Melissa: We call that a traumatic experience.
Melissa, turning to Scott: Not a "bruh moment."
Melissa, turning to Isaac: Not "rip."
Melissa, turning to Lydia: Not a "failed oversight on my part".
Melissa, turning to Peter: Not an "omen of destiny".
Melissa, turning to Boyd: Not a "failed mission".
Melissa, turning to Derek: Not a "display of weakness to the Hale bloodline."
Melissa, turning to Erica: Not a "whoopsie daisies".
Melissa, turning to the Sherriff: Not a "day without a paycheck".
Melissa, turning to Stiles: And definitely not an "oof lmao".
Scott: We need to do something about Peter's behavior. [pointing at each pack member] Intervention? Intervention? Intervention?
Derek: Count me out.
Scott: We can't count you out, he listens to you!
Derek: Well, he also listens to the Bare-Naked Ladies. Go get their dumb asses to help you out.
[everyone gasps]
Boyd: Woah, absolutely not okay!
Erica: Back it up!
Stiles: Okay, Derek, you are CLEARLY in a bad space today, but Peter is your uncle, and the Bare-Naked Ladies are triple platinum! Are you?!
Derek: Why does everyone leap to defend that band so aggressively? And how much stuff do we have to go through this year before my friendship stops being questioned?
Isaac: Well, maybe friendship is about going through a lot of stuff, Derek! And maybe BNL has two Billboard Awards to your zero!
Derek: Oh, okay, they're "BNL" now? We need a shorthand for the Bare-Naked Ladies?! That's how fundamental they are?!
Stiles: Fundamental.
Derek: You know what Peter probably needs more than anything? Some space. Maybe I do too.
Scott: You know what? Maybe we all need some space to pull the knife out of the back of the most celebrated Canadian alt-rock band of the mid-'90s, you selfish, jaded ass!
no one ever believed stiles' words when he talked about killing someone without any discomfort, without a heartbeat, they always thought it was some kind of weird joke (like any stiles' joke). they also never realized how scott always changed the subject about it, always asked for any other option and those who realized it, thought it was just because the true alpha™ was too good or a really bad friend.
when stiles gets hurt and ends up becoming scott's beta, nobody can understand why stiles is now the only one who takes care of the problems that appear in the territory, even though he's a young werewolf. scott knows, before he could try control it better, try to keep stiles out of it, but as a wolf his bloodlust is so fucking strong and the only thing the alpha can do to help is sending stiles for those who deserve it and giving a friendly shoulder when stiles need.
It was safe to say that Stiles had, as the saying went, gone done fucked up.
How?
Oh. Easy.
At work, he was busy editing another one of Eddie's crappy articles like always. (Seriously, why did they keep this clown on? He wrote in text talk through the entire article, for crying out loud!) Minding his own business for once. And then Lawrence, headache inducing Lawrence, slid onto his desk. Nearly knocked everything to the floor, earning a murderous scowl from Stiles. Instead of backing away and hopping off the desk like a normal person would, the douche had the audacity to ask if Stiles had a date to bring to the upcoming party.
Now, Stiles was far more interested in pack activities. He usually avoided work parties like the plague. Most of the time not on purpose. There were actual pack shenanigans going on during those parties. Even then, he never paid any attention in the first place when these party announcements were made.
So, of course, Stiles had no idea about this one, either.
Unfortunately, this sent Lawrence on a ramble about the party. Who knew that the Beacon Hills Monthly had parties for...nothing in particular? Not Stiles! Prior to this encounter with Lawrence. Who was currently giving him a borderline migraine.
After Lawrence was done signing praises to this party, he asked again if Stiles had a date.
Then proceeded to ask that if Stiles didn't have a date, if he'd be interested in being his date.
Now normally, Stiles would have a witty, sarcastic comment he would shoot out that would put Lawrence in his place. Shut the guy up for a week. Or tell him that he had family things going on. Only he knew there wasn't any pack gathering the day of the party to save his hide. Witty, sarcastic comment it was!
Heh, well, that wasn't what happened.
This time, Stiles blurted out something utterly stupid.
“Thanks for the offer, but I'll be coming with my boyfriend.”
It was a beat too late before he realized what he had said. He had to tamper down his horror as Headache Lawrence begrudgingly congratulated him. Followed by telling the entire building that Stiles had a boyfriend.
And then, and then, Georgina came up to Stiles, gushing and sounding so excited that her favorite had a boyfriend. She just couldn't wait to meet the man that had won her Stiles' heart! Give the man cookies and kisses on the cheek! Because Stiles was like a grandson to her, and this mysterious boyfriend would become like her second grandson!
This was when Stiles knew he had fucked up.
Royally.
“What am I going to do?!” he wailed upon arriving at his apartment and telling Scott on the phone the story. “The whole damn building thinks I have a boyfriend! They're gonna expect me to bring one to this stupid party! Georgina wants to give the guy cookies and kisses on the cheek!”
Scott hissed, probably wincing on his end. “Yeah...you messed up. Bad.”
“I know! What do I do!?”
“Get someone to pretend to be your boyfriend?”
“Pfft! Like who? You're married, and as much as I love you bro, I'm not gonna pretend that I'm boning you.”
“Thanks for that imagery...”
“Boyd in on his honeymoon with Erica. Isaac is occupied with a whole hell of a lot of things, so I'm not asking him. Jackson sure as hell won't do it, and that's just fine by me 'cause nooooo thank you. Liam can't act or lie worth shit. And I love Corey and Mason, and they may be the best candidates, but I know they are still shaken over the whole kidnapping thing, so I'm gonna leave them out of this.”
“What about Derek?”
Stiles sputtered, nearly dropping his phone. “H-huh?”
“What about Derek? He could do it.”
“I-I don't think he would, Scotty. And I kinda don't want to ask him to.”
“Because you have a ridiculous crush on him?”
“I thought we vowed to never speak of that? Besides...we may be pretty good pals now...but it took a long time for it to happen, and the guy has a bad track record of people using him, and I think this might count as one of those. I don't want to break his trust, y'know? Make him feel used.”
“How would this make him feel used?”
Stiles loved Scott. Loved him like a brother. He really did. But...sometimes...
“Just ask him. If he says no, then pretend you're sick on the day of the party.”
He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “That might be what I have to do.”
“After you ask Derek.”
“Can't I just skip that part?”
“Ask him, Stiles.”
Scott hung up, leaving Stiles no chance to continue his weak whining. With another sigh, Stiles plopped down on the couch, staring at his phone screen. This was going to be so much fun. Mostly because he figured that doing this face-to-face would be the best way to go.
Hopefully this wouldn't boot him out of the pack.
If it did, he was going to kick Scott's ass.
He sent a quick text to Derek, asking him to come over for a chat. Surprisingly, the dude replied back instantly, asking if now was good. Stiles half hoped Derek hadn't replied. If he hadn't, then Stiles wouldn't have to do this. He responded back that now was fine, and nearly had a hernia when the wolf said he'd be there in five.
Welp...this was going to suck all the balls.
All. The. Balls.
~+~
Stiles expected Derek to be pissed as hell when he word vomited his predicament. He expected Derek to be livid when he asked if he would pretend to be his boyfriend for the party. But...
“Sure.”
Huh. That was unexpected.
“Wait...really?”
The wolf shrugged, arms folded. “Yeah. This Lawrence guy sounds like a pain in the ass.”
“He is. Dude has no idea that when I say I'm not interested, that it means I'm not interested.”
Derek nodded, wrinkling his nose in annoyance. “Hmmm. Need to learn.”
“You're not going to rip his throat out with your teeth.”
“Fun sucker.”
If it had been years ago, back when he was sixteen, Stiles would've gone ape shit over Derek freakin' Hale saying something remotely funny. But, alas, they had known each other for some time now. Derek actually had an amazing, dry, sarcastic sense of humor. One that Stiles could appreciate whole heartily.
“Lawrence aside...Georgina sounds like a lovely lady.”
Stiles snickered, shaking his head. “Oh, she is. Very grandma-like. Cheek pinching and all.”
“I hope you mean my face.”
“Eh. It's a fifty-fifty deal with her.”
Derek gave him the 'what the hell' face before mumbling, “Nevermind...”
“Anyway...” Stiles rocked on the balls of his feet, still anxious about all of this. “We should talk about boundaries. What you're comfortable with and what you're not comfortable with. That kind of stuff.”
Again, Derek shrugged. Appearing completely unfazed by any of this. “Whatever you're okay with doing is fine.”
“No no no no no. That's not how this works!”
He approached the other male, gripping at his shoulder tightly and giving him a highly serious stare. This was the hundredth time Stiles had this type of conversation with Derek. Maybe was beyond the hundredth. He was a little surprised he still needed to tell Derek these kind of things. Then again...with Derek's history...
“I'm putting you in this sort of awkward position. Which you can totally back out of any time you want. And since it will most definitely be awkward, I need to know what I can and can't do. I don't want to make this any worse for you than it will be.”
With an eye roll, Derek took Stiles' wrist, removing it from his shoulder but still held onto it. “You're not putting me in a sort of awkward position. I'm offering to save your ass. But, if you're so keen on making boundaries...don't smack or pinch my ass. Don't talk about me like I'm a slab of meat. If we kiss, you can't give me tongue. You can't call me sweetie or sweetheart or baby.”
There was a pause. Stiles waited for Derek to add more to the Do Not Do List . Never happened. He blinked in confusion, tilting his head to the side. Derek followed suit.
“That's it?”
“Yes?”
“Oh. I, uh...expected more.”
“I know. But that's it.”
“So...I can hold your hand?”
“Yes.”
“I can kinda snuggle up next to you?”
“Yes.”
“Can I kiss your cheek? I won't put you on the spot with the lip kissing.”
“I'm fine with either. Just no tongue.”
Stiles nodded eagerly, a swoosh of relief hitting him. “Done. Deal. No problem. I'm totally cool with all of those rules. I really don't have any. I'm kinda on the same boat with you. But! But but...you can one hundred percent call me honey. Or...uh...Mischief.”
There weren't questions asked. Yes, a brow raised, but nothing verbal. The wolf licked his lips, nodding.
“All right. When is this party?”
“Uh, Saturday. Not this Saturday! Next Saturday.”
“Mmm. Plenty of time to practice.”
“Yep. Plenty of time to – wait. Practice?”
A sigh. “Yes, Stiles. If you want to convince these people, specifically Lawrence, that we are dating...we need to practice.”
Stiles flailed his arms, skin flushing. “B-b-but why?! We know practically everything there is to know about each other!”
“They will question if we aren't acting like we're affectionate in some way. Lawrence may keep bugging you if he thinks there is trouble in paradise.”
