Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s quiet in Beacon Hills, a rarity Derek is taking full advantage of. With the Betas at Stiles’s place and the loft quiet, Derek sets out on a mission. He scrubs down his bathroom – the one connected to his bedroom that the betas don’t know about – and lights citrus-scented candles to get rid of the bleach smell. It’s an hour wait, but Derek spends the time reading some thriller Stiles had recommended.

With the bathroom clean, smelling warm and summer-like despite the howling winds swarming the town, Derek plugs the stopper into the drain of his tub. He lets the water rise a little, relishing in the steam, before he drizzles in lemon oil and drops in a bath bomb. He smiles as it fizzes, watching the oranges and yellows bubble and swirl into nothingness. He hums along to the soft music he has playing – Hozier, because Derek will always support a fellow werewolf – as he strips of his clothes, piece by piece.

The water is perfect by the time Derek sinks in, engulfing him to the neck in warm, zesty comfort. Stiles would love this, Derek thinks. He’d love the colorful, shimmering water and the dim lighting; Derek would love the feel of Stiles’s freckled back pressed to his chest, the boy’s head leaning on Derek's shoulder.

And then Stiles would turn, spilling just the slightest bit of water over the tub’s edge. He’d nestle into Derek’s lap, wrap his legs around the man’s waist, And Derek would take. He’d take and give and take and give until he was empty, wrung out from Stiles’s heat. They’d lay there, dirty, until the water lost its warmth. Derek would make them shower, then. Stiles would whine, but he’d listen. And they’d kiss, soft and sweet, like real couples do. And Derek wouldn’t have to fantasize, wouldn’t have to dream.

Derek sighs, sitting up. His self-awareness has ruined his fantasy, and Derek sees no use it trying again. He’s draining the tub, ready to take a real shower, when someone knocks on the door. All the expression drops from Derek’s face when he takes a deep breath. Scott. Derek lets out an annoyed growl.

Derek answers his door in only sweatpants, shimmer trapped in his chest hair. His arms block Scott’s instant attempt to rush into the loft. Scott growls but doesn’t try again.

“What do you want, Scott?”

Scott paces back and forth in front of the door. “What did you do to me?”

Derek raises an eyebrow. Apart from adding Stiles into the pack a few months ago, Derek hasn’t made any contact with Scott. “Scott, I didn’t do anything to you. I haven’t seen you since last school year.”

Scott lets out a bratty huff, and Derek can’t help but think of how easy it would be to just wring the little asshole’s neck.

“Well, something’s wrong with me,” Scott whines, “I-I can’t keep control or, or think straight. I growled at my mother.”

Derek winces; he doesn’t feel sorry for Scott – Scott’s an unappreciative, whiny asshole who refuses to take responsibility – but Melissa doesn’t deserve this. And as much as Derek is appreciative for all Melissa has done for him, Scott isn’t pack. Scott was never, and never will be pack. If anything, he’s a danger to Derek’s own pack; helping him would upset everyone. So Derek shrugs, tells Scott to go see Deaton, and closes his door before Scott can start whining again.

The pack comes over long after Derek has finished his shower and has tucked himself into his reading chair. They bustle in, talking about God knows what, but Derek hears the word college get thrown around a bit. He stands, dropping the book onto the seat, and stretches.

Isaac is the first to hug him, tucking his face into Derek’s neck and scenting him. Derek scents him back, nosing at his hair. Jackson, surprisingly, is next. They’ve gotten close over the past few months with Derek stepping in as the father figure Jackson doesn’t really have. Derek’s happy with the progress. A year ago, this wouldn’t be happening; a year ago, Jackson didn't even want to be in a pack. Derek knows that this wouldn’t be possible without Stiles and the thought makes him look up.

There’s Stiles, in that damned red hoodie, with a Pyrex container of what looks like sugar cookies. Derek smiles, and Stiles smiles back, and Derek feels so warm inside. Erica ruins the moment.

“Quick question: why does it smell like Scott at the door,” she askes, plopping down onto the couch.

“Yeah,” Boyd agrees, patting Derek’s shoulder in lieu of a greeting.

“He was here earlier.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at Derek – proof that the man’s mannerisms were rubbing off on him – as of he’s waiting for Derek to elaborate. Derek sighs, sitting back in his chair, and begins to retell the events of this afternoon.

“Is he going feral,” Stiles asks.

“He might be. He doesn’t have a pack, especially if you don’t count Lydia, Allison, and his mother. But I’m not completely sure.”

“Can a ‘wolf be in an all human pack,” Isaac asks from his place next to Stiles.

“I’m not sure. I’ve always had ‘wolves in my pack, even when it was just me and Laura. I know that humans can be pack members, but I might have to ask Peter.”

Shit, Derek thinks, I might have to ask Peter.

Chapter Text

When Derek invites Peter over to talk, he doesn’t expect his uncle to be so enthusiastic. Peter agrees to meet with Derek as soon as possible, and when Derek offers that they meet that same day, Peter makes a choked sound.

“Bring anything you have on packs and pack bonds if you don’t mind.”

Peter makes an affirming noise, so Derek continues, “Is 7 good?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“Oh, and Peter,” Derek calls out before his uncle has the chance to hang up, “Stiles and Boyd are going to be there too, so don't be a creep please.”

Peter scoffs but agrees.

He’s at the loft almost an hour before Derek said the meeting would start, a dusty smelling box tucked under his arm. He still smells faintly like pack, like family, and it makes Derek ache a little.

“Nephew,” he greets with an awkward little smile. Derek returns it and gestures for Peter to sit on the couch.

“So,” Peter starts as he nestles into the cushions, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Scott.”

Peter has the decency to look embarrassed, rubbing both hands across his cheeks as he refuses to meet Derek’s eyes.

“What has he done?”

“We think he might be going feral.” Peter raises an eyebrow at “we” and Derek clarifies. “Stiles and I, we think being an omega for so long is finally effecting him. But we can’t be sure because of his connections with his mother and Allison.”

Peter raises an eyebrow, “That’s why you need the books, to see if his human bonds will keep him stable.”

Derek nods. “I know not all of the books in the vault are in English, but Stiles has only just started learning Latin and I know you’re already fluent. So, will you help us?”

“I’ll help… under one condition.”

Derek’s skin tingles at the request of conditions. Dere hasn’t talked to Peter since he came back to life really. There’s an obvious rift between them, one that Derek wants to fix, but he’s not sure where exactly the tension stems from. And with Peter hiding away all the time, Derek doesn’t see him enough to find out.

Derek swallows, “what do you want?”

“Keep me in the loop,” Peter says instantly. “I want to know whenever you need help, whether it’s for something big or just small stuff.”

Oh, Derek thinks, he just wants to be included. Derek can do that; he’s missed having his uncle around.

As Derek’s second and emissary respectively, Boyd and Stiles come to talk with Peter too. Derek tries his best, but it’s hard to see the differences in Stiles and Peter now that Stiles is fully versed in werewolves. They have this same clever but menacing way of plotting that sets Derek on edge when he really thinks about it. So, Derek tries not to think about it. That’s pretty hard, though, with Stiles and Peter planning ways to test Scott’s control.

