Archive of Our Own ^beta

Stiles could feel every beat vibrate through his body as he rocked on the dance floor. He may have had a few drinks too many, his vision was blurred, but it helped him to shut his mind up for once and ignore the world around him.

A stranger's hand griped his hip tightly as he could feel a body nestle against his. When the stranger began grinding into him he could clearly feel his erection against his ass. The stranger's body reminded him of the one he really wanted. Wide shoulders, strong arms, big hands.

It also reminded him that he really shouldn't be doing this, but he was sidetracked by a hot mouth on his neck. He leaned his head back, exposed his neck and was rewarded with wet kisses and sharp nips.

Stiles melted, let the other take full control over the rocking of their bodies. He felt ready to burst when he felt a sharp pain in his side.

-:-

He opened his eyes and was greeted by a cold, dusty concrete floor. He groaned as he tried to sit up straight. Everything hurt. He didn't even know he could hurt so much.

He rubbed his eyes, but was distracted by the cuff around his wrist that was connected to the wall via an mountain ash laced chain. He checked the other wrist just to find the same. He was contained in the Hale basement that was usually reserved for bad full moons.

His head snapped up when the door slid open and Peter walked in carrying a sandwich and some bottles. Noticing his state of being awake he slid the food and one of the bottles over to him without moving from the doorway.

Stiles didn't know how hungry he was until he tore the paper around the sandwich to shreds and devoured it in a few bites. He grabbed the bottle and drank the water greedily. He closed the cap on the empty bottle and rolled it back over.

Thirst and hunger sated for the moment he addressed Peter. “Why am I here Peter?” he asked.

Peter ran his eyes over his face. “We found you leaning over Derek's ripped open chest with his blood on your brand new claws right next to another wolf with his throat ripped open.”

Stiles stilled. He was a werewolf? And Derek was hurt? “What about the others?”

“The others think that you attacked Derek. A newly turned werewolf with no control lashing out against the nearest person. Combine that with the fact that Derek is healing very slowly and you have yourself a very unhappy pack.”

Stiles didn't know what to say to that, to learn that his friends thought him capable of killing Derek. “What,” he said, not even having the energy to turn it into a question.

Peter shrugged. “We're all just waiting until Derek wakes up and hear his side of the story. They mostly just want Derek to confirm what they believe to be true so that Derek himself can officially kick you out, which I highly doubt would happen. Either way, until then you're staying right here.”

Stiles was quiet for a few moments, letting his brain analyze the new information. “Oh geez,” he groaned lowly. “For once I didn't do it and I still get blamed for it.” He tried to joke, but failed as his light chuckle turned into a rough cough.

Peter frowned and rolled another bottle to him. “Personally, I knew it wasn't you because going straight for the heart just isn't your style. Throat ripping on the other hand appears to be very easy for you.”

Stiles choked out a sob before silencing the ones that followed by drinking.

-:-

He immediately tried to remove himself from the stranger's arms, but the claws digging into his side made it impossible. Slowly the stranger lead him out back. Stiles cursed the lighting in the club that allowed for them to pass freely even though blood was running down his side.

Once they were outside, the claws slowly left his flesh and he ripped himself free. Knowing that he'd never manage to run away he instead turned to his attacker and kicked him in the balls. The other bend over in pain which Stiles used to punch him in the face. Only then did he try to make an escape.

He almost made it when he was tackled from behind. He bit his inner cheek and scratched his hands open when he fell. He looked at the man on his back whose split lip was visibly healing.

“I can see why Hale likes you. Too bad he won't be around long enough to appreciate you,” he said, grinning down at Stiles. Stiles of course couldn't keep his mouth shut.

“You're more stupid than I thought if you think that you could kill Derek and not have the whole pack after you, hunting you down until they get their revenge,” Stiles spat out around a mouthful of blood.

“Me?” the man asked. “Oh no. I'm not the one that's gonna kill him and have the whole pack after my ass. Oh no. That's all you and they'll never even find out about little old me.” The man chuckled as Stiles' gaze fell to his nails that slowly turned into claws before his eyes.

-:-

He eyed his claws. The ones that the pack thought he used to hurt Derek with. The ones Peter said he used to rip out a throat.

Now that he knew he was a wolf he spend his time trying to get to know his new senses. He knew what things should feel like, what he could do in theory.

The claws were surprisingly easy, came almost natural to him as did the fangs, but maybe that was just a side-effect of the chains: subduing his power until it was easy enough for him to control with almost no training.

They did dampen his other senses a lot as well. He couldn't hear beyond the basement and even then most times it was as if he had cotton in his ears. His sight only improved if he flashed his eyes and his sense of smell was on a barely human level which he was thankful for. He stinks enough as it is no reason to smell more of it.

Stiles turned his attention inward, searching for the pack bonds. He found the bond he shared with his father, now more pronounced than ever. He found a surprisingly strong one with Peter, but no other bond with the pack existed.

