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madness-of-void

May 9, 2017

Even The Sun Can Grow Dark

Also On AO3

Theme: Wild Card

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.

And weep he did.

Until his mind was engulfed in a thick, dark fog.

~+~

Bleach. Medicine. Beeps. Death. Sadness. Happiness. Mumbles. Squeaky wheels.

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...”

#sterek bingo #sterekbingo2017 #sbwildcard1 #sterek #stiles x derek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #trigger warning: major character death #trigger warning: gore #tw: major character death #tw: gore #it is a very heavy fic #has moments of fluff though #revenge au #established relationship #emissary!stiles #alpha!derek #hale-mccall pack #mentioned mostly #trigger warning: death #tw: death #lots of death #like i said kind of heavy #pretty dark #angst #trigger warning: violence #tw: violence #werewolves are known #the supernatural are known