Ah. Good point. Excellent point. Derek was such a smart cookie. A smart cookie who was going to make Stiles kill over. Fake affection or not.
This was going to be an interesting week. Maybe even a little fun.
If Stiles didn't die from it.
~+~
Thank god the night of the party came by swiftly. Stiles was certain he was going to have a heart attack with all the affection Derek and he had been practicing. It was certainly not curing his not so small crush on the man. In fact...it was making it a million times worse.
At least it would be fun while it lasted...
Stiles picked up Derek an hour before the party was to start, wanting to get them to it quick so that they could leave quicker. And what does that bastard do? Dress in Stiles' favorite pair of jeans – the ones that fit tightly over that ass – and wear that damned maroon sweater with the thumb holes. The thumb holes!
This was it. This was how he died.
Derek briefly commented on how nice Stiles looked, which did not help matters. And it was made worse when Derek mentioned he had always thought that the simple black t-shirt and maroon skinny jeans looked perfect on him.
Yep. Death. Death was upon him. Maybe not swiftly, but it was upon him!
When they arrived at the party, a few people were there. (Not Lawrence or Georgina, though.) They were gawking at the man Stiles was holding hands with upon entrance. Gawked more when Derek introduced himself with the most genuine, sweetest voice Stiles had ever heard. And he was smiling. Actually smiling.
Lord...give him strength...
Upon Georgina's arrival, which was done loud and spectacularly, she spotted Stiles and Derek instantly. She flocked right on over, suffocating them with hugs and peppered kisses. She bombarded them with questions – the same ones she had been asking Stiles all week. While Stiles stuttered a little, a bit overwhelmed, Derek handled it like a bonafide pro.
“We met when he was sixteen. He was trespassing on my family's old property.”
“Yes! He is such a blanket hog!”
“He introduced me to his mom first. It was a little easier since I, uh, wasn't on good terms with his dad at the time.”
“Mmmm. Yes. He does all the cooking. I'm the baker.”
“No no! You're fine! I'm actually working on trying to regain my family's property. I'm thinking of rebuilding the house. We have a lot of gatherings with our friends and their families, so a bigger place would definitely be the best thing for us.”
It was dizzying trying to keep up. At the same time...it was...nice to see Derek open up like this. He really wasn't telling much lies. Most of it was truthful. Of course the supernatural was left out of it, and most of the lies were about the romance part of their relationship. Other than that, Derek was very honest and sincere and smiling the entire time he spoke with Georgina.
This was just adding to the non helpful things this was doing to Stiles' crushing.
Then...Lawrence showed up.
The very second he saw Derek and Stiles, his face soured. He came up to them, introducing himself to Derek, and, for some reason, was sizing up the werewolf. It was close to impossible for Stiles to hold back a snarky comment.
Not so much for Derek.
“Are you checking me out?” he scoffed. “I'm sorry, sir, but I'm happily taken by this tall drink of water right here.”
Then, then then...Derek decided it would be a great idea to kiss Stiles on the temple.
The hole punches on his Lord, Give Me Strength card was all punched out.
Almost passed out from the rush of adrenaline he suddenly gained.
Lawrence swallowed, eye twitching and face straining to contain a horribly fake smile. “And what a drink of water he is.”
“Isn't he?!” Derek said in a sweet, giddy, close to high pitched voice. “God, I'm surprised no one has tried to take him away. I mean, it was a problem in the past. A huge problem. 'Course, it happens to me, too. I guess we're both irresistible.”
It took everything in Stiles' power to not choke on laughter. It was clear that Derek was talking about Lawrence. Hinting that his advances weren't welcomed. Lawrence's eye twitched again, and his smile was faltering. So was Derek's.
Shit was about to go down.
Stiles could feel it.
The werewolf straightened his posture, showing his true height, and flared his nostrils. “Stiles tells me that you've been making unwanted advances towards him.”
Lawrence snorted, the fear in his eyes visible. “They weren't unwanted. He welcomed them full heartily.”
Brow raised. Jaw tightened. Oh no. Not that face. “Are you calling Stiles a liar?”
“I might be. He does make tall tales. Like how you two are dating.”
“Ah. Hate to break it to you, but we are. Have been for years. On and off.”
“Oh. On and off, huh?”
Derek crossed his arms, puffing his chest out. Had that infamous glare on. “You make it sound like you have a chance with him. Well, hate to break this to you as well, but you don't.”
“Oh, I do already. I mean, we did share a nice kiss last week. It was pretty X-Rated.”
Okay. Stiles had to step in. Or else Derek was going to strangle this bozo.
He got in front of Derek, an arm left behind him so that he could press against Derek's chest. He gave Lawrence the dirtiest look he could muster, curling his lip into a mock snarl. At this point, he could see from the corner of his eye that their coworkers were watching the show – hanging by every word, every action.
Frickin' nosy bodies.
“Lawrence, cut the shit. You're trying to puff yourself up like a peacock, and it is idiotic. Drop it. Accept that I'm not ever going to be interested in you. Move on. Quit being a creeper. I'm with Derek, and that's the end of it. Give it up. Especially since I can tell you're about to shit your pants.”
Lawrence, good ol' headache inducing Lawrence, laughed. Sort of maniacally. But it wasn't intimidating. It was just...weird. Super weird. Like he was trying to trick himself into being less scared. He then patted Stiles' shoulder, which made Derek lurch forward a smidge, and grinned.
“Oh, Stiles. I would. I honestly would. But you see...I don't believe you two are dating. And once I prove it, you'll owe me a date.”
“I won't owe you anything! So back the fuck off! You know something, Lawrence? I am so sick of your -”
Suddenly, Derek swooped Stiles off his feet, carrying him bridal style away from Lawrence. He took them over to where Georgina ran off to, where he set Stiles back down and sparked up a cheery conversation with her. Acting like nothing had happened between them and Lawrence.
Everyone else had as well.
Lawrence kept stealing glances at Stiles and Derek, which was unnerving. Each time Derek caught Lawrence doing that, he wrapped an arm around Stiles, pressing a kiss to his temple, and promising that he was safe. With each kiss – Stiles shuddered. He felt his knees go weak and his stomach swoop.
Derek was way too damn good with this pretending...
The rest of the night went off without a hitch. It was actually a fun party. Eventually, however, Stiles was getting worn out by being around this many people. Derek, too. They excused themselves and finally left to go back to their homes.
During the drive, Stiles struggled with words. He had to find the right ones that would ring gratitude. Because he was grateful for Derek doing this for him. Despite it being a little painful to think that those little kisses and other affectionate actions wouldn't happen between them again.
“Derek?” he finally said quietly.
“Mmm?”
“I...thanks. For doing this for me. And for helping me with Lawrence.”
“Anything for you.”
He chuckled nervously, turning into the parking lot for Derek's loft. “Yeah, well, you were pretty good at the whole fake boyfriend thing. Too bad Lawrence didn't seemed convinced. But the guy is known for feeding off of denial.”
Derek hummed, contemplating something.
It wasn't until Stiles parked that he said what was on his mind.
“You know...I think I'd be pretty good at being a real boyfriend. If you're interested.”
It was a very very good thing that Stiles was parked. Because he would've slammed on the brakes if he wasn't. He gaped at Derek with jaw hung open. He could not believe what he just heard. For a moment, he was certain that he heard wrong.
Judging by Derek's expectant expression, he hadn't heard wrong.
He flailed, hitting a hand on the roof of the Jeep. “You're – are you serious? Are you teasing me? Because if you are...it's not...it's not fun -”
Derek silenced him with a kiss. On the lips. It was soft, tender. Sucked the air right out of Stiles' lungs.
When it stopped, Stiles found himself chasing the taste. Chasing after someone he thought was unattainable. He felt a hand cupping his face, caressing it gently, cautiously, like it was scared to break him. Didn't have to open his eyes to know the look on Derek's face. Had seen it before. He just thought it was never for him.
“Want me to swing by on your next work day and take you to lunch?”
Stiles grinned wickedly, allowing himself to finally stare into Derek's gaze. “I didn't give you an answer.”
“Mmm...think I know that you're interested.”
“Hmph. Cocky ass.”
“Only when I know I'm right. So...about taking you to lunch the next time you work...”
“Make that a two or three times a week thing, lunch dates or you bring me lunch, rub it all over Lawrence's face, and you've got yourself a deal.”
Derek chuckled, daring to place a kiss on one of Stiles' eyes. “Deal.” He pressed a kiss on the corner of Stiles' mouth, smirking when his boyfriend (Real one! Not fake! Holy crap...) shuddered. “Want to stay over? Or should I stay over at your place?”
Stiles' heart did back flips. Spending the night already? They were moving so fast!
Then again...
“My pillow is in my room...”
“Mmmm...your place it is. And, uh, you have anything I can borrow?”
“Sweats? Maybe a double extra large shirt? Wait, we're right here! You could just run in and grab something!”
The werewolf shrugged, bobbling his head around as if he was playfully thinking about it. “I could. But I'd rather go to your place as soon as possible. It smells like you.”
“Awww! You like how I smell!”
“Well...yeah. You smell like honey spices and fresh oranges. It's pleasant. Soothing.”
Stiles teased him about that the entire drive to his apartment. Once they arrived, they got ready for bed and just...cuddled. Talked about date plans. Took guesses on how the pack was going to react. Discussed what days would be the days Derek would swing by Stiles' work to either drop off lunch or take him to lunch. Even tossed ideas back and forth on what the layout of the new Hale house should be.
It was nice.
It was different, yet the same.
It felt like this was how it was supposed to be. How it always had been.
It was the first night in years that Stiles slept through without waking once.
It was also the first time since his mom that he woke up to breakfast being brought to him in bed.
Stiles, already, may be just a little in love.
Okay...a lot in love. But one step at a time. He would have a perfect opportunity to say it eventually. Right now...right now he wanted to enjoy this. The true beginning of them.
And if he was having a blast gloating about his boyfriend making the best, goddamn chocolate chip pancakes he had ever tasted to every single person that would listen, that was okay. Because Derek made the best, goddamn chocolate chip pancakes he had ever tasted!
Oh! And check out this link! You’ll find out why ;3
Stiles has no idea when or why he was dubbed the Pack Mom.
In fact, he had no idea he was dubbed Pack Mom.
Didn't start realizing it till until his birthday.
And it all started with Jackson.
Jackson gave him a mug that said World's Best Mom. At first, he thought it was just Jackson being Jackson. Because, well, even after finally accepting the fact that he was part of a pack (which was before Scott's acceptation), Jackson was still a massive douche. Barely calmed down at all.
After Stiles put down the mug, rolling his eyes, he opened his gift from Erica.
