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He takes the piece.

Not in the heat of the moment, not when he sinks to his knees with the heat of the Nogitsune’s hand still burning against the skin of his neck. He doesn’t even take it after Allison’s funeral.

But its presence is never far from his mind. Even when dealing with Kate, with the list…he still thinks of the chess piece.

Of the dream, Stiles painted in the softest gold, standing tall over him. Full of patience. Understanding. Wisdom. Not for the first time, he realizes that his mother would have adored Stiles, that she would have nudged him towards life as an emissary. The perfect bridge between the packs.

Sometimes, he thinks of what it would have been like. To meet Stiles when the both of them weren’t bogged down with rage and grief. When they were still whole.

Malia’s scent becomes a constant, in Stiles’ bedroom. When that scent shifts to something more intimate, that is when Derek gives in to his weakness and pulls the piece from the board.

The king has fallen. Checkmate.

The piece follows him to Mexico. Peru. Brazil. Bolivia. Chile. No matter how far he runs, Derek cannot outrun the painful wrenching in his chest when he opens his bag and sees it lying there, nestled safely between the folds of his shirts.

It becomes an anchor in his darkest moments. When he loses himself to his anger, when he nearly kills a man with bared fangs and sharp claws, Derek slinks back to his hotel, and grips it in his palm, repeating words he hasn’t needed since he was a child. Alpha. Beta. Omega. When his mother’s words don’t work, he tries Satomi’s.

The sun. The moon. The truth.

And what was his truth? That he had failed. Not just Erica and Boyd. Not just Isaac. Scott. Lydia. Stiles.

He wakes in cold sweat sometimes, that gravel voice curled vice tight around his lungs.

Bye, Derek.

No matter how long he howls at the moon, his loss does not abate.

It is weakness that draws him back, that leaves him belly up at Isaac’s feet. The Alpha he didn’t deserve. But the one who sets the broken bones of his soul and puts him on the path to something better.

Without Isaac, he would not be in this bedroom, watching Stiles sleep in a pool of moonlight. He would not be sitting with that worn and battered king in his palm.

He would not put it back on the board. Derek was not that arrogant. But he takes the piece and lays it on its side on the table near the chess board.

He was home.

#fiNALLY I CAN REBLOG #power's back #lies down and properly cries #drabble #homelesspackless #v: Void #for reasons

crowley-is-my-homeboy answered your question “Guess who’s power’s back???”

yay!!! being without power is the worst thing ever! Also birthday cake FTW

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#power's back #bitches

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