Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1      Stiles’ POV       Revelations

“Oh, right. Derek said you guys had a code. I guess no one ever breaks it.” he sneers at the hunter.

“Never.” Chris promptly answers.

“What if someone does?” Stiles exhale.

“Someone like who?” Chris Argent looks at him skeptically.

“Your sister”, Stiles spits out and stares him down and mentally hopes his conviction gets through.

“Stay here! Both of you,” Chris Argent command. Pushing Stiles hard into the wall again, like that would persuade Stiles to stay. Chris turned on his heals, grabbing the other hunter by the shoulder, and marching out through the main door of the Beacon Hill hospital. A look of realization and determination on his face.

Stiles was ready to shout a few, scratch that, many cutting words. Because he was high on adrenalin and had had enough of getting kidnapped and assaulted, slammed around and threatened, but he got eye contact with Jackson. Suddenly he remembered what they were about to do, before Chris had assaulted them.

Now though, things had change, it wasn’t just about Scott. There is more at stake. An adjustment to his plans was needed. He also felt angry because he finally understood why Peter said he wanted the bite but said no to his offer, not even an hour earlier. He now knew why Derek follow Peter despite him killing his sister.

Jackson intense and calculated look made Stiles believe he also had a revelation. Jackson straiten his now rumbled Hugo Boss suit that got wrinkle after he was being held by the hunter, while Stiles was assaulted and interrogated. Stiles himself flail out from the wall Chris had held him against and went up in Jacksons face and whispered insistently.

“We’re going! NOW!”

Stiles pulls Jackson with him through the halls and out a side door of the hospital, to avoid the Argent hunters. Jackson weirdly didn’t resist and as he follow him, Stiles got certain about what more he had to do, now after the Argent hunters assaulted him and Jackson.

In his head he went through what his dad said earlier, what Lydia said that night in the school, What Peter said at the parking garage, what Kate taking Derek implied, what Derek said about only the Argents knew about the Hale pack, what Chris said about going Rouge, and what the Police report didn’t revealed about the Hale fire. But the deaths did. He knew he had to set a line in this battle and choose side.

This was no longer about just keeping Scott alive. This was not about getting the girl, making the team or being popular.

It was about straighten up the injustice done to werewolves. It was about being equal and a part of something important. It was about who the real monsters were. It was about what was the right shade of grey. It was about not being alone and defenseless. It was about how to tip the balance of power away from the wrongdoing by the hunters and back into the hands of the ordinary supernatural and puny human population. The realization that the ones with the knowledge had the power to turn the tide.

While driving to Beacon Hill high school, his hands taps some random rhythm on the steering wheel of the Porsche, as a visual reaction on his inner turmoil. He felt so out on deep water and the only aid sat in the passenger seat with a scared look. That look was fast concealed with a fake puff out of his breast and an arrogant scoff when Jackson realized Stiles were looking at him.

“So, any thoughts?” Stiles said, after he had calm down his breathing a little, while he slowed down when they came to a light cross. Jackson looked thoughtful and was about to say something, but then put up the asshole look he lost hours ago facing the hunters.

“What about you give me back my keys, your fucking son of a bitch who couldn’t even keep Lydia safe at the winter formal. She was your responsibility freak and she’s in a coma because of you,” he yelled at Stiles while leaning over the center console of his Porsche in a threatening manner.

Stiles smack his face. Jackson looked shocked and held his hand to his left cheek. Stiles looked at him with a guilty but then angry look, just as the next words fell like uncontrollable bile out of Stiles’ ADHD mouth.

“Are you done you fucking drunk, Hugo Boss wrinkled asshole? You can’t drive. We got some serious big ass rogue, werewolf-killing hunter and potential rogue, revenge-filled werewolf induced warlike problems. And yes, Lydia looks like she’s in a coma, by a werewolf bite, and I feel partial responsible for that. We need to do something about it, but she is in the hospital and we must get our priority right. And that, Whittemore, makes your manhood-Phallus supplement, insecurity, Porsche-driving problem seem like nothing in my list of problems. And I can go on, FOR AN HOUR!” Stiles shouted whiles he flailed so hard, to get through with his points, his hand smacked the roof of the car.

“Fuuuudge!” he whimpered. Holding his hands to his chest and they breathed heavily while glaring at each other but still utterly petrified by the situations.

Chapter Text

2      Stiles’ POV       Indications

An awkward silence settles in the Porsche as Stiles drives through the empty light cross towards BHHS. Jackson seemed subdue.

When they parked outside the high school Stiles put the car keys in his pocket and strides towards the now empty school, since the winter formal was canceled because of the attack on Lydia. Jackson follow closely looking nervously around.

“What are we doing here, Stilinski?” Jackson mutters while looking at him unlocking the door with a key.

“Wait, what?” he mumbles surprised before following Stiles inside the school. Jackson stare quizzical at him.

“What?” Stiles asked as Jackson looks at the keys in his hand, with raised eyebrows.

“Do you think I would enter the school at night with a cutting rod available at all times?” Stiles huffs and walks toward the chemistry classroom.

