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Chapter Text

She kicked out with her feet, chest rising and falling with panicked breaths, and tried her best to scramble away. She didn’t get far before she was dragged backwards by an invisible force. 

“Escaping is futile,” a voice hissed, deep and demonic, overlaid with a frequency that made her ears ring. 

“Please, don’t. I’ll give you whatever you want, please just don’t kill me,” she pleaded. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” the voice snarled, “I just want to play.” 

A claw-fingered hand came into her view and she screamed, crying and begging for it to stop. But, it sliced the fabric of her shirt open, leaving a deep gash in her abdomen, blood pooling in her navel. 

Stiles awoke with a gasp, sweat soaking his sleep shirt, and remnants of fear clung to him, making his heart hammer and his stomach churn. His hands shook the most, but he could feel every muscle quivering with the amount of magic he’d just used. 

He pushed himself up into a seated position, leaning back against the headboard for support, and ducked his head between his knees, locking his hands behind his neck. The nausea washed over him in waves, leaving him struggling to break the surface and draw in a breath. 

Suddenly, there was a hand at his back, rubbing circles into his spine to soothe him. “Here, drink.” 

A bottle of apple juice was thrust into his hands, the cap already taken off, and he lifted his head, feeling weak and shaky, to take a short sip. It was cold, thick and sweet on his tongue, soothing his fever and shakes. He kept taking short gulps, in between breathing deeply, and soon found himself feeling much better and calmer. 

“Thanks,” Stiles rasped out, leaning heavily against his father’s shoulder. 

Noah sighed deeply and scritched Stiles’ scalp. “Your mom was the same when she used a lot of magic.” 

Claudia was a force to be reckoned with when she was at full strength. A powerful witch, with centuries of generational magic flowing through her veins, and that power was passed on to Stiles when she died. At first, Noah wasn’t sure how he would deal with Stiles coming into his magic, not after Claudia died, but it was easier than he thought- especially with Deaton still hanging around. He taught Stiles everything that Noah couldn’t and it was nice to have someone to help wrangle an out of control nine-year-old doing accidental magic whenever his emotions got the better of him. 

When Stiles fully came into his magic, at seventeen, Noah had never been prouder. His eyes burnt with the same fierce light and he was every bit his mother’s son, even without her power coursing through his veins. Watching him protect the innocent and save the worthy brought back memories of Claudia that Noah had thought that he had forgotten. He found that looking after Stiles, and his magic, was just as easy as it had been when he was looking after his wife. 

Stiles was grateful to have his dad at his side, guiding and calming him when he needed it, looking out for him when no one else could, or would. Whether it was because they didn’t understand, because they were scared of him, or because they were busy with other things, Stiles knew that his dad would always be there, for as long as he could. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Noah asked, keeping his voice low so as to not disturb the silence too much. 

“I think I was Scrying or Dream Walking, I don’t know. I just saw this girl being attacked and this clawed hand,” Stiles whispered, fear creeping into his voice again. 

Noah’s hand tightened briefly on the back of Stiles’ neck, soothing him. “Clawed how? Like a wolf?” 

Stiles shook his head, breathing fast, and screwed his eyes shut. “Like-” he cut himself off with a gasp for breath, a flash of the dream darting across his mind, and shuddered. “Like nothing that I’ve ever seen before.” 

Noah went silent for a moment, stuck in his thoughts, but soon spoke up again, squeezing his son’s neck in comfort. “We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “But, for now, try to get some sleep.” 

He nodded and settled again, leaning his head back against his pillow and breathing, long, deep breaths. “Night, dad,” Stiles froze when he went to leave and Noah stopped on the threshold, turning back to face him. 

“Are you okay?” 

He chewed softly on his bottom lip and pulled his covers up to his chin, doe eyes wide with child-like fear. “Will you light my candle? The blue one? With the protection runes?”

Noah smiled softly and nodded, fishing the matches from the book case before lighting the required candle. “You’re safe, Stiles. Get some sleep.” 

Stiles nodded, feeling much more at ease, but activated the wards around the Stilinski home, just in case. He could feel his dad sitting outside his room, like a guard dog, and fondly rolled his eyes. 

“Go get some sleep too, dad!” He yelled through the door. “I’ll be fine.” 

Noah made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t move and Stiles would be lying if he said that it didn’t make him feel safer and more protected. 

He focused on his dad’s energy, the radiation of protection and love and safety, and drifted to sleep, allowing those feelings to surround him and ground him to the mortal realm.  

Wandering through the corridors of Beacon Hills High School the next morning felt like hell on earth. Stiles was exhausted. Whilst he didn’t have any more dreams, he didn’t sleep well, the worry and fear of his dream walk last night still clinging to his subconscious, keeping him from sleeping deeply. However, his magic was still trying to restore itself, drawing on the little energy that he had to replenish itself. He was lucky that it was a waning crescent moon that evening, the best time for restoration and recovery. 

He made a mental plan for that evening: when the moon rose to its highest peak, he’d sit underneath it, bask in its light and allow its celestial pull to restore what he had lost, drawing on its strength to let him recover. 

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until Jackson barged past, shoving him back against the locker and laughing that smug asshole laugh. “Watch where you’re going, Stilinski!”

Stiles snarled, eyes aglow, and red tendrils of energy curled around Jackson’s throat, slamming him against the lockers behind him. Anger and frustration burned through his veins, his chest heaving and hands shaking with the force of the emotion. 

He was distantly glad that there was no one else in the corridor at that moment. 

“You might be a wolf now and finally have ‘what you want’,” he drew closer, closing his fist and grinning when the red coil tightened, leaving Jackson gasping for breath, “but do not cross me, Whittmore. Not today.” 

Jackson's eyes flashed blue, in an attempt to threaten Stiles, but he  just bared his teeth in response, eyes glowing dangerously. 

Suddenly, there was a hand at Stiles’ shoulder and the anger dissipated as he blinked back into control, reigning in his magic and releasing his hold on Jackson’s throat. “What?” 

“Get out of here,” Scott hissed at Jackson, eyes flashing gold, and the other Beta scoffed before shrugging his shoulders and walking away. “Are you okay?” Scott was behind him, brow furrowed in concern. 

Stiles shook his head and tipped forward to rest against the lockers. “I’m so tired.” 

“Is this a witch thing?” He asked, keeping his voice low. 

Stiles shuddered. “warlock,” he corrected, “but yes.” 

The Beta made a noise of sympathy. “Is there anything that I can do?”

Stiles shook his head and stifled a yawn. “Just get me through the day, so that I can recover tonight.”

Scott nodded and guided him towards their first class of the day, hoping that his best friend would be okay. 

Stiles’ vision grew blurry and black around the edges, tunneling inwards, and he stumbled forward a few steps, grabbing onto the door frame to steady himself. He got a sense of vertigo rush over him, leaving him dizzy, and felt a tell-tale tug behind his eyes before he was transported elsewhere and his body went limp. 

If it wasn’t for Scott’s wolf reflexes, he would have tumbled down the steps outside the school. 

“Shit!” Scott lowered himself and Stiles onto the floor, keeping Stiles’ back against his chest and his head propped up. 

“Derek,” the warlock whimpered, barely audible to human hearing, but heard perfectly by Scott’s enhanced hearing. “Derek.” 

“Shit, yeah,” he fumbled inside his pocket for his phone and scrambled to find Derek’s contact. 

Scott punched the little phone icon and the dial tone started up before it connected, ringing and ringing and ringing with no sign of the Alpha picking up. 

“Now is not the time to be unavailable, Derek ,” he hissed as he was greeted by his voicemail and hung up the phone before trying again. 

Voicemail, again. 

He went to dial the number again, but before he could, Derek appeared in front of him. 

“I’ve been trying to call you for the past five minutes!” Scott yelled, worry lacing his tone and not caring that he was yelling at an Alpha. “What were you doing?!” 

Derek was shirtless and shoeless and attracting a lot of attention, but he was here- finally- and he would know what to do. 

“I heard something, a call of some kind to the wolf. I knew that it wasn’t good, so I got in the car and drove. I left my phone, I knew this was more important.”

Scott thought back to Stiles calling Derek’s name and wondered if that was him trying to reach out to the Alpha, to warn him that something was wrong. He tried to shove back the worry that clawed at his throat, he was here now, so Stiles was safe and he’d be looked after. He would know how to help.  

“Help me get him in the car?” 

Derek nodded his agreement and slipped one arm under Stiles’ knees whilst the other cradled the back of his head. The warlock made a noise of content and wormed closer to him. He bit his tongue, hard, to repress the feeling of affection and warmth that flooded through him and motioned for Scott to open the back door of the Camaro. 

He laid Stiles down carefully on the seat and left a lingering touch behind his knee, hoping that he would feel the comforting gesture despite his unconsciousness. He closed the door softly, brow furrowed in concern as he ground his teeth, and climbed into the driver’s seat. He waited for Scott to get in the passenger side before tearing out of the car park, hands tight around the steering wheel. 

“What happened?” Derek demanded, staring determinedly at the road ahead. 

Scott cleared his throat and swallowed thickly. “I don’t know. He came into school this morning, nearly choked out Jackson and didn’t give me any more information other than it was a warlock thing . He’s been tired all day and I’ve been doing my best to keep him awake, as per his orders. But, coming out of school this afternoon, he looked really pale and then just passed out.” 

Derek gave a contemplative hum. “It sounds like he’s used too much magic,” he said. “It’s his store trying to replenish itself, but he doesn’t have enough energy. Call Deaton, tell him to meet us at the loft.” 

“The loft, shouldn’t we take him-” he didn’t get to finish his sentence because Derek let out a warning growl, all deep and protective Alpha. “The loft, okay,” Scott said placatingly.

The table she was laid on was metal and rusted, but the ceiling above her was brick, blackened with age and crumbling, but functional. There was a lightbulb in the corner of the room by the door, yellow and dim, but giving enough light that she could still see her surroundings. 

“Good,” it was the same voice from before, the one that she had heard in the forest, when she’d been taken, and a spike of fear pierced her heart, “you’re awake.” 

She couldn’t talk around the gag in her mouth and thrashed against her bindings, sweat and tears and grime clinging to her skin. She tried to beg him to stop, to let her go, but the words couldn’t be heard around the fabric in her mouth. 

“You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” the voice said. “I’ve been trapped for so long, but I’m finally free to do as I please and there’s so much that I want to do.” 

She screamed, loud and raw, when a burning pain spread through her thighs and screamed even louder, if that were possible, when she looked at her legs, the flesh burning away as flames danced across her skin. 

The sounds all bled into one, people calling his name, the buzzing of energy around him. Scott and Deaton were close, crouching near, trying to wake him, but he didn’t want to. It was quiet in the darkness, quiet and still. 

The nothingness, which should have been scary, was comforting. It was serene. Nothing could hurt him here. Nothing could threaten him. 

But, then, a warm light crept closer, hesitant at first but growing more confident with every step. It reminded Stiles of a summer day, warm and happy and content. Stiles reached out for it, letting the light fill him, chasing the darkness and chill away. It enveloped his entire soul, holding him tight and drawing him back to the correct realm.

“Come back to me, Stiles." 

Derek. 

His voice had a cadence to it, an odd cocktail of worry and relief and urgence. Stiles didn’t know that Derek could worry. His lips formed the shape of the Alpha’s name, silently calling to him as he swam back into consciousness. 

He felt groggy, like his head had been dunked in a bowl of jello, and the numbness that had spread through him began to dissipate, starting at his toes and creeping up his legs into his torso. 

“Stiles, wake up,” Derek snapped, the softness and worry from earlier replaced by exasperation, and Stiles felt a swell of affection. There's the Sourwolf that he knew. 

He slowly blinked his eyes open. He was on his back, there was a large skylight above him, letting in as much natural light as possible and bathing the loft in the warm, orange light of the setting sun. 

Stiles made the motion to talk, but Derek shushed him. “Don’t speak.” 

He gave the Alpha an unimpressed look, wanting to quip back at him, but Deaton stepped in before he could. “Your magical stores have been significantly depleted, Stiles,” he explained in that familiar soft tone. “You’ve been using a lot of magic,” Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but Deaton silenced him with a look. “I know you haven’t been meaning to, but you need to restore and recover before you can do anything else. If you don’t, you will burn yourself out.” 

Stiles nodded, feeling like a naughty school child, and sunk back against the surprisingly comfy sofa. 

Deaton turned to Scott with a searching look. “I need your help,” he said. “We need to get some things for Stiles, to help him with his replenishment tonight.” 

“But-" Scott tried to protest, wanting to be there for his best friend; to help him recover. 

"No, buts," Deaton replied. "Stiles is in the safest place that he can be at the moment," at Scott's confused look, he rolled his eyes. "He's with an Alpha, Scott. He'll be fine." 

Yeah, Scott, Stiles thought, everyone is afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf. Or Sourwolf, in our case. 

Scott left, albeit reluctantly, and Derek waited until they were both out of earshot before he spoke. “Are you okay?” 

Stiles flashed him an award-winning smile and nodded. “Good, don’t do that again, you scared Scott half to death.” 

The ‘ and, me’ went unspoken, but Stiles still heard it. His magic had called out to the Alpha, he’d heard that too. In a moment of fear and unease, he needed Derek and he came. 

When Deaton and Scott came back, it was with a small bag of goodies for Stiles. The warlock grinned and made grabby hands, wiggling excitedly when Scott launched the bag into his lap. 

“He needs to be set up somewhere in direct moonlight,” Deaton said and Stiles gave him an unimpressed look, pointing above their heads to the skylight that took up most of the ceiling. “Well, I suppose that works.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes and slipped off the sofa and onto the floor, crawling into the direct centre before crossing his legs. He emptied the contents of the bag onto the floor in front of him and sifted through them until they were organised correctly. 

The marble pestle and mortar took centre stage, pristine white and gleaming in the evening light. There were three jars, each labelled with the contents, and Stiles dug through them, collecting the right amount of ingredients; a dash of ground peace lily, a sprinkle of Queen Bee Pollen and a sprig of Panax Ginseng. He ground the ingredients up into a fine powder, whispering a short binding incantation over them as he did, and smiled as they began to fuse together. 

As he mixed and ground and combined, Stiles reached up blindly and snatched Derek’s hand, tugging him closer. He grabbed the pin from the floor and pricked the edge of his finger, lifting the mortar to catch the drops of blood. 

“Stiles, what the hell?!” The Alpha yelled indignantly, tearing his wrist away from Stiles’ grip and shaking out his hand as his finger began to heal. 

Stiles shrugged nonchalantly and shot Derek a cheeky grin before turning back to his potion. He grabbed the clear quartz from the floor and held it tight in his palm, chanting a Polish Energy Ritual as he did.

“ On the night of a waning crescent, with the moon at its peak, I call on her powers of restoration to replenish what was taken. ” 

He continued chanting, keeping one eye on the skylight and the other on the mortar cradled in his hand. When the moon hit its highest peak, Stiles held the herb-flower concoction up in the air and the moonlight hit it just right, setting the powder ablaze. A bright blue light filled the room, chasing away any negativity and darkness, and Stiles’ voice could barely be heard over the crackling of energy. 

Lightning strikes reached out towards Derek and Scott, the Alpha feeling a tug deep in his chest and he gasped at the all-encompassing feeling of Stiles as his magic caressed his soul, the wolf purring its approval too. 

Stiles’ eyes were glowing white, laced with a blue hue, like the moon herself, and the power that irradiated from him was something beautiful. Scary, but beautiful. 

The warlock lifted the mortar to his lips and blew out the flame, inhaling the smoke that was left behind. The walls of the loft shuddered and Stiles went with it, back arching and a choked-off groan tumbling from his lips. 

“Stiles?!” Scott yelled, fear bleeding into his voice and Derek punched him in the ribs, holding an urgent finger to his lips. 

Stiles’ eyes rolled into the back of his head and the mortar tumbled from his grip, along with the clear quartz, crashing to the floor with an air of finality. The lights around the whole city block flickered for a moment as he drew on whatever energy he could to build up his magical store again. Derek felt a brief tug behind his chest again, somewhere in his ribcage, and opened himself up to Stiles’ wandering magic, letting him take what he needed. 

It lasted for a few more seconds before the entire loft went quiet, leaving nothing but Stiles’ harsh breathing. “Something’s coming,” he panted. “It’s unlike anything that we’ve faced before, but we need to be ready because it's strong .”

Chapter Text

"Okay, how old?" Stiles heard his dad's voice filter in from the living room. 

He paused for a moment, hand hovering over his half-filled mug of coffee, and tilted his head towards his dad. 

He caught bits and pieces from the other end of the phone. 16-18, no definitive age yet. Still with the M.E.

"Christ," his dad sounded weary and tired. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Noah came into the kitchen, looking run-down, and Stiles winced. "You okay, dad?" 

The Sheriff forced a smile and nodded, clapping his son on the back of the neck. "Of course." 

Stiles gave him an unimpressed look. "A body turned up, 16-18 years old." 

"Yeah, a girl," he explained. He'd given up trying to get Stiles to stop earwigging his conversations years ago. "She's not local." 

As Noah said the words, Stiles got a flashback to his dreamwalks. The girl in them was around the same age, her voice sounded youthful. 

"I need to come with you," he said, voice serious and leaving no room for argument. 

The severity of his tone made Noah recoil. "You know you can't." 

" Dad ," Stiles begged, his voice urgent and needy, he sounded terrified. 

Noah nodded and squeezed his son’s shoulder in reassurance. "Okay, but you'll have to be quick." 

Stiles frantically bobbed his head and breathed a sigh of relief. Something here didn't seem right, felt too familiar, and he needed to know why. 

Noah drove them to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, glancing worriedly over at Stiles every so often. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet the entire ride over, knee bouncing nervously and thumb wedged between his teeth with a far-off look in his eyes. 

When they pulled up outside the hospital, throwing the cruiser into a space near the front doors, Stiles jolted as if he’d been snapped out of a trance. 

“You okay?” Noah asked, head cocked slightly and brow furrowed in concern. 

Stiles didn’t say anything, just climbed out of the car and marched towards the hospital with a single-minded focus. He navigated his way through the halls towards the morgue, keeping his head low and face covered as much as he could. He ducked into the room and b-lined for the newest body, laid out under a white sheet. 

He clenched and unclenched his fists and shook out his body, starting with his hands and ending at his feet, before pulling the sheet back to reveal the body. 

It was the girl from his dreams. 

He drew in a sharp breath and tightened his jaw as he took a step closer, hand outstretched towards her head. He let his eyelids flutter shut and breathed deep, trying to keep his heart slow and steady. 

On an inhale, Stiles projected a link at the Jane Doe and gasped when the bond between them slowly solidified, becoming tangible. He shuddered as he felt around in her thoughts, casting an echo through her to see if she remembered anything from her last moments or if there were any lingering signatures. He was just looking for anything that could help him make sense of his dreams. 

It wasn’t long before he found what he was searching for. 

It wasn’t much. But, it was sinister; darker than anything Stiles had ever felt. The signature was old, like ‘dawn of time ’ old, and it was furious . 

He felt something else, the residual terror of the Jane Doe, and grabbed onto it tight with both hands, unravelling the loop until he found something concrete. A memory. 

It was horrible. She could barely see it in the dark. There were only bright, orange eyes that glowed like the embers of a dying fire, like the deepest part of a flame- the part that burnt the hottest. 

As it drew closer, she felt like all the anger she had ever had the capacity to feel had begun to bubble to the surface. She was consumed by rage, a scream tearing through her throat that scared her as much as it would have scared anyone else. 

“What are you doing to me?!” She bellowed, fear creeping in again and making her mouth taste sour. 

“Teaching you the power of rage.” 

The room grew hot, almost too much for comfort, and she squirmed against the table, trying to get away from the sensation. It felt like she was burning from the inside out and a scream tore from her lips. 

Stiles was forcefully dragged away from her- his magic retreating back into his core, thrumming unhappily- and he staggered backwards against the table behind him, glad that there wasn’t a body on it. He gripped onto the metal edge with his free hand, knuckles turning white. 

“Shit,” his voice wobbled as he spoke, unsteady and weak- a dramatic parallel of how he felt. 

His whole body shook, every muscle quivering with the force of his emotions, and found himself biting back a sob. He felt terrified. 

Although, he couldn’t tell if the fear was his own or her’s, but it coiled deep in his chest, forcing his heart rate up a notch and knotting up his stomach. He felt it in his fingers, the buzzing of adrenaline, his fight-or-flight kicking in. But, right now, he was just frozen with his feet anchored to the floor and head getting dizzy.

He didn’t know anything beyond the lingering anger, fear and death. It was all so dark , so hopeless and helpless. 

The lights above his head flickered and crackled, the small desk lamp bursting, shooting sparks across the room. Stiles barely flinched as the sparks danced across his skin, making his hair stand on end and his core light up. 

He felt restless, trapped. Like the walls were closing in and there was nothing that he could do to stop them. 

“-les?” 

Someone was calling his name. There was a hand on his shoulder. A familiar presence by his side. 

His dad. 

“That’s it,” Noah soothed, coaxing Stiles away from his thoughts and back into the present. “You’re safe, you’re okay.” 

“Dad,” Stiles croaked out, voice scratchy and hoarse. He must’ve been screaming- he hadn’t even realised. 

“I’m here, you’re okay,” his dad replied, holding tight onto Stiles’ shoulder, the sensation of it grounding him even further. “It’s okay.” 

