Archive of Our Own ^beta

“That was not your save.” Derek growled as he shoved open the loft door, giving Stiles his famous murder scowl, brows furrowing perfectly against his dirt covered face.

“Was too.” Stiles scoffed, wincing in pain as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

He’d forgotten that he’d dislocated his shoulder during the fight. Despite his inability to heal like the rest of his friends he was never deterred from having their back. And when the wendigo went for the kill over Derek’s unconscious body Stiles couldn’t stop himself from stepping into harm’s way. Besides, Malia had already popped it back into place. He gently rolled his shoulders, wondering if there was still that bottle of medicine tucked in the bathroom cabinet, next to the first aid kit Stiles knew Derek didn’t need. 

“I think I’d have to agree with Stiles.” Isaac said with a yawn as he headed towards the couch before Derek threatened to dismember him if he got blood on the sofa. Isaac flashed his eyes at his alpha, but grumpily sat on the floor while Malia dragged Kira to the shower first. 

“And that is why you’re my favorite, Isaac.” Stiles said with a grin as he moved to the giant chalkboard hanging on Derek’s wall.

“I thought I was your favorite.” Scott said with a small pout as he collapsed next to Isaac, laying his head in the blonde beta’s lap.

“Depends,” Stiles said as he turned to look at Scott, hands on his hips, “who do you think got the save?”

“Well,” Scott said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, “it was technically Kira’s katana…”

Stiles let out a whine of disbelief as he grabbed a piece of chalk, making a small tally underneath his name. He begrudgingly put one under Kira’s too, because, really her sword saved him, so fair was fair. He felt the sharp pain shooting down his arm, radiating into a dull ache across his ribs and back. He probably had more scars than he could count, more bones fractured or broken in the span of several months than most people experienced their entire lives. He’d been possessed, kidnapped, beaten, and left for dead. He had sleepless nights and endless nightmares, hands trembling as he fisted the sheets of the bed, choking his screams down to not wake his father. 

He tried to keep himself together. He couldn’t let them see the cracks and fissures in his composure. They all seemed to be managing well enough, smiling and laughing when a fight was over. Stiles played it off, pretended like it didn’t affect him. He tried not to think about how his dreams would be filled with sharp teeth and Derek’s lifeless body. He swallowed down the bile slowly rising at the back of his throat, taking the panic that was tightening against his chest.

He was fine. 

Derek was fine.

It was all just fine. 

He breathed out, a shiver of goosebumps running across his skin as a warm brush of fingers gently took hold of his wrist. He watched the ink swim up Derek’s veins, muscles stiffening as he took the pain. Stiles trailed up Derek’s arm until he was struck by the grey-green of the man’s eyes. It was a soft contrast to the sharpness of crimson that bled through. And when Derek’s lips curled down into a grimace, subtle hints of pain etching into the lines of his face, Stiles felt his breath catch in his throat. He couldn’t quite figure out why Derek would look at him this way.

It wasn’t like...

Stiles broke away from that train of thought, averting his gaze. It wasn’t the first time Derek had looked at him like that and Stiles wasn’t sure what to do with the crashing wave of feelings that came with it. When Derek pulled away Stiles tried not to follow, to lean closer, to steal his heat because as of late all Stiles had been feeling was cold.

“This doesn’t solve our missing teeanger problem.” Lydia said from across the room, arms crossed over her chest as she examined a table with papers and pictures scattered on the top.

Stiles heard most of the betas groan, but he knew she was right. A couple of stray wendigos would have left bodies, or at the very least, bones. But there was nothing. Just four missing teenagers leaving them with more questions than answers. Stiles wandered over to where she was standing, scrubbing a hand over his face as the pictures of the missing stared blankly ahead. There had to have been a connection, but they just hadn’t found it yet. Between his bouts of insomnia, long nights chasing the supernatural, the mounting pressure of school work of senior year, and trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do with the rest of his life - if he lived that long that is - he hadn’t dedicated as much time as he should have been to the problem at hand. 

He felt the weight of their dead eyes, like they were reminding him it was all his fault for not trying hard enough. He quickly turned on his heel, inhaling sharply. He didn’t need their goddamn guilt ridden stares condemning him. He knew. He already fucking knew and he was trying his best. But, that had proven to not be good enough. He was always two steps behind, stumbling through the dark until it was too late. Until someone was hurt or gone or dead. Maybe if he had been better Heather would still be alive. Maybe Erica or Boyd. 

Maybe even Allison. 

He felt something press against the small of his back, a fleeting pressure of heat as Derek slipped past him, his hand resting there for a moment. Stiles hated how calming it was. He listened to the sound of papers rustling against the wood as Derek cleaned off the space, like he somehow knew Stiles had begun to spiral from a simple set of photos. 

“Not tonight,” he heard Derek say, “another day.”

Stiles could have argued that the missing didn’t have another day, that they were already too late. But his exhaustion ran bone deep, and the feel of Derek’s hand - his warmth - still lingered against Stiles’ skin, taking away all of his will to fight. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said with a small nod of his head, knowing those blank stares would find him in his dreams, “another day.”

“What the hell does Deaton want to talk to me for?” Stiles asked with an exasperated sigh as he pulled into the veterinary clinic, placing the Jeep into park. 

Scott just shrugged shoulders, “Dunno, but he told me it was important.”

Stiles let his head fall against the steering wheel, a low groan escaping his lips. If Deaton needed to talk to him about something important then it couldn’t be good. He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the exhaustion from four hours of sleep weighing heavily against him. He wanted to just go home and crawl into bed. He wanted to forget the faces of the photos pinned to the board in his room. The same faces that had kept him up for more than half the night. He knew it was dangerous to obsess over it, but he was getting that terrible sense of deja vu. People disappearing only to be found a few days later, ritually sacrificed for power. For revenge. It had just been a fucking gateway to all of the horrendous things that had followed. 

“Fine,” Stiles relented as he opened his door, “but it better not take long.”

When Scott didn’t follow, Stiles stumbled to a stop, throwing his best friend a wary look to which Scott just said, “He said he needed to talk to you alone.”

“Great.” Stiles seethed through gritted teeth as he sharply turned on his heel, heading towards the clinic. 

The sound of the tinkling bell announced his presence. He could remember all of the times he had passed through those doors. Sometimes he was carrying a dying friend or outrunning the monsters. Sometimes they were seeking advice or uncovering an ugly truth. Sometimes they had won the battle and sometimes they had lost the war. It was strange, taking quiet footsteps into the sun soaked room, Deaton giving him that pleasant, but slightly mysterious smile that always made Stiles question the man’s motives.

“Stiles,” Deaton said as he opened the gate to allow Stiles through, “thank you for joining me.”

“Sure.” Stiles said with a slight shrug of his shoulder.

He tried to act like it was no big deal, like walking through those doors didn’t make his stomach twist or his hands wring together until they hurt. He was just glad Deaton couldn’t smell the anxiety he knew was probably rolling off of him. But Deaton didn’t need to be a werewolf to know how Stiles was feeling. The man could probably see it in the way Stiles drummed his fingers against the metal table and worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He could probably see the dark circles beneath Stiles’ eyes and the slight hollow of his cheeks. And Stiles tried to ignore the small pang in his chest when Deaton’s smile turned sad, as if it was saying I’ve seen this before and I know what this town can do to you.

Stiles cleared his throat, “Scott said you wanted to talk about something important.”

“You must forgive me,” Deaton began as he laid his palms flat against the cool surface, “we should have had this conversation a while ago, but time has, regrettably, gotten away from me.”

“Am I dying?” Stiles asked dryly, because, at this point, it would just be the cherry on top of the fucking sundae.

“No more than the rest of us.” Deaton chuckled. “I wanted to talk with you about your spark.”

Stiles arched an eyebrow, “My what?”

“Your spark.” Deaton repeated, putting more emphasis on the word. “If you recall I had mentioned something about it a few years ago when we had the kanima problem.”

“Yeah,” Stiles blinked as the memory flashed across his mind, “I did something with the mountain ash.”

“You did.” Deaton gave a small nod of his head. “I didn’t tell you then, but I used it as sort of a test.”

“A test for what?” Stiles asked as he narrowed his eyes.

“Stiles,” Deaton was standing up straight now, “do you know what an emissary is?”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. “Isn’t that what you are?”

“Sort of.” Deaton said with his mysterious smile.

“Emissaries help take care of their packs.” Stiles said as his fingers fidgeted nervously. “They provide knowledge, they heal, and they’re essentially the person the Alpha trusts most to handle certain affairs.” When Deaton only continued to smile Stiles exhaled a sharp breath, “Don’t you do all of that for us?”

“Yes and no.” Deaton replied. “Derek is the Alpha of your pack and while I have helped in the past I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself the Hale emissary anymore.”

“Anymore?” Stiles asked, his tone wavering between disbelief and awe.

“I used to be Talia Hale’s emissary,” Deaton’s smile was fond now, eyes far away and a little sad, “but that was a long time ago.”

“Then why wouldn’t you be Derek’s emissary?” Stiles asked. He just wished Deaton would get to the fucking point. He was tired and he hated playing twenty questions to figure out what the older man was getting at.

“Derek’s emissary needs to be someone who he trusts completely,” Deaton explained, “and it’s time I passed on my wisdom and expertise to that person.”

The beat of silence between them stretched for too long before Stiles realized exactly who Deaton was talking about.

“Me?” He asked incredulously. 

It was laughable, really, because it couldn’t be farther from the fucking truth. How could Stiles be the person Derek trusted most? How could Stiles - breakable, human Stiles - be an emissary? He couldn’t even save himself from the horrors of the Nogitsune, how the hell was he supposed to save anyone else? Derek had been let down time and time again, the last thing he needed to do was put his life in Stiles’ hands. 

His blood soaked, good for nothing, godforsaken hands.

“Stiles,” Deaton was suddenly next to him, hand on his shoulder, “don’t you know what you mean to Derek?”

Stiles felt his cheeks flushing. Nothing . He wanted to say that he was nothing to Derek because he couldn’t afford to think about the alternative.

“I can’t do the things emissaries are supposed to do.” Stiles said instead as he pulled away from Deaton, running his fingers through his hair, trying to get rid of his nervous energy.

“That’s not true.” Deaton stated calmly. “Think about why the Nogitsune chose you.”

Stiles froze, breath hitching in his throat. He never wanted to admit how much he thought about that. He didn’t want anyone to know how he dragged himself from that bottomless, dark pit night after night when he would scream himself into consciousness. It was just chance. Bad luck. Because if it was anything else then it only made that nightmare so much worse.

“I-” he began, dragging his thumb against lower lip, “it just happened.”

“It was drawn to you.” Deaton continued, voice calm. “It was drawn to your magic.”

Stiles slowly turned, eyeing the man wearily. “I don’t have magic.”

“Your mother had it,” Deaton said softly, “and so do you.”

And that made Stiles feel like his world has just been knocked off its fucking axis. Claudia Stilinski was a name rarely spoken in Beacon Hills anymore. The letters that curled together, the vibrating hum that sang her name had been buried beneath the dirt all those years ago where neither of the Stilinski men were brave enough to uncover them. How could the woman who had meant everything to Stiles for thirteen years have a secret as deep and important as magic? How could she not tell her son - her own son - the very blood that ran through his veins sparked with something that was alive. Something that was always destined to lead him here. 

“If she had magic then why did she die?” He asked softly.

Because that was the real, brutally honest truth he was now facing. Emissaries could heal. Druids could wield terrifying power. If his mother had magic, had a spark , then why the hell did she abandon Stiles? No, she was just human, just Claudia. And he was just Stiles.

“Your mother actually introduced me to Talia,” Deaton explained, his voice a little lower, a little quieter as if it would soften the blow, “she was the one who recommended me to take over as the Hale Emissary.”

Stiles gripped the table, his head reeling. This was too much. It was all too much. “No,” he forced out as he exhaled, “my mom couldn’t have been-” he cut off because the argument had died on his tongue. He knew, he somehow fucking knew that Deaton wasn’t lying. It was like he could feel it in his very bones. A truth that had been long buried was clawing its way up his spine. 

“The Hales have protected this land for a long time,” Deaton continued, “but being an emissary to one of the most well known and highly targeted packs comes with a price.”

Dealing with the Hales always came with a price. And Derek was the shining example. It was just so fucking unfair. Derek didn’t get to choose who he was. He just had to shoulder the burden and bare the weight of the consequences of his lineage.

“She gave it up for me?” Stiles asked, already knowing the answer.

Deaton nodded his head. “But when she suppressed her magic it turned against her. Losing Talia and her connection to the Hales had been the final straw.

Stiles could never forget. His father had been working over time to sort out the mess that had exploded from the Hale fire. Their little family had been exhausted from nights either spent at the station or the hospital. Stiles had stood in the cemetery only a month after burying the Hales, but this time they were just lowering his mother into the ground. Sometimes, when he fell into the darkest corners of his mind he could remember watching Derek and Laura stand over the piles of dirt where the ashes of their family had been placed. He could remember knowing exactly how that felt as he did the same, but Derek and Laura had been long gone by then. He was alone. Left with a ghost of a father who was in way over his head.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Stiles snapped, shaking his head. He felt sick. He just wanted to go home and pretend like none of this conversation ever happened. He didn’t want to know.

“She wanted to protect you,” Deaton said kindly, “she made me promise not to tell you unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“Scott becoming a werewolf.” Stiles chewed out.

“Yes, that was certainly a catalyst,” Deaton agreed, “but I believe you and Derek were destined for this path.” 

Stiles hated lingering on the what ifs because they only made that dull ache in his chest hurt more when he thought about who he could have been if the past few years hadn’t happened. If he and Derek were fated to fall into each other than there stood reason to believe that maybe, somewhere, they existed not as two broken people desperately searching for something to hold on to. Maybe in another life Derek was the Alpha because his mother had passed on the spark willingly. He didn’t carry the guilt and pain of those who had lost their lives because they got too close to the sun. And in that life Stiles had learned to heal instead of hurt. He wasn’t this nearly empty husk of a person running headfirst into danger because it was the only thing that eased any of the damage he caused. While Stiles could wish and dream about those things he knew exactly where he was and hating it didn’t make it hurt less. 

“What if I don’t want to do it.” Stiles said as he looked down at his hands, mindlessly counting his fingers just to be sure. “Be the Hale Emissary.”

“I will never make you do anything you don’t want to do.” Deaton replied. “If you want to be trained I will teach you everything I know.”

“Jennifer was an emissary.” Stiles murmured as he looked up at the man standing in front of him.

“You’re afraid you might become Jennifer?” Deaton asked, his tone heavy with understanding.

He’d done terrible things before. He had a taste of what power could do. It didn’t matter if it had been out of his control. He could still feel the bloodthirsty chaos threatening to burn him up in his weaker moments.

“I’m afraid of letting them all down,” Stiles admitted, “letting Derek down.”

He felt heavy, like his body was made of lead. He was still trying to process the things about his mom. He felt angry and betrayed that she had kept this from him, but most of all he just wished she were here to help him through it. 

“If we do this,” Stiles said after another moment when he realized Deaton was waiting for him to decide, “no one can know, at least not right away.”

“Stiles-” Deaton began, but Stiles shook his head, swallowing hard.

“I don’t-” he began before taking in a deep breath, tongue darting out to lick his lips, “I don’t want them to get their hopes up if this doesn’t work out.”

And Deaton gave him that look. That look that had asked a question Stiles refused to answer earlier. Don’t you know what you mean to Derek? He was terrified that the answer was nothing. 

He was terrified that the answer was everything.

“I can’t believe your mom used to be Talia’s emissary.” Scott whispered in awe as they walked through the preserve, the last rays of the setting sun chasing their worn path.

Stiles had sworn Deaton to secrecy, but he had begun to crack under the weight of what the man had told him. Malia slamming him into the ground during pack training had been the final straw. He hadn’t meant to lash out, but he was nearing his breaking point. He couldn’t tell Derek, not yet. He was proving exactly why he shouldn’t be given the responsibility of pack emissary in the first place. He’d barely scratched the surface of the books Deaton had given him to read before their first training session and he was already considering nominating Lydia instead. How she managed to balance everything going on and maintain perfect grades was beyond him. His nightmares had started to get worse again. He couldn’t stop dreaming about his mother, her screams of you’re killing me hitting harder than ever before. It really had been his fault after all. 

He couldn’t take the soft concern in Derek’s face after he snapped at Malia to let him up, tears burning the back of his eyes. He needed to escape before he could see that concern melt into disappointment when Derek realized who Stiles was trying to be. Scott had mercifully come to his rescue, calling it a night and guiding Stiles back towards the parking lot where the jeep was parked. They barely made it out of earshot of the pack before the words were spilling out of Stiles, pouring over themselves until he couldn’t breathe. 

“Do you think Derek knows?” Scott continued when Stiles didn’t bother to respond.

Stiles shrugged his shoulders, “She gave it up right before I was born. Derek would have been too young to remember.”

“I guess you’re right.” Scott hummed thoughtfully. His lips curled into his infamous crooked smile as he bumped his shoulders with Stiles. “Hey, I know you’re worried, but you’re going to be a great emissary.”

Stiles barked out a laugh. “Sure. I’m doing just fine right now.”

“It’s okay to not be okay,” Scott said as he gripped his best friend’s shoulder tightly, “I don’t think any of us really are.”

“Could have fooled me.” Stiles said wryly as he threw Scott a sidelong glance. 

“Isaac gets nightmares all the time too.” Scott said with a shake of his head. “And sometimes when I think of Allison…”

Scott’s voice drifted off and Stiles could hear him swallowing hard. It was always the thing that terrified Stiles the most about their friendship. It may not have been his hands, but it had worn his face like a mask that marked him - branded him - as Allison Argent’s murderer. Stiles had known how hard it was for his friends to look at him after Void. How hard it was for Scott, and Lydia, and Isaac to see him as anything else besides a killer. It was a slow, painful process to crawl his way back to some semblance of normal where his friends didn’t throw him weary, fearful, and angry glances. Derek had been the only one who hadn’t looked at him that way, but maybe it was just because he knew what it was like to be seen as the monster. In the end Stiles supposed he could claim one, small victory. Scott was still his best friend and he knew how much he was loved by his friends.

Scott exhaled sharply, “Anyway, you’re not alone.”

“Thanks,” Stiles replied softly with a half smile, clearing his throat, eyes narrowing mischievously, “speaking of Isaac.”

Scott instantly groaned, hands coming up to cover his blushing face, “This isn’t about me!”

“Oh Scotty,” Stiles said, feeling lighter than he had in days, swinging his arm around to clasp the beta on the shoulder, “can’t you see the literal heart eyes Isaac makes when you do anything?”

“You’re one to talk,” Scott argued playfully, his cheeks still red, “whatever is going on between you and De-”

“Is nothing!” Stiles replied shrilly. “Absolutely, positively nothing.” Scott lolled his head to the side, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. Stiles exhaled slowly. “Look, it doesn’t matter how I feel about Derek, okay? I’m not good for him.”

“Stiles…” Scott was frowning now, his baby browns wide and sad.

“No,” Stiles shook his head, “no, it’s okay, really. I’ll just deal with it like I always do.”

“I don’t think you see the way Derek looks at you.” Scott said softly.

Stiles pretended not to hear him, clearing his throat loudly, “Um so would you want to come over for pizza and video games?”

He could see Scott perk up, a real smile spreading across his face, although Stiles knew it wouldn’t make him forget the conversation.

“Dude,” Scott said as they reached the end of the path, “it’s been forever since we’ve done normal teenage things, maybe we should stay up all night and have your dad yell at us at five in the morning when we’re being too loud.”

Stiles laughed at the memory of him and Scott when they were younger, having pillow fights in the odd, early hours of the morning, his dad storming in begging them to go to bed. The bright sharpness of his laughter died away as he watched Scott suddenly freeze, eyes narrowing as he stared at the Jeep. Stiles held his breath, slowly turning as goosebumps ran up his arms. He could feel the shift in the air, the sudden quietness of the surrounding forest, the prickle of danger trickling down his spine as Scott growled.

“Scott,” he whispered, afraid to speak any louder, “what is it?”

“There’s something…” Scott trailed off as he held out his arm protectively in front of Stiles,  eyes never leaving the vehicle.

Stiles tried to follow Scott’s line of sight, but the lights in the parking lot hadn’t turned on despite the growing darkness and while he may have had magic or whatever he definitely did not have werewolf eyesight. He’d forgotten how dark the preserve could get at night. A never ending blackness pierced by tiny pin pricks of eyes, that reminded him just how alive the forest was. He couldn’t see any eyes watching them now, but he could feel something . There was a flash of gold as Scott carefully moved forward, bending down to his knees. Stiles could feel his pulse quickening, having half a mind to shout for Derek despite knowing the alpha was probably halfway home by now. It was instinct, because somewhere along the way Derek had come to mean safety . Stiles gently placed his fingers against Scott’s back as the beta lowered himself to the ground, as if he expected to find something terrible underneath the Jeep. Stiles leaned down, following Scott’s movements, and after a brief moment of absolute dread they found nothing.

“Is it just me or has this town made you more paranoid?” Stiles asked with an attempt at humor, but his heart was still hammering in his chest, and he still felt like there was something, just something out there.

“I could have sworn,” Scott began as he looked up at Stiles with a perplexed expression, “I heard something.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, waiting for the air around them to become breathable again, “well I hea-”

Stiles never finished his sentence as a loud bang made them both stumble backwards. He exhaled sharply as they spotted some sort of creature standing on top of the Jeep, a giant tail whipping back and forth menacingly. Stiles’ first, terrified thought, was the girl from The Ring , as the creature’s long, dark hair fell in her face wildly. He barely had time to think of anything else as she released an ear piercing scream before her tail lashed out, sending Stiles flying backwards into a tree. His back took the brunt of the hit before he collapsed to the ground, Scott’s protective growl ringing in his ears. His finger dug into the earth as he tried to gather himself, his head spinning. He blinked a few times until his vision no longer blurred with rough shapes and dark outlines.

“Scott!” He called out as he pushed himself to his feet. He heard it before he really saw it. The delicate scratch against skin before Scott suddenly started to go limp. “SCOTT!”

There was another loud bang , and a flash of sparks as the creature flew back into the Jeep with a pained scream. For a moment Stiles felt out of breath, like his energy had suddenly been drained, but he propelled himself forward, catching Scott as the beta crashed into his arms. Stiles grunted as he threw Scott’s arm around his shoulder, taking most of his weight.

“Stiles,” Scott said weakly, “leave me and get out of here!”

“No one gets left behind, Scotty.” Stiles said as he moved towards the preserve, running as fast as he could carry Scott.

“What the hell was that thing?” Scott asked. “It almost looked like-”

“Like Jackson.” Stiles finished as he leaned against a tree. 