“We need to make a couple of Molotov cocktails and then we will drive to the Hale house. Derek is held captive there and probably been torture by Kate fucking Argent, while Scott and Peter are probably already there with two, I assume, totally different agendas for ‘helping’ Derek - ” Stiles air quotes as he continue, “ - free from Chris’ totally evil, homicidal, werewolf-hunter sister. And I know Chris fucking Argent, with a hopefully crumbling loyalty, are probably on his way there to.” He starts to take out two glass bottles and different ingredients.

«That was a lot of probable’s», Jackson mumble. Stiles nods distractedly and answers «Probably».

«Lydia made a Molotov cocktail that didn’t self-ignite last time we were here at night, because something got mixed up wrong,” he explains to Jackson.

“What do we need Molotov cocktails f...?” Jackson tried, but Stiles goes on explaining.

“If we want it to self-ignite, I know a mixture of Sulphuric acid, sugar, and potassium chlorate that ignites upon impact. Like the one the Polish army developed,” Stiles said as he made the fuse.

“I remember reading about how the Polish home army during the Warsaw Uprising produced exceptionally effective Molotov Cocktails to use against enemy tanks. Some of these were technologically quite advanced, the flammable substance being petrol with added concentrated sulphuric acid and a fuse comprising potassium chlorate and ground sugar.” Stiles babbled on as his hands worked fast and finished the two Molotov Cocktails in front of him. he took the bottles and push them into Jacksons hands.

“I saw your look of realization and recognitions when you heard what we said at the hospital. You want something and you know something,” Stiles pointed at him and waited patiently. The earlier urgency suddenly evaporated from him and their surroundings. In the silence their little bubble created, it was like time stood still just waiting for Jackson to make the next move. Only their breathing was heard. Jackson just stood there dumbfounded at that turn of topics.

“I…I want the bite,” he blurts out, looking scandalized. He holds his breath, watching for Stiles’ reaction.

“Why?” Stiles said in a neutral voice, staring back and felt an unnervingly still come over him and he waits patiently. His head bent to the side in a predatory way and an urge in him to hear the inner truth of this person with the lack of identity and directions.

“I… I mean…I want what Scott got, but in a way, not. I heard Argent said to yo… I feel like… my neck… the marks showed me… I know it is selfish, but I want… the Argent know I want… I feel drawn to this… the werewolves,” he stuttered before he straitens his back.

“I need this, because something is broken.” He found Stiles’ oddly whiskey golden eyes and held them.

“Are you on the side of the wolves, Whittemore?” He asks seriously.

“I’m on the side of the wolves.” Jackson answers.

Stiles shock his head, clapped him on his shoulder, steering him out of the classroom. The moment was over.

“Come on, Whittemore.”

Chapter Text

3      Stiles’ POV       Resolutions

“Hey, hey, hey. This isn’t exactly an all-terrain vehicle,” Jackson said indignant.

“yeah? Did you pay for it?” Stiles could hear him exhale.

“No.”

“Then shut up!” Stiles answered with this newfound calm.

He shifts gear and speeds up and feels the substructure of the car hit the ground and he saw Jackson shut his eyes and held on for his dear life.

“The dangerous ones, for us, is the hunter Kate Argent and Alpha Peter Hale. The firebombs can be used as a distraction. Plan A; Aim it at hard surface so it will break. Close but not to close. We just need to get Derek and Scott away and let the Alpha take on the hunters. Plan B: If necessary, we help the Alpha. Kate in flames is fine by me, And worst-case scenario, plan C. If he can’t control his blood lust, we take on the Alpha and hope Derek and Scott will help.” Stiles hurriedly explains to Jackson as he spotted the Hale ruins up ahead.

He hit the footbrakes when he came in front of the Hale house where the alpha attacks Scott. Allison and her father was at the side. No Kate and no Derek. His stomach drops and he gets a chilling feeling down his spine.

“Plan C! we need to use plan C!”

Stiles hunks the horn, grabs a Molotov cocktail from Jackson’s hand and ran out of the car. The alphas focus was on him when he flung the bottle at it. The alpha grabbed it in the air and roared.

“Oh, damn,” Stiles sighs, felt like a total failure and took a step back. He had hesitated when he threw the bottle. Scott grabbed a crossbow from the ground and threw it to Allison, who quickly aimed and fired an arrow at the bottle the alpha was about to throw at the Argents. Stiles was puzzled to why she was there.

Upon impact the liquid ignites, and the left arm of the Alpha werewolf was on fire. He roars in pain, shaking his arm. Stiles looks to Jackson who looks down at his firebomb and throws it. The fire burst and intensifies when the bottle hits the Alpha. Stiles and Jackson flings up their arms in front of their head in shock. He is engulfed in flames, roars in agony, zero in on Allison. Before he reaches her, Scott kicks him away from her. The Alpha stumble back and falls behind a tree.

Stiles looked at the alpha as he stumbles a bit before he falls to his knees and silently turns back to human. He can see the helplessness and resign agony in Peters eyes as he falls on his back on the ground. Stiles feel sick. The irony is there for all to see. Ones again taken down by an Argent. Once again by fire. Once again at the Hale house, but this time with some helps from him, Scott and Jackson.

Stiles tunes out Allison and Scott, for all he can hear is the struggling breathing of Peter Hale. He let out a breath of relief when he sees Derek walking silently and alive towards his uncle. He kneels, staring at his uncle. Scott rambles on about Allison, her father, that being a werewolf is a death sentence for him and that he need to kill Peter so he can become human again, for Allison and her family.