Which was an apron. An apron obviously designed in a fifties rockabilly fashion with a pink and white polka dot tie, pocket, neck strap, and bottom trimming. The rest of it was an elegant yellow, adorned with different colored cupcakes. Erica was smirking as he gaped at it in stunned silence. Everyone else, with the exception of Derek (who was just as stunned as Stiles), was laughing hysterically. He didn't understand why he was given such a frilly apron, but hah! Joke's on Erica! He liked it and was going to wear the shit out of this apron when he cooked and baked for the pack!
(No, really. He loved it. A lot.)
On his third gift, a necklace with a bear charm that had Mama etched into it...Stiles finally got the joke.
“Oh, haha. Very funny guys. Just because I like to make sure you losers eat healthy, and are patched up from your scuffles, doesn't mean I'm your mother.”
“Right. He is not our mother.” Lydia said haughtily
For a split second, Stiles was in love with her all over again. Until...
“He would have to be married to Derek for him to be our mother.”
Aaaaaand instant hatred. For the lot of them.
Except for Derek, who looked equally displeased with all of this.
Gift after gift...they were all themed in some way that he was the Pack Mom. Even Scott, even Allison, gave him mom themed gifts. It was growing pretty disheartening. He was losing his birthday cheer, looking gloomier and gloomier with each gift.
Then came Derek's.
It was a large as hell box. Could fit a litter of puppies plus the mother if needed. Which, with how he was feeling, a litter of puppies would be amazing right about now.
Instead, there was a brand new Mets cap, a new glove, a black duffle bag with sewn on Mets patches, an array of jerseys, and...and...
“Are these tickets to a Mets game?! At the actual stadium?!”
Derek ducked his head, sucking on his cheek and poorly hiding the red tints rising on his ears. “You said that you wanted to go. I could...I could sell them if you don't want them...”
“Are you kidding?! No way! Mine! No take backs! No take backs on anything you gave me!”
Stiles didn't miss the tension leaving the alpha's shoulders. Nor the fond grin that emerged.
Nothing after that could kill his mood. And fortunately, Derek must've set a trend, because there were no more mom themed gifts.
Kira got him a wolf hat that flowed into a scarf, or something of the like, that had wolf paws where he could but his hands in. And a fox beanie that she knitted herself!
His dad got him a whole bundle of yarn for his crime board, and markers to go with them.
Melissa got him a new plaid shirt with a massive black pawprint on the back that had his last name on it. (She insisted it wasn't a fortune to have it custom made, but Stiles didn't buy it for a moment and vowed to buy her a nice dinner when he could.)
Argent got him a Batman shirt. And a lot of cash. Like...a lot.
Then, it was discovered that everyone else had actually got him real gifts. The whole mom theme was just a joke based on how much Stiles really did behaved like a mom friend.
“Excuse you! I am not the mom friend!”
“You kinda are, dude...” Scott said with what could only be described as a cringe face.
“Am not!”
“Stiles...you really are.” Boyd sighed. “You take care of everyone. Not just your dad.”
“You soccer mommed me the other day.” Isaac pointed out. “You do that a lot, actually. More than Allison.”
“And I already do that a lot.” echoed Allison, shrugging.
“What? You don't like being our mom?” pouted Erica.
Stiles flushed, realizing that, yeah, maybe he was the mom friend. But that didn't mean anyone could torture him with that fact!
“Anyone that calls me mom again is...is grounded!” he huffed, nearly slamming down the Catwoman plush Erica got him. “And I hope you guys give all these mom themed gifts to the actual mom in this room! Except for the apron. That I'm keeping. And, just so you know, you have all been demoted, and Derek is officially my favorite person. Kira is still my second fave. No demotion for her.”
“What am I? Chopped liver?” his dad huffed in an eerily same way as his son. “I'm the one that suggested to Derek to get you Mets crap! Which, good on those tickets, Derek. That's been something he's wanted to do since he was five.”
Stiles looked over at Derek, who was bright red at this point, and cooed.
“Awwww! You asked my dad what to get me? You really do care!”
“Of course daddy cares...” grumbled Jackson with an eye roll.
Immediately, the entire room filled with disapproving shouts and gagging sounds. Lydia had to explain about the whole daddy kink fad, which was what Jackson deserved. Be scarred forever, Whittemore!
The party started to go by without incident. No more mom jokes, at least...
(Okay, that's a lie. Erica made one when Stiles decided to wear the apron as he made dinner.)
As the night wore on, everyone tried to weasel Stiles into giving them the second Mets ticket. Everyone but his father, Melissa, Argent, Kira, Allison, Lydia, and Derek.
His father declined, saying that he had seen enough Mets games in his lifetime. Melissa, Argent, Lydia, and Allison all informed Stiles that they weren't interested in baseball. Kira, although she liked baseball, wasn't a Mets fan, so she wouldn't be able to share his joy as much as she thought was deserved. Derek just kept to himself like always, only really lingering around Stiles when he was asked to help out with something.
Everyone else, however, tried to be all sweet to him. Tried to win him over.
For a time.
“C'mon, mom. You love me more than my other siblings.” Erica teased, arm wrapped around him.
Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Okay...you know what? Why do I have to be the mom? Why can't you guys have two Pack Dads? What's so wrong with that? And no. You are not coming with me, Erica. Boyd would die of a lonely, broken heart.”
“So...you want to be Pack Dad with Derek?” mused Lydia, this glint of knowing in her stare. “I like the sound of that.”
“I don't like the tone of your voice...”
“Why don't you take Derek to the game? Bond over the love of the game and your children.”
“You're not our children.” finally grunted Derek, ears bright red.
“Some of us kinda are. You did turn us.” Isaac said matter-of-factly.
“Then you're all terrible children.”
“Is this a werewolf thing?” asked the sheriff. “Because this whole Pack Mom, Pack Dad, Pack Dads talk is really, really weird.”
“I think it's just a them thing.” Argent replied with a sigh.
“It's no one's thing!” snapped Stiles. “I get it. I am a mom friend. I fuss over you idiots like I do with my dad. I try to take care of you and patch you up. But why do I have to be called the Pack Mom? Why can't I be Pack Dad? Or just Stiles? Can this not be a joke? Can we just...drop it? Please?”
That was the end of the Pack Mom jokes. The Pack Dad jokes.
At least for a while.
It was pack night a few weeks later when they made a reappearance.
Stiles was in Derek's kitchen, baking treats for the marathon of movies they were going to have. Derek was beside him, helping out and (surprisingly) making small talk. They mostly talked about the upcoming Mets games, since Stiles actually did decide to take Derek. They were cheerful, something rare for the alpha to show freely, and were enjoying each others company.
And then came the pack.
Scott arrived first, brows furrowed in confusion as he saw the interaction between his best friend and alpha. Kira followed closely behind, except she looked more excited than confused. Everyone else that filed in either gave Stiles and Derek weird looks (because apparently Derek smiling and laughing freely was considered unthinkable), or smirked suggestively at Stiles. It was creepy...
“Oh. Are mom and dad making us treats? And flirting? Yuck. Get a room.” Jackson snorted, waltzing in last like always.
Before Stiles could slam down his whisk and tell ex snakeskin to kindly fuck off...
“We are in a room. In my apartment.” spat Derek, eyes flashing red. “If you don't like what goes on in my own apartment, with whoever it is I am speaking or flirting with, then you can leave. And I think Stiles said to drop the Pack Mom jokes.”
Jackson made a disgusted, bratty face, doing some form of sarcastic jazz hands. “Fine. Dad and dad. Whatever. Just don't start pissing on him. Nobody wants him. He's all yours.”
“Hey! Werewolves don't piss on things to mark their territory!” Stiles barked. He then turned to Derek, voice in a low, hushed whisper, asking, “Do they?”
Derek threw him a glare, telling him, with mostly the eyebrows, that no, werewolves don't pee on things to mark them as theirs. Which, yeah. Stiles knew that. Totally knew it.
(Okay, maybe he didn't know. He had a hunch, but Wiki had been wrong before.)
“Wait...were you flirting with Stiles?” Scott inquired, his voice a little high and startled.
“You can't smell it?” scoffed Erica.
“It is so painfully obvious...” sighed Lydia.
“H-hey! We can hear you!” Stiles piped, face breaking out in embarrassed blotches. “We are in the next room!”
“Maybe then you'll finally get it on and save us from smelling or watching the pathetic pining.” retorted Boyd. (Surprisingly, 'cause Boyd never clapped back like that.)
“But then we'd smell the smugness and the s-” Isaac started to whine.
“Shut up!” shouted the men in the kitchen, both sharing the red coloration.
“Yeah. No need for the image of our dads going at it...” mumbled Jackson.
“We are not your dads!” Stiles bellowed, chucking the spoon he was using into the sink. “And I am not your mom! Come make your shit yourselves! I'm out!”
That wasn't a threat. Stiles literally stormed through the living room and out the door. He was done with this. Sick of being teased over something so stupid and pointless. Honestly...who even came up with it in the first place? When did it even get thought up?! Whoever thought of it, shared it with the pack, and decided to make sure it would haunt Stiles whenever it would be deemed fun should be locked in a room with wolfsbane petals!
(Not really. He would never condone something like that. Even though he was pissed off at them.)
As he was about to climb into his Jeep, a hand wrapped around his arm, stopping him mid sitting down. Which was not comfortable at all. He twisted around to the best of his abilities to see who it was. And, no surprise, it was Derek. Dejected as al -
Wait.
No.
He looked...
Kind of sad?
Stiles tried to not read too much into it. Or tried to pretend he wasn't, at least. “What? Gonna drag me back in there to hear them say sorry for the Pack Mom-Pack Dad crap, then do it all over again when they think I forgot it?”
Derek shook his head, biting at the inside of his lip. He was...incredibly vulnerable looking right now. It was weird. Maybe a bit concerning.
“Uhhhh...you okay there, Der? You have this look that kinda makes it seem like you may start crying? Are you gonna start crying? I'm not good with crying, man. I am worse with crying than I am with blood. I'm better with crying than needles...but that's not the point. The point is this: I can't do crying. I'm a sympathetic crier, too. So...please don't cry...”
“I'm not gonna cry, Stiles.” the wolf huffed, rolling his eyes. “I'm here to tell you that I knew someone who got teased just like this.”
“You...did? Who?”
There was a hesitant pause. Much swallowing, too. Like this was going to be difficult to say.
Stiles was about to tell him to not worry about. That he was going to suck it up and resign to his fate. But he was beaten to the chase by a semi choked up Derek Hale.
“My dad.”
