Chapter Text
Derek waited in the Beacon Hills High School parking lot for two hours. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for school to end. Waiting for Isaac to come out. After seeing what had become of Erica while he was gone, he needed to see Isaac with his own eyes. He knew Isaac was angry with him and that wouldn’t be improved by him barging into his calculus class unannounced. So, he waited. He listened for his heartbeat and used the steady rhythm to keep his wolf at bay.
As he sat in his car waiting and listening, another heartbeat budged its way into the forefront of his focus. He knew that heartbeat as well, but it was too fast, too erratic. And it was just getting faster. Derek tried to ignore it, Stiles wasn’t his problem. Isaac was. But when Stiles’ heartrate started nearing 200 bpm, Derek caved. Something had to be wrong.
He followed the heartbeat to find Stiles curled up under a sink in the boys’ locker room. He was rocking back and forth with his head between his hands, murmuring “Wake up, Stiles,” over and over and over.
Stiles didn’t seem to notice Derek squatting in front of him. “Stiles!” Derek shook him by the shoulder.
Stiles glanced up, eyes crazed. “See Derek’s not even here. How could he be here? You’re dreaming, Stiles. Wake up, Stiles. Wake up, Stiles, Wake up…”
Fear and anxiety were rolling off of him in waves. Derek could almost choke on the smell of it. “Stiles, you’re not dreaming. This is real. You need to breathe.”
Stiles started bashing his hand against his head, seemingly unable to hear Derek. Derek stopped his hand and growled low in his chest. “STILES.” He put all the power he could muster into the word.
Stiles finally stopped. His eyes landed on Derek’s. “I can’t wake up,” he whimpered.
“Stiles. This is real. You are awake. Do you know how to tell when you’re dreaming?”
“You can’t read in dreams…I can’t read, Derek. I can’t read.” His voice was so scared.
“Count your fingers, Stiles. You have extra fingers in dreams. Count with me.” Derek held out the hand that he still held to prevent Stiles from hitting himself. He gently pried open each finger, one at a time. “Count with me, Stiles. One…”
“One…” Stiles repeated shakily.
“Two.”
“Two…”
When all ten of Stiles’ fingers were played out in front of him, he took a big heaving breath. They sat like that for another few minutes, just breathing, while Stiles’ heartrate returned to normal.
Stiles looked up at him sluggishly, like he had just run a marathon. “How are you here right now?”
Derek readjusted himself on the cold concrete floor. “I was waiting to see Isaac. I’m back. I didn’t mean to…it’s a long story…” he sighed. “I was waiting in the parking lot when I heard your heart go haywire.”
“You heard my heart from the parking lot? But…” Stiles looked over Derek’s shoulder, eyebrows furrowed.
“Stiles, what the hell just happened? What is going on? Why did you think you were dreaming?”
He put his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “Remember that super casual little sacrifice we made to the nemeton to save our parents a few months ago? Turns out killing ourselves and coming back to life to imbue a stump with magic powers has some side effects. Who would have guessed?”
“What kind of side effects?”
“Oh you know, the usual…Irritability. Insomnia. Hallucinations. Demon visits. Death. Just your everyday pharmaceutical warning label.”
He said it so flippantly, but his heartbeat betrayed how scared he actually was. He tucked his hands under his legs, but not before Derek saw them shaking. “Stiles—”
“Don’t worry about it, sourwolf. I’ve got it all under control. Just as soon as I figure out when a door is not a door.”
“When its ajar.”
Stiles’ head snapped up, eyes wide. “What the hell did you just say?”
“A door is not a door when it’s ajar. It’s one of those cheesy riddles like you find on the candy wrappers.” Derek could practically smell the smoke from how fast the gears in Stiles’ head were turning. “What does it mean?”
He jumped to his feet. “I need to talk to Deaton.” He sprinted out the door before Derek had even gotten to his feet.
“Stiles, what the hell?” He was never going to be able to keep up with what goes on in that kid’s head. He got up to follow after him, but just then the final bell rang. It was time to find Isaac.
He followed the sound of Isaac’s heartbeat until he found him chatting with Scott near his locker. Scott heard him approach first, distrustful eyes snapping up to meet his. Isaac’s followed a fraction of a second later. Emotions flickered across Isaac’s face faster than Derek could name them. He thought he saw joy, but he couldn’t be sure if that was just wishful thinking. The emotion he landed on, though, was easy to name. Fury.
“Isaac—”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I—”
“You just show up here. At my school. After three months of silence. Three months Derek! You just walk around giving superpowers to teenagers and then abandon them to deal with that alone? What the hell kind of alpha does that? Do you have any idea what has been happening? Where the hell were you?” He had been talking under his breath when he had started, but by the end Isaac was shouting.