He knew that they were mad at him, but if he ever was pack then he should at least have something. But it was even worse considering he'd take the non-existing bonds over what he shared with Derek. From his end the bond was strong, stronger than Peter's, but not as strong as his father's.

Derek's end was dark and weak, crumbling away into a dark void. He wished Derek was here, even if he kicked him out it would be better than whatever that was.

-:-

Stiles walked stiffly to the place he knew Derek was at. He couldn't see the other wolf anymore, his vision still blurry long after his transformation burned the alcohol out of his system. He knew he was close however. Could feel his gaze on his form, watching, waiting for the right time to reveal himself.

He found Derek way too soon, stepping outside of his car from where he went to his favorite corner store. He wished he could see Derek clearly, warn him away from what was supposed to happen. As it was he could barely make out his face.

“Stiles, what are you doing here?” Derek asked concerned.

It ripped Stiles' apart that once again Derek would be hurt by a person he trusted at least on some level. He watched Derek's blurry form step closer, heard his voice rise slightly, but he could no longer hear him.

He only heard one thing. One command ringing through his head. “Do it.”

-:-

“Why can't I feel the others?” Stiles asked Peter the next day when he brought him breakfast. “I get that they don't really like me right now, but with Derek as a shared alpha at the moment there should be something, right?”

“That's because you aren't Derek's beta. Nor are you anyone's beta for that matter.”

Stiles looked at him questioningly.

“Did you not ask yourself who exactly the other wolf was to you?” Stiles eyes widened in realization. “Yes, the reason you have no pack bonds with them is because you're an alpha yourself. Which is also why you're down here and not somewhere more comfortable. We couldn't risk having an out of control alpha running around again. Me doing that was enough for at least another decade.”

Stiles understood that. It took way too many deaths and bites to bring Peter down and he was still weak from the fire and coma back then. Stiles being an alpha explained a lot of things, but not one.

“Why do I have a bond with you then?”

“While I no longer care about being alpha myself, following my nephew and his little gang of confused children around is not how I'd prefer to spend my days.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but nodded. It felt good knowing that Peter was on his side. He'd keep Stiles safe. He still wished that Derek was with him.

-:-

When his vision cleared it was to the sight of a ripped open throat. Stiles almost had to vomit at it especially once he looked down at his hands and saw them covered in blood. He whipped his head around, scanning the area for any sign of of Derek, but he couldn't see him anywhere and his pounding heartbeat made it hard to hear.

Stiles breathing was getting shorter when he heard a quiet gasp for breath. He quickly stood up and ran around Derek's car.

He wasted no time to put his hands over the bleeding wound. He tried to pull out some of his pain, but only succeeded in taking short bursts that left him exhausted.

He buried his face in Derek's neck and began pleading with him. “Please don't leave me. Not like this. Please.”

-:-

Stiles woke up to voices slowly getting louder. They were clearly still outside the basement so he felt sorry about who ever was on the receiving end of them. The loud slam of the outer door shut them up enough.

For a moments nothing happened and Stiles thought he'd be alone again, but then he heard it: Slow, dragging steps echoed through the tunnels coupled with the sound of someone panting for air and a weak, irregular heartbeat.

They came to as stop in front of his door and slid it open. Stiles sat up straighter when he saw Derek leaning against the doorway. He was slightly out of breath, his hair wet with sweat and dark rings around his eyes.

Stiles let out a small whimper at the sight. Derek let out a relieved sigh before he staggered over to Stiles. As he came closer Stiles opened his arms ready to help Derek sit which Derek actually needed as he nearly fell over.

Stiles ran his hands over Derek, careful to avoid the wound on his chest. “I'm sorry,” he whispers looking at where Derek bled through his shirt. Derek looked at him and gently framed Stiles face with his hands, brushed his fingers through Stiles' unwashed hair, not caring about their lack of hygiene.

“Don't you know why he went after you?” Derek asked. Stiles shook his head lightly and Derek smiled at him. “He went straight for the heart, my heart. He knew that I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.”

Derek littered Stiles' face with small kisses whenever Stiles was about to speak up. With each kiss Stiles could feel the bond that they share strengthen.

“And then, when he tried to use you to kill me, thinking you'd listen to his every command, you turned on him, threw him off when he decided to finish the job himself. I've never been more happy about you not doing what you're told,” Derek sad with a small chuckle. “You saved me.”

“Bu-,” Stiles wanted to protest again, but was cut off by Derek pressing their lips together. It was far from perfect, their dry lips rubbing uncomfortable against each other and each of them stinking of the hardships of the last few days. Yet somehow, that made it perfect to him.

Derek pulled out a key and opened the cuffs. Stiles wasted no time to warp his arms around Derek's shoulders and pulling him close. He buried his face in Derek's neck and felt Derek do the same.

“My heart.”

“My Derek.”