“Don’t you think that’s a little risky,” Boyd butts in, always a voice of reason.

“Well, of course, it is,” Peter starts.

“But what will we know if we just sit back and wait.” The fact that Stiles can finish Peter’s sentences makes Derek gag in his mouth a little.

“Plus,” Stiles continues, “I’ve been practicing some bond magic. If I try hard enough, I can see if Scott has any pack bonds.” Derek wants to be upset that Stiles is practicing magic on his own, but the fact that Stiles hasn’t fucked anything up while practicing makes Derek a little proud.

“Fine,” he sighs. “Just, just be safe. I want Boyd with you when you try whatever you’re trying. I also want you to practice with Peter, now that you’ve gotten some hold on your magic.” Peter looks shocked at Derek’s statement, but Stiles nods along. The soft smile on the boy’s face tells Derek that he knows what the Alpha has planned.

Later that week, Stiles and Isaac rush into the loft with smiles on their faces. “What happened,” Derek asks, not looking up from his book. Stiles lands on the arm of Derek’s chair, smelling sweet like happiness and excitement. “My dad is letting me have a sleepover. And guess what!”

“What?”

“He said you can come over!” Stiles wiggles in his spot while Isaac does some flailing victory dance. Derek can’t help but laugh.

“Why is that so important?”

“So we can tell him about Scott, duh.”

Derek’s smile drops. “Stiles,” he hisses, “we can’t tell your dad.”

“What? Why not?”

“It’s dangerous,” Derek stresses.

“Yeah, and keeping him in the dark is dangerous, Derek. What if Scott actually does go feral and comes after him? How would you feel knowing we could have stopped it? C’mon man. And wouldn’t having someone in the station aware of Scott’s issue be helpful? Ya, know, if Scott gets arrested for something crazy.”

Derek sighs – he feels like he’s been doing that a lot – and flippantly agrees. “But,” he warns before Stiles can get too excited, “we have to do this seriously, Stiles. Your dad isn't pack, we can’t go spewing everything.”

Stiles rolls his eye, “Yes, Derek. I understand.” Isaac laughs at Stiles’s tone and Derek startles. He had been so drawn in by Stiles scent and excitement that he forgot the ‘wolf was there.

“So, this weekend good,” Stiles asks. “Wait, why am I even asking; you don't do anything. I’ll see you on Friday.”

Derek tries to protest, but Stiles and Isaac are already closing the loft door. Derek sighs heavily. Stiles is going to destroy his life, but Derek is eerily interested in seeing how he does it.

Chapter Text

Stiles met Peter at his apartment, a large, well-designed space that radiated rich bitch energy. There was even a doorman – a doorman! Peter opened his door with a flurry of theatrics, welcoming Stiles into his space.

“Come, come. Sit; I found so much more information.”

Stiles’s eyes widen at the mention of new information. Stiles coos at the idea and practically knocks Peter over to get to the tomes on Peter’s kitchen table. Peter lets out a little scoff, but the broad smile – not a smirk, but a real smile – that stretches over Peter’s face shows that he doesn’t mind Stiles’s enthusiasm.

Stiles takes a seat at the table, eager in a way that might make him seem like a small child, but he doesn’t. Now that he’s really in the loop with werewolves, he wants to learn as much as he can. Especially now that Derek wants him to train to be the pack emissary.

Peter steps into the kitchen, offering Stiles a drink. The boy accepts, but only to get a move on with the info he’s been dying for. He knows Peter can smell his excitement, but the man just pours a slow cup of apple juice. Stiles raises an eyebrow when he's given the glass, but says nothing about the choice of drink. “So, pack ties,” he says instead. Peter nods and takes a seat across from Stiles, opening one of the large books in front of them.

“So, I know enough about pack ties with other ‘wolves,” the man starts, “seeing how I am a ‘wolf. But we only had a few humans in our pack back before the fire, and now we only have you.”

“Does me being an emissary change that bond,” Stiles interrupts.

“Yes, it actually does. As the emissary, you are both the representative of the pack and the magical advisor to the alpha. This means that you’ll have a stronger, more magically enforced bond with the pack. My brother-in-law, Derek’s father, was out emissary.”

Stiles raises his eyebrow at that, “Deaton said he was the emissary.”

Peter nods, “He was for a short period of time, appointed by my mother, but Talia and I had always been suspicious of him. He removed him from the pack as soon as Talia became the alpha.”

“Did you guys ever get proof?”

“We,” Peter sighs, “We connected him to the darkening of the Nemeton. It was going bad even before the whole incident with Derek and Paige. We had reason to believe Deaton was taking power from it.”

Stiles can’t say he’s shocked; he’s always been wary of Deaton and his advice. That man was just sketchy. Stiles physically shivers and the thought of what Deaton might be telling Scott and voices his concern to Peter.

“I have no idea what he’s telling Scott. I know Scott approached Derek and blamed him for what’s happening.”

“Do you think Deaton’s gonna use Scott for something?”

Stiles is surprised by the look of fear on Peter’s face. “I don’t know,” the man says.

The pair read for a couple of hours, only speaking to point out what they think might be important. It’s a lot of reading, but Stiles is enjoying it and Peter isn’t bad company.

It’s almost dinner time when Stiles finally leaves, notes tucked into his backpack. He reminds himself to go to the store before he heads home. Peter asks if he’s going to see Derek later, but Stiles shrugs. The full moon is coming up in a few days and everyone would be there, but Stiles isn’t sure he’ll see Derek before then.

“I let you know if I do.”

Stiles doesn’t see Derek later; instead, he bumps into Scott and Melissa on his way into the supermarket. Scott’s head shoots up – maybe he smells Stiles – and he doesn’t look happy. Melissa smiles, though, waving at Stiles. Stiles waves back, never one to be rude to the woman who helped raise him. He wants to talk to her, but Scott’s eyes are flickering as he watches Stiles’s movements.

The teen moves on quickly, trying to grab everything he needs without seeing the McCalls again. It works for the most part until Stiles sees Scott again in the freezer section. Well, it’s more like Stiles turned to put a pack of frozen chicken breasts in his cart and Scott was almost directly behind him.

“Oh, shi-” Stiles squeaks. “Uh, hey Scotty?”

“Why do you smell like Peter?”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at Scott’s question. He has no right to inquire into Stiles’s life, not after he dropped Stiles like a hot rock, but Stiles answers him anyway. “Because I’m in his pack,” he says matter-of-factly, “why do you care?”

“You shouldn’t be in a pack,” Scott growls out. Despite his better judgment, Stiles shoves Scott away from him. “Who gave you the right to say that?! If anything, I deserve to be in a pack more than you do. I’m loyal enough.”

Scott scoffs, “What do you know about loyalty?”

