy's peaceful expression, using it to stay anchored to humanity. Even in near death, the corners of his lips were still pricked in a small grin.
A warm hand slid into his and he looked back. He stared at the girl in disbelief. Of everyone he would not have expected an Argent to be comforting him. Allison resembled her aunt when the woman had been younger, but there were important differences. Her eyes were soft and caring, not wild and seductive; her smile was genuine, not placating and hungry. No, she was not like Kate. Here she was on the anniversary of his family's murder standing with and not against them. "He's strong, remember that."
He opened his mouth to respond when a small cough came from behind. The room erupted in chaos, the wolfs fighting to get to the metal table. They crowded around Stiles, laying their hands on him. They looked fearfully at Derek who still hadn't moved. He was stuck in that spot, his limbs not responding. Had they imagined it? Was it too soon to gain hope? The minutes rolled by before Stiles coughed again.
This time Derek ran to his side, cupping his face gently in his hands. The skin was icy, but somewhat warm. He resisted the urge to cry as the pack pressed closer to him. "Stiles can you hear me? Stay with us. Please, please stay with us." He touched his forehead against his, no longer able to contain the tears. They splashed on the boy's face, running down his cheek and into his hair. He couldn't lose him.
A cold hand gripped his wrist weakly and his eyes popped open. He recoiled, the hand thudding to the table. Stiles' eyelids peeled back, a groan sliding through his lips. The other teens backed away in shock, uncertain what to do. The boy went into a fit of gurgled coughs. Derek rushed back to him, gently lifting his head. They waited in tense silence until the fit subsided. The boy wheezed a few more seconds, before looking up at Derek through hazy eyes. He smiled weakly up at the panicked wolf.
"I knew you would come. I knew it." He rasped. Derek shook his head and pressed his lips against the boy's forehead. He couldn't seem to find his voice, though there were a million things he wanted to say. He was dimly aware of the pack and Deaton edging out of the room, but otherwise made no note of it. He clutched Stiles closer; afraid that at any minute fate would strip him away.
"Derek it's okay, it's okay." The boy crooned softly, gripping one of his hands. The wolf shook as the tears fell. He's alive, he's alive, Derek thought as he breathed in the boys scent. His wolf howled in rage. Stiles no longer smelt like himself, but instead of the alphas, smoke, and death. Derek shivered, realizing just how close the boy really was. He wanted to rip the alphas apart piece by piece; too bad they were all rotting in Hell.
Stiles pressed icy lips against his chin, earning his attention. The normal brilliance and twinkle in his eyes were gone, replaced with fear and exhaustion. He never wanted to see the boy like this ever again. "I'm okay. I knew you'd come for me. I knew." His voice cracked and he swallowed thickly.
Derek cupped his face in his. "Stop it Stiles. You are not okay and you know it."
"But-" the wolf smashed his lips against the boy, cradling his head.
"I swear if you say you're fine I'm going to rip your throat out." He whispered against his throat. The trauma Stiles had suffered tonight would take time to get over and Derek knew that he was only trying to spare his feelings. It didn't work that way; not anymore. The boy was not an omega, he was his.
"With your teeth?" the boy chuckled. He wanted to laugh, but there was nothing left in him besides pure relief that Stiles was alive. He wanted to cherish the sound of his voice forever, only now understanding how critical it was to hear it every day. He felt the hollow void within him mending, the missing piece finally returned.
Derek kissed him tenderly, relishing the softness of his lips against his. Stiles arms loosely wrapped around his neck, holding him. His skin was slightly warming up, his heart beginning to race. This was the boy he knew, the one he almost lost. He involuntarily shivered at the alternative. Stiles frowned and pulled back, probing him with an irritated glare.
"I'm not going anywhere, not for a long time." At that Derek pulled away completely, laying the boy back on the table. He knew he shouldn't be angry but didn't Stiles get it?
"Stiles when I found you I thought we'd already lost you. I thought you were dead! Does that mean nothing to you? What they did to you was- was…" he grunted in frustration. There were no words to even describe how despicable the alphas were. All he knew was that he'd love to kill them all over again piece by piece.
He turned back to the boy. His eyes were round with hurt and pain. His bottom lip trembled ever so slightly as he stared at him. Derek felt sick to his stomach. Damn he hadn't meant to make the boy more upset. "Derek you have no idea what happened; none. Don't ask because I- I just can't say it. Not yet at least. But don't say it means nothing. The entire time I thought about you, about Scott and the others. That kept me alive, that kept me strong. I already know what you're going to try to do to protect me and it's not going to work. I'm not staying away from the pack."
He was guiltily shocked at the boy's intuition. But he was wrong about one thing. "I'm not kicking you out of the pack." The simple sentence seemed to reverberate off the walls. Outside he heard the collective gasp and closed his eyes. He didn't want to look into Stiles' eyes as it fully dawned on him what was happening, but that didn't stop him from being assaulted with the boys crushing grief. He peeked at the boy who was now shaking so hard the table trembled underneath him.
Derek tried to hold back, but his limbs disobeyed and drew the boy into his arms. He held him as fresh tears made their appearance. It's for his own good, he thought firmly. But that didn't erase the pain in his heart. Was this really for the best? Was it really for Stiles or for him? Was he being selfish?
Suddenly Stiles stopped crying and pushed off of him. He met him with red rimmed eyes. "You don't mean that. You don't because I know you, Derek. I told you I wouldn't hurt you like Kate Argent did and I meant it. I won't take everything away from you. I won't." His eyes flashed as if daring him to contradict him.
Derek just stared appalled at his mate. Was he really comparing him to Kate Argent? Was he really that broken to accidently misjudge him? He said nothing; just let himself be tugged back into Stiles' arms. The boy rested his head against his chest. "We have to trust each other Derek. You have to trust that I'll never hurt you…and I'll have to do the same."
The wolf tenderly grabbed his chin and lifted his face. He stared down into the honey and amber eyes. "I trust you." He whispered. He pressed their lips together and drew him closer. He would not let go, not this time.