Those words made Stiles' eyes round in horror and awe. Horror because, oh hell, Derek may actually cry since, well, the guy never talked about his family for probably the same reason Stiles didn't talk about his mother. Awe because, holy shit, Derek was talking about a member of his family with him. Him! Of all people! If Derek had talked about his family with almost anyone else, mostly someone like Kira or Melissa or even his own dad, that would've made much more sense!
But...him?
“When he was dating my mother, he was dubbed the Pack Mom for the same reasons you are. He cooked and baked, worried about everyone, fussed about health. Which, someone had to. My mother was being groomed to be the next alpha. And she couldn't cook worth a damn.”
The small chuckle that escaped the wolf made Stiles' heart and stomach do somersaults. The shy head dip to hide the equally shy smile and eye crinkle nearly made him fall right out of the Jeep. (And he was barely in it in the first place!)
“It drove him nuts. Not because it was killing his masculinity or anything. But because it almost sounded like a negative to him. Like he was being called a mother because he was doing stereotypical things for a woman. And to him...that wasn't right. Especially when Peter always made it sound like it was a negative.”
“Your dad was ahead of his time...”
“Well, he was dating a strong woman. Eventually married that strong woman. He didn't like the title being said negatively.”
“I don't blame him...”
Derek nodded, a sad smile crossing his lips. “My mother wasn't too keen with it, either. Mostly because it bothered my father. So she took him to my grandfather to discuss a new title. One that didn't feel like it was being said in a teasing, negative manner. They discussed Alpha's Mate. But...Alpha's Mate was...”
“Piling his worth into just being the alpha's pet, or something like that?”
Another nod. “That was vetoed real quick. Vice Alpha was a bit more formal, which was my grandfather's issue with the Pack Mom title, it wasn't formal, but my mother hated it. Dad didn't mind it, but he understood why his wife hated it. How it sounded like a pressured title.”
“Are you saying that he didn't find something else for him to be called and he was doomed to forever be called Pack Mom?”
He shook his head, a strange seriousness enveloping him. “No. He was given the highest title an outsider of the Pack could be given.”
“Which is...?”
“The Luna.”
Stiles blinked, understandably confused. The Luna? What in the hell was The Luna?
“The Luna is the highest honor in the pack. The right hand, the partner, the equal to the alpha. Not just a second-in-command. Something greater. Higher than a mate, even. And that already is high in the werewolf world, even though it does sound a little downgrading to some. If you insult The Luna, harm The Luna, anger The Luna, do anything that would be disrespectful to The Luna...there are consequences. Depending on what is done to The Luna, the consequences can be benign or severe. Mom thought that was perfect for my father, who was as much of a provider as she was going to be. Maybe even more so. My grandfather wasn't too keen on it, especially because my father was not only an outsider to the pack...but a human. Thought it was too high of an honor. My mother fought tooth and nail till it was announced that dad was going to be The Luna.”
That was...wow. That was a lot to take in. And it was mind blowing to find out that tad bit about Derek's family. He had assumed that the Hales were all werewolves, with the exception of the few he had heard about from Argent.
“I didn't know that your dad was human...” he finally said in a small voice, sitting fully in the driver's seat now.
“I tell you all of that...and that's what you got out of it?”
“N-no! Not at all! Just...I...I just...I heard that there were some humans that were in the fire...I just...”
“Didn't think any of them were part of my immediate family?”
“Kinda?”
Derek shrugged, a melancholy glimmer in his kaleidoscope stare. “An aunt, three cousins, an uncle, my dad, and my youngest brother were all human.”
“You had a brother?”
“Yeah...his name was Leoric. Leo for short. He idolized me. Tried to be just like me. Our bonding time was us in the kitchen, baking cookies with dad. Or playing baseball. He was the youngest one to die...only six...”
“Oh fuck...Derek...I'm...you know...”
“Sorry? Yeah. Yeah, I know.”
There was solemn silence between them. Hung sourly, chillingly in the air.
Until Stiles timidly broke it.
“So...why did you tell me all that? Besides saying that you knew somebody that knows my sudden pain?”
Derek's ears went bright red, which started to bleed down to his cheeks. Didn't take long before it clicked, and Stiles was eternally grateful he decided to actually sit down in his Jeep. Because if he was still half up and half not...he would've face planted it onto the gravel beneath him.
“Wait...are you...are you telling me that you want to make me The Luna?” he gawked in disbelief. “Holy shit! You were flirting with me! That wasn't just those assholes teasing us! Oh my god! You like me!”
“I know. I'm surprised by it, too.”
“But...that title? The Luna? Are you kidding me? That's way too high of an honor!”
“And you deserve it.”
Stiles leaned into his seat, gaping and unable to understand the magnitude. It was a bit overwhelming. And it was...surreal...to hear that Derek wanted to give him the same title that his dad had. He wanted to decline it, because he didn't feel worthy in the slightest. It would be a dishonor to Derek's late father.
The amount of faith and trust Derek had to give Stiles this title was...astronomical.
“We'll talk about it with the pack tomorrow. Hopefully it will make this whole parent thing go away.”
“Huh? Tomorrow? Aren't you taking me back up there?”
“No. I'm taking you on a date. The 'kids' have the phone number for the pizza place.”
“What about the stuff we were baking?”
“Isaac knows how to use the food sealer. He promised to seal them and put them in the freezer. Allison and Kira are helping him.”
Stiles nodded, face scrunched up in skepticism. “You said you're taking me on a date?”
“Yes?”
“O-o-okay. Cool. Yeah. Awesome. A date. Um...wow...you were really flirting with me...”
“Proper response to you flirting with me.”
“Oh...oh, I was told you didn't notice that. That's what I get for trusting Scott. Then again...he does miss a lot of things.”
Derek chuckled, a true blue smile following suit. Then, he grabbed Stiles' knees, carefully pulling him out of the Jeep. There was a playful fire in his eyes. Something Stiles hadn't really seen to this caliber before. Made his heart race and his skin buzz.
“Come on. Let's go celebrate your new title in the pack.” cooed Derek, obviously knowing what he was doing to Stiles.
Asshole. Big, huge, pain in the ass asshole.
But a cute asshole.
Who promoted him to the highest honor in a werewolf pack because...he saw his father in him? Or maybe it was because the broody wolf really enjoyed Stiles' company? Who knows? No matter the reason, it was humbling to know that he was trusted and valued enough in Derek's eyes to have the same title as his father. To be The Luna.
And humbled that he was told some things about the late Hales. Maybe in the future he would learn more. He sure hoped so. Because Derek taking Stiles on a date? Smiling like that? Opening up? There was no way in hell that Stiles was going to let go any time soon.
WARNING: Major character deaths, gore, violence, other deaths
It’s a very dark fic, or at least can be for some people. Read at own risk.
Based on this gifset
“Did you hear about the Hale Pack?”
“I didn't. Why? Did something happen?”
“Yeah. A few days ago they were ambushed. Rogue Hunters. Killed everyone but two of them.”
“Good god...that's awful! Who were the ones that survived?”
“The Alpha and the Emissary.”
“Oh no...”
“They were in pretty bad shape, last I heard.”
“How awful! Ah, those poor boys have already suffered enough. Now to be the only ones to survive the massacre of their Pack...they aren't going to be okay for a long time. If ever...”
“If I'm gonna be honest with you...I think they died the night the rest of their pack did...”
~+~
Stiles had woken up in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeps of machines, tubes in his nose, and a needle in his arm. He could barely move, head foggy and body numb. It felt like an hour before he could turn his head to the right.
Beside him, in a second bed, was Derek. The guy was out cold, a needle in his arm and tubes in his nose, too. There were also bloodied bandages wrapped around most of his body. He was barely recognizable. Stiles was only able to identify him by the hair, parts of the beard that weren't wrapped, and the black ring band that Stiles gave him.
“Der?” the Emissary croaked, voice ruined by lack of use.
It ached to speak. And it was apparent that Derek was too far deep asleep to hear him. So, Stiles quickly gave up on it. Instead, he moved onto the very thing circling in his mind: why were they there?
Last he remembered, the Pack was enjoying a peaceful day by the lake on their land.
Erica on the grill with Boyd beside her on the second grill. Scott and Isaac playing catch with lacrosse sticks. Lydia sunbathing. Kira and Cora splashing at each other in the water. Liam and Hayden playing chicken with Mason and Corey. Derek lying on the shore reading a book. Stiles frosting the cupcakes he had made. It was a normal Pack Gathering. A celebration for the engagement between the Alpha and the Emissary. Happiness and peace. Love. So much love. And after all the tragedy both Stiles and Derek had been through...
The happy image faded quickly. It morphed into a twisted, horrifying scene. An ambush. Rogue Hunters. Gunfire. Pain. Screams. Snarls. Roars.
Stiles began shaking, the beeping on his monitor speeding up. No. No no no no no no no. No no no no no! The Pack...where was the rest of the Pack?
He sat up, closing his eyes and carefully seeped out his Magic. It burned, causing the medication numbing the pain to bubble angrily. He ignored it, desperate to find the rest of their Pack. He searched everywhere for their beings. He searched everywhere for their Lights. One by one, he found them. He found them, but...but...
Boyd's Light – out.
Cora's Light – out.
Corey's Light – out.
Erica's Light – out.
Hayden's Light – out.
Isaac's Light – out.
Kira's Light – out.
Liam's Light – out.
Lydia's Light – out.
Scott's Light – out.
Out out out out out out out out. All out. All gone. No Lights. No Lights. All bodies. No Lights. No...
The door to the room opened, nurses coming in and bombarding him with questions. Their voices sounded distorted – like they were speaking from above water. Stiles shook his head, his breathing ragged and rapid. His Pack...Derek's Pack...gone. All gone.
Hands touched him. Voices sounded urgent. Stiles didn't respond. He just sat there, staring at the blankets offered to him. Gone. All gone. His Pack was gone. They were gone...
Suddenly, he unleashed a blood curdling scream, thrashing about like a caged animal. His Pack had been butchered. They were gone. He couldn't feel them. They were all gone. The weight of each extinguished Light clawed at his soul, breaking it and re-piecing it before breaking it again over and over and over and over.
He could feel the hands of the nurses trying to push him back down on the bed, their voices frantic. But all Stiles could do was scream in agony and thrash about. He screamed and screamed and screamed until he started to feel weary. His body began to droop, easily being moved by the nurses back onto the bed. Even though he couldn't scream any longer...he could still weep.
So many sounds and smells. Derek didn't know why they were around him. They weren't familiar. They were foreign. Unwelcomed. He groaned, reaching out blindly for the one familiar thing nearby. The scent of his fiance. It was close.
It was bitter.
He creaked his eyes open, still groaning. The lights were dim, but they still stung his eyes. It made him close them again and whine in his throat.