He shoved his shaking hand into his pocket, trying to get his phone when a loud cracking sound forced him to throw Scott and himself forward to avoid the giant tree branch that was crashing to the ground. The shattering scream followed and Stiles quickly pulled Scott to his feet, staggering forward, as he turned his head to try and figure out where the creature was. He knew this thing was faster than he was, so out running it wasn’t an option, but with what he suspected as kanima venom paralyzing Scott, fighting it on his own seemed like a terrible idea. He could feel Derek’s name at the back of his throat, the desperation - the need - to scream it into the darkness was overwhelming, because he didn’t know what else to fucking do. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see it darting between the trees, forcing him to change his direction.

“Stiles,” Scott barked, “there’s a ranger tool shed just ahead!”

Stiles pivoted as another branch crashed into his shoulder, ripping his shirt and cutting into his skin. He tripped forward, trying to catch both himself and Scott, his wrist bending uncomfortably as they hit the dirt. He grabbed the fallen branch, swinging it around as hard as he could, happy to hear the creature hiss as he made contact. He quickly dropped it, pulling Scott up once more before hobbling to the tiny shed. Stiles shoved Scott inside, before shutting the door just as the creature slammed into it. Stiles staggered backwards into Scott as the entire structure shook. He quickly jammed a shovel under the knob, before putting all of his weight against it. He finally managed to pull his phone from his pocket as the creature continued to bang and throw her weight against the wood, which looked like it was starting to give. It rang twice and Derek’s Stiles was barely out of his mouth as Stiles' stream of panicked words spilled from his lips.

“Derek!” Stiles yelled over the sound of crashing glass. “Derek, something paralyzed Scott and chased us through the woods!”

“Where are you?” Stiles could hear the slur in Derek’s words, knowing the alpha had already dropped his fangs.

“Some ranger tool shed!” He said as he shielded Scott from the falling shards. “It can’t be far from where I normally park the Jeep!”

“Hang on, I’m coming for you . ” He could feel the growl in Derek’s throat, like it was reverberating in his own chest. “Stiles, I’m coming for you. ”

“I know.” Stiles replied quietly as he closed his eyes.

He took in a deep breath, letting the air escape through his teeth. For a moment all he could hear was the sound of his heart, the quiet hum of something in his veins, the vibrating fury that could only be Derek roaring in his ears. For a moment the world around him faded and when he opened his eyes he was alone in the darkness, a bright red string wrapped around his wrist. His eyes followed it until it disappeared into the blackness. When he gave it a gentle pull Derek followed, the other end tied around the wolf’s wrist as well. Stiles reached out his hand, Derek’s fingers inches from his own before the entire illusion was shattered and Stiles was being yanked through the half broken window.

“Stiles!” Scott yelled as he desperately tried to shake off the venom to save his best friend.

Stiles could feel the broken pieces of glass scraping against his skin, but he was nearly dropped as a loud roar filled the clearing. Stiles scrambled back inside as the creature released him. He grabbed Scott, pulling them as far away from the door as possible as the sounds of some sort of battle was taking place just outside. Stiles wanted to feel relieved, but he knew whoever was outside wasn’t Derek. Snarling and shrieks tore through the air for several minutes before it went dead silent. Stiles looked over at Scott, both of their eyes wide as pounding footsteps suddenly marched forward, a shadow looming against the door. Stiles grabbed the nearest tool, standing protectively in front of Scott as the door was torn from the hinges. There was a flash of gold, a smirk curling against lips as someone stepped inside.

“Theo?” Stiles asked, jaw dropping as Theo crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hey guys,” he said, his fangs and claws retracting as his eyes returned to their normal hue, “long time no see.”

Stiles kept his hand on Scott’s shoulder as the last of the venom wore off, his eyes never leaving Theo who was standing just a few feet away from them. They were still in the preserve, sitting just outside the now damaged tool shed Stiles and Scott had been hiding in. Scott was looking between them, like he wasn’t sure who should speak first. Theo was still smirking, like he was waiting for some grand gesture of thanks, but Stiles was just still too in shock from seeing his golden eyes and fangs. Theo was a werewolf. He had been pretty human the last time they saw each other three years ago.

“So,” Scott finally relented, not being able to stand the silence anymore, “Theo, you’re back.”

Before Theo could even answer, Stiles was cutting him off. “What are you doing out here? How did you find us? It’s getting pretty late, not to mention pretty fucking dark. What was that thing you were fighting? Also, why the hell are you a werewolf?”

Theo chuckled, like he’d gotten exactly what he’d expected. “Some things never change, huh Stilinski?”

“See you’re still a dick.” Stiles replied flatly.

“See you’re still a hyperactive spaz.” Theo teased, quipping his eyebrow.

“Avoiding the questions?” Stiles asked through gritted teeth. Now that his adrenaline had burned off he was beginning to feel the damage of their escape. A throbbing headache, a sharp pain down his spine, the warm, sticky feel of blood clinging to his shirt from where the glass had dug in, and some soreness in his wrist. He’d had worse, but it didn’t feel great either. 

Theo must have noticed his grimace, his pained wince, because he stepped forward, reaching his hands out, “I can help with that.”

“I’m good.” Stiles said, shifting a little further behind Scott.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Stiles,” Theo said with a roll of his eyes, “I just saved your life.”

“Is that so?” 

Stiles finally felt his entire body exhale in relief as Derek stepped into the small clearing, eyes bright red and narrowed in on Theo who subtly barred his throat, showing his submission. He felt Derek at his side, the deep grey-green looking over him in concern. Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he felt warm fingers run against the back of his neck, his skin prickling with goosebumps. His pain began to ease away, his lips curling into a half smile of thanks as he held Derek’s gaze. The wolf gave a small nod of his head before moving to check on Scott. Stiles had nearly forgotten that Theo was there, but as soon as Derek was out of his space he was acutely aware of Theo’s curious gaze. The beta’s head was slightly tilted to the side, like he was observing something interesting. Derek was standing protectively in front of them now.

“Don’t worry,” Theo said, eyes sliding from Stiles to Derek, “Stiles already gave me the third degree.”

“Still haven’t really answered anything, though.” Stiles snarked as he took a step forward, drawing even with Derek, arms crossing over his chest.

“It’s kind of a long story.” Theo said, rubbing the back of his neck like it was some funny anecdote rather than a long winded explanation of his newfound supernatural abilities.   

“Lucky for you,” Stiles said with a forced smile, “we’ve got all night.”

Despite his utter exhaustion, his desire to know was too strong to ignore. People didn’t magically pop back into Beacon Hills by chance, most of the time they brought something dangerous and unwelcomed with it, whether by their own fault or not. Stiles had a feeling their already complicated situation was about to get much worse. Now that he wasn’t running to survive his thoughts turned to whatever was chasing them. He hated that primal, gut feeling that told him he had seen her before, that he should know.

“Can we talk in private, Derek?” Theo asked.

Stiles barked out a laugh from the audacity. Who was Theo to come in and suddenly make demands like he knew exactly who Derek was? How did he even really know Derek? It wasn’t like they were all going to school together at the same time. When Derek had returned from New York he was already too old to enroll back in high school. It wasn’t like Theo was fresh on the supernatural scene. He wasn’t running from werewolf hunters, or navigating the kanima fiasco. He wasn’t dealing with dark druids or evil spirits. Hell, he wasn’t even on the goddamn deadpool list. So who the fuck did Theo think he was wishing to talk to the only Hale Alpha left in Beacon Hills?

“Fine.” Derek growled.

Stiles’ head snapped in the wolf’s direction, disbelief and something akin to betrayal crossing his face. Deaton had asked what Stiles meant to Derek. It seemed he had his answer. He felt his jaw tighten as he rolled the bitter tang of hurt around his tongue. He thought about arguing, about screaming that anything Theo had to say could be said in front of all of them, because they were pack and Stiles was…But it didn’t matter. Stiles knew when he wasn’t wanted. Past experiences had taught him that. Maybe Derek realized the damage that had been dealt with that one word because he was now facing Stiles, eyes growing soft in the corners.

“Stiles,” his voice a little lower, a little more pained, “it’s okay to go home and rest. I can handle it from here.”

And Stiles had learned to read between the lines where Derek was concerned. They had somehow managed this silent communication translated by the quip of a smile or the hold of a hard, concerned gaze. Derek’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, gripping it for a moment, before sliding down his back, fingers lingering a moment too long for just friends.

It was Derek’s way of saying I trust you. I won’t keep you in the dark. I’ve got you. 

Stiles nodded his head, letting the anger and the hurt go. Derek was right. He and Scott weren’t in any shape to stay and they would get their answers soon enough. He grabbed Scott’s arm, pulling his best friend to his feet to help him back to the Jeep, which, Stiles hoped, was still in one piece after their little excitement of the night.

“We’ll walk with you.” Derek said, as if the idea of letting them out of his sight until he knew they were safely on their way home was out of the question.

“Of course.” Theo said with a small nod of his head. 

Stiles bit back his snarky remark aimed at Theo, because he still didn’t like the way the beta’s eyes moved ravenously between himself and Derek, like he was trying to decipher some great secret he had missed out on.

Despite the bone deep exhaustion he was feeling, the soft snores coming from Scott, and the blink of the blue lights indicating the lateness of the hour, Stiles was still wide awake in bed. It wasn’t until his phone buzzed in his waiting palms and the flash of a name he’d been anxiously awaiting to see did he finally feel his eyes growing heavy.

D: Pack meeting tomorrow to talk about Theo. 

D: I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.

Stiles hurriedly typed back his reply. He wasn’t one to let Derek wallow in his guilt.

S: All good Sourwolf, what’s a few more battle scars to add to the collection?

D: Are you okay?

S: As okay as I can be

And that was the truth. He was still alive. He wasn’t barely hanging on in the depths of Beacon Hills hospital. He’d have nightmares and pains he couldn’t ignore, but it could be worse. It could always be worse. While that was no consolation it was their reality. 

Beacon Hills either made you into a survivor or it made you into a corpse.

“So,” Malia said, slamming her lunch onto the table starling, everyone mid conversation, “who the hell is this Theo guy and why does he want to join our pack?”

Stiles shouldn’t have been surprised that word had already gotten around to the entire pack about their little mishap and subsequent rescue. Scott most definitely told Isaac who probably told Cora, who then texted Lydia, who mentioned it to Kira, who spilled the beans to Malia because no one in this pack knew how to keep their mouths shut. Stiles wondered how any of them had secrets, but then again no one ever wanted to talk about the things that kept them up at night.

“I forgot Theo was before your time here.” Scott replied thoughtfully, taking a bite of his sandwich as he looked between Malia, Cora, and Kira. 

“That didn’t answer my question.” Malia said flatly as she turned her gaze towards Stiles and Lydia, hoping they would be more helpful.

Lydia spoke up first. “Theo’s been in Beacon Hills just as long as the rest of us.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said as he leaned forward, voice dipping low, “until his entire family was murdered in cold blood about three years ago.”

“That’s awful!” Kira gasped.

“So where did he go?” Malia asked, unfazed by the revelation.

Isaac just shrugged his shoulders as he sat back, his shoulder bumping with Scott’s. “No one really knows, but who could blame him for hightailing it out of here after what they found.”

Stiles had seen the pictures. He’d nearly thrown up right afterwards too. Massacre barely began to cover what had happened to the Raeken family. The only reason Theo hadn’t ended up as piles of blood and bones was because he happened to be out with some friends. Stiles remembered his father spending sleepless nights trying to figure out who would do something so unthinkable. It didn’t take Stiles long to put the pieces together that something supernatural had been involved. By then it was probably too late and his father wasn’t exactly on the supernatural train yet, so they just left it as an unsolved homicide. Red string. 

Theo disappeared a few weeks later. Stiles had never really liked Theo. He was always a little too arrogant, a little much of the wanna be bad boy with an infuriating smirk that always tried to remind Stiles just how much better he was. Maybe he’d been too harsh on Theo. Death changes you, especially a violent one. He was probably just lonely and looking for a place to belong, but Stiles couldn’t shake that little bit of something that was itching beneath his skin. He supposed that could have just been the paranoia speaking. They couldn’t afford to trust the wrong people.

“Anyone else think it’s weird that as soon as a couple of teens disappear he shows up?” Cora asked, hooking her chin on Lydia’s shoulder, eyeing the book her girlfriend was currently reading.

“It could be a coincidence.” Scott said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Whatever it is,” Lydia said, her eyes going to Stiles and he could see that she shared the same bit of doubt that was currently curling inside his stomach, “Theo was human before he left.”

Stiles hadn’t stopped thinking about that all day. It wasn’t like Theo was fresh off the werewolf boat. He was in control, so why come back now? Why return to the one place he had been desperate to get away from? Stiles supposed Derek could relate. What was it about Beacon Hills that always brought those most harmed by it back? It was like the only way you were allowed to leave was in a coffin. Even then you were still buried beneath the same earth that wanted to keep you trapped here. While he knew they all had plans for college the thought of leaving Beacon Hills permanently, despite everything he had suffered, made his heart ache. He had grown up in this town. He had fought for this town. He had bled for this town. Leaving it almost felt like a betrayal.

“I guess we’ll find out tonight.” Stiles finally said. His gaze snapped to the parking lot when he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. For a moment he could have sworn he saw Theo standing there, arms in the pocket of his jacket, smirking haughtily. When Stiles blinked he was gone. He shook his head. It wasn’t the first time he had seen things and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Stiles sunk further into the couch, the last sounds of his friend’s laughter dying away as he dug the heel of his hands into his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl in bed, but that wasn’t happening any time soon. He’d been neglecting their missing teenager problem, he was behind on reading for his first lesson with Deaton coming up, and now they had to deal with whatever this new creature was on top of the whole Theo situation. It was agreed they would give Theo a trial run so to speak, see if he could be trusted to be accepted into the pack. Derek didn’t say what they talked about in private, but Stiles hadn’t expected him to. It seemed like Stiles wasn’t the only one keeping secrets between them. Derek and Theo must have known each other. There was a familiarity that made his stomach twist into knots. Stiles shoved the books he had taken out of his bag to read back in. The loft suddenly felt too big and he was already stretched so thin. 

If Derek didn’t want to tell him that was fine . It was all fine . 

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice was soft, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Stiles replied automatically as he swung his bag angrily over his shoulder. Too late did he realize it wasn’t closed all the way, his books and papers spilling out into a mess against the floor.

“Liar.” Derek said as he bent down and carefully organized all of the papers.

Stiles exhaled deeply as he knelt down across from Derek, reaching for the books. They worked quietly, hands accidentally brushing against each other. Stiles was reminded of the moment when he was in the shed, the bright, red string tying them together. Deaton said they were always destined for this path and maybe that was true, but it didn’t mean they were good for each other. No matter how much Stiles wanted it. He had become so many things over the years. A fighter. A survivor. A killer. A victim. A goddamn blackhole that could only take and take and take. An emissary. A healer. 

But he was not good for Derek Hale. 

“Do you trust Theo?” Derek’s voice was sharp and clear.

Stiles paused what he was doing, his eyes meeting Derek’s. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, “The pack agreed-”

“I’m not asking the pack,” Derek cut him off, “I’m asking you.”

The person Derek trusts most.

Stiles furrowed his brow for a moment, “To be honest, I don’t know.” Derek nodded his head like it was the only answer he needed. Stiles licked his lips before sucking in a deep breath. “How do you know him?”

Stiles thought Derek would push back or brush it off, instead the Alpha laughed, a low chuckle that didn’t fully reach his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

“Whatever it is, you don’t want the pack to know.” Stiles stated as Derek handed him the neatly stacked papers. “At least not yet.”

Derek shook his head, “If Theo has good intentions I didn’t want anyone to be biased against him from the start.”

“Except for me?” Stiles asked with a snort.

“Well, you’re different.” Derek said offhandedly, like it wasn’t a big deal. Stiles ignored the skip in his heart as he moved back to the couch, waiting for Derek to tell the story behind his and Theo’s first meeting. “Theo had asked me for the bite.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, head jerking up. “He what?”

Derek was pacing in front of Stiles, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows knitted together. “It was right after his family had been murdered.”

“Hold on,” Stiles said, raising his right hand in a stop motion, “how the hell did Theo know you’re an Alpha?”

“I don’t know,” Derek replied with a shake of his head, “but he did. He knew I had turned Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. He knew I was building a pack.”

Stiles could feel the pieces slowly falling into place. “He wanted revenge.”

Derek nodded his head. “He was,” Derek paused, like he was searching for the right words to say, “he wasn’t in control of himself.”

“Can’t blame him.” Stiles replied.

“No,” Derek agreed, “but giving him the bite wasn’t the solution.”

“Bet he liked that answer,” Stiles snorted. He knew Theo was used to getting what he wanted, if his father’s bank account was anything to go by. While the circumstance was terrible, and he could understand why Theo asked for it, he also couldn’t fault Derek for denying him either. Derek had been actively looking to expand his pack, so if he turned Theo away then it must have been for good reason. 

“I know what it’s like to feel angry,” Derek said through clenched teeth, “and I knew giving him the bite would do a lot more harm than good.”

“Derek,” Stiles said quietly, standing so that he could place a comforting hand on the alpha’s shoulder, “you made the right decision.”

“It never feels like it.” Derek murmured, shaking his head.

Stiles knew the feeling. He was constantly questioning everything he did. He wondered how he had ever been sure of anything before. Back then his actions didn’t end in such deadly consequences, now it seemed like he could barely keep up and each choice he made was the wrong one.

“Look, Derek—” he began, but his eyes had caught the stack of papers sitting on the coffee table that had spilled out of his bag. The one on top was the photo of one of the missing teenagers, Tracy, and Stiles suddenly remembered why that creature that had attacked them looked so familiar.

“Stiles?” Derek asked, taking note of his sudden change in demeanor, the uptick in his heartbeat. 

“Holy fuck,” Stiles whispered as he grabbed Tracy’s photo, holding it tightly in his hands, “it was her.”

“The kanima creature that attacked you?” Derek was by his side now, looking over his shoulder at the photo, eyes narrowed.

Stiles pressed his lips together, wishing the revelation didn’t make him feel so sick. Too late . They were too late because whatever that creature was, Stiles knew there was no coming back. He could just feel it in his bones. She wasn’t like the werewolves, there was something off - wrong - about her. Theo had said she ran when it was clear she wasn’t coming out of the fight unscathed. She could have attacked anyone, so what were the chances of her finding Scott and Stiles all alone? Kanimas had masters. Someone was controlling her. Stiles was willing to bet that same someone had the rest of their missing teenagers.

“If we find her,” Stiles tapped the photo, “we find the rest of them.”

He turned, catching the look on Derek’s face he knew was reflected on his own. It was the same resigned defeat that told them they probably weren’t going to like what they found and that their real troubles were just beginning.

“Stiles,” Deaton chided gently, “you’re not focusing.”

Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes, his teeth gritting together as he exhaled slowly. It wasn’t his fault he could hardly concentrate when his mind was wandering in different directions. They had already spent an hour going over emissary duties and history that, while important, was also very boring. They were no closer to finding Tracy than they were the rest of the missing teenagers and the mystery of who was behind it all was making his head ache. So, he figured he could be forgiven for not being able to make a fucking bud bloom on the tree Deaton had placed in front of him twenty minutes ago.

“You need to feel the way the tree is connected,” Deaton reminded him as he circled around it, “from the tips of the blossom to the edge of the roots.” He trailed his finger along the branch before giving Stiles a look that clearly said, try again.

Stiles huffed in annoyance, but closed his eyes anyway. Deaton loved talking about how things were connected. Beacon Hills and the Nemeton. Power and magic. Roots and blossoms. Alphas and emissaries. Stiles and Derek. Maybe there was something to it or maybe it was all just bullshit. He tried to imagine the soil pressing into his skin, the complexity of root networks glowing gold as he followed them up the trunk of the tree. He wrapped his fingers around tiny, invisible strings, searching each one until they took him to the pale pink petals folded together. He allowed the buzzing beneath his skin to swim along the channels he had created, a taste of electricity sharp against his tongue. He suddenly inhaled the deep, unforgiving scent of smoke. He could see the trail of fire turning the roots to dust. It slowly made its way up the wood, the buzzing beneath his skin burning with an intensity he didn’t know how to control. 

Stop!  He silently begged. Stop, please!

And now the blaze was all consuming and it wasn’t just the tree that was glowing a bright orange, but the entire pack was engulfed in the flames. He could see them licking the pools of grey-green, because this is who Stiles was. He could only destroy and in the midst of the smoke he could see Jennifer’s cruel smirk, ice blue eyes hard on his face, like she knew exactly what he was capable of. When she opened her mouth it was twisted with the jagged edges of Void’s teeth and Stiles wanted to scream —

“Stiles,” Deaton said calmly, placing his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, “it’s okay, let it go now.”

He hadn’t realized how hard he was breathing, how his chest rose and fell unevenly, his hand held out towards the tree. There was sweat dripping down his forehead and his mouth felt terribly dry. The tree was still standing, untouched by the fire Stiles had been so sure was his. He felt exhausted, his shoulders slumping as his spark hummed quietly beneath his skin until it went completely silent. The bud remained closed. He swallowed hard, scrubbing a hand over his face in defeat. 

“Don’t get discouraged,” Deaton handed him a glass of water, “I don’t expect you to have full control of your magic on the first official day of training.”

Stiles barked out, “Are you sure I have magic at all?”

Deaton just smiled, “Scott told me about the kanima attack. He said there was this loud bang and a shower of sparks sending the creature back.”

“You think that was me?” Stiles asked wryly.

“Magic is capable of many things when we’re backed into a corner,” Deaton explained, “even if we’re not fully aware of how to channel it yet.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what to do with that information as he chewed his bottom lip between his teeth. He cleared his throat, wanting to focus on anything else that wasn’t his magic, “Speaking of the kanima,” he said as he grabbed one of Deaton’s monster books from the table, “I think I know what Tracy is.”

He ignored the way Deaton’s eyes crinkled in the corners knowing that Stiles was trying to deliberately change the subject. Stiles had given up sleeping the past two nights in favor of pouring through the books to figure out what exactly they were dealing with.

“She wasn’t like Jackson,” Stiles continued as he flipped to the page he was looking for, “because she had werewolf claws.” 

“A chimera,” Deaton said with raised eyebrows as he leaned forward, looking down at the page Stiles was now pointing to, “now that’s interesting.”

“Chimeras are made,” Stiles explained, “not bitten. So someone is collecting Beacon Hills’ teenagers and turning them into homemade supernatural creatures.”

“The question is,” Deaton leveled Stiles with a thoughtful expression, “what for?”

“Something wickedly terrible, no doubt.” Stiles muttered before sighing explosively, he was already so tired and overwhelmed. The last thing they needed was an army of supernatural baddies stomping around. 

“Well,” Deaton turned away, heading over to his work table, picking up a small, leather bound book, “in the meantime, I want you to start keeping a journal of your training.”

Stiles gave the journal an apathetic look as Deaton held it out to him. He had enough homework as it was, he didn’t need to add late night journaling to the list. Deaton only smiled as he shook the book in Stiles’ direction until the boy took it begrudgingly.

“Journal keeping is important to young emesarries in training,” Deaton explained, “and experienced ones are rarely seen without them.”

“Do you think my mom kept some?” Stiles asked quietly as he wrung the journal in his hands, the leather smooth and cool against his blistering skin.