Stiles see Derek close his eyes and making his decision. He feels relief that Scott won’t become a killer. The alpha power belongs to the Hales in all their tragedy.

He hears Peter seething voice.

“You already decided. I can smell it on you.”

Derek raise his right hand with his claws out.

“No, no, no, no,” Scott protest.

Derek’s cuts Peters throat. The moon is a silent witness to the change of power.

Jackson moves beside Stiles and he can see pain cross Jackson eyes. Jackson rubs his chest and shook his head. Then he sees the hunger in Jackson’s eyes as he looks at Derek standing up, turning towards them.

“I’m the alpha now” Derek calmly says with his red alpha eyes and powerful alpha voice. Stiles shudders he can feel it in his bones. He can hear Jacksons intake of a shuddering breath to. What was that?

Chapter Text

4      Stiles’ POV       Bifurcations

Stiles looks closely at his best friend and he can see the hate in his eyes, as he looks at Derek before he turns and walk to the two Argents.

Stiles and Jackson walks up between the trees towards Derek. Derek looks at Chris.

“You take care of yours and I take care of mine. Now leave! This is private property,” He says with a finality.

Scott holds around Allison while Chris disappear into the ruins and comes out with Kate’s body.

“Wait, Chris, wait!” Stiles shouts, taking a couple of steps towards him. A hand grabs the back of his shirt, stopping him. Chris stops on the last step of the porch.

“Pendant of truth,” he blurts out and shuffles back by the guide of the hand. Scott looks at him like he is a crazy person. Stiles ignore him and waits.

With a small nod Chris goes to the SUV where Scott opened the back door, while glaring at Stiles. Chris puts Kate in the back of the car and got into the driving seat. Allison got in the back seat. Scott looks at Stiles and Jackson.

"Come on Stiles! Jackson! We take the Porsche," he ordered.

Stiles stood in front of Jackson and Derek and shook his head. Scott growled and flashed his yellow eyes. He started towards them and Derek got in front of Stiles and Jackson and growls. Scott bent down and sneers, readying himself for a leap. Suddenly he stops, listens and snapped his head towards the car. He gave them a betrayed last look and went back to the SUV and in after Allison.

Stiles looks at the red taillights of Chris’ SUV as it disappears down the graveled road between the trees. Stiles turns to Derek and Jackson.

“Derek, what w…” he tries, but Derek walks away and goes behind the house. He looks at Jackson who shakes his head and waits. Stiles sees Derek come back with a couple of shovels and a tarpaulin.

“I can help,” Stiles offers.

Derek nods and gives the shovels to Stiles and Jackson and then puts the tarpaulin around his uncle and lifts him up in his arms. The stench of a burnt body is foul, and Stiles and Jackson cover their mouth. Stiles feels like crying when he sees Derek’s face. There is a heavy and oppressive feeling over them all.

He stumbles after Derek and Jackson into the ruins of the Hale house. Derek puts his uncles wrapped up body on the floor by an old sofa and grabs the shovel from Jackson. He moves a mirror and rips out some floorboards. Stiles follow him and starts to dig. The only sound was from the digging and the breathing.

When Peter Hales body was lowered into the ground in a sitting position with his head on his knees and arms cross into his chest, Jackson took the shovel from Stiles and helped Derek bury his uncles’ body.

They took a step back and stood there in silence. Derek bows his head and turn away from the grave. Stiles got overwhelmed thinking about Derek being the only Hale left. A tear falls down his cheek. He didn’t know what to say to Derek. The silence got too much for his frayed nerves.

“You got me,” he blurts out.

Jackson looks up at Stiles surprised and turns to Derek. Stiles jaw drops in utterly bewilder by how his own words felt so true. He wipes his tears on his shirt sleeve. And almost falls over in surprise when Jackson comes shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Me too,” Jackson said determent. “And I want the bite.”

They both turn to Derek. His head is still bowed. They could hear a low rumble from his chest. His back was tight as a string. He turns his head to the side in a canine way and Stiles can see the red glow in his eyes, the fangs poking out from under his lips and there is claws on his hands. He felt the hairs on his neck stands up. He holds his breath.

“Are you gonna rip my throat out, with your teeth?” he squeaked. Fuck, he said it out loud. Stiles closes his eyes waiting for the ripping of throat. His puny human throat.

“Are you for real? Stilinski. Shut up! Or I will kill you myself.” Jackson said and slaps him on his arm. He spins round and slaps back before he backs away from Jacksons hand. He bumps into a wall. A breathing wall.

“Stand still, Stiles,” a low voice growls in his ear.

Stiles holds his breath, carefully glancing up at Jackson who step away from him with his hands raised. He can feel the breathing and the heat from the, oh my god, new alpha behind him. A clawed hand shot out from behind him and grabs Jackson by his neck and pulls him towards them. Stiles felt fangs on his neck, claws on his waist and a growl vibrating through his body. He whines and went limp.

