Author's Note: Lots of Derek feels in this chapter, my lovelies, so be prepared!
Barreling into the room on two legs, forcing himself out of the shift with more effort than was typical, Derek barely paid any mind to the members of his pack that managed to beat him to the scene. He scanned the room, desperately searching for Stiles. His eyes snagged on his pack just long enough to see that they were having trouble shifting, hovering somewhere between human and not as they battled with the hunters.
The only one who seemed unaffected was Parrish. Derek's eyes caught quick flashes of flame engulfed feathers as Parrish flew across the room and wrapped his wings around a hunter. Derek heard the pained scream rip from the hunter's throat as his skin bubbled and burned as Boyd's footsteps caught up to him. Boyd didn't even pause, just jumped straight into the middle of the fight and started swinging.
Derek's instincts were torn, half of him wanting to leap into the fray, to help his pack, while the other half ached with the need to get to Stiles. The decision was made when Derek's gaze swept over a body lying on the floor on the far side of the room, its riotous brown hair and moon-pale skin a red flag in an ocean of white.
"Stiles!"
Derek was carving his way through the fight before anyone even noticed he was there, weaving through the broken bodies and slipping in pools of blood in his mad rush to reach Stiles' writhing form. The tortured whimper that seeped from Stiles' lips pulled hard at Derek's heart, had his stomach lurching with panic and bile.
Skidding to a stop by Stiles' side, Derek dropped to the floor so hard that his kneecap cracked. He didn't even feel it, could feel nothing but the agony pouring out of Stiles, heavier than lead and thicker than molasses. He hesitated, hands hovering indecisively over Stiles' face, twisted in pain. With a growl Derek maneuvered himself around so that he was kneeling by Stiles' head and lifted it gently. Once Stiles' head was cushioned in his lap, Derek tried to pull some of his pain only to realize that he couldn't. It was too overwhelming, too all encompassing, and Derek couldn't even begin to put a dent in Stiles' agony.
Trusting his pack to protect them from any hunters who might think them an easy target, Derek listened, blocked out the din of battle and focused his hearing on Stiles' heart. It was beating, though barely- a too heavy chug of sound that was too slow and more uneven than was safe.
"Stiles! Come on, Stiles, don't do this to me. I need you, damn it. Don't you fucking dare leave me." Derek sobbed, ignoring the stream of tears as they spilled down his cheeks. Derek's fingers scrabbled at Stiles' chest as he hauled him further into his lap and pushed his face into the crook of Stiles' neck. "Please."
With a spasm that wracked his entire frame, Stiles went limp, his body so eerily still he seemed to be made of marble. The fire in Derek's chest didn't go out, didn't stop trying to burn him to the ground, but that only made it worse. If he could still feel it, that meant Stiles' body was still being ravaged by it. Beneath the mask of unconsciousness some part of Stiles was still burning.
Derek cradled Stiles to his chest, face buried in his throat as he begged and pled for him to open his eyes. The sluggish thump of Stiles' heart skipped and wavered, and Derek felt the blistering heat start to fade.
"No. Nononono." Derek sobbed, clutched Stiles tighter to him and prayed to whoever would listen. "Fight, Stiles!" he choked out against Stiles' throat, could taste the salt of his own tears where they drenched Stiles' skin. "You can't do this. You can't leave me, too."
When the fire finally went out, drained right out of him, Stiles' heart sputtered weakly and then stopped all together. The second Stiles stopped fighting, Derek lost it.
A mournful howl clawed at his throat, left it torn and tattered on its way out. There was a chorus of answering howls, each one more broken and furious than the last. Derek was blind with rage, his field of vision narrowed down to nothing but a scarlet haze of murderous fury. The howl in his throat twisted and morphed into a grief-stricken snarl, the sound gnarled and vengeful. Sick satisfaction surged in his bloodstream at the heavy scent of fear that flooded the room, wafting off each and every hunter in thick blooms.
Derek had just enough sense left in him to cast eyes around him, knowing he couldn't leave his mate's body unprotected, couldn't leave his heart and soul alone in the middle of the battlefield.