“I’m sure she did,” Deaton smiled, “your mother was very good at her job, I bet she would be proud of you.”

Stiles’ cheeks burned, his throat catching as he felt something prick in the corner of his eyes. He wasn’t so sure that was true. If she knew that his hands were stained crimson or that there was eternal darkness around his heart, would she still look at him like he was something to behold? He was trying, god he was trying his best, but it never felt like enough. He’d be lucky if he lived up to her legacy, to protect the last of the Hales. As he left the clinic, the journal burning holes into him from its place on the passenger seat, he couldn’t help but think he’d probably just let them all down.

Years ago, after Claudia had died, John had moved all of her things to the spare bedroom, which had been secured for nearly six months before Stiles had figured out how to pick the lock. He’d waited until his dad was passed out in his chair, an empty bottle littered on the ground, before he took his chance with a skinny screwdriver he’d found in the toolbox out back. He smiled to himself as the lock softly clicked and the door eased open without a creak. He knew it was painful to have small reminders of Claudia around the house, he was still working through his weekly panic attacks that seemed to follow whenever the house accidentally smelled like cinnamon or her favorite song played over the radio. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much, but Stiles missed her more than it hurt to be reminded of her, so he just wanted something to keep under his pillow when he couldn’t sleep.

The room was stacked with boxes, there were clothes hanging off the bed, and all of the art she had painted that once decorated the house catching dust in the corner. Stiles carefully navigated through the maze of his mothers possessions. He ran his fingers over her dog eared books, bottles of half empty perfume, silk scarves and sun hats, taking his time to look through each box he could reach. One was full of polaroids taken over the years. He tucked his favorite one - the three of them on the beach, his lips stained cherry red from the popsicle melting in his hand, his mother wearing her favorite hat, his father smiling - into his pocket to hide in his room later. 

He pulled one of her worn, leather-bound journals onto his lap as he sat cross legged on the messy bed. He traced over the way she wrote her letters, big cursive writing that slanted when she was in a hurry. This entry was just nonsense about things growing in the garden, but Stiles read over each word, imagining how her voice would carry with bright passion only Claudia could possess. When Stiles finished with that journal he grabbed the next one. It was a collection of her favorite poems, ones she would recite as she made breakfast. He’d always ask her to repeat the one about the daffodils or the kingdom by the sea. Those two were her favorites so they were his as well.

He’d gotten so lost in searching through all her old things that he hadn’t heard the creak of the second to last step until it was too late. His father’s booming voice, telling him to get out startled him so badly he dropped the bottle of perfume he had been examining. It crashed to the floor, the oils saturating into the floral rug beneath the vanity. He hastily tried to clean up the glass, cutting his finger so badly that they had to go to the hospital so he could get stitches. 

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” his father sighed as he hugged his son tightly, “I didn’t mean to—” he took a shaky breath, “it’s just been hard, without her, and all of her things…”

“I just miss her.” Stiles cried, his newly bandaged finger aching painfully as he dug into the fabric of his father’s jacket.

“I miss her too,” John said , “I miss her too.”

Stiles’ gaze trailed up the dark wood of the guest bedroom, his hands fidgeting nervously as he stood in front of it. They had cleaned and organized it a while ago, but rarely were the two Stilinski men ever seen there. There were plenty of places growing up that could have been considered haunted . The old mill off the highway on the outskirts of town, the lake where some kids had drowned before he was born, the deepest parts of the preserve, the burnt remains of the Hale home, but nothing felt more haunted than the four walls behind this door. It was still filled with boxes of Claudia’s stuff and it would probably stay that way until the end of time if they let it. 

“It’s just a room,” Stiles told himself, eyes darting to the thin scar on his finger, “it’s just your mother’s old stuff.”

He pushed open the door, the boxes, art, clothes, and other various items left just the way they’d been organized when John could finally stomach it. He wondered if his dad ever read through her things when he missed her deeply. Stiles could still see the stain from the spilled perfume bottle, the yellow edges curling around a faded, pink peony. He swallowed a lump in his throat and moved toward the boxes where he knew her handwritten journals were kept. He found a few of her recipe books and the poetry book stacked near the top. He set those aside, wanting to stash them on his bookshelf for later. He went through the entire box, but there was nothing that mentioned magic or spark or the Hales . He went through the next box and then the next.

“Mom,” Stiles whispered as he laid back against the carpet, “I could use a little bit of help right about now.”

He turned his head, catching the site of a few, untouched boxes beneath the bed. He hadn’t ever remembered seeing them before, but he reached out and pulled them closer. When he pulled the cardboard lid off his eyebrows shot up at the dozens of dark, green notebooks littered inside. He picked one at random and flipped it open.

“...Peter’s wound is healing nicely, new strain of wolfsbane, will have to research that further. Not only does it inhibit the healing process, but causes severe blood poisoning and seizures…”

It shouldn’t have surprised him that his mother had known Peter, considering she was the Hale emissary, but still, it was like two separate worlds colliding with Stiles right in the path of destruction. Peter had never mentioned his mother and clearly they had been close if her journal was anything to go by. It felt like a betrayal, but he supposed Peter had his own reasons for never mentioning it. It wasn’t like he talked about his mother in great detail, or at all for that matter. He picked up a few more, skimming over the contents, until he found one that made his breath catch in his throat.

“Laura has learned remarkably fast how to control her shift even at such a young age. She looks just like her mother and seems to be more wolf than child at times. Derek is much more quiet and reserved, even as a toddler, but he displays the same markings of a born wolf as his sister. Incredible strength for someone so small and his fingers grow into tiny claws when he is upset.”

It was strange seeing Derek through his mother’s eyes. He wondered what she would have thought of him now. She mentioned Laura was more likely to inherit the alpha spark, showed more potential as a leader. In a way she hadn’t been wrong. Laura was the alpha after Talia died, before Peter took that away from her.

“Close call tonight, some of the hunters are getting bold. I haven’t told Talia I’m pregnant yet because leaving seems impossible, although, knowing her she probably already knows. I’m terrified of introducing this life to my son, it’s too dangerous. Most hunters take no prisoners and what would stop them from coming after my husband, my child? Am I a terrible emissary for thinking of abandoning my pack? They need me, but John doesn’t know….he can’t know….”

He continued to read hungrily, hands gripping the page so tightly his knuckles went white.

“It’s all my fault. I killed Talia. I should have been there to protect them. This is what I deserve.”

That was the last entry. Stiles stared numbly down at it. He read the lines over and over again. It made him feel angry . His mother had just given up. She’d given up and left him behind because she thought her disease - her magic turning against her - was some sort of fucking divine punishment. He could taste the sharp, metallic taste of blood as some small voice whispered in his head that sounds eerily familiar . It seemed he was like Claudia in more ways than one. 

The doorbell ringing made him jump. He quickly shoved the journals back under the bed, tucked out of immediate line of sight, before making his way downstairs. He was annoyingly surprised to see Theo’s smug look when he opened the door.

“Can I help you?” He asked, trying not to sound too put out.

“I wanted to see if you needed a ride to the loft for ‘pack bonding night’,” he said as he threw lazy air quotes around the phrase.

Stiles threw a quick glance at the clock on the mantle not realizing what time it was. He huffed a small laugh, “I think I can manage.”

“Stiles,” Theo hummed with a small shake of his head, “I’m already here.”

“Well spotted,” Stiles replied flatly, “but really, I’m fine.”

He started to close the door, but Theo held out his hand to stop him, “You’re the only one who’s been avoiding me since the pack agreed to give me a chance.”

Stiles wanted to deny it, say that he had been extremely busy, but Theo wasn’t entirely wrong. He just couldn’t stop that small itch beneath his skin whenever he was around Theo, the conversation he had with Derek still lingering in the back of his mind. The others seemed to be warming up to Theo just fine, but Stiles was still holding him at arm's length, which meant Derek was as well.

“Well,” Stiles replied airily, “someone has to be the pack researcher and it isn’t going to be Isaac or Scott for that matter so—”

“That’s a nice way to say you don’t like me.” Theo cut him off, but he was still smiling, which Stiles found a little infuriating. It reminded him of all those times on the lacrosse field or in the locker room when Theo would show off just to be an asshole.

“Look, Theo,” Stiles snapped impatiently, “no offense to you, but we’ve had some pretty horrible things happen to us over the years, so forgive me for not trusting you after a week of your mysterious return.”

Theo actually chuckled, “I guess that’s fair,” his face turned a little more serious as he cleared his throat, “but it’s hard to be an omega and I can see that Derek highly values your opinion.”

Stiles hated that he knew Theo could hear how his heart had skipped a beat. He hated being an open book where Derek was concerned.

“I know I won’t be fully accepted by him, until I’m accepted by you,” Theo continued as he leaned against the doorframe, “so could you just maybe, give me a chance and let me drive you to the loft?”

Stiles felt like this was a trap, but he also didn’t have any proof that Theo was bad either. For all he knew Theo really was just looking for a place to belong and who was Stiles to deny that? “Fine,” he relented, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Ten minutes later as he sat in the passenger seat of Theo’s car all he could think about were his mother’s last words in her journal. He tried not to imagine how easily they could be applied to him.

It’s all my fault. I killed Derek. I should have been there to protect them. This is what I deserve.

Running was something Derek had always been good at. It was easy. An out he could always take when it all became too much. He ran with Laura to New York after the fire. He ran back to Beacon Hills when he couldn’t stand to be alone. He ran from his responsibility as an alpha to protect those he had selfishly changed because he just wanted something to hold on to. Even as he finally found the ground beneath his feet, the temptation to run was always sitting at the back of his mind. The alpha spark had never really belonged to him and he’d proven that with Erica and Boyd. He burned everything he touched, it was just his nature. He constantly had to fight the darker parts of himself that told him it was only a matter of time before the rest of the pack turned to ash. He was the alpha whether he liked it or not. Derek had learned his lessons and paid the prices for them too.

“Derek!” Theo’s voice boomed in the abandoned warehouse, “Derek, I know what you are!”

Derek eyed Theo cautiously as he stepped out of the darkness, arms over his chest. The overwhelming scent of grief and anger and bloodlust was familiar, but Derek found he could hardly stand it. He swallowed the sour taste of bile as he watched Theo’s chest heave, the sound of his grinding teeth ringing in his ears. He looked half mad, but Derek couldn’t blame him. He heard the news, he was the alpha of Beacon Hills after all.

“What am I?” He asked, keeping his voice calm, not taking the bait.

Theo’s laugh was harsh, “You all think you’re so clever, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. You just have to be patient.” He smirked, but it just made his face look cruel, “And listen, because god can that Stilinski kid fucking talk.”

Derek wasn’t sure why the comment irked him, a low growl vibrating in his chest. “Is there a point to this?” He scoffed, trying to play it off. 

“I want it,” Theo took a step forward, “I want the bite.”

“The bite.” Derek repeated.

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?” Theo asked as he nodded his head in the direction where the rest of his betas were probably listening, “Creating a pack of werewolves? Trying to reign in Scott McCall before he gets himself killed?”

Derek remained silent. Theo wasn’t wrong, but there was just something about the boy, slightly unhinged and in desperate need for revenge that made him hesitate in his consideration. Derek was building a pack, but not to seek revenge. He wanted to protect himself. He didn’t want to be lonely. He didn’t want to see Scott suffer the same fate he did at the hands of an Argent woman.

“Come on,” Theo took a step forward, “I need this.”

“So you can hunt down the creatures that killed your family?” Derek asked bluntly. If he was going to give Theo the bite then he needed to understand exactly what he was getting into. He would be Derek’s responsibility and if an innocent person got hurt because Theo couldn’t control himself then Derek really was the monster Kate had made him out to be.

Theo smashed his hand into the wall, “You of all people should understand!”

“Revenge is a dangerous game,” Derek replied carefully, “you still need something to make you human.”

“I don’t need to be human,” Theo snarled, “I just need whatever the fuck killed my family to pay!”

The only thing filling the tense air between them were Theo’s labored breaths. Derek could do it. He could sink his teeth right in the boy’s throbbing pulse point, give him exactly what he wanted. Maybe he would feel better after ripping apart the thing that destroyed his family or maybe he would realize that no matter what happened they would still be dead.

“I can’t help you,” Derek finally said, “sorry.”

He expected Theo to scream again, to demand Derek give him exactly what he wanted, but he just stood there, his face growing hard as he tightly clenched his fist.

“One day you’re going to be sorry, Derek,” Theo’s voice was low, “and I’m going to enjoy taking away the only thing you’ve ever wanted.”

Derek hadn’t been surprised to see Theo’s flashing gold eyes, but he was taken aback that the boy had asked to become a part of his pack, especially after their last meeting. He explained how he learned control, that his lust for violence and vengeance had led him down a dark path. Derek hated that he knew the feeling. It was why he didn’t want to give Theo the bite in the first place. Derek wasn’t in the habit of creating monsters. He just wanted a place to belong, to feel like he could have a family again. Theo was either entirely sincere or a really good liar. But, Derek had turned his back on Theo once before, it seemed cruel to do so again. 

And Derek had learned that he needed to trust other people, to trust his pack. So he was giving Theo this chance, because it felt like the right thing to do. The boy's scent was starting to rub off on the rest of the members as they slowly let him in. Everyone except Stiles. He was the only one to keep his distance, which made Derek do the same. If there was one person Derek would trust with his life, it was Stiles. He’d never met someone so incredibly infuriating and unquestionably loyal as Stiles Stilinski. The boy never failed to throw Derek’s world off its axis. He was the only reason Derek didn’t want to run. He was the only reason Derek would stay forever in this town.

He wasn’t sure when biting sarcasm aimed to hurt turned into soft whispers of understanding and comfort. When pointed glares gave way to stolen glances of yearning. When his fingers would graze gently between Stiles’ shoulder blades or linger at the small of his back. He wasn’t sure when Stiles had become that something to Derek or when he had become that something to Stiles. It could have happened in the quiet when Derek would pull Stiles from his nightmares, fists buried in the sheets to stop himself from ceaselessly counting. Or in the thundering chaos when they were back to back, saving each other’s lives again and again and again. 

Stiles was the sun, bright and beautiful, while Derek was the moon, constantly chasing him. No matter how much they wanted it they would always be stuck in this orbit. Derek kept Stiles at arm’s length, terrified of ruining the last thing that really felt like home and Stiles pushed Derek away because he never felt good enough. So they settled for longing looks and knees touching when they sat too close on the couch together. It was enough, or, well, that’s what Derek told himself anyway.

He’d been surprised to see Stiles walking in with Theo, the not so subtle scent of the beta leaching into the wafts of warm cinnamon. It made his stomach twist uncomfortably, but he ignored it in favor of covering it up with his own smell of aftershave and pine. He pretended not to be too pleased when Stiles stayed behind so it was just the two of them finishing off the brownies Kira had brought after Cora informed him she would be staying over at Lydia’s. She gave her brother a knowing smirk as she’d passed by, but it was overshadowed by the curious glint in Theo’s eyes as he looked between Derek and Stiles. Derek tried not to let it bother him.

The steady rhythm of Stiles’ heart beat fell in time with his own as he moved around the loft before heading to bed. Derek had found Stiles asleep on the couch after his shower. He quietly chuckled, removing the book perched on Stiles’ lap, covering him with a blanket before he started to do the last bit of cleaning. Stiles had a knack for falling asleep at the loft at odd hours, but Derek never minded. He was moving towards his bedroom when a sharp intake of breath made him freeze. The air was suddenly saturated with panic and anxiety. All Derek could hear was the soft pleas of please stop coming from where the boy was sleeping. Stiles was twisted in the blankets, eyes squeezed tightly shut, lips moving feverishly, cheeks wet with tears. He gently took Stiles’ clenched fist, his thumb running soothing circles over the pale skin.

“Stiles,” he murmured, careful no to scare the boy, “it’s okay, you’re just having a nightmare.”

Derek grimaced as Stiles’ nails dug into his skin, but he held on even as the hazy pools of honey-whiskey blinked up at him in confusion. He gave Stiles a reassuring smile as the boy hastily tried to wipe his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled, “I—” he took a shallow breath, shaking his head, “I haven’t been sleeping well and, you know, the nightmares…”

“No need to apologize,” Derek replied as he subconsciously leaned forward so that Stiles was pressed warmly against his side. “If you want to talk about it you can, but I won’t push.”

Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth like he was mulling over something. If Stiles had his secrets then that was his business, he would never ask for more than what Stiles was willing to give. He owed the boy that much.

“Did—” Stiles laughed, short and hollow, “did you know our mothers knew each other?”

Derek raised an eyebrow, “It’s not surprising given they both grew up here.”

“No,” Stiles was looking off in the distance, like he couldn’t face Derek with whatever truth he was about to spill, “they knew each other, Derek. My mother was the Hale Pack emissary until I was born.”

Derek was stunned into silence, but he must have done something, a shift in his weight or his grip on Stiles’ wrist tightening, because Stiles was now looking at him. His eyes were wide and waiting, dark gold like bottled honey. In some other life he and Stiles had grown up together. Maybe it would have saved him from Kate. From the fire. Maybe that something between them would have grown, slow and steady, instead of slamming into Derek like tides to the shore, leaving him with the feeling of always wanting, but never having. 

“I didn’t know,” he finally said when Stiles’ nerves became too much to taste. How long had Stiles been holding that secret? Derek tried not to let the cold sting of betrayal hurt, but he couldn’t stop himself from pulling back.

“Me either,” Stiles admitted quietly, the change in Derek’s demeanor not lost on him, “Deaton told me, but I didn’t really believe it until I found her journals today.”

“What did they say?” He asked, letting himself relax against Stiles again.

“She wrote a lot,” Stiles explained, “and she didn’t want to give it up. She blames herself for what happened,” his voice was quiet now, barely above a whisper, “and I think the guilt killed her as much as the dementia did.”

Derek could see Stiles’ lips turn down angrily. It appeared his family wasn’t the only one torn apart by his mistakes. He wished it could all be different. That if he and Stiles were tied together by some twisted strings of fate there was a chance they wouldn’t have been trapped here. That they could be different or better, but this is what they were dealt and Derek knew he would have fallen for Stiles anyway. That much seemed inevitable.

“Do you believe in shit like fate or destiny ?” Stiles asked wryly, his mouth still twisted unhappily.

Derek snorted, “If those things exist then I wouldn’t say they’ve been very kind.”

He gave Derek a small, half smile now, “Yeah, I guess so, but somehow you and I still found each other.”

He watched Stiles’ lick his lips nervously and forced himself to not lean in. To not close that distance between them and see what it would be like to give into fate or destiny or whatever cosmic entity decided this cataclysmic path for them to collide on.

“Yeah,” Derek exhaled, “we did.”

And maybe that was enough. But as they looked at each other, knees touching, Derek knew that it never really would be.

Derek took in a deep breath, letting the air slowly fill his lungs. The scent of aftershave, expensive wine, and something that closely resembled family bled into his skin. Derek wasn’t one to hesitate, but when it came to knocking on Peter’s door he paused. Which was ridiculous considering he was the alpha and his uncle was his beta, but whatever twisted turns their relationship had taken over the years Derek felt like the older man always had the upper hand. He wasn’t worried about Peter plotting to steal the alpha spark anymore, that much had been settled between them and his uncle had even grown comfortable in his new lifestyle. Still, Peter had a way of making him grasp for straws and he tended to leave feeling more frustrated than when he arrived. Peter called it figuring it out on your own while Derek knew it was I just want to get under your skin . But Peter was the only one still alive who could remember and Derek needed to know. He wanted answers, details , of a past life that could have foretold a very different future. So he took another long, measured inhale and knocked.

“Nephew,” Peter greeted as he opened the door with an interested smirk, “to what do I owe the pleasure of the mighty alpha?”

Derek rolled his eyes, ignoring Peter’s flippant behavior. At least he could make jokes about it without sounding too threatening. Derek considered it progress. Peter stepped aside, allowing him in when it was clear this was not going to be a short visit. 

“I’m not in trouble, am I?” Peter asked with a bemused expression before he moved towards the kitchen.

“Depends,” Derek deadpanned, “bite any underaged girls for your own pleasure?”

“You wound me, nephew.” Peter scoffed mockingly as he placed a hand against his chest. “I’m a changed man.”

Derek didn’t bother the comment with a response, earning him a shark toothed grin from his uncle. He was surprised to see the kitchen was alive and buzzing with energy. The stove was covered in pans, delicious smells and tendrils of steam billowing into the overhead fan. There was a cutting board filled with cheeses, meats, and a variety of fruits and crackers. A beautifully decorated chocolate tarte sat on a cake stand in the middle of the island next to a fresh vase of flowers.

“Expecting someone?” Derek asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Malia is bringing her girlfriend over for dinner,” Peter explained as he splashed some wine sauce onto a piece of meat, “and I aim to please.”

Peter had never really been the fatherly type, but he knew how much his uncle had been trying since he and Malia agreed to work on their relationship. He’d shown affection to Cora in his own Peter way and had become weirdly protective over the pack when needed. Derek never asked anything of Peter and he probably never would, but it made that feeling of family a little bit warmer in his chest.

“Is there something that happened at the pack meeting that I haven’t been informed about?” Peter asked when Derek had been quiet for too long. “We didn’t kick that Theo kid out before I had a chance to meet him, did we?”

“What?” Derek asked, he never knew how well informed his uncle was. Sure, he figured Malia may have filled him in here and there, but Malia only talked a little more than Derek, which wasn’t saying much.

Peter held out his phone, shaking it without looking at Derek, “Stiles makes sure I have a full report after every meeting.”

“What?” Derek asked again, feeling a little thrown off.

Peter threw Derek another smirk before returning to his cooking, “Yes, after the first meeting I missed Stiles sent a very lengthy text message of what was talked about.” He grabbed his nearly full glass of wine, sipping it delicately, “I would have been annoyed, but I realized I never had to attend another pack meeting again if I didn’t want to.”

“You probably should still come to at least one.” Derek grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Some of us have better things to do,” Peter chided as he carefully angled the cheese board next to his wine glass before snapping a photo.

“Are you posting that on Instagram?” Derek asked, recognizing the platform only because Cora continuously showed him everything Lydia posted.

“Yes,” Peter huffed in amusement, “I do live in the twenty-first century and I happen to have a decent following. Kira and Stiles thought it would be funny, but I’ve learned to enjoy the finer things in life.” When Peter seemed satisfied with his post he turned to Derek, giving him his best, knowing smile that never failed to make Derek’s skin itch. “Are we done avoiding why you came all the way over here now?”

Derek refused to look sheepish, like he had been caught doing something wrong. He hated that Peter could make him feel that way, like he could see right through Derek. He cleared his throat almost wishing he hadn’t come in the first place, but he was here now so he might as well ask, “Were you ever going to tell us that Claudia Stilinski was the Hale Pack Emissary?”

He almost felt vindicated when he saw Peter freeze, ice blue eyes widening for a fraction of a second, his scent turning sour, almost sad . He could see the older man working his jaw, like he was trying to find some snarky comment to bite back with, but after a moment he just sighed, turned off the stove and fully faced Derek.