“Der?”
Derek's heart picked up at the sound of Stiles' voice. What a relief. Stiles was here with him, wherever they were at. Of course he knew that, but there was always something about hearing that voice that put him at ease. He forced his eyes open, hoping to see Stiles right there.
He saw a white ceiling with long lights, instead. He blinked blearily, confused. Where was he? This wasn't his bed. This wasn't his home. He tried to sit up, but his body hissed with protest and he decided to listen to it. Then...he noticed other things. Bloody bandages covered his body. There was something sticking out of his arms. Something was up his nose – felt like tubing.
His heart sunk deeply into his stomach. He was in a hospital. Badly injured. But from what?
“Der?”
He licked his lips, struggling to move his head in the direction of the voice. It felt like centuries before his head managed to turn just enough to see his fiance.
Stiles was...not okay. Something was poking out of his arm. Tubes were coming out of his nose. There were bandages on him, but not as many as there were on Derek. A gauze was on his forehead, looking rather bloody. And his eyes...they were...empty. No life in them. Just vacant...dead. Like the twinkle in them was stolen.
Derek tried to open his mouth, call out to his fiance. His voice failed him. Only came out in a choked breath. And it ached.
“Der...”
Stiles sat up slowly in his bed, whiskey stare watering. His bitter smell grew worse. That's when Derek realized that the bitterness coming from Stiles, the bitterness clouding over the citrus and spices that he usually smelled of, was sadness. Bottomless sadness.
“Lights...there are no Lights...”
The Alpha didn't need any explanation. The memories raced back to him. His Pack had been ambushed. They had been attacked when they had their guard down. So many bullets. So many screams and roars.
He stared at Stiles, silently reaching out to feel the Thread that connected him to all of his Pack. A part of him hoping that Stiles was wrong.
There was nothing...only Stiles' Thread. Only Stiles'.
There were no Threads.
There were no Lights.
Gone. They were all gone.
Unable to contain himself, Derek sobbed heavily. His chest heaved, his head seared with discomfort, and his body bit at him for the slight movements. Gone. All gone. His Betas, the others that weren't Werewolves, his sister...taken from him. He had nothing. He had no one...
Suddenly, there was body beside him, wincing and hissing lowly. He tried to blink away his tears, but they were too immense and continued to blind him. The scent told him who it was, as well as the comforting fingers sweeping at his hair. Despite his own injuries, Stiles had unhooked himself from everything that hindered him in order to be with Derek.
That's right...Derek wasn't alone.
He still had Stiles.
The Emissary pressed a kiss on his forehead, the feeling rather wet. Stiles was crying, too. Mourning their lost family. That fact only made Derek sob heavier, causing burning sensations through his being.
It wasn't long before he heard voices scold Stiles for leaving his bed. But when the voices tried to take Stiles way, place him back in the prison of a bed, Derek whimpered and wailed. He didn't want to be left alone. He wanted the man he loved the most beside him. Didn't want to lose him. Had to keep him close. Because if he wasn't close...
Someone with a kind, yet stern, tone ordered the other voices around. Made them scoot Stiles' bed right against Derek's. Made them give out more medicine to make the physical pain vanish. Shooed them off. The kind and stern tone spoke to them, reeking with sorrow and worry.
Derek didn't hear the words – just the noise. He let Stiles do all the talking. Stiles was always great at talking...even if it got everyone in trouble. It was soothing to listen to the vibrations of the Emissary's voice.
Unfortunately...it didn't lull him to sleep like it usually did.
Instead, the very words that had been said to him kept playing back, making sure the tears never stopped.
There are no Lights. There are no Lights. There are no Lights. There are no Lights.
~+~
“Did you hear about the Hale Pack?”
“Yeah. Rogue Hunters. Tragic.”
“I can't believe anyone, Hunter or otherwise, would want to attack them. They were peaceful. I mean, the Emissary did have a rep, but they were still peaceful! They were quite the advocates for the Supernatural-Human Peace Act, too.”
“That may be why they were attacked.”
“But Hunters were actually excited about the bill's passing!”
“Not all of them, apparently.”
“Poor Alpha Hale and Emissary Stilinski...do you think they are okay?”
“I don't think so. A traumatizing event like that? They might suffer mentally and emotionally for a while. Maybe forever.”
“Do you think they might want retribution?”
“Can't say. But if I were them...I would fight all the armies in the universe to avenge my Pack...”
~+~
“Emissary Stilinski? Are you listening?”
If he were to be honest? No. He had tuned out the therapist ages ago. Weeks ago.
After being released into the custody of Scott's mother Melissa, Stiles and Derek were told to attend grief counseling and therapy sessions. It was a way to prevent the thirst for vengeance, or something like that. No need for the only surviving members of the world's strongest Pack to seek revenge for the death of their fallen kin, after all.
Melissa was tempted to not let them go. Especially with how draining the mass funeral was. But she had been threatened to make sure they attended, or else. She didn't know what the 'or else' meant...but neither Derek nor Stiles blamed her for slapping on a farce grin whenever she dropped them off for their sessions.
Stiles hated going.
The grief counselor was an utter idiot. Tried to force Stiles to experience the Five Stages of Grief in each session. Instead, the Emissary would just stare off over the counselor's shoulder, replaying the dying sounds of his Pack.
The therapist wasn't any better. Kept asking how Stiles felt about things. Made him explain what he saw in ink blot pictures. The...Rorschach or something. Always hummed and jotted things down in his notepad.
Stiles wasn't healing. In fact, if anything...Stiles was growing more and more cross.
At night, he would dream about those faceless Hunters. He would shoot up from sleep...screaming, unable to tell the difference between reality and nightmare. When he was finished with his screams, he would rant and rave about all the things he wished to inflict upon the bastards that took away his new family.
Derek had the same problem. It was also visible that Derek was becoming withdrawn. He glared more than spoke. He would snap and snarl when he became upset. Sometimes, he would burst into uncontrollable fits of anguished sobs if he was alone with Stiles.
Around Melissa, they would both be silent in their guilt. They couldn't even look at her. Despite her assuring them repeatedly that it wasn't their fault, they felt it was. That they had failed to protect everyone...including her son. Yet, she treated them the same as she always did – like a mother. She still called them her boys, giving them hugs and kisses and offering comfort. Sometimes they accepted. Other times...they just wanted to be alone.
“Emissary Stilinski. I need you to answer my question.”
Broken from his thoughts once more, Stiles glowered at the therapist, eyes flashing violet briefly. “I'm sorry. What did you say? I was too busy thinking about how I could be in my house, cuddling my fiance, instead of being here and listening to you drone about shit that I don't care about.”
The therapist sighed, face knitted with discouragement. “You're growing more irritable, Emissary Stilinski.”
“Gee, Web MD, did you figure that out all on your own? I'm impressed.” Stiles sarcastically clapped his hands, his expression blank. “Bravo. So proud of you.”
“Emissary Stilinski...please. This is not a joke. Your mental and emotional state after such a traumatizing event is important. I am here to help you. I am not the enemy here.”
“I don't want help. I just want to be left alone in my grief. I want to find peace with my fiance in my own way.”
“I understand -”
“Do you now?”
“But the government wishes for you to attend mandatory counseling so that retribution does not happen.”
“You do realize it could happen by other hands other than mine or Derek's? From what I have heard, these bastards have been attacking Packs across the country. But nobody really gave a damn till a high profile Pack was massacred! This could've been avoided if the government actually stopped these Rogue Hunters before they came onto our territory!”
The therapist paled, fingers trembling. He swallowed multiple times. Opened his mouth to say things, but didn't muster any words. Stiles crossed his arms, grinning smugly.
“What? Didn't think I'd find that out? Sir...I'm an Emissary. It's my job to find out things that shouldn't be found out. And I have quite the talent for finding out things I'm not supposed to find out. Also for hearing things I shouldn't hear. Perks of being raised under a cop's roof.”
The therapist continued swallowing, the color fading more and more from his face. Finally, he cleared his throat, rising to his feet and held a hand out towards the door. “I think we should conclude our session for the day. Thank you for your time, Emissary Stilinski.”
Stiles stood, his expression going cold and vacant. He said nothing as he turned heel and briskly walked out of the room. Once he was out, he found Derek sitting in one of the waiting room chairs. The Alpha was glaring at a particular spot on the floor, arms folded tightly across his chest. His jaw was clenched shut – the tension there visible from a mile away.
Clearly, Derek had a poor time in his session as well.
Stiles approached, tapping a finger lightly onto his shoulder before gripping it. Immediately, Derek eased and leaned into his arm. Their eyes met, both reflecting aggravation and the ever drowning sadness.
“Melissa called.” muttered Derek. “While you were still in there.”
“Yeah? What did she say, big guy?”
“That we can go back to our house.”
“What's the catch?”
“She has to check in on us.”
“Not too bad. She would've done it anyways.”
“Yeah...”
Stiles leaned in, pressing a kiss in his lover's hair. “You ready to go back there? Or do you want to stay at the Privacy Loft for a while?”
“Privacy Loft.”
No surprise. It would be too soon to go back to the empty house. Too painful with all the lingering scents of their fallen Pack. It was already torture enough smelling Scott's scent throughout Melissa's home. Even though she did try to mask it for the sensitive wolf nose.
“Do we want to do what we talked about last night?”
No response. Not verbally, anyway.
Derek got out of the chair, taking Stiles' hand from off his shoulder. He wrapped it around his waste, eyes back to the floor, and tugged him forward. They left the waiting room in silence, making their way to the parking garage. They continued in silence till they reached the elevator. Once the doors closed...Derek met Stiles' gaze.
And it told him yes.
The Emissary nodded, grinning darkly. “Awesome. We'll start tomorrow. Sound good, big guy?”
~+~
Derek woke to the sheets barely hanging around his hips. Frankly, he missed that feeling. Had been some time since he had woken like this. Lately, either he would be waking screaming and kicking, or ready to panic if Stiles wasn't there. Awaking to the sheets like this was...oddly comforting.
As if nothing had changed...
There was the smell of waffles and chocolate filling the air of the Private Loft, meaning that Stiles was once again cooking. He had been doing that a lot since...
The Alpha rolled onto his back, rubbing at his eyes. Strange...he felt better than he had in days. Maybe it was because he was in a place only saturated in the scent of Stiles and himself. There were no other scents intermingled here. Just them. And they only made it stronger last night.
“Now that's something I haven't seen in a while.”
He removed his hands from his eyes, finding Stiles hovering above him with a plate of waffles. There was a genuine smile on his lips, something Derek hadn't seen in what felt like eternity. His own smile grew and he sat up, waiting for a kiss. Stiles obliged, leaning in and kissed him softly, briefly.