“Something bad is coming, dad,” tears gathered in Stiles’ eyes as he spoke, fear and apprehension bleeding into his voice. “It’s bad and I’m scared because I don’t know what it is .” 

“I know,” the Sheriff carded his fingers through Stiles’ hair in an attempt to calm him and it was thankfully working. “I know, but you’ll figure it out. You always do.” 

“But, what if I don’t?” Stiles sounded small, much younger than he was, and Noah’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, wanting nothing more than to protect his son. 

“If anyone can,” Noah sounded a lot more confident than he felt, “then it’s you.” 

Stiles nodded and tried his best to believe his father but there was this niggling doubt at the back of his mind. He was strong and smart, but was he strong enough and smart enough to beat this? To protect the Pack? 

The girl from the morgue, from his dreams, sat at the back of his mind for the next few days, stealing away his sleep. The idea of closing his eyes and having another dream- to have another body turn up- petrified him. So, the obvious solution was to just not sleep. 

It left him distracted and distant- even more so than usual- not even quipping back at Coach Finstock’s jabs. The man had pulled him aside after class to ask after him. 

Stiles had told him that it was girl trouble. 

It wasn’t quite the truth, but he couldn’t exactly say: hey, coach, i haven’t slept in three days because i’m scared about dreaming about spooky things with orange eyes and dead girls. 

He doubted it would go down well and he would likely end up locked up in a psych ward. 

Luckily, Coach had accepted the half-baked excuse, giving him a sly look and a pat on the shoulder before sending him on his way. 

But, Stiles still found himself with his thoughts occupied by the Jane Doe and the dark signature that straggled around her. It was so familiar, something about the situations, the signature. It was like Stiles had come across it before, but forgotten where. Like he was walking down a well-known street, but somehow didn’t know the name of it. 

It was frustrating and scary and confusing. Stiles was trying his best to make sense of it in his head, trying to dig through his memories for something, anything , that might lead him in the right direction. 

It was only when he rammed into a solid chest after turning a corner that Stiles shook from his trance. 

Quick reflexes were the only thing that kept him from falling on his ass. A hand curled around his wrist and an arm wormed its way around his waist, cradling him against a warm chest.

“Derek,” Stiles knew who it was, just from the wall of muscle that he’d collided with, but the creaking of his leather jacket helped too. “No, I don’t know where Scott or Isaac are.” 

“I’m not here for them,” the Alpha huffed out and pulled him that bit closer, tightened his grip on Stiles’ wrist. 

Stiles did his best to ignore the thrill that went through him at the minute action.

“Scott says you’ve been acting weird, why?” If there was one thing that Stiles could count on Derek for, it was a lack of pussy-footing around. He was always very succinct, straight to the point. 

“I’m always weird,” the warlock quipped back, albeit weakly, but it was a good try. 

A for Effort, Stilinski. 

Derek didn’t seem impressed, just gave him the infamous Eyebrows, and Stiles shrugged, worming his way out of Derek’s grip- no matter how much he wanted to stay close and relish in the warmth and safety that he radiated. 

“It’s the dreams,” he explained, sensing that there was no way he could talk his way out of this conversation with Derek. “The star of the show turned up at the morgue,” Derek gave an expectant look and Stiles rolled his eyes. “So, I dug around in her brain for a bit, to see if there was anything that could help me make sense of this, and all I got was fear and anger and darkness. Whatever it was that killed her, it wasn’t nice. It’s strong and powerful, a lot more powerful than anything I’ve ever encountered. Something about it seems familiar.” 

Derek frowned and cocked his head in confusion. Stiles bit back the dog joke that settled on the tip of his tongue. 

“Like deja vu?” 

The warlock shook his head, sighing heavily, and tugged a hand through his hair. “No, like I know something, but I can’t access the information.” 

Derek hummed thoughtfully, ever the expressive wolf, and crossed his arms over his chest as he shrugged. “So, talk to Deaton.” 

Stiles blinked rapidly and pursed his lips. “I’m sorry- what?” 

He hoped that the Alpha would’ve been able to offer more than talk to Deaton , like Stiles wasn’t planning to do that already. 

“Deaton, he knows more than I do,” Derek said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Thanks for the help,” Stiles rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, hunching his shoulders as he stomped away from Derek. Before he could get too far, there was a hand around his wrist again and he tore away from the grip, batting the Alpha’s hand away. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered, breathing deeply as if it was such a hardship to apologise. It was Stiles’ turn to cross his arms over his chest. “Are you okay?” 

“No, Derek, I’m not,” he huffed out. “I’m scared- no petrified- and confused. This is the worst feeling in the world and no one is helping me! I haven’t slept in the past three days because I’ve been scared about having another dream and another body turning up and I can’t do this anymore! I’m running on coffee and fumes and I’m exhausted.”

Derek didn’t say anything, just grabbed his wrist and dragged him out the front doors to the Camaro. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles said, voice flat and emotionless, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. He didn’t even have the energy to fight back. 

“Taking you to the loft.” 

The warlock narrowed his eyes at Derek’s back. “Why?” 

Derek opened the passenger door and shoved Stiles into the seat, ignoring his squawk of protest. He spoke again when he climbed into the driver’s side. “You need to sleep.” 

“I can do that at home,” he hissed. Derek glared at him, arching an Eyebrow at him in an unspoken challenge. The warlock held his hands up in defense. “Point taken.” 

The ride to the loft was quiet, aside from Stiles drumming his fingers against his thighs, and the Alpha poked his shoulder when they pulled up outside. Stiles titled his chin upwards in acknowledgement and left his rucksack in the footwell, knowing Derek would drive him back home later. 

“What makes you so certain I’m gonna be any more inclined to sleep here than I am at home?” Stiles asked as they pushed into the loft. 

They kicked their shoes off at the front door and hung their coats up on the hooks nearby before Stiles moved further into the empty space. 

“I’m here.” 

The warlock rolled his eyes. “I’m not a wolf, your Alpha bullshit doesn’t work on me.” 

Derek shrugged and pointed towards the stairs. “Just, go take a nap.” 

Stiles straightened up and stamped his foot, lifting his hand in a mock-salute. “Sir, yes sir! Right away, sir.” 

“Shut up and get upstairs,” the Alpha growled, “or I’ll knock you out myself.” 

Stiles held his hands up in defense and brushed past the sourwolf, taking the stairs two at a time to get to the floor above. He found Derek’s bedroom pretty easily and shoved inside the room, slipping out of his jeans to get more comfortable. 

He launched himself onto the bed, scrambling under the covers, and curled up into a tight ball. He rested his head on one pillow and pulled the second pillow against his chest, tucking it under his chin as his eyes tracked the cracks in the wall opposite. 

Stiles really wished that Derek would let him use some green magic on the loft, get the place fixed up well and good. They could get a big plant for the main room downstairs, like a weeping fig or something similar. Maybe he could fiddle around with the genetics of an orange tree to get it to grow indoors and in all climates. 

As he pondered on the plausibility of that particular thought, Stiles found his eyes beginning to close and his thoughts drifted away, leaving only peaceful darkness. 

When Stiles awoke again, it was dark outside, but there was a soft glow coming from somewhere within the room. He blinked his eyes open and turned onto his back, scanning the room quickly. 

He soon found the source of the light: Derek was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, propped up against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and head tipped back. There was an open book in his lap- Dream Magic by Laureli Porter- and the warlock’s heart jolted at the thought that Derek had been reading a book to better understand his situation. 

“Derek,” he hissed into the quiet of the room and the Alpha jolted awake, gaze zeroing in on Stiles in seconds.

“Are you okay?” He sounded concerned. 

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, sourwolf- or should I say sleepy wolf? Having a little nap?” 

“Sorry,” he could’ve sworn that Derek blushed, but he turned his head away before he could get a proper look. “You’ve been asleep for 17 hours-" 

Stiles cut him off with a noise similar to a strangled goose. "Wait, 17 hours?! " 

"Don't panic," the Alpha hissed. "I've already texted your dad to let him know where you are. I promised to look after you." 

“Aw,” he cooed, covering up his genuine happiness and gratitude with a snarky comment, “did you stay awake for me? Big, bad Alpha Hale wanted to protect me?” 

Derek scowled at him and hit him with a pillow, hard. “I’m starting to regret that decision, asshat,” he growled. 

“Ooh, even more of a sourwolf without sleep,” Stiles teased and rolled his eyes when Derek growled at him. “Shut up, growling at me. You don’t scare me.” 

Derek bared his teeth at him, eyes flashing red for a brief moment, and the warlock mimicked the action, eyes glowing white-blue. The Alpha smirked and retracted his teeth, motioning for Stiles to do the same. Soon, the glow of his eyes were replaced by the amber that he was so used to. 

Stiles patted the bed next to him and scooted over slightly as he did, rolling his eyes when Derek cocked his head in confusion. “Get in. Sitting on the floor for god knows how long has done zero help to your back, so come lay down and sleep for a bit. I’ll stick to my side if you stick to yours.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, but rose to his feet and joined Stiles on the bed after kicking his jeans off. They settled down next to each other and Derek repressed the urge to reach out for Stiles. It felt right to have him in his bed and he refused to think about what that meant, instead letting the sound of the warlock’s heart lull him to sleep.

Chapter Text

When they woke up again, Derek was plastered against Stiles’ back, arms locked tight around his waist and legs tangled together. 

Stiles relished in the warmth and safety of the alpha's arms for a second before he realised: Derek was cuddling him. 

He tried to stay as still as possible, controlling his breathing and heart rate to make sure that he didn't wake Derek. 

"I know that you're awake," the alpha growled in his ear and Stiles resolutely ignored the spike of arousal that thrummed through his abdomen. 

"Morning," Stiles whispered into the quiet of the room. Derek just grunted in reply, ever the non-verbal sourwolf. "Do you want-" 

Derek cut him off before he could say anything else. "No." 

He flipped onto his back, dislodging Derek's limbs from around him. Stiles bit back a whine at the loss of contact, still resolutely ignoring the thrum of need. He was sure that Derek could smell it. 

"But, you don't feel-" 

"No." 

The warlock quirked an eyebrow at him. "So, you secretly love to cuddle?" 

Derek scowled at him. "No." 

He grinned, wide and mischievous. "Admit it! You're a closet cuddler!" 

"Stiles," Derek growled, "shut up." 

The warlock shoved his shoulder. "Don't be like that," he snorted. "Although, we did have an agreement to stay to our own sides. What happened there?" 

Derek scowled at him again and Stiles was starting to wonder if he had any other facial expressions. He didn't give him an answer though, just rolled out of the bed, tugging his shirt over his head. 

Stiles' mouth watered at the shifting planes of muscle in the alpha's back and had the brief thought that perhaps he was doing it on purpose. But, that thought was quickly discarded because Derek didn't know . 

Stiles' feelings were a closely guarded secret. The only person that knew was Lydia, but that didn't count because she was Lydia and she had a near-supernatural ability to sense people's emotions. 

Stiles wasn't sure when it happened, or even how, but one day he was sitting there, staring at Derek for a second too long and realising that: I'm in love with this grumpy wolf . 

It wasn't necessarily a surprise to him because Stiles had always known about his bisexuality and Derek was Derek . 

It was from that moment on that Stiles just found himself falling further and further, deeper and deeper, until he saw no plausible way out. He just hoped that one day, Derek would catch him. 

"-LES!" 

Whilst trapped inside his Derek-fueled thoughts, the man himself had been trying to talk to Stiles, but obviously getting no reply. 

The warlock blinked back into reality and shook his head to dispel any last, unwanted thoughts. He cocked his head when the alpha gave him a concerned look.

"Where'd you go?" 

Stiles smiled softly at the display of worry, Derek did have a heart. "I'm here," he promised. 

"I called Deaton whilst you were daydreaming," Stiles frowned at him. "Don't give me that look. Get dressed," the alpha threw his jeans at him and Stiles yelped when the buckle of his belt hit his eyebrow. 

"Did you never get taught manners, or does the lack of them come with being a werewolf?" Stiles hissed and rolled out of bed, fighting with his gangly limbs to get them into the denim confines. 

He'd filled out since he was sixteen- he had to, what with running around after a pack of werewolves- and he was quite happy with the body that he had now. It was quite amusing watching people walk into lockers and doorways when he came back after the summer. 

Though, the one person that he wanted to notice, never did. Obviously, he was doomed to a lifetime of falling in love with people that were way out of his league. 

Derek was talking again and Stiles zeroed in on his voice, focusing on that instead of his mental pity party.

"Deaton says that he might have something that can help you," Derek said and shrugged on his leather jacket, the material creaking as he did. 

" Might doesn't sound too hopeful," the warlock retorted and rolled his eyes when Derek glared at him. 

"It's Deaton, Stiles, if he doesn't have something, then he'll know someone who does," the alpha launched his shoes at him and Stiles shrieked, barely moving out of the way in time. 

The warlock k glared at him, but his expression softened when he saw the small, barely-there smile on Derek's lips. 

"Is that a smile?!" Stiles teased. "Is the Derek Hale smiling? Pinch me, I've gotta be dreaming." 

Derek growled at him. "I hate you." 

"No, you don't," he shot back. 

"Shut up or I'll-" 

The warlock cut him off. "Tear my throat out with your teeth, I know," he rolled his eyes, but ducked his head to hide the smile that grew on his lips. He ignored it when Derek did the same. 

As they pulled up outside the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic, Stiles reached for his rucksack, left in the footwell from the previous day. 

"Well, thank you for letting me catch up on some much needed zees, but I have a Deaton to steal information from," he began, but paused when Derek got out of the car too. "What are you doing?" 

"I promised your dad to look out for you," the alpha said, as if that were the only explanation that Stiles needed. He rolled his eyes when Stiles gave him an expectant look, silently asking him to elaborate. 

"That doesn't end until I get you back to your house, safe and in one piece," he continued. 

"That's hard for you though, right?" Stiles teased, eyes ablaze with mischief. "What with constantly wanting to tear my throat out. I mean, honestly, you should get that checked out, you've got issues." 

"Shut up, Stiles," it was supposed to be a short, snappy comment. But, Stiles heard the fond undertone and his heart swelled until it felt fit to burst. 

Inside the clinic, Deaton greeted them with a warm smile and guided them into the examination room, sliding a book across the table to Stiles and Derek. The warlock picked it up, dragging his finger across the old, frayed cover; the words on it barely legible.

Daemonologie, Divided into Three Books: Written by James Rollock . 

The language itself was a clear indication of its age, but as Stiles thumbed through the pages it was shown there too in the tattered, dusty, yellowness. He could feel the lasting energy from its previous owners, the love and care with which it was handled echoing through the ages straight to Stiles. 

He skimmed through the first few pages and looked up at Deaton, hand splayed across the cover protectively. He knew this book needed to be looked after- like Roscoe, his jeep- and he would give it some much needed TLC. “What is it?”

“A dissertation by a lesser-known philosopher in 1599,” Deaton explained, “he wanted to explain contemporary necromancy and the historical relationships between various uses of divination.” 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “How will this help me?” 

Deaton gave him an unimpressed look. “The second book covers most things regarding sorcery and witchcraft; in particular, the appearance of the devil and his army. Something in that section may help. Though, there’s not much that can be done with just one body. As horrible as it sounds, you need to wait until another victim turns up, to see if there are any similarities between wounds or signatures.” 

Stiles sighed deeply and dragged a hand through his hair. “I know, I know.” 

Even though he knew that another innocent life would be lost before he could do anything worthwhile, having something helpful in his arsenal made him feel that little bit better. 

“Thank you,” Stiles wasn’t sure what else to say, he was certain that Derek had told him everything, so there wasn’t much more that he could say. 

“You’re welcome,” Deaton got a look behind his eye, like a lightbulb had lit up in his brain, and turned on his heel to rummage through his cabinets. He turned back with a small bottle that had a pipette dropper in the top, the liquid inside was purring with power and Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine, fingers twitching at his side with the need to know what was inside. 

“It’s lavender and jasmine, fused with a little something extra,” Deaton explained. “I had an old contact make it for me months ago, just in case. It should help you sleep better.” 

Stiles plucked the bottle from Deaton’s fingers and stuffed it into his bag along with the book, muttering another thank you to him before turning and walking out of the door. He was quiet as they got back in the car, unsure what to say or how to feel, and the alpha kept casting Stiles worried looks when he thought he wasn’t watching. 

Even though he’d spent nearly 24 hours sleeping, he was so tired. He hoped that Deaton’s weird concoction would help as well as Deaton claimed it would. 

Derek threw the Camaro into park behind Noah’s cruiser, but wrapped his fingers around the warlock’s wrist before he could leave. “Listen, if you need anything-” 

Stiles cut him off by squeezing his wrist in return. “I know, don’t give yourself a hemorrhage.” 

Derek’s eyes flashed red for a brief moment and he grinned when Stiles returned the sentiment, eyes glowing white-blue. “Get out of my car.” 

Stiles scrambled for the door handle- in a coordination of chaotic energy and gangly limbs- and ducked his head back into the car, lips parted to say something but Derek stopped him. 

“Don’t. Shut up, go home,” Derek hissed and the warlock rolled his eyes, once again ignoring the fondness in the alpha’s tone. He also tried to ignore the fact that the Camaro didn’t pull away until he was safely inside the house. 

“Stiles?!” Noah yelled as soon as he heard the front door shut. “That you?!” 

“Yeah, dad!” Stiles called back, dropping his bag by the floor and kicking off his shoes before he moved into the living room. 

“How are you, son?” Noah questioned, tilting his head back to look at Stiles over the back of the sofa. 

Stiles dropped down next to him, sitting facing him with his back against the armrest. “I’m okay.” 

“Have you slept?” 

The warlock smiled, thinking of earlier that morning when he woke up in Derek’s arms. “Yeah, a solid 24 hours- I think that’s a new record for me.” 

The Sheriff rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot. You hungry?” 

“Starving,” Stiles frantically nodded. “Werewolves, apparently, are the worst hosts. Derek didn’t feed me.” 

Noah got a knowing look in his eyes. “I’m sure he would’ve if you’d asked.” 

“I know,” Stiles lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “We had other things to be worried about.” 

Noah didn’t say anything in response, just got out of his seat and headed to the kitchen. Before he could get anywhere, his phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket. 

“Stilinski,” he barked into the receiver and Stiles heard the distinctive sound of body before his dad let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he hung up the phone and turned back to his son. “I’m sorry, bud, duty calls.” 

“It’s okay,” Stiles gave him a warm smile. “I’ll order in.” 

The Sheriff nodded and grabbed his coat from the rack by the door. “I’ll try to be as quick as I can. Lock the door when you go to bed, okay?” 

Stiles didn’t have the heart to tell him that he wouldn’t be going to bed any time soon, just smiled and shoo-ed him out the door. “Justice waits for no man, Sheriff! Get out there and keep our city safe.” 

Noah rolled his eyes at his son’s antics, but shut the door behind him, the click ringing through the house with an air of finality. Stiles turned the TV up, hating how quiet the house was, and fished the book that Deaton had given him out of his bag. 

He ran his fingers across the title page again, just listening to the whispers of eras long since past, and carefully opened the book, cradling the front cover as he did. He flipped past the inside title page, wincing at the creak of protest that the page gave, and whispered a soft apology to it. 

The contents page greeted him next, covered with elegant 16th-century lettering. It was gorgeous, but ragged and a little moldy. Stiles traced the lettering with his fingers as he read through the words. He wasn’t necessarily looking for anything, Deaton was right, one body wasn’t enough for any kind of substantial research. So, for now, Stiles was just reading for fun. But, regardless, a particular chapter jumped out at him: 

1. the nature of a beshrew

Beshrew was the Old English word for Curse and Stiles was certainly interested to see what they thought about the nature of magic during the 1500s, so he flipped to the fourth chapter and began to read.

a beshrew, as we wot it, comes  'i  many various forms: mental and emotional breakdowns, chronic illnesses, miscarriages, marriage and family problems, financial difficulties, headaches or e'en being clumsy and accident prone. 

That was half-true. But, there was a lot more to it than that, sometimes it could be quite gnarly- if the witch casting it was particularly vexed. That aside, curses affected any person, place or object and not necessarily in the ways that were described in Deaton’s book. 

it is quoth that if these curses are not broken, they are passed down from generation to generation indefinitely. 

That one definitely was true. Stiles knew of a few generational curses in Beacon Hills. However, most were found in Salem and New Orleans, a punishment cast over a family with a magic user’s dying breath- their last hurrah. 

although, a beshrew is rooted  'i  biblical belief and- whilst satan and demons are real and they are working against believers- no beshrew is attributed to satan anywhere  'i  the bible.  Hence there is,  'i  fact, no such thing as a satanic or demonic beshrew.

That was entirely wrong. Yes, there were such things as divine curses, and where there is heaven, there must be hell , so demonic curses definitely existed, people just chose to ignore them. Or, more accurately, never lasted long enough to put the pieces together. If there was something more gnarly than a curse from a pissed off witch, it was a curse from a pissed off demon. 

argal, a beshrew of god is the only instance  'i  which a person may be jinxed.  Yet  e'en then it is  not a beshrew as an evil spell,  yet  divine judgement and shall be submitted to and repented under.

Clearly incorrect, witches and warlocks existed and quite frequently cursed people that got on their bad side- especially back in the 16th century. But, obviously, James Rollock, the author of this wonderful piece of work, had never been exposed to sorcery and its vengeful qualities, thus leading him to be blissfully ignorant. 