Erica, face streaked with blood and dirt- a blood-soaked savior- skidded to a stop at Stiles' side. She dropped to her knees and reached for him with shaking human hands, splayed them wide over his heart and started pushing.
"Go!" she growled through partially extended fangs, her voice thick with tears and unrestrained anger.
Derek was already moving, throwing himself bodily into battle, shifting back into his wolf in midair. There was a hint of push-back before his human form melted into the wolf, but Derek powered through it, his need for vengeance enough to propel him right through the bit of resistance.
The hunter responsible for the bullet in Stiles' chest was already dead, his ribcage torn open by Parrish's sizable talons, but that did little to dampen the unbridled wrath pounding through Derek's veins. His instincts were screaming at him, pushing him to rip and shred, to sink his teeth into flesh and sinew, to tear the whole world down. Every fiber of his being burned, and yet it remained eclipsed by the pure bloodthirst singeing his throat.
The fight itself was nothing but a blur.
Derek lost track of how many bodies he dropped after the fourth throat he ripped from its hunter. He was unrepentant in his attack, barely cognizant of friend or foe as he decimated body after body. Instinct alone kept Derek from hurting one of his own.
By the time the Kearney's called a retreat, realized that a wolf seeking revenge for his mate was more dangerous than anything they had to offer, it took Boyd, a newly human Parrish, Chris, and Jackson to prevent Derek from giving chase.
Malia, Kira, and Liam on the other hand, took off after the retreating party without a word from anyone.
The pack chain of command was relatively loose, with Scott at the top and Isaac and Stiles constantly trading for second. With all three out of commission the responsibility normally fell to Derek, but...
Well.
With their Alpha absent and the other authoritative options out of the running, the pack slipped into a sort of cooperative chaos, wherein each member decided for themselves what needed to be done and did it without hesitation. It wasn't traditional as far as pack hierarchy went, but it worked.
"Derek." Erica called, the desperation in her voice cutting through the static in his head and throwing him into a state of sudden and uncomfortable clarity.
Derek ripped himself free from his pack's clutches, waded through the carnage littering the floor and collapsed in a bloody heap beside Stiles' body. Pressing his muzzle into Stiles' side, Derek whined. He nudged Stiles gently, nosed along his ribcage with a mournful whimper. Stiles smelled of burnt wolfsbane and his shirt was ripped from throat to navel, his chest smeared with ash and streaked with blood.
Derek realized with stark horror that he hadn't even thought of trying to burn the poison out, had skipped right over rational thought and leapt headfirst into revenge. Shame poured through him, made guilt roil fresh in his gut until his stomach heaved and he had to force himself not to throw up.
"Derek." Erica said again, her tone sharp and demanding through the rasp of tears.
Lifting his head, ignorant of the tear tracks carved through the fur on his cheeks, Derek met her watery gaze.
"Listen." she commanded, desperate and a little wild.
Derek's chin dropped to his paws, but he did as she told him. He opened his senses, sent them outward into the room. It wasn't hard to find what it was Erica wanted him to hear, not once he caught the nearly nonexistent thread of it.
Years of listening to that sound, of picking it out of a crowd and finding it in the depths of pitch black woods; Having spent the night before with his ear pressed over it, letting it lull him to sleep, Derek would recognize that sound anywhere.
His eyes flew open, his head snapped up, and a high, strangled gasp burst from his lips as he shifted. Wolves weren't meant to switch between forms that quickly, and Derek shouldn't have been able to given the sheer quantity of iron around them, but it was almost as though he was surprised out of his fur and back into his skin.
"What is it?" Parrish asked, stepping into what was left of his jeans with no mind for the blood and bits of tissue clinging to his skin.
"Stiles." Derek murmured, soft and astounded. "His heart's beating."
One phone call to Deaton, preparing him for their arrival, and the pack was on its way to the clinic. Derek hunkered down in the back of the Toyota with Stiles laid out across the seat, his head in Derek's lap. Parrish rode shotgun, phone pressed to his ear and lips moving rapidly. Derek couldn't hear what he was saying over the sound of Stiles' heartbeat in his head, but assumed Parrish was calling the Sheriff. That call probably should have been Derek's burden to bear, but he hoped John would understand.