Scott was looking around at all the students passing by. He put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “Isaac, maybe you should—”
“You weren’t even here for Boyd’s funeral. Erica…” He stopped himself and swallowed thickly. “SHE NEEDED YOU!” His eyes flashed gold, and Scott stepped in front of him.
“Enough.” Derek could feel the power Scott had put into the word. Even with his back to him Derek knew Scott’s eyes were flashing red. Isaac cowed. Derek’s wolf roared in challenge. Another alpha backing down his beta did not sit well with his wolf. But he bit down on the impulses. He could tell now why Isaac’s pack bond had been so faded. He hadn’t taken the leap to fully leave Derek’s pack, maybe didn’t even know how, but it was clear his loyalties were being pulled towards Scott instead. It was all but official, in the way Issac relaxed into Scott’s touch, his wolf soothed by the alpha’s calming energy. His alpha, Derek’s mind amended helpfully.
“I deserve that. And more. I know.” Derek put his hands up placatingly. “I’m sorry.”
Issac glared around Scott’s shoulder. He slammed his locker door and stormed off without another word. Scott turned and gave him a sympathetic look. “Sorry, man.” He walked after Isaac, not looking particularly sorry at all.
Derek sighed. “Well, that went about as well as expected,” he muttered to no one.
****
Derek collapsed onto the couch in his loft. Dust swirled all around him, kicked up by the action. What was he going to do now? Yesterday was a complete bust. A knock at the door saved him from actually having to answer that question. He dragged himself over to answer the door, but before he even got there Stiles was sliding it open in a huff.
“Hey, hi, I need your help.” He made his way inside, backpack slung over one shoulder, hands tapping out a rhythm on his thighs.
Derek couldn't even find it in himself to be annoyed by the intrusion as he normally would be. “You need my help with what?” he resigns.
“I need help catching a scent. There was a crash. A girl was taken from the wreck.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
“Eight years? Stiles why—”
“I know, okay.” His drumming turned into pacing. “I know. Finding a body from a car wreck from eight years ago that may or may not even be supernaturally linked is not at the top of anybody’s priority list. But it’s for my dad. It was his first case and he knows about the supernatural now and he’s getting fired and he needs this okay? He just needs this. And I need this. So, please?” His pacing stopped with his rambling and he turned to face Derek. “Help me. Please.”
Derek had absolutely no idea what Stiles was going on about. But he was standing there looking at Derek without anger or heartbreak or distrust. This was something Derek could fix. “Let me grab my jacket.”
Stiles, for his part, tried to cover how shocked he was at Derek’s easy agreement. “Really? Uhh.. I mean, great! I’ll drive.”
“I’ll drive, “ Derek corrected.
“You’ll drive!” Stiles agreed cheerily.
They made their way down to the parking lot with Stiles’ running commentary on the case. “I got it. Mother, two daughters. Car wreck. Coyotes. One body never recovered.” Derek slid into the driver’s seat of his car. “But what makes you think this is a supernatural case? And why is it so important now?”
“My dad is up for impeachment. I went and saw him at work. He’s been going through every single case he’s ever worked. Looking at things with a new 'supernatural lens'. Reprimanding himself for every case that he couldn’t solve because he didn’t have all the facts. This case was his first as Sheriff. He seemed to think it could be werewolf related. The girl—Malia—her body was never found. I just thought…I don’t know…maybe I could close it for him. Find her body. Give the father some closure.” Stiles leaned his head against the window, voice going soft. “It wouldn’t make up for the years of not knowing. But maybe it could be an apology or something. I don’t know…”
Derek glanced over at him. He looked so tired. The dark circles under his eyes were a deep shade of purple. He was looking out the windshield, but his stare seemed a million miles away.
There were a dozen questions Derek could’ve asked. About Stiles. About his dad. “Isn’t this typically the type of thing you would go to Scott for help with?” he asked instead as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Stiles scoffed. “I did. But there’s this new girl. You know how he is,” he said, making a vague waving gesture to insinuate however it was that Scott is. “Add in the new Isaac drama—thanks for that by the way—and this just didn’t make the cut.”
Derek tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “The Isaac drama?” He kept his voice as nonchalant as he could. “What do you mean?”
Stiles barked out a laugh. “Nice try, big guy. You know exactly what Isaac drama. The complete emotional upheaval at your departure and subsequent return.”
“Emotional upheaval?” Guilt was beginning to bubble up in his stomach. “Has it really been that bad?”
Stiles looked at him with too sharp eyes, surveying his every motion. He seemed to consider his answer for a long time.
“It wasn’t good. For a while. Erica—Boyd’s death broke her. She couldn’t control her shifts. She broke a lot of things. Some people too. Isaac is lucky that werewolves can heal so quickly. He certainly needed it.” Stiles absently rubbed at his forearm and Derek wondered if he had been including himself in that description.