Stiles didn’t get the chance to read any more because his dad walked through the front door, smile weary and eyes sad. He hated the negative energy surrounding his dad at that moment. 

"Dad?" He whispered, carefully approaching Noah as he reached for the whiskey bottle beneath the sink. "Are you okay?" 

"Another body," he didn't bother trying to keep it secret, Stiles would find out one way or another. "Younger this time. Barely thirteen." 

"Dad," Stiles said sympathetically. "I'm so sorry." 

The Sheriff shrugged and poured himself three fingers of whiskey into a glass. "I just wish there was something we could do." 

Stiles sighed heavily and gave his dad a soft smile. "Don't drink your feelings away," he warned, "it's not good for you."

Noah snorted softly, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You said the same thing to me when your mom died," his voice was thick with emotion. "You always were a smart kid," as he walked past, he lifted a hand up and ruffled Stiles' hair. "I'm going to bed." 

Stiles didn't have the heart to tell him that he hadn't eaten. 

Later that evening, or more like early morning, Stiles snuck out of his bedroom window and drove the jeep-which had been parked there all day as Scott took him to school that morning- to the hospital. 

Luckily, Melissa was working that evening and she gave him five minutes to do what he needed, promising to keep anyone out of the morgue until he left. Stiles thanked her with a tight hug and scurried off towards the door. 

Once inside, it wasn't hard to find what he needed. She was so young. The warlock could feel the last dregs of her juvenile energy spiralling through the air. It made his heart pang with a deep-seated sadness, as it always did when an innocent, young life was taken. But, beneath that misery was anger; seething hatred and a desire to enact revenge. 

Stiles brushed a displaced hair behind her ear before placing a sorrowful hand on her forehead, using his heartache to ground him to the present. The echo that he sent through her was softer than what he would normally use. 

The rebound that he got was the exact same as the first girl. Pure, unbridled rage. Dark and sinister. Old. It was that same familiar signature, the one that Stiles knew , but also didn't know. 

The warlock jerked his hand back when his magic ghosted over the edge of a memory- her last memory- deciding that he very much didn't need to see that; he wanted to sleep some time soon and seeing that would make sure that he didn't. 

With a heavy heart and a brain full of confusion, Stiles exited the hospital and got back in his car, punching the wheel a few times in frustration, fighting back tears as he slammed the jeep into gear. 

Part of him wished that he hadn't come to look, but a larger, more logical part knew that it was the best thing to do. 

Chapter Text

It was about 3am by the time Stiles crept back in through his window, flopping down onto his bed with a dejected sigh. The girl in the morgue, even younger than the last victim, was at the forefront of the warlock’s mind, drawing his attention and keeping him awake. There was something inherently evil about people that targeted young kids- something inherently fucked. In a fit of uncharacteristic violence and rage, Stiles realised that he wanted to find the person responsible and tear them to shreds. He wanted punishment and he wanted to be the one to dish it out. 

But, the anger and desire for violent revenge aside, he just felt sad . He kept coming back to the fact that she was so young. She had her whole life ahead of her and the “villain of the week” had taken that from her. She had so much potential, so much left to experience and discover. 

Stiles wanted to yell at how unfair it was, but mostly he just wanted to cry; to curl up into a tight, little ball under his covers and not come out until it was over. Realistically, he knew that it wasn’t a very healthy coping mechanism. But, Stiles didn’t want to be healthy at that moment, he wanted to sob and scream until his throat went dry and he lost his voice. 

It was like he’d been dropped into the deepest part of the ocean with rocks tied to his feet and no way to reach the surface. It left him drowning, holding his breath until the instinct to breathe grew far too strong to ignore. It left his lungs burning and his head spinning. 

He didn’t realise that he was crying until something, or someone, dropped into his room through his window. He knew it was Derek from the sound of the footsteps. 

“Did Lydia reject you again?” It was a joke, Stiles knew that, but it didn’t stop the sob tearing through his throat. He tried to stifle it by biting onto his pillow, but knew the attempt was futile- nothing got past the alpha’s wolf ears. 

“Stiles?” 

He sounded so concerned, so worried, and it made the warlock’s heart ache. It wasn’t long before he was openly sobbing. 

“She was so young, Derek,” he cried, covering his face with his pillow. 

The bed dipped beside him and Stiles reasoned that Derek had sat down beside him. There was a hand on his back, just between his shoulder blades, and another one tugged at the pillow that he had buried his face in. 

Although it was a fruitless act, Stiles tightened his grip and whined in protest. Predictably, the alpha ignored him and effortlessly pulled the pillow away from him, coaxing him to sit up. 

The warlock followed and sat forward with his elbows on his knees, resting his forehead on his clenched fists to hide his face. 

"What happened?" Derek asked, his impressive eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

Stiles drew in a shuddering breath, choking on his inhale, and cut himself off, pressing his fist against his teeth to quell the sob that threatened to escape. 

"Ano-" he cut himself off with a hiccup and wiped away his tears on the back of his hand. "Another victim turned up. Same- same signature. But, she- she was only 12 and I can’t work anything out. I’ve got no leads, no ideas. Nothing and she was so young !"

Derek inhaled sharply. " Stiles ." 

Stiles cleared his throat and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, shoulders shaking the silent tears. "I know." 

They were quiet for a few moments, Stiles doing his best to hide his snivelling whilst Derek dug deep to find the words to comfort him. But, when nothing came to mind, the alpha simply gave an odd growl-purr of comfort, hoping that it was enough. 

It wasn’t long before Stiles’ crying stopped and his breathing evened out. It didn’t take an extensive amount of time before Derek realised that he had fallen asleep and his heart simultaneously swelled and broke. 

Stiles was clearly exhausted, working himself thin trying to find an answer, but also putting far too much pressure and blame on himself. He was only one person, he could only do so much and he needed to learn that. 

With a sad whine, Derek settled back against the headboard- legs out in front of him with his ankles crossed- and maneuvered the warlock to be curled up next to him, with his head in his lap. The alpha simply brushed his hair out of his face and leant down, rubbing his cheek against his face and neck- just above where his scent was the strongest. 

Derek was essentially scent marking him. Stiles smelt too sour, his sadness and fear creeping through to make his normally-sweet scent bitter. He wanted to cover that up, but he also hoped that it would calm him and it did. The warlock gave a happy, contented whine and curled closer to Derek’s warmth. It made Derek’s wolf howl it’s approval because happy.mine. 

The alpha ignored that particular declaration, deciding that it was better to leave it before he thought too much and gave himself a headache. He instead focused on Stiles, rubbing a hand along his back and listening in for any notches in his heart rate and hitches in his breath or changes in his scent. 

All the while he was curled up with Derek, he just radiated happy and safe and protected. It made the alpha’s heart- and wolf- sing, but that was something for him to deal with later. 

When the sun was high in the sky, Stiles snuffled at his side, making a sleepy noise and Derek froze for a moment before he noticed the tell-tale signs of him being awake. The only other time that the warlock had made a sign that he was alive was when Noah had stuck his head in through the door first thing in the morning and Stiles had grumbled in disapproval. The Sheriff had given him a look, silently asking Derek if Stiles was okay, and the alpha had given him a brief, firm nod. Noah had smiled in thanks and backed out of the door, likely heading to work. 

“This can’t be comfortable for you,” Stiles whispered, sounding stuffy and fragile. “Have you slept yet?

Derek growled, the noise rumbling up through his chest. “Don’t worry about me. Did you sleep well?” 

The alpha felt Stiles’ smile against his hip. “Yeah,” he sounded breathless, “I did.” 

“Good,” he patted the warlock's shoulder as a motion for him to get up. 

When he did, it was with a wide stretch that made the hem of his shirt ride up. Derek made a concerted effort to tear his gaze away through fear of doing something incredibly dumb. 

“Are you staying for breakfast?” Stiles asked, his voice soft, like he was worried about scaring Derek away- even though he could never do such a thing. “I’ll make eggs and bacon and english muffins,” he added, like spending more time with Stiles wasn’t enough to make him stay. 

“Yeah, I guess I could stick around,” he said, like it was a great hardship to him, and stood up, twisting about to stretch some of the muscles that had been trapped from sitting upright all night. 

Stiles looked guilty, but the alpha gave him a warning growl when he tried to speak. Stiles grinned and held his hands up in defense. “Alright, sourwolf, keep your hair on.” 

“Shut up and take a shower, you stink,” Derek grumbled in response and smirked at Stiles’ indignant squawk. 

“You really know how to woo a girl, Derek,” the warlock quipped and rolled his eyes, snatching his towel off the back of his chair before disappearing into the bathroom. 

As the sound of running water flooded Derek’s ears, he resolutely tried his hardest to not think about Stiles. In the shower. Naked. With water cascading down his body, following the valleys of delicious muscle that he had grown into. 

Two weeks later, with 10 new bodies- a worrying acceleration- and the police department running themselves ragged trying to find something worthwhile, Stiles found a promising lead. 

He was sitting on the sofa, reading the book that Deaton leant him when he came across a particular chapter that sparked a feeling of realisation inside his head- like a lightbulb going off. 

1. The  Beelzebub and his power of demons:  

the Beelzebub hath many names: , lucifer, satan and mephistopheles, to name a few.  Yet , he hath various corporal  descriptions which include horns and hooved feet.  Though, none hath been able to grant a precise description of the prince of darkness because most few arriveth  brow  to  brow  with the antichrist and lived to say to.  

alas, it is proposed that satan rarely doth his own deeds after his creation of the seven.  

many receive  these to be the devil’s influence,  they receive  it to be his breeding of cardinal sin.  Yet , it may be othergates.  

the seven, as we wot 'em, are wrath, pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony and sloth; and each of 'em control their own faction of demons,  yet  serve one master: lucifer himself.  

wrath personifies the natural spleen which we feel,  yet  when it is directed at a childlike or when it is unduly firm-set  or long-lasting, or when it desires excessive punishment.  The strength what be manifested oft marshal'st  to the belief that it possesses a female aura; and the fiery passion with which we feel rage hath left her, wrath, with burnt, singed flesh, blacker than coal and hotter than flame. 

The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks and he scrambled out of his seat with a yell- the book tumbling out of his hands and onto the floor with a loud crash. “Oh, my God!” 

Noah jerked in shock and spun around to face his son as he scurried through the house trying to find his phone. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“I can’t believe I was so stupid!” He yelled and shoved his phone into his pocket, reaching for his keys. "It was right in front of me the whole time! I knew I recognised it, but I was just being a moron!" 

" Mieczysław!" 

Stiles was reaching for the front door handle, but froze at the sound of his name. He turned to face Noah and gave him a sheepish smile. 

"Sorry." 

"Will you sit down and talk for a second?" Noah asked. 

Although it was phrased like a question, Stiles heard it as an order and moved back to the sofa to sit down next to him. 

When Noah made the motion for him to explain, the warlock began to speak. "When I was first studying with Deaton, one of the first things that he had me look at were Bestiaries- just in case I decided to pursue the hunter side of witchcraft. I didn't, but I still retained the information because it could be useful,” Noah bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “I remember that there was a faction of demons particularly present during the Second World War that created an environment for rage and hatred to thrive in- it wasn’t until a coven of french witches banished them that the war stopped. They’re dangerous and old.”

“Okay,” Noah replied, taking a moment to process all the information before speaking up again. “What does this mean for us?” 

“It means that whatever we’re dealing with is a demon of that faction,” Stiles explained, “and I need to call a pack meeting.” 

Noah nodded and motioned towards the door. “Go on, be safe and text me if you’re going to be out all night.” 

“I will, love you,” he bolted off the door and scurried out of the house in a flail of uncoordinated limbs. He climbed into the jeep and slammed the door shut, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

To: Scotty, Allison, Erica, Boyd, Issac, Sourwolf 

Pack meeting, ASAP. Derek’s loft. 

He shot off a second text to Allison alone, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he typed. 

To: Allison

Will you ask your dad if I can steal a copy of his bestiary? Preferably book form. Please and thank you. 

Stiles waited a moment before receiving seven messages back. 

From: Erica

Be there soon, hot stuff. 

From: Boyd

With Erica 

From Issac: 

Already at Derek’s 

From: Sourwolf

Why are they always at the Loft? 

Stiles paused to send a message back to him. 

To: Sourwolf

Your place is the biggest; suck it up or downsize. 

He continued scrolling through his unopened texts and rolled his eyes at Scott’s messages. 

From: Scotty

With Allison. 

Getting Bestiary. 

Pick us up on your way through? 

To: Scotty

I will, once you learn how to send your texts as one message. Christ, Scott. 

He didn’t get a reply, so started driving through the streets to the Argent’s house. Scott and Allison were already outside when he got there, but engaged in a conversation, so Stiles beeped the horn a couple times to get their attention. 

Scott was the first to look over and he grinned, giving a short wave. Allison did the same a few seconds after and Stiles simply motioned frantically for them to get in the car. They hurried across the driveway, Scott jumping in the front seat whilst Allison climbed into the back, leaning her head through the seat.

“Did you get it?” Stiles asked, turning briefly to look over his shoulder as he tore out of Allison’s driveway and down the road. 

“Yeah. What’s going on?” Allison questioned and handed the bestiary over when the warlock made grabby hands for it. 

The book felt old, the leather-bound cover soft and supple from centuries of use. Stiles could sense the thrumming of ancient energy under his fingertips; the lingering whispers of magic from witches that had briefly managed to get their hands on it. This book had been passed down through generations of Argents, each adding their own entries until it became the book that it was today- chock full of all things supernatural. 

“I’ll tell you when we get to Derek’s,” Stiles said, they were only a few seconds away anyway. 

He’d barely turned the engine off before he was throwing open the door and scrambling for Derek’s front door, barely waiting for Allison and Scott to get into the elevator before he was sending it up to Derek’s floor. The ride up there took far too long and the warlock waved his hand towards Derek’s door, white-blue clouds of magic wrapping around the handle before it flew open with a loud screech. 

The wolves held their hands to their ears, wincing at the volume of it, and glared at Stiles. Stiles simply glared back, his eyes glowing white-blue as he did, and they all quietened down relatively quick. 

“Stiles?” Derek was coming out of the kitchen as they arrived. 

“Scott and Allison too,” he replied and stepped into the centre of the room, motioning for Scott and Allison to sit down on the spare sofa. Derek leant against a nearby pillar instead of sitting down and Stiles pouted at how unfairly attractive he looked- all bulging biceps, broad chest and long, muscular legs. 

Stiles turned his thoughts away from the delicious alpha, through fear of exposing himself through his scent, and flipped open the book in front of him, stopping on the desired page. He held the book in one hand and used his free hand to click his fingers, drawing the energy away from the lights and into himself. The loft fell into darkness for a moment before Stiles cast a Projection Spell; a soft moonlight illuminating the space in front of him as the spiralling wisps of his magic began to form the shape of a demonic figure. 

She was tall, well over eight feet, and covered in charred, rock-like skin; the cracks giving way to molten lava, cascading over her body in gullies of scalding orange and yellow. The horns atop her head were a lot like Maleficent’s from Disney, curled loosely and sharp at the tip. She had smaller horns, in front of the Maleficent-esque ones, that glowed white with heat and there were similar ones along her neck and shoulders. Her fingers were long and hardly constituted as fingers with thick, blade-like claws that could slice through bone- given the chance. 

She looked horrifying and, judging by the growls of disapproval from the wolves, Stiles wasn’t the only one that thought so. 

“What is that?” Derek growled, eyes flashing red for a brief moment and fingers twitching towards Stiles, as if he wanted to grab him and put himself between Stiles and the projection. 

Stiles ignored how mushy he felt at Derek’s need to protect him and turned back to the figure before him. 

“This is Wrath,” Stiles began. 

“Like the sin?” Scott piped up, hand linked with Allison’s, and head cocked to the side in dog-like confusion- Stiles chose not to make the joke, but everyone heard it regardless and let out exasperated, yet amused huffs. 

“They aren’t, technically, just sins. The demons personify the emotions of the sin and breed them in anyone that they come into contact with,” the warlock explained and circled the projection, the bestiary cradled in his hand as he did. “Wrath, obviously represents the natural anger that we feel- but especially when it’s particularly strong or long-lasting, or when it's directed at innocent people. She and her siblings were partly responsible for the World Wars.” 

“Wait,” Erica murmured, “why do we need to know this?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Let me finish,” he hissed and smirked when Erica held her hands up in defense. “Wrath controls her own army of demons, each one of them loyal to her and only her, and she sends them out whenever she deems necessary- whether it's because there’s legitimate reasoning or because she’s bored and wants to have fun. At every conflict and violent bloodshed, you’ll be guaranteed to find signs of Wrath or one of her minions.” 

“That still doesn’t explain why we need to know this,” Isaac reminded, voice soft. 

Stiles nodded and slammed the book shut, ending the projection as he did. The loft was blanketed in darkness, the skylight barely helping to light the place up. “Because we’re dealing with one of her demons.” 

“How can you be so sure?” Scott scoffed and the others made noises of agreement. The only one that didn’t make a sound was Derek and Stiles didn’t know how to process that information, but decided that he was glad that the alpha believed him. However, he had been there when Stiles had had that meltdown a few weeks ago. 

Stiles hated how smug he sounded and turned to Derek for confirmation for what he was about to do. He felt a thrill run through him at the smirk that Derek gave him. 

He closed his eyes and dug deep into his memory to find the first time he made contact with the signature. Once he’d found it, he cast the memory into the heads of everyone- minus Derek- and listened to the cacophony of snarls and roars as the wolves struggled to comprehend what was going on. 

The warlock cancelled his spell a few moments later, withdrawing his memory from their heads, and returned the stolen energy to the light bulbs- if they were dimmer than before, no one said anything. 

“What was that?!” Erica snarled, making the motion to get off the sofa and storm towards Stiles, but she froze in her seat when Derek stiffened and growled at her in warning. She shrank back in her seat and bowed her head apologetically. 

Stiles turned his gaze to Derek and tipped his head in a silent thank you. 

“But, Erica has got a point though, what was it?” Issac sounded so small and scared and Stiles wanted to give him a hug. 

Derek pushed off the pillar that he was leaning against and moved to stand next to the warlock, “It’s all the anger that you’ve ever felt, hitting you all at once with no chance of escaping it; only being able to succumb to the rage.” 

“But, how do we stop something like this? If she caused two world wars, then how can we stop it, really?” Allison sounded scared and Scott made a noise of disapproval, squeezing her hand tightly. 

“With the antithesis of anger,” Stiles said, feeling a lot more confident than he felt. 

“Which is?” Scott questioned. 

Derek spoke up again, eyes shining red. “Fear.” 

Chapter Text

Stiles was sprawled across the sofa, cuddling a cushion under his head for support, and Derek couldn't tear his gaze away. He looked so peaceful, without the weight of the last few days hanging off his shoulders, and Derek wanted to keep him that way. Wanted to protect him; take away all the worry and hurt and fear. Wanted to squirrel him away until the fighting was done and Stiles didn't have to worry anymore. 

The alpha wanted to make Stiles happy- and keep him that way. Wanted him to permanently smell the way he did; warm, content, safe, protected and loved. 

Derek jolted in surprise, but tucked the thought sway before he could dwell on it for too long. It was probably directed at Scott and the other betas anyway. 

As the warlock slept- restoring some of the energy he'd lost from his memory-share- Derek kept a watchful eye, perched on the arm of the sofa by his feet. 

When the pack meeting neared its end, Erica crept over, looking all too devious for Derek, and he let out a warning growl when she reached out for Stiles to wake him. 

"Don't you dare," he snarled and shot a hand out to grab her wrist, keeping her away from Stiles. 

Erica rolled her eyes and twisted her hand out of Derek's grip. "You should really tell him." 

The alpha scowled at her. "I have no idea what you mean." 

Erica just rolled her eyes again- a permanent action for her, it seemed. "Even Allison can smell your want," Allison nodded in agreement and shrugged when Derek glared at her. "You're pining after him, Derek, and it's getting pathetic. You're an alpha, act like it." 

Derek glanced down at Stiles, fondness growing in his chest, making his heart swell, and shook his head. "Not with him. Never with him." 

Erica recoiled in shock, but got a look of clarity in her eyes. "Oh," she grinned, like the cat that got the cream. "It's like that ?" 

Derek narrowed his eyes at her and bared his teeth. "Erica, shut up. You don't know what you're talking about." 

The beta scoffed. "I know enough," she slunk past, gesturing at the other betas and the human to follow, dropping a kiss to Derek's cheek before she left. 

Stiles gave little notice to the shuffling around him- that safe, contented scent still rolling off of him in waves, making Derek dizzy with it- and curled up closer to Derek, making a needy noise in his sleep. 

“I’m here,” Derek soothed, reaching down to wrap a hand around Stiles’ ankle. “Shh.” 

Stiles settled down again right after, snuffling happily as he burrowed himself further into the couch. Derek’s heart nearly burst at the sight, filling with so much warmth and fondness that he wasn’t quite sure how to react. The wolf reared its head, briefly, making Derek’s eyes flash red and the wave of protective possessiveness that crashed into him made him sway slightly. 

Protect.Mine. Mate

Derek drew in a great, shuddering breath and wondered how long it had taken for him to reach this point. He’d known that Stiles was something more for a while, but to realise that he was his mate- that was different. But, he supposed that a part of him always knew. 

Something about the warlock just fit. To have him hanging around the loft; sleeping in his bed; leading pack meetings at his side and reigning in the betas when they got too rambunctious. 