By the time Boyd careened them into the clinic's lot Scott was pacing the back entrance, his face a pallid mask of anger that came off more fearful than anything.
"What the fuck happened out there?" he growled as soon as Derek lifted Stiles out of the car. "You were supposed to protect him, Derek!"
Derek knew that was coming, had prepared for it, but it still made him stagger. His Alpha's anger, his mate's injury, his pack's worry; It all slammed into him like a sledgehammer. His knees went weak with it and threatened to buckle under him. A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrated through him and into Stiles' broken body as he bared his teeth at Scott.
"Scott." Isaac intoned gently, pressing his palm to Scott's chest in a move meant to both restrain and soothe him. "Not right now."
Scott growled again, deep and threatening, but he stormed back into the clinic without another word. Derek could do nothing but follow in his wake, let Allison hold the barrier open so he could carry Stiles into the exam room.
Once Stiles was out of Derek's arms, laying silent and still on the metal table, Derek felt bereft. The weight of Stiles in his arms had been enough to keep him grounded, to stop him from crumbling. Without it, Derek was floundering. He was adrift in an ocean of panic and instincts, and the only person in the universe capable of holding him down was fighting a far more important battle all his own.
Lydia and Deaton descended on Stiles' nearly lifeless form quickly, their flurried movements seeming to swallow him up. Derek heard himself whining, could feel the raw grate of it in his throat, but could do nothing to stop it as Allison ushered him out into the hallway. She meant to lead him back to the waiting room, but Derek's legs wouldn't carry him that far. He slid down the wall as soon as he stepped outside the exam room, landed painfully on the floor and stayed there.
Erica collapsed beside him, heavy and exhausted. The scent of blood and torched aconite clung to her hair and skin, seeped into her clothes and made Derek's entire body ache. Still, he went easily into her embrace when she threw an arm around his shoulders, buried his head in her lap and allowed himself to shatter. Erica dragged bloodstained fingers through his hair, pointedly ignored any fractured sounds of distress that came from Derek's throat, and murmured gentle words that he couldn't hear but appreciated nonetheless.
Derek didn't hear the Sheriff's cruiser until it was squealing to halt in the parking lot. He stumbled to his feet, Allison and Erica helping him with arms under his biceps, to meet Stiles' father.
"Derek." John panted, face flushed and terrified. "What happened? Where is my son?"
Derek opened his mouth to explain, horrified when all that came out was a cracked facsimile of Stiles' name.
The Sheriff paled, his head shaking a denial as his legs faltered beneath him. Melissa appeared beside him in time to wrap an arm around his waist, a steadying weight against his side.
"Hunters." Derek choked out, forced himself to speak the words if only because Stiles' father deserved to hear them. "Kearney's."
"Wolfsbane?" Melissa asked, eyes too bright and too shiny. She knew the answer, Derek could see it in every shadowed line of her face.
He nodded jerkily, his eyes brimming with moisture that he blinked back forcefully. Letting his pack see him cry was one thing, but he wouldn't let himself cry now; Not when facing Stiles' father and the woman who loved him as her own, not when they needed him to be strong so that they could waver.
"Is he-" John's voice broke, his breath hitching helplessly.
"Deaton is doing everything he can." Allison assured softly, her hand coming to rest on the Sheriff's shoulder.
Derek sagged back against the wall, watched as Melissa led Stiles' father over to a chair and helped him crumple into it.
"He's gonna be okay, Derek." Erica whispered, nuzzling her cheek into his shoulder. Derek sucked in a stuttered breath and leaned into her. "He has to be."
Almost two hours passed before Lydia and Deaton emerged from the exam room. In that time, Derek never moved so much as an inch away from the door that led inside, never let himself hear anything other than the irregular beat of Stiles' heart on the other side of the wall.
Kira, Malia, and Liam had yet to return from tracking the Kearney's back to their hideout, and Chris had rounded up a few of his own men to assist them. Boyd and Parrish were doing a patrol of the pack's homes to make sure the hunters weren't lying in wait, ready to attack as soon as they had a member of the pack on their own.