“Her parents were out of their depths. They still don’t know, ya know, about everything. But all they could see was their daughter was so hurt and so angry. She would lash out. It got to be too much for them. They sent her to Eichen House.”
Derek swallowed thickly. He could hear the steering wheel groaning under the pressure of his grip, but he couldn’t make his fingers move to loosen them. Stiles eyes stayed on him all the while.
“Isaac used to go to see her. Every day. He thought having pack with her was the key to getting her through her grief. At some point, she figured out how to stop her healing abilities. She began to let her body feel the drugs they would pump her full of. Isaac said she liked the haze. Wanted to stay in it forever.” Derek could feel the heat of Stiles’ gaze on him like a blowtorch, so hot he could swear his skin was blistering.
“He’s not good alone, Isaac. He needs someone to follow. Someone to attach himself to. And that was before all the supernatural pack mentality stuff. When Melissa found out he had nowhere to live after the stuff with his dad, and with you out of town, she insisted on him staying with her and Scott. You can guess how long it took for him to attach himself to Scott in your absence.” Derek ground his teeth together. “It helped him though. Being around Scott. It helped him with the turns. With the Erica stuff.”
He let Derek sit with that information in silence for a moment. Silence from Stiles was unusual. It nearly drove Derek to glance over to make sure he hadn’t passed out or something. But even without looking, Derek could still feel the burning pressure of his gaze. He just watched Derek digest what he had said. Silent and still. They were halfway through the preserve before Stiles spoke again.
“He doesn’t think we can trust you. Scott. He never fully trusted you to begin with. But since you disappeared for so long…” Stiles shifted in his seat, the first movement he’d made in more than ten minutes. “He thinks you were up to something. Not sure what exactly. But something nefarious. Says it was cruel and irresponsible of you to make Isaac and Erica betas and then leave.”
Derek clears his throat. He thinks he should be angry. He thinks six months ago he would’ve been. But when he reaches for the anger, he can’t find it. There’s this heavy weight of guilt growing in his gut, but the rest of him feels hollow. He meets Stiles’ gaze head on. “What do you think?”
They hold each other’s gaze for entirely too long to be considered safe while driving a car. Stiles is the first to look away. “I think you must’ve had a good reason.”
Derek’s breath studders in his chest, unbeknownst to Stiles who continues on, “I think you often find yourself on the wrong side of things due to your spectacular inability to recognize what a good plan looks like even if it were standing in front of you dancing the hula. I think this ‘brooding silence and pension for leather jackets’ persona you project is a paper tiger. I think you’re mistrusting and over-serious and you withhold information like it’s your favorite American pastime. But I don’t think you’re selfish. You’re not intentionally cruel. And even if you go about things in the wrong way, every single time, you’re trying to do the right thing. So, I don’t think you would have hurt Isaac and Erica like this on purpose.”
Derek parked the car on the side of the road. They would have to walk from here. Stiles clambers out without waiting for Derek. He’s a good fifty yards away before Derek manages to pull himself from his thoughts to follow after him. It had been so long since anyone gave Derek the benefit of the doubt. Stiles hadn’t even bothered to ask Derek for his reasoning for being gone so long, he just assumed Derek had a justifiable one. He didn’t know what to do with that knowledge, but he thought maybe that growing weight in his stomach felt just a little bit lighter.
They walked on and on. Stiles was so focused on the map in front of his face and his never-ending rambling that Derek had to steer Stiles’ through the entire forest. It was nice for Derek to have such an easy task to focus on. Pull his arm this direction. Push his shoulder that direction. Lift tree branch over here. Duck over there. Catch him when he trips over a root for the twelth time. Nothing complicated, no life or death stakes. Just keep Stiles from walking face first into a tree.
All the while, Stiles rambled on about his econ test and the latest new show on Netflix and everything in between. Derek listened in silence, pulling and pushing Stiles as needed to keep him on the right path. Until, finally, they arrived at a crushed, rusted old hunk of metal that was once the Tate family car.
Stiles whistled low under his breath. “Man, that must have been one hell of a wreck…”
Derek circled the car, looking for some kind of indicator to tell him what he was supposed to be tracking. Long, jagged tears crisscrossed all over the rear door. He called over for Stiles to take a look.
“Do you think those could be from the coyotes after the fact?” Stiles mused.
Derek popped the claws on his right hand and held them up to the metal for comparison. The jagged scratches matched the width of his claws perfectly. “I’d say too big to be your standard coyote.”
“So, my dad was right then. Werewolf.”
Derek said nothing. He crawled down into the body of the wrecked car for a better look. The car was badly damaged not only from the wreck, but from the eight years left out in the open to succumb to the elements. The seats had been torn to shreds and there were deep gouges in the metal of the roof and the doors. Definitely claw marks. Derek’s knee landed on something soft and he nearly jumped out of his skin when a tinny, garbled voice screeched out “I—I—I—I’m hungry…”
Derek climbed out of the car holding the battered old baby doll. “Might be able to get a strong enough scent from this.”