When he challenged Derek’s wolf with a flash of those gorgeous white-blue, moon-like eyes, it left him reduced to a purring, growling state of nirvana. Of completion, peace and unlimited happiness. 

Stiles was strong; he was stubborn and he never backed down, always stood up for himself, and he and the wolf loved it. Because Strong.Mine.Mate.

However, when the warlock left, even for a brief amount of time, it made Derek feel like a part of him was missing. Derek wanted to wrap himself around him and never let him go. Wanted to keep him close and dote on him. Wanted to mark and claim, so that even when he did leave, there was still a part of him with Derek.  

There was just something inherently right about him and that could only ever mean one thing: Stiles Stilinski was his mate. His Lune. His right-hand. His world. His everything . 

He would give him the moon if he asked. Protect him with his life. Give him everything that he could ever want or need. He would be the best alpha and the best mate that Stiles could ever have. 

It scared him, more than anything, because he needed to get it right; needed to treat Stiles like he deserved to be treated. But, something held him back- a deep, insecure part of himself that was certain that he would be like the others. But, no one was like Stiles. The warlock was his own breed- a once-in-a-blue-moon type of guy- and no one could compare, not in Derek’s eyes. 

Stiles was… perfect. 

In wake of his revelation about Stiles being his mate, Derek dug out the Hale’s most treasured book and began to read about their mating rituals. It had taken him a while to get everything memorised, wanting to get it right and do it in the ways of the wolves. 

The first step was to sleep close, but they already did that- Stiles had started sleeping at Derek’s more frequently over the last few weeks because he had trouble sleeping at home. Something about that made Derek innately pleased, making a proud, growling noise whenever Stiles turned up in his living room- smiling sheepishly and shrugging, grinning when Derek opened his arms before flopping down next to him. 

He supposed that it was all a part of being able to provide for his mate, whilst having him being comfortable in his presence. He wondered, distantly, if that was why Stiles always felt drawn to him- whether his magic called out for Derek because it knew what they were to each other. 

With the first step already done, Derek decided he could move on to the second: Scent Marking. That would be harder, but Derek could make up some kind of excuse. However, he didn’t need to think too hard because Stiles walked into the loft that night, reeking of someone else, and it sent Derek into a possessive, jealous-fueled haze. 

He stormed across the loft, pinned Stiles to the door and rubbed his cheek across Stiles’ neck- stubble scratching the skin, leaving it rubbed raw and bright red. 

“Woah, sourwolf,” Stiles hissed, pushing insistently at his chest, but Derek stayed put, rubbing his scent across Stiles until he stopped smelling like stranger and started smelling like him . 

“Not that I don’t enjoy being pushed against things by hot, muscled men, some warning would be nice,” he continued and pushed against Derek’s chest again, rolling his eyes when the alpha latched on tighter and growled his disapproval. “What is wrong with you today?” 

“Smell wrong,” he grunted out, snuffling behind Stiles’ ear, letting out a pleased growl at the smell of us radiating from the warlock. 

“Damn, I’ll just go take a shower then, Jesus,” the warlock sagged against the door, deciding that he likely wouldn’t be released until Sir Sourwolf was ready. 

“Not Jesus,” Derek rumbled, “just Derek.” 

“Ha,” Stiles drawled, “you’re so hilarious. But, really, what’s up?” 

“I can smell his scent on you,” Derek rubbed his cheek against Stiles’ against and purred in satisfaction when he returned the movement, “and I don’t like it.” 

“It was just someone in my physics class, they gave me a hug because I helped them figure out a question. Will you chill?” Stiles rolled his eyes at the alpha’s warning grumble. “You know, you really don’t help the sourwolf image with all your grumbling.” 

“Don’t care,” Derek nuzzled Stiles’ neck again and grinned when the warlock punched his shoulder. 

“I’m certain that I smell like you now,” Stiles gave him a gentle push and Derek took a step back, giving him some space. “Don’t worry, everyone knows that I’m yours now-” Stiles let out a squeak, his eyes widening, and frantically shook his head. “Knows that I’m your pack- your pack . Not yours. I mean, I am. But, because I’m pack,” at Derek’s unimpressed look, Stiles’ mouth slammed shut with an audible click. “Shutting up.” 

Derek rolled his eyes and Stiles definitely saw the fondness behind the action that time. He turned on his heel and wandered towards the kitchen, casting a look over his shoulder when Stiles didn’t immediately follow. 

“Hungry?” Derek questioned. 

“Starving,” the warlock grinned and dropped his bag by the door before barrelling towards the sofa, launching himself over the arm to sprawl across the cushions. “Why is your sofa so comfy?” 

Derek shrugged in reply and dug through the cupboards for a moment before resurfacing with a box of macaroni cheese. “Good?” 

Stiles wriggled happily, eyes alight with glee, and kicked off his shoes before getting resituated on the sofa. “Brilliant.” 

When Derek had finished with the pasta, he brought two bowls over, handing one to Stiles, and dropped onto the sofa beside him, trying not to whine at the smell of their entwined scents. 

Stiles bumped his body into Derek’s side and grinned at him. “Stupid, sourwolf.” 

Derek narrowed his eyes, ignoring the happiness that spread through him at the wolf-like interaction from Stiles. “What?” 

The warlock grinned and shook his head, his scent sweetening with affection. “Nothing.” 

Derek knew that he wouldn’t get much else out of him, so dropped the conversation, listening to the delighted hums that Stiles gave with every mouthful. Derek squirmed with the warmth that flooded through him at his mate’s glee; loving that he was providing for him in such a small way. 

When Stiles was gearing up to leave the following morning, after obviously having stayed the night, Derek stopped him. He shuffled nervously from foot to foot, cradling a folded, grey henley in his hands, and held it out to Stiles, head bowed in offering. 

“Wear it, please?” Derek’s voice sounded small, vulnerable , and Stiles’ heart clenched inside his chest. 

He didn’t say anything, just dropped his bag from his shoulder- it fell to the floor with a crash that resounded through the otherwise quiet loft. Stiles searched Derek’s eyes, for some sign that this might be a joke, but he was met with sincerity and the same vulnerability- emotion swirling through his sea-green irises. Stiles maintained eye-contact as he pulled his shirt over his head, not daring to speak as he took Derek’s henley and shrugged it on. 

They stood there for a moment, gazes locked and loft quiet- aside from their harsh breathing. It was Stiles that broke the atmosphere that had settled over them- heat and desire swirling between them, leaving the air thick and sweet; like molasses. 

He wondered what would have happened if he hadn't broken away. Something wild- like a raging sea, crashing against the rocks. Like a lightning strike hitting a centuries-old oak. Like two attractive energies finally coming together after a millennia of being kept apart. It would be like an earthquake, a tsunami and a hurricane all at once. Like two worlds colliding. Stiles didn’t know if he feared or anticipated it. 

“I have to get to school,” Stiles whispered, not wanting to disturb whatever had just happened. 

Something had changed over the past week- both within Derek and him. Something that left him restless and needy; left him wanting- even more than usual. Derek was like a drug, and Stiles couldn’t get enough- it was cheesy, he knew that, but it was true. Derek was addictive and it felt like he could never get his fill. 

The warlock pondered how long it would be until this tension broke and their feelings came rushing forward. It would be a spectacle when it did, something to marvel about for decades to come. 

Derek turned up at Stiles’ front door on the night of the full moon, in wolf-form and dragging a rather large buck behind him. Stiles dropped to his knees on the front porch and threw his body against Derek’s fur-covered one in greeting. Derek nosed at his neck and rubbed his face against him, huffing happily when Stiles did the same.

“Yeah, alright, you great lug,” Stiles whispered and dragged his hands through Derek’s further, wincing when his hands came back covered in blood. 

Derek gave a howl of disapproval. 

“I know it’s not yours, idiot; the dead deer behind you gave that away,” he motioned to the lifeless buck in his driveway and rolled his eyes. 

Derek sat back on his haunches and let his tongue lop out of his mouth as his tail beat insistently against the concrete below. 

Stiles affectionately shook his head and scratched the top of Derek’s head, smiling softly when he leant into the touch. “You’re so proud of yourself, aren’t you?” The alpha’s tail seemed to beat faster at that and Stiles chuckled. 

Before he could say anything else, a series of howls sounded from the woods and Derek’s ears pricked up before he tipped his head back and howled in return, ear-splitting to anyone that wasn’t used to it. Luckily, Stiles was. 

The warlock shoved at his chest when Derek hesitated. “Go. Your pack needs you,” the alpha gave him an unimpressed look. “I know I’m your pack too, but I’ve got a deer to skin and butcher, so,” Stiles made a shooing motion with his hands. 

Derek grunted in approval and stood up, throwing his body against Stiles in a farewell before he trotted off down the road and out of sight. 

Stiles sighed heavily and ducked his head back inside the door to call for his dad. “Gonna need some help!” Noah came out a few moments later and arched an eyebrow at the buck in their driveway. “Derek delivered it.” 

Noah smirked and gave a contemplative hum. 

“No,” Stiles mimicked his noise. “What’s that mean?”

His dad’s eyes twinkled knowingly and he shook his head, crouching down to help Stiles lift the deer. “Nothing.” 

“Dad!” Stiles hissed, pulling insistently on the deer, making Noah stumble a few steps. 

His dad frowned at him, but shrugged defensively. “It’s nothing! You just don’t know why he’s doing this, do you?”

Stiles shook his head and guided them through the entryway, into the kitchen where they deposited the deer on the table. “No, I figured it was a wolf thing- accepting me into the pack or something.” 

Noah arched an eyebrow at his son. “Not quite.” 

The warlock narrowed his eyes at him and crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it then?” 

“Werewolves are a lot like natural wolves-” Noah began, but was cut off when Stiles’ phone rang. 

Stiles glanced at the caller id before answering. “Yo, Scotty, what’s up?” 

Allison’s been hurt, how quick can you get to mine?

Stiles’ blood ran cold and he scrambled around for his shoes and car keys. “Give me five minutes.” 

He hopped around the living room, tugging on his shoes as he moved towards the front door and cast an apologetic look at his dad, smiling in thanks when Noah waved him out the door. 

He jumped in the jeep and pressed his foot to the floor, definitely not speeding to get to the McCall house quicker. When he pulled up outside, the only lights on were in Scott’s bedroom, so he pushed into the house and rocketed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. 

When he burst through the door, Scott and Allison were sitting on his bed- Allison cradling her arm close to her chest whilst Scott rubbed her back in comfort. 

“What’s happened?” He demanded, sounding a little bit like Derek with his barking, and shook the thought away to focus on the girl in front of him. 

“I don’t know,” Allison sounded scared and her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy- she’d been crying. She extended her arm to Stiles, allowing him to cradle it in his hands to get a closer look. “I was studying and this just appeared.” 

There were three, parallel slashes along her arm, starting at her elbow and twisting around her forearm to end at the heel of her palm. They were red and angry around the edges and swollen. They looked old, two to three days at least, judging by the healing processes that had taken place. But, they had definitely only happened that evening- Allison’s fear and Scott’s worry could attest to that. 

Stiles sagged slightly, knowing exactly what it was. 

“What?” Scott questioned, his concern bleeding through when he sensed the shift in Stiles’ emotions. 

“It’s a mark,” Stiles explained, gesturing towards the wounds on Allison’s wrist. “Three scratches to mock the holy trinity, but to identify her as a potential target.” 

“A target?!” Scott snarled. “What does that mean?” 

The warlock rolled his eyes. “It’s a threat, basically.” 

“Stiles, you have to do something!” The beta sounded panicked and his eyes were wide with desperation. 

Stiles shrugged his shoulders. “There isn’t much that I can do. Other than protect her, but even then I’m not sure that will be enough- this is an old being, very strong, my wards might not be enough to keep it at bay.” 

Scott got a look in his eyes- like he’d come up with a genius plan- and Stiles hated it because it usually involved someone getting hurt. 

“Can we summon Wrath?” 

The warlock recoiled in shock, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry- what?” 

“Can. We. Summon. Wrath?” Scott repeated through gritted teeth and flashed his amber eyes at Stiles, flinching apologetically when Stiles returned the sentiment. 

“It’s possible, but-” 

Scott cut him off. “So, we do it.” 

“There’s more to it than-” Stiles tried to protest, but was cut off again and he shoved back the flare of annoyance. 

“We have to!” 

Stiles made a noise of discomfort. “It’s going to take-” 

Scott cut him off again. “You’d do it if it were your dad,” he hissed, “so why is Allison any different?” 

The warlock sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring the sorrowful look that Allison cast him. “She isn’t.” 

Scott’s eyes got wide and hopeful. “So you’ll do it?” 

Stiles found himself in a position where he couldn’t say no. “Okay,” he agreed. “But, we’ll have to wait until the next full moon,” when Scott tried to protest, the warlock cut him off. “No, my magic, my rules. I’ll be stronger on the full and I need time to prepare. We do this my way, or we don’t do it at all.” 

Scott looked like he wanted to protest, but Stiles silenced him with a glare and he mumbled his acceptance. Allison launched off the bed and wrapped him in a hug, whispering a soft thanks in his ear. 

Stiles didn’t say anything, just tipped his head in acknowledgement, turned on his heel and walked back to his car. 

Summoning a demon like Wrath was going to cost Stiles a lot- physically, mentally and financially. He just hoped that he was strong enough to survive the ritual- this would take a lot of power and Stiles didn’t know if he possessed enough.

Chapter Text

“Stiles.” 

The warlock launched out of his seat, eyes ablaze and fingers smoking, and only calmed when he realised that the intruder was Derek. 

“Don’t do that!” Stiles hissed. “Christ. Make some noise next time, will you?” 

Derek didn’t say anything, his gaze was locked on Stiles- wearing nothing but boxers and the henley that Derek gave him a week or so prior. “What are you wearing?” 

Stiles glanced down at himself and squeaked, flailing wildly for a pillow to cover himself with. “Nothing. I mean, I’m wearing something. I’m just not wearing anything-” Derek growled at him and Stiles’ jaw clicked shut. “Shutting up.” 

The alpha stalked closer and buried his nose in Stiles’ neck, inhaling in short, sharp bursts. “You still smell like me.” 

Stiles went rigid and let out an uneasy laugh. “Yeah,” he swallowed thickly. “It’s a comfy shirt.” 

“I’ll give you another,” Derek murmured, snuffling behind his ear and Stiles let out a breathy laugh at the ticklish sensation. 

“Okay,” the warlock shoved at Derek’s chest and the alpha went willingly, “I know you didn’t come here just to sniff me. So, what do you want?” 

“Isaac told me that Scott is getting you to summon Wrath,” Derek said in a  matter-of-fact tone. 

Stiles shrugged and dropped down onto his bed. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

Derek flopped down next to him a moment later, leaning against the headboard and stretching his legs out in front of him. “You know you’re allowed to say no to him, right?” 

Derek turned his head to look at Stiles and the warlock parroted the action. “I know,” he whispered, keeping his voice low as that warm desire bled into the atmosphere at their eye contact, just as it had in the loft a week ago. 

“But?” Derek prompted. 

“But, part of me says that this needs to be done because people are dying and we need answers. If anyone can give them to us, it’s her,” Stiles said, but he didn’t sound confident at all. 

“You understand how much power this is going to take,” Derek replied, it should’ve been a question, but it wasn’t. “You know that this will drain you.” 

“I know,” the warlock whispered and fear bled into his voice, leaving him shivering, “I know.” 

The alpha growled in disapproval and lifted a hand to cup Stiles’ cheek. “What can I do?” 

He stared into Stiles’ eyes, red meeting brown, and chewed softly on his bottom lip. Stiles gasped at the sincerity in his gaze and swallowed thickly. “I really don’t know.” 

Derek blinked slowly and tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “You’re a strong warlock, Stiles. Strong and powerful, and if anyone can do this- it’s you. But, either way, we’ll be there- the pack and me- and if you need something, you tell us or you take it, okay?” 

Stiles let out a soft breath and nodded slowly, not wanting to dislodge Derek’s hand from his cheek when he took to rubbing his thumb across his cheekbone. “Okay,” he rasped out, voice thick with want, he was certain that Derek could smell it. 

Stiles tipped forward- gaze flicking from the alpha’s eyes to his lips and back again- and he flicked his tongue out to wet his lips, watching with growing hunger as Derek tracked the movement. Just as they tilted towards one another, a knock sounded at Stiles’ door and Derek sprung away from him and off the bed, like he’d been burnt. 

Stiles bit back the whine of protest that threatened to tumble from his lips, sinking his teeth in his tongue to keep it at bay. 

“Come in!” Stiles yelled, turning away from Derek to face the door. 

Noah stuck his head into the room and grinned at his son. “I’m off to work, see you later, make sure to eat something.” 

Stiles nodded and returned his dad’s smile. “You too. Be safe. Love you.” 

Noah uttered it back before ducking back out of the room and Stiles turned to talk to Derek, but found that the alpha had already snuck away. Stiles sighed heavily and sank back against his pillows, feeling dejected. 

Something was different, there was this electric energy between them and Stiles felt himself drawing on it, letting it fill him until every empty corner was occupied. 

Beyond the mutual feelings of desire, something was going on with Derek and there was only one other person in Beacon Hills that he could speak to about it. 

He needed to pay Deaton a visit. 

Two weeks had passed before Stiles was able to get Deaton during a free moment- what with studying up on protection and confinement spells; school work; and Deaton running the only Animal Clinic in Beacon Hills. 

Stiles pushed into the Clinic, rapping his knuckles against the front desk to grab Deaton’s attention, and grinned at the druid when he surfaced from the examination room. 

“Stiles,” he said, sounding pleasantly surprised, and pushed the little gate open to invite the warlock inside, “what are you doing here?” 

“Well, you know how, in the movies, there always this wise, fatherly-type character, that the hero always goes to when they need advice?” Stiles questioned, following Deaton into the examination room and leaning against the edge of the metal table. 

“I assume that I’m the wise, fatherly character and you’re the hero, in this scenario?” 

Stiles grinned. “Naturally,” when Deaton made the motion for him to continue, he did. “Well, I’ve been having some werewolf-related troubles lately-”

Deaton cut him off. “A different pack? Does Derek know?” 

“No, my pack,” at the druid’s confused look, Stiles elaborated. “Derek’s been acting weird lately.” 

“That’s not unusual for Derek,” Deaton quipped. 

“My thoughts exactly,” Stiles retorted, throwing Deaton a sly grin. “But, this goes beyond his normal Tall-Dark-and-Broody .” 

“Explain,” he demanded. 

Stiles did. “He’s been scenting me a lot more. At first I thought it was just pack affirmations, but now I think it’s different. He gave me one of his shirts and nearly gave himself an aneurysm when he saw me wearing it. But then, last full moon, he caught a buck and brought it to my house, looking all pleased with himself. And, I’ve been sleeping at the loft more- I don’t know, something about it just makes me feel more comfortable and safe.” 

Deaton got a knowing look in his eyes and perked up, like a light bulb had lit up inside his head. “He’s courting you.”

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat and he blinked rapidly, recoiling. “I’m sorry? He’s doing what now?”

“Courting you, it’s-” 

The warlock cut him off. “I know what it is. I just- why me?” Deaton gave him an unimpressed look and Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I know why, but why me ?” 

“Why not?” The druid countered. 

“I-” Stiles cut himself off because he didn’t have an answer to that. “But, Derek’s… Derek and I’m… me .” 

Deaton’s eyes twinkled with something akin to pride. “Exactly. You’ll make a brilliant Lune to the Hale Pack.” 

“Lune,” Stiles muttered, mostly to himself, and both loved and hated how right it sounded, “to the Hale Pack.” 

“Are you okay?” Deaton asked, concerned for the far-off look in Stiles’ eyes. 

“I-” Stiles cut himself off with a squeak, lifting his thumb to chew on the skin around his nail. “Derek’s mate.” 

“Yes,” Deaton said slowly. 

“I-” Stiles squeaked again and flailed wildly. “Derek freaking Hale.” 

Deaton shook his head fondly and motioned towards the door. “Go home, Stiles. You’re in shock.” 

The warlock gave a weak laugh and nodded. “Yeah. Good idea. Thanks, Deaton.” 

Stiles turned on his heel and walked away, climbing into his jeep and driving home on autopilot. 

It wasn’t until he walked through his front door, seeing his dad sprawled across their sofa watching reruns of cooking shows, that the reality of his situation began to sink in. 

“I’m Derek Hale’s mate,” he whispered, barely audible, and Noah- who had heard him come in- turned to face him. 

“What?” 

“I’m Derek Hale’s mate!” He squeaked out, wincing at the volume of his voice.

Noah simply arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, what else is new?” 

“Derek’s mate,” Stiles repeated, flailing violently. “Derek freaking Hale. Derek, Dad, Derek! ” 

Noah snorted and shook his head in amusement. “Do you wanna say his name a couple more times.” 

“Shut up,” Stiles hissed. “He’s courting me, Dad. Courting. He’s an alpha and I’m a warlock- how does that even work? Can that work? Can a warlock be an alpha’s mate? How does it work? Is Derek even gay, am I even gay?” He facepalmed and snorted. “No, I’m totally gay- Oh, my God, Derek Hale is courting me.” 

Noah bit back a laugh at his son’s rant, watching with an amused gaze as he paced about behind the sofa, tugging at his hair and muttering away to himself. 