“Seeing how I stood by you,” Stiles starts coldly, “ even after you left me behind time after time to be with Allison, even after you ignored me when I said Allison’s family was bad news, even after you betrayed my trust and didn’t save me from the Kanima, I think I know what loyalty is, Scott. I have a pack because I’m loyal; I have friends because I’m loyal. You’re just a whiney bitch with no one left in your corner. So do me a favor, Scott; fuck off.”

With that, Stiles throws the pack of chicken into his shopping cart. Scott grabs at his arm when he tries to walk off, claws snagging on Stiles’s hoodie. The teen almost raises his lip in a snarl, but decides to level Scott with a chilling stare that makes the ‘wolf let go.

“Derek taught me that,” he remarks snidely before making his way to the butcher’s counter.

Stiles is freaking out as he lays in bed recounting what happened in the supermarket. Peter voice comes through the phone speaker, cutting Stiles off, ‘Oh my goodness, look at you go.” Stiles lets out a chuckle. “I know right, who would of thunk it? Me, standing up to Scott.”

Stiles lets out a disbelieving laugh. He’s never thought that he could ever do something like that to Scott. They had been best friends once, and Scott may have been hostile, but Stiles didn’t like resorting to such actions. Stiles liked to ignore problems until they went away; he wonders when Scott will just go away.

Chapter Text

The next time Derek sees Stiles, it’s during the full moon three nights later. The other ‘wolves are lounging against some trees, but Stiles leaning against Peter– wow, okay, that’s really happening – with half a burrito in his mouth. 

“Hey, Derek.”

Derek cringes as he’s forced to look into Stiles’s full mouth. He wants to scold the boy, but Peter beats him to it.

“For heaven’s sake, Stiles, finish chew before you speak.” Stiles looks embarrassed but closes his mouth to finish eating. The next time he speaks, his mouth is empty and Derek doesn’t want to fight him. 

“What wolfy plans do you have for us today,” Stiles asks, pushing off of Peter to bump his shoulder into Derek’s. Derek is unnecessarily happy with the scent mixing that Stiles probably doesn’t even know is happening, but he avoids Peter’s knowing gaze. 

“Just a run, a few games. There isn’t anything to worry about other than-”

Dere doesn’t get to finish the sentence because the only thing worth worrying about comes crashing through the tree line. Scott looks furious was he makes a beeline straight for Derek. Peter is quick to stand between the wolf and his nephew, growling deep in his chest.

“What do you want, McCall?”

“You can stop using Stiles; we don’t hang out anymore.”

Jackson scoffs, “What the actual fuck are you talking about, McCall?”

“I know that Derek is using Stiles to get to me, I’ve known from the start! But I don't’ hang out with people like Stiles and I don't want to be part of this shitty pack.”

Derek uncharacteristically lets out a full-bodied laugh. Everyone stops to look at him. “You think,” Derek starts, eyes cold and voice dark, “That I would use Stiles to get to you? That I would trade someone as smart and loyal as Stiles for someone who can’t even stay loyal to his best friend?” Derek lets out another laugh, but this one is terrifying – if the scent wafting off of Scott is anything to go off of. “You must be out of your fucking mind.”

“Stiles isn’t as loyal as you think he is.”

“Why? Because he’s bisexual? Scott,” Derek sighs, sounding tired and annoyed, “Stiles’s sexuality has nothing to do with whether or not he’ll be loyal to me and my pack. He has, time and time again, showed me that he is worthy of my trust, even when I didn’t want to trust him. He is a better asset to this pack than you’d ever be. He’s more loyal to me than you ever were to him.”

“But he can’t be pack, he’s human,” Scott tries to argue, but Derek isn’t having it. “Humans can most definitely be pack. My father was a human. My great uncle was a human. Peter’s daughter was human. Humans, at least the right kind of humans, keep us grounded. They support us and protect us in ways other wolves can’t. Humans, the ones that truly trust you and see you as pack, keep the strength and power of the ‘wolf in check. Stiles in part of this pack, human as he is.”

Scott’s face is red with frustration and Derek wants to sit him down. Last year, he wouldn't have given a single fuck about Scott’s self-absorbed actions, but he’s grown. This is a problem that can affect his pack negatively, so Derek knows he has to do something.

He gathers the pack, explaining that he wants to talk to Scott.

“But the fucker doesn’t deserve it,” Erica spits. Derek eyes his beta, and she rolls her eyes, refusing to apologize. “I know he doesn't deserve it, but he’s on Hale land,” Peter says, “if he ends up fucking something up, Derek will be the ones the hunters come to first.”

“So do it,” Stiles decides. “Find out whatever is messing with him and get him away from our pack. The sooner the better.” Derek nods, the sooner the better. 

He shoos the pack away then, telling them to get out of hearing distance. Scott himself seems shocked by the order, demanding that Derek tells him what’s going on. Derek sighs before taking a deep breath through his nose. He sits on the forest floor, gesturing for Scott to do the same.

“I don’t want to talk about Stiles anymore,” Derek says. “You obviously don't understand what you’re doing wrong and I refuse to put Stiles through the shitshow that would be teaching you and having you around.” Scott scoffs at that, but Derek flashes his red eyes to shut the boy up.

“Now listen, Scott. I know you’re having trouble controlling yourself, so let’s start with that.”

Scott nods, “It started a while back before I first came to you. If I’m honest, it started when your pack started hanging around Stiles.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at that. “Well, Stiles was in your pack. Peter and I assumed it’s because you’re becoming an Omega.”

“I can’t be an Omega! I have Lydia and Allison! I have my mom!”

“Do you? Really, Scott. Are Allison and Lydia really part of your pack?”

“Why won’t they be?”

“They’re hum-”

“You said humans can be pack. Don’t switch up now.”

Derek clenches his jaw, thinking of another way to word what he’s trying to say. “What I mean is, Allison was raised by hunters and has had little interaction with ‘wolves. She doesn’t understand pack and what it means to a ‘wolf.”

“And Stiles does?”

“Stiles understands loneliness and doesn’t take acceptance for granted. He understands the need to be surrounded by people you love and cherish. Someone like Lydia, who only sees people as a means to an end, wouldn’t understand that.”

“So… what are you saying?”

Derek is quiet for a moment. “They don’t see you as pack, Scott. To Lydia, you’re nothing more than a friend. She can come and go as she pleases. The same with Allison. She isn’t bound to you the way a pack human would be. You’re an omega, Scott.”

Derek has five seconds before Scott jumps at him, yelling that this is all Derek’s fault. “You did this! You took everything from me.” They scuffle on the floor for a while, Derek trying his best to detain Scott without hurting him too much. The teen swings at Derek, but the man catches it, pulling Scott’s are behind his back. He pushes the boy to the floor, a knee in his back to keep him there. “You let Stiles go,” Derek reminds him. “You abandoned the only pack member you had. That isn’t my fault. You fucked this up yourself,” Derek finishes. “You fucked this up yourself.