“How long have you known?” He asked.

“Only a few days,” Derek admitted, “Stiles told me.”

Peter snorted a humorless laugh, “And how long has he known?”

“Not long,” Derek answered quietly.

“No,” Peter hummed thoughtfully, “he probably would have cornered me about it sooner if he had.” He sighed again, low and heavy, “Truth is I’m surprised you came to me first.”

“Why didn’t you ever mention anything,” Derek growled, finally saying what has been making him confusingly angry the past few days, “if not to me then at the very least to Stiles.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Derek,” Peter snapped defensively, “but Claudia Stilinski isn’t exactly a warm topic with Stiles. Sometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

Derek felt his nostrils flare as he inhaled sharply. He wasn’t looking for a fight, but Peter made it too easy. “Sounds like you didn’t care.”

Peter’s eyes flashed dangerously, “Claudia died while I was rotting in the hospital,” his veins were taut, jaw nearly trembling in rage, “and I didn’t even know until I woke up about three years later half deranged and on my own.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Derek realized he was more like Peter than he cared to admit, and finally, he huffed a “Sorry,” before turning his gaze away.

“We Hales have a knack for hitting each other where it hurts,” Peter smiled, but it was all teeth, “we’re either always sorry or not sorry enough.”

Derek knew he shouldn’t have come. This is what always happened and he shouldn’t have expected anything different. He turned to leave, feeling like he had been reduced to a little kid, a specialty of Peter’s, when the man’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

“Claudia was one of the best people I’ve ever met,” his heart was steady and sure, “and we both know Stiles is the same.”

Derek swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes hard on his uncle now, “What are you trying to say?”

Peter was close now, “I’m saying I didn’t just offer him the bite because I thought he was smart.

“Stiles was meant to be human,” Derek replied quietly.

“But he’s more than just any ordinary human,” Peter’s voice was softer now, his shoulders more relaxed, “he is Claudia Stilinski’s son after all.”

“He’s more than that too.” Derek murmured.

Peter gave him a look that told Derek he knew. He knew Derek smelled like pack, but there were stronger, lingering scents of cinnamon and prescription medication that weren’t his own. He knew that Stiles meant more to Derek than he probably ever should. And they both knew how fucking dangerous that was.

“Stay for dinner,” Peter said suddenly, “I’ll invite Cora as well.”

Derek mulled it over, thought about declining the offer, but Peter had been as honest as he could be and this was as close to family dinners as he was ever going to get again.

“Fine,” he relented, trying to sound put off, but he caught a genuine smile curling against Peter’s lips.

“Stiles,” Lydia hissed, snapping her fingers, “are we going in?”

Stiles blinked, shaking his head. He was sitting in the driver’s seat of the Jeep, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Scott was watching him with concern, while Lydia just looked annoyed. He quickly unbuckled his seat belt, smiling sheepishly.

“Right,” he said, shoving the door open, “let’s go.”

He should have remembered the drive from Lydia’s house to the station and what they were talking about, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the box of journals hiding beneath the guest bedroom. He’d gone back and read them over and over, every night for the past three days. He knew it probably wasn’t healthy and more than likely was the root of some of his most recent nightmares, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was like this last, living piece of his mother tucked away in cursive, slanted writing. There was one dedicated entirely to him growing up. She had written intricate details about how he had displayed signs of magic over the years. A dead flower suddenly blooming to life. The sidewalk cracking when he screamed from a broken arm. Rain when he cried. Sunshine when he laughed. Stiles had been doing magic all of his life and she had never said a goddamn word to him about it.

“I know I should mention it to Talia or Peter, but he’s just a child. I don’t need to give anyone a reason to come after him. Maybe when he’s old enough he can take his rightful place as the Hale Emissary. Or maybe I should be selfish and keep him away from this cruel world.”

Stiles found it funny his mother thought he would have a choice at all. Maybe if she hadn’t been selfish Derek would still have a family. But she had given it up for him, so really, who was to blame? Stiles gritted his teeth as he pulled the door open. He needed to forget about his mother for the time being and focus on their current problem at hand. His dad had pulled some of the medical records of the missing teenagers for them to look over. They were at the wits end considering Tracy hadn’t been spotted since the night she attacked Stiles and Scott. In fact, it had been unusually quiet the last couple of days, which Stiles viewed as the calm before the storm. It made him nervous. On edge. He’d been taking more Adderall than he probably should, something Malia and Isaac informed him of quite frequently, their noses wrinkling every time he was near them. 

“So,” Scott said as he fell into step next to Stiles, shoulders brushing, Scott’s way of making sure he was okay, “what exactly are we looking for in these files?”

“Any sort of connection we haven’t been able to find the last several weeks.” Stiles answered. “There has to be something.”

“If not,” Lydia added, pursing her dark, cherry lips, “the backup plan is to draw them out with bait.”

Stiles and Scott looked at each other simultaneously, knowing that bait usually referred to the both of them. The smell of fresh coffee and pencil shavings made Stiles smile. The station had become a second home over the years. He’d taken naps on the couch in his father’s office. Tara had helped him with homework on the cheap, plastic table in the break room. The vending machine still served his favorite candy, Reese’s Pieces, that some of the other officers would sneak him money for when his dad wasn’t looking. They all knew his name, smiled and waved every time he came in through the doors, or shook their heads in amusement if he was being dragged in by his father. At one point the station felt like the only safe place in Beacon Hills. After his mother died he was terrified of being at home. It was too quiet. The station was a never ending buzz of energy and it made him feel like wasn’t alone. 

“If it isn’t the Scooby Doo gang,” Parrish joked as he looked up from his desk, “anything gone bump in the night recently?”

“How long have you been waiting to use that one?” Stiles groaned while Scott chuckled and Lydia simply rolled her eyes.

“Your dad thought it was funny,” Parrish said with a shrug as he grabbed a small box from the table next to him, “this is what you came in for, right?”

“Don’t think you can butter him up with terrible jokes,” Stiles lectured as he pointed a finger at Parrish, causing the older man to grin, “I’ve tried and it doesn’t work.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re not funny.” Lydia said as she took the box from Parrish, placing it on the desk in front of them, causing Stiles to scowl at her.

“I think you’re funny, Stiles.” Scott said as he patted his best friend’s back fondly.

“Thanks, Scotty,” Stiles beamed, wrapping his arm around the beta, “just for that pizza is on me, but Lydia can’t have any.”

“I’m sure you’re going to get plenty of work done with these two around,” Parrish said in an amused tone as he looked between the two boys and Lydia.

Before Lydia could respond there was a loud commotion from behind them as Tara dragged in a boy not much older than themselves. Stiles instantly recognized him, his body going rigid as those dark eyes found him. The boy laughed, a manic sound as he fought against Tara and Parrish, who had run over to help.

“Still slumming it around here, Stilinski?” The boy sneered, spitting blood in his direction.

“Still violating your parole, Donovan?” Stiles asked, trying to remain unbothered. 

Scott tensed beside him, taking a protective stance as a low growl rumbled in his chest. Stiles would have felt sorry for Donovan - had felt sorry at one point, because he knew what it was like to lose a parent - but the boy made it hard for Stiles to hold onto that. Especially when Donovan continuously made death threats towards his father, going as far to break into their house a few years prior. Fortunately, for Stiles, Derek had also been there that evening for some late night research, and Donovan never made it past the living room threshold before he was taken to the ground. He was lucky to be alive when Derek found the gun on his person. Since then he had learned never to step foot in their neighborhood, but Beacon Hills was a small town and running into Donovan wasn’t impossible.

“Where’s daddy?” Donovan asked as he looked around, “Too cowardly to come lock me up himself?”

“Okay,” Parrish snarled as he shoved Donovan to the nearest holding cell down the hall, his eyes flashing fire for the briefest of moments, “that’s enough for tonight, tough guy.”

“One day your dad’s gonna be sorry,” Donovan yelled, throwing his head over his shoulder to keep his cruel gaze on Stiles, “and he’s going to pay for getting my father killed.”

Stiles could feel it. The quiet hum snapping awake just beneath his skin. It would be easy, so easy , to follow the currents that connected him to Donovan. To set the boy’s insides aflame and have him understand what it means to truly be afraid. He could make Donovan sorry for threatening his father. For violating the safety of his home. For thinking Stiles was a weakness. Donovan wanted justice. Stiles would show him justice. It just took a little spark—

“Stiles,” Scott whispered, a hand on his shoulder, “hey, Stiles, it’s okay.”

He blinked and the desire was gone. His magic silent. He suddenly felt exhausted, scrubbing a hand over his face to rub away the pulsating tension throbbing behind his eyes. It was going to be another long night, but, then again, Stiles couldn’t remember the last time the nights didn’t feel long.

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled, watching the hallway Donovan had disappeared down, his angry taunts fading behind the walls, “I’m fine.”

Scott only smiled in return, choosing not to comment on how he heard the skip in Stiles’ heart beat, “I’ll order the pizza as we head back to the Jeep.”

“I’ll pay,” Lydia chipped in, her face softer now as she picked up the box of files.

“I’ll be just a minute,” Stiles said as he moved towards his father’s office, “I wanted to ask my dad something before we left.”

Lydia and Scott nodded their heads as they took a seat in the nearest chairs. Stiles navigated his way to his father’s office, his breath catching in his throat. He wasn’t going to ask. He was going to just let it go, but the more he thought about it the more it upset him. How could his dad not have known Claudia had magic? How could he not have known she was the emissary to the most well known and respected werewolf families in the country? His dad was the sheriff for god sake, he knew how to take care of himself. So maybe it was a joint decision. Give it up for Stiles. Keep it a secret from Stiles. Sacrifice the Hales for Stiles. And if Claudia had kept them both in the dark, then Stiles was coming to the painful conclusion that he never really knew his mother at all.

He pushed open the door without knocking, letting out his trembling breath, going right into his burning question before he chickened out, “Dad, I need to ask you something about mo—”

He stopped, eyebrows raised as his father pushed in his chair, throwing his jacket over his shoulders. He looked surprised to see Stiles, but not as surprised as Stiles was to see him dressed up like he was going somewhere. Like he was going on a date . They looked at each other for a moment, a standoff between father and son, neither wanting to break the awkward tension.

Finally, Stiles relented and said, “Are you going out?”

John frowned slightly, like he hadn’t been prepared to have this conversation yet, “Yes, I am an adult, I can do that.”

“Yes,” Stiles huffed half in annoyance and half in amusement, “I am well aware of your age.”

“Is it really hard to believe that your old man can still get a date?” John asked, trying to defuse the blow with humor.

Stiles felt his mouth drop open, not really sure how to respond. Of course it was fine if his father went on a date. It had been well past time for his dad to get back out there and find someone, especially when Stiles was planning on leaving for college soon. It didn’t make him feel any less conflicted about it. He wanted his dad to be happy, he did, but he was also experiencing weird and resentful feelings towards his mother right now and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. He saw a pained smile tugging on his father’s lips and he quickly tried to amend the situation.

“Dad,” he said, uncurling his fingers, “that’s great, really.”

“Really?” His father asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, “That was almost convincing.”

“It’s just—” Stiles began, trying to articulate how he felt.

“Complicated?” His father suggested with a half smile. Stiles nodded his head. “I’m sorry, I should have told you,” he leaned against his desk, scrubbing a hand over his face, “I guess I wanted to see how things shook out first before I introduce you to the idea of me being with someone that wasn’t…”

He trailed off. Stiles knew why. They rarely said her name anymore. His dad was starting to finally move on and here Stiles was ready to drag him right back into all of the pain and sorrow left in the wake of Claudia’s death. Looking at the man now he knew. He knew his dad had no idea who she was either. Not really anyway. He couldn’t imagine what it would do to his dad if he told him about her secret life. He couldn’t say anything, not yet. He would just have to suffer silently and force himself not to think about how different things would be if his father knew. If Claudia had stayed.

“I’m happy for you,” he said truthfully, placing a hand on his old man’s shoulder, “and you deserve a night out after all of the,“ He gestured vaguely, indicating the last few years of completely insane supernatural incidents, “ you know .”

John laughed, patting his son on the back, “Thanks,” he said gruffly and Stiles swore he sounded like he was holding back tears, “you know I love you, kid.”

“Dad,” Stiles groaned, but his father pulled him into a hug, “I am so strongly vetoing family feels right now.”

“Overruled.” His father laughed before letting him go. He cleared his throat as they both started for the door together, “So, did you want to ask me something?”

Stiles thought about the journals burning into the floorboards of the guest bedroom. Burning into Stiles’ dreams. It wasn’t important anymore, he reminded himself, it didn’t matter.

“Honestly,” Stiles played it off with a forced smile, “I forgot the moment I heard you had a hot date.” His father looked like he didn’t buy it, but didn’t push either, which Stiles was grateful for. “Speaking of, who is the lucky lady?”

“Well…” His dad rubbed the back of his neck, eyes moving in the direction to where Lydia and Scott were waiting.

Stiles followed his gaze and his jaw dropped when he saw Melissa standing there nervously, Scott’s eyes widening as he began to put the pieces together, and Lydia looking absolutely delighted to be there for this moment.

“You always wanted Scott to be your brother,” his dad tried again for humor, failing miserably if Melissa’s look was anything to go by.

“Oh my god,” Stiles bemoaned, but he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face, which eased some of the weirdness as everyone else began to smile too.

“We will definitely be talking about this another day.” Melissa said as she looked at her son.

“Yes,” Scott replied, nodding his head furiously, “definitely.”

“Well,” Lydia cut in, standing up, “you two have fun on your date,” she looked at Stiles and Scott now, inclining her head towards the door “gentlemen.”

Scott and Stiles scrambled behind Lydia to leave, when all three of them froze. Stiles could feel the temperature drop, like all of the warmth had been sucked from the room, making it seem like there was ice in his veins. The lights began to flicker, the sound of metallic clicks followed by heavy, pounding footsteps echoing in the halls. There was a rotting smell wafting in the air, so strong Stiles felt like he was going to be sick. Scott was already in his beta shift and his father had drawn his gun, but nothing prepared them for the horrendous, high pitched frequency. They all dropped to their knees, hands covering their ears, as it grew louder. Stiles grit his teeth, focused on the noise, imagining the sound wave like a neon line vibrating in the darkness. He counted his breaths, watching as the wave began to slow down, the high pitched pain fading until it stopped altogether, the line going dead. He opened his eyes feeling lethargic and heavy as he tried to stand. Everyone around him was still clutching their heads, but there was only a dull buzz in Stiles’ ears. He knelt down, putting an arm around Scott, but even as he said his best friend’s name it was like there was no sound coming from his lips.

The world felt like it was in slow motion as Stiles turned his head to that strange sound of metallic clicks, cutting through the quiet. He could see his breath fanning across the air, but his blood felt like it was on fucking fire and he wanted to scream. That’s when he saw them. Three large figures moving across the hall under the flickering lights. They were dressed in long, black coats, their entire bodies shrouded in darkness. Each one had a different mask laced with various tubing like something out of a horror steampunk movie. The one in the middle had bright, glowing eyes and they were looking directly at Stiles. He watched as it tilted its head to the side, like it was studying him curiously. Stiles felt his body tremble, a chill running down his spine. He tried to find the connection, the strings, but there was just black. Nothingness . It immediately extinguished the fire and he felt his spark go quiet. Like it wanted to hide. The figure turned forward, disappearing down the hallway where the holding cells were. 

Stiles was on his feet, stumbling behind them. His body felt like it was made of lead as he bumped into walls, using anything he could grip to keep himself up right. He passed Parrish and Tara, clutching their ears and on their knees like everyone else. Everything still felt like it was moving too slowly, the buzzing in his ears drowning out all other sounds except for the bone chilling clicks. He brushed past them, stopping when he nearly plowed into the yellow eyed figure standing directly in front of him. The silence was cut by Donovan’s terrified screams, his begging words of please, someone help me don’t let them take me now playing over and over again.

“Wait,” Stiles finally managed to say.

“ t’s all my fault. I killed Talia,” it said in a cold, calculating voice, "I should have been there to protect them. This is what I deserve.”

Absolute terror and panic began to suffocate him as it raised a metallic hand, pressing it to his forehead. And suddenly, she was there, standing right in front of him. She was smiling and Stiles felt a sob ripple in his chest because she looked so fucking real . As he reached for her, her skin began to crack, her eyes becoming two pools of void.

It’s all your fault,  She wailed, you killed me. You can’t protect them. This is what you deserve.

Stiles could hear his own anguished scream tearing from his throat before the world went black. 

The Dread Doctors.

Stiles wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh because it was absolutely ridiculous. It was like some goddamn, grade A bullshit super villain name that no one would ever use in real life. Ever. And yet, somehow, Beacon Hills still found a way to surprise them. So, Stiles wanted to laugh, but he was so completely terrified at what they had done. The one with the glowing eyes - The Surgeon - had somehow made him see his mother, made him hear her voice clear as day like she had been standing right in front of him. Made her say the words that were written in her journal that no one else could have possibly known. He passed out screaming and he woke up screaming too. Because the nightmare didn’t end until someone reached out and pulled him from the darkness. By the time he finally came around, held tightly in Scott’s arms, the Dread Doctors were gone. Donovan was gone. 

While it seemed like they were one step closer to finding their missing teenagers, it felt like they were really taking several steps back with no direction. Stiles would have been just fine never seeing those things ever again, but they had looked at him with interest. His spark had gone quiet for a reason. The incident required an emergency pack meeting, but Stiles barely got through his part of the story before unceremoniously throwing up in Derek’s bathroom. He didn’t mention that he saw his mother. It was probably just a side effect of his resentful and guilty feelings manifesting to torture him. Once he had rejoined the pack Derek was next to him, gently pressed against his side. He knew Derek was on edge and angry that something had happened and he couldn’t be there to protect them. Stiles only cared that Derek was there now, a gentle warmth calming some of his anxiety and fear.

“There are stories,” Deaton explained as he looked down at the drawing of the Dread Doctors Lydia had created, “and legends, but I honestly didn’t think they were real.”

“Well,” Stiles cut in, “they’re definitely real.”

“I wish I knew more,” Deaton sighed, looking at the pack, “but all I know is that they can be summoned to serve a purpose.”

“Sounds pleasant,” Isaac chirped in sarcastically.

“The story goes that everything about them is copied in a book,” Deaton continued, “and they can only be called to this world after you’ve read it in its entirety.”

“What book?” Cora asked.

“Why,” Peter slammed a small paperback onto the table, a feral grin spreading across his face, “this one.”

They all leaned in, looking down at the worn and clearly very old paperback sitting ominously under the lamp light. The cover was green with the three figures Stiles had seen at the station positioned with The Surgeon standing in the front middle and the other two flanking behind him. The smooth masked one was The Pathologist and the other The Geneticist . As if their fucking names weren’t creepy enough. All three of their eyes were glowing brightly. Stiles had to swallow down the fresh taste of bile as pulled his gaze from the book.

“Do we want to know why you have this?” Lydia asked pointedly.

“This is just one copy,” Peter said with a shrug of his shoulders, “and I’ve never fully read it.”

Stiles looked to Derek, who gave a small nod of his head, indicating that Peter was telling the truth. He wasn’t too surprised that Peter would know exactly what these things were. Peter seemed like the type of person that was an expert on all things creepy when it came to Beacon Hills.

“Where did you get it?” Scott asked as he reached out for the book, carefully flipping through the pages without reading them.

“Why ruin the mystery?” Peter asked smugly. 

“It means he doesn’t know.” Derek replied flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Peter threw the alpha a deadpan stare before he cleared his throat, “Fine, I may have woken up from my comatose state to find it sitting on my bedside table.”

“Who would have put it there?” Isaac asked as he hooked his chin over Scott’s shoulder to get a better look at the book.

“Now that ,” Peter said, pointing at Isaac, “is the true mystery.”

“Apparently,” Deaton held out his hand and Scott carefully placed the book in the man’s open palm, “someone or something wanted you to find it.”

“It was during your raging, homicidal werewolf attack phase,” Stiles supplied, earning an exasperated look from the older man, but Stiles just grinned in return.

“Yes, well, we’re past that, aren’t we?” Peter’s smile was all teeth, “And I’m not really looking to build a pack of teenage chimeras, am I?”

“A chimera pack?” Cora asked, “Who the hell would be creating a chimera pack in Beacon Hills?”

Stiles huffed out a laugh, “I’m sure we could probably name a few people.” He didn’t mean to look at Theo, but the beta had been unusually quiet, his face nearly unreadable.

“Don’t look at me,” Theo chewed out, “I already have a pack.”

Peter barked out a laugh, “If beta boy over there summoned the Dread Doctors then we better seriously reevaluate our standing in this town.”

Stiles ducked his head to hide his growing smile as he watched Derek roll his eyes. Lydia looked equally as annoyed, but it was Malia who stood up for Theo.

“Theo’s proven he’s one of us,” she snapped, eyes flashing in Stiles’ direction, “why don’t you lay off of him.”

He could feel Derek’s growl before he heard it, a low, primal sound vibrating in his chest. The alpha’s eyes were crimson and he was standing at his fullest height, arm angled so it was just in front of Stiles, protectively. Malia looked ready to bare her teeth and the room was so tightly wound with tension Stiles thought it would explode any moment. Only Peter seemed to be enjoying himself. Theo placed a hand on Malia’s shoulder, smiling as he took a step forward.

“It’s fine, Malia,” he said calmly, “Stiles has every reason to be weary of me. I show up right when the weird shit’s happening,” he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, “bad timing.”

Stiles thought, for a moment, Malia would argue, but her bright blue faded and her fighting stance relaxed. Only then did Derek let his crimson melt back into grey-green, his posture still rigid until Stiles gave his arm a gentle squeeze. He knew the others were getting closer to Theo, but he was still struggling to get over that something beneath his skin that wanted to keep Theo at arm’s length. His instincts had never been wrong before. He was going to be the pack emissary afterall, it was his job to keep them safe. 

“Yeah,” Stiles finally said before the silence became too much, “bad timing.”

“Now that everyone is done peacocking,” Lydia interjected, “let’s get back to the problem at hand. Someone is making a chimera pack and it’s obvious they are coming for us.”

“Well,” Stiles said as he grabbed a marker, pulling one of the whiteboards that was laying on the table close enough to write on, “Kate is still creeping around somewhere in the world.” 

He wrote her name down under the headline Suspects . He frowned at those four letters, really hoping the last person they had to deal with was Kate. She already destroyed one Hale Pack and he wouldn’t be surprised if she was hell bent on taking this away from Derek too.

“Gerard,” Scott said with a small nod of his head to the board, “he’s been missing for a few weeks now.”

“What about Jennifer Blake?” Cora asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. “No one knows what happened to her.”

“No need to worry about Jennifer,” Peter said with a mysterious smile as he leaned over and erased her name that Stiles had half written with his finger.

“Care to explain?” Stiles asked, throwing Peter a sideways glance, to which Peter just continued to smile in return.

“We never figured out who the Benefactor was,” Lydia added, “could be the same person.”

“The Benefactor?” Theo asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Terrible time,” Isaac answered, “there was a Deadpool list and a lot of hunters.”