Stiles turned on his dad as the bitten-back laugh tumbled through his lips, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you laughing ?” Noah bit on his tongue- to stop the grin from spreading across his face- and shook his head. “You are. Dad! Derek Hale! Derek freaking Hale! This is not a laughing matter, Dad! Derek is courting me!” 

“Is he?” Noah snarked. “I thought it was Scott.” 

“Shut up,” Stiles grumbled, “I’m the sarcastic one.” 

His dad arched an eyebrow. “Who do you think you got it from?” 

“No, I’m talking, shush,” he rambled. “Back to me and Derek- who is courting me. I mean, who still courts anyway? This isn’t the 19th Century! He’s real-life courting me,” he windmilled his arms frantically. “I’m gonna have to be in charge of the pack .” 

He slid onto the floor and buried his head in his hands. “Oh, my God,” he tugged at his head and shook his head, “I’m gonna be a mom. I’m not ready to be a mom,” he lifted his head and started at Noah with wide, insanity-filled eyes. “I can barely control myself let alone the shithead betas that I call my friends!” Stiles gave a manic-sounding laugh and buried his head again.

Noah burst into laughter, unable to hold back his mirth any longer, and Stiles joined him shortly after- giggling away to himself in a way that made Noah concerned for his mental stability. 

“If Derek can’t control them,” Stiles whispered into his hands, sounding like he was coming to the most important revelation of the century, “how am I supposed to? They’ll tear me to shreds! Shreds! And then you won’t have a son anymore, just shreds.”

“I was the same when your mom told me that she was pregnant with you,” Noah’s voice was closer than before and when Stiles snapped his head upwards, Noah was crouched in front of him. He jolted in surprise at Stiles’ quick movement, but quickly balanced himself out when he teetered precariously. 

“What?” Noah didn’t give him a reply, just smiled warmly and nodded. “What did you do?” 

The Sheriff smiled. “Exactly what you just did- rambled at your grandfather until I got it out of my system.” 

The warlock’s eyes went impossibly wide. “You thought I was done? I’m not done .” 

Noah shook his head, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder and giving it a meaningful squeeze. “Yes, you are,” it was Stiles’ turn to not reply, simply nodding. “Go sit on the sofa. I need to get something from upstairs.”

Stiles followed his dad’s orders and scrambled over to the sofa, feeling oddly numb as he sat on the sofa- what the fuck? circling through his head, like a broken record. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before his dad came back downstairs, but when he did it was with a yellowed envelope clutched between his fingers. 

“Wassat?” Stiles slurred, making grabby hands at him. 

His dad rolled his eyes and handed it over. “It’s from your mom.” 

Stiles froze a few centimetres away from the edge of the envelope, blinking rapidly. “What?” 

Noah snorted and thrust the envelope at him, reminding Stiles of what he was supposed to be doing. “Just open it.” 

Stiles clicked his fingers, igniting his magic, and quickly slashed over the envelope- a neat slice opening it up, revealing the folded paper inside. He reached in with gentle fingers and plucked it out, laying it carefully in his lap as he unfolded it and began reading. 

My Dearest Mischief,

I wish I was there right now beside you, rather than writing this letter for you to read once you've grown. I'm very sick, darling, and I'm sorry I have to leave you so soon, but you are going to grow into an amazing young man, I just know it. 

There are some things I feel like I need to explain to you myself, as by the time you're reading this either you've been clever enough to find it on your own or your father thinks you're ready. 

I am a witch of the Hale Pack of Beacon Hills. Their current alpha and my best friend, Talia Hale, is the most trustworthy person I know. If you don't know her yet, I suspect you will, as you probably already know her son, Derek. 

I have a very funny story to tell you about the day after you were born - see, Talia and her young son came to visit you and I in the hospital. Talia never liked hospitals, she gave birth to all her children at the Pack House with my help. 

But anyway, the second that her Derek laid eyes on you, it was as if nothing else mattered in the world to him anymore. He gravitated towards you, and when your little hand grabbed his finger, it was like watching two stars collide. 

Talia and I both knew you were mates in that instant, but it was further cemented into our minds every time he saw you after that, following you around as you toddled through the Hale House, getting defensive if any of his siblings put a hand on you. It's always been a sight to see, you two. 

I'll leave you with this, my beautiful boy: trust Derek, trust yourself, and trust your magic. My magic and the magic of our ancestors flows through you now. Good luck, and I'm already so proud of you.

All my love,

Your Mother

Stiles lifted his head, tears in his eyes, and just stared at his dad for a second, unsure of how to process what he had just read. 

“You knew the Hales?” 

Noah smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”

Stiles cradled the letter to his chest and wiped away the tear that slid down his cheek. “I- she knew?” 

“Of course she did- your mother was a smart woman. You get your brains from her,” he spoke with such a fondness that made Stiles heart clench. 

“What happened? I don’t remember Talia and Derek being there when she died,” Stiles whispered, feeling a flare of anger at their scarceness. 

“They were, in their own way,” Noah reassured. “Don’t be angry at them. Losing Claudia took its toll on all of us, none more than Talia and I. But, we never knew each other very well- so, she took comfort in her family and I took comfort in mine. It was through no fault of our own that we grew apart.” 

“This explains so much,” Stiles breathed. “It’s all just coming together. Everything. Why I always felt so drawn to Derek. Why he was always there when I needed. It’s, like, for the past few years, I’ve been blind, but now I see everything. ” 

Noah just clapped him on the back and gave him a fatherly smile. “I know.” 

Stiles cradled the letter to his chest and sat on the sofa for a few moments, staring into space as he got lost in his thoughts. “I think I’m gonna head up to my room.” 

Noah nodded in understanding and grabbed Stiles, pressing a soft, paternal kiss against his temple. “Okay. You’ll be okay?” 

“Yeah, Dad,” Stiles nodded furiously, “I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay,” he whispered, “night, son.”

Stiles didn’t go to sleep until the early hours of the morning, staying up to reread his mother’s letter until he’d learnt every word off-by-heart. 

Even though there was decidedly a lot that needed to be talked about- especially between him and Derek- Stiles made the executive decision to wait until they weren’t being pursued by an unknown beast. It would have to wait until after Wrath had been summoned- he couldn’t afford to have anything distracting him.

Chapter Text

The day before the full moon came sooner than Stiles anticipated, and with it the final pack meeting before the summoning of Wrath. 

To say that he was worried would be an understatement. He was near-distraught, hardly able to do more than panic about the safety of the pack. It was half of the reason that he’d called the meeting in the first place- just to go over the plan once more; just in case something went wrong. 

“We’ll be fine,” Scott tried to brush off his concerns, but his nonchalance- instead of comforting him- only added fuel to Stiles’ fire. 

“Do you even understand the gravity of this, Scott?” Stiles launched from his seat, towering over the beta with eyes burning white-blue. The energy around him crackled with anger, almost palpable in the air, sour and bitter on the wolves’ tongues. “Do you even understand what we’re doing here?!” 

“Stiles,” someone was calling his name, but it fell on deaf ears as the warlock continued to rant, pacing back and forth restlessly. 

“I’m summoning a demon as old as time itself,” he snarled- the fear and anger building in him until he was unable to do much more than let it consume him, quivering with the force of it. “If she gets free, we’re screwed. Do you understand what it would mean for the Mother of Violence to be roaming unchained in our world? Do you understand the devastation that she could cause?!” 

He shook his head and dragged a hand through his hair, lightning sparking at his fingertips, the lights overhead shattering as he unconsciously drew on their energy. There was a scared yelp from someone, but Stiles ignored it, continuing his pacing. 

“Stiles!” 

Derek’s voice broke through his anxiety-ridden haze and Stiles stopped in the centre of the loft, taking in the frightened faces of his friends. 

The alpha was on his feet, a few centimetres away from him, and his eyes were crimson-red, the wolf in him calling out as much as the human was. It was Derek’s attempt at reigning in his pack, but it was also an attempt at calming his mate- it worked, even if Derek didn’t know that Stiles knew. 

The warlock sagged, the weight of tomorrow’s events finally catching up to him, and the fight left him in a puff of breath.

“I need to get some air,” with that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the loft, not waiting to see if anyone tried to stop him. 

He found his way to the roof, stalking towards the edge before he slung his legs over the side, his feet dangling down the side of the building. He looked out at the city, completely unaware of his inner turmoil, and tried his best to take comfort in the quiet tranquility. 

Derek dropped down beside him and Stiles gave him a grunt of vague acknowledgement. “What was that?” 

“That was a Stiles Stilinski special,” he snarked. “They don’t happen often, but when they do, it’s a spectacle.” 

“Shut up,” the alpha growled. “Enough with the jokes and the defensiveness. Talk, now.” 

“I’m not one of your wolves, you can’t order me around,” he argued. 

“But, you are pack,” Derek countered, “and I look after my pack.” 

Stiles sighed heavily, not able to come up with a decent comeback, and opened his mouth, his fears and worries tumbling out before he could stop them. 

“I’m doing this on my own , with no assistance from any other magic-users,” he breathed out. “That alone is scary. But, I also have no clue if I have enough power to contain her, or if I’ll even survive the summoning because there’s a high chance that this could kill me !” 

Stiles was on his feet, pacing back and forth, fear bleeding into his scent, and Derek heard his heartbeat rocket at the same time that his breathing quickened. 

The alpha only had a split second to react before Stiles dropped to his knees, breathing coming fast and broken sobs falling from his lips. 

Before the warlock hit the floor, Derek caught him and drew him into his lap, cradling him against his chest. 

“I don’t want to fucking die , Derek,” he cried, fists clenched in Derek’s t-shirt. 

“You won’t,” the alpha soothed, his heart clenching at the anguished wail that tumbled from his lips. It hurt even more knowing that he couldn’t do anything to help; other than just hold Stiles and let him break down.

“You can’t say that,” Stiles hissed. “You can’t.” 

“I can,” Derek argued, ignoring the jolt of fear that spread through his chest at the idea of losing him. He couldn’t lose him. “I can because, if you do, I’m gonna march into the afterlife myself and drag you back here. I’m not finished with you just yet. Nothing is taking you away from me, I’ll fight Death himself if I have to. He’s not taking you from me, not yet.” 

“You can’t fight Death,” the warlock sniffled, a weak and futile attempt at a joke, but the weight of Derek’s words were far heavier than Stiles could cope with at that moment. 

He sounded so sincere and strong, like he truly meant it, and that made Stiles’ heart do somersaults- he was certain that Derek could hear it, but knew he wouldn’t say anything. 

“I can,” Derek tightened his hold on him, curling his body around Stiles’- like he was trying to hide him from sight; to protect him from what was coming. “I will. I’m the alpha to the Hale Pack. You can bet I’m gonna put up a fight if someone tries to take you. If you go down, I’ll tear the world apart to pick you up again.” 

“Der,” Stiles breathed, lifting his head to stare into Derek’s crimson eyes. 

A moment of silence passed between them. Stiles poured everything that he needed to say into his gaze, letting his white-blue eyes tell Derek everything that he couldn’t. That same electric energy sizzled between them, dancing through their bloodstreams, and the emotion in the alpha’s eyes chased away the darkness that had begun to creep into Stiles’ heart and mind. One glance at those expressive irises made him able to breathe easy. 

Every nerve-ending that was touching Derek lit up, warming his insides and melted the ice that had slithered into his bones. 

“Don’t say anything,” the alpha whispered, voice low to not disturb the mood that surrounded them. “I know.” 

Stiles felt a jolt inside his chest and his heart began to beat in tandem with Derek’s- synchronising in a way that only they could. They were the original dichotomy. Love and hate; anger and fear; light and dark; happiness and heartbreak. Stiles and Derek . It was always going to be them and it would forever stay that way- in this life and the last and the next. 

Derek lifted a hand to Stiles’ face, swiping away the tears that had fallen and keeping his gaze locked on him. “I know.” 

“We ca-” 

The warlock tried to protest, but Derek cut him off. “I know .” 

“Tomorrow,” Stiles promised and tipped his head forwards to press his and Derek’s foreheads together. 

“Tomorrow,” Derek agreed. 

There was another moment of silence, where they simply existed in each other's presence without the influence of external worries. Derek was growling low in his throat, in a serene way, like he was the happiest that he could be. Stiles found himself leaning into him, feeling the rumble of it through his fingertips, listening to the soft trills with straining ears. 

It was a beautiful noise and it calmed Stiles more than any medication- or spell- ever could. He soon found himself overcome with exhaustion, tired from all the planning and worrying, and curled closer to Derek’s warmth, slowly drifting to sleep in the alpha’s arms. 

Derek glanced down at him when his heartbeat levelled out and let out a happy noise, somewhere between a growl and a howl, and rearranged Stiles so that he could carry him inside. 

He was met by Isaac when he walked back in. The beta gave Stiles’ sleeping form a concerned look. “Is he okay?” 

Derek huffed. “No.” 

Isaac’s eyebrows pinched together in concern. His scent soured with distress and Derek trilled soothingly in response. “Will he be?” 

“Yes.” 

He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Derek didn’t say anything, just nodded, understanding that Isaac probably wanted to be as close to pack as Derek did. If he had it his way, the whole pack- including Scott and Allison- would be staying the night, but they had their own places to get back to. 

Isaac smiled and scurried off down the hall before returning a few seconds later with a blanket and some pillows. Derek still didn’t say anything, just laid Stiles down on the bed, growling softly at him when he whined in his sleep, and went downstairs to grab the couch cushions, laying them out on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

“Night, Derek,” Isaac whispered as he settled in a comfortable position. 

Derek grunted in response and climbed into his bed, curling protectively around Stiles, one hand under his shirt on his stomach whilst the other settled on his thigh, pulling him close. Derek plastered himself against Stiles’ back and rubbed his cheek insistently against the warlock’s neck. 

“Night Der,” Stiles muttered sleepily. “Night, Isaac.” 

“Night, Stiles,” Isaac replied, just as lethargic. 

“Go to sleep, both of you,” Derek ordered. “Got a long day ahead. Need all the sleep we can get.” 

Isaac and Stiles grunted in reply, already near-comatose, and Derek wasn’t far behind. 

When Derek next woke up, it was still dark outside and there was a second body- aside from Stiles- in his bed. “Stiles,” he groaned, knowing that the warlock was partially awake, “why is Isaac in my bed?” 

Stiles sniggered under his breath and squinted down at the beta- who had taken residence by their feet, like a guard dog. “He had a nightmare, I invited him up.” 

Derek shrugged, accepting the answer and kicked Isaac gently- as a way of extending his comfort- and smothered his smile against Stiles’ shoulder when the beta whined happily. 

“Is that a smile that I feel, Der?” The warlock teased. 

“No,” he grunted, “shut up and go back to sleep. Not morning.” 

Stiles hummed in agreement and they had soon both fallen back into a slumber. 

When they awoke again, it was to two extra bodies at the foot of the bed. Stiles and Derek had unconsciously tucked their feet out of the way to make space for Erica and Boyd. 

“EricaBoyd ‘ere ,” Stiles slurred when Derek made a confused noise and snorted when he kicked them both on the shoulders in a way of greeting them, they snuffled sleepily in acknowledgement. 

It wasn’t long before the stairs creaked again, this time Derek and Stiles were awake to hear it. The scent that wafted in said that Scott had shown up. 

“I couldn’t sleep at home,” Scott whispered. 

“Shut up and get in,” Derek grumbled and shifted him and Stiles around so Scott had some space in front of them to lay down. 

“ ‘ey Sco’,” Stiles garbled, patting the empty space in front of him. 

There was the sound of Scott kicking off his shoes before bare feet padded across the floor and the bed dipped, wobbling a few times as Scott got comfortable. 

“How did we start a puppy pile?” Stiles asked, baring his throat to Derek when the alpha started nuzzling at him, snuffling at his scent glands. 

“Dunno. Pack bond,” Derek huffed, squeezing his arms around Stiles’ middle. “Sleep now. Talk later.” 

Stiles hummed his agreement again and was soon drifting back to the land of dreams. 

When he next woke up, it was to the sun streaming in through the window and the smell of bacon and french toast. 

“Who’s cooking?” Stiles asked, not wanting to open his eyes and join the land of the living. 

Derek grunted against his back and snuffled for a moment before replying. “Scott.” 

“Yes,” Isaac groaned from somewhere in their bundle. “Scott makes the best breakfast.” 

“Sco’ ‘king ‘fast?” Erica mumbled, still somewhere between asleep and awake, and Stiles translated it to mean: Scott’s making breakfast.  

“Yeah,” Boyd grunted and pulled her closer, burying his nose in her hair. 

Stiles ignored it when Derek did the same. In the warm, fuzzy nothingness just before being fully awake, Stiles was able to forget about what was going to happen when the sun set and the moon rose. 

Chapter Text

The sunset came far too quickly for Stiles' liking and with it an air of hesitance. His breakdown the previous day had left the betas unsure and overprotective. 

They had snuck out into an old factory-come-warehouse, with a promise from Noah that he would keep the police away from that area of town for the evening. 

Stiles was making final preparations, erecting some extra wards around the building and burning some sage to make sure that any lingering negative energy had been banished. 

As he pulled a vial of mountain ash from his pocket, there was a rumbling growl from behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know that Erica was there. 

"Hi," Stiles snarked when he felt her take a step closer, practically breathing down his neck. "Bit close there. Can I help you with something?"

Erica shook her head. "No. Keep going," she said, but didn't move. 

Stiles let out a frustrated growl and whirled on his heel. "Stop!" 

Erica smirked and took a step back, holding her hands up in defense. 

The warlock nodded in thanks. "While I appreciate the protectiveness, it's getting a bit obsessive. Give a warlock some space to work!" 

There were various mumbled apologies from the pack and they all took a large step back, letting Stiles do what he needed to. 

Derek watched him work, sea-green eyes tracking his every movement. Stiles worked with an odd kind of coordination- simultaneously frantic and calm. The air around him crackled ominously and Derek should've been scared, but he just found himself wanting to get closer. Stiles was almost magnetic like this; powerful and strong. 

Derek whined pitifully, shifting from one foot to the other, and stuffed his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to Stiles. He wanted to hold and touch, drink in the enchanting energy and let spark dance across his tongue- electrifying him in a way that only Stiles could. 

"You smell like sex," Erica whispered out the corner of her mouth.

Derek flushed and ducked his head, warmth spreading through his body like wildfire. "Shut up." 

Before anyone could say anything else, Stiles turned to face them. "Okay. This is going to be tough, not just for me but for all of us. Wrath is going to feed on your anger, most importantly mine, and we're going to say and feel stuff that isn't necessarily true. But, hopefully, the crystals that I gave you should help defend against the worst of her attacks." 

Derek went pale and his heart jolted in his chest. He swayed slightly on his feet and shook his head, clenching his teeth. 

"Are you okay?" Erica whispered out the corner of her mouth, low enough that only the wolves could hear. 

"I shouldn't be here," Derek ground out, just as quiet. Erica cocked her head in confusion and the alpha rolled his eyes in response. "Every wolf has an anchor; what's mine?" When the beta gave him a blank look, he continued. "Rage. Do you think it's a good idea to have me here?" 

It was Erica's time to roll her eyes. "Yes, but it stopped being that a while ago." 

She cast her gaze over to Stiles, who managed to trip over his own feet on his way over to Scott. Derek's heart swelled with fondness and he realised that Erica was right. His anchor used to be rage, but it had been Stiles for even longer. 

"Yeah," Derek breathed and zeroed in on Stiles' heart, listening to the steady buh-bump, buh-bump and allowing it to calm him. 

"See," Erica squeezed his bicep briefly before pulling away. "You'll be fine. But, more importantly, he," she nodded towards the warlock, "needs you here because you're his anchor, his strength. His reason to do everything that he does." 

Derek looked over at him and, as if sensing his gaze, Stiles looked up and gave him a blinding smile. But, Derek saw the insincerity behind it; saw the way that fear stiffened his limbs and darkened his eyes. 

The alpha gave him a meaningful look and Stiles' smile grew that bit more genuine- it made Derek's heart skip a beat, flooded with happiness at being able to soothe his mate. 

"Okay," Stiles shuddered and stepped forward, shaking out his limbs, hopping from foot to foot with pent up energy. 

"Are we ready?" Allison questioned, drawing her bow off her shoulder and notching an arrow in preparation. 

The warlock glanced up at the ceiling, squinting to see through the tiny window, and nodded. "The moon's at its peak. I'm ready." 

The pack all made various growls of agreement and when Stiles looked over at them again, they were all in beta Shift. He wasn't quite sure why that gave him comfort, but he willingly accepted it. 

With an exaggerated flourish, Stiles clicked his fingers and white-blue wisps of smoke curled from them. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath to ground himself, and when he opened them again, they were glowing with power. 

"I call on the ancestral magic of the Gajos women for power," there was a jolt inside his core as his ancestors' magic ignited within him, making every cell within his body vibrate with barely contained power. It felt exhilarating. He drew in a deep breath and continued. "I call on the deceased women of the Hale pack for protection," he gave a sharp flick of his wrist, drawing upwards from the floor- quivering when he felt a gentle, protective warmth settle over him. They were here. 

Derek gave a soft whine behind him and Stiles couldn't tell whether it was happy or sad. 

He wondered how the alpha would react to his next calling. "I call on Talia Hale for protection and strength," Derek growled low in his throat, a pleased, proud noise full of love- like he was praising Stiles. 

