Disturbia – Chapter 1:
When Derek opens his eyes, he immediately wishes he hadn't. Everything is tilting and rolling, and generally moving in a very unnatural way. Even his own head and thoughts seem to be twisting in knots along with his stomach.
Well...This answers that. He had never tried to cover such a distance before. And he's not going to try again soon. But, hang on...why did he try in the first place? There was a reason, no? Yeah, an important reason...
He forces himself to bypass his headache and turns his head. He blinks. Whoa...that's John, no? Shit, he's really in bad shape. Maybe I should do something...But the considerations seem to be coming from very far, all fuzzy and weak. And John is far, at last three meters. And he's tired, and cold, and queasy...And he's going to back out soon. He feels it. Good. He won't feel so sick when he'll be unconscious. It'll be great. Really.
But if you faint, reasons a part of him, John is going to die. For a second he doesn't even process the thought. Who cares? He's tired. He closes his eyes, staggers dangerously on his knees...
The violent impact of his shoulder with the ground makes adrenalin flow his system, suddenly whipping in his blood and throwing him in a state of full alert. His thoughts right themselves and his senses sharpen anew. And that's when he notice it: even with a werewolf hearing, he can barely hear his brother heartbeat. Shit.
Shit, how much time did he lost? Minutes? More? He doesn't even know.
Clenching his jaw, Derek carefully gets to his feet. The delay for his muscles to answer makes him want to scream in frustration, but hurrying up won't help anything, as he would certainly fall back on the ground. John doesn't have time for several tries.
Once up and (mostly) stable, he walks to his brother, go down to one knee and slip his arms under John's shoulders and knees. His muscles scream at him, burning so much that he considers breaking a finger to kick-start his healing abilities. But no. It would take to much time to wait for the healing to end.
Besides, he is only twenty or so minutes away from the house. The second the Pack will smell blood, they would be here to help. He just need to hang on and walk (he doesn't even dare to think of running) for a little longer.
He doesn't know how long he walk, doesn't even know if he's walking straight. He doubts it, but can't make himself care. He's on autopilot: «walk to the house» is the only thought that is left in is head by the time the adrenalin has ebbed away (too quickly). That and focusing on John's faint (oh, so faint) heartbeat. That's probably why he doesn't hear, see, or even smell the other werewolf until the hand closes on his shoulder, gently preventing him from crashing headfirst into the chest of whoever suddenly appeared in front of him.
Another warm hand makes him lift his chin, and Derek recognizes Peter's face at the same time his uncle's scent finally registers. The relief is so great, he can't help to press his face into Peter shoulder. Now that he stopped walking, he doesn't think he can go again. He closes his eyes...and starts when a hand (again?) closes around his forearm, making him turn. He blinks up to his father face. He's saying something, and Derek feels somebody trying to take John away. Out of instinct, he tightens his grip. His father's face flashes with something (anger?), and his eyes suddenly burn red.
The world come into focus around Derek, and then narrows once more, until his Alpha is the only presence recognizable, a terrifying and inescapable pressure. It feels like he suddenly can't breathe, and he whimpers, low in the back of his throat. His father's voice (no, no his Alpha's voice) cuts through everything, resonates all around him, issuing a simple but unshakable command. "Let go of John, Derek!". Derek lets go.
The hand on his arm suddenly vanishes, and he staggers forward, only to be caught by a strong arm around his torso. "Derek?". It's Peter's voice, and he sounds worried. Derek would tell him he's okay, just tired, except apparently he just hit his limit.
Everything turns dark.
The first time Derek wakes up, he feels to weak to even open his eyes, and he can't move. He promptly panics. He can't seem to get out of this...thing around him which is maintaining him on the...bed? What...
Fingers suddenly slip in his hair in a gentle caress. He half-jumps (or at last, he does his best imitation considering the state he's in), but the soothing motion and, more importantly, the scent is familiar and family, and Pack.
The constricting thing around him (blankets?) loosen, and he instinctively curls up closer to the warmth and the heartbeat of Peter, letting his uncle presence lull him back to sleep.
The second time Derek wakes up, it's to the sound of an argument. He concentrates to hear better.
" ...didn't have to push him like this, dammit!". It's Peter, and he sounds more angry that Derek ever heard him. His father fire back immediately, seeming furious enough to spit sparks, "He wouldn't let go, you saw it. There wasn't time!".
"He was completely exhausted, James", Peter retorts, "it could have...". His father cuts him short. "Well, since you're mentioning it...why was he so exhausted, brother? Going and coming back from the Great Cliffs, even at full speed and with additional weight, isn't that tiring, after all. How come he was barely conscious?".
There's a silence, and then Peter answers coldly. "So this is what all of this is about? You treated your own son no better than you would an enemy wolf because you fear he used a Gift to save John's life? Because he did, James. He saved him, and you act like he should be punished for it. Had Derek brought him five minutes later, John would have been dead or beyond any help, even the Bite, and you know it!".
"You know perfectly well the consequences of being a Gifted wolf, Peter! It's not normal. It shouldn't happen; our blood and the Arts of witchcraft should never met. It's profoundly unnatural. And the disequilibrium generated is...".