“I missed you...” Stiles whispered, gliding in beside him.
Derek ran his nose across his fiance's throat, inhaling citrus and spices. “You, too.”
“It'll be a while before we see each other again. It'll be worth it, though. Definitely worth it.”
“We'll live.”
“I dunno. Didn't realize how much I craved you until last night.” Stiles set the plate down between them, handing over a fork. “It was therapeutic. Much more than our mandatory sessions have been. Those are just frustrating.”
Derek nodded, poking at the waffles. Drenched in syrup, caked in peanut butter, dotted with far too many chocolate chips. Yep. Definitely a Stiles made breakfast. Good thing Derek had grown to enjoy them this way, or else he would've bitched about the preparation.
“I don't understand why we aren't allowed to be left alone. I mean...plenty of Packs have sought vengeance before. Then again, not many of them are...or...were...as powerful as us. But still! They should've just left us alone. We're obviously not making progress in grief counseling or therapy. Last night...when we got here...when we fell into old habits...now sharing a plate of waffles in bed while being either fully naked or half naked...this...this is the best we've been since...you know...”
He did. And this had been the most Stiles had spoken since the massacre. Stiles used to ramble like this all the time. Derek had missed it...
“Allison said she would be here at four. It's noon now. So, let's eat, do whatever we wanna get out of our system, then we better shower and dress. Don't think she would want to catch us in the middle of mischief. Not when she's here to give us a lead towards one of them.”
“Can we trust her?”
Sensing the hesitation, Stiles reached out with a finger, poking the Werewolf's nose playfully. “She may be an Argent...but she is a strong advocate for the Supernatural-Human Peace Act. Was Lyd's best friend outside of the Pack. She's good people.”
“She's selling out a fellow Hunter.”
His lover's face grew dark, twisted. A mirror of the decay inside. “Rogue Hunter. To her...they are as good as dead. All for us to play with.”
There wasn't much talk about Allison's visit after that. They ate their pile of waffles, reminiscing about their lost Pack. It wasn't said with grief like it usually was during counseling and therapy. It was said with joy and weak laughter. Broken fondness.
However, it slowly became mind and soul numbing. They fell silent, poking at their empty plate. Derek curled into himself, unable to look at Stiles.
While Derek had become withdrawn, quick to snap, glared instead of smiled...Stiles had grown gaunt, his stare haunted and murderous. He would try to hide it. Try to pretend. Sometimes, he would let everyone see. Wanting the world to witness his rage.
“What are you thinking about in that broody head of yours?”
And yet...there were times when the old Stiles would flicker through the darkness.
Derek's lips twitched, not quite reaching a smile. He set the plate on the nightstand, inching closer to Stiles. “You.”
“Oh? Good things, I hope. It would hurt my feelings if you were thinking shit of me.”
“I'm always thinking shit of you.”
Stiles threw his head back, laughing with his whole body. Like he used to.
And Derek beamed with pride. Like he used to.
They fell back into old habits once again. Shared a moment of blissful passion. Once it was over, both of them ensnared their limbs together, pensive and desperate to touch whatever skin their hands could find. They laid there for some time in the static quiet – finding peace in it all. After a while, Stiles managed to lift them both out of bed and lead them to the shower.
The warm water cascaded down their bodies, which would normally lead to more shenanigans. Maybe next time. Right now...they were cleaning each other, faint grins and soft laughs vibrating off the walls. Stiles did most of the talking, soothing Derek. What he was soothing the Alpha from was unknown, but there were certainly no complaints.
There was a knock at the front door as they began dressing.
Stiles offered to answer it, still only in a shirt far too large for his body. Looked like a dress, if Derek was to be honest. But it was gorgeous. Derek's favorite. Especially if that was all Stiles was wearing.
(Thankfully, for the person at the door, Stiles had the decency to put on boxers, too.)
Derek turned his back on the door, slipping on the cozy maroon sweater with thumbholes that he was given for his birthday last year. By Stiles, of course. Man always wanted to give Derek clothes that made him look like 'a fluffy puppy' rather than a 'scary Alpha who could crush people with his thighs'.
“Ally!”
The chipper tone was new. Made Derek flinch a little. He turned around, seeing Stiles hug a young woman with brunette ringlets in a grayish handkerchief dress and dirtied combat boots. She was smiling sadly, dimples barely visible. She smelled of roses and misplaced guilt. Not a trace of Wolfsbane on her person. Not even a weapon. Odd. Derek had never figured Allison Argent to be this reckless and comfortable in the presence of an Alpha and a powerful Magic Holder...
“How are you guys?” she asked gently, eyes now on Derek as she entered further into the loft.
Stiles shrugged, sliding the door closed behind her. “As good as we can be, I guess. Which means not good at all.”
“Well...you seem good enough to be meandering around without pants.”
“Home is where the pants aren't. And where sexy times ensue.”
“...I didn't need to know that, Stiles.”
“Hey! You made a comment about the pants!”
Allison rolled her eyes, head ducked as she grinned. Must've been refreshing for her to see Stiles showing glimpses of his old self. Certainly was for Derek.
The young Hunter approached Derek, absent of wariness. Instead, she pulled him into a surprising hug and held him there with equally surprising strength. Derek didn't fight it. He wrapped his arms around her awkwardly, accepting the hug. It was the one thing his therapist was right about: making himself touch starved would only make things worse.
Allison released him, now serious instead of empathetic and familiar. She took refuge on the couch, setting her bag beside her. “First things first...you remember the faces of the Rogue Hunters that attacked you?”
“Vaguely.” replied Stiles, walking across the loft to the dresser.
Derek folded his arms across his chest, holding himself together. “Yes. I remember them.”
Allison nodded, opening her bag and rummaging inside. “Good. Then the guy I was able to find first is who you need to identify. Hopefully I'm right and that I didn't waste an entire night, getting zero sleep, in tracking him down. And don't you dare scold me for not sleeping, Stiles. You have no room to talk.”
Stiles nearly dropped the pants he had in his hands, seemingly offended. “I wasn't going to!”
A tick. A lie. Derek sucked on his teeth, fighting back a smirk. Unfortunately, his fiance knew how to read him like a book and glared playfully.
“Derek...if you would?”
He made his way over, standing in front of the coffee table. He tightened the fold of his arms, feeling himself ready to break apart. His heart raced when she pulled out a photo from her bag and set in on the table. He had to glance at it for merely a second before his eyes flashed red and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled.
A hand squeezing the back of his neck eased him. He leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed. Calming sensations seeped into his veins. He felt as if he was on cloud nine. The joys of having his Emissary as his future husband.
“You recognize him.” came Stiles' voice, his tone saturated in coldness.
He nodded, licking his chapped lips. “Yes.”
“Who?”
“Shot Cora between the eyes.”
“Then I guess he will receive extra special treatment.”
“Yes...”
Stiles stroked his neck with a thumb, still sending calm sensations through his body. “What information do you have on this guy, Al?”
“After the massacre of your Pack, this guy and everyone else in his group scattered. Guess they were afraid of you coming after them. Funny how they would be afraid of you instead of everyone else they have hurt.”
“I do have a rep, Al. And I'm the Alpha's mate. They should be afraid of us.”
“Well, they are. And this guy? My sources say he is at the Motel Capri. That's only a few hours away. I'm guessing he was counting on the thin leash around you guys. If you tell your counselors and therapists that you want to go on a road trip for cleansing purposes, no one will bat an eye. Okay, they will bat a little bit, but they'll probably think that you have no idea who attacked you or where to find them. Everyone is counting on it. Especially because these guys are elusive. At least to the authorities. For us in the Hunter organizations, you know, the ones that follow the Code, we know who they are and how to find them.”
“So why aren't any of you going after them?”
“It was discussed. Then, it was decided that our hands would be wiped clean of this. That if you asked, we'll help. This is your war. Plus you'll be cleaning up the mess for us. Hunting one of our own that has gone Rogue is like a political cesspool.”
“Ah. We're doing the work for you...as well as playing our own game.”
“Exactly.”
Derek finally opened his eyes, the calming sensations gradually losing effect. He stared at Allison, hunger residing there. He wanted this person. He wanted them to pay. He wanted their Light off.
“Motel Capri?” he growled.
Allison nodded regally, slipping the picture closer to him on the table. “The staff won't bother you there, most likely. The guests, if any, won't either. Hopefully.”
“Of course they won't.” snorted Stiles. “Instead of leaving mints on your pillow, each room has newspaper clippings of the deaths that happened in that specific room. And the staff loves reporting a new death.”
Derek gripped his Emissary's leg, claws beginning to protrude. “Then we're checking in. Tonight.”
~+~
“Did you hear about Alpha Hale and Emissary Stilinski?!”
“No? What happened? Did those Rogue Hunters try to kill them again?”
“No! They're going on vacation!”
“That's good, isn't it?”
“It goes against what they were told to do! They have mandatory sessions of grief counseling and therapy they have to attend given to them by the government. They are breaking the rules!”
“Can you blame them? I'm sure they want to get away. Breathe new air. It makes sense. This is where their Pack lived and died. It's probably painful for them to be here.”
“Still...don't you think it's weird? Weeks have passed since the Hale Pack Massacre, the authorities haven't found any of those Rogue Hunters, and now they are going on a road trip. Maybe they are going to hunt down those Hunters?”
“What? No! Alpha Hale is far too respectful to do that! Emissary Stilinski...I've heard some things about him...so I think maybe he would do it. But that would ruin his relationship with Alpha Hale! And he wouldn't do anything to ruin that...would he?”
~+~
It was nearly pitch black when they pulled into the Motel Capri. Not even the pitiful neon light sign and lights over the doors scratched the surface of the night.
Derek parked right next to a fancy SUV, the door riddled with scratches and dents. A smashed bullet hung from the rear view mirror, almost as if to taunt anyone that supported the Supernatural populace. Stiles sneered at it, sliding his hood over his head. Allison hadn't been kidding about this bastard being cocky. Anyone who dared to hang a smashed bullet, a bullet that may have caused the death or injury of an innocent person, needed their balls crushed.
Fortunately, that could be arranged.
“I'll check in. You unload.” Derek ordered, opening his door.
“Sure thing, big guy.”
Derek left him alone, going for the lobby. Stiles slinked out of the Jeep (yes, he allowed Derek to drive his Jeep, but only if he could drive to the next place), scanning the area. Empty. Only a few Lights here: his own, Derek's, the two staff members, and the Rogue Hunter. Should be easy for them to get a room right next door. Not a problem at all.
The cards were in their favor.