The warlock smirked and gestured vaguely towards the alpha, magic snaking across the floor and hesitating at his feet. "I call on Derek Hale, as my alpha- I call on his intuition and his wisdom." 

Stiles felt the moment that Derek opened himself up to his magic and allowed Stiles to draw on whatever he needed. It made the warlock’s heart thrum with affection and glee, warming his insides and giving him the strength to continue. 

He reached up towards the sky, waving flamboyantly towards the full moon. “I call on the moon and it’s celestial energies, on all that it represents to guide me forward and give me power.”

A gasp fell from his lips when he felt her reach out to him, her calm tranquility settling inside his core, making it sing. He smiled warmly and tilted his head towards the heavens, letting the moon’s rays brush over his face. 

Taking a moment to relish in his new-found power, Stiles kept his eyes closed, breathing heavy and mentally checking his wards a second time- just to be sure. When he opened his eyes again, he glanced down at the mountain ash circle and nodded his approval when it was still intact. 

There was something warm at his shoulder, like a hand and Stiles, somehow, knew that it was Talia, offering her strength and protection- giving him exactly what he needed to carry out the next step of the ritual. 

Stiles inhaled sharply and splayed his hands in front of him, palms directed towards the floor. He clicked his fingers, igniting his magic and smiled when the familiar white-blue tendrils of energy sparked between his fingers. 

The warlock drew his left hand in a large circle and  the movement kindled a blue flame on the floor in the same shape. His right hand haphazardly drew a star- flames of an identical form igniting within the circle- and he felt the thrum of power beneath his feet, the pentagram coming to life beneath them. He drew a few old and powerful summoning and confinement runes inside the gaps of his pentagram and took a step back.  

The blue light from the flames danced across his face, making his cheeks and eyes look hollow; he looked- and felt- every bit the dangerous warlock that he had the potential to be. 

Stiles quivered, overcome with the power coursing through his veins, and distantly registered someone talking to him. 

“-kay?” 

It was Allison- or Erica- definitely female, but Stiles was too far gone- lost in the electricity igniting his core. There was so much that he wanted to, so much that he could do, especially with the strength burning through him. 

Before he could get any further with that thought process, a gentle, maternal affection spread across his shoulders, dipping past his collarbones and warming something deep in his chest. 

The feeling was familiar, but he couldn’t distinguish whether it was Talia or his mom- maybe, both. Whoever it was, they brought him back from the line that he was dangerously toeing and he drew in a sharp breath of relief, muttering a brief thank you under his breath. 

“Stiles,” it was Derek this time and he turned to look at the alpha over his shoulder. Derek gave him a meaningful look, silently asking after him, and Stiles’ heart melted before he nodded. 

Derek searched his eyes for something, maybe a trace of a lie, but he didn’t find anything and nodded his approval, motioning for him to continue. 

Stiles bobbed his head sharply and planted his feet, rolling his shoulders before he clicked his fingers again, sparks shooting towards the pentagram. He dug his feet into the ground beneath him and shot a steady stream of lightning-like energy towards the centre of the pentagram. 

The lightbulbs and windows shattered, shards of glass raining down on them like sharpened diamonds, glittering in the light of Stiles’ magic. The warlock ignored the startled growls and shrieks from behind him, focusing wholeheartedly on the space in front of him. 

“I summon you, the bringer of pain and torture, the purveyor of war and conflict,” Stiles directed more magic towards the centre of the pentagram, cringing when the ground beneath it began to slowly open, pouring a violent, orange light into the room, drowing out the cool blue of his magic.

“I summon you, Wrath, the mother of anger and rage,” a roar ripped through the air and the ground beneath their feet shuddered angrily. 

Stiles felt the women of the Hale Pack flanking him, guarding him from what was to come, and his ancestral magic burned brighter, making his core vibrate with its power. He channeled it through his body and into the lightning streaming from his fingertips.  

“Come forth from your infernal plane and join me here in the mortal realm,” with an air of finality, he lifted his hands and a criss-cross of lightning bolts erected around the pentagram, but he kept feeding into it, a steady cascade of magic tumbling from his palms, giving them just that little more protection. 

A moment later, the ground shook again and when Stiles lifted his head, he was met with bright-orange, ember-like eyes and a body nearly two feet taller than his own. He felt tiny in front of her, like an ant crossing paths with a horse. 

“Who dares summon me?!” She roared, the volume of her voice making the very walls shake. The wolves behind him howled and covered their ears, he whined apologetically- hoping that they could hear him. 

There was a crackle as her claws dragged across her confines and Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief when they held up- Wrath looked almost impressed that they did. 

“Mieczysław Stilinski, 25th Generational Warlock from the Gajos Coven,” he announced. 

She hummed her acknowledgement and stared down at him with eyes full of infernal flame, lava dripping down her nose and scorching the floor beneath her. “Gajos. It’s been a while since one of you summoned my kind.” 

“Bartek Gajos was the last one during the Würzburg Witch Trial ,” Stiles recounted. “One of your kind decided to have some fun in Europe and nearly killed five generations of the Köhler Coven; not to mention the countless innocent lives that were lost.” 

Wrath didn’t hide the fact that she was impressed that time, giving him a toothy, demonic smile. “You know your stuff, Mieczysław.” 

Stiles simply shrugged his shoulders and gave her his own toothy grin. “I do my best.”

Wrath lifted her hand, her nails clinking together as she did, and poked at the lightning surrounding her, wincing and pulling away when she got shocked. “You’re a very powerful magic wielder.” 

“Wasting time,” Stiles gritted out, forcing more power into his cage when it flickered weakly- they didn’t have a lot of time left. “I summoned you for a reason.” 

“Yes, you always do,” she huffed. “No one ever summons me for a good time.” 

“I think the violence and bloodshed turns them off of you a bit,” Stiles snarked back and tried to ignore the orange tint that his lightning had taken on. She was slowly gaining control of the cage. 

“Go ahead then,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Ask what you need to.” 

Scott jumped in before Stiles could open his mouth. “There’s something terrorizing our town,” he explained. “It’s taken a lot of lives already. Did you send him to kill people or is he working alone?” 

Wrath hummed thoughtfully. “No and yes.” 

Stiles was shocked at her straightforwardness and it must’ve shown on his face because she smirked down at him. He ignored her and adjusted the position of his feet to give himself more stability, pushing further at the confines when they flashed from bright orange to cool blue and back again. 

She had more control than Stiles originally thought and he would need to use a lot more magic to keep her where she was. She smiled down at him, genuinely amazed, when he redirected one stream of magic to strengthen his confinement runes whilst the other kept funneling power into his criss-crossed lightning cage. 

Scott’s next question came soon after. “Why did Allison get marked?” 

The shock of it broke his concentration for a moment and the trap flickered dangerously but he hastily reinforced it. Although, it seemed that he wasn’t fast enough because a wave of anger crashed into him and latched onto his every insecurity, feeding the ball of rage that was always neatly tucked deep under the surface. 

He didn’t hear Wrath’s reply, too focused on breathing deeply. He closed his eyes and focused on his fear for the pack rather than the anger that she was encouraging. 

“How do we take the mark off someone?” Scott asked and Stiles felt a flare of heat flash up his spine, making his head spin with its intensity. 

He clenched his jaw tight enough that his teeth ground together, his tongue caught between his molar and a prick of pain shot through him, distracting enough that he didn’t snap at his best friend. 

“It can only be taken off when the marker dies,” Wrath explained and brushed her fingers over the cage again, this time letting the lightning curl around her fingers instead of pulling away. 

Stiles’ magic flashed orange for a moment and he felt a thrill of panic rush through him, hastily covering up the brief domination with a flourish. He wasn’t sure that he could hold her much longer-  his core was waning, getting dangerously close to being empty, and the warlock could feel the dizziness beginning to set in. 

He staggered slightly on his feet and shook his head, trying to dispel the vertigo, but it only made it worse. 

“Mieczysław Stilinski,” Derek’s voice floated into his ears, something that shouldn’t have been able to happen because of how quiet he was. It took Stiles a moment to realise that Derek was calling out to his magic , which was why he could hear him. 

Stiles tilted his head towards him, trying to focus on the sound of his voice rather than on the nausea that curled inside his stomach. He was so tired. 

“I open myself to you,” Derek muttered, a poetic cadence to his voice- Stiles distantly recognised that he was reciting a spell. “As your alpha, I give you my strength, my energy. I open myself to your magic. What's mine is yours.” 

There was a jolt deep within his chest as the all-encompassing feeling of Derek settled inside him. 

Behind him, Derek gasped as the warlock’s magic curled around him, doing as Derek offered and taking what he needed. Stiles wondered if his knees were as weak as his own. 

Suddenly, he felt revitalised, like a second wind had settled into him, and he channeled as much energy as he could into keeping Wrath contained. Although, he was conscious of Derek, careful to not take more than he needed. 

“How did the marked girls die?”

Stiles cut Wrath off before she could reply. “STOP ASKING USELESS QUESTIONS,” he bellowed, letting all the anger that had been building pour forward. He winced apologetically and drew in a deep breath, hating how his hands shook. 

“We don’t have a lot of time left,” Stiles whispered, sounding as weak as he felt, “and we don’t have a name.” 

The look that Wrath gave him was almost concerned. “A name?” 

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but found that he didn’t have the energy to. His knees buckled beneath him and he dropped to the floor on one knee, trying his best to keep his hold on Wrath. 

He just wanted to sleep.

“For the demon causing us grief,” Derek stepped forward, every bit the feral alpha with his bared teeth and wild, red eyes, and Stiles had never felt more grateful for him than he did in that moment. 

He was still sharing himself with Stiles’ magic, urging him to take more than he already had, but Stiles couldn’t, couldn’t leave Derek weak. They needed the alpha too much for that. 

“I know exactly who it is,” Wrath hissed. 

“So, tell us,” Derek snarled, leaving no room for argument, and Wrath smirked at him. 

“Xazrith.” 

Stiles smiled weakly and stared up at Wrath from under his lashes, sweat making his hair cling to his forehead and his shirt stick to his back. He sent a silent apology to Derek and drew on a considerable amount of his strength to send Wrath back to hell and close the portal. 

It was an uncoordinated attempt, barely making the right gestures with his lead-like limbs, and not as flamboyant as he would have liked. 

“I banish you- the bringer of pain and torture; the purveyor of war and conflict; Wrath; the mother of anger and rage- back to your infernal plane and away from my mortal realm,” Stiles croaked, his vision beginning to blacken at the edges and he wiggled his toes to keep it at bay.

There was a scream of rage and Stiles felt the ball of anger in his chest try to ignite again, but it was a poor attempt. Wrath was already back in her realm, where she belonged, and the thick, choking atmosphere that had settled in the warehouse slowly lifted, leaving everyone feeling lighter. 

“I had so much left to ask,” Scott snarled. 

The warlock stood, ignoring the vertigo that rushed through him, and blinked away the blackness at the edges of his vision. 

“I didn’t-” Stiles didn’t get to finish his sentence because everything went black and he crumpled like a marionette who’s strings had been severed.

Chapter Text

Watching Stiles’ eyes roll into the back of his head as his body went limp was something that Derek would be stuck with until his dying day. 

It was only thanks to enhanced reflexes that Derek was able to catch the warlock before his head hit the ground. The alpha cradled the back of his head, knelt on the floor next to him, and glanced up at Isaac with worried eyes when the beta stepped forward. 

“Is he-?” The question got stuck in his throat and Isaac gave a choked-off whimper. The fear that rolled off him stank and Derek tried not to curl his nose up. 

He shuddered at the implication of Isaac’s question and tried his best to ignore his own pang of alarm. “No,” he tilted his head towards Stiles’ chest and breathed out a sigh of relief when he heard the faint, barely-there thu-thump of his heart. “No.” 

Isaac let out a happy whine and reached a hand down to swipe the hair off Stiles’ forehead. “He’ll be okay?” 

Derek nodded and rose to his feet, tucking Stiles close to his chest as he did. “We need to get him home.” 

Everyone knew that home meant the Loft. 

“And phone Deaton,” Scott piped up, having the gall to sound worried. 

Derek growled dangerously, seething with anger, and his eyes flashed as he handed Stiles over to Isaac, certain that he would be in good hands with the beta. He stomped over to Scott and wrapped a hand around his throat, claws digging into his jugular as he lifted him off his feet. 

“This is your fault,” the alpha snarled dangerously, ignoring Allison’s yells of protest and Erica’s surprised yelp. 

Scott struggled against his grip, trying desperately to draw in a breath. “Derek,” he wheezed. 

“Stiles would be okay, if it wasn’t for your useless questions!” He tightened his grip on Scott’s throat, blood dripping past his nails and underneath Scott’s collar. 

“DEREK!” Erica roared when Scott began to genuinely struggle for air. 

That seemed to snap him out of his daze and he dropped the beta to the floor, leaving him in a pile of uncoordinated limbs. 

Derek towered over him, vibrating with anger, and fixed Scott with a gaze that made him stay down. "Stay away," he snarled, "or I won't be held liable for what I do." 

It was an empty threat, everyone knew that, what with the effects of Wrath's presence still lingered in the air. But, it was enough to make Scott bow his head in submission and follow the order. 

Derek grunted happily and turned on his heel. 

Isaac was standing just beyond the warehouse doors, leaning against the hood of the Camaro, and his arms were absent of Stiles’ body. Before Derek could protest, Isaac pointed to the backseat, where the warlock laid peacefully- looking far too weak and pale for the alpha’s liking. 

He needed to get him back to the Loft. There, he could look after him, protect him while he recovered. He could have the whole pack stay- there was enough room for them and he would feel a lot better with them all there; Stiles would too. 

It turned out that Derek didn’t need to ask. Erica and Boyd wordlessly entered the loft, growling their comfort at Stiles, and bumped their bodies into Derek’s in greeting. Derek did the same in response, smiling in thanks at them. 

After that, they worked as a pack to make sure that the Loft was safe and comfortable for the warlock. 

Isaac called Deaton to arrange for him to come give Stiles a once-over and diagnose him with whatever magical malady he was suffering with. 

Erica shuffled around upstairs, grabbing mountains of soft blankets and Derek’s old shirts to make a nest for Stiles. 

Boyd did a patrol around the building, checking every exit and entrance for anything out of place, only returning when he deemed it safe enough.

Derek just sat, holding Stiles protectively and growling comfortingly at him whenever his brow pinched. His hand was wrapped tightly around his wrist, black veins spiraling up his arms as he leeched whatever physical pain Stiles was feeling. 

It wasn’t until Erica came downstairs and placed a soothing hand on his arm that he realised that it was time to sleep. It had been such a long day and the days that followed would undoubtedly be longer.

Erica and Boyd set up in one of the many spare bedrooms whilst Isaac and Derek chose to stay with Stiles; Derek sleeping in full shift at the warlock’s feet whilst Isaac curled up on the couch cushions on the floor- still there from the night before. 

He wasn’t sure when Isaac and Stiles had grown as close as they were, but he was glad that it happened.

He knew that, even with the circumstances and Stiles in a near-comatose state, it still felt right - and he wasn’t the only one that thought so. 

The wolf growled its approval with a mantra of Pack.Mate.Mine.Together.Safe and Derek allowed himself to drift into a light sleep. 

A noise from outside the bedroom door woke Derek from his sleep and he blinked blearily, staring around the room with a reddened gaze. In the blink of an eye, he situated himself over Stiles’ body, the bulk of his fur covering the warlock, and growled threateningly, the sound rumbling through his chest. 

The door creaked open and Derek bared his teeth- bowing low, ready to pounce, and snarling in warning. It wasn’t until Isaac’s scent hit him that he calmed down. The beta rolled his eyes and walked over to the large wolf, knocking his shoulder into the alpha’s flank. 

“I went to pee,” Isaac muttered before curling up on the cushions on the floor and promptly falling asleep again.

Derek followed in suit, curling up at Stiles’ feet again, resting his chin on the warlock’s thigh. He smiled, as well as he could in full shift, when Stiles unconsciously wormed his way closer to the alpha’s warmth. It wasn’t long until he was asleep again, lulled to a calm sleep by Stiles’ scent and the sound of his heart. 

When Derek woke again, it was to the sun streaming in through the gaps in the curtains and Isaac snoring up a storm. 

The alpha snorted in amusement and uncurled from around Stiles, jumping down off the bed with his hindlegs still on the mattress whilst his forelegs stretched as far as they could. Derek let out a huff of satisfaction when his muscles stretched out and jumped off the bed. He padded over to Isaac, snuffling in his hair for a moment before he proceeded to stick his cold, wet nose in the beta’s ear. 

Isaac jolted in surprise and shot out of bed, crouching at the foot of the bed and scanning the room for potential threats. When his gold eyes landed on Derek, curled up on the floor, huffing in amusement, he scowled and bared his teeth. 

“What the hell, Derek?!” 

The alpha shifted back. “Wake up call,” he grunted out and rose to his feet, making Isaac avert his gaze to avoid an eyeful of his unmentionables. 

When they were both dressed, they wandered downstairs and towards the kitchen- Derek taking charge to make eggs and bacon for breakfast. 

“Deaton’s getting here at ten,” Isaac muttered, digging through the cupboards to find some plates. 

Derek glanced down at his watch. It was just past nine. They had an hour. 

The alpha dished up four plates, leaving two of them in the oven to keep warm for when Erica and Boyd decided to join them. He and Isaac sat down at the table, eating in silence, both too worried and tired to do much else. 

Deaton’s arrival was much anticipated, and when he turned up exactly an hour later, Isaac nearly ripped the door off its hinges in his haste to get it open. 

“Well, that’s certainly an enthusiastic greeting,” Deaton pushed past the frenzied beta and shared a brief, questioning look with Derek before the alpha moved towards the stairs, making sure that Deaton was following him as he did. 

The druid pushed into the room and sucked in a sharp breath when he saw Stiles. 

The warlock’s eyes were shut, his dark eyelashes fanning across thin, too-pale cheeks, and he was almost statue-esque in his stillness. The only sign of him being alive was the soft rise and fall of his chest. His skin was clammy and cold to the touch; he looked like a living corpse- smelt like one too- and it made Derek feel sick, yearning to do something to help his mate. 

“How long has he been like this?” Deaton asked. 

“Since last night, we called you as soon as he passed out.” Isaac responded and the alpha found himself feeling grateful for the beta’s presence, unable to get the words out for himself. 

Deaton hummed thoughtfully and settled his bag down on the floor, rifling through it for a moment. “He’s used too much magic.” 

“But, he wasn’t like this last time,” the beta protested. “Last time he just slept it off and did some ritual afterwards, right?” 

The druid gave him a soft look. “This is different. Stiles has used all of his magic. His store is completely depleted. So, this,” he gestured to the warlock’s catatonic state, “is his magic’s way of restoring itself. We need to give it something else to feed on, or it will continue to eat away at him until there is nothing left.” 

Derek whined low in his throat, scared for his mate, and Deaton gave him a comforting look. “What can we do?” 

Deaton turned to the alpha and laid a clear crystal in his palm- it looked like the one that Stiles used the night of his energy replenishment. “Keep this on the centre of his forehead,” he dug a tall, yellow candle, covered in runes, out of his bag, and handed it to Isaac. “Keep this burning, at all costs. The combination of both will give his magic other energies to draw on.” 

“How long do we need to do it for?” Isaac quizzed, nudging Derek softly to get his attention, but the alpha was moving on autopilot, prepared to do whatever was necessary to nurse Stiles back to health. 

“Until he wakes,” Deaton gave them a small bag, it smelt odd- almost minty- and Derek took it with shaking fingers. “This is yerba mate, a south american herb- best used for tea infusions. It’s rich in caffeine and is known widely to boost energy. When he wakes, make him drink this every day. For it to work best, keep the clear quartz on his forehead when he does.” 

Derek committed the instructions, vowing to keep Stiles healthy and do everything that Deaton had told them to. He wouldn’t sleep until Stiles woke up again. As long as his mate was like this, he would watch over him and protect him until he was well again. 

Derek stayed true to his word, staying vigilant at Stiles’ bedside, using every trick in his arsenal to keep himself awake. He’d drunk enough coffee to put an entire coffee house out of business and was buzzing with restless energy, knee bouncing as he perched on a chair next to Stiles. 

Three days later, the warlock was still unconscious, perfectly still on his back with the crystal balanced on his forehead and the yellow candle alight on the table next to him. Derek felt a swell in his heart every time the flame flickered blue as Stiles unconsciously drew on its energy. The crystal on his head did the same, glowing faintly with the warlock’s magic. 

Derek could hear his heartbeat getting stronger and felt relief flood through him with every steady beat. It wouldn’t be long until he was awake again. Awake and strong. 

Isaac still slept on the floor at the foot of the bed, refusing to take one of the other rooms until Stiles was awake again, and Derek didn’t blame him. He still forced Derek to eat and take showers, under the promise that he would yell if there were any developments. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Isaac’s voice floated up from downstairs and Derek perked up, head tilted towards the door to hear them better. 

“He’s my best friend, I have every right to be here.” 

Scott. 

Derek let out an unconscious growl and rose to his feet, moving towards the door with slow and steady strides. 

“It’s your fault that he’s like this,” Isaac hissed. “If you hadn’t asked irrelevant questions, then Stiles wouldn’t be in the state that he is.” 

Scott had pushed past Isaac and was moving through the loft to Derek’s bedroom, despite Isaac trying his hardest to stop him. 

Derek felt a brief thrill of fondness for his beta and made a mental note to get him something as a thank you. 

