Author's Note: If you're till reading this story, you are so kind and patient and I truly appreciate you. I recently started college full-time, so I don't have a whole lot of time to devote solely to my fics, but I am still here and I am still writing as much as I can.

The forest seemed almost alien as Derek wound his way through it, Stiles lagging a few steps behind as they climbed a steep incline. It was hard for Derek to believe, given the fact he'd grown up playing with his pack in those very trees, but he had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of being in foreign territory. The woods around them were darker than the early morning sunlight should allow, the air thicker and more charged. Every step they took through the underbrush brought more and more awareness to Derek's already prickling senses, had his ears pricked and a silent growl building in his chest.

"What is it?" Stiles questioned, panting with flushed cheeks. "What's wrong?"

Derek turned to look back, stomach clenching at the thin sheen of sweat clinging to Stiles' skin. It was easy to forget sometimes that Stiles was weaker than he had ever been, even as a human. It took more energy out of him to even get out of bed now than he used to expel in an entire lacrosse game. Trekking through the woods in search of what could very well be a dead end seemed to be draining the very life out of him.

"Nothing." Derek shrugged as much as the tense set of his shoulders would allow, reaching out to wrap a hand around Stiles' wrist and pull him up the rest of the hill. "The woods just feel different."

Bending over to prop his hands on his knees, Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I thought so too." he wheezed. "Which is impressive, considering I can't even hear or smell them properly anymore."

Derek heard the pain and frustration in Stiles' words, but remained silent.

"Maybe it's just because we haven't been out here since..."

"Yeah," Derek agreed tightly, pain stabbing behind his heart at the memory of Stiles lying bleeding and broken on the floor of the Ironworks. "Maybe."

They walked on in silence for a while, Stiles' rattling breaths making Derek's wolf whine an almost constant sound of anxiety. He thought about offering to stop, to let Stiles catch his breath, but knew the suggestion would not only be unwelcome but would undoubtedly come across as more of an insult than anything even remotely helpful. Figuring a compromise between his instincts and Stiles' pride was the only acceptable course of action, Derek kept Stiles' fingers twined with his own and helped guide him through the less treacherous stretches of forest. Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes, but didn't shake off the contact.

They'd just come upon the furthest edge of the clearing in which Winslow Lake placidly sat, when Stiles pulled his hand out of Derek's grasp and sank gracelessly into the tall grass a few yards from the water's edge. He was sweaty and pale, his limbs trembling with fatigue and his lips parted around puffing breaths.

"This is bullshit, dude." he groused, swiping the back of one shaking hand across his forehead. "Even before the bite I could hike these woods with no problem. Now I'm a wolf and suddenly a leisurely stroll makes my legs hurt? Jesus."

"Just rest for a minute." Derek suggested distractedly, eyes never leaving the edge of the clearing, constantly scanning the woods for signs of unwelcome visitors. He saw none, but the tingling across the back of his neck made him uneasy nonetheless.

"We don't have time for this, Derek." Stiles snapped, frustration making him short-tempered. "Dad is being released this afternoon and I can't not be there when he busts outta that place."

"We'll be there, alright?"

"You don't know that!" Stiles argued, cheeks flushing a few shades darker with annoyance. "All of what we actually do know at this point amounts to a whole lot of jack shit. We don't even know if he's still out here. And if he is, he might not know any more than we do. This whole thing could be pointless."

Derek bit back a growl, trying not let Stiles' anger ignite his own. He knew that it came from a place of fear, that it was defensive anger rather than anything rooted in actual anger, so he fought with himself not to lash back.

"Scott is with your father." he reminded Stiles instead. "Melissa promised not to sign him out until we were done here, so we have all the time we need to find-"

"Looking for me, Wolf?"

Derek whipped around, a warning growl rumbling in his chest as he spun in place and crouched protectively in front of Stiles. He relaxed almost immediately, his shoulders dropping and his body straightening up when he recognized the glittering copper wings fluttering several feet away.

"Prince."

One side of the faerie's mouth quirked up lazily, his eyes shining as he looked past Derek to where Stiles was pushing himself back to his feet. "I am most relieved to see you remain with us, Boy."

"How come he gets 'Wolf' and I'm stuck with 'Boy'?" Stiles questioned grumpily, struggling to haul himself upright. "I'm a wolf too, you know."

Prince cocked one brow, his smile widening a fraction. "The differences between wolves whom are bitten and those born are many. Should a born-wolf not be recognized as such?"