Stiles runs up to Derek after Scott leaves, fussing over the blood on the man’s shirt. “Oh, God, what did he do to you?” Derek lets out a little chuckle, seeming to reassure Stiles that everything was fine. Peter sits back and watches them. He’s happy to see Derek and Stiles together. It had taken so long for them to get here, to a point where Derek smiles more than once a day. Sure, it’s mostly because of Stiles, but at least it’s something. 

Peter remembers when Derek had stopped smiling, long before the fire. When Joseph had died, Derek was in shambles. Other than Peter, Derek’s father seemed to be the only other person who understood Derek’s love of reading and knowledge. Without Joseph, Derek smiled less, played less, wanted to see Peter less. 

Then Peter messed things up with Paige. He knows he comes off as malicious in every recount of that story, but Peter truly meant no harm. Derek wanted Paige to be his mate, but Peter knew that if Paige stayed human, she’d never feel the bond like Derek would. Peter hadn’t expected Ennis to be so ravenous or for Paige to reject the bite. Peter hadn’t expected to break Derek’s heart.

And then there was Kate, who wouldn't have gotten to Derek if Peter hadn’t screwed up with Paige, followed by the fire, then Peter killing Laura. Peter knows, he fucked up big time, but he’s trying to make amends. No matter how many mistakes he made in the past, Derek was still his number one priority. Hopefully, Stiles is a good choice.

Chapter Text

As soon as Derek steps through the doors of the Stilinski home, he can tell that it wasn’t meant to hold this many people. Stiles has obviously tried to change that fact, making up the two couches and laying two mattresses (Stiles’s full size one and the queen size from the guest room) where the coffee table used to be. It’s a strange setup, but it works. It’s ideal for pack piling, keeping everyone close together, but also allowing them to spread out if they wanted. 

Erica has taken residence of the full size, sprawled on top of Boyd’s chest, and already on her pajamas. Derek can hear Stiles and Isaac whispering in the kitchen, so he heads there first. The boys are haphazardly plating dishes while Jackson does his best to make some lemonade.

“Everything alright in here,” he asks, eying the way Stiles struggles to move the pot roast from one counter.

“Take this,” Stiles says quickly, shoving the roast onto Derek’s arms, “Center of the table.”

Derek scoffs but carries the dish into the dining room, where Peter and the Sheriff are laughing about something. Derek sets down the plate, before going in to shake the Sheriff's hand. The Older man quickly pulls Derek into a hug. 

“This is a hugging house,” he says as he lets Derek go. The Sheriff returns to his seat at the head of the table, and Derek can see Peter stiffen just a little. It’s then that Derek realizes the set up that has been laid out. The Alpha is supposed to sit at the head of the table; Derek is the Alpha, not the sheriff. To Peter, the sheriff is challenging Derek’s position. Unsure of how to soothe Peter’s obvious nerves, Derek goes in for a hug, leaning over his uncle and rubbing his beard against the top of Peter’s head. 

Peter relaxes a bit and Derek takes his seat at the opposite end of the table. This is the Sheriff’s territory; as a visiting Alpha, Derek sits opposite of him. This new arrangement seems to calm Peter even more. Unaware of the tension, the Sheriff goes on with his story, reminiscing about when he used to pull pranks on Derek’s mother and the other townsfolk.

“You used to pull pranks,” Derek asks, confused by the idea of John Stilinksi as a neighborhood nuisance. 

The Sheriff laughs. “Of Course I did! Who do you think Stiles got it from.”

Peter chuckles at that, mentioning an interrupted field trip. Derek raises his eyebrow, and the Sheriff barks out another laugh. 

“Oh my goodness! You were on that bus?”

“Yes I was,” Peter huffed. “You ruined my trip that day.”

“What’s all this about,” Stiles asks as he and Isaac set down a few more plates. The Sheriff straightens up, pulling himself together. 

“Peter is just reminding me of how one of my senior pranks impacted his school trip when he was younger.”

“Impacted,” Peter snorts. “This guy pretended to get hit by the bus! The bus driver thought he’d killed John.”

Stiles looks at his father, jaw slack, before turning the same expression on Derek. The older man just shrugs. 

Peter scoffs at the Sheriff. “I was so upset about it, too. Everyone was freaking out and I’m just there like ‘this is a prank. He's not even hurt!’.” John barks out another laugh.

“Oh really? How’d you know?”

“I could hear you snickering! This man, on the floor, laughing. I just wanted to go to the aquarium.”

Peter’s comment has obviously sparked interest because John raises an eyebrow. “You could hear me?”

“Well, Dad. Remember the whole werewolf thing.” The Sheriff’s eyes widen at that, as if he’s remembering the night they told him.

“You guys never really explained that to me. All I remember is Derek getting… really pointy.”

Stiles laughs. “Most of the stuff going on in own is actually Werewolf related. Like, a lot of it, good and bad.”

“So… the crime scenes you keep popping up at?”

“Werewolf related,” Stiles explains. 

“And your new-found group of friends?”

“Also werewolf related.”

John sighs, “Okay, explain.”

Derek ends up giving the rundown of what happened. He skips over the fire, unwilling to pry open that can of worms and starts with Peter waking up from his coma. Derek details all the crimes and disappearances that have happened, ending with the current Scott issue. The Sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose.

“And to think this was a simple dinner,” he sighs. Stiles begins to apologize, but his father raises a hand to stop him. “Let’s just eat dinner, and we can talk about everything when I get back from work tomorrow morning. God knows I have to start looking into old cases again now.”

Everyone is piled together in the living room watching the first Austin Powers (Boyd’s choice) when the Sheriff leaves for work.

“That went better than expected,” Stiles says as soon as his father has left. Derek looks up at him from where he has his head in Stiles’s lap.

“What do you mean,” he asks.

“I expected him to get a bit angry, if I’m honest. Dad isn’t really fond of me lying to him.”

“I’m sure he’s just being a bit more understanding with this. This isn’t like you lied about being at a friend's house so that you could go party. You were protecting him from everything we’ve fought.”

Stiles sighs. He guesses Derek is right. 

“I guess, I guess. I just,” he sighs again. “I just feel bad.” Stiles knows he lies; he lies a lot. Stiles can still remember the first time he lied. He must have been 4 or 5, and his mother had made cookies, a big batch for them all to share. She told Stiles he could have as many as he’d like, so he did. Stiles ate half of the cookies on his own, and when his mother asked why he ate so many, he told her that he didn’t. 

“A, um… A dog ran into the yard and stole some,” he said instead. His mom just raised an eyebrow at him, but Stiles held his ground. 

There was no reason for him to lie, it just kind of happened. His mother thought it was funny, but his dad never liked it. He believed that he solved enough mysteries at work and should have to do the same with his own kid. As Stiles got older, his father disliked his lying even more; the slightly fed up looks got angrier, and, for some time, the older man didn’t believe a thing Stiles said.

The werewolf stuff didn’t help. Stiles had put in so much effort to stop lying to his dad, just to have to do it again. He guesses it’s better now, seeing how he won’t have to lie about fighting werewolves and other supernatural creatures anymore. So yeah, Derek might be right.