Chapter Text

5      Derek’s POV     Clarifications

Derek felt a rush through his body, like the alpha power soared through him, when he held his fang at Stiles’ neck and held Jackson neck with his left-hand claws. Stiles heart beats rabbit fast, and he went limp in his right arm. He pulls Jackson to him and placed his teeth on his neck. Jackson trembled with fear. Derek looks him in the eyes, and he looks down.

“You both meant it,” He growled silently.

Jackson nodded. Still looking down.

“I can feel you both,” he continues. Hands normal again.

Jackson nodded. Peering up at him.

“Can you feel me?” he looks astound.

Jackson nodded again, put his hand on Derek’s wrist and whines. He let him go.

“Sit!” he nudges Jackson into the old sofa and pulls Stiles closer to himself. Holding his limp body up in his arms.

“What’s happened while I was captured?” he asked while glancing at Stiles’ face resting against his chest. He looks ragged but peaceful.

“Peter bit Lydia at the formal. She is in a coma. He took Stiles…” Jackson’s wobbly voice comes out like a whisper.

Derek growls. Jackson gave him a worried look and moved slightly away from him. He continues.

“He took Stiles so he could find you. He did. Stiles came to the hospital and Chris Argent and another hunter assaulted us there. They were looking for Scott, they were hunting for you... The werewolves. Stiles told him his sister killed your family.”

Derek whines and puts his nose in Stiles’ hair. Jackson inches a bit closer.

“I recognize this house. The hallway and the staircase.” He points behind them with recognition. Derek looks thoughtful.

“I always felt so lost and angry, but today I… now I…” he sighs and waves his hand at Stiles in Derek’s arms.

“He is so fucking annoying but he… there is something about him… and you… and this…” His eyes go to the upturned dirt on the floor and around the room.

“Stiles said we had to A distract the Argents to get you and Scott away, so he made Molotov cocktails for diversion. He knew your uncle were coming for Chris Argents sister to revenge your family. He said plan B was to help him against her if need be. Plan C was to take on the Alpha if he was taken over with bloodlust and not revenge. He hoped you and Scott would help us with that.” His voice grew more confident as he spoke.

Derek close his eyes and felt the anger he had felt in the seconds before he killed his uncle. He had tuned out Scott. He had had enough of him. The hope to have him as a wolf-brother started to crumble, after he wouldn’t help him out of the basement, blackmailed him to do it his way. He had felt how his uncle goaded him. No, urged him to end his suffering with a calculated glint in his eyes.

“He wanted me and Scott to take down Kate Argent with him, so he could revenge our family. Scott wanted me to save the Argents from him because of Allison. He said the vet had evidence that proves Peter killed my sister on purpose.” He told Jackson as he took Stiles with him to the green sofa and sat down with him beside Jackson.

Jackson lifts Stiles’ feet from the floor and put them on his lap. Derek rearrange his upper body, so he lies securely in his arms on his lap. Stiles snuggles into his leather jacket, his collarbone, and sighs. His heartbeat told Derek he was sleeping now.

Derek didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He changes the subject to something that his wolf craves. Pack and betas.

“The bite is a gift. It can kill you or you can become like me. A werewolf. You’ll be stronger, faster, and heal better. You will hear, see and smell better, but you can be hunted by hunter, you will struggle with the pull from the moon and you need to protect your pack. You’ll be my beta. If you do like Scott, you’ll become an omega. A Pack less wolf. A lone werewolf can lose himself to the wolf and the moon and become feral. Hunters is fast to threaten and fast on the trigger with omegas. Even if they have a code,” He sneered and looked at Jackson. Remembering that time in the forest with Scott and that time at the gas station.

“The most important, for us, is pack. Pack makes us stronger. Makes us whole. You need to think this through. An alpha need at least three betas to be strong enough to defend themselves. But Pack is most importantly family. If you want to become my beta, I’ll give you the bite. But you are already pack. My mother’s pack had humans and wolves. Humans grounds us in our humanity. If you want to be like Scott. Believing you can make it without pack, I won’t give you the bite.”

Chapter Text

6      Stiles’ POV       Ramifications

Stiles moves, opens his eyes slowly and with a content sigh he looks up a warm neck, past stubbles and into Derek’s eyes. He yelps and almost falls to the floor had it not been for two strong, warm arms holding him inches from it. There is claw marks and scorch pattern on the floor.

He feels he is slowly put down on the floor. Stiles jumps up with a flail, look around and zooms in on the two on the sofa. Avoiding the wet drool spot, he can see on Derek’s shirt. He shakes his head and zero in on Jackson. He grabs Jackson’s shirt and pushes it up and inspect his sides.

“Did you bite him?” he looks accusingly at the new Hale alpha.

Jackson slaps his hands away.

“No! He didn’t.” Jackson replies.

Stiles sighs and flung himself on the sofa between them.

“Good. You must be careful Whittemore. The shape you take reflect the person you are. I don’t want you to become some mindless were creature, you annoying lizard breath. I read it in a fic on the web or dreamt it or...” He trails off with a faraway gaze. He snaps back. Derek and Jackson look at each other quizzically.

“Just, think it through. Come to peace with yourself before you accept it.” He says before his face shows utter horror and he jumps up again. He turns to Derek, hands hovering over the alpha.

“Are you hurt? Did she hurt you? Did he? Oh my god, are you alright?” stiles whines eyes flying all over his body, looking for injuries. He can see blood and holes in his shirt near the left shoulder, in the abdominal area and on his jeans on the right thigh.