Stiles huffed, hands propped on his narrow hips and anger deepening the uneven flush spotting his cheeks.

"We need your help." Derek cut in before Stiles could argue further.

Princes attention shifted back to him instantly, green eyes sharp but not unkind. "Was my gift not well received?"

Stiles snorted, but Derek ignored him. "It was, thank you."

The faerie's brow furrowed questioningly.

"How did you know?" Stiles interrupted before Derek could speak. At Prince's puzzled look, he added, "The Lasiar Fola. How did you know we would need it? That I would?"

"The Fae are a gifted race." Prince replied evenly. "Some of us are fortunate enough to be granted the gift of foresight."

"And what, you expect us to believe that you gave us the cure out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Stiles." Derek warned, fists clenching at his sides.

"Worry not, Wolf." Prince waved away the insult, eyes glinting but warm on Stiles. "Your boy is in no danger from me."

"Because you have some weird affection for us, right?" Stiles questioned with narrowed eyes. "For whatever reason, you decided that Derek and I are worth saving - That we matter to you."

Prince was silent for a long beat, his gaze appraising. Derek fought the urge to hold his breath.

"Bravery and recklessness are often confused for one another." Prince began. "You, Boy, harbor a fair amount of each."

"So I've heard."

A seemingly endless moment of silent tension held steady between them for so long that Stiles began to feel the empty echo of his wolf's unease vibrate in his chest. He felt his pulse quicken the longer Prince continued his wordless, intense appraisal.

"Have you any idea how rare you are?"

Stiles' eyes widened and he shifted back a step, caught completely off-guard by the faerie's sudden question. "Me? I'm about as regulation issue as they come."

Derek ground his teeth against the disagreement burning the back of his tongue. Stiles was unique in more ways than one, for more reasons than Derek could count, but he didn't think right then was the time to argue it.

Luckily, Prince appeared to be doing it for him.

"Would you care to venture an estimation on the likelihood of a Spark surviving the bite of an Alpha?" Prince posed the question with shrewd amusement in his eyes.

Gaze shifting to Derek, who only shrugged, Stiles bit his bottom lip. "The survival rate varies," he answered. "Age, health, and circumstance all affect the outcome."

"Right you are." Prince nodded, fluttering to take a seat on a nearby rock. "Humans who are both young and in good health survive the bite nearly seventy-five percent of the time. Sparks, however, almost never live through the process. I have never, in my many millennia on this plane, met a single Spark who has done so."

"Until Stiles." Derek breathed, shock rippling through him.

"I don't understand." Stiles all but whispered, face a shade paler than it had been a moment before.

"I expect not." Prince smiled kindly. "The truth of the matter is that you should be dead. Given the circumstances surrounding your transformation-"

"You mean because I was gored?"

"Yes, exactly. Magic has it limits, unfortunately. There are some things no amount of power can repair. Had a mere human been as close to death as you were in that moment, they would not have survived the Bite, much less thrived as you have done. Your spark should have further hindered your survival, would have had anyone other than Alpha McCall been the one to administer the Bite."

Stiles' jaw hung open and Derek could practically hear the gears grinding in his brain.

"Are you saying-"

"Every now and then, there are moments when the perfect convergence of events allows the impossible to become our truth. Each and every minuscule detail falls perfectly into place and events unfold as they were always meant to. Humans call it Fate or Destiny, but it matters not what you call it. Magic and the Universe, they have ways of making sure events happen as they should."

"So... I was always meant to become a wolf?" Stiles asked. Derek could clearly hear his heart pounding from where he stood, the sound echoing in his head only to be answered by the pounding in his own chest. "Turning, becoming Derek's Mate and Scott's best friend, this entire shit storm... You're trying to tell me that this was always going to happen?"

"Not in so much as I am trying to answer your question." Prince grinned, the expression knowing and secretive to the last. "It is because a union such as yours – the Bond between you and your wolf – shouldn't be possible. In all the realms, no Bond like it exists, nor is it likely to ever do so again. Your Bond truly is a singularity."

Stiles looked like he wanted to argue but couldn't quite manage it. His teeth clenched hard, jaw creaking with the pressure. Through his own overwhelmed thoughts, Derek shook off the inability to even fathom such a declaration and dragged his mind back to focus on why he and Stiles were there in the first place.

"I need to ask you one more question, if you don't mind."