Through the dishing out of orders and the shifting around of the pack within the clinic, Derek stayed sandwiched between Erica and Allison on the hallway floor. At some point, Jackson had joined them, sitting across from the trio with his arms propped on raised knees.
When the door to the exam room opened, Derek lurched upright, steadied himself with a hand pressed to the wall as the others scrambled to their feet and Scott and the Sheriff came to join them. Derek gave all of his attention to Deaton and tried to swallow his heart back down into his chest.
"How is he?" John asked, the question coming out breathless and terrified.
Deaton's face was drawn, his eyes pinched and tired, but he offered them a ghost of a smile. "It seems to me that Stiles' ability to push his limits extends to his mortality. I'd be remiss to make any declarative statements, but I am optimistic."
"Oh, thank God." Melissa gasped, her hand coming up to catch the sound as the Sheriff buried his face in his hands and Derek's stomach did somersaults with his heart.
Lydia cleared her throat softly, casting apologetic eyes at the group huddled around her. "There's more." she informed them.
"You said there was an 'unforeseen effect' from the bullets." Derek said, remembering the text she'd sent while the rest of the pack was in the forest. "What is it, Lydia?"
"The bullets that Stiles and Isaac were shot with, they're full of more than just the rare wolfsbane." Lydia explained wearily, her eyes rimmed red. "They contain a blend of aconite, colloidal silver, iron, and an herb called Sigillum Sanctae Mariae, or Solomon's Seal."
"What does that mean?" Erica questioned worriedly, her nails, a fraction too sharp to be entirely human dug into Derek's side.
"Solomon's Seal is a binding herb." Deaton told them, his frown making Derek's chest hurt. "It has been known to amplify the effects of other herbs, making them more potent."
"Most of us don't speak magic, doc." Jackson snapped. "Care to dumb it down for us?"
Lydia, an angry, frustrated flush coloring her cheeks, shoved her hand through her hair. "The concoction inside these bullets is unique, not just to the Kearney's, but also in their effects on shifters. The wolfsbane targets the brain and causes a sort of disconnect between your human side and your supernatural abilities. Burning it out would normally nullify the effects, but the Kearney's figured out a way to make that impossible."
"The metal." Derek guessed.
Deaton gave a dip of his chin. "The iron and silver don't burn the way aconite does. They insinuate themselves into the body's cracks and crevices, and stay there. Unfortunately, when one burns the wolfsbane, they also burn the Solomon's Seal, which then binds the effects."
Erica's nails turned into full-blown claws in Derek's skin, a faint whine emanating from her chest. He pulled her into his side with an arm around her shoulders at the same time Lydia said, "No, Erica, you did the right thing."
"How was binding that poison into Stiles the right thing?" Erica balked.
"It was the only thing you could have done." Lydia told her, gaze earnest and unwavering. "If you hadn't acted as quickly as you had, he would already be dead. The bullet was too close to his heart, Erica. You saved his life."
Derek squeezed her tighter, hoping it conveyed even a fraction of his gratitude. From the way Erica practically burrowed under his arm, he thought she got the message.
"This disconnect," John began cautiously, dragging everyone's focus back to the issue at hand, "what does it mean for my son? It won't kill him, will it?"
"No." Lydia gritted. "It won't kill him, but his abilities are significantly compromised."
"How significantly?" Derek growled.
"His healing, his strength, and his senses will all be dulled to an almost human level." Lydia said, her eyes skating over to Isaac, who leaned heavily into Scott's side, his eyes on the floor. "Everything that makes him a wolf will be inaccessible until we can find an antidote."
"Wait," Jackson said uneasily, his eyes narrowed, "you're not saying-"
"They can't shift." Derek realized, the knowledge sinking in his gut like a bowling ball. "Anyone hit with one of those bullets is as good as human."
Lydia and Deaton both nodded grimly.
"That appears to be the case, yes." Deaton agreed.