“Scott,” Derek ground out, eyes red and fangs descended. “What do you want?” 

“I’m here to see how Stiles is doing,” the beta replied, tilting his jaw upwards in defiance. 

“Isaac was right,” the alpha snarled, glancing over Scott’s shoulder at the teen. “If you weren’t asking stupid questions about Allison-” 

Scott cut him off. “She’s my girlfriend and I’m in love with her. I don’t see why you’re so angry.” 

Derek stalked towards him, shoulders squared in fury, and wrapped a hand around his throat, throwing the beta against the wall before crowding him against it, claws digging into his throat. “You put my mate in danger for some high school fling!” The alpha roared, inches from Scott’s face, relishing in the look of surprise that flitted through the beta’s eyes. 

“She’s nothing in the long run! Stiles is everything to me! He’s my mate, my second-in-command, your Lune . Do you understand what would have happened to me, if he had died?! Do you understand now, why I’m so angry?!” 

Scott spluttered in surprise. “I didn’t know.” 

“I did,” a weak voice sounded from over Derek’s shoulder and he dropped Scott in his haste to get to Stiles’ side. 

The warlock winced as he tried to move into a seated position and Derek whined in protest, slipping his arms under Stiles’ body to move him. He squeezed his arm in thanks and gave him a soft smile. 

“What do you mean?” Scott whispered and slowly approached Stiles’ side, throwing an apologetic look at Derek, baring his throat in submission. 

He nodded his acceptance- their fight was over. 

Stiles motioned for his jacket, hanging on the back of the door. “Inside pocket,” he rasped. 

The alpha left his side for a moment to rummage through the pockets, coming back with a crisp envelope that had Stiles’ birth name scrawled across the front. “This?” 

Stiles nodded. “Read it,” when Derek began to read silently, Stiles hit him weakly. “Out loud, idiot.” 

Derek flashed his red eyes and felt a pang of relief and fondness when Stiles did the same, the colour slightly less bright than normal, but still there. 

The alpha began to read aloud and Stiles just listened to the sound of his voice, already knowing the contents of the letter word-for-word after having read it nightly for the past few weeks. 

Stiles listened to all the gasps and whimpers that Derek made, heart swelling at the minute reactions from him, and committed each one to memory, filling them away in a neat box named “ Derek” . 

“Stiles,” he breathed when he was finished, unsure what else to say. 

“I know,” the warlock replied, a perfect parallel of their conversation the night before summoning Wrath, and reached across the short distance between them to grab Derek’s hand. 

He squeezed it softly and gave the alpha a meaningful look before turning to face Scott. “You’re an idiot,” he hissed, “but you’re my best friend- so you’ve gotta be some kind of stupid to keep up with me.” 

“I’m sorry,” he whined and bowed his head apologetically. Everyone knew what it was for. 

Stiles flashed his warlock eyes at the beta, making him whine in submission. “What you did was dangerous and reckless; not to mention selfish and ignorant. Summoning Wrath was taxing enough, Scott, and prolonging the conversation by asking idiotic things about Allison just made me weaker. I gave you an order to stay in the back and protect me, and you disobeyed it. You need to start listening to me." 

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, bottom lip quivering.

The warlock sighed and gave Scott a short, comforting hug. "I forgive you, but if you pull that shit again, I will curse you to kingdom come.” 

"Okay," Scott murmured and fiddled with his fingers, "I really am sorry." 

"I know."

They shared a meaningful look for a second and they both nodded in acceptance. Scott had been forgiven, but he was on thin ice and needed to do a lot of grovelling to truly make up for the stunt that he pulled. 

There was shuffling from the doorway and a soft whine before Stiles gestured towards Isaac and, moments later, had an armful of a six-foot beta. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Isaac muttered, snuffling at his hair. 

Stiles snorted and shoved him away. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Stiles, despite having been unconscious for three days, was exhausted and slept most of the week away; other than to eat raisins and graham crackers- that Scott brought him as a way of apologising- and drink the yerba mate that Deaton had prescribed him. 

Derek had made sure that he had the required sustenance, sitting vigilant at his bedside, watching him eat until the warlock finished off his food. It was both endearing and off putting. But, Stiles would be lying if he said that he minded. 

Seeing the domestic side of the alpha, the side that cared about people and looked after them, was something that Stiles wanted to get intimately acquainted with. It was one of the first things that made the warlock fall in love with him. 

That and his inherent ability to scare the ever-living shit out of Stiles, regardless of location or circumstances. 

Like now, when Stiles woke up, for the second time that day, and was Derek at his side. The alpha was wide awake with bloodshot eyes and quivering fingers, likely a side effect of his excessive caffeine consumption. 

The warlock jolted in shock and blinked rapidly. “Do you watch everyone sleep?” He snarked, voice rough. 

Derek growled his disapproval and shook his head.

Stiles grinned, all teeth, and shuffled up the bed slightly before looking at Derek with calculating eyes. “Have you slept?” There was a grunt of disagreement and Stiles scoffed. “ So expressive. Will you sleep?” 

“No.” 

The warlock rolled his eyes and flailed wildly in frustration before turning to Derek with an unimpressed look. “Erica and Boyd are downstairs. Isaac is asleep at the bottom of the bed. Scott is lurking outside the loft and Allison is perched two buildings over, with her bow. My dad drives past, periodically every three hours, and you haven’t slept in over a week because you don’t trust your pack to look after me.” 

Derek shook his head. “That’s not it.” 

“Then, what?” Stiles argued, crossing his arms over his chest. The werewolf gave a soft whine, averting his gaze and the pieces slotted together inside his mind. “The last time you left a pack alone, they died.” 

Derek whined again, this time sounding pained, and when he lifted his head there were tears in his eyes. “I can’t lose you.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes, although his heart lurched inside his chest at the display of emotion, and reached across the bed, grabbing Derek’s hand with surprising strength. “I’m not going anywhere. Nor are Isaac, Erica or Boyd. Hell, even Scott wants to stick around and you’ve threatened to kill him more than you’ve threatened to kill me.” 

Derek huffed out an amused noise and shook his head. “That’s saying something.” 

Stiles gestured violently. “Exactly! So, you can take a moment to sleep, Derek. We aren’t going anywhere, I promise,” he shuffled over, giving Derek enough room to lay down next to him, and patted the now-empty space.

The alpha looked hesitant and huffed in exasperation before rising to his feet. Stiles made a triumphant noise and punched the air, immediately curling up to him as soon as he’d gotten under the covers. 

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered and it wasn’t long before the both of them were asleep again- Derek curled protectively around Stiles, pulling the warlock close to his chest and tucking his head under his chin. Stiles had never felt safer. 

When Stiles woke up he felt a million times better; energy that he didn’t have at the start of the week now sparking inside his core. It was like he was back to his normal self- the days of eat.drink.sleep.repeat actually doing something to revitalise him; the doctors were right after all, everything could be cured with rest. 

The warlock tore away from his thoughts and glanced to his right. Derek was still asleep next to him and he ignored the pang of fondness in his heart, but took a moment to commit the alpha’s face to memory. 

He looked so peaceful like this, calm and tranquil in a way that he never was when he was awake. His lips were parted, soft breaths coming from between them, and Stiles near-melted at the quiet, little snores that followed. 

His hands were settled on Stiles’ waist, fingers softly grasping at his hips whenever he nosed at his throat. Their legs were tangled together and Derek was plastered against his back, his warmth bleeding into the warlock’s skin even through the layers of fabric separating them. 

Stiles took a moment, just to relish in the serenity of the atmosphere. The sun had barely risen yet and the warlock had a perfect view of the sunrise from the window, a beautiful kaleidoscope of deep oranges and warm yellows. 

When he’d finished with his moment of silence, the warlock’s other senses kicked in and he realised that he stank ; of B.O and death- or what he imagined death to smell like, at least. 

He needed a shower and Derek becoming a leech would not stop him. 

Despite the alpha’s protesting, Stiles managed to worm his way out of Derek’s death grip and replaced his body with the pillow that he’d been sleeping on. Derek didn’t seem to have any complaints because he simply plunged his nose into the pillow and gripped it tightly. 

“Were-octopus,” Stiles fondly shook his head and stood up, stretching out his limbs after a week of being bed-ridden. 

He couldn’t wait to get under the spray of the shower; despite its age, the loft’s water pressure was amazing and it would feel even better on Stiles’ tightened, knotted muscles. 

The warlock crept around the room on unsteady legs- a week in bed would do that to you- and slipped out the door, proud of himself for not waking up Isaac or Derek in the process. 

Finding the bathroom was easy, Stiles spent more time here than he did at his own house.

He rummaged through the linen closet for a moment before resurfacing with a towel, flicking his wrist half-heartedly towards the shower, blue-white tendrils wrapping around the temperature gage. He smiled when it clicked on at the perfect temperature, and gave a giddy laugh at the fact that he was able to do magic again without passing out- he was definitely better. 

Deaton’s tea had obviously been working correctly. He felt invigorated, full of life- a direct contrast to this time last week. 

It was great. He felt like himself again. 

He cast the thoughts from his head and let his mind fall silent as he let the water and heat iron out some of the kinks in his muscles, unabashedly groaning out his pleasure at the relief. He stood there for a moment, simply letting the water wash over him and soothe his tightened muscles. 

It was exactly what he needed, that and a wash. He was still heavily aware of the grime and smelliness clinging to his skin and he was desperate to scrub it away. Without really looking, he just reached down and grabbed one of the many shampoos that cluttered Derek’s shower, squirting some into the palm of his hand before rubbing it through his disgustingly greasy hair. 

Watching the suds disappear down the drain gave Stiles an odd feeling of relief, knowing that he was one step closer to looking- and smelling- like himself again and not some dirty, half-dead shell. 

The rest of the shower passed in a similar fashion: soap, wash, rinse, watch suds disappear down the strain, feel relieved. 

It wasn’t long before he was shutting the shower off and stepping out onto the bathmat. He wrapped a towel around his waist whilst he grabbed a second to dry his hair with, opening the bathroom door with a flick of his wrist. He wandered through the corridors back to Derek’s room and yelped in surprise when he was shoved against the wall beside the door. 

“Uh, Der, you okay?” He asked, tilting his head slightly when the alpha plunged his nose into Stiles’ neck and inhaled sharply. 

“Smell like me,” Derek said, more of a growl than anything else, and rubbed his cheek against Stiles’ before he pulled away, pupils blown wide with nothing more than a thin ring of red around the edges. 

“I do?” The warlock thought back to his shower and made a noise of recognition, realising that he’d felt so drawn to those particular soaps and shampoos because they were Derek’s. “I didn’t realise, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise,” he left no room for argument and it was then that Stiles registered, somewhere in the depths of his mind, that the alpha liked that he smelt like him. 

This was a mate thing. 

“As much as I’m liking this,” Stiles said, voice catching in his throat for a moment as he tried to swallow down the desire that threatened to bubble out, “I’m not wearing any clothes.” 

Derek glanced down, seemingly only just noticing that the warlock was in nothing but a towel, and growled low in his throat- not a normal growl, more of a pleased rumble. Stiles swallowed thickly and glanced down at Derek’s hand when he began to drag a nail down his chest, inching dangerously close to the edge of the towel. 

They maintained eye contact, Derek with that stupid, knowing smirk and Stiles with glassy, needy eyes. 

“Derek,” he croaked out when Derek’s fingers ghosted over the edge of the towel, the muscles in his abdomen quivering with need. He felt weak and shaky, but in a good way- like Derek had reduced him to a ball of whimpering hunger. 

A flash of heat shot down his spine when Derek took a step closer, fingers dipping just underneath the towel, almost threatening to rip it off. Stiles tilted his head back against the wall and clenched his fists at his sides, breathing heavily. 

Derek lent down, his breath ghosting over Stiles’ lips, and the warlock’s heart did somersaults inside his chest. This was it, the years of tension finally coming to a head. 

But, there was a sharp knock at the door; Derek roared in anger and every light in the room exploded. 

“YOU HAVE THE WORST TIMING, ERICA!” Derek howled and stormed over to the door, nearly ripping it from its hinges when he tore it open. “What?” 

Erica smirked, noticing how Derek had positioned himself between her and Stiles, so she couldn’t see him. She didn’t need to though, he smelt delicious and she knew exactly what had been happening before she interrupted. 

“Isaac wants us to have a pack breakfast before we all go home again.” 

It hadn’t yet been mentioned, but it was inevitable. Today would be their last day staying in the loft as a whole pack. Erica and Boyd were leaving after lunch to visit Erica’s grandparents upstate. 

“We’ll be down in a second,” Derek ground out and slammed the door in her face. 

Stiles arched an eyebrow at him. “That was rude,” he walked further into the room and dug through Derek’s closet to find one of the alpha’s shirts before he pulled on a pair of his own jeans from the bottom drawer of the dresser. 

“I don’t care,” the alpha huffed and dropped down on the bed, watching Stiles get dressed with hungry eyes. 

Stiles mockingly barked at him and threw his towel over Derek’s head. “Down boy.” 

“If you wanted that to happen,” Derek said, sounding barely restrained, “you shouldn’t have thrown the towel.” 

The warlock drew in a sharp breath through his teeth and scarpered out of the bedroom, yelling over his shoulder to Derek. “Sorry, Sourwolf! Maybe next time.” 

Two days later, he, Derek and Isaac were the only ones left in the loft- but Isaac didn’t count because he lived there anyway. It was over dinner that the inevitable conversation came up. 

“I should think about going home soon,” Stiles said, after swallowing down a mouthful of rice. 

Derek froze and Isaac choked on a laugh. “What?” 

The warlock rolled his eyes at him. “Shut it,” he hissed. “I haven’t seen my dad in over a week. I miss him.” 

Derek got a look of clarity in his eyes and he ducked his head sheepishly, letting out a whimper of guilt. “You’re right.” 

“Hey,” Stiles’ voice was soft, “I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t want to, but it’s time for me to go home.” 

The alpha made a noise, like he’d been punched, and Stiles understood that to mean: but, you are home . 

“I know,” he whispered in response, “I know.” 

The next morning, Stiles turned up at his front door and was greeted with an armful of his father. 

“Where have you been?!” Noah yelled, right in Stiles’ ear and the warlock recoiled. 

“I’d love to tell you, but I can’t hear,” he snarked and yelped when his dad smacked the back of his head. “Did you not-”

Noah cut him off. “Of course I knew, I came to see you. But, a visit when you were awake would’ve been nice. Even a phone call.” 

“That’s not his fault, Sheriff,” Derek piped up from behind Stiles, looking and sounding a lot braver than Stiles was. “I kept him in bed and made him rest. He was in bad shape.” 

He seemed to soften at that and nodded his acceptance. “I would’ve done the same.” 

Derek gave a nod of his own before taking a step back. “I’ve been stuck with him for a week, so I’m glad to be able to give him back.” 

Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to know that it was a lie, but he still squawked in disbelief. “Ouch!” 

“He isn’t the only one to say it,” there was a fondness in his dad’s voice and he turned his indignant gaze on the Sheriff. 

“You know what-?” Stiles cut himself off with a growl of frustration and crossed his arms over his chest. “Forget it.” 

Noah shook his head affectionately and gestured inside. “There’s waffles on the counter.” 

Stiles glanced at Derek, almost asking for permission, and gave a warm smile when the alpha nodded before darting inside. 

The sheriff lingered for a moment. “Thank you, for looking after my son.” 

“He’s my-” Derek cut himself off, knowing that the sheriff already knew what Stiles was to him. “He’s Stiles.” 

Noah nodded in understanding. “Yeah, but thank you anyway,” he turned away, reaching for the door handle, but froze and glanced over his shoulder. “Get some sleep, son. You look like me after a night shift.” 

The corner of Derek’s lip twitched upwards, but didn’t say anything as he turned on his heel and jumped into the Camaro, pulling out of the driveway despite everything in him wanting to stay. 

Stiles had been home for two days before Derek tumbled gracefully through his window. 

The warlock, who had been peacefully working on his schoolwork, turned in his desk chair to greet him. 

"Did you miss me?" Stiles teased and cocked his head, brow furrowed when Derek didn't respond. "You're quieter than normal, everything okay?" 

Stiles felt a jolt of fear in his chest and immediately reached for his phone, wondering if he'd missed something. 

He felt overwhelming relief when there were no 911s . 

But, that didn't explain why Derek was in his room at a half after midnight, lingering in the corner like he was restraining himself from something. 

"You okay there, bud?" Stiles teased and rose to his feet, heading over to shut his bedroom door.

He didn't get that far because the alpha crossed the room with quick, long strides and seized his wrists, using their momentum to pin him against the wall. 

Stiles gasped, trying to shove down the spike of arousal, and glanced up at him through his lashes, blinking rapidly in surprise. 

He was breathless when he spoke. "Bit close there." 

Derek huffed in response. "You weren't at the loft." 

Stiles shook his head. "Yeah because I was here."

"No," the alpha growled out, eyes flashing red and Stiles mimicked the action in challenge. Derek trilled happily, the sound rumbling up through his chest. 

"You should be there. With the pack. With me," he admitted and Stiles recoiled in shock, jaw dropping open. 

"What?" He said dumbly, unable to summon up a coherent response. 

"You're mine," Derek whispered in a display of wolf-like possessiveness and Stiles found that he didn't mind it. 

"Yeah," he breathed out, finally noticing how close the alpha was. He could feel his warmth, even through their layers of clothes, and Derek's thigh was planted firmly between his legs whilst rough, calloused hands pinned his hands by his sides. 

"All yours." 

That was all that was needed for the ever-building tension between them to explode. 

Derek surged forward, hands releasing Stiles' wrists to cradle his face, and crashed their lips together. Stiles gasped into his mouth and took a moment to get his brain online to kiss back. 

The slide of their lips together was delicious, slick and warm and perfect. Derek's stubble scratched against his cheek and the warlock whimpered at the sensation, trying to push closer. 

Derek snarled into his mouth and dropped a hand to pin Stiles' hips against the wall. "Still," he ordered and, for once, Stiles obeyed. 

The alpha growled his praise and pulled the both of them away from the wall, guiding them towards the bed. The warlock flicked his fingers towards the door, shutting it with his magic, and giggled when he was shoved down into the bed, their lips disconnecting for a moment. 

Derek followed him, crowding him into the mattress, and Stiles reached up to pull him further down, their faces inches apart, breath ghosting across each other's lips. They were close enough that Stiles could see that there was a little bit of blue in the green of Derek’s eyes.  

Derek didn't kiss him again though, just buried his nose in Stiles' throat and inhaled deeply. 

"You smell amazing," he rumbled into the skin. "Smell like me, like mine. Smell like sex . Smell so good." 

"Derek," the warlock gasped, squirming at the praise and feeling slightly embarrassed at how aroused those simple words made him. "Yours. Only yours." 

The alpha slipped his hands under Stiles' shirt and dragged his claws lightly down his stomach, grinning when the muscles quivered beneath his touch. 

"So pretty. Mate," he chirped, pupils blown wide with adoration. 

"Mate," Stiles parotted, breathless with the intensity of his feelings, wondering when the all-encompassing feeling of Derek had rooted itself this deep inside him. 

"I'll make you mine," Derek promised. 

“But, not today?” Stiles prompted, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading. 

The alpha made a noise of disapproval when Stiles’ scent soured with sadness and trilled in comfort before leaning down to bump their noses together. “But, not today.”

The softness with which Derek handled Stiles made the warlock’s heart swell until it was fit to burst. It was an uncharacteristic display of emotion, but it made Stiles fall even more in love with the alpha- if that were even possible. 

Stiles hoped, one day, that Derek would catch him and he finally had. But now, they were falling together and he wasn’t so scared anymore.

Chapter Text

“Okay,” Stiles dropped down onto the nest of pillows and blankets and immediately curled up against Derek’s side, grinning when the alpha wrapped his arm around him and pulled him closer. “We’re going in chronological order.” 

“I still can’t believe that you’ve never watched Star Wars,” Isaac muttered, from his place curled up behind Stiles. 

Scott groaned and buried his head in a pillow. “It’s not my fault.” 

“Yeah, it is,” Erica piped up, peeping her head out from behind Boyd.

“You don’t really have an excuse. You’ve had plenty of time to watch it,” Allison giggled, her head in Scott’s lap. 

Scott groaned again and waved towards the TV. “Just play the damn film.” 

Stiles grinned and did as he was told before snuggling further into Derek’s side, stealing handfuls of popcorn from the bucket balanced on the alpha’s lap. When the opening credits started, the warlock squeaked and wriggled in excitement, feeling warmth flood through him at the affectionate chuckle that rumbled through Derek’s chest. 

He tried to concentrate on the film, but he found himself getting lost in his thoughts. Mainly, these days, he thought about him and Derek. If you’d told him, two years ago, that the grumpy, somewhat scary, emotionally constipated werewolf would one day be curled up with him in front of their pack, he’d have called you crazy. But, regardless, it still felt right, to be wrapped in Derek’s arms, pressed close to his side whilst the rest of the pack curled up around them. 

When they’d come into the loft, the day after their first kiss, the pack had already known- likely scenting Derek on Stiles, and vice versa- and they hadn’t said anything, just moved on with what they were doing as if nothing had changed. Stiles supposed that it hadn’t- he and Derek had been toeing the line of something more for a while now. It was just a natural, inevitable development to cross that line. 

“You okay?” Derek murmured, careful not to disturb the others, and dropped his nose into Stiles’ hair. “You smell happy; sweet and warm. Where’d you go?” 