Stiles is abruptly pulled out of his thoughts by Derek, who is poking and Stiles’s chin. The boy hums in acknowledgment.

“Stop overthinking,” Derek whispers. “If he was mad at you, I would have known. You’re fine, Stiles.”

The teen pouts, but nods. He’s fine.

Chapter Text

“Fetch me the anesthetic, Scott.” The teen nods, rummaging through Deaton’s supplies to find the drugs. Prada, Lydia’s dog, has gotten into a fight with a squirrel and barely won. Scott had winced when he saw the scratches and bites littering the dog. 

Scott hands the bottle to Deaton, watching as the man tranquilizes the small dog. He must have zoned out again because Deaton is snapping in his face when he looks up.

“Are you okay, Scott.”

The teen blinks a few times. He hasn’t been feeling well for the past few days. The ache in his chest is gone – time with Allison had helped with that – but Scott has been feeling woozy for a week now. He can’t think straight and he’s been losing time. 

Scott sighs, “No, not really.” Deaton raises an eyebrow, so Scott continues, explaining most of his symptoms. 

“When did this all start?”

“A bit after I stopped talking to Stiles.”

Deaton rears his head back, blinking at school in obvious confusion. 

“You stopped talking to Stiles?”

“Yeah,” Scott shrugs. He can smell the anger rolling off the older man. “I don’t get why it’s such a big deal. Derek practically tore me a new one about it. Stiles isn't even that important.” It was true. Stiles can’t do anything for a pack; he isn’t strong enough to protect himself, not like Allison; he couldn’t do magic either.

“Has anything else changed?”

“Uh, not really. I was feeling this weird ache in my chest, but it’s not really hurting anymore so I think it's fine.”

Deaton doesn’t seem to agree, though. The man is fuming when he speaks. “You need to fix this,” he demands. “The ache is because you’ve lost your pack. You must reconcile with Stiles; he was your first pack member and the ache won’t leave until you get him back.”

“What? No!”

“Scott!”

“No, Deaton. Stiles isn’t… He’s delusional, Deaton. He believes that being bisexual is permanent! Next thing you know, he’s gonna say that there's more than just girls and boys. My father was an asshole, but he taught me two things: There are boys and girls, and gays and straights. Anyone else is simply figuring themselves out.”

Deaton sighs through his nose, but he doesn’t agree or disagree. Instead, he just repeats himself. “You need him, Scott. You need him.”

Deaton doesn’t feel as bad as he should for lying to Scott. The pain the boy was feeling was due to an incomplete spell, the unbound magic rolling and roiling in Scott’s chest. The dulling of the pain meant that the magic, and all of Deaton’s work, was wearing off. The man growled to himself. He put too much work into eliminating obstacles to let whatever fickle disagreement between Scott and Stiles destroy it all. Deaton would have the power he wanted; nothing will stop that.

Deaton had begun his planning long before Laura came back to Beacon Hills, even before the Hale Fire. Deaton’s family had always had access to the Nemeton. From his great-grandmother all the way down to him. But his other family members were dim-witted kiss ups. They used the Nemeton to funnel power, to transfer the magic of Beacon Hills onto the tree and out of themselves. Deaton knew that the tree could do so much more and could give his family (and the Hales by extension) enough power to rule California. Talia Hale’s mother, Adeline, had seemed pleased with the idea. Deaton may have switched up a few words to make the act seem good-hearted and the woman had been nearing 150 years old, but that didn’t matter to him. So Deaton started draining the magic stored in the Nemeton.

This all came to a halt when Adeline died. Talia rose to power quickly and, with Peter as her enforcer, removed Deaton’s title as emissary. He was replaced with one Claudia Stilinski, a young spark who had married Deputy Stilinski and was now pregnant. Deaton had one choice: get rid of anyone who stood in his way. He started with Claudia. Amulets and cursed objects wouldn’t work; Claudia was smart and a strong magic user, she would easily sense any item placed on or around her. So, Deaton went with a potion, something slow that would kill her in a benign human way, something that would make her sick. 

Deaton had no clue how to get her to drink it, though. He saw no opportunity, and for six years, Claudia remained untouched. That was until little Mieczyslaw Stilinski hit a stray cat with his bike. Claudia and the boy came rushing in, both sweaty from the summer heat, with a bloody cat in his arms. Deaton did his job, patching up the cat, and offered Claudia some water. Deaton watched as the woman chugged the clear potion throat bobbing as she swallowed her death. His job was done.

It took a while, but Claudia died two years later, just in time for Kate Argent to move into town. Deaton couldn’t have been happier. A hunter, moving into town just as the Hales had lost their strongest, most important line of defense. The man just sat back and watched as Argent put an end to all his troubles.

WIth Peter in a coma, and Laura fleeing California with her younger brother, nothing was left to stop Deaton from obtaining the power he wanted. Nothing but the Nemeton itself. Had Deaton listened to his mother’s teachings, he would have known that the magic of the Nemeton can only be accessed when the land’s alpha and emissary worked together. Without Laura, Deaton couldn't get the power he wanted.

Then Peter killed Laura and Derek killed Peter and Derek was now the Alpha. But Derek didn’t trust Deaton, not with his wise uncle Peter to steer the young man away from Deaton’s hands. Deaton’s only hope was Scott McCall, the newly bitten teen who hated Derek. But Scott wasn’t an Alpha.

Luckily for Deaton, he had tons of books and research to fall back on. He had read once that the phenomenon that was a True Alpha could be falsely constructed. With a starter spell and a spark “of whom the wolf is devout,” Detain could turn Scott into an Alpha. And guess what? Scott was best friends with a spark.

Deaton smirks to himself. All he needs is for Stiles and Scott to reconcile. The last time he checked, Stiles was hopeless without Scott, alone and friendless. The boy will come running back to Scott in no time. And, finally, Deaton could set his plans into motion.

Chapter Text

The new school year comes fast, pulling the pack back into Beacon Hills High School. Stiles is happy to be back; it’s his senior year and Haris isn’t on his schedule, so all is well. Everyone is waiting for him when he pulls into the school’s parking lot, looking like a gang in their matching leather jackets and sunglasses. Stiles himself is in a dark brown leather jacket; Peter said it complimented his red hoodie and countless flannels better than a black one would.

When they all walk inside, Scott is standing awkwardly by Stiles’ locker. Instantly Isaac and Jackson flank Stiles like bodyguards, Erica and Boyd behind him. 

Stiles sighs, “What do you want, Scott?”

“I just wanted to say hi, see how you were doing.”

Stiles bites his lip to hold back the cackle bubbling in his chest. Wow! Scott still can’t lie to save his life, but Stiles plays along.

“Oh. Well, I’m fine. You can leave now.”

“Is your dad o–” 

“I said I’m fine, Scott. You can leave now.” Stiles is cold with his response, letting his developing power roll off him in waves. It’s a cheap fear tactic, but Stiles is smarter than Scott thinks; he knows about Deaton, even if he doesn’t know the specifics of the vet’s plan, and Stiles refuses to fall into that trap.

 Scott can obviously smell the scent of magic on him if the way he scrunches up his nose is anything to go by. He growls, low in his chest, and the threat is answered by Isaac's own growl. 

“He said to leave,” Isaac states, barely holding his growls back.

That sends Scott on his way, huffing like a child. 

“He’s up to something,” Stiles says, mostly to himself as the pack goes off to their own lockers. Jackson stays behind, though.

“Scott?” the blond teen asks.

“No, Deaton. I was talking to Peter about him a while back… something’s up.”

Stiles doesn’t see Scott for the rest of the day, but for the rest of the week, Scott waits for Stiles by his locker, almost reverse of how they’d been before their falling out. It’s confusing, but Stiles rolls with it.

Jackson, surprisingly, is the one who hates it the most.

“Why is he here,” the blond asks when he spots Scott and Stiles’ locker again on Friday. Stiles shrugs. He doesn’t know what Scott’s deal is, but every interaction makes Stiles more suspicious, but also more paranoid. He’s almost waiting for Deaton to jump out and magic him in some way.

For the most part, he brushes it off, going about his day; they’re this close to the weekend and Stiles is excited for movie night. Stiles can’t lie to himself, though. When Scott waves to him as they cross paths in the halls, almost like nothing has changed between them, it offsets Stiles. Scott had gone almost a year without talking to Stiles, without checking in on him, and now he wants to change that? Did Scott really think Stiles was that worthless that he could just pop back up and rekindle their friendship?

He sighs, staring at his teacher as he waits for the last bell to ring. There’s nothing to worry about; Stiles’ll watch some movies with the pack and everything will be fine. 

Stiles’s car rolls to a stop in the middle of the road. It’s dark, the moon hidden behind daunting clouds. Stiles presses the gas, but the Jeep doesn’t budge. Stiles scratches his chin; the engine is still running, and Derek helped with the Jeep repairs so nothing should be wrong. I guess I need to check, he thinks to himself. 

Flashlight in his mouth, Stiles looks around under the Jeep’s hood. Everything seems to be in place, nothing missing or messed with (he’ll never forgive Erica for beating him up with his own car parts), so why won’t it drive?

Stiles sighs. As he walks towards the driver’s door, something grabs him, pulling him into the darkness.

The teen screams, jumping up out of his sleep. The sound wakes the rest of the pack up, groaning as they all sit up from their spots in Derek’s living room. Peter is the most alert, already crouched in a fighting position, searching for what could have attacked Stiles. Derek is there too, nose in the air as he scents for something, anything.

“I’m fine,” Stiles whispers. “Everyone go back to sleep.”

“That didn’t sound fine,” Peter points out as the other teens fall back asleep. 

“It was just a nightmare, Peter. I’m alright.”

Stiles has the dream again that Sunday, and again on Monday. He doesn’t tell Derek about how he wakes up shaking, convinced that he’s been kidnapped. He lets it slip with Erica and Isaac but Erica keeps telling him that he’s overreacting, and Isaac says he’s letting his paranoia seep into his dreams.

It’s not until Stiles goes to Peter that he gets some help.

“You should have told me earlier,” Peter gripes as he ruffles through the books in his apartment, looking for something. He gives Stiles one spell and one charm to learn.

“What are these for?”

“If you think you’re in danger, then you should be prepared,” the older man explained. “They’re little spells, seeing how you aren't extremely powerful… yet. This one dampens the effects of spells and drugs and this one leads you back to family if you’re lost.”

Peter helps Stiles build the charm, a small metal pendant that they weave into a bracelet with leather strips. They soak it in the weird herbs Peter keeps in his pantry and Stiles promises to never take it off.

He learns the spell on his own, practicing for a couple of days without really getting the hang of it. His first attempt does nothing, but his second attempt reveals a thin, flickering string of light. He follows it out of his house before it disappears abruptly; he needs to try again.

But Stiles doesn’t get the chance before Deaton finally makes a move.

It’s late, dark, and Stiles is simultaneously reminded of the nightmares he’s been having and the moment when his car broke down and forced him to call Derek.  But Stiles’ Jeep doesn’t break down tonight; it just stops right in the middle of the road. The engine is still running, the lights still on, but it won’t move . Reminded of his dream, Stiles doesn’t leave his car. He locks the door, fumbling for his phone.

Suddenly, the engine cuts out, leaving Stiles in the dark as he tries to call Derek.

“I’m okay,” he whispers to himself. “I’m okay. I’ll just call the big bad Alpha and he’ll tell me that there’s nothing–”

A hand wraps itself tightly over Stiles’ mouth and nose, forcing him to breathe in whatever powder is in his attacker’s hand. Stiles writhes, trying to get away, but the drug works its way into his system too fast for him to fight.

He wakes up in a cement room with no windows, the rough, unfinished walls scratching against his back as he looks around. He’s tied up, hands and feet knotted together with a short rope; he can’t stand like this. The charm is still pressed to his wrist, slightly glowing as it pulls whatever drug out of his body. Looking around the dark room, Stiles can’t see much, but he can smell wet dogs and hear whining cats. Fuck, he thinks to himself.  

Deaton didn’t want it to come to this. The plan was for Scott to slowly ease his way back into Stiles’ life, to pull the young spark back into his pack. But Scott has failed, like he always does when Stiles isn’t there to help him, and it makes Deaton want to scream. The boy had one job, one job!

And now here Deaton is, dragging one unconscious Stiles Stilinski into the basement of the clinic. He’s alone, having sent Scott home early. This could have been so easy, he thinks to himself. Now he has to move all of his plans up and pray that the ritual still goes as planned even if the moon phases are off.

Deaton wraps a length of rope around Stiles’ feet. “This better be worth it,” he whispers, looping the rope around Stiles’ wrists. 

Allison’s mother always told her to keep her mouth shut about things that don't involve her. You see two kids fighting, not your problem; you see someone stealing, if it’s not your stuff it’s not your problem. Allison had followed that rule for her whole life and still does now, but she feels almost sick as she watches someone pull Stiles out of his Jeep. She had been driving behind him when she noticed him stop. Confused, she slows down as well, parking a ways behind him. With her headlights off, she watches Stiles’ Jeep shake before a shadowy figure pulls Stiles from the driver’s seat.

The figure drags his body towards the treeline where it fades and a person (solid-bodied but hidden by the darkness) pulls Stiles into the woods. 

Allison wants to mind her business, wants to keep driving and pretend that nothing happened, but the voice in her head – her father’s voice – reminds her to help those who can’t help themselves. Stiles is helpless, but Allison can do something about it… at least she hopes she can.

Chapter Text

Peter growls when he smells the Argent girl at the door of the Stilinski house. They were all waiting for Stiles to come back from the supermarket, because, as Stiles had said, “werewolves just eat too damn much.” But instead of Stiles, Allison Argent is the one waiting outside the Stilinskis’ door.

John is the one who opens the door, Peter and Derek hovering at the end of the hall as they watch. The man is polite as he greets Argent, calm despite the panicked look on her face.