“Fuck, Allison had a bow! Did she shoot you? Did Kate shoot you with a gun?” Jackson smacks him out of a full-on panic attack. His check burns.

“Stilinski! Listen to me. Look at him, he heals. He is a werewolf he can heal.”

Stiles breaths slowly and turn to Derek. He gets angry. This isn’t right. He glowers at the other human.

“Fuck you Whittemore! Just because he heals doesn’t mean it’s all right to hurt him, to torture him and shoot him.” Stiles breath heavily and sniffles. “Why was Allison even here?”

Derek eyes are red again and he has a baffled look that turn to anger. Derek reach out his hands and drags him onto the sofa.

“When it comes to Allison…she was hunting with her aunt.” He sneers. He takes a deep breath and smells pack. He softens his voice “I’m okay, Stiles. It’s not okay, but I’m okay. I’m healing, it will be okay.”

Stiles hides his face in his hands. His fingers going down his neck. He leaps up again while his hands touching his own neck franticly.

“Did you bite…” he starts but Derek gets up and pulls him close in his arms reassuring him.

“No, I didn’t, Stiles.” Stiles stares him in the eyes.

“My wolf wanted to; I really did. I want betas, but most of all I want pack. We lost pack today, but we found pack. You’re pack, Stiles. You and Jackson. Can you feel it? You sang for my wolf, Stiles. It was amazing. It dampened the urge to get betas right away. I wants to do right by you. The alpha power and feeling of pack, of you two, helps ground me.” Derek looked at him with red alpha eyes and took a step back and held his hands. Stiles was gaping. He couldn’t quit grasp the meaning of Derek’s words. Pack. He was pack. He had felt a longing lately. A yearning to belong. Derek’s words settle something in him. He locked eyes with the alpha again and can see a restless uncertainty in them. Jackson slaps his leg.

“What?” he shouts irritated and slaps after Jackson’s face. Jackson backs a little, fucking ninjas, flicks his eyes to Derek. Stiles can see the alpha looks dejected. His shoulder slumped, eyes normal and downcast, hands letting go of Stiles’ hands, fuck!

“Derek, wait,” Stiles holds on to his hands, close his eyes and looks for the alpha. He gets an urge to feel him and when a heat bust under his sternum he gasps, and his eyes flies open. Alpha red eyes are just inches from his and he can hear Derek sigh in relief.

Stiles feels wobbly, tries to steady himself on the alpha, but his legs can’t carry him anymore and he is guided down on the sofa, by his pack mates. Hah! Pack. They sit there in silence contemplating what their life had become.

A silence settles. A quiet that made them feel the utter exhaustion, mentally and bodily, from everything happening to them lately. It’s quiet for several minutes. Everyone occupied with their own thoughts. Derek has his eyes close, resting his head on the back of the sofa. Jackson leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Stiles eyes goes to the dirt on the grave of Peter Hale. He feels uncomfortable here, his muscle is aching, he feels sick, clammy and cold, a headache burst behind his eyes.

“We can’t stay here. I want to go home,” he urges and got up from the sofa. He grabs his shaking head and looks at the others in the ruins of the Hale house. His eyes burn with tears and it feels like a bright colored mist engulf his sight as he stares and stares at the eyes of the others. The panic attack push through his body and steals his breath and he feel dizzy and nauseous and something...

“The force of the eyebrows is strong in this one… and that one and the dead-ish one,” he mumbles scared and confused, and stumbles and his sight go blurry. “Trippel Hale brow. Grrr! Spooky!” His vision goes black and he gave in and fell.

Chapter Text

7      Malefactions

Jackson grab Stiles as he falls back towards him, and in a flash, Derek is on his knees before them. They both watch a tear slowly runs down his blotchy cheek and into his right ear. Derek’s hands reach for it, before he aborts the movement and instead grab Stiles from Jackson and lift him up in his arms. They both walk in silence out to the Porsche. The silence is not just between them, but also around them. The preserve is ominously quiet. They hurry into the car as they look around. A mist creeps out from the woods behind the Hale ruins and surrounds them.

The sight is terrible, and Jackson drive slowly through the forest on the gravel road, and out to the main road toward Beacon Hill. Derek sits in the back with Stiles secure in his arms. His alpha eyes watching their surroundings. At the light cross Jackson stops and waits for green. He opens the window and breath in the cold night air. But the mist creeps him out and he is quick to close the window. As the light turns green and he drives through the light cross. A big, dark car with no head lights on, rams into the right back end of the Porsche and it spins on the road. Derek holds on to Stiles as he takes the hit from the crash. His eyes close as he grits his teeth and moans from the pain. The rear, right passenger airbag groans with him as the other car disappears down the road away from Beacon Hill. Jackson holds on to the steering wheel and the airbag in front of him right side let out small clouds of powder as they deflate. He just stares ahead, and his knuckles is white from clutching the steering wheel. The silent is loud and Derek checks Stiles for any injuries.

“I’ve decided. I want the bite now,” Jackson whisper in an unsteady voice as he removes the remains of the airbag and opens the door. His hands trembles, his heart is fast, but it is steady. Derek lays Stiles carefully down in the backseat and exit the car.