“Deucalion is a master of making packs,” Scott suggested, “could stand to reason he wants to build one considering what we did to his alpha pack.”

“You all have been very busy while I’ve been away,” Theo said airily, “lots of enemies.”

“Welcome to Beacon Hills.” Stiles replied sarcastically 

“Or,” Deaton took the marker from Stiles, drawing a perfectly curved question mark, “it could be someone completely new.”

They all quietly stared at the question mark for a moment and Stiles hated how ominous it felt. Theo wasn’t wrong, they already had a list of enemies and it seemed to be growing longer each year. At this rate they’d be lucky to make it to graduation. It was just another thing that felt so unfair. It wasn’t like they were looking for trouble. They just wanted to live their lives and find some sort of happiness in all the chaos. Was that really too much to ask? Stiles couldn’t help, but think about his mother’s words. She didn’t want him in this life because it was a never ending war. But here he was whether she liked it or not and he felt so unprepared. He didn’t really know how to control his spark and his training was going painstakingly slow. These teenagers were being taken and turned against their will, used as weapons to destroy his pack. And it felt like there was nothing he could do about it.

“Not to add to the bad news,” Peter said, all eyes turning towards him, “but we may have more to worry about than you think.”

“Why?” Derek asked.

“I told you I didn’t read the entire book,” Peter explained as he held up the paperback for everyone to see, “but I read most of it. You don’t just summon the Dread Doctors to do whatever you want,” his voice became darker and Stiles felt a chill run down his spine, “everything comes with a price.”

Stiles couldn’t help, but be reminded of the way the Surgeon had looked at him. Like he was something of interest. Of value.

“And what is their price?” Scott asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Peter merely shrugged his shoulders, “All depends on the buyer, but let’s just say they’re not exactly neutral in the supernatural world.”

“Was it the experimentation on innocent teenagers that gave them away?” Derek asked, his jaw clenched tightly. “Or their cute little villain name?”

“All I’m saying is,” Peter continued, his face a little more serious now, “if they get what they asked for, then they might not need that little book to enter this world and do whatever the hell they want.”

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from reaching out for Derek, his fingers grazing against warm skin until he gripped the wolf tightly. As he looked into the dull, yellow eyes of the creatures on the page all he could taste was the absolutely overwhelming sense of fear. 

The last time Stiles had avoided going to sleep was when he had begun to realize he was being possessed by a dangerous spirit. While that dark thought always lingered at the back of his mind, he knew the reason he was trying his best to remain conscious for the past week was because the nightmares had become unbearable. He was tired of screaming until his voice was raw. Of counting his fingers until he was sure there were ten. Of the lines of exhaustion in his father’s face when he came to Stiles’ rescue.

“Stiles,” John sighed as he scrubbed a hand over his face, “maybe you should sit this one out.”

Stiles felt his fingers curl into the sheets, “Dad, I’m fine. It’s just a nightmare.”

“You’ve been like this for a week,” John argued, “and it’s not getting better. What’s going on?”

His father knew as much as Stiles was willing to tell him. He knew about the Dread Doctors and the missing teenagers being turned into a chimera pack. He didn’t know that Stiles couldn’t stop dreaming about his mother turning to ash and smoke, screaming that it was all his fault. That he was going to fail his pack. That he was going to lose Derek. And when his mother wasn’t the star of the show he was stuck in some rundown warehouse, chained to a metal table as the Dread Doctors ran experiments on him.

“I just want to help those missing kids, dad.” Stiles replied quietly, “I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“I know Stiles,” his dad said with a sad smile, “I know.”

He tried taking prescription sleep medication, but that proved to make things worse. He couldn’t drag himself from the nightmare well until morning and by then he had been reduced to a sobbing mess. The only consolation was that his dad was already at work by then. So, he figured the best course of action was just avoiding sleep all together. By day four coffee wasn’t doing it so he downed a caffeine pill and dove into his homework, emissary training, and looking over the casefiles for anything they might have missed. They’d discovered a connection between all of the teenagers. Something his dad had pointed out one night after they had pulled Donovan’s information. All of them had had some sort of organ transplant or skin graft. At least he knew the pack was safe from being taken. The closest thing to any medical operations any of them had was Isaac’s appendix removal when he was thirteen and that didn’t really seem to fit their qualifications for chimera making.

Stiles reached out, ignoring the way his hands trembled as he grabbed whatever sugary energy drink he picked up before coming to the loft. His dad was on the night shift and some of the other pack members were busy out seeing some new horror movie. Stiles had easily declined, not needing to add fuel to his nightmare fire. He tried not to resent the rest of them for being able to do something so carefree without the pressures of their supernatural life barring down on them. Malia was still being a little cold and standoffish since the Theo comment, which he did not have the patience to deal with at the moment. He knew she would have forced him to sit next to the beta the entire time to kick start their “bonding”. He just wanted to sit in a quiet space and get done what needed getting done. He’d also be lying if he didn’t admit that being around Derek made him feel safe, something he’d been missing the last week. 

He felt like he was constantly looking over his shoulder everywhere he went, expecting to find glowing eyes watching him. It didn’t help that his spark had gone quiet when the Dread Doctors invaded the station. His magic was supposed to be his new, big defense. He wasn’t sure what the baseball bat would do against these guys. 

“Your spark is very intuitive, Stiles,” Deaton explained at the end of their last training session, “it was hiding for a reason.”

“How can I protect myself or the pack if it just disappears on me as the bad guys show up?” Stiles asked, frustrated. He was making progress, learning to control it, but he still felt a disconnect, like it almost resented him for possessing it.

“You need to trust yourself,” Deaton said, “you can do this.”

Stiles almost laughed. Trust himself. Maybe if Deaton had asked that a few years ago the answer would have been different, but now all he was left with was doubt. 

“If what Peter said is true,” Deaton continued when Stiles remained silent, “then maybe your spark did you a favor.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, but he already knew. It’s all he had been thinking about since Peter had placed that book on the table.

“Imagine what they could do with someone like you.” Deaton replied simply.

Stiles gripped the book tightly in his hands. They all agreed to each read a chapter so that none of them would have the power to summon the Dread Doctors. He wasn’t entirely thrilled to read his section, hence the nightmares about experimentation, but it was done and he was more than happy to pass it off to Derek for his turn. Peter had been right about them not being neutral in the supernatural world, but they also didn’t just kill needlessly. Stiles had learned they were focused on resurrecting a perfect killer, something they had referred to as The Beast . He could only imagine what they had asked for as payment for their summonings over the years. 

“You need to sleep,” Derek said pointedly, dragging Stiles from his thoughts.

“Sleep when I’m dead, Sourwolf,” Stiles tried for a grin, but his throbbing headache was making that impossible.

“You reek of caffeine and sleep deprivation,” Derek growled as he took the book from Stiles’ hand, placing it on the table. He sat down on the couch, eyes growing soft in the corners. “Stiles, please.”

Stiles licked his lips, stuffing his shaking hands into the pockets of his hoodie, “I can’t.”

“Nightmares that bad?” Derek asked, placing a gentle hand on Stiles’ arm.

“They feel so real,” he replied, voice cracking, “and even when I’m awake I can’t shake them out of my head.”

“You know you’re safe here,” Derek murmured. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

Stiles offered Derek a half smile, “In that case I’ll just move on in, your couch may be a little lumpy, but it is excellent for power naps.”

“My couch is not lumpy,” Derek growled playfully.

“Uh, dude,” Stiles laughed, “have you seen the way Isaac and Scott wrestle on this thing? Lump central.”

“Fine,” Derek said, suddenly standing up, “I guess we’ll just have to use the bed.”

Stiles felt his jaw drop, which only earned him an amused smirk and a raise of eyebrows in return. He quickly snapped his mouth shut, fumbling to a standing position which caused him to nearly fall over the coffee table.

“As in your bed?” He asked, voice impossibly high.

“Unless you want Isaac’s—” Derek began.

“No!” Stiles interrupted, “No, I um, what if my nightmares wake you up?”

“Stiles,” Derek said softly, “you know that doesn’t bother me. You need rest and you’re not going to get it by tossing and turning on my couch.”

Stiles thought about arguing, about saying that this would mean something , but he found that he wanted it to mean something. As much as he shouldn’t he wanted to lay next to Derek and let him wrap his arms around Stiles, making him feel safe and protected. He wanted to be selfish cause god knows he had never been able to afford it before. He should have put up a fight, but he wordlessly nodded his head, letting Derek lead his exhausted body to bed. They laid facing each other, a breath apart.

“I won’t let them hurt you either,” Stiles murmured in his half conscious state.

“I know,” Derek replied quietly.

Stiles knew that their promises probably didn’t matter and in the end the Dread Doctors would probably do something terrible to rip them apart, but the truth of the words meant more than the consequences of being wrong.

“Well, that has to mean something, right?” Scott asked, his voice filled with his usual optimism that Stiles was severely lacking these days.

“It was just a one time thing,” Stiles deflected, tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder, “and it was probably because Derek felt bad for me.”

He could hear Scott sighing on the other end, “You know that’s not true.”

“Whatever you say, Scotty.” Stiles shrugged as he frowned down at the smoke now leaking from some mysterious place under the hood of the Jeep.

“Roscoe break down again?” Scott asked, changing the subject when he knew arguing with Stiles was pointless.

Stiles waved the smoke away with his free hand, huffing in frustration. He’d had problems with the Jeep in the past, but recently it had been kicking the bucket almost every other day. Getting rid of it wasn’t an option. Despite whatever conflicting feelings he had towards his mom, he wasn’t letting the Jeep go. It was the only things left that felt real about her. Something that was true. 

“I’m not abandoning this Jeep,” Stiles replied through clenched teeth, reaching in with a wrench to tighten where he suspected the smoke was coming from.

“I know,” Scott replied understandingly, “do you need help?”

In his frustration he slammed his hand against the metal, the pain radiating up his arm immediately. He bit down on his lip to stop himself from screaming into the receiver, his eyes watering. 

“Stiles…”

“Yeah,” Stiles finally admitted, “actually, if you could…”

“Of course,” Scott smiled, “where are you ?”

Stiles was realizing that he needed to rely on his friends just as much as they needed to rely on him. It was a balance, Deaton mentioned, and the invisible strings tying them together needed to be strengthened. That the pull went both ways. He took a moment to look around, not realizing how dark it had gotten. He could spot the school sign that meant he was near the high school, the parking lot lights shining in the distance. There was a particularly dark patch of woods glaring at him menacingly. He felt that familiar tingle beneath his skin and for a moment he had the prickling fear that a pair of yellow, glowing eyes would suddenly be looking back at him. He blinked a few times, the blackness shifting, but nothing moved and there were no eyes watching him. He let out a long, low breath before he turned back towards the Jeep.

“I’m by the school,” he said, “I could probably push the Je—”

Stiles never finished his sentence as he felt something grip his shoulder tightly before a set of very sharp teeth dug into his skin. This time he did scream, dropping his phone, Scott’s worried calls dying as his screen shattered. He gripped the wrench in his free hand, swinging it around until he heard bone crack. There was a loud fuck that made Stiles’ heart stop as he turned, eyes widening when he saw Donovan standing just a few feet away. His jaw was unhinged, mouth full of rows of bloodied teeth like a lamprey, eyes like liquid mercury, shifting dangerously as they refocused on Stiles.

“Donovan?” Stiles asked, still in shock, his shoulder aching terribly from where he had been bitten.

“Stilinski,” Donovan grinned, licking his lips, “where’s your little Hale bodyguard to protect you this time?”

“What happened to you?” Stiles remembered the Dread Doctors coming for Donovan. Remembered his desperate cries for help. He’d only been gone a week, a week , and now here he was clearly hell bent on revenge. Stiles wondered if he even knew what they had done to him.

“I think, Stiles,” Donovan growled, taking a wavering step closer, “you should be worried about what I’m going to do to you.”

He lunged forward and Stiles dove out of the way. He rolled against the blacktop, stumbling down the ditch and into the gravel. He could hear Donovan snarl from somewhere behind him as he quickly got to his feet. He instinctively reached for his phone before realizing it was in pieces on the asphalt. He closed his eyes, trying to remember how it felt to follow the currents to Donovan, the desire to set him on fire from the inside out. He was on the ground before he could catch his breath. Blood dripped from Donovan’s teeth, painting Stiles’ neck in crimson dots. He held Stiles down with inhuman strength, smirking as he watched Stiles squirm beneath his iron grip.

“I’m going to rip you apart slowly,” Donovan purred, scraping his teeth down Stiles’ jaw, “and leave the pieces for daddy to find.”

“No,” Stiles replied darkly, “you won’t.”

There was the bang , a bright light as Donovan went flying back onto the road. He could hear Deaton telling him to concentrate , to not let it drain all of his energy, but he was already feeling sluggish, body heavy and head pounding. He knew his magic was resisting now, like it was only there long enough to keep him alive. Now he was on his own. He grit his teeth, forcing himself to run towards the school.

“I’m not finished with you, Stilinski!” Donovan screamed murderously. 

Call your pack , Stiles thought desperately. Find the strings . His mind immediately went to Derek and the red string tying them together. He was suddenly thrust into the blackness, his fingers fumbling until they gripped the fabric in his hand as it went taut. He followed the line, pulling himself forward, until he crashed through a set of doors. There, standing in the dark, empty school hallway was Derek, his back facing Stiles, but he could see where the red string was tied delicately around the alpha’s wrist. 

Stiles felt his breath catch in his throat, “ Derek! ”

When Derek didn’t move Stiles tried again, louder and with more conviction. Again. And again. And again until his throat felt raw and his voice cracked and finally - finally - Derek began to turn, but something had grabbed Stiles by his arm, yanking back so harshly that it popped out of place. He howled in pain, slamming against the locker, Donovan boxing him in with his arms. 

“You’re going to let me enjoy this,” Donovan said, his voice dripping with hungered anticipation.

“Fuck off,” Stiles bit back, throwing his weight against Donovan, sending them both crashing to the floor.

Stiles used his momentum to try and scramble away, but Donovan’s claws were sinking into his ankle, pulling him back. His arm throbbed terribly as Donovan dragged him against the linoleum, but he tried to block the pain out, redirecting his fear and anger into his fire. If Jennifer could do it, so could he. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, if for a moment, to be like the woman who had fought and clawed her way to survival. And now, it was suddenly buzzing beneath his skin, white hot and snapping like electricity. His tongue was heavy with the taste of smoke, a mounting pressure building behind his eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be like Vo—

Donovan’s scream of pain broke his concentration. He felt it all fade away as he looked up to see the boy, the chimera, locked in a vicious stand off with…

“Theo?” Stiles heard himself say as he caught a flash of gold, a familiar hint of a smirk. 

Theo stood in front of him protectively before diving into the fray. Stiles watched with wide eyes, noting how quickly and easily Theo moved, like being a wolf was almost second nature. It didn’t take Donovan long to realised he was out matched. His mercury eyes glared in Stiles’ direction for a moment before he bared his fangs, hissing menacingly. Theo roared in return and Donovan was out the door before Stiles could blink. He sat against the lockers, trying to catch his breath as Theo quickly ran over to him.

“Stiles,” his voice was gentle now as he kneeled down, hands reaching in the space between them hesitantly, “are you okay?”

Stiles just stared at Theo in disbelief. How did Theo find him? How, when suddenly everything was going wrong, did Theo of all fucking people find him? He pressed himself further back, grimacing from the pain in his dislocated arm.

“Still don’t trust me,” Theo frowned, but he didn’t pull away.

“Where did you come from?” Stiles asked. “No one else was around.”

“I was driving back to Malia’s with dinner,” Theo explained, hands hovering over his injured arm, “that’s where I’m staying, remember?” Stiles gave one short nod of his head before Theo continued, “I saw your Jeep, abandoned in the middle of the road. When I stopped to investigate I heard your scream.”

Stiles didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say. Theo’s story made sense and by all accounts he had come to Stiles’ rescue in the nick of time. If Theo really was the bad guy wouldn’t it have been easier to let Donovan finish the job? Why would he put his life at risk just to save Stiles? What value did Stiles have to Theo unless he truly cared about him?

“Stiles,” Theo said quietly, “I meant what I said about wanting to be part of the pack. You’re my pack now.” Stiles swallowed hard, wordlessly holding his arm out. Theo gave him a genuine smile, gripping it as his veins bled black. “This might hurt.”

Stiles’ pained cry was drowned out by an even louder roar. Theo immediately dropped his arm, throwing himself against the lockers as Derek was suddenly at his side, teeth bared, eyes flashing red.

“What happened?” Derek asked furiously.

Scott was there too, kneeling next to Stiles, looking over his best friend with concern. Stiles was positive he looked worse than he actually was, but he didn’t have time to think about that as he reached for Derek, fingers wrapping around the alpha’s wrist.

“Derek,” he murmured, “it’s okay, Theo saved me, I’m okay.”

For a moment Stiles thought Derek was going to rip Theo’s throat out, but he let out a deep breath through his nose, nodding his head before the crimson melted away. He knelt down now, eyes softening with pained concern as he looked over Stiles. Stiles gave Derek a half smile, letting his cheek rest against the warmth of Derek’s palm for a moment.

“I called Derek as soon as I lost connection with you,” Scott explained, “and he said you were at the school before I even had the chance to tell him.”

Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off of Derek as Scott carefully helped pull him to his feet. Derek’s hand had slipped from Stiles’ cheek down to his arm, jaw tightening as he took the pain. Derek had heard him. Somehow Derek had heard his call. He caught Theo watching them with that curious expression he had the night of his return.

“Donovan,” he cleared his throat, letting his weight fall against Scott, “he’s a chimera now. A pretty pissed off one at that.”

“The kid that broke into your house a few years back?” Derek asked, nostrils flaring in anger.

“So, that’s Donovan and Tracy,” Scott frowned, “but where are the others?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Stiles shook his head, “they keep attacking on their own, but clearly it’s not working.”

“They’re not in control,” Theo said, “I highly doubt they can cohesively plan an attack as a group.”

“They’re feelers,” Derek answered, arms crossing against his chest, “whoever is controlling them is testing their limits and ours.”

“Donovan’s felt personal,” Stiles muttered as he reached up to where his shirt was now wet and sticky with blood.

“We all know what happens when things get too personal,” Theo stated, “and I don’t think Donovan’s going to like finding out.”

Stiles didn’t want to think about Donovan or how close he had come to giving into the desire to become Void . He didn’t understand why his magic made him feel that way. Why all he could do was hurt and burn everything he touched. He could picture Jennifer’s cold smirk, hear her laugh ringing in his head. He was just so fucking tired . 

Derek insisted he stay at the loft since his dad was working the late shift, in case Donovan wanted to finish the job. As he laid there, half asleep curled in Derek’s bed, he couldn’t stop playing Theo’s words over and over again in his head. They felt like a warning. 

We all know what happens when things get too personal . 

His sleepy gaze drifted over to the shape of Derek in the dark. He was sound asleep, stomach pressed into the mattress, arms tucked beneath the pillow, face soft and relaxed as his breaths came out in a slow rhythm of peace. He was once again reminded of his selfishness. Of how it would be his fault if Derek ever woke up screaming. He slowly licked his lips, letting the brush of Derek’s fingers against his skin lull him to sleep. 

And I don’t think you’re going to like to find out .

“Failure. You will now be terminated.”

“No!” He was backed into a corner, liquid mercury shifting in fear as they searched for a way out. “No! I almost had him! He was mine!”

“Failure. You will now be terminated.”

“This is what he wanted!” A terrified breath. “I CAN STILL DO TH—”

“Termination complete.”

Stiles wanted to scream. He swallowed the feeling, exhaling forcefully out of his nose. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip just to be sure. He ignored the metallic tang as he closed his eyes, following his complex web of nerve endings to find the bite mark on his shoulder, swollen and throbbing. He was supposed to imagine the skin healing over, the pain easing away until it was nothing but smooth skin. Most of the time he could feel his magic pulsating in his veins, a tingling sensation as it moved freely through his body, nestling in his bones, and beating in time with his heart. Lately, it felt like lead sinking to the bottom of the ocean, sluggish and unmoving. There was a resistance and it took all of his energy to do the simplest of tasks. The only time he felt its hunger, its power, was when his thoughts turned feral, his heart dark. Instead of his wound healing all he could see was his skin cracking and crumbling as it ripped apart. His blood, black as night, dripping from his lips twisted into an evil grin. His eyes, two soulless voids of nothingness.

“Fuck.” He finally snapped as he slammed his hand on the metal table in front of him. “I can’t do this.”

Deaton stood calmly across from him, eyebrows knitting in concern, “Stiles, your magic is working against you, what’s going on?”

Nothing , he wanted to shout. Everything , he was desperate to whisper. Ever since he had found those journals he couldn’t stop his inner turmoil at who he was. Who his mother was. He hadn’t asked for this. His mother’s magic had killed her and she’d just gone and pretended like it wasn’t going to do the same to him. He hated his spark. It was the reason for where he was now. Because of their spark Claudia had abandoned the Hales. Because of their spark Derek had been left unprotected and the Hales desolated. Because of their spark his mother had developed a disease that would take her to an early grave. Because of their spark Void had chosen him. Because of their spark he was supposed to become this person he was beginning to understand he could never really be. He hated his spark and his spark hated him in return.

“I don’t know,” he muttered lamely.

“You’re angry at your mother,” Deaton surmised, “for keeping this life a secret from you, which, in turn, has made you angry at yourself.”

“Did they teach therapy in vet school?” Stiles spat.

“No,” Deaton smiled sadly, unbothered by Stiles’ rudeness, “but I learned a lot from Marin.”

Stiles collapsed in the nearest chair, bringing the palm of his hands against his eyes. He wondered if he would ever feel anything other than this bone deep exhaustion.

“You’ve done remarkably well,” Deaton noted, “and you’re learning the non magic parts very quickly.”

Stiles snorted softly as the tips of his lips curled up for a moment. He’d spent the better part of the first hour of his lesson healing a variety of wounds on Scott with herbs and remedies Deaton had taught him. He could identify every strain of wolfsbane and knew exactly how to combat it. His hours spent pouring over books and notes hadn’t been wasted, but herbs weren’t going to heal life threatening injuries.

“Maybe by the time I’m your age I can heal a paper cut,” He replied dryly, finally looking up at Deaton.

“Sometimes we just need a little bit of help,” He said mysteriously, stepping aside as Lydia walked into the room.

“Lydia?” Stiles asked, standing up so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet. “What are you doing here?”

“Stiles,” she leveled him with a look, “did you really think I wouldn’t notice that you’re training to become the pack emissary?”

Stiles felt heat rush up into his cheeks, he was half tempted to tell her they were better off if she was training for the job instead. As if reading his mind Lydia simply shook her head, “Wailing woman,” she said, pointing to herself, “Harbinger of Death, remember? Not really emissary material.”

Stiles could say he was a lot of things and none of them good, but the words all died in his throat as he watched Lydia pick up one of the long, surgical knives from the operating table. She placed it against her forearm, before carefully digging in, slowly drawing up an inch or two. Stiles watched in horror as her delicate skin was painted red. He rushed forward, grasping her bleeding arm in his hands.