Prince hesitated but dipped his chin in acceptance. "I will attempt to answer."

Flicking his gaze to Stiles and then back, Derek sighed. "I need to know if there's a way to save a phoenix who has been sacrificed by an Alpha."

"Ah," the faerie nodded understandingly, "Your phoenix is unmated."

"He is." Derek confirmed.

"Please." Stiles said softly, all the hostility having left his tone, replaced by the desperation Derek had become intimately familiar with. "We – I can't let him die for this. I won't."

Prince's expression melted into something full of compassion and understanding, the sharpness in his eyes going smooth. "Were I to simply say 'fear not', would that be sufficient reason to do as you've been told?"

"No." Stiles and Derek answered simultaneously, much to Prince's delight. "Besides," Stiles added, taking advantage of the faeries good humor. "If everything is going to play out as it's meant to anyway, what would it hurt if you gave us a heads up?"

With a sigh that didn't mask his laughter, Prince relented. "Very well. The fact of the matter is you really needn't worry after your phoenix. His Mate Bond status has no bearing on his survival. In this particular instance, the same convergence of events which led to your Spark's acceptance of the Bite are the exact same events that will ensure your phoenix regenerates after his sacrifice."

"It's because of Scott, isn't it?" Stiles questioned. "Because he's a True Alpha."

"The magic that creates an Alpha werewolf is not the same as that which creates a True Alpha." Prince informed them. He rose on rapidly beating wings to bob in the air in front of Stiles and Derek. "I haven't the time nor the inclination to go into any great amount of detail, but the fact remains the very same – Much the same way your boy survived the Bite, your phoenix will survive his sacrifice."

"That's it?" Stiles asked heatedly. "We're just supposed to accept that?"

Prince shrugged, eyes glowing brightly. "Accept my word, or do not. It matters very little to me whether you believe this to be truth or falsehood. I expect, however, it would mean a great deal to both your Alpha and your phoenix."

With that Prince vanished, once again leaving behind nothing more than a glittering cloud of quickly dissipating faerie dust.

Sprawled out around the living room of Derek's loft, the pack practically hummed with curiosity. Scott paced the length of the massive window on the far end of the room, his arms crossed over his chest and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Erica and Boyd were at the hospital with Melissa, guarding her until the end of her shift. Everyone else was scattered around the room on various pieces of furniture or random patches of floor. The only one missing was the Sheriff. Stiles insisted that his father rest as much as possible, which meant that he had to stay as far away from any talk of war until Stiles allowed otherwise.

Allison and Lydia were curled together on one end of the couch, Lydia eyes distant and Allison's hand grasping hers to ground her.

"So, do we believe him?" Allison questioned.

Stiles huffed his discontent, but Derek spoke. "I don't see that we have much choice."

"There's always a choice, Derek." Scott growled, his eyes hard. "This is too big a risk. We have no idea if Prince is telling us the truth, and I'm not willing to hinge Jordan's life on the word of someone we don't know we can trust."

"Shouldn't that be Jordan's call to make?" Parrish asked, jaw set determinedly. "This is my life we're talking about, Scott. I'm the only one who can choose what happens here."

Scott's eyes flashed, a ring of Red illuminating the deep brown. "Not this time." he snapped. "I'm not going to let you die for my pack."

"Our pack." Isaac said softly, casting pleading eyes up at his Mate. "We all belong to this pack, Scott, just as much as it belongs to us."

Stiles could see Scott's resolve waver under Isaac's gaze. He could only imagine how much it must hurt Scott to be reminded that his refusal to even try the sacrifice was synonymous with him refusing his Mate a cure.

It was Malia who spoke next, the pain in her eyes spilling into anger from her lips. "It's easy for you to say no!" she spat, ripping her arm away from Kira's restraining hold. "You're not suffering, Scott. You have no idea the hell the rest of us are living in! You don't know what it's like to wake up every day and not be able to feel part of who you are. I was a coyote longer than I've been human, and I feel like I'm missing everything that made me who I was."

Stiles looked away when he heard tears crack her voice, knowing how much she would hate to have anyone see her cry. "She's right, Scott." he interjected, voice low.

Every head in the room swung in his direction, save for Malia who wiped furiously at her eyes and sank onto the chair beside Kira, burying her face in her neck. Kira cast him a thankful smile and smoothed her hand through Malia's hair.

"You may be the Alpha, but this isn't up to you."