“Only as my beta?” Derek answer. Jackson nods his head affirmative.

“Say it!”

“I want to be your beta, Derek. I am your pack. I’m on the side of the wolves.”

Derek’s eyes turn red as he beta shift. He lifts Jackson shirt and bites him on his right side over the hip bone. Jackson smiles grimly looking at the bite.

A car roars and shot out from the mist and hits Jackson so he gets flung into Derek, who grabs him in his arms as they both hits the driver side of the Porsche. The mist surrounds them but can’t reach them. Derek can see it encircle them and the car. It’s like a mountain ash circle, but where he feels safe inside.                        

He can’t open his eyes and he can’t move his body. He has conflicted feelings. He feels like someone have wrapped him up in cuddles and surrounded him in warmth and security and it hurts, maybe a little queasy by the movement he is immerse in. He feels a fatigue so beyond the mentally and bodily stress he has had lately, that he shivers uncontrollably.

Suddenly there is a pain in his head that burst like a supernova and his cold hands and feet tremble and sting when the heat comes throughout his body. His body jolts, ears bursts, throat hurts and he inhale a smell off pack, compassion, fear and anguish. Why all the suffering all around. As an urgent voice pleads him to come back while they shout for someone to not die, He manage to speak before he let the soft and squishy engulf him with a deep exhale.

“Yeah, don’t die. The Zombiebrows died a bit. Die is no go. Don’t die. I will come back. Tomorrow it will be okay, yeah! Daddio always says it will be okay in the morning. He lied but it will be okay, cause I said it. Okay, nighty, nighty.” Stiles voice slurs weakly.

Derek makes a convulsive catching of the breath as he stares teary-eyed and shocked up at Stiles where he lies in the back seat of the car, on the side of the road. A shimmering warmth surrounds the boy and the mist dissolves, and the circle is replaced by a glowing light. Derek holds Jackson head carefully as he lays unconscious and with a heartbeat that slows down dangerously. His head is covered with blood and both legs are in odd angles.

He understands Stiles’ whispering voice as he dries his bloody mouth with his hands. He heard, thanks to his werewolf hearing, what the boy said and sees the shimmering warmth surround Jackson and himself to, and he watches the bitemark on the right side of his beta’s waist and the headwound stop bleeding. He hurries to straitens Jackson’s broken legs, gets Stiles out of the car and pulls the two boys close to him as his new alpha power breaks through him as he feels the shimmering warmth push through his body to. He howls and howls and howls till a calmness settle in him.

Chapter Text

8      Derek’s POV     Determinations

He is not sure how long he sat there but the night sky is dark, and the moon and stars shine down on them. The mist and glowing light are gone, and cold wind ruffles his hair and the leaves around him. The preserve is not silent anymore, and he can’t quite comprehend what has happened. But a strange calm holds him as he goes through everything that have happened since Stiles passed out in the ruins of his home.

Him and Jackson had taken Stiles from the Hale house out in the Porsche. The boy had felt so fragile in his arms and he held on tight as he walked to the car. He put Stiles in Jacksons arms as he got in the back and reached for Stiles and placed him carefully in his lap in the small space in the back.

While Jackson drove to Beacon Hill. Derek had held Stiles close as the boy had shivered. Suddenly, as the big car appears, he had jolted, and he screamed as if he was in intense pain before their car was hit. The car spins around but stays on the road. Derek shivered at the thought that his new pack could have died. And then again, after the bite, Jackson was run over by the car again and almost died if it wasn’t for Stiles’ whisper and the glowing somethingness.

His eyes burn red, and he feels an urgent need to protect his pack. To get them to safety. He looks at the Porsche and the boys in his arms. He looks back on the road to the Hale house and the road ahead leading to the city of Beacon Hill. He puts his packmates gently on the ground and goes to the car. He lifts it and puts it in the right direction on the road. He gets behind the car steering wheel and tries the key. The engine rumbles alive and he runs back and lifts Jackson into his arms and carry him into the back seat and gently lays him down.

Then he returns to Stiles. The boy has no marks or signs that showed he had been in a car accident. The only sign on what happened in the car accident, that had scared Jackson so much that he asked for the bite, was the deflated airbags, the dents, broken tail light and on Stiles, the shining healing heat that saved him afterwards is just a slight glow from behind his eyelids and he is trembling. He puts Stiles in the front passenger seat and lays back the seat carefully. He takes of his leather jacket and tucks it around him. Derek looks at Jackson who is secured in the backseat, before he climbs in the front seat, turns on the heat in the car and drives towards Beacon Hill.

The streetlights near the Stilinski home is out so the area seems so foreboding and ominous. The Sheriff’s car is absent, so he drives slowly into the driveway to Stiles parking spot. He goes to the side of the house and jumps up to Stiles bedroom window and sighs in relief that it’s open. He gets in and hurry through Stiles room and down the stairs and to the front door. He looks around the neighborhood and listens for threats before he runs to the car to get the boys indoor.

He puts Stiles in his bed and takes his dirty shoes and dirty trousers off. He removed the tie from around the neck of the sixteen-year-old boy.