Lydia broke down the bullet's effects even further. "The aconite causes a disruption in the shifters central nervous system, wreaking havoc with their ability to heal." she explained, eyes sweeping around the group, lingering on Derek and the Sheriff. "This disruption acts like a distraction of sorts, and while the body is focused on trying to find and repair the break in its circuitry, the metals lodge themselves in the circulatory system, completely undetected until it's too late. The Solomon's Seal binds the iron and the silver to the body, making it impossible to flush them out."
"That's their plan." Derek sneered, his wolf howling its anger in his head. "That's why they waited instead of attacking, why they keep playing these games."
Scott's hard-set jaw, his clenched teeth and even more tightly clenched fist told Derek that he'd already had the same thought. "The Kearney's are going to wait until enough of us have been hit, and then they're going to wipe us out."
Derek's eyes flashed Blue in response to the Red in Scott's irises and beside him Erica snarled, "Over my dead body."
Tension rippled through the pack, all the wolves going rigid with righteous anger while the humans barely managed not to shake with it.
"Scott?" Allison prodded gently, never releasing the death-grip she had on Isaac's hand.
Scott blinked a few times to right his eyes, then settled them on both of his mates. He seemed to drink them in, his eyes searching and needful. Derek knew the feeling, felt it prickle beneath his own skin. He needed to get his hands on Stiles, and soon.
"I, uh." Scott wavered, indecisive, until he steeled himself and pulled his shoulders back. "We can't do anything more tonight, not with the state you guys are in." He waved a hand at them, gesturing at the grime and bodily fluids covering them. "The others should be back soon, why don't you guys go home and get some sleep? We'll meet at the loft in the morning."
"I'm staying here." Derek announced, though he assumed Scott knew, regardless.
"Actually," Lydia interjected before Scott could respond, "there's nothing more we can do for him here. It's just a waiting game at this point. His wound is as healed as it's going to get for the time being, and Erica probably cut his restorative sleep time in half with her quick reaction. If you want to take him home, he would probably be more comfortable there. You both would."
Before Derek could even open his mouth to agree, Stiles' father said, "I'll swing by the house and then meet you there."
Derek's brows went up, soft and stunned. When Lydia suggested Derek bring Stiles home he assumed she meant back to the Sheriff's house, the only home Stiles had ever lived in. It hadn't even occurred to him that she meant the loft, though it obviously had to John.
"Give me half an hour." John gave Derek a reassuring pat on the shoulder, his fingers curling tightly into the curve of his clavicle before he released him and gestured for Melissa to lead him out of the clinic.
Derek couldn't help but stare after them, too surprised to erupt in movement the way the rest of the pack did around him.
He'd known for years that home and Stiles were synonymous in his mind. Home hadn't been a place for Derek since he realized that he'd never feel more at ease, more comfortable and content than he did when he was with Stiles.
In all that time it never occurred to him that someday, somehow, Stiles could feel the same. Yet, Stiles' father knew that taking Stiles home didn't mean taking him to the Stilinski house. Without so much as a flutter in his heartbeat, no hint of hesitation in sight, John knew that Stiles' home was now wherever Derek was.
And how was that for a revelation?
"Can't sleep either, Son?"
Derek's head snapped up from where he'd been staring into the distance, unseeing. He turned to look at the Sheriff, his face appearing more lined and years older under the light from the almost full moon. John looked exhausted, his mouth parenthesized with deep frown lines and his eyes lacking any light.
Derek sighed and pushed himself upright, turning around so that his back rested against the stone wall of his balcony. "Yeah, sleeping doesn't appear to be in the cards for me tonight."
John hummed his agreement as he came to stand beside Derek, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked out across the parking lot. "You would think I'd be used to sleepless nights by now. After all the shit you kids have gotten into over the last couple of years..."
Derek winced, guilt washing through him. "I'm sorry, Sir. All of this is-"
Stiles' father cut him off with a heatless glare. "If the next words out of your mouth are anything even remotely close to 'my fault', I can't promise I won't shoot you."
A laugh was surprised out of Derek's chest. "Understood, Sir."
John sighed then, his eyes going soft and warm. "Stop with the 'sir' crap, will you? John is fine, son."
Derek's gaze fell to his feet, but he nodded.
"You know, I never thought I'd say this," the Sheriff started, and Derek braced himself, "but my son is a lucky young man to have someone like you in his life, Derek."