“Lydia,” he said worriedly, “what are you doing?”

“Helping you,” she said with a small smile.

And that’s when he could see it. The soft, pink string tying him to Lydia. He followed it, feeling his roots take hold as his fingertips buzzed with energy. His eyes didn’t leave her face, his breath catching in his throat as her grin grew wider. He could feel her blood rushing, the tensing of muscles, and the intricate motion of skin stitching itself back together. When he finally looked down there was a thin line of healed skin where her cut used to be.

“See,” Lydia said kindly, “you don’t hurt everything you touch.” 

He let out a long, slow breath, running his now trembling fingers over the tiny scar. The quiet hum of his spark was pleasant for the first time in a long while. 

“Stiles,” Deaton placed a hand on his shoulder, “maybe it’s time to forgive yourself, even if just a little. You were born for this,” Deaton continued when Stiles remained silent, “even if you don’t believe it. There is no one Derek deserves more than to have you at his side.”

“That’s quite the pep talk,” Stiles replied in an attempt of humor.

“And you're an idiot if you can’t see the way Derek looks at you,” Lydia supplied as she washed her arm off in the sink, throwing Stiles a knowing smirk.

Stiles did see. He knew. He’d been sleeping in the alpha’s bed the past week for god sake. But he already decided that what Derek deserved was someone better than Stiles. No matter how much he wanted it. Protecting the pack, protecting Derek, came first. And being with someone like Stiles seemed like a step in the wrong direction.

“I didn’t realize pack movie night required an overnight bag.”

Stiles paused in the entrance way between the front hall and the living room. He slowly turned, his cheeks turning a faint pink at the knowing look on his father’s face. The man was half dressed for work, watching a baseball game with a stack of case files in his hand. He was working the late shift again, but it meant they were able to eat dinner together, something they made sure they did as much as possible.

“Well,” Stiles began, jerking his thumb at the bag on his shoulder, “you know, with all the chimera business and the late shift,” he indicated to his father, “it just makes sense to—”

“Stiles,” his father cut him off with a warm chuckle as he sat the files to the side, getting to his feet, “it’s okay that you stay over at the loft when I’m gone. I know that Derek makes you feel safe.”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You know it’s okay if it does,” his father replied gently.

“Is it?” He asked, his voice small. “I’m not really sure, to be honest.”

“All I know,” John said as he placed his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, “is that Derek would burn this town to the ground if anything happened to you. And I’d help.”

Stiles huffed out a small laugh, “And to think just a few years ago you were throwing him into the back of your Sheriff's car.”

“I believe that was your fault,” John snorted.

“Me?” Stiles asked in mock shock before he grinned brightly at his father. He pulled the old man into a tight hug. “Love you, dad.”

“Love you too, kid.” John replied gruffly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His father hadn’t been wrong about Derek making him feel safe. He knew he was capable of handling himself most of the time, but he and Derek had constantly saved each other over the years. There was this bond between them that settled in their bones. A comradery of seeing each other at their worst and getting through it together. It’s why he wanted it to mean something. And while Stiles trusted and loved the people in his pack, no one ever made him feel the way he did when he was with Derek.

He blinked awake to the looming shadows and faded moonlight pouring over the windows overlooking the living room. Stiles felt groggy, yawning lazily, as the sound of running water made his head turn towards the kitchen. He caught sight of Derek washing a few dishes, the rest of the loft empty save for the two of them.

“Ready for bed?” Derek asked with amusement as he shut the water off before drying his hands.

“Did I miss the end of that weird movie Malia picked?” He asked as he collapsed back on the couch. His lips turned down into a frown as his stomach began to curdle.The last thing he needed was to catch some twenty-four hour bug in the middle of all the bullshit they were already dealing with. He felt his body shiver violently for a moment, his fingers digging into the leather to anchor himself.

“I don’t know what was worse,” Derek said as he moved into the living room, “the terribly confusing ending or Scott reading the Wiki plot out loud to try and explain what happened.”

Stiles laughed, but it felt off. Something was wrong. He could feel his heart starting to pound in his chest, the hair on his arm standing on end. Derek had noticed it too, because he was suddenly standing in front of Stiles protectively, eyes glowing and teeth bared. Stiles was on his feet now, wide awake, as they both looked at the front door. Stiles could see his breath fanning in the moonlight, the temperature dropping sharply.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered, terrified as the lights began to flicker, “Derek, it’s them.”

Before Derek could respond he dropped to his knees, hands over his ears as he gritted his teeth against a sound Stiles couldn’t hear. There was just the dull buzzing, the feel of the world slowing down, like he was too big for his body. Stiles could sense how his lips formed Derek’s name, but the words fell silently as Stiles gripped the alpha’s shoulders, trying to pull him to his feet. His spark went silent as he heard those eerie metallic clicks syncing in time with the heavy footsteps. He closed his eyes, tried to think of the fire, of the power, of anything that would protect him, protect Derek, but there was nothing. Stiles wanted to scream. When he opened his eyes he was startled to see the Pathologist standing just in front of him. He barely had a moment to think before it fisted Stiles’ shirt, throwing him across the room. He crashed into the bookcase, crumpling to the floor.

The world slowly came back to him, the loft blurred as he tried to gather his bearings. He rolled from his back to his stomach, aching at the movement. He had the faintest idea that there was a cracked rib or two and maybe a minor concussion, but none of that mattered as Derek’s pained cry snapped him into full alert. He was on his feet, stumbling forward. All three Doctors were surrounding the wolf, blocking Stiles’ view of him. As he closed in on them he hit a wall, some sort of invisible forcefield, like they had put a mountain ash barrier around where they were standing. Except Stiles was human. He should have been able to cross that line, but there was no mountain ash lining the ground. He pounded his fist against the field, which shimmered an iridescent color before fading away.

“Leave him alone!” Stiles screamed as Derek’s tortured yells got worse, “STOP!”

His heart felt like a war drum, his panic steadily increasing, chest heaving to a painful degree as he watched, helplessly. He continued to beat his clenched fist against the shield until they were bruised and bloodied. He placed his palms on the iridescent glow, laying his forehead against the shield. His cheeks were wet with tears as a particularly wretched noise from Derek nearly made him sick. He inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut and dug his nails in. The loft faded into black, the screams and the clicks falling silent. When he felt the soft brush of thread against his wrist he grabbed it. He watched as the red string scattered into a network of branches, glowing a beautiful shade of gold in the darkness. They moved across the floor, where they gathered into the end of the red thread tied to Derek. The sound of Derek’s racing heart slowed until it was beating in time with Stiles’. 

Let me in, he demanded, the thought reverberating in his skull.

When he opened his eyes again he could see where the shield was beginning to crack and bend beneath his hands. He could feel his spark pulsating through his entire body, like it had suddenly woken from a deep slumber. His nerve endings felt like they were on fire, but he held on as he began to make an opening in the force field. The entire loft shook from the effort as Stiles pushed harder, nostrils flaring as he grit his teeth against the power and the pain. As the opening grew wider he could see the Dread Doctors turning to look at him.

“Get your hands off of my Alpha,” he snarled in a deep and booming voice.

The force field suddenly shattered, falling like snow around them until they disappeared into the floor. Stiles felt the fire now, white hot, and burning beneath his skin. His fingertips sparked with electricity and when he caught his reflection in the wall of windows his eyes were the color of lightning, a terrifying glow in the dark. The Surgeon was in front of him now, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the string. There was just nothing.

“Who summoned you? ” Stiles asked - demanded - but it only tilted it’s head to the side, yellow eyes bright and focused.

“You and Derek were destined for this path,” it said, its hand reaching up, “don’t you know what you mean to Derek?”

Stiles grabbed its hand, but he couldn’t stop those gloved fingers from pressing against his forehead. For just a moment he could see it. The face behind the mask. The burnt and scarred remains of a man, black ooze leaking from his lips, eyes two black pits.

“The perfect killer,” it said, but it was his mother’s voice, and it was her face he saw before he fell unconscious.

Derek felt the roar rip from his lips as he jolted forward, but something heavy and metal kept him in place. His head was pounding terribly, his vision filling with black spots, forcing him to close his eyes against the sickening light that was pouring over him. He took a moment to gather himself, taking deep, steadying breaths. His wolf was on edge, howling and snarling in his chest, his fingers itching as his claws scratched against a metal surface. When he caught the faintest whiff of cinnamon his eyes snapped open, the air vibrating with another ferocious roar. His wrist and ankles were chained to a surgical table and as he pulled against his bonds he was shocked by a high voltage of electricity, making him groan in pain as he collapsed against the metal. He was in some sort of giant, horror surgery room complete with big test tubes full of strange and grotesque creatures floating in green liquid. The sound of metallic clicks made his head turn. He could feel his heart drop into his stomach at what he saw.

“Stiles,” his voice cracked as he craned his neck, trying to get a better view, “Stiles! ”

Stiles was on the other side of the room, strapped down to a similar table. There was a large tube shoved down his throat and several IVs and wires were taped to his exposed skin. The IVs were attached to one of the bigger test tubes filled with a dark, mysterious substance that almost looked like tar. Every now and then it would light up, like a flash of lightning. Stiles was unconscious, his chest rising too shallowly for Derek’s liking. He tried to remain calm, to control his rage and terror at seeing Stiles this way. He couldn’t remember how they got there. The last thing he could recall was a horrendous, high pitched noise and pain. Lots of pain. He knew he needed to think of a way out. His thoughts were on an endless loop of save Stiles protect Stiles .

Before his panicked brain could come up with anything useful Stiles was suddenly blocked from his view as the Geneticist stepped in front of him. Not seeing the boy only increased his anxiety and the dire urge to get to him. 

“What the hell are you doing to him?” Derek growled, snapping his teeth as it reached down to turn his head, exposing his neck.

“Hale Alpha,” it stated, ignoring his question, “stolen from Peter Hale, stolen from Laura Hale, inherited from Talia Hale.”

Derek clenched his teeth as it dug a needle into his skin, drawing out blood. He felt dizzy, head spinning as it finished. He tried to remain conscious, focusing on the steady beat of Stiles’ heart monitor to keep him fighting, but the combination of blood loss and electric shocks forced him to lose that battle. As the darkness surrounded him he could vaguely make out the shape of Kate Argent looming over him, her lips hot against his ear.

Derek Hale never learns from his mistakes, she whispered before he was lost to unconsciousness.

He was at the Hale house. Thick, heavy smoke curled in the air as the perilous screams of his family echoed in the night. He beat against the door, thrown back by the line of mountain ash made to keep him out and the rest in. Perfectly manicured hands wrapped around his neck, teeth dragging along his ear. 

“We are what we love,” Kate purred, “I guess that makes us both monsters.”

“You never loved me,” Derek sobbed. He was sixteen. He was alone. It was all his fault. He was poison. He was fire. He was ash .

“No,” she hummed, smiling into the crook of his neck, kisses blazing against his skin, “but I know someone who does.”

The charred door to the burnt remains of his house slowly creaked open. Stiles was illuminated by the bright orange and fiery reds of the flames. He was reaching out to Derek, fingers extending in the space between them.

“Derek,” he yelled, but his voice seemed so far away, “DEREK!”

Derek was on his feet, sprinting towards the boy, reaching, reaching, reaching , but when he grabbed Stiles’ hand he passed right through him, like a ghost. Derek crashed to the floor. Gone. It was all gone. His house. His family. Stiles.

“Too bad you’re going to ruin him too,” Kate sneered.

Derek’s gasping breath was drowned by the sound of Stiles’ writhing against the metal, his cries muffled by the tube in his throat. All three Doctors were standing around him, the lights flickering dangerously above where they were standing. Derek felt murderous as Stiles bent against the restraints holding him down, eyes squeezed tightly shut as the tar-like substance pumped heavily through the IV.

“Stop it!” Derek snarled as he ignored the electric shock holding him back. He knew no amount of begging or pleading would do him any good. The Doctors didn’t pay attention to him, too focused on Stiles, who was pale white and choking on his own screams.

“The perfect killer,” all three of them said in unison.

Derek couldn’t take it anymore, his wolf coming to the forefront as he ripped the chains holding him down. They clinked to the ground loudly, finally capturing the Doctors’ gaze. 

“The Hale Alpha,” The Surgeon said, “ and the Stilinski Emissary.”

Derek barely heard them as he charged forward, but the lights flickered out for a moment and then they were gone. He stumbled into the table where Stiles was still being held, half wolfed out in his alpha shift. He shook his head, trying to ease the adrenaline now rushing in his veins. His scorching skin brushed against Stiles, who was ice cold. The shock brought him back, his hands coming to cup Stiles’ face.

“Hey,” he whispered, Stiles trembling beneath his hold, “I’m going to get you out of here.”

He quickly began removing everything attached to Stiles, shutting off whatever machine was pumping that mysterious liquid into his body. When he got to the tube in Stiles’ throat he grimaced, knowing this was going to hurt. He braced a hand against Stiles’ chest, the other wrapping around the plastic before carefully pulling it from the boy’s mouth. Derek clenched his teeth at the terrible, choking sounds Stiles made, until it was free. Stiles immediately rolled to his side, vomiting the black substance all over the floor, gasping for air.

“I’ve got you,” Derek repeated over and over again, hands resting at the small of Stiles’ back.

Stiles merely whimpered as more black spilled from his lips, his cheek stained with tears.

“Come on,” Derek scooped Stiles up into his arms, holding him close to his chest. “I’m sorry,” he added, his throat constricting as he looked down at the half conscious human, “I’m sorry I’m ruining you.”

“For the last time,” Stiles gritted his teeth, “I’m fine .”

Lydia gave him a long, sideways glance, clearly unconvinced, while Scott just pinned him with his saddest, puppy dog expression. Stiles tried to ignore it, keeping his gaze forward, watching the rain pelt the glass window of Lydia’s car.

“Stiles,” Lydia finally chided, “it’s been three days since you and Derek were kidnapped by the Dread Doctors, which, by all accounts, was very traumatic for both of you, and Derek’s hardly spoken to you.”

“He’s avoiding me,” Stiles agreed, letting out a deep sigh, “because he thinks it’s his fault.”

“You two,” Lydia huffed in annoyance, “are the most ridiculously stubborn idiots I have ever met.”

“Well,” Stiles chewed out, “it’s not great being sidelined either, I’m fi—”

“Stiles,” Scott whined, “mom said you have three cracked ribs, a minor concussion, and you were up for nearly twenty hours purging whatever that black shit was the Dread Doctors put in you.” Scott gripped Stiles’ shoulder, “You’re far from being fine.”

Stiles let his head fall against the seat, eyes burning as he blinked back tears. He was exhausted, in pain, majorly confused where Derek was concerned, and frustrated that he had been stuck with Lydia and Scott - guard duty as Malia had mockingly dubbed it - doing absolutely nothing while the rest of the pack tried to sniff out the chimeras. Even fucking Theo got to go with Derek out on patrol. He couldn’t remember much from his and Derek’s captivity, except the excruciating pain and Derek’s soft pleas to hang on as he got them out of there.

“I promised you I wouldn’t let them hurt you,” Derek murmured, fingers brushing between Stiles’ shoulder blades.

“You saved me,” Stiles breathed into the sheets, eyes half closed.

“I think you saved me first,” Derek replied, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t go,” he didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but he was terrified of being left alone. What if they came back? It didn’t matter if the Dread Doctors had violated their space or that they had failed each other. Derek still meant safety in Stiles’ mind.

“Okay, Stiles,” Derek said, still rubbing soothing circles into Stiles’ skin, “okay.”

Derek was gone by the morning and doing his best to keep distance between them. Stiles had let down Derek first. He hadn’t been quick enough. He let the Doctors take them. Now Derek was once again holding him at arm's length because he was afraid Stiles would go up in flames. This is why he wasn’t good for Derek. Why he shouldn’t be training to be the goddamn pack emissary cause he was the one who would ruin Derek. Ruin the pack. Ruin himself.

“Get out of your head,” Lydia scolded, “whatever it is you’re thinking it’s probably wrong.”

Stiles snorted, “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“Probably something related to you thinking you shouldn’t be our emissary,” Scott said kindly, giving Stiles a sad smile.

“Can we focus on our bigger problems?” Stiles asked in a strained voice, wishing his two closest friends didn’t see right through him so easily.

He could see Lydia and Scott exchange a quick glance, meaning this conversation was far from over, but Stiles didn’t care if it meant they would stop talking about it now. Thinking about their supernatural troubles was a good distraction from whatever the hell was going on between him and Derek.

“Chris says Gerard is on the other side of the country,” Scott said after a moment, “so we can probably rule him out as a suspect this time.”

“And Braeden let me know she tracked Kate to Brazil,” Stiles added, “so it looks like the Argents aren’t behind this one.”

“Unless there’s some long, lost cousin hot on our trail,” Scott grinned.

“The Argents are trained hunters,” Lydia stated matter-of-factly, “whose skills and knowledge go back decades, I highly doubt they need to create a pack of supernatural teenagers to take Derek Hale out.”

“So,” Stiles rubbed his jaw in frustration, “we’re right back where we started. No suspects and at the mercy of both a chimera pack and the Dread Doctors.”

“There has to be more to the motive,” Lydia said, eyes darting over to look at both of the boys, “why target Derek’s pack?”

Stiles snorted, “Because Derek being happy is clearly not allowed.”

Lydia’s face scrunched in disapproval for a moment before she made a sharp turn, the sound of dirt and gravel grinding against the tires, making Scott and Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up.

“Lydia,” Scott said, leaning forward, “where are we going?”

“Picking up the take out Stiles annoyingly requested,” Lydia huffed.

“Yeah,” Stiles squinted his eyes to get a better look at the flood lights that’d just turned on over the car as Lydia placed it into park, “but we should have been there twenty minutes ago and this is definitely in the middle of nowhere.”

Both boys eyed Lydia worriedly as the banshee slowly leaned back in her seat, mouth dropping open as her fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly. 

“I don’t know where we are,” She quietly admitted after a moment.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Stiles murmured as a flash of lightning illuminated an old, run down building a few yards in front of them.

“We could just turn around and go,” Scott suggested, making no move to leave the car. “Pretend like we never found this place.”

“Lydia brought us here for a reason,” Stiles grimaced, knowing that her weird blackouts usually led to dead bodies. 

“Should we call Derek, first?” Lydia asked, frozen in her seat.

Stiles mulled the idea over in his head. Something about the place seemed familiar the longer he looked at the building in the stormy sky. He had this terrible, gnawing pit in his stomach, his spark buzzing unhappily beneath his skin. It felt like a message. 

Keep Derek away from this place. 

“No,” he said, “I don’t want Derek here.”

He could see Lydia and Scott exchange another look, maybe of concern or confusion, but Stiles was already pulling himself out of the car before they could argue with him. Deaton was constantly telling him to trust his instincts, listen to the magic humming in his veins, and right now he was receiving the message loud and clear. Scott and Lydia were right behind him, the latter holding her phone in front to light their way across the dark path. Stiles almost laughed as they pushed open the rusted doors. Abandoned, creepy hospital seemed utterly cliched, but he wasn’t the least bit shocked considering how their lives were currently going. The hospital was small, if the outside was anything to go by, with only two floors. The main door they had entered through took them down a hallway, past a waiting room to a big, circular reception desk. The walls, as expected, were dirty and worn. He was almost disappointed there wasn’t a scary blood warning smeared on the wall.

“Well,” Scott’s voice was exceptionally high, “this seems like the perfect place to make a chimera pack.”

“You think the gift shop has a sale on monsters?” Stiles asked as they passed a smashed window, the ground littered in glass and grime.

“No,” Lydia had stopped walking, causing both boys to run into her, “but I think surgery is in progress.”

She pointed a shaking hand down the hallway labeled Surgical Ward where lights were flickering feebly, the sound of heavy machinery echoing through the halls. Scott was in his beta shift, gold flashing in the semi-darkness. They waited a few moments, but no footsteps followed the sounds. There was no drop in temperature or strange, high pitched frequency making them fall to their knees. Scott took the lead, teeth bared with Lydia and Stiles close behind. He could still feel his spark humming quietly, but it didn’t put him on edge like it normally did when there was danger. He took it as a small comfort as Scott carefully pushed open the double doors to the adjacent ward. 

“Next time, Lyds,” Stiles whispered as the pair held onto each other, “I’m driving to pick up take out.”

She punched him in the arm, but didn’t let go as they stepped into a room much like the one in Deaton’s clinic. Along the walls, illuminated by a bright light were x-rays, pictures of surgeries and skin grafts. Each set of pictures grouped together had an accompanied medical file with black lines painted across sentences to redact information.

“Are these—” Scott began.

“The medical files of all our chimeras?” Stiles finished as Lydia finally let him go to get a closer look. “They sure as hell are.”

“This is interesting,” Lydia said as she crossed her arms over her chest, “we know of, or suspect, five missing persons to be the chimeras—”

“But there’s six files,” Scott counted.

Stiles reached out for the one that looked unfamiliar. He had poured over the medical files of the missing teenagers, and could recite the information in his sleep, but he had never seen this one before. The identifying information had been blacked out. All he could gather was that whoever this person was had a heart transplant, which matched with the weird heart data next to the files.

“The heart transplant means that whoever this person is,” Lydia said, taking the file from Stiles to get a better look “is either a chimera or will be one soon.”

Stiles couldn’t hear the next words out of Scott’s mouth as a sudden, terrified scream caught his attention. He could feel his heart in his throat because he knew that scream. He had been making those noises just three days ago when he and Derek had been taken. He took off towards the set of doors where the horrible sounds were ringing in his head. He could vaguely hear Lydia and Scott calling after him, but he was already through the doors, stumbling to a stop when he saw himself and Derek at the Dread Doctors’ mercy. He watched as he writhed on the table, his breath catching in his throat as Derek roared with righteous fury. He felt paralyzed by fear as the Surgeon looked up from where it was standing, glowing eyes finding Stiles. Like he could see him. Like he knew Stiles had been there all along. He shut his own for a moment, clenching his teeth as Derek desperately whispered, I’m going to get you out of here .

“Stiles! Stiles! ” Scott yelled as his arms wrapped around Stiles’ chest, pulling him close. “It’s okay! You’re not alone! I’m right here!”

When Stiles forced his eyes open they were the only ones in the room save for the disformed bodies floating in the giant tubes filled with green liquid. Stiles gripped Scott’s arm tightly, finding it difficult to breathe. He knew why the place felt familiar and why he didn’t want Derek to come. 

“I was here, Scotty,” he croaked, “this is where they—” he broke off when he felt like he was going to spiral into a panic attack.

Scott just held on tighter, purposely taking in deep breaths to guide Stiles into breathing with him. Lydia was next to them, a hand against Stiles’ chest to help steady and calm him. 

“We should go,” she said with a small nod of her head, “and tell the pack about this place.”

“Derek—” Stiles began weakly.

“Derek would want to know, Stiles,” Lydia said gently.