“Thank you. We’re safe for now. I’m sorry, I do better, I swear. We’re pack,” Derek whispers as he hovers over him. He tenderly strokes his head and felt the short and soft hair tingle his palm. He removes his hand and looks at it and at Stiles. He slowly breath in and close his eyes. It smells like pack, comfort and home. His body relax as he breaths out. He takes the blanket and cover the boy tenderly, before he runs out to the car and Jackson.

Chapter Text

9      Sheriff’s POV    Tribulations

The Sheriff stops at the front door, looking back to his son’s Jeep in the driveway. He feels so lost. The early morning sun lights up the blue Jeep Stiles inherit from his mother. He goes to the Jeep and his hands strokes the hood. He sighs and talks to the car as if it was a medium to his late wife.

“What did I do wrong, Claudia? He is skittish and looks himself up in the room. He shows up at the oddest places like crime scenes. He is overly curious about the Hale fire in general and Derek Hale specific. He is lying and I mean not in a horizontal position. A girl our son had responsible for tonight, was attacked, goes into several allergic chocks and ends in a coma, with him nowhere in sight and no doctors understand what’s wrong with her. A dead woman, an Argent, shows up with sliced neck and a pendant connected to the Hale arson where a big family with adults and children were murdered in cold blood. The Whittemore kid is missing and his car was found on the road out of Beacon Hill, close to the Preserve, with damage that indicate car accident. My son knows Derek Hale more than he first admit and they are all over all this madness. It feels like a full moon. What’s happening?” He feels his eyes fills with tears and he take a big breath to get his feelings under control before he enters the house.

He climbs the stairs slowly, limbs aching and head exhausted. He gets to his son’s room and silently opens the door. His son is sleeping cocooned in his blanket slightly visible because of the light from the hallway. The windows as always ajar. The armchair has been moved to the other side of the bed filled with books, dirty clothes and the tie on the top. The Sheriff smiles a sad smile. He had been so angry with his son earlier in the evening and now his son looks so vulnerable and innocent. He silently leaves the door ajar and goes to his own room. They need to talk later in the day. After some good rest.

At least some rest. The Sheriff twist and turns in his bed and sighs. He thinks about what Stiles said and the pendant connecting Kate Argent to the Hale arson. His son had known something, and he didn’t listen again. He had done a lot of that lately. His son to. Like they weren’t on the same wavelength anymore.

He finally falls asleep and sleeps restlessly as the window in Stiles’ room silently opens and a dark shadow lurks in through it. Two feet lands on the floor without a sound and the windows is left ajar again. Derek goes to check on Jackson bundle up in Stiles’ sleeping bag hidden away between the bed and the wall. The headwound is gone.

He walks around the bed to the armchair and quietly removes the mess and puts it on the floor. He slumps tiredly into the familiar armchair and feels utterly drained. His hand reach for Stiles and he leaves it on his shoulder. He finds a comfortable position and plans to just rest a couple of hours before the others wakes up. His eyes swipe the room one more time to make sure he had cleaned and removed every trace of what happen. He had made sure the bathroom was free from blood, Jackson clothes and other mess he made as he had cleaned his new beta’s head and side with a washcloth. He had also cleaned himself up a little and was now wearing Stiles’ blue and orange striped shirt. His pack are resting and healing.

The new alpha falls asleep with his new pack and with a tiny hope that maybe the new day will be okay. Maybe. He had heard the Sheriff and knew that if he can get Stiles to tell his father everything… maybe.

Outside the moon is visible in the morning sky, silently watching over them like she doesn’t want to leave them even when the sun comes up. Sounds outside increase when the city wakes up slowly.

A couple of hours later someone else is watching over them and do not want to leave. The three sleeping boys don't notice the blue eyes that peek at them from the door.

The Sheriff sneaks in and gets as comfortable as he can get in the desk chair waiting for his son, the Whittemore kid and the Hale kid to wake. At least the Whittemore kid is okay. He will get him to call his parents when he wakes. He will also have to tell the Hale kid that the murderer of his family is found dead and with the neckless that connects her to the fire that decimated his family. Someone had violently removed everyone connected to it. Every single one involved. It all seems like a big deliberate criminal action to annihilate the Hale family, even children for some, in his eyes, twisted reasons. He can’t find any justifiable reason to kill a big family with many children. The youngest only two years old. He drags his hands over his face as he looks at Derek Hale.

Derek Hale lays on his side, half in the chair and half on the bed next to his son, left hand on his son’s neck, dressed in his son’s blue and orange shirt. His son lays on his stomach, left hand and his head hanging over the side of the bed. His long legs tangled up in the blanket over Hales hip. He stretches a little and sees his son’s hand is on the head of Jackson Whittemore, who is curled up in a sleeping bag half squished under the bed, only his head visible. How can they sleep like that? Well his son can but the others?

Well, some of his questions would be answered when they wake up and no one will leave before he gets them. He silently lets his thoughts sort out all the events he can connect to these kids as he waits. He feels a headache throbbing. What a mess and he hadn’t made it any easier with dismissing his own son every time they talked. He was meant to be there for him. He sat up and decided that from now on he would listen to his kid with an open mind, no matter what. Even if he thought Stiles and Jackson despised each other and even if Derek had been a suspect in his sister’s murder. He was after all exonerated. And he reckons that he couldn’t separate these boys after such a night and all they probably have gone through.