Scott growled, his lips pulling up. "What do you suggest we do then, Stiles? You want me to stab Jordan through the heart and just hope he wakes up?"

"If he's cool with it? Yeah, man. That's exactly what I think we should do." Stiles tossed back, shoulders sagging. "I don't see another way out of this, do you?"

"I don't see why that faerie guy would lie to us." Jackson added from his place in the doorway. "He warned Derek about Stiles, right? So, he obviously wants to help us. Why would he give us the cure and then lie about this?"

"Because the Fae are tricksters." Chris spoke up. "That's what they do."

"We're doing this." Parrish declared as he pushed up from his seat on the coffee table. He reached for the top button of his uniform shirt and began working it loose.

"What if you don't regenerate?" Scott asked, the fear in his voice as obvious as the nose on his face. "What if this kills you?"

"Then it kills me." Parrish shrugged, sending a knowing smirk in Stiles' direction. "At least the pack will be alive and safe."

"They call it a sacrifice for a reason, Scott." Stiles said as he carried the ceremonial blade across the room, extending it toward Scott. "You know that this is the right choice, man."

Scott glared hard at the knife, its hooked blade gleaming brightly under the moonlight spilling in through the window. "Lydia?" he asked, looking to her for advice.

She remained silent for a long beat, her eyes glassy and shining with tears. "I don't know." she whispered eventually, her throat thick with pain. "I can't see anything, and all I keep hearing is this sound… Like dripping water and clinking metal."

Parrish shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it over the back of his chair, laying his belt and holster on top of it. "I'm not a gambling man, but I like my odds." he told them, voice hard and unwavering. "We're doing this, Scott. Our pack is splintered and hurting, and if this is the only way to fix it…"

Stiles took another step toward Scott, reaching out to wrap a hand around his wrist. He laid the knives hilt in Scott's hand and curled his fingers around it. Looking into Scott's eyes, he tried to muster as much sincerity as he could. "Jordan will be fine, Scott. And after this, the rest of us will be too."

Scott met Stiles gaze head on, lashes wet and eyes brimming with agony. "Fine." he choked out, tightening his grip on the blade. "Where are we doing this?"

It only took a few minutes to move Derek's living room around enough that there was a large open space in the center of the floor. The pack stood around its edges, forming a loose circle while Lydia knelt in its center with a small piece of charcoal. Derek watched her work, his chest tight with fearful anticipation. They needed this to work for more reasons than just one. Stiles and the pack's health were overwhelmingly in the lead, but Derek had no desire to watch Parrish bleed out in the middle of his loft either. This had to go off without a hitch.

"There, it's done." Lydia announced as she climbed back to her feet, wiping black smudges off her hands on the leg of her jeans.

"Now what?" Parrish asked, eyeing the design on the floor with obvious apprehension. It filled him with a cold tingle of fear but he steadfastly ignored it, rubbing his hands together to chase away the chill.

"Now, you shift." Stiles informed him, his eyes glistening wetly in the dim light cast by the moon and the dancing flame of candles around them.

Parrish nodded resolutely, reaching for the button of his khakis. He shucked them quickly, shifting before they'd even hit the floor. Fire erupted from his skin, engulfing him in blinding brightness until it settled, revealing Parrish in his bright, blazing plumage. Derek tried not to step back, knowing the flames wouldn't burn him, but he imagined he felt their heat anyway and shuffled sideways.

"In the middle." Stiles pointed to the center of the circular design, indicating the symbol that laid peacefully there.

Once Parrish was situated where he needed to be, Stiles stepped back. "You're up, Scottie."

Scott looked pale and angry in the glow of multiple light sources, his eyes hollow and purposefully dead. "You're sure?" he asked, needing to know one last time that this was what Jordan truly wanted.

The Phoenix simply dipped his head in acknowledgment, clicking his beak softly in reassurance. He tucked his wings to his sides and his flames flickered lower. His fiery orange eyes slid closed and Lydia let out a tortured sob, burying her face in Jackson's neck so that she didn't have to watch.

Scott stepped into the circle, blade by his side and his head held high despite the tears leaking from his eyes. "I'm sorry, Jordan." he whispered.

Stiles forced himself to watch, pulled strength from where Derek's hand sat heavily in the small of his back. This was his fault, he reminded himself. It was his punishment, watching. He fought the tears stinging his eyes while Jordan lowered his head, bit back a sob when Scott raised the blade and pressed its tip to Jordan's feathered chest.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry."