Chapter Text
Derek has been fidgety all day, there was something in the air, something heavy, his skin felt itchy, his wolf was trashing around and from the look of the pack, they felt it too.
He was not sure if they simply fell under the influence of his mood or if they have also felt the weirdness hanging over them.
He couldn't settle, he never felt his wolf so strongly as he did now. Derek nervously licked his lips and with surprise discovered that his fangs were out. He looked at his hands, and sure enough, there were claws instead of nails. He tried to reign his shift in but couldn't. Then he felt the pull, as if someone was tugging at the bonds between him and his mate. It felt like a physical pain, like something grabbed his most cherished possession and tried to yank it out of his hands. The bond kept stretching, he felt it reach its limits, and snap.
And then Lydia screamed his mate’s name.
* * *
Stiles did not have a good day. Which sucked because it was supposed to be good. A meeting at the pack house, followed by a movie night, cuddling with Sourwolf, maybe something more. He had needs and Derek was so good at fulfilling them, no one could blame him for that.
And yet, here he was, in the middle of the freaking woods, his Jeep giving up on him on the road through the Preserve. No amount of fumbling around under the hood and patching the engine up with duct tape could get it to start again. He cursed the damn thing, but he had no choice other than to start walking. He had some ground to cover before he would get to the Hale house.
It took a lot of time and effort to get Derek to rebuild that thing. And Stiles understood the unwillingness, the stalling, he kept the pack away from Derek and forbade them to pester him about it for as long as he could. But the loft was not working for them, the pack bonds fragile and strained, had no chance of gaining strength there. No real space for the pack to become closer. Pack meetings were cut short, there was no spending time together, no sleepovers or puppy piles. He was still trying to get everyone to use that term but only Scott and Erica jumped in on the bandwagon. He would get the rest to join given time. He was persistent like that.
Stiles took it upon himself to convince Derek to use the property, to finally say goodbye to the ghosts of the past and move on. There were countless conversations on guilt and pain, and betrayal, Derek telling him about Kate, what she did, and Stiles wishing he could murder her again. But as he sat there listening, he reined the anger in, knowing how easy it would be for Derek to misunderstand the emotion. To take it as directed at him. So, he just hugged the wolf, who despite the growling and posturing went willingly and hugged Stiles just as tightly. The wound did not heal at that, the guilt still was an overwhelming burden sitting on Derek's shoulders. But it was a start. Stiles managed to convince the wolf to reach out to a therapist, recommended by Deaton, who knew of the supernatural. He was there to hug Derek after every session, as it quickly became apparent that touch starvation was another thing that weighted heavily on Sourwolf, and he was not going to let it stand. No, not on Stiles's watch.
Hugging turned to kissing, Derek was first to do that. Stiles kept perfectly still, and he remembered the look of panic on Derek's face as he tried to apologize. Stiles silenced him quickly, just to make sure that it was not just gratitude or appeasing Stiles, as Derek could smell all emotions that must have been pouring out of Stiles as they hugged. Derek just smiled and kissed him again.
After that it was like floodgates have opened. They kissed and fooled around, held hands, went on dates, and if pack was to be believed, smelled like each other so much that it was hard to tell them apart. The first time Stiles told Derek he loved him, was right after a particularly difficult therapy session. Derek came to his room as usually through the window and squeezed him hard without a word. And Stiles told him how brave he was. And that he loved him for it. The words felt right despite being said so soon. They felt like the truth. Derek kissed him then, and they made love for the first time. Derek whispering the words of love into Stiles's skin.
It was then that Derek agreed to have the house rebuild. Making room for the whole pack and they got closer. Boyd and Erica no longer thought about running away, Isaac finally felt like he had a place to call home. Scott and Allison, reluctantly at first, accepted the invitation. Scott got assimilated first, seeing Derek treat his best friend right being the deciding factor. Allison had some things to apologize for, but soon bygones became true bygones. Lydia, with pack around her, settled into her role as the banshee, being surrounded more with life than death did wonders for her. Jackson needed pack like he needed air, and actually became more tolerable. Which Stiles would not tell him to his face, his head was already big enough as it is. Even Peter gravitated towards the house and the pack. Stiles could not imagine what it must have been for him to move back inside the house in which he was burned twice. But Peter seemed to take it in stride. They were similar in that aspect, he and Stiles. Pushing through the pain and hardship using humor as a shield and sarcasm as a weapon.
The times were good now. They had a house, his relationship with Derek was moving in the right direction, they were even discussing him moving in. He was not sure if he was ready to leave his dad alone, but from the look of things between him and miss Martin, he might not be alone for long. The town quieted down. They did not have any major event in a long time. With Gerard out of the picture, and Allison and Chris as new heads of the town's hunter family, there was peace between them. It was calm. Almost too calm. Stiles did not want to jinx it. But such calm, usually meant a storm was brewing. He was not a glass half full kind of a guy.
His jeep and phone dying on him could be signs of something coming. The rapid darkening of the air around him was raised the hair on the back of his neck as well. He was simultaneously anxious and berating himself for exaggerating. Ha ran with wolves, so his already unhealthy level of paranoia only increased. He knew that phones and cars broke down from time to time and he used that knowledge to calm down. He pushed on, ignoring the rapid beating of his heart, the raising hair on his arms, the electricity pulsing through his muscles, as his Spark came to life. He knew it was more driven by his belief that something was going on than by a real danger. It was well tuned with his anxiety and normally he knew how to control it. But this time, this time it acted up more than usually. And Stiles was getting tired of it. Tired of getting so wired, tired of pretending he wasn’t. So, he let the Spark out, let it roam around in search of whatever was putting him in this state. Still convinced that it was just his imagination.
And then his fillers hit a barrier that made his power sizzle away to nothing and filled him with cold dread. There was something there with him. It was not all in his head. And that something surrounded him. Stiles took a ragged breath. Then he extended his Spark again. This time it hit the barrier much closer.
"Little spark, little spark, your powers are a child's play."
A female voice spoke almost directly into his ear. He turned around but there was no one behind him.
"What do you want?"
He was surprised how calm and collected he sounded, with just a little note with irritation.
"Nemeton."
His carefully constructed composure started falling apart at the sound of that. The damn magical tree, laying dormant in a place in the Preserve that they could never find when they wanted to, but somehow ended up on when things were going bad, was the worst thing about their town. But as it lay silent, most things coming stumbling here in the night did not know about it. This was not good.
"I don't know what you're talking about, disembodied voice."
The voice just laughed but it was not a good laugh, it was making him want to shrink and disappear. It made him want to run but he couldn't move his feet. Besides, this was a predator right here, there was no showing weakness to one, no running. He had to bare his teeth and show that he was no prey. And definitely not an easy one.
"Oh child, I am too old to play these games. I know of Nemeton. I know of the Hale pack that is guarding it. And I will have it. I just need to get the alpha out of the way."
She spoke of Derek as if he were a thing to toss aside. And if she planned to hurt his mate, she had something else coming. He would never let her put a finger on him. Stiles gathered his Spark, and he believed, believed that he was enough to stop her, to keep Derek safe. But she just laughed again, and his Spark was gone. As if it was never there. And then she was there in front of him. She looked ancient, with her white hair in disarray and madness in her nearly black eyes.
"There is no easier way to rid oneself of an alpha," she whispered, "than to have him go truly, deeply, madly feral."
She placed her hands on his shoulders. Pain flowed through his body, and he screamed and screamed until darkness swallowed him.