Maybe Lydia was right. It wasn’t like Derek needed to come here. Stiles would make sure Derek would never step foot back in this place again. He gave a small nod of his head, feeling a tiny knot loosen as Lydia’s lips turned up in a reassuring smile.

“Hey,” Scott swallowed, “you know how death usually follows a banshee?”

Stiles and Lydia both sharply looked up at Scott, but his eyes were on something just in front of them. Stiles almost didn’t want to look and he could see fear filling Lydia’s eyes as their gazes met. 

“Well,” Scott continued when the others remained silent a beat too long, “I think I know why she brought us here.”

When Stiles did look he felt a painful prickle in his shoulder where he knew a scar in the shape of a bite mark was slowly healing over. Donovan was suspended in the green liquid, eyes glazed over into a milky white, staring at nothing forever. He could barely hear the pounding of his own heart as Lydia’s scream made the entire room tremble in its wake. 

Stiles felt desperate. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t stop his heart from constantly hammering in his chest. His spark was a never ending buzz, making him feel jittery, like he’d consumed too much caffeine. When he looked in the mirror all he saw was Jennifer smirking back. When he looked in the darkness all he saw were glowing, yellow eyes. When he closed his amber orbs all he saw was his mother’s cold and decaying face. Walking into that hospital felt like a permanent trigger of his fight or flight. He felt unsteady. Off balance. Heavy. Like the black tar was still slugging through his blood. They were no closer to solving the ever growing dangers that surrounded them and it felt like there was nothing he could do about it. The heart transplant medical file had given them another clue, but it was useless if they didn’t know who the person was. The pack was doing nightly patrols in search for the chimeras, but everything was quiet. Even the Dread Doctors were lying low. 

So, Stiles was desperate.

That’s why he was currently standing outside the loft doors, shifting on his feet nervously. He knew what Derek was doing, but being pushed away hurt more than Stiles could say. He needed Derek and, somehow, he knew Derek needed him too. He worried his bottom lip for a moment longer before pulling the door open. He was startled to see Derek standing just on the other side, looking equally as surprised to see Stiles.

“I was just…” Stiles began.

“Coming to find you,” Derek finished softly. 

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, giving a small nod of his head. Derek wordlessly stepped to the side, motioning for Stiles to come in. He watched as the alpha wrinkled his nose in displeasure. Stiles knew he probably reeked of sleep deprivation and anxiety. He nervously licked his lips before running a hand through his messy hair to dispel his panicked energy.

“Stiles,” Derek started, his voice low and quiet.

“Before you say anything,” Stiles sharply turned so he was facing Derek, “I just—” he stopped, took a deep breath, “I need to get this off my chest.”

Derek nodded, grey-green filling with concern.

“I am not good for you,” he said, holding his hand up to stop Derek when he realized the man was immediately going to argue, “I know I’m not good for you, Derek. You deserve someone that is so much better than whatever mess I am.”

He shifted on his feet, wringing his hands together as Derek’s concern melted into a pained expression. 

“But,” he exhaled, eyes flickering to the ground, “you make me feel safe . And I want to be better, I’m trying to be better, because,” he forced his gaze on Derek again, “there is something between us and it is killing me to push it away. To push you away.”

Derek’s lips curled into a half smile, “I know the feeling.”

Stiles huffed out a breath of air, his shoulders relaxing as Derek slowly came towards him.

“Seeing you like that ,” Derek began, voice wavering slightly, “when the Dread Doctors took you, it reminded me of how I ruin everything I care about.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Stiles cut in, taking a hurried step towards the wolf.

“Isn’t it?” Derek asked wryly. “An alpha who can’t even protect the most important member of the pack.”

Stiles’ lips quipped into a small smile, “I didn’t realize Scott needed protection.”

“Ha ha,” Derek replied with a roll of his eyes, stepping right in Stiles’ space, a line of heat radiating onto Stiles’ cool skin.

Stiles could see the hard edges of Derek’s jaw and count the lashes fanning his beautifully soft, grey-green eyes. He wanted to memorize the slope of the wolf’s nose and the scrunch of his eyebrow so he would never forget them. He’d tried so hard to keep himself away, not feeling like he deserved the things he wanted. For the first time since Deaton had told him about his spark he could finally feel it hum warmly beneath his skin. This is who he was. A boy with magic in his blood destined for greatness alongside the Hale Alpha. This was the person he probably, most definitely, loved. He was tired of fighting and pretending like he was okay. Being here, with Derek, on the edge of that something made Stiles feel like he was finally right where he belonged.

“Derek,” he murmured as the older man brought his hand up to Stiles’ cheek, thumb brushing over his skin, “there’s something I need to tell you.” 

“I think it can wait,” Derek replied as he leaned down to close the distance between them.

Stiles let his eyes flutter close, but just as Derek’s lips brushed against his own the door to the loft burst right open. Derek was in front of him, hands gripping Stiles’ protectively, eyes flashing, before they realized it was the pack pouring over the threshold. Isaac was carrying a lifeless Cora in his arms, a hysterical Lydia who Scott was half supporting right behind them. Malia, Kira, and Theo weren’t too far behind, their faces all covered in mud and what appeared to be dried blood.

“What happened?” Derek demanded, rushing forward to take his sister from Isaac. 

“We were just running our patrol,” Malia explained, eyes wide and terrified as Cora began foaming at the mouth, her body seizing as Derek carefully laid her on the ground, “and they attacked us. It was like they were waiting for us to be divided.”

“We heard Malia,” Isaac said, running a shaky hand through his hair, “and ran to them as fast as we could, that’s when one of the chimera’s stuck Cora with a scorpion-like tail.”

“We need to get her to Deaton,” Derek said urgently, hands over his sister uselessly.

“Deaton is out of town,” Scott whined, “something about his supply being ransacked a few days ago.”

“Then what the hell are we supposed to do?” Malia snarled, her blue eyes glowing intensely in the dim light of the loft.

“Stiles,” Lydia begged, her tear stained face turning towards him, “Stiles, you have to help her.”

Stiles had been frozen since he had laid eyes on Cora. His spark had snapped to life, burning from the pleasant warmth to a raging fire. He blinked a few times when he realized all eyes were on him.

“What?” He asked quietly, even though he had heard Lydia loud and clear.

Lydia stumbled out of Scott’s hold, grabbing Stiles by his shirt, “You can save her, I know you can.”

“Lydia,” Derek said calmly as he reached between them, gently placing his hands on Lydia’s arm, a quiet sign telling her to let Stiles’ go, “what are you talking about?”

Lydia gave Stiles a quick, regretful look before turning to Derek, “Deaton has been training him to be the pack emissary.”

“Emissary?” Theo asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s not—” Stiles began, but he couldn’t find the words to say as Derek gave him a look of betrayal, “I can explain.”

“If you’ve been training this whole time then heal her.” Derek growled, eyes drowning in crimson. 

It was a command. Stiles had never heard Derek talk to him like that before. He couldn’t refuse his Alpha so he kneeled next to Cora, the young wolf taking gasping breaths, and closed his eyes. He waited until the world quieted and the darkness crept in. He could see all of them, brightly colored strings connecting him to each member. Lydia, the soft pink, and Scott a vibrant green. Malia was a bright blue and Kira a radiant purple. Isaac was a soft orange and Cora a fiery yellow. He could even see Theo, a faint line of grey. Then there was Derek. Red. Always red. Always tied together. He reached for Cora’s string, grasping it tightly in his hands. He could taste the poison, bitter and raw, making him choke. He inhaled deeply, holding on with everything he had as he took the poison from her veins, letting it pass through the string between them. It evaporated into smoke when it brushed his finger tips. He clenched his teeth as the strain became too much, but he didn’t stop until all of it was gone. He gasped, eyes shooting open as he stumbled backwards.

“Cora!” Lydia cried happily, pulling her girlfriend to her chest as the beta took deep breaths.

“Holy shit,” Isaac said as he looked between Stiles and Cora, “how did you do that?”

Stiles felt his cheeks burning in shame. He knew what he did was good, that his training and his work had finally paid off. His spark snapped angrily beneath his skin, hot, prickling pain shooting up his arms, like it was angry he was ashamed of it. Everyone was looking at him expectantly, ready for the explanation, but Stiles was only looking at Derek. With a sinking feeling in his chest he realized that something between them was probably long gone as Derek turned away. 

“This is Scott leave a message!”

Stiles smashed his thumb against the screen to end the call. He let out a few, shaky breaths before he tried the next one. 

“You’ve reached Lydia Martin I can’t come—”

He hung up before it even finished. He went down the line trying Isaac, Kira, Malia, Cora, Melissa, and even fucking Peter, but they all went to voicemail. He was torn between laughing and crying because this was just his goddamn luck. He knew his dad was probably busy with work, but for the rest of the pack to ignore him when they were still in very serious danger, it hurt. He knew they all had lives outside of the supernatural, but it seemed like he was the only one who really sacrificed parts of himself without anything in return. He slammed the hood of his Jeep shut, placing his palms against the warm metal as he leaned his weight on it. He wanted to call Derek. He was desperately itching to pull up the Alpha’s name and hear his voice. Maybe Derek would give him an exasperated sigh, one that told Stiles the Jeep wasn’t worth keeping and it was getting late, but he was already on his way. He could imagine the fond smile as Stiles replied with a you’re the best, Sourwolf and their evening would end with milkshakes.

But, he couldn’t call Derek. Not after—

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek snapped, arms crossed against his chest defensively, “Aren’t I the alpha?”

“It’s not that simple,” Stiles snapped in return, “I wanted to tell you. I just wasn’t ready.”

“Stiles,” Derek exhaled a harsh breath through his nose, “I know it’s probably difficult for you, especially when your mo—”

“Don’t!” Stiles said, voice panicked, “Don’t bring her into this.”

“We’re supposed to trust each other,” Derek chewed out, “the Alpha and the Emissary, but you went behind my back.”

“I didn’t want to let you down!” Stiles yelled. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed or think I wasn’t worthy!”

Derek’s anger melted into something much worse and Stiles had to swallow the next, biting words down his throat. 

“Then maybe you don’t know me at all,” Derek replied quietly, turning away to leave Stiles all alone.

“Don’t be upset,” Jennifer smirked as she kicked her legs against the front of the Jeep from where she sat, perched on the hood, “Derek is used to being used.”

“I am not using Derek,” Stiles snarled, slamming a hand down, “I am not like you. Like Kate.”

Jennifer pursed her lips, “Aren’t you?” She carefully slid off of the Jeep, circling around Stiles, fingers brushing over his shoulders, “You’ve already betrayed him once, what’s a second time?”

“I’m not looking for power,” Stiles argued.

“That’s what we all say in the beginning,” Jennifer whispered, breath hot against his ear, “until you realize power is the only thing left worth taking.”

“Stop talking,” he gritted out, turning sharply, but Jennifer was gone. He inhaled deeply, knowing she had never really been there in the first place. Just another voice in his head. He reached for his phone again, making up his mind. The phone rang three times and Stiles was already regretting the call.

“Never thought I’d see the day that Stiles Stilinski would call me ,” and Stiles just fucking knew Theo was smirking on the other end of the line. 

He came close to hanging up, but a rumble of distant thunder forced him not to. “Don’t get used to it,” Stiles snarked back just to be an asshole, but Theo was the only one who had actually answered the phone, which weirdly hurt more than the rest of the pack ignoring him.

“Can I help you with something?” Theo asked, tone light with amusement.

“The Jeep broke down and the rest of the pack has decided I don’t exist, so—” Stiles began.

“So, you called your last resort, is that it?” Theo was still smirking because Stiles just knew he still was.

“Listen,” Stiles pressed the heel of his hand against his eye as he felt the beginnings of a headache creeping in, “if you’re busy just tell me I can walk home.”

“Stiles,” Theo chuckled, “we’re pack, tell me where you’re at and I’ll come get you. 

“Thanks,” Stiles replied a little more softly as he watched a streak of lightning ripple across the sky.

“Of course,” Theo’s voice was equally soft and maybe now he was actually smiling.

An hour later both boys trudged through Stiles’ front door, soaking wet and shivering from the cold. Well, Stiles was shivering and Theo was steaming, but that just came with the werewolf territory. They stood in the entrance way for a moment in an awkward silence before Stiles cleared his throat.

“Thanks, again,” he said, wiping his drenched hair out of his face, “you didn’t have to stand in the rain for a half hour trying to fix the Jeep.”

“Not a problem,” Theo shrugged, “like I said we’re pack.”

“Right,” Stiles nodded his head, “I guess that means something even if we’re not quite friends yet.”

“I’m hoping we can get there,” Theo said with a half smile, “and I understand that will take some time. I’ve heard the stories, and well, you’re right to be cautious.”

“It’s almost a fault,” Stiles laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, “at this point anyway.”

“Derek will come around,” Theo said as he moved towards the door, “he really cares about you.”

“It’s complicated,” Stiles murmured.

“Well, anyway,” Theo gave the boy a small wave of his hand, “have a goodnight, Stiles.”

Theo was halfway out the door before Stiles begrudgingly stopped him from going. Theo paused, eyebrow raised as he watched Stiles shift on his feet. Theo had proven he was one of them and that he cared. Stiles had fucked the pack dynamic up enough with how things between him and Derek currently were, so maybe he could start fixing something else.

“If you don’t have any plans maybe we could order pizza and watch a movie?” He asked, cheeks burning.

Theo grinned, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“I’m sure I have some dry clothes you can borrow,” Stiles threw his thumb over his shoulder, towards the stairs, “if you want.”

“That would be preferable to being soaked,” Theo replied, his cockiness returning full force.

Stiles rolled his eyes, “I can still change my mind.” 

Theo just chuckled as he followed Stiles up to the bedroom. The house was quiet save for the creaks in the attic from where the wind was blowing against the rafters. Thunder rumbled overhead as the storm grew stronger. Stiles flicked his bedroom light on, not even bothering to apologize for the current state of the room. His emissary books, journals, and homework from school were strewn about his desk and the floor. His white board was crammed with photos and theories about the missing chimera pack, including the x-ray of the sixth mystery chimera. His clothes were everywhere and his bed was a mess, even though he couldn’t remember the last time he had properly slept in it.

“Throwing some ragers in here?” Theo asked with a teasing smile.

“Yeah,” Stiles snipped sarcastically, “invitation only.”

He reached into his dresser and pulled out something clean for both of them to change into. Stiles would never understand how having no shame came with the bite, but all of the wolves felt it was completely unnecessary to allow privacy when changing. He wanted to punch the look off of Theo’s face as he eyed the beta’s torso for a moment.

“You like what you see?” Theo asked, licking his lips.

“You’re not my type,” Stiles said with a shrug of his shoulder, turning away to change in peace. His lips pulled down in a small frown as he turned, catching Theo’s half naked body again. There was a scar spanning almost the entirety of his chest. It looked old, like something that had healed years ago, but the scar was definitely still there. “That’s an interesting scar.” He said casually, pulling his eyes towards the window where he could watch Theo in the reflection of the glass.

“Just something from my childhood,” Theo shrugged as he pulled Stiles’ shirt over his head.

Stiles swallowed the lump forming in his throat as his skin began to prick uncomfortably. If Theo had been bitten by an Alpha he wouldn’t have the scar. He knew this because Scott no longer had any of his childhood marks. Bitten and born wolves wouldn’t have scars, but maybe a wolf that was created did. Stiles tried to keep his heart rate level as he finished dressing, but his spark was burning in his blood. 

A message. A warning. 

“Something like a heart transplant?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but he knew Theo had heard him, because he could see the beta freeze in the reflection of the window. 

It was quiet for a moment before Theo sighed, “Oh Stiles,” and now Stiles was slowly turning to look at him, “I just needed a little bit more time.”

“It’s you,” Stiles felt frozen, his fingertips crackling with electricity as his spark prepared for something , “I was fucking right about you.”

“God,” Theo’s false niceties had fallen away now, his face hardening, “you’re so annoying. Leave it to Stiles fucking Stilinski to figure it out and ruin my day.”

“Gladly,” he snarled through clenched teeth.

“Don’t worry.” Theo said, “I need you alive for what comes next.”

“What comes next,” Stiles laughed, but it sounded a little hysterical, “you’re joking, right? We take you down like every other bad guy that’s waltzed into this godforsaken town.”

“You said it yourself,” Theo cocked his head to the side, “it’s like the rest of the pack decided you don’t exist.”

“You’re not pack.” Stiles growled.

“Not yours,” Theo’s smile made his face look cruel. 

There was an ear shattering crack of thunder, the house lighting up before the power went out. Stiles knew he needed to get the fuck out of the house and find Derek, but in the darkness there were suddenly six pairs of glowing eyes surrounding him.

“But my pack,” Theo’s voice came from behind him now, “we are never alone.”

Derek crumbled the plastic cup in his hand, throwing it carelessly into the nearby trash can, ignoring how bitter the coffee tasted against his tongue or how it burned down his throat. All of the betas were eyeing him wearily, wavering between concern and anxiety as they all shifted nervously on their feet. Scott appeared to be the most visibly distraught as he asked Theo again about the last time he had seen Stiles. Derek couldn’t blame the beta, he nearly had Theo pinned against the wall until he was sure there wasn’t a skip in the boy’s heart as he told his story.

“Scott,” Theo snapped, “I already told you I dropped Stiles off at home after he called me about his Jeep breaking down.”

“Sorry,” Scott mumbled, running a hand through his hair, “sorry, I’m just—” he took a shaking breath as Isaac ran a soothing hand over his back, “I should have answered when Stiles called, but I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

“He called all of us,” Lydia added miserably, “this isn’t on you, Scott.”

All of them except Derek. He tried not to let that hurt. It shouldn’t have been surprising with how their last conversation went, but Derek liked to think that no matter what Stiles would call if he was in trouble. He wondered if he had misread where they stood with each other. He couldn’t believe that Stiles would ever think Derek would be disappointed or find him worthless if he failed at being the pack emissary. He couldn’t think of anyone else he would trust more with the job, but Stiles had gone behind his back and maybe he didn’t have a right to be upset, but he couldn’t stop the feeling of betrayal burning in his chest. Derek had always known, deep down, that there was something magical about Stiles, he just wished Stiles had thought better of him to share it. 

“If I had known,” Theo began, voice trembling as he hung his head, “I wouldn’t have left. I should have sensed the chimeras.”

“You’re the only one who answered Stiles,” Malia said with an exasperated sigh, “so don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Derek couldn’t get the image of Stiles with the tube shoved down his throat, black tar pumping into his veins out of his head. This was his fault. And maybe that was the real reason Stiles hadn’t told him about his training, his spark, because he knew Derek had never been worthy of the title alpha no matter how much he pretended to be one. When Malia’s phone buzzed all of their heads snapped in her direction.

“It’s Peter,” she said, quickly answering it, “anything?” They watched as Malia mulled her lip between her teeth, nodding her head as Peter talked on the other end of the line. “Where are you?” Another paused before she huffed, “We’ll be right there.”

“What did Peter say?” Cora asked, stepping closer to her.

“He said he picked up Stiles’ scent on the other side of town near Echo House,” she said, her tone grave as the room suddenly went cold with fear.

No one said anything as they all looked at each other. They were all thinking the same thing. Stiles and Echo House were tied in a dark and deadly web, spun by Void. Derek had woken Stiles from countless nightmares about that place and the most he could do was promise Stiles he never had to set foot in that place ever again.

“Go,” Derek said quietly, “and help Peter.”

“Where are you going?” Cora asked, eyebrow raised.

“I’m going to have another look around Stiles’ room,” he said, making up his mind. Something told him that’s where he needed to be, like a pull he couldn’t ignore. “If you find anything, let me know.”

The pack nodded before they gathered up anything they might need and headed out the door. Derek rolled his shoulders, his head beginning to throb painfully, but there was only one thought running through his mind, a never ending circuit of find Stiles banging against his skull. He had maintained his composure in front of the others, but the fear and the anger were beginning to set in and he had to take deep breaths to steady himself.

“Derek,” he was surprised to see Theo still standing in the loft, “I have to tell you something.”

“What?” Derek growled, knowing he didn’t have time for a superiority complex.

“Stiles,” Theo looked off in the distance, eyes focused on some unfixed point, “he said something to me.”

Derek just arched an eyebrow, waiting for Theo to continue. He wished his head wasn’t pounding so terribly. He blinked a few times, his vision blurring, as he tried to remain alert.

“He said he figured it out,” Theo continued, “he said he knew who was behind this whole thing.”

“Who?” Derek asked, feeling his stomach churn, knees beginning to go weak as he struggled to stand up right.

Theo met Derek’s gaze, his lips twisting up wickedly, “Me.”

Derek crashed to the floor as his world went completely black.

He knew. He knew exactly where he was before he opened his eyes. The stench of this place - of smoke and ash and home - were branded into his lungs, weighing heavily on his tongue. He would never be able to rid himself of it. He was cursed to carry the crumbled remains of the Hale house for the rest of his goddamn life. He wasn’t surprised to find that he was chained to the charred ground that once held so much life. Wasn’t he always going to be its prisoner? He groaned as he slowly sat back against the metal grate he had been bound to. His head was still pounding and he could feel the current of electricity prickling against his skin. 

“All I wanted,” Derek’s eyes snapped open, dark red narrowing in on the boy a few feet in front of him, “was someone to understand. Someone to be on my side.” Theo took a step forward, his face hard and angry, just like he was that night he begged Derek for the bite, “A pack.”

“You wanted revenge,” Derek stated calmly, the tick in his jaw the only thing giving him away, “and I know what that can do to a person. I didn’t want that for you.”

“It’s not about what you wanted!” Theo snapped, hand slamming into a wall, wood splintering in all directions. “You turned me away because you were afraid of what I might become.”

Derek swallowed, “And what is that?”

Theo smiled, but it was twisted and cruel, “You already know that answer, Derek.”

“Where’s Stiles?” Derek growled, already tired of playing this game. He didn’t want to sit here and feed Theo’s ego when Stiles was in very real danger. 

“For so long I thought about being one of you,” Theo laughed, clearly ignoring Derek, “and that maybe, you’d change your mind one day, but you know something, Derek?” Theo asked, kneeling down so that they were at eye level, “You’re not a very good Alpha.”

Derek clenched his jaw tightly, refusing to take the bait.

“Where’s Boyd?” Theo asked, knowing it was a low blow, “Where’s Erica? Weren’t they the chosen ones?”

“Fuck off,” Derek seethed, a strong shock of electricity hitting him as he lunged towards Theo.

Theo didn’t flinch, a smirk filling his face knowing he was getting the rise he wanted. He quickly stood up, reaching into his pocket to pull out a familiar book. 

“I was in a dark place,” he said, waving it for Derek to see, “and one day I happened upon this and suddenly,” he flipped through the pages dramatically, “everything I could ever want was right there in my fingertips.”

Derek remained silent, wearily watching Theo pace back and forth. He wondered how long he had been gone and if the pack had noticed. He knew they were clear across town if Theo had sent them to a dead end at Echo House. He had a sickening feeling Stiles was not too far away.

“So they turned you into a chimera,” Derek relented when he realized Theo was waiting for him to say something. “So you could hunt down the person that killed your family.”