“Stiles got kidnapped,” she blurts out.

The sentence grabs everyone's attention, pulling Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and Jackson from the living room.

“And what did you have to do with it,” Derek snarls out before Peter can. Allison trips over her words as she tries to explain herself, but John stops her.

“How about you come inside and explain? And Derek and Peter will stay in the kitchen and act like civilized men,” he says pointedly at the end. Peter huffs, looking at his equally disgruntled nephew.

“Fine,” they agree. They pace the kitchen, passing each other over and over as they listen in on John’s conversation with the Argent girl.

Stiles was kidnapped.

Allison saw it happen.

It had to be someone with magic because of the fading figure.

Stiles’ jeep should still be on the road.

That last part piques Derek’s interest, so he takes Boyd (the only other person who knows how to drive stick) and they head towards the last place Allison saw Stiles. As they’re driving, Allison’s phone goes off. Derek looks at her from the driver’s seat, waiting for her to answer the call.

“It’s Scott,” she says, looking nervous. 

“So answer it,” Boyd speaks up.

“Hey, Scotty. What’s up?”

“Are you busy right now? I need a favor.”

“Yeah, sure. What do you need?”

“Stiles’s jeep broke down near the west point of the preserve. Can you call a tow for it?”

 Derek is listening in now, and he’s sure that Boyd is too. The teen raises an eyebrow at Allison, and the girl raises one back.

“Where’s Stiles? Why doesn’t he call his own tow?” she asks flippantly, as if she’s upset that Stiles can’t do it himself. It’s a smart ruse, Derek thinks to himself as Allison tries to get information out of her boyfriend. 

“He called me to pick him up but his phone is dead and I don’t know the mechanic’s number.”

Allison groans as if she’s pissed off. “Ugh, fine. I don’t even know why you started hanging out with him again, Scott. You said you weren’t going to.”

“Yeah, well Deaton says I need him ‘cause he was my first packmate or something and his magic keeps me balanced. You saw how I was after we stopped hanging out. As much as I don't like it, I need Stiles.”

“Is he even with you right now? What if he hears what you’re saying?”

“No, he’s with Deaton. Something about the forest and lei lines. Deaton just told me to meet him there. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Okay, whatever. I’m gonna call the tow, but you owe me, Scotty.”

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Allison hangs up the phone, cringing to herself, and Derek almost feels bad for her. She knows that Scott just lied to her, knows that something bad is happening to Stiles and Scott is a part of it. It’s a feeling that Derek is familiar with.

“I’ll call the Sheriff,” Boyd suggests as Derek reaches for the car door. 

Derek nods. “Help him and the pack gather a few deputies and start a search party starting from Main Street and moving north. Allison, call your father and have him meet me here.”

Peter can see John’s heart break when Boyd tells him about the phone call. The teen returns with Allison in Derek’s car, looking disgusted and upset as he relays Derek’s message. John looks like he’s about to die; Stiles is gone, taken and no one has a solid understanding of why. As he calls Jordan Parrish, Peter watches, ready to lead the search party that will scour the woods for his son, but Parrish objects immediately.

“You’re too close to this, Sheriff. If something happens while you’re there, if Dr. Deaton gets hurt, he can blame it on you. We’ll handle this.”

John doesn’t take it well, almost hanging up on Parrish so he can storm off into his office. Peter sighs, giving the man a few minutes to calm down before following him.

When Peter walks into the office, John has already pulled out a couple of files, leaning back heavily in his chair as he tries to distract himself with work. Peter has seen Stiles try to cope the same way when Derek won’t let him help with fights. The man looks tired, Peter notices, helpless. His hair is askew, probably from running his fingers through it, and he can barely keep from crying. As Peter sits, John slides a small stack of files across the desk.

“Animal attacks,” Peter asks with a raised eyebrow. John shakes his head, gesturing for Peter to open the first one. In the folder is a mugshot of Derek, It's from a while back if Derek’s lack of a beard is anything to go by. Peter assumes it’s from when the younger man came back to Beacon Hills to find Laura. Peter cringes, eyes moving quickly over the forms under Derek’s photo. This is Laura’s file; the file for her murder.

“It was me,” Peter says softly.

John’s eyebrows draw together and the scent of his confusion fills the office. 

“It was me,” Peter repeats, louder. “I killed her. I woke up from my coma and I… I wanted power. I wanted revenge. Being alone turned me into a monster.”

“But how did that drive you to kill Laura.”

Peter swallows. “I… Being in a pack, a real pack, means that you’re never alone. You’re always loved and someone is always looking out for you. After the fire, Laura and Derek left. They were all that I had, and they left me. ‘Wolves aren’t supposed to be alone. We lose ourselves to raw instinct and turn feral when we’re abandoned. Laura,” Peter hiccups, “Laura abandoned me. She was my alpha and she left me in some hospital and moved to the other side of the country. When she came back, It had already been 6 years since the fire. I was packless for 6 years. 

“I woke up because I felt her come back onto the territory. I was so angry with her, so lost in the simplicity of instinct that had kept me alive, that I went after her. She was the reason I wasn’t healing; severely injured ‘wolves need their pack around them to help them heal faster. I blamed her for my pain, and I used her, killed her, so that I could undo that pain.”

“Killing her is what healed you?”

“Yes and no. I had been getting better, slowly, thanks to my own healing ability as well as Derek’s letters. He would write to me, long letters that my nurse would read to me. It’s the reason I could never kill him when I was feral. I tried once, almost succeeded, but the thought of him dying when all he’d ever done was love me, made me sick. Laura’s spark as an Alpha was just what I needed to heal faster. It took me a week after killing Laura to be able to stay conscious for more than three hours.” Peter sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “I still know I was wrong though, blind. But I still believe that I was justified. She didn’t deserve to die, but I didn’t deserve the slow death she left me to.”

John doesn’t meet Peter’s eyes, but Peter can’t blame him. If a man that was hanging around his home told Peter that he had murdered his niece, Peter wouldn’t want to look at him either.

“I will say that I have been brought back to my senses,” Peter continues. “Mostly on my own accord, but Stiles has helped a lot.”

“Oh really?” John finally looks up at Peter.

“He’s an anchor, not my anchor, but one for the pack as a whole. He cares about us too much for us not to care about him, myself included.” Peter sighs. “I won’t say I own Stiles for my sanity – he didn’t give that back to me, I did it myself – but he has helped me maintain it. Him and Derek.”

“And why are you telling me this, about Laura, about Stiles? Why right now?”

“So you can understand that we’re on the same side here, no matter how upset you are. I love Stiles like he’s my own kid; we’re so similar it’s nerve-racking. And I…” Peter pauses, thinks about the son he lost in the fire, the dark-haired, bright-eyed boy who didn’t get to see his seventh birthday. He thinks about his wife, and what he lost when he lost them both. He couldn’t let John fall apart like he has, he couldn’t let John lose Stiles too. “We’ll find him, John. I swear on my life I’ll get your boy back to you.”