Stiles took out their shared duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder. It was nice that they really weren't packing heavily. No real need. Not yet, anyway. Because, well, they weren't just on a cross-country road trip for revenge. They actually wanted a smidgen of a vacation. Eventually.
He leaned on the hood of his Jeep, waiting for Derek to come back with the key. All the while...he stared blankly at the door of the Rogue Hunter's room. Allison's connections said his room was number B15, bottom floor of the creepy place. Her connections were never wrong. And besides, Stiles could feel his tainted Light in B15.
The joys of being an Emissary of his caliber. Knowing Lights just from a photograph.
Derek returned shortly after, radiating with discomfort. He was never a huge people person. People outside of the Pack made him anxious. People in the Pack made him anxious. People just made him anxious. However, with the rumors about how freaky the staff were, it probably didn't help with the anxiety at all.
“I'll deal with them when we check out in the morning.” promised Stiles, taking Derek's hand and kissing it.
The Alpha snorted, flipping their hands around till they were intertwined. “You'll deal with the next one, too.”
“Fair enough.”
They went into their room, dropping the duffle bag on the floor and then sat down on the bed. According to Allison's sources, the prick would start playing music far too loudly at a certain time. That would be the time to strike. When all noise would be drowned out.
“Four hours.” Derek growled, glaring at the room clock as if it would make time go faster.
“Patience, big guy. We'll get him.”
“I want him now.”
“I do, too. But we really need to drown out his screams. He'll be doing a lot of screaming. Like, a lot. I mean, I know Hunters are trained on some next level KGB shit, but nobody, and I mean nobody, can hold back screams of some sort when bones are broken.”
Derek wrinkled his nose into a snarl, impatient as always.
“I know, big guy, I know. He will get what's coming to him. I promise. But we have to be patient. And I know, I am the last person to lecture you on patience, but -”
Suddenly, music shook the walls. Loud, obnoxious, terrible music.
They both perked, lips parted and eyes rounded in shock. The routine broke. The routine had changed.
The cards were in their favor.
Nothing was said. They both bolted out the door, skin itching with excitement. They had planned their attack out during the drive. Now they'll get to do it. The first step in destroying those that destroyed them.
“Remember...patience.” Stiles reminded tenderly, kissing his lover's temple.
Derek nodded, flattening himself against the wall where the door would open to hide him from the target. Stiles lowered his head, making sure that his face was hidden well beneath his hood. He started to fidget, an act he practiced on the way there to the point where Derek couldn't tell that he was lying.
If he could fool a Werewolf...he sure as hell was going to fool this cocky bastard.
He knocked on the door, portraying meek agitation. Not to his surprise, there was no answer. Derek shook his head, indicating that the man inside didn't hear. Stiles knocked again, this time with more force. Again, nothing. Now the agitation was real. He pounded heavily on the door over and over and over – using a little of his Magic to amplify the sound.
Finally, the door opened.
Stiles kept his head down as much as he could, hiding his face. From the corner of his eye, he could see Derek's lips curled back in primal rage, fangs present and eyes glowing red. The Alpha wanted to attack. Wanted to rip this man's throat out. But there was a plan. A plan his Emissary made. Loyal to a fault...he wasn't going to move till Stiles did.
Now...if only the itch in Stiles' skin would settle...
“Wha do ya wan?”
The guy reeked of booze. Not the good kind, either. The cheap kind. It was nauseating. Took everything in Stiles' power to not only control the itch in his skin and keep up his act, but now to not throw up from the stench. He always felt awful when it came to a Werewolf's sensitive nose. This time was no exception.
“Look man...I just got in. I want to get some sleep. C-c-could you please turn down the music?” whined the Emissary, fidgeting heavily.
The guy scoffed, his booze breath nearly knocking Stiles' ass out. “Seriously? Ya tweakin'? Fuck ya.”
“C'mon, man. I'm tired. I drove for hours. I just want sleep.”
“Then sleep wit the music on! It isn' goin' nowhere!”
“Please! Just turn it down a dial! That's all I ask!”
When he was spat on...he noticed Derek tense. Noticed those blistering reds wild with relentless fury. Noticed that claws had popped out. He was ready to defend his fiance. Which was cute and all...but it wasn't time yet.
“Fuck off, ya tweaker!”
With a sigh, Stiles wiped the spit that hit is face off and straightened his posture. The fidgeting was gone. The act was up. But he still couldn't unleash a pissed off Werewolf. No...he had to make this shithead realize who he was dealing with first.
“Is this how you numb yourself? Make yourself feel like you were in the right? Or is this how you celebrate? How you celebrate the fact that you destroyed the lives of several Packs across the country? How you justify the fact that you and your buddies massacred people that only wanted to live beside people they love, because you are so blinded by your hate of living beings different than you?”
“The fuck're ya talkin' 'bout?”
Stiles raised his head, all his rage, his sadness, his disgust...everything he was feeling was wrapped into one ice cold, soul piercing, glowing violet stare. And that's when the Rogue Hunter knew. When the cockiness bled into pale fear.
“Remember me?”
The guy started to back up, likely trying to get to a weapon or slam the door. That's when Stiles stepped aside, smirking. It was funny to see how people thought they could outrun any Supernatural being. Especially an infuriated Werewolf.
Derek shot into the room at break neck speeds, roaring. He tackled the target to the floor and flipped him easily onto his stomach. As the guy tried to wriggle out from beneath a man made out of nothing but muscle, Stiles slipped inside.
Once that door was closed and locked...
Screams were drowned out by the blaring music. Derek got off the guy, snarling and pacing like a feral animal. The guy was still screaming. Was to be expected. Both of his arms just had bones snapped clean in two by a Werewolf on a war path. And it was only about to get worse.
Stiles meandered around the room for a bit, finding every weapon he could and made sure they were out for viewing pleasure. Then, as Derek threw the Rogue Hunter onto the bed, growling viciously and hovering over him with malice, Stiles walked over to the iPod dock.
“Let's see if you have anything good on here.”
“I thought you were peaceful!” the man shouted at Derek as his legs were being pinned down. “You don't believe in revenge! You look down on it! You -”
There was a sickening pop that could barely be heard over the shit music. Stiles winced, knowing that Derek more than likely tore out this guy's shoulder out of the socket. Adding to the broken arms.
“You stole my Pack from me! From us!” roared Derek with such ferocity that Stiles was starting to feel...terrified. “You and your men murdered the family we built after our original ones were taken from us! You stole them! So don't you dare tell me what I believe in! Because what I believe in now is seeing you beg for the mercy you refused to show our family!”
Another pop. Other shoulder out. Stiles couldn't even hear the screams anymore. Not over the shit music. Not over Derek's roars.
He turned off the music, unable to listen to it anymore as he searched the iPod for something else. Immediately, there was the sound of muffled screams. Sounds of Derek hissing and shushing the man. Sounds of a weak struggle. Not much one could do with broken arms and popped out shoulders.
“Ooh! Babe! Mr. No Taste has The Eagles on here!” Stiles cried out, actually excited.
He heard his fiance chuckle...and the Hunter scream into the hand.
“Oh! Ohhh! Hotel California! Classic! I think I'll put this bad boy on. Have some tasteful tunes while we have some quality time together. Babe, can you put the piece of wood between his feet?”
“What piece of wood?”
“Oh shoot! I forgot to tell you about it. Gaaaah! That's okay. I got this.”
He set the iPod back on the dock, pressing play on the song. He swayed to the chords, a light smile across his lips. His fingers danced to the tune...partly. The other part was to summon a wood block from seemingly out of thin air. He pressed it between the ankles of the Rogue Hunter, which were pinned down by one of Derek's hands, the other hand on the chest. The music drowned out the man's screams and curses. For the most part.
“Come on!” Stiles shouted over the music, clapping the guy's leg. “Show a little spirit! Have some fun! I mean, after all, you had a jolly ol' time putting a bullet between dear Cora’s eyes!”
The Emissary's fingers danced again to the tune, a baseball bat appearing to grow and fall out of his palm. The Rogue Hunter was screaming louder now, almost drowning out the lyrics. Which, no. No one does that to Hotel California.
Stiles took off one of the man's shoes, followed by the sock. Then, he shoved the sock into the mouth, smirking at the disgusted expression that followed.
“And I was thinking to myself,” he began to sing along, swaying his shoulders. “This could be Heaven or this could be Hell.”
He poked their target's nose, his smirk growing sinister before he swayed his hips while walking away. “Then she lit up a candle...and she showed me the waaaay.”
The guy screamed through his gag. And, well, tried to fight against a Werewolf pinning him down. Derek snapped, his fangs dripping with saliva. Like a rabid dog, in a way. No matter. Stiles didn't have time to worry about it. He had a baseball bat to use.
“There were voices down the corridor, I thought I heard them saaaay...”
Right foot connected with the metal bat with a sickening crack as Stiles and Glenn Frey belted, “WELCOME TO THE HOTEL CALIFORNIA!”
The Rogue Hunter screamed, body arching upwards as much as Derek would allow him.
“Such a lovely place...such a lovely place.” Stiles twirled the bat around, making this all the more dramatic than needed. He leaned in, patting the still intact left foot. “Such a lovely face...”
There was a lot of thrashing about as Stiles raised the bat again, a wicked gleam enveloping his being.
“Plenty of room in the Hotel California!”
WHACK!
CRACK!
Muffled screams.
The Emissary waltzed up to the guy's face, patting it very gently with the tip of the bat. All manically playful.
“Any time of year...any time of year...”
His expression became ice cold, raising the bat above his head. His eyes shown a brilliant violet, flecks of blood garnet jagging out. Markings similar to several Litchenburg figures crawled up from under the collar of his hood. They slithered rapidly to beneath his hairline, making crinkling noises as they glimmered red. Like his Alpha's eyes.
“You can find it here...”
And the bat came down.
~+~
“A view of the ocean?! You spoil me, big guy!”
Derek rolled his eyes, trying his darnedest not to grin. His fiance had always wanted to go to Pismo Beach. Always. What were the chances that on their cross-country revenge trip that two of the Rogue Hunters would just so happen to be there? Very unlikely. But it happened at the very last minute, according to Allison's sources
The cards were, once again, in their favor.
But first...to break in this hotel room.
Derek closed the door behind them, watching his mate stand on the balcony and giggling out of sheer joy. It was as if they weren't on a bloody crusade for a brief moment. As if they were on their honeymoon, light and airy after a miraculous wedding.
With their Pack at their side...
He sighed, approaching his fiance from behind and wrapping his arms around him. He rested his forehead on Stiles' shoulder, breathing him and the ocean air in. It was relaxing. Perfection in every way. A momentary bliss in their fury.