“Slaughtered,” Theo corrected, “it slaughtered them. You said revenge wasn’t worth it, but goddamn did it feel cathartic to rip that beast to shreds.”

“You got what you wanted then,” Derek said, “why come back here? Why destroy the lives of five innocent teenagers?”

“I wouldn’t say Donovan was innocent,” Theo smirked with a cocked eyebrow, “but he got what was coming to him. Just a pawn in a much larger game.” Theo bent down again, holding the book between them, “If you can offer them something that is worth their while they’ll give you anything you ask.”

“And what did they want?” Derek asked.

Theo shrugged his shoulders, “All I had to say were two words: Beacon Hills and they handed me the world.” He ran his thumb over the worn cover, eyes curiously glancing at the masked faces, “Must be something very valuable here.”

Derek felt his mouth go dry as he thought of the way all three Doctors had been bent over Stiles, like he was the most interesting thing in the world.

“I never forgot that promise I made you,” Theo continued and Derek could see something shifting behind the boy in the darkness. “One day you’re going to be sorry, Derek and I’m going to enjoy taking away the only thing you’ve ever wanted,” he quoted calmly before grinning. “A bit dramatic, I know.” 

“Is that what this is about?” Derek growled, pulling at his bonds, “Destroying my pack?”

Theo rolled his head from side to side, an indecisive look crossing his face, “It was.”

Was.

Derek didn’t need to repeat the word for Theo to know he had clearly heard the past tense. They had been operating on the idea that the chimeras were created to take down the Hale Pack and now, Derek was terrified the motive was about to become much worse. Theo was grinning again as he stood up.

“You see, once my pack was born,” Theo explained as he moved to the darkness where four pairs of eyes were now watching them, “we were going to annihilate you.”

Derek snarled, teeth snapping before he was dealt a painful blow of electricity.

“And then something happened,” Theo paused, turning to look at Derek, “I saw the way you looked at someone.”

Derek felt his breath hitch in his throat. No. No. No. No . This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fucking fair. There was only one person — one person — Theo could be talking about. He wanted to rip the fucking knowing smile that was growing incredibly wide on the boys face. He knew Theo could hear how hard his heart was pounding in his chest and he was ravishing in it.

“And I didn’t want to believe it,” Theo laughed, “because, really , Stiles Stilinski of all people?”

He stepped into the darkness, roughly grabbing something before harshly throwing an unconscious body to the ground. Derek roared, straining against his chains, until the pain in his body was too much to overcome. He fell back against the grate, his breath coming out hard, chest heaving as he looked at Stiles’ unmoving form. The boy’s hands were tied together and there was a piece of duct tape covering his mouth. There were bruises lining his cheekbones and jawline, and trickles of dried blood leading from his hairline. His eyes were closed, his breaths coming out unevenly.

“Don’t worry,” Theo said with a roll of his eyes as he aimed a light kick at Stiles’ ribs, “he’s still alive.”

“Don’t fucking touch him,” Derek spat.

Theo gave Derek a knowing look, “You could have anyone in the entire world and somehow you chose this guy?”

“You don’t know him,” Derek murmured.

“Don’t I?” Theo laughed meanly. “God, he just won’t shut the fuck up. How can you stand to listen to him talk all the time?”

Derek hated how Theo talked about Stiles. He didn’t know a goddamn thing about who Stiles was. The things he had been through. The people he had helped. Had saved. He had saved Derek over and over again. In more ways than one. 

Theo grabbed Stiles’ face, roughly squeezing the boy’s cheeks between his hands, “Stiles is nothing more than a paranoid, hyperactive spaz who can’t keep his nose out of other people’s business,” He growled before throwing Stiles back on the ground. 

“He figured you out,” Derek said, his entire body vibrating with fury, “and that pisses you off. Stiles saw right through you and it took your entire pack to take him down.”

“The emissary thing was a surprise,” Theo said, “I’ll give him that.”

Derek could see Stiles stirring slightly, uneven breath exhaling harshly, eyes still closed as his fingers scratched against the wood. 

“Just when you thought he couldn’t be any more of a pain,” Theo sighed, “he goes and proves me wrong. I mean, I had to save his life before he could even think about trusting me.” He tilted his head to the side, watching as Stiles slowly came to, “And then I had to account for the magic, which just made things messy.”

Theo leaned down, ripping the tape from Stiles’ mouth before patting his cheek forcefully, “Rise and shine, Stilinski.”

“Fuck you, Theo,” Stiles groaned out, his voice hoarse and strained.

“You’re not my type,” Theo mocked as he took a knife, cutting Stiles’ bonds loose, “and don’t even think of trying anything magical, I made sure the Doctors gave you a special concoction before this little meeting.”

Derek watched as Stiles slowly closed his eyes, teeth gritting as he carefully propped himself up on his knees. It wasn’t until he was fully facing Derek now, eyes blinking open did his breath catch in his throat.

“Let him go,” Stiles said immediately, “or I swear to god—”

“Or you’ll what, Stiles?” Theo asked as he grabbed Stiles by the neck, claws pricking the edges of his skin, causing Derek to roar behind them. “You’re powerless right now,” Stiles’ hands were gripping Theo’s arm, but the chimera didn’t let go, “so why don’t you leave the threats to me?”

He threw Stiles down again, rolling his eyes. Stiles threw a harsh glare the boy’s way before he turned to Derek, eyes growing wide with panic.

“Now that you’re both here,” Theo was smiling again, “we can begin.”

“You just going to talk us to death?” Stiles asked with heavy sarcasm.

“See,” Theo huffed an annoyed laugh, “here’s the thing, I thought killing that beast that murdered my family felt great, but killing you, Stiles, is going to feel better.”

“Like I haven’t heard that one before,” Stiles replied.

“Stiles,” Derek growled, “shut up.”

“Isn’t it so cute how much he cares about you?” Theo asked as he reached into a small bag sitting on the floor beside him, “The thing Derek wants most in the world. The thing he would do anything for.”

Stiles’ gaze was on Derek now, his face softening, but Derek could only give him a look of anguish, because he knew what the price of wanting someone as badly as he wanted Stiles was.

“I could torture both of you,” Theo said with a small shrug of his shoulders, “but real pain is emotional,” he pulled a gun from the bag, holding it loftily in his hands, “that is the kind of pain that lasts.”

“Theo,” Stiles said carefully, “don’t—”

“Stiles, I’m not here to kill Derek,” he nodded his head and two of his pack members stepped forward, grabbing Stiles. They shoved him into burnt floorboards, holding him in place, “I’m here to hurt him. To make him pay.”

“Stop.” Derek seethed as Theo moved towards Stiles, “Theo god damnit, stop!”

“And to do that,” he whispered, placing the barrel against Stiles’ head, “you don’t go after him. You go after someone he loves.”

Stiles closed his eyes, face scrunching in terrified acceptance. Derek knew he was begging, pulling painfully at his chains to get to Stiles, because he couldn’t watch the boy die. He just couldn’t fucking do it. He didn’t care how badly he hurt or if his efforts were futile. He had to try . He had to save Stiles.

“But that would be too easy,” Theo immediately pulled back, the tension in the room snapping as Stiles took a shuddering breath and Derek fell back against the grate. “Too quick.”

“God,” Stiles said as the chimeras released him, “I hope you fucking rot.”

“You first,” Theo grinned. He put the gun away before moving back to Stiles, kneeling behind the boy so his lips were brushing against Stiles’ ear, “What do you think would break Derek more than watching you die?”

Stiles only gave him a murderous look, refusing to answer.

“Come on Stiles,” Theo pouted, “you’re the smart one, right? Always figuring it out while the rest of the pack fucks off.”

When Stiles remained silent Theo fisted the boy's hair, slamming his face into the wood. Derek snarled at the whimper of pain spilling over Stiles’ lips, but Theo just ignored him as he repeated, “What would break Derek more than watching you die?”

Stiles just dug his fingers into the wood, blood gushing from his nose. 

“No?” Theo sighed in disappointment. He pulled Stiles back up and suddenly the temperature in the room dropped, the air singing with metallic clicks. Stiles’ wide and terrified eyes were looking in the direction where three pairs of glowing eyes were heading right towards them. “Fine,” Theo released Stiles as he stood up, “I’ll answer it for you.”

The Dread Doctors stopped just shy of the broken entryway, a silver case in their hand. The Surgeon clicked the case opening, holding whatever was inside out to Theo. The boy reached in, picking up a giant syringe filled with that black tar like substance inside.

“What could break Derek more than watching you die?” Theo asked again, smiling as he looked between Stiles and Derek, “Killing you himself.”

And, finally, it all made sense. Why the Dread Doctors had taken both of them. Why they had been experimenting on Stiles. Taking Derek’s blood. Because they were giving Theo the one thing that would utterly destroy the Hale Pack — destroy Derek — beyond repair. 

“Wait,” Stiles pleaded, eyes pricking with tears as he looked at Derek, “wait don’t do this, please.”

Derek felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest as the stench of panic and pure desperation rolled off of Stiles as he tried to stop Theo. Two of the chimeras only held him back as two others moved forward to keep Derek from resisting.

“I get everything I want,” Theo said softly. “It doesn’t matter if Derek doesn’t mean to. Scott and Lydia could never forgive him for what he did to Stiles. Malia and Cora might take his side, but the Hale Pack will be finished.”

“Theo,” Stiles growled, fighting the chimeras holding him, “get away from Derek!”

Theo was eye level with Derek now, pointedly ignoring Stiles’ pleas behind them. “You’re going to ruin him,” Theo murmured, “Just like Paige. Just like your family. Just like Erica and Boyd. Because that’s what you deserve, Derek.”

Derek wanted to scream that Theo was wrong, but wasn’t it the truth? Didn’t he turn everything he touched to ash?

“The trouble with wanting,” Theo said as he placed the needle against Derek’s neck, “is that it always comes with a price.”

He pushed the needle in, Stiles screaming NO behind them, as Derek roared. Theo nodded his head telling the chimeras to let both of them go. Stiles stumbled forward, inches from where Derek was writhing in pain.

“Derek,” Stiles cried out, hands shaking in the space between them, “Derek listen to me, this is not your fault.” Stiles had to take steady breaths to try and calm himself as Derek began ripping at the chains holding him back, eyes wild and red as he snapped his teeth at Stiles. “Derek, this isn’t you.”

Theo hooked his chin on Stiles’ shoulder, turning his smirk towards Stiles’ horrified face. “I’m going to make this fun,” Theo said, “and give you a head start.”

Stiles’ head snapped towards Theo, “What did you say?”

“Run, Stiles,” Theo said, “run.”

Stiles looked back at Derek, the chains nearing their breaking point as he snapped and thrashed in the air between them. He tried to reach for the string. The red string that tied them together, but there was nothing. Just darkness. He forced a sob away as he unsteadily got to his feet. It felt like a betrayal as he slowly backed away, Derek’s snarls saturating the air with ferocious hunger.

“Come on, Stiles,” Theo’s voice was louder now, commanding, “I said RUN!”

He turned and tripped out of the burnt Hale house, stumbling into the dark, surrounding forest. He should have known which way to go, but the trees all looked the same and the night was too dark and he couldn’t fucking breathe. Every part of him felt like it was on fire. He couldn’t feel his spark. There was only pain and fear. There was only the bitter taste of blood pooling in his mouth.

“Scott!” He desperately yelled, hoping that somehow his best friend could hear him, “SCOTT!”

He tried to imagine the vibrant green, like freshly grown grass or the first leaves of spring, connecting him to Scott. He couldn’t let Theo win. He couldn’t let Derek ki—

A deep growl nearly made him trip over an upturned root. He gripped the rough bark of the tree he had crashed into, chest heaving as he scanned the darkness for a hint of red. He knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun Derek. He was just delaying the inevitable. He wiped at the trail of blood still spilling from his nose. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He needed to focus. He could do this. He could save Derek. He could save Derek. He could…

He choked down a scream as the vision of his writhing body filled his senses. He was on a metal table. There was a tube shoved down his throat. Tar filling his veins like lead. He was in pain. So much pain. His spark was fighting, boiling his blood. He was being ripped apart from the inside out. I’m going to get you out of here was whispered against his skin, a pair of soft grey-green pinning him with a look of pained concern.

His eyes shot open as he fell back into the tree, gasping for air. Then he spotted them, the flash of red, watching him hungrily.

“Derek,” Stiles murmured, bloodied hand reaching out, “Derek, it’s me. You know me.”

He barely had time to throw himself out of the way as Derek lunged forward, cracking the tree in half with his weight. Stiles was on his feet, running again, but he didn’t make it far as the flash of red cut him off. He redirected himself, but Derek was there too. He slowly backed away, but as he did he felt something rush past him, claws digging deep into his back. Stiles fell forward, biting his tongue to stop himself from yelling. He could feel the lines of blood soaking his shirt from where he knew three giant scratch marks painted his back. He barely had time to gather himself as Derek flew past him again, this time nearly ripping his arm from his shoulder. Stiles didn’t fight the agonized scream this time. His head was swimming, his vision a blur, but before he could do anything he was suddenly on the ground, pressed roughly into the pine needles and the dirt. 

“Derek,” Stiles cried as he felt clawed hands pin his arms down, “Derek, please.”

Derek was hovering over him, fangs bared and eyes wild. The wolf hissed and snarled, snapping his teeth inches from Stiles’ face. Hot tears poured over Stiles’ cheeks. He knew — he knew — Derek would never recover from this. He had lost so much. And now, god, now he wouldn’t just be killing Stiles. He would be killing everyone else too. Derek was killing himself. He needed to know. He needed to know that he wasn’t the bad guy or the villain or the goddamn monster. This wasn’t his fault. Paige wasn’t his fault. His family wasn’t his fault. Boyd and Erica weren't his fault.

“Derek,” his voice was shaky, broken, “Derek it’s okay,” he said, trying hard not to sob, “it’s okay, this isn’t your fault.”

Derek’s teeth slowly grazed against Stiles’ throat, but Stiles didn’t stop.

“It’s okay,” Stiles repeated over and over again, “it’s okay, I love you, it’s okay. This isn’t your fault and it’s okay and I love you.”

There was a small exhale, warm breath billowing against his throat as Stiles said those three phrases like a mantra. The claws embedded in his skin carefully retracted and Stiles brought his shaking, bloodied hands up to cup Derek’s face. 

It’s okay. This isn’t your fault. I love you.

That’s when he finally felt it. The soft sigh of fabric falling down his wrist. The red string. He grabbed it, holding on with everything he had. 

Everything is connected. Beacon Hills and the Nemeton. Power and magic. Roots and blossoms. Alphas and emissaries. Stiles and Derek.

“Everything is connected,” Stiles whispered, “me and you.”

The string began to vibrate, the red bursting into a beautiful shade of gold, the ends holding them together spreading out like the roots of a tree. Stiles felt its warmth, its light spreading through him. He could feel Derek, too. All of his agony and sorrows. All of his joy and love. There were so many things they could have been if things were different, but he knew they were right where they belonged. He held onto Derek as the alpha’s weight sagged against his chest. He didn’t care how much it ached to hold Derek in his arms. He was never letting go.

“Stiles,” Derek murmured, “Stiles.”

“I’m right here,” Stiles said, not stopping the sob this time, “I’m right here, big guy.”

Derek nuzzled gently against the crook of Stiles’ neck. After a moment he pulled back, eyes grey-green, face soft and pained as he looked down at the boy.

“Definitely my save this time,” Stiles tried for a smile, but Derek’s warm hand cupping his cheek made it difficult to do anything other than cry. 

Derek exhaled a low chuckle, “Yeah, your save.” Stiles could see that he was holding back his own tears, his throat bobbing as he swallowed harshly.

“Not your fault,” Stiles whispered, “it’s not your fault.”

Derek nodded his head, eyes tightly shut, “Stiles, I—”

Derek was suddenly thrown from Stiles, soaring across the darkness before disappearing behind a group of trees. Stiles pushed himself up, breath hitching in his throat as Theo looked down at him, gold eyes narrowed in anger.

“God,” Theo snarled, “if you want something done right you have to do it yourself around here.”

Stiles tried to push himself backwards, but his shoulder was still severely dislocated, he had a couple of cracked ribs, his head was spinning, and he felt so fucking drained. Theo grabbed a hold of him, slamming him into the nearest tree.

“Theo, wai—” Stiles’ words died on his lips as Theo’s long, sharp claws pierced his abdomen, digging deep, too deep. Stiles brought his hands to the wound, fresh blood dripping onto his already stained hands.

“You know,” Theo laughed, “it would have been way more satisfying to watch Derek tear you apart, but this feels good too.”

He ripped his claws from Stiles, wrapping them around Stiles’ throat now. Stiles took a shuddering breath, his spark snapping furiously. He could feel the fire building behind his eyes, the stench of smoke filling his nostrils as he gripped Theo’s hand. Theo’s eyes grew wide, his hand tightening around Stiles’ throat and for the first time since he had returned to Beacon Hills he looked scared.

“I’m going to make you wish you never came back, ” Stiles snarled in a terrifyingly deep voice.

Theo screamed, dropping Stiles like his hand had been severely burned. Stiles landed on his feet, eyes two white, hot flames as he towered over Theo.

“My pack took you down once,” Theo growled, holding his blackened hand against his chest, “and they can do it again.”

The chimeras were surrounding him now, hissing and snapping their teeth at Stiles.

“Here’s the thing about my pack, Theo,” Stiles moved forward, “we are never alone.”

Stiles didn’t need to see them to know they were there. The chimeras looked at Theo, unsure as they stumbled back behind their leader. He could hear their footsteps, feel the strings connecting them together. Scott reached him first, teeth bared, roar echoing the rest of the betas as they stopped, forming a line behind him. Derek drew even with Stiles, a small breath of heat between them.

“You think you won?” Theo laughed hysterically. “You think you’re all stronger than me ?”

“It’s over Theo,” Derek said, “no one needs to get hurt.”

“You don’t get it,” Theo spat, “I’m not the one that’s going to be hurt. I’m going to wipe your little pack off the face of Beacon Hills, Derek.” He turned his snarling teeth towards Stiles, “And I’m going to make you watch.”

“I don’t think you will,” Stiles smiled before slamming his palm into the ground. 

The earth trembled, sending a shock wave right for the chimera pack. They were all blown backwards and there was only a moment of silence, the calm before a storm before the Hale Pack charged forward. Stiles remained rooted to his spot, using his magic like a shield to protect them from any deadly blows. He could hear Derek’s protective snarl, his movements sharp and powerful as he faced Theo. And if anything dared to come close to Stiles, Derek was right there to stop them. 

“GET BACK HERE!” Theo roared as the chimeras stumbled into the depths of the preserve, beaten and scared. Theo turned back, startled when he realized he was face to face with Stiles.

“Im going to give you a head start,” Stiles smirked, “so you better start running, Theo.”

Theo’s wild eyes darted between all of the pack members, eyes glowing and teeth bared. The chimera swallowed harshly, wiping at the fresh blood smeared across his cheeks, “The things we want always come with a price, and someday you’ll pay yours.”

He threw one, last fleeting look between Stiles and Derek before disappearing into the darkness. Stiles exhaled, all of his fight and his power fading into that quiet hum beneath his skin. He turned, eyeing the rest of the pack to make sure they were all okay. They were covered in dirt and blood, but they were smiling, arms throwing around each other in comfort. Stiles felt a warm hand at the small of his back. It was the small reminder of home and safety. It was Derek. Like a wave crashing against the shore all of the pain and exhaustion hit Stiles with such force he was suddenly falling to the ground.

“Stiles,” Derek said, holding the boy to his chest, “hey, Stiles look at me.”

Stiles blinked a few times, the world starting to slow down around him, “Don’t worry, Sourwolf,” he slurred, “I’ll heal.”

“I’m always going to worry,” Derek said with a half smile as black lines began to swim up his veins.

“I just need to sleep for a day or two,” Stiles sighed, “or maybe an entire week.”

“I’ll be there when you wake up then,” Derek replied, gently kissing the top of Stiles’ forehead.

“I know,” Stiles breathed, eyes fluttering close, “I know.”

“I need you! Hey! I fucking need you!”

“Failure. You will now be terminated.”

“Wait,” Theo backed into a corner, arms held out in defense, “wait! I can give you whatever you want!”

“Payment complete. Failure. You will now be terminated.”

“STOP! YOU CAN’T DO THIS! YOU CAN’T—”

“Termination complete.”

Stiles clutched his mothers journals in his hands, shifting on his feet as he watched his father move around the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. When the older man finally turned he perked a curious eyebrow as he looked at his son.

“Stiles,” his father said as he took a seat at the kitchen table, “is something on your mind?”

Stiles mulled his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, fingers running along the grooves of the worn pages. He had spent so much time reading over his mothers words.Trying to understand her. Resenting her. Missing her. While he knew there was still so much to untangle and things to work through, he was beginning to understand who his mother really was and the choices she had made. He could understand how the loss of her connection with Talia, the feeling of reaching for the string and finding nothing but darkness and despair, would be enough to send you over the edge. He was still a ways from forgiveness, but it was a start.

“I, um,” Stiles began, slowly sitting in the chair across from his father, “I found these journals mom left,” he took in a deep breath, “and I want to tell you something about her. About me.”

John reached across the table, gripping Stiles’ hand tightly, lips curling into a small, sad smile, “Okay, Stiles, I’ve got all day for you.”

“So,” Derek said as he looked up at Stiles, the latter plastered against his chest, nearly half asleep as the credits for whatever movie they had been watching rolled in the background, “Hale Pack Emissary.”

“Are you officially asking me if I want the job?” Stiles asked with a grin as he propped his chin on his arms.

“I’m not sure if there was ever anyone else,” Derek said with a small shrug of his shoulders.

“I’m still learning,” Stiles said seriously, “and I’m probably going to fail a lot.”

“No one really has it all figured out,” Derek replied.

“I hope you realize this means you’re stuck with me for good,” Stiles said, his grin slowly spreading across his face again.

“Everything is connected,” Derek murmured, “you and me.”

Stiles leaned in to close the distance between them. Derek responded in kind, cupping Stiles’ face as he deepened the kiss, licking hot into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles’ arms snaked around Derek’s neck, pulling the wolf closer. After a moment he pulled back causing Derek to arch a confused eyebrow.

“What?” He asked as Stiles suddenly got to his feet.

“Dude,” Stiles laughed as he moved towards the chalkboard where their save tally was kept, “I totally saved you big time, that should count as like, four saves.”

Derek was behind him now, growling, “I don’t think so,” he picked up Stiles from behind, carrying the laughing boy back to the couch.

“Derek!” Stiles yelled, “Come on, that is totally fair!”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek grinned before kissing him again.

“The Hale Alpha and Stilinski Emissary.” The Geneticist said, laying down a picture of Derek on a cold, metal table.

“The perfect match.” The Pathologist added a picture of Stiles next to the picture of Derek.

“The perfect killer.” The Surgeon said as its bright, glowing eyes turned away from the pair of pictures, towards the tube of bubbling, black tar.

“The perfect killer.” They said in unison.