AN- NO BETA. NOT BETA READ. READ AT OWN RISK. THANKS

"If you go out in the woods today….", Stiles sang softly to himself. "….Crap, that's about bears.".

He really, really shouldn't be here but what should Deaton expect by putting up a big shiny 'Don't enter' sign on the freaking astral plane. That was like showing Stiles the big red button of mystery and potentially death, and telling him not to push it. After his first visit, the astral plane was all Stiles could think about and he was hooked. An entire dimension of non-reality, bendable to his will for him to play in while his body slept? Fuck yeah!

Of course, Stiles took precautions though. He wasn't going to go into this blind and still had some sort of self preservation instinct left. Deaton had warned him and Lydia about the perils of returning there without the aid of a guide or his supervision. The chapters of his study that Stiles had previously ignored in favor of the bestiary also warned of the dangerous things that resided in the dark that could separate his soul from his body or do even worse things than that to it.

Monsters were quite real and were not shy about hiding their existence on the astral plane because they had no reason to do so. The were's other selves lived out in the open and as far as Stiles understood it, the astral place was like a were's closet space for their energy and inborn magic. While a were was in their human shape, their animal parts rested in the other plane of existence, being hauled in and out at will. Pure bloods or born shifters could even actually trade places with their animal and walk about safely there without the need for a guide. It all had something to do with the shifter and animal being one, and the natural magic that bound to two together. Stile had kind of skimmed over that part, planning on reading more about it later. Right now, he was too busy throwing caution to the wind.

Using his will and mind along with a healthy dose of sleeping herbs, Stiles formed a silver anklet and cord that attached his soul dream self to his slumbering body, rising up effortlessly out of it. It was supposed to be a meditation technique of spirit walking but Stiles figured it would work just as well in the astral plane and the cord would lead him back to his body after he had done some exploring.

Picturing the woods Deaton had taken them to, Stiles opened his dreamer eyes to find himself in the blessed space of before with chaotic forever night swirling overhead and moist strange earth beneath. It was just as creepy as Stiles remembered it to be so he figured he was in the right place.

Which was why he was singing to himself. Without Deaton or Lydia here, the shadowed woods of dream space appeared to be much darker and deep. Stile worked his bottom lip between his teeth as he gathered his resolve, glancing down to check and recheck that his chained anklet was still firmly in place. He had no idea where to go but Stiles felt that it was imperative that he found his spirit guide. Something was coming to Beacon Hills and he had to be ready for it.

No matter what the cost.

No matter what the danger.

"You'd better not go alone….", Stiles whispered to the trees that moved all on their own.

Derek and his wolf were one striding through the night forests of the forever moon. Here Derek gave his animal free reign, letting it fulfill all its needs and base desires to stalk, hunt, run, and howl. As large as Beacon Hill's preserve was, someone was bound to notice his wolf singing to the moon or lowering the deer population.

So when the wolf scented something jarringly familiar, Derek didn't try to control it or make any effort to wake himself up. He was too busy enjoying the sensation of running through chilly columns of moonlight that were too bright and too silvery for the real world. The shadows they formed in their wake were pools of ink but the wolf knew instinctively which ones were safe to wade through so that wet night clung to his already dark fur and which ones were bottomless pits of forever falling.

The scent of energy was light and its trails glittering like stardust to him, wrapping in and out of the trees and undergrowth. Derek inhaled it deeply, tasting the sweetness of vanilla and felt the burn of strange warm spices that he couldn't even begin to name. All he knew that it was the smell of mate. It was the essence of Stiles.

But that couldn't be right. Stiles couldn't…..wouldn't be here, not in the moon's secret heart where all werewolves resided, deep in the totem forest of prophetic dreams and waking nightmares. It was impossible or so the man argued with the wolf.

The wolf didn't think so, the scent of Stiles getting closer and closer with every leap and bound that swift paw took, the shining trials glowing brighter as the wolf homed in on its source.

Something was moving in the woods. He wasn't alone.

Stiles was sure of it now. This pretend forest was too quiet, so silent he could not only hear the something coming toward him, he could feel it. It was a pressure, similar to the promise of storms that made his skin itch and his head ache.

It was then Stiles saw it. Two red stars shining in the tree line which he found odd but considering that he was in an alternate reality and state of being, perhaps this was a normal occurrence. Or so his brain tried to reassure him until the stars winked in and out for less than a second, like they were blinking. Like the stars were actually eyes and were staring at him.

Stiles stared back, willing himself not to run. He had been around predators long enough to know that marked you as prey. The question was, what was hunting him? Stiles risked taking a step back, watching as the burning rubies for eyes moved marginally closer, matching him space for space.

Now that was problematic.

Stiles.

Of course, it was Stiles. Out of all beings in creation, it had to be Stiles fucking Stilinski. Derek couldn't believe his miserable luck. Life truly and utterly hated him, he was sure of it now. It should have been impossible for Stiles to be here of all places and yet, here he was, glowing like a fucking beacon.