Tired, Derek lets the quarrel fade back in a background noise. He rolls over and blinks at the ceiling, slowly rehearsing what he just heard. He knew the Gifted – the rare wolves with an affinity for magic – weren't really appreciated, but his father's ton just now was beyond disapprobation. It was infused with downright disgust.
He's not really surprised. Everybody in the Pack knows about the rumor of Peter's real reasons for leaving Beacon Hills: they say he left because he wanted to explore his own Gift, free of the Pack's rules. Of course, the price to pay was to become an half-omega. Half, because Peter still passed trough Hale territory now and then, to say hi, not at all put off by his elder brother glacial welcome and barely suppressed hostility.
Contrary to most of the Pack members who based their attitudes on the Alpha's, Derek never showed any animosity toward his uncle, even after he heard the whole « he's using magic » thing. In return, Peter had welcomed his questions with amusement but patience, teaching him more and more about werewolves, fighting (because he had a plan to land his sister on her ass one day), hunting, and even, on occasion, magic.
The Pack being often concentrated on Laura and David - future Alpha and Second – Derek was more often than not left to his own devices, free to run around in the forest and exercise as he saw fit as long as he stayed on the Pack's territory and came back at a given hour. He didn't resent it, not really.
He'd always been something of a solitary person, less loud and commanding than his two older siblings. He had been more than fine with it, when one day Peter brought him something that made things even better: a book on werewolves, a lot more complete and interesting than whose in the house's library.
At first a little surprised, Derek had nonetheless thanked his uncle, and resolved to give it a try (it was the last he could do when faced with Peter's thoughtfulness). In the end, he hadn't let go of the book for two days, staying home to read instead of going out as he usually did./p
And when Peter next visited, they had launched themselves into a passionate debate on mates' and border's frontiers' merits. They had conversed, argued, and laughed a lot, Derek more at ease in Peter's company than with most of his day-to-day Pack's brothers and sisters. He had been sixteen at the time, and it had been the first of the many half-serious arguments they now had each time Peter came home.
Speaking of the wolf (ha!), he can hear Peter approaching. His uncle probably heard him moving around and decided to check on him. The footsteps stop in front of the door, followed by a very low knock, low enough that Derek could pretend not to have heard if he so wished. But Peter is more than welcome. He always is. "Come in", Derek calls.
Peter gets in and closes the door before smiling at Derek, eyes warm. «Feel better?», he asks, still low, which make Derek frown a little. His answering « Yeah » sound a bit like a question, but seriously, what's the deal with the whispers and all? The other wolf seems to catch on Derek's trouble, because his expression turns grave and he imperceptibly tilts his head to the side, the telltale sign of a werewolf using their hearing.
Visibly satisfied, he relaxes a little and moves closer. "Can I?" he asks, showing the side of the bed. "Sure". Derek shifts to make room, and Peter sits down.
"I won't stay long, you know how you father gets when I outstay my welcome...". He chuckles ruefully, and Derek can't help but smile too, because yeah. He knows. And seeing the Alpha of the Hale Pack that ruffled is a rare sight, indeed. Even if it means life become hell for anybody close.
But Peter quickly sobers up when he adds: "Still, I'm going to stay in town for a little while. We need to speak, Derek. Seriously and out of the Pack's hearing range. I guess you know what I'm talking about?".
"No" would be Derek's knee-jerk answer, but he's always been honest with Peter before, and he doesn't want to start lying to him now. But still, he can't bring himself to say it out loud. So he only nods.
Peter sighs. "Why didn't you tell me?", he asks gently. "I would have helped, Derek. I'm not James". Derek shrugs, and, when his uncle doesn't comment, he says reluctantly: "I know you're nothing like father. But it's...". He swallows, hesitates. But Peter never mocked him, at last never maliciously, so he says what's on his heart since he discovered he was Gifted.
"I love them, Peter. Father, Mom, Laura...even David. And Mary and John. All of them. It's not perfect but...they're family. Pack, and I...I don't want to be forced to go like you did". Suddenly, it's like floodgates opening, and he can't stop. "I don't want to...be alone, real alone", he continues. "I don't know how to, and if father learns it, he will kick me out...So I thought that I could, you know, hide it, and life would go on like nothing happened".
"But there was John, and I knew he would die if I didn't do something, so...I did". He shrugs once more, unsure. He answered honestly to his uncle, yes, but he just also dumped a load of problems on the poor guy's lap. And Peter has it harsh enough with the whole "everybody know I'm Gifted and my Alpha brother and my Pack barely tolerate me" thing.
Peter sighs once more. «What a mess...». He takes Derek arm and begins to trace calming circles on his wrist with his thumb, soft and reassuring. He fixes Derek in the eyes when he says: "I need to go now or your father's going to burst in and throw me out. But we'll talk Derek, I swear, okay? I'm going to find a motel in town, and I'll text you the address. Come when you're better, and when you feel ready".
Derek nods, and manages to squeak out a strangled "Thanks", and Peter squeezes his wrist and murmurs, "Anytime", before getting up.
"Oh, and...Derek?" He raises his head. Peter is staring at him, a strange intensity in his eyes. "Don't try to cover such a distance again, okay? Whatever the reason, just...don't". Derek is nodding when Peter face morphs into a familiar smirk. "Besides, you looked rather pathetic, all Bambi legs on solid ground", he adds, walking toward the exit. "It was...".
Derek hurls his pillow at the closing door.