Brows drawn in a tight knot, Derek glanced sideways at John.
"Now, don't look at me like that. I know you and I got off on the wrong foot, what with my son accusing you of murder and whatnot." Derek snorted at that, but the Sheriff continued, "I like to think we're well past all of that, don't you?"
"Yes, Si- John." Derek corrected with a nervous chuckle.
John gave Derek a hearty slap on the shoulder. "You're a good man, Derek. You've done well by this pack, by my son, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar, you hear me? Stiles is alive because of you, several times over. Hell, all of these kids are. Scott is an Alpha now, for Christ's sake. Do you think that ever would have happened if he didn't have you here, showing him the ropes?"
Derek snorted again, this time more self-deprecating and less amused. "I don't know how much Stiles told you about back then, but he and Scott almost died multiple times because of me; Because of choices that I made."
"I know more than you think, son." John assured, one brow hiked in challenge. "And I also know that, despite whatever mistakes were made on all accounts, this pack, emyour/em pack, is still here, and they are thriving."
Derek stayed silent, unable to come up with an argument against the Sheriff's words.
"My point is, you and Stiles are good for each other. I may be an old man, Derek, but even I can see the way you fit."
"You're not... Aren't you angry that he's so young?" Derek questioned apprehensively.
It was John's turn to snort. "Did Stiles ever tell you how his mother and I met?"
Derek shook his head, mouth turned down in curiosity.
"Claudia was a student in one of the self-defense classes I taught at the rec center." Derek's face must have registered his surprise because the Sheriff smirked and shrugged one shoulder before continuing, "My father was the Sheriff back then, and he hated that I wanted to follow him into the office. So, he made me a deal: If I taught self-defense for a year after I got accepted to the academy, and still wanted to be a cop afterward, he'd write me a letter of recommendation. I guess he thought that after hearing some of the horror stories, some of the reasons people needed my class, I'd change my mind. I doubt he was counting on me meeting my future wife."
"Let me guess, love at first sight?" Derek grinned, imagining it.
John startled him with a bright bark of laughter. "Hardly. Hell, we couldn't stand each other in the beginning. She was mouthy and insubordinate, had a cutting sense of humor and a tongue sharp as a blade. I thought she was obnoxious, and she thought I was too uptight."
"What changed?"
"Nothing, honestly." John rubbed a hand across his mouth. Derek didn't miss the sadness swirling under the fond memories. "She stayed just as abrasive as she ever was, and before I knew what happened, I was head over heels in love with her. Claudia, she had this way of pulling you in, you know? Even when I wanted to strangle her, I wanted to kiss her. That's just the type of person she was. Drove me insane, but I would have done anything for her."
"Sounds familiar." Derek muttered softly.
"Stiles is a lot like his mother." the Sheriff agreed. "Which, incidentally, is why I'm telling you all of this. When Claudia and I met, she was sixteen and I was twenty."
Derek's eyes went wide as he met John's amused gaze. "Really?"
John nodded. "I was her teacher, though, and there were lines. Until she finished the class, and then all bets were off. My father ripped me a new one, and her parents hated me, but that didn't change anything between us. We snuck around, anyway." His face grew serious at that and he gave Derek a significant look. "I don't want Stiles sneaking around behind my back, Derek. I trust him to know what, or who, it is that he wants, and I trust you to respect his choices. I don't need anything more than that."
"I- Thank you, John."
The Sheriff gave Derek another clap on the back, his eyes still harboring affection and warmth that made Derek's chest ache with memories. "That being said; If you ever do anything to hurt my son, I have wolfsbane rounds and an entire department to alibi me out."
Derek nearly choked on his tongue, had to cough to clear his throat. "I understand, Sheriff." he croaked, then added, "But, you should know... If I ever hurt Stiles, if I ever did anything to hurt him like that, I'd want you to put me down."
"As long as we're on the same page." John smiled, wide and genuine. "Now, I don't know about you, son, but I could use a drink." he said, heading for the balcony door.
"Yeah." Derek returned the smile, following John inside. "A drink sounds good."