Peter and Boyd lead the “search party'' alongside Deputy Graeme and Parrish. With the search part broken up into two groups, Boyd is paired up with Graeme and Isaac while Peter goes with Parrish, Erica, and Jackson. 

“You ready for this, kid,” Deputy Graeme says softly. Boyd smiles solemnly at her. He’s ready. 

Deputy Graeme nods at him. “Alright, let’s go find this reckless white boy before he gives me a panic attack.”

They try tracking by scent for a while, Boyd and Isaac at the head of the group while Deputy Graeme stands between them with her flashlight. But, despite their efforts, they still haven’t found Stiles after an hour. 

Boyd wants to scream in frustration. He knows he’s not the closest with Stiles, but they have been getting closer, building up a friendship outside of the times Erica makes them all hang out together. Boyd has been trying his best not to freak out now that Stiles has been taken, but each minute that he can’t find Stiles feels like the search for his sister all over again. Boyd can’t lose another person this way, he doesn't think he can handle it.

Just as Deputy Graeme is about to place a hand on Boyd’s shoulder, the teen feels something shoot through his chest. His hand flies to the spot, but he feels whole. There’s no blood, no wound, but the feeling of distress won’t leave him. He looks at Isaac, but the blond doesn’t seem to be feeling it.

The ache tugs at his chest, pulling him forward. Hesitantly, Boyd flashes his eyes, hoping to see something in the space in front of him. He gasps as he gazes at the shimmering silver rope that leads deeper into the woods.

Pack bonds, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Peter says in his head. This must be his bond to Stiles.

“Follow me,” Boyd instructs bluntly before taking off into between the trees. He will find his packmate, there’s no doubt about that now.

The human deputies try to keep up as Boyd dashes through the darkness, following the shimmering line. 

“Where are you running to,” Isaac yells as he tries to keep up with his packmate.

“Look, it’s Stiles.” The blond looks around, confused, and Boyd lets out an annoyed groan. “Look with your wolf eyes, Isaac. He’s leading me to him.”

Isaac’s eyes flash gold, and they widen as he looks at the line sticking out of Boyd’s chest.

“Why don't I have that?” Isaac asks, dodging a tree.

Boyd tries to shrug, not sure why Stiles reached out to him rather than Isaac.

“All I know is that this is a way to find him, okay.”

Isaac nods curtly, and Boyd focuses on following the lead deeper into the woods.

Peter is there when Boyd skids into the clearing, a thicker golden bond stemming from his chest, eyes glowing blue and his packmates behind him. At the center of the clearing, Stiles lays prone and covered in runes on the Nemeton. Deaton is there as well, talking animatedly to Scott, who hasn’t noticed them yet.

“You want to keep this power? You want to be an Alpha, yes? Then we need to do this!”

“But do we need to use Stiles? I don’t need him! I don't want him! Why can’t you do it?”

Peter growls and Boyd watches as the older man paces by the mountain ash barrier that is keeping him away from Stiles.

“Because he’s not strong enough. He needs Stiles’ power to make you into a false Alpha,” Peter explains. Scott and Deaton both look up, wide-eyed.

“You think you can stop me, Hale? You couldn’t stop me when Talia was alpha, you couldn’t stop me when I poisoned Claudia Stilinski, and you can’t stop me now.”

Boyd couldn’t breathe, shocked by both Deaton’s statement and Stiles’ pathetic whimper. Boyd has heard about Mrs. Stilinski’s death, listened to Stiles’ quiet recounting of his loss when they were the only two left awake during pack night. Stiles had cried to Boyd that night, convinced he was the one who killed his mother. But, no. It was Deaton all this time.

The confession angers Peter the most, and the man growls.

“I will make you suffer if it’s the last thing I do.”

“You aren’t strong enough, Hale,” Deaton laughs as he steps towards Stiles’s unconscious body. 

Before Peter can attack, Deputy Parrish and Graeme finally come running in from both sides of the clearing. Leading them is Derek and Mr. Argent, a thick rosy rope stemming from Derek's chest and leading into Stiles’. Derek lets out a roar when he spots Stiles.

“Alan Deaton, step away from the kid,” Parrish demands in his officer voice, ready to do this the normal way.

“Or what?” the man seethes. He throws his hand in the air and a pulse of power sends everyone flying six feet back. 

Derek and Peter are the firsts to recover, both diving forward to press at the magical barrier. Behind them, Boyd makes eye contact with Mr. Argent. He signals to the mountain ash, and then Scott, and Boyd gets the idea.

“What made you do this, Scott?” Boyd yells out, trying to get the other teen's attention. “Why turn on Stiles like this?”

“I didn’t turn on him!” Scott shouts, throwing a golden glare at Boyd. “He left me behind!”

“No, he didn’t,” Erica buts in. “You left him behind, yet here you are, needing him again.”

“I don't need him!” Scott growls, face shifting.

Just as Scott goes to lunge at Boyd, Mr. Argent breaks the ash line, and Derek bowls Scott over. The packless teen can barely defend himself as Derek flattens him out, manhandling Scott until he has his hands behind his back. 

At the same time, Boyd and Deputy Parrish go for Stiles while Peter goes for Deaton.

Derek knocks Scott to the ground, flipping the boy onto his stomach to apprehend him. Scott goes easy; he’s weak without a pack and his guilt is wafting off of him in noxious waves. The smell makes Derek screw up his face, but Scott deserves to be guilty. He can hear Deaton struggle against Peter before the electric sizzle of a taser rings through the air to his left.

Everyone pauses, looking up to see Deputy Graeme standing a few feet away from Deaton’s twitching body, hands wrapped tight around her bright green taser. When he stops moving, she rolls him onto his stomach, cuffs him, and reads him his rights.

Stiles wakes up in his room, savoring the warmth of the pillow next to him. He shuffles closer to it, pressing his nose into the case to breathe in the woodsy scent. The pillow lets out a deep chuckle as Stiles nuzzles his nose into it, and the sound pulls him out of his daze.

Stiles lets out an embarrassing squeal when he realizes that his pillow is, in fact, Derek Hale. Stiles is about to apologize but Derek shuts him up with a glare.

Stiles is ready to be yelled at, is ready to be told that he's an idiot, that he should have known better. But Derek doesn't say any of that. Instead, Derek presses their foreheads together.

 “I'm sorry I couldn't get to you faster,” the older man says instead. “ We should have listened to you.”

Stiles is confused for a moment,  as he tries to understand what Derek means. But then he remembers his nightmares, remembers telling his pack mates about his fears. 

“Yeah, you should have. But you found me; you came for me,” Stiles explains softly.

“I should have come for you sooner.”

Stiles hums in agreement. “So, where is everybody else?”

“Downstairs waiting for me to let them in.”

“You've been hiding me from everyone?”

“They're too excitable,” Derek laughs. “I could barely hold Peter back.”

“You've been hiding me from Peter! Derek Hale, you better open this door right now and let that man in.”

 Derek groans louder than he means to. He isn't sure what's worse, Stiles nearly being murdered or Stiles being best friends with Peter.