“I love you, Derek...” came Stiles' voice in all its brokeness. “I don't think I've told you that enough. Which sucks, 'cause you deserve to hear it every hour of every single day.”
“That's a little unrealistic, Stiles.”
“So? You still deserve it.” He took one of Derek's hands, pressing it to his lips. “I love you so much, Derek. You have no idea.”
The Alpha chuckled, giving his lover a teasing nibble at the neck. “I think I have some idea.” He burrowed his face into the small mark he made, exhaling shakily. “Love you, too...”
They remained on the balcony for some time, admiring the view. Stiles did all the talking...like he always did. Like he had before. It was nostalgic in a way. Therapeutic, too. And as Stiles rambled on and on about the view, the smells, and on all the dogs he caught glimpses of, Derek scented him. Been far too long since he had properly done that.
They went out to dinner as night fell, enjoying a restaurant with an outdoor space to eat and continue to smell the ocean air. Stiles chatted it up, making a few acquaintances with the surrounding tables. (Mostly so he could steal the dogs and cuddle them for a bit.) Derek withdrew himself except for when he was directly spoken to. Speaking was never his thing. That was always Stiles' department. But now it was harder for the Alpha to really want to speak. Fortunately, most people were fine with nods and grunts from him. Especially with Stiles honing their attention onto him instead.
After dinner, they took a walk on the beach, holding hands and saying nothing. There was no need. They already knew what words were hanging on their tongues. Words they spoke when they returned to the hotel room and entangled their limbs together.
As the sun rose on the next day, Derek woke with a restless growl. He had agreed to have a 'play day', as Stiles called it, when they arrived. Just to feel something outside of rage. But that had passed. They had their day to relax and be happy. Now...now it was time to swallow themselves with darkness. Now it was time to -
“Could you not growl when you wake up, Mr. Grump?”
He glowered at his Emissary, nostrils flaring. The pale man beside him rolled his eyes, swatting at his chest without a care.
“Lemme take a piss. Then we will find them. Shouldn't be too hard. They were at that place we ate at last night. They know we're here. They'll follow us till they think they have us cornered. No fear. All cockiness. Which is to be expected, since they don't know about their little buddy at the Capri.”
He bolted upright, snarling and snapping his jaws. The Rogue Hunters were near them last night?! Why didn't Stiles say anything?! Why didn't they do anything to them?! Why didn't he smell them?!
Stiles reacted quickly, getting onto his knees and grabbing at Derek's face tightly. His eyes began to glow, boring into the wolf's soul as if it were mere child's play. Derek's stare glowed back, infuriated that his Emissary, the one person that was supposed to help protect him and anyone else in the Pack, refused to share this highly important information.
“Hey! Knock it off! I didn't want to ruin yesterday! Besides...this is all going according to plan. I promise. You trust me, yeah?”
The question was reminiscent to their first meeting. When they were assigned to each other by the Emissary Counsel and Derek's mother as children. Derek didn't trust him in the slightest. He was an outsider, and outsiders from the Pack were sketchy. That's what his uncle always told him.
However, Stiles had proven his loyalty time after time. Always had. Always would.
He nodded, slumping into his fiance's hold. Of course Stiles had a plan. Why wouldn't he? Maybe Derek was too itchy for retribution. The thought was...disturbing...
“We'll get them all. I promise. We just have to be patient. And I swear to you...you'll get these two today. They'll be all yours. You said they were the ones that shot you and me, yeah? When Ally sent the pics? You can get them all you want. But we're not in the middle of nowhere this time. We have to be careful. Just trust me. Okay?”
He nodded, burying his head into his fiance's throat and inhaling.
“Good. Now...can I please go pee? Before I mark my territory?”
That earned him a shove off the bed. A playful one. A full forced one would break something. Which was not ideal in any way.
Stiles still whined about it and faked a limp to emphasize his over dramatic point.
After all the morning businesses were done and over with, they left the 'safety' of their hotel room. It was discussed that they were to find a secluded place to take down their targets. Or at least somewhere that Stiles could open The Void and allow Derek to shred in peace. Stiles drove them around, both searching for an ideal spot and enjoying the view.
“Look at the ocean! It's so blue! Sure, not clear like in some tropical areas, but still! Doesn't look as gross as some of the California ocean does.”
Derek hummed, watching him fondly.
“Also! We're being followed by our little friends. Which, perfect. For all they know, we're just Jeep sight-seeing. Or trying to find a place to fulfill your outdoor sex kink.”
“I don't have an outdoor sex kink.”
“Oh, I know. But they don't. The perks of having a Hunter friend who tells you about all the misconceptions they have about you guys.” Stiles turned down a street that was mostly deserted, smirking. “But you do have a breeding kink.”
“Which you like.”
“Awww! Is my wolfy blushing?”
“Shut up. I need to -”
“Get in the zone. I know. I think we're getting close to a pretty ideal spot. Soon, Derek. Soon.”
The wolf nodded, flexing his hands in and out to bring out the claws more slowly. Brought out a sting that vibrated through his body. Helped with the rising, bubbling anger. He rumbled in his throat, fangs starting to pop. He was ready. Impatiently so. He wanted to make them pay for laying a finger on his fiance. For deciding that his Pack, anyone's Pack, wasn't deserving of life and worth more dead.
This was for his fallen Pack.
For all the Packs attacked by these monsters.
The Jeep came to a sudden stop, making Derek growl threateningly. Stiles shushed him, putting the Jeep in park and threw himself out the door. He reeked with intense disdain. He reeked with electricity as well.
Oh...he was bringing out the Spark within. He...never did that. Not unless...
Derek nearly tore off the door, hitting the ground in mid shift. He snarled and snapped his forming muzzle, the fur he did have bristling. From the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles shoot a ball of electricity at the car that was following them. And he could see why. One had a weapon with a silencer out. By the smell, it had been fired. That's when it clicked that Stiles' sudden stop and unrivaled malice was due to them firing at the Jeep.
His mother's Jeep.
The shouts of fright coming from the stalking vehicle fueled Derek's need to shred them to bits. He was down on all fours and making all sorts of threatening sounds by the time Stiles started spewing rapid fire incantations. Runes appeared around the car, glowing a velvet black. Ah...he was going to throw the entire car into The Void. Interesting. Make it more fun for Derek to rip them out and turn them into mince meat.
The men shrieked from their seats as they felt the burn entering The Void brought. As well as watching their weapons float around them, slashing and smacking them violently, before they melted into molten materials and fell onto their laps. The driver thrashed about, pounding on the door he knew he couldn't use. The passenger started to kick at the front window, apparently at the point where he didn't care about being electrocuted to death.
Derek felt the runes crawl up under his belly, making him shudder in unison with his mate, who was covered in the runes. So...they were both going? Guess Stiles wanted to watch, now that they had tried to shoot at them and instead likely hit the Jeep.
One shudder, two shudder, three shudder – black.
He howled his throat raw. Howled till they entered the screeching winds of The Void.
The best way to describe this place was that it reminded him of The Upside-down. An inverted and sickly version of the world. Stiles would say it was more Silent Hill-esque. But, no matter how it was described, The Void was a place no one wanted to be in. Devoid of life, of light, of cheer, of warmth. Hence its name – The Void.
“Welcome to The Void.” Stiles' voice boomed in a sinister echo. “I hope you'll enjoy your stay for however brief it will be. Because once I stop making your car a conduit for lightning...you will become the hunted. You destroyed our Pack. Our family. You had no fear then. I hope the fear of the goddess will be instilled into you when you feel the mighty wrath of an Alpha who lost everything.”
To emphasize the point of the speech, Derek unleashed the deepest, menacing, bone chilling, ground vibrating growl he could muster. He could smell the panic. The disbelief. The disdain for having the rug pulled right from under their feet. Good. Continue to smell like that. He was going to eat that up, and then some.
“I just have one question for you...” The Emissary flicked his hands like they were water, dropping his voice into a mischievous whisper. “How fast can you run?”
The electricity dropped.
The game was afoot.
Derek bolted, growling and snarling, saliva flying everywhere. The passenger managed to escape from the vehicle, making a made dash away with a limp from the burns of the molten remains of the weapons. The driver wasn't so fortunate. He struggled with his seatbelt, stumbled over something. He was still in the process of getting out of his seat when Derek threw himself on top of him, pinning him against the gearshift.
The man beneath him screamed and attempted to fight back. It only further brought the inner wild rage within out. His mind blanked as he tore into the bastard that had shot his beloved. He could hear the rips of flesh – smell the iron of blood. But that was it. That was all that was clear to him.
He only stopped when the movement of the body ceased. When the frantic heart no longer had a beat.
Derek licked his maw, hopping out of the car and immediately went on the prowl. His other prey wasn't too far away. Not like there was anywhere to go in this bleak landscape. However, with how fast the man had ran...the thrill of the hunt was drumming underneath his paws.
He paced, trying to catch a scent. He was huffing and snorting with agitation, wanting to find him now.
“Listen for him, big bad. Listen for his erratic heart.”
Derek's chest rumbled his agreement. He padded forward, straining his ears to hear over the winds. It was one thing to hear and smell perfectly when the being was right there in an enclosed space. In a more open environment...it proved difficult. Irritating.
At least for a minute.
The thrum of terror flooded his ears. It boiled his blood and he howled as loud as he could with a raw throat for his mate. Let him know that he found what he was looking for. Let the prey know that time was up.
All he heard next, between the overpowering winds, was the sweet sound of broken cries of horror.
~+~
“Did you hear about those bodies appearing across the country?”
“The ones belonging to Rogue Hunters? Yeah.”
“It's...insane. They are just...piling.”
“And the suspects? There are too many. These guys attacked and killed so many Packs, so many others in the Supernatural community. It could literally be anyone.”
“I heard that, briefly, they thought that Alpha Hale and Emissary Stilinski were the prime suspects.”
“What?! Them?! How could anyone think that?!”
“Well...they were seen in every city where these bodies showed up in.”
“Oh my god...”
“There was no proof, so they were let go. They still are suspects but...they can't do anything.”
“Even if they did do it and they were punished, do you realize the amount of riots there would be? And there is no way they could track down all these people. They would've had to have some help. Which means there are Hunters that are helping whoever is doing this.”
“It's all sticky and borderline political, if you ask me. But...I'm also glad that these guys are no longer going to attack anyone else. Because what if they went after sympathizers next? What if Supernaturals stopped being enough?”
“Somewhat gray, isn't it?”
“Yeah. Even though...”
“Even though what?”
“Well...even though that the bodies have been...beyond overkilled. Whoever is responsible is pissed off. Dangerously pissed off. Hopefully they will be done after the last Rogue Hunter is gone...or else we'll have a bigger problem on our hands...”