He picks up his son’s tie from the floor and looks at it. There is blood on it. He sighs and lean back in the desk chair.

Chapter Text

10     Exhalations

Stiles groans and rub his face. His mouth is dry and his head heavy. He opens his eyes. Why is his sleeping bag on the floor and where is his armchair? He lifts his head on to the edge of the bed and squints around. A familiar figure glares at him and lifts his eyebrows at him in a very judgmental way. His father is sitting in his desk chair.

“Daa…h? wy…r…y…hea?” He sleepily grumbles and tries to sit up but something heavy has him pin to the bed.

“Wha…?” He tries to turn his body as his father tries to stifle a snort. Someone growls quietly and tugs him close. He can feel a warm hand squeeze his neck lightly.

“Who…?” Stiles is bewildered. His father starts laughing and chaos erupts.

“Dad?” Stiles shouts in a spastic full body panic. His heart beats rabbit fast and in an instant, Derek Hale is out of bed with a growl and an epic chain reaction unfolds.

There is suddenly feathers around Derek who crashes over the armchair on the right side of the bed, with a pillow stuck to his hand and he falls headfirst into the cluster of books and clothes on the floor.

Stiles falls out of bed on the left side with a grunt and feet sticking up. His feet still tangled in the duvet. He has landed on Jackson’s head, who curses and push him into the wall as he kicks out violently at the bed.

The bed is kicked over towards the Sheriff, who’s had years to get custom with his son’s antics and use of space, calmly shows the desk chair he sits on back away from the chaos.

Derek silently gets out of the pile of books and clothes, removing a feather from his mouth, as he observes Jackson swearing as he struggles out of the sleeping bag franticly. Stiles scrambles out of the duvet, but gets his right foot tangled in the sleeping bag. He looks around for his dad and stumbles, flails and jumps on one foot toward his dad and tries to drag him out of the chair as he blurts out.

“Dad. Father. Daddio…hey…I can explain…yeah…I think… so…we’re awake…cause we’re not sleeping…I…no… I haven’t slept with anyone…It wasn’t my fault…I think…So is it school? I go get ready…Jackson and I had a school project… which doesn’t involve Derek Hale,” He sees Derek standing there like a deer in the headlights and feathers in his hair. “…feathers and… no Sire daddio …don’t look there……look at the time…nothing to see here…” The sheriff rises slowly.

Stiles tries to drag his father by his hands out of the room babbling franticly, he flails as his father doesn’t move an inch and looks at him with a practice parental ‘I-have-had-enough-of-your-diversion-tactic’ eye role. Hands slaps him over his head multiple times. Stiles looks at his dad’s hand in his hands in confusion.

“Shut up, Stiles!” Jackson grits out and slaps him again. Stiles turns to him and slap back. “You shut up!”

Derek comes between them, feathers in his hair and both hands up, to defuse the situation. “Just stop!”

“Boys sit down. Now!” All three freeze when they hear the Sheriff’s steel voice behind them.

He turns around and don't dare to look his father in the eyes and that seems to be what the other two do to. He quickly gets them to move over to the bed, that lies tilted diagonal in the middle of the room. All three tries to sit down quickly. Stiles feels he is about to fall ass first on the floor, missing the bed, as a hand grabs his shirt and pulls him up. He is placed between Derek and Jackson on the bed. The silence that follow is deafening. Stiles feel cold sweat down his back, even though there is heat from the two beside him.

He takes a big breath in to get control of his heart rate but then sees that Jackson sits only in his Hugo Boss briefs. Stiles look at his own lap. He is in his shirt from the day before, socks and boxer brief reading ‘These are my grumpy pants’. A feather falls slowly into his lap. He peeks sideway at Derek. Oh Goddess! He still got feather in his hair, bloody jeans, bare feet and Stiles’ orange and blue t-shirt on. Stiles cringe.

“Oh my god, we’re dead”, he murmurs as he slowly exhales and puts his head in his hands to hide from the world.

The desk chair creaks as the Sheriff sits. The three on the bed holds their breath in fear.

Stiles hear muffled chuckles. Then guffaw, before he looks up with confusion as the Sheriff glance at them and roars with laughter. He can’t stop laughing, leans on his knees as he squints at them with teary eyes and prominent laugh lines around his blue eyes. Stiles tries not to pout and grumbles when he sees his dad fighting to stifle his laughter but when he looks at them one after the other Stiles know his dad finds this situation hilarious. Well, he personally does not think this is funny. He inhales and then lets out a voiceless exhalation as he tries to rein in the snappish comment, he had ready. A chuckle escapes his dad before he also inhales a deep breath, exhale and manage to settle down.

“Boys calm down. It’s okay,” Stiles father holds out his hands in a placid gesture.

“We will sort this out, just let me talk first and then I will listen to you.” He gets eye contact with his son and gives him a small nod. He notices when Stiles lower his shoulders, nods and exhale, the other boys follow his example and settles down to listen.

In the silence Stiles starts to notice life going on outside the bedroom window. He can hear the heavy rain outside and a car drives by on the wet road. A crow nearby gives a long caw followed by a series of short caws before it flies away. Several crows’ caws in the distant before it’s only the rain making sound outside.