“That is absolutely terrifying,” Stiles muttered.
Derek took a strong whiff of the doll, closing his eyes to focus all his senses on distinguishing the scent in front of him. The doll was saturated with the smells of the forest and of mildew from years spent out in the rain. He tried again. He could just barely recognize something else there, something distinctly human. It was extremely weak and faded, but it might be enough.
“You look insanely creepy standing there with your eyes closed and your nosed shoved in the chest of a baby doll. Just so you know.”
Derek opened his eyes to glare at Stiles. Stiles put his hands up in a mollifying gesture. “Right. Right. Helping. Sorry. So, did you get anything?”
“Maybe. It’s very old and very faint. It might not be enough.”
Stiles practically buzzed with anticipation. “Great! Lead the way. Do you need to like get down on the ground or…?” Whatever else offensive thing Stiles’ might have been about to say died on his tongue with the withering look Derek shot his way.
“I’m not a bloodhound, Stiles. And did you miss the part where I said it might not be enough?” But Derek knew it would be enough. He would make it be enough. Because dog jokes aside, Stiles needed his help. Stiles believed in Derek. And Derek was determined to make that belief worth it.
He closed his eyes and concentrated with all his strength. He picked through the thousands of strands of scent around him, casting aside everything forest and searching for anything human. He could smell Stiles beside him, his scent strong and sharp, could track his winding path through the forest all the way back to the car. He smelled of coffee and toothpaste and something that reminded Derek of old books. It was a pleasant smell, warm and familiar. Derek stayed focused on it for a moment longer than was strictly necessary before casting it aside with all the others. And then finally, he found something. Faded and covered in layers of other smells, but there.
He opened his eyes, red irises blazing, and honed in on the faint trail. “Come on then.”
Stiles trailed along behind him, buzzing with energy but trying his best to reign himself in. Derek lost the trail more than a few times. They would stop and Stiles would stand silently beside him while Derek stood there eyes closed, sorting through smells until they found the trail again. Once, Derek did actually crouch down to catch the scent and he thought Stiles would explode with the restraint it took him not to comment on it.
The sun was setting by the time they reached the end of the trail. They had come to a cluster of rocks deep within the preserve. A coyote den. Stiles rushed past Derek up into the rocks.
“Damn it, Stiles, wait!” But he had already disappeared into the den.
Derek climbed in after him. Stiles was crouching down near the back with some ratty old fabric in his hands. “You’re lucky there weren’t any coyotes in here, you know.”
“This was Malia’s. She was wearing it in the photo in the police report. But where’s the body? How is this here, but no body?” He was looking around the den frustratedly, as if he could will the body into existence.
Derek spun around at the sound of claws against rock. He grabbed Stiles by the arm and dragged him toward the exit. “We need to go.”
“What—no—Derek!” He tried to pull his arm back, but Derek had no trouble keeping his grip. He dragged him along, out of the den.
There just a few feet ahead of them, stood a coyote. The coyote crouched, baring its teeth, a deep growl rumbling through its chest. Derek shoved Stiles behind his back. The coyote snapped its teeth and growled harder. It was close. Closer than Derek was comfortable with, having Stiles at his back. He had no doubt that he would win between himself and a wild coyote, but he didn’t want to risk Stiles getting caught in the crossfire.
The coyote was getting more agitated. Derek growled in return. The coyote snapped its teeth again. Derek growled harder, roaring at the coyote with his eyes blazing red. The coyote froze, cowering, trapped in Derek’s gaze. Its eyes began to glow a brilliant blue. Derek blinked. Fast as a shot the coyote had darted away.
“Did that coyote’s eyes just glow?” Stiles asked, peaking over his shoulder.
****
The whole walk back to the car, Stiles was talking a mile a minute. Much the same as the walk into the forest had been, Derek had to direct Stiles around trees and bushes and he yammered on. His mind apparently working too fast to pay attention to his surroundings.
“That could be it couldn’t it, Derek? Malia is a werecoyote and she was triggered by the full moon in the back seat of her parents’ car. She starts to turn, freaks out, causes the accident. She is scared and alone and consumed with guilt. She’s turned. She can’t turn back. She runs off. And she just lives out in the forest as a coyote for the next eight years. It fits.”
Stiles paced back and forth in front of the Camaro, throwing out a new line of questioning with each pass. “But tell me, how does someone become a werecoyote? Are coyotes called by the moon the same as wolves? Why does she turn into a literal coyote and you and Scott just lose your eyebrows? Where do your eyebrows go anyway?”
Derek leaned against the car. He was tired just from witnessing secondhand the mental gymnastics Stiles had been performing. He cannot imagine what it must be like to actually be in his head. “Yes, its possible,” Derek sighed. “Now, get in.”