The wolf wasn't surprised in the least and was being quite smug about it. It knew its mate was clever and intelligent. Stiles had proven that time and time again so it was Derek's own fault for underestimating him. The wolf's problem though was that their mate smelled like fear now, rankling the spicy vanilla, souring its taste and dimming its light.

It was also bothering the wolf that their mate was wandering around this place with no defenses, shining like an earthbound star of untapped potential, Stiles's power and aura like a floating, spider web like gauze made of sparking starlight all around his form. Someone or even worse something was bound to notice him.

Derek know that this had to be Deaton's fault. This stunk of the old sage's doing. Derek knew that Lydia and Stiles were training with him but he hadn't know it was this extensive or that Stiles was that powerful.

What Derek did know was that it wasn't safe here for Stiles in more ways than one. The wolf and him could tell that other things were already beginning to awaken and move toward them. That alone threw the wolf's instinct into overdrive. The want, the need to claim their mate was making Derek feel his control trickling away to nothing because ultimately he wanted all of that too.

When he was human with waking reality on his side, Derek could control these urges, knowing that he truly didn't deserve anything that he wanted, like a mate and the comfort and the stability it would bring to him. He had been broken and put back together wrong, like a vase reassembled by the blind. He didn't merit saving, especially by the likes of Stiles.

The wolf had known at first scent what Stiles was, what the boy was meant to be to him. The animal had awakened at their first meeting in the wood, lifting its head to hone in on the tall gangly boy who really had no idea what his best friend was turning into. He smelled like any other teenager, all sweat, too much body spray, and an overabundance of confused hormones, but underlying all that was a strange, enticing sweetness to him. It was enough to catch the wolf's attention. Their first meeting was brief though, not enough to go on just yet and least not for the human part of him. Derek remembered being strangely thrilled that the kid knew who he was, even though he knew that they were probably never going to meet again. The wolf had disagreed.

Derek wanted to warn Stiles. He truly did, attempting to whisper it but all that came out was a growl.

Stiles's nerves broke as a low sound came from his stalker, one that shook him to his core and made the woods around him tremble. This was a big bad, something powerful and he was so screwed.

Breaking the rules of engagement, Stiles turned on his heel and darted, cursing at himself as he did so because he could hear the monster right behind him crashing through the forest after him. To his surprise though, Stiles found himself keeping well ahead of it as he dashed through patches of cold moonlight and trappings of trees that seemed to be moving out of his way.

In real life, Stiles would have already tripped over a root or ran face first into a stump and Stiles was well aware of that fact. Except he wasn't in the waking world. He was in one that he could shape and even break with his mind. That remembered bit of knowledge lit a fire in Stiles so he did the first thing he could think of with it by throwing the forest at the monster chasing him. All he needed was a brief moment to access his anklet and follow the cord home.

The Big Bad snarled from somewhere behind him a little too close for Stiles's liking as the trees lent him their strength by bowing their branches and raised up their roots to catch at claw and snapping jaw. As much as he wanted to look back, Stiles sped himself forward and away, his feet barely touching surreal earth.

"Help, help help!", Stiles chanted under his breath as he stumbled into a clearing. It sounded like the monster was shredding the trees into kindling for all its efforts and still coming after him with a renewed vengeance. Stiles would have kept going but ended up coming up short at its middle because the small space was filled with dark menacing shapes that hopped and croaked at him. Shapes with ragged wings, razor beaks, and beady glittering eyes that appraised him.

In that still moment by the light of moon's hidden twin, Stiles's recalled it was called a murder.

A murder of crows.

Stiles didn't even have time to scream before he was descended upon from all sides. The silence of the fake night was carved up into ribbons by soft sweeping sound of wings.

The trees was a mere hindrance, the wolf tearing out of their grip when it could or using its fangs to convince it otherwise when it couldn't. The trails of soft vanilla light led to a clearing filled with crows but no Stiles. Confused, the wolf advanced, promising death to the birds clad in shades of midnight and secrets. They flew away, taunting the wolf with sharp mocking cries until the space was still and empty again.

Stiles, their mate, was gone.

The wolf raised its head to the dancing night, letting out a deep howl of mourning. In his own sorrow, Derek sang with his wolf.

Stiles woke up in his own bed, his hand spastically taking a tally of his well being until all appendages were accounted for and found in fine condition. A sharp cackle made Stiles fall off the bed completely, the teenager diving for cover out of habit. He peeked over his impromptu 'chest high wall' to find two crows in his room. One was hopping around on his floor, stealing his change, while the other stared him down from atop his computer.

It took a moment but in the end, Stiles launched himself over the bed, smiling wide like a cat on crack. Lydia could keep her fox. His guide…his guides were so much cooler.