“Just thinking about the pack,” Stiles whispered back, glancing over at Isaac when the beta made a soft noise of contentment. “I never thought I’d be here, basically running things alongside you. I never thought you’d notice me, let alone accept me into the pack- any of you.” 

“I always noticed you,” the alpha admitted. “Knew you were pack when I first saw you, knew you were my mate when I first met you.” 

The warlock thought back to the letter that his mother had written to him, detailing Derek’s first encounter with him, and felt his insides warm even further. “Do you ever think that it’s crazy? How far we’ve come?” 

“No,” Derek shook his head and looked around at the pack, all of them comfortable, at peace and happy. “I think we were always meant to get here. You were always meant to be our Lune, my second-in-command. We just took the long road.” 

Stiles nodded his agreement and fell silent, reaching his foot out behind him to softly kick at Isaac’s shoulder. The beta whined and leaned his shoulders back to bump Stiles’ ankle. 

Derek, for once, was right. They were always meant to be here, closer than close- they were more than just a pack, they were family too and Stiles had never been more glad to have them. 

Halfway through their marathon, Stiles received a phone call. His dad’s name flashed up on the screen and he ducked into the kitchen, hastening to answer the call. 

“Dad, are you okay?” 

There was a tired sigh from the other end of the phone. “ Another body has turned up and it’s bad. Worse than the last. ” 

Stiles sagged against the counter and let out a pained noise. “How bad are we talking? Child’s Play or Saw?” 

It was a weak attempt at making his dad laugh, and fell remarkably short, but he tried and that was what counted. 

“ It was one of ours, ” Noah admitted. “ The ME had to use his dental records to identify him .” 

Stiles choked on an inhale, a flash of disturbing imagery flashing through his mind, and he shuddered in disgust, but ultimately felt sad.  “Do you want me to take a look?” He offered, voice soft and calm, despite the anger coursing through his veins. He could feel his magic thrumming underneath his skin and the light above his head flickered dangerously. 

Noah sighed heavily again, distracting Stiles momentarily, and he knew that he had reached for the bottle of whiskey that he kept hidden in the glovebox. “ Do you need to? ” 

The warlock thought for a moment, nibbling intently on the inside of his cheek. “I know who did it,” a bright, burning anger settled in his chest and he sucked in a harsh breath, “and they’ll pay.”

“ Okay, could you drop by the station on your way home? ” 

Stiles made a soft noise in the back of his throat. “I’m staying at Derek’s tonight, but I’m sure that a couple of hours away won’t hurt. They won’t miss me too much.” 

“ Thanks, bud. I’m sorry to tear you away. ”

Stiles made an admonishing sound. “No, you need me more than they do. I’ll bring takeout.” 

Without letting his dad reply, the warlock ended the call and shoved his phone into his back pocket. He wandered back into the living room and stood a few feet away from the blanket that they were all curled up on. 

He shifted from one foot to the other and blinked rapidly in surprise when Derek appeared in front of him. 

“How do you move so fast?” He asked weakly and Derek cocked his head to the side, staring at him with a calculating look. 

“Is your dad okay?”

Stiles sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, but you heard what he said,” Derek nodded in confirmation, “then you know that he probably isn't.” 

The alpha made a noise of understanding and nodded towards the door. “Go, we’ll be fine. A couple of hours away won’t hurt,” Derek repeated Stiles’ words in an attempt to make the warlock smile and it worked. 

“Okay,” Stiles tipped forward and nudged his cheek against Derek’s as a farewell before grabbing his keys and scurrying out of the loft. 

The drive to the station passed quicker than he thought, even with stopping to get food, but by the time he walked in through the front door, he knew that he was too late. 

Stiles sighed laboriously and smiled sadly at the officer, Lucy, on the front desk. “How bad is it?” 

“We managed to take the bottle off him,” she explained, “but he wasn’t happy about it. Klein is nursing a black eye in the lunchroom.” 

“Shit,” Stiles breathed. “Is he okay?” 

Lucy nodded. “Yeah, he knows that Sheriff didn’t mean it. He grew up with an alcoholic brother, but they got him into a rehab centre. Anyway, we’ve locked him in his office, I think he’s sleeping at the moment.” 

The warlock nodded in thanks, trying to hide the worried pinch of his eyebrow, and reached into the fast food bag, pulling out a chocolate chip cookie. “Have this.” 

She took it with a smile and squeezed his wrist. “He’ll be okay, Stiles.”  

Stiles sighed again, feeling much older than he felt. “I know, just wish that he didn’t do this to himself.” 

“Everyone has their own way of coping with hardship, you’ve just got to show him that there are other ways than drinking himself silly.”

Stiles sighed, something that seemed to be his specialty this evening, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I wish it was that easy,” he muttered and gave a half-hearted wave before taking the familiar route to his dad’s office. 

He sent a spark of magic towards the lock and smiled when the door slowly swung inwards. His dad was in there, as promised, laying on the sofa with his arm thrown over his eyes. His chest was slowly rising and falling, a sign that he was asleep, and there was an empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor beside him. 

Stiles' heart clenched painfully, his body feeling heavy with sadness, and he crouched in front of the sofa, placing a gentle hand on his dad’s shoulder before shaking him lightly to wake him up. 

Noah took a moment to come to, grumbling intelligibly under his breath, but his eyes slowly blinked open and he looked at his son with a glassy gaze- a clear sign that he was still drunk. 

“How you doing, dad?” Stiles whispered, frowning when his dad blinked at him in confusion. “Come on,” he got an arm behind his back and coaxed him into a seated position before pulling him to his feet. “Let’s get you home.” 

Stiles led his dad from the station and into the passenger seat of the jeep, guiding him with soft gestures. He’d barely opened his door before Noah was asleep again, head resting against the window. Stiles let out a pained noise and began to drive home, going as slow as he could, careful not to wake his dad before he was ready. 

When they pulled up outside the house, Noah jolted awake and squinted at Stiles when he guided him out of the jeep, towards the front door. It took a few attempts to hold his dad upright and unlock the door, but he got there eventually. 

Stiles chucked his keys on the side table and led his dad up the stairs to his room, tipping him onto the bed with a relieved huff. Noah settled back against the pillows and was already closing his eyes as Stiles unlaced his shoes. 

He was moving on autopilot as he set Noah’s shoes at the foot of the bed and wandered through the house, collecting a glass of water and some Advil from the kitchen before returning to his dad’s room. 

Noah was out like a light as he pushed into the room and he simply set the glass and pills down on the bedside table before grabbing a blanket from the closet. He draped it over his dad to protect him from the cold and walked out again, turning off the light and closing the door behind him. 

He leant against it, feeling weighted and hopeless, and squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that gathered. It had been so long since Stiles had seen his dad in such a state, since Noah had gotten that drunk, and it hurt to see him succumb to his addiction when Stiles was so certain that they had kicked it. 

But, everyone had bad days and that was okay. His dad would be okay. 

His phone began to buzz insistently and Stiles fished around his pocket for a moment before swiping the screen to answer the call. “Hey.” 

“ Are you okay? ” Came the gruff reply and Stiles’ heart warmed just a touch at the familiar safety of Derek’s baritone voice. 

He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he lied, knowing Derek wouldn’t know any better over the phone, “Dad’s sleeping at the moment.” 

There was a beat of silence, where Stiles was certain that the alpha had raised a single, impressive eyebrow in disbelief. “ You’re not coming back tonight, are you? ” 

Stiles shook his head, until he realised that Derek couldn’t see him, and facepalmed before giving a verbal reply. “Someone has to be here to look after him.” 

“ I understand, ” Derek muttered and there was the sound of movement from the other end of the line, like he was shuffling clothes around. “ Call me if you need anything, okay? ” 

The warlock exhaled sharply. “Yeah, I will.” 

He did need something; he needed Derek here, for comfort and company. But, he wasn’t about to admit that. Part of him knew that he needed to reach out to Derek and talk, but he wasn’t feeling particularly chatty. 

“ Okay, bye .”

As Derek hung up, Stiles resolutely ignored the tears in his eyes and the stinging in his throat. He wouldn’t cry, not tonight. His body had other ideas, apparently, because the tears were falling freely by the time he collapsed face-first into his bed.

He distantly noticed someone climbing in through his window and sniffled pathetically, trying to hide his tears. The bed beside him dipped and he froze for a moment before the scent of Scott’s cologne wafted into his nose. He pushed himself up and resituated himself into a criss-cross position in front of his best friend, wiping away his tears with the heel of his palm. 

“You okay?” Scott asked, head cocked and doe-eyes wide with concern. 

Stiles opened his mouth to talk, to deny it, but stopped short and shook his head instead, sniffling and wiping hastily at his tears as they fell. 

Scott let out a heavy breath and patted Stiles’ shoulder as a gesture of comfort. “Did he drink again?” 

The warlock nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Is there anything that I can do?” The beta asked, wriggling around for a moment to get comfortable. 

Stiles reached for his laptop with a hopeful look. “Watch kids films with me?”

“Yeah, man,” he kicked off his shoes and settled back against the pillow, patting the space beside him for Stiles to take up. 

The\ warlock grinned, a small thing, but still there nonetheless, and pulled up Netflix to navigate the kids section. It wasn’t long before they settled on a film and it was less than ten minutes in that Stiles spoke up, sounding much younger than he was. 

“We need to do something, Scotty,” he whispered. 

Scott trilled in comfort, not the same as when Derek did it, but still as effective. “The pack is working on something right now.” 

The truth was that the whole pack had been listening in on the conversation that Stiles had with the sheriff. They could smell the moment that Stiles grew hopeless and sad, his scent souring, and decided that they would do everything that they could to find a lead on the demon wreaking havoc in their town. 

Scott had been put on make-sure-Stiles-is-okay duty, much to Derek’s displeasure, but the alpha’s mind would be of better use with the pack, trying to find information on Xaxrith. 

“We’ll defeat it, right?” Stiles murmured tiredly. 

“Yeah,” Scott replied, “we always do.” 

Scott and Stiles had fallen asleep somewhere between the end of Over the Hedge and the beginning of Flushed Away , waking up to the end credits of Shark Tale rolling up the screen. 

Stiles grunted sleepily and reached blindly for the lid of his laptop to close it, elbowing Scott in the ribs as he did. 

Scott murmured inarticulately and peered at his best friend from one eye. "'Kay?" 

Stiles nodded and arched his back like a cat, his spine a perfect curve. He let out a low groan when his various muscles stretched themselves out and rolled out of bed, stumbling blindly towards his closet to get fresh clothes. 

As he was fighting with a t-shirt, flailing wildly to get it down over his head, Scott came to lean against the wall beside him, making him startle and jump backwards into the closet door with a crash. 

He gave a less-than-manly shriek and bent over, resting his hands on his knees and gasping for breath. “I should put a bell on all of you. Saves my heart.” 

Scott gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he let out a short wheeze. “Allison found a lead.” 

The warlock blinked rapidly and clucked his tongue. “She did what?”

“Found a lead.” 

“We’re going,” Stiles made a bee-line for his keys and stopped on the threshold of his bedroom, turning to look at Scott. “Now, Scotty, Ándale ,” he yelled, clapping his hands loudly. “ Mush .” 

Scott rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet, following Stiles down to the Jeep. “I’m not a dog, Stiles.” 

Stiles grinned at his best friend from the driver’s seat. “Sure ya are, Scotty. A great, lovable puppy.” 

Scott didn’t say anything else, sensing that he wasn’t going to win this argument, and they journeyed to Derek’s loft in comfortable silence. When they pulled into a parking space outside though, Stiles hesitated, his hands white-knuckling around the steering wheel as he gazed into nothingness. 

“Stiles,” Scott placed a soft hand on the warlock’s arm, drawing him from his thoughts carefully so as to not startle him, “you okay?” 

Stiles shook his head, dispelling the thoughts that had collected in the forefront of his mind. “What if it’s nothing?” 

The beta squeezed his wrist. “What if it is?” 

Stiles huffed- partly in amusement and partly in frustration. “I’m just worried. This has been going on over a month, Scott. We should’ve got something more concrete by now.” 

Scott sighed. “I know that you’re scared, but Allison has found something and you know that they wouldn’t have told us if it wasn’t something important.” 

The warlock curled his nose up and let out a dramatic, defeated sigh. “Fine. But, I’m going to blame you if it isn’t.” 

The beta rolled his eyes and shoved Stiles towards his door. “Get out of the car, idiot.” 

A few seconds later, Scott was pulling open the door to the Loft and six pairs of sleep-deprived eyes turned to look at them. 

Stiles arched his eyebrow at the Pack and trotted down the few steps. “Have any of you slept?” There was a resounding disagreement and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Before we do anything else, we’re going to get you all some food and then you’re going to sleep,” when there were a few rumbling growls of protest, Stiles flashed his eyes, the white-blue irises sparkling with energy. “No arguments.” 

Without letting them say anything else, the warlock snuck off into the kitchen and dug through the pantry, resurfacing with bread, cinnamon and vanilla extract, and maple syrup. He grabbed eggs and bacon from the fridge on his way to the stovetop, placing the various ingredients on the counter. He was going to make some mean French Toast. 

“Can I help at all?” Scott appeared behind him, lingering on the threshold of the kitchen, shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other. 

Stiles gestured wildly towards the eggs. “Get the eggs done.” 

Scott knew what to do, he’d helped Stiles make French Toast countless times and was getting to be a pro. Scott didn’t earn the title of Best Breakfast Maker for nothing. 

Within seconds of the bacon hitting the pan, Erica, Boyd and Isaac shuffled into the kitchen, noses turned towards the air as they scented out the bacon. Derek, Allison and Lydia followed shortly after and rolled their eyes at the betas, nudging past them to take their respective seats at the table. 

“It’ll be done in a second,” Stiles reassured when he heard the hungry grumbles of the Packs stomachs and smiled when he got trills of happiness in return. 

True to his word, Stiles turned a mere few seconds later with two plates- one piled high with french toast and another with a mountain of bacon. As he did, Scott scurried about the kitchen to collect cutlery and plates, setting them out in front of everyone before taking a seat next to Allison. 

As Stiles took his seat next to Derek, he tried to ignore the betas as they bowed their heads respectively and hesitated until Stiles picked up a serving spoon and began dishing out their breakfast. 

They trilled happily and waited until Stiles gave them permission before digging in. 

The warlock rolled his eyes at the betas. "You wolves and your funny ways." 

Despite his teasing, it felt inexplicably right to run the pack alongside Derek. To be the second in command, to be the Lune. To have the betas look to him for command, to wait for his orders and permission. 

He was their Lune, even without having completed the mating ritual, and he always has been.

Chapter Text

With the betas fed and caught up on some much needed sleep, Stiles gathered them all around the kitchen table, pottering about the surrounding area to make cups of coffee- tea for Lydia- as he did.

“Okay,” he murmured, settling at the table with his own mug of coffee cradled in his palms. “What do we have?”

Allison shared a look with the rest of the pack and they all collectively nodded. “Something promising,” she reached underneath the table and pulled out a book, it was quite new- published circa 2010. 

The cover was illustrated with bright colours and images of various demonic happenings. The lettering of the title was calligraphic, an older style and something that would look more at home in some of Stiles’ 17th century literature. 

Diabolical America: A Brief History of Demonic and Spectral Happenings in the Colonial and United States by Deanna McCoy

“What’s this?” Stiles reached towards the book, the faint energy from the previous owner jumping between his fingertips. A witch had owned this book at some point, he could feel her magic, still fizzling between the pages. 

“It’s not a lot, but it’s a start,” Erica murmured, motioning towards the book as Stiles began to thumb through the pages. “Allison brought it in from the Argent Library.” 

Allison nodded her agreement. “Page 229 is the most relevant to us at the moment.” 

The warlock wordlessly flipped to the required page and glanced down at the highlighted paragraph. 

… There were many perpetrators of the Salem Witch Trials, both supernatural and human, and over time other magic-users and supernatural entities have been able to add to the ever-growing list of those responsible. 

In my extensive research, the main names that have come up in conjunction with the Salem Witch Trials are as follows: 

• Tregromath 

• Ogmul 

• Orgaron 

• Xaxrith

• Kannaxeth 

• Elran 

• Sokamar

Stiles slammed the book shut, vibrating with a cocktail of emotions as he lifted his head to look at the pack. “That’s… he’s… Salem? What?” He struggled to find his words, his mind running at a mile a minute as he processed their first lead. 

This was huge. 

Isaac reached across the table and squeezed his wrist. “Are you okay?” 

Stiles barked out a laugh, a bright grin spreading across his face, and sparks danced between his wrist and Isaac’s fingers. Isaac shuddered at the warmth and happiness that spread over him and soon found himself grinning as well. 

“I’m brilliant ,” he cried contentedly. “This is the first real lead we’ve found since this shit show started,” he gasped and blinked rapidly as if struck by some eye-opening revelation. 

A number of book titles, both new and old, poured into the forefront of his mind and he leapt out of his seat with new-found energy, barrelling towards the Hale Pack’s library. There were centuries-old books, passed down from generations of Hales, that only survived the fire because of the ancient, protective runes scrawled into the covers.  

The Hale library only had two of the five books that he needed, he would have to get Deaton to pull some favours to find the others. With two books cradled under his arm, he dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed Deaton’s number before holding the device to his ear.

“Deaton,” he said as soon as the druid-turned-vet answered, “I need a favour.” 

“ Of course, ” Deaton replied. “ What do you need? ” 

“Books,” he muttered, verging on manic as he dragged a hand through his hair, fumbling with his keys before near-running towards the loft’s door. “Are you at the Clinic tomorrow?” 

“ Yes .” 

Stiles nodded and let out a giddy laugh. “I’ll be there.” 

He hung up and, just as he flicked his wrist to open the door, stopped dead in his tracks when a whine sounded from behind him. He turned on his heel, eyes shining white-blue, and stared at Derek, who was looking at him in confusion.

“What’s going on?” He asked and took a careful step forward, reaching out for Stiles with steady hands- a direct parallel to Stiles’ own. 

“I need to see Deaton,” Stiles said, though the speed with which he spoke made the words bundle together, sounding more like gibberish than English. It was a wonder Derek understood him but after this long, the Alpha was fluent in Stiles. 

The air around him crackled with restless energy, sparks jumping between his fingertips as he clenched and unclenched his fists. The hairs of his arms stood on end and heat danced across his skin, shooting down his spine. There was a tight coil deep within his chest, leaving him breathless and overly energetic, and Stiles could feel his core singing in time with his heartbeat, fast and erratic. 

Derek thought that he looked beautiful like this, magnetic and intoxicating, but he was inching dangerously close to a bomb waiting to explode- especially with the amount of energy building around him. 

“You need to take a breath,” Derek murmured and rolled his eyes when the warlock inhaled and exhaled exaggeratedly. “ Stiles ,” he growled, pulling on some of his wolf’s strength to make him listen.  

“Okay,” Stiles closed his eyes and counted slowly back from ten as he breathed calmly. His magic, buzzing just beneath the surface of his skin, began to recede and the tight coil in his chest began to unravel. 

Rough, work-calloused fingers curled around his wrists, energy flitting between the two of them as a connection snapped into place. Stiles’ magic unconsciously reached out to Derek, wrapping around him gently. It was a whisper of a touch, but it was enough to hear the mantra that the alpha was whispering. Calm.Mate.Mine.  

Stiles’ shoulders sagged and the crackling energy that once surrounded him began to dissipate, Derek’s soothing presence serving as an anchor that allowed him to gather all the escaped magic and shove it back where it belonged. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whimpered, embarrassment slamming into him at full force. 

Derek whined in disapproval and placed a hand on Stiles' thigh, squeezing hard. “Don’t.” 

“I shouldn’t have lost control like that. I should have been better,” the warlock disagreed, shaking his head. 

“It happens to the best of us,” the alpha replied, letting out a soothing trill. “Don’t beat yourself up.” 

“I must look like a crazy person when I’m like that,” it was Stiles’ attempt at a joke, but Derek could hear the sincerity in his tone. 

“You don’t,” he lifted his hand from Stiles’ thigh and cupped the warlock’s cheeks. “Do you know what you look like to me?” 

Stiles leant into the touch, eyes fluttering closed. “No,” he breathed, throat clogging up as a heady atmosphere settled over them. 

“You look strong and gorgeous , just as you are now. Stiles, every part of you, even your magic, is beautiful. It’s not crazy or scary, not to me- never to me.”

Stiles let out a heavy breath and tilted his chin forward in an invitation to Derek. The alpha let out an amused huff and pulled Stiles forward, connecting their lips. A jolt resonated between them, making their lips tingle, and Stiles leant into it, letting himself get lost in the slide of Derek’s lips against his own. 

Derek growled when Stiles licked across his bottom lip and licked into the warlock’s mouth, slipping a hand behind his head to hold him close. He wrapped his fingers through the hair at the nape of Stiles’ neck and guided the warlock into laying down before he settled between his legs. 

“Ew!” A voice sounded from the doorway to the kitchen and Derek let out a frustrated breath before pulling away. Erica was standing a few feet away from the sofa, arms crossed over her chest and nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“I don’t want to see you and mom making out,” she groaned. 

“So, don’t look,” Derek ground out, looking at her with alpha-red eyes. 

Stiles’ head popped up from the arm of the sofa and he arched an eyebrow at Erica. “Mom?” 

The beta shrugged. “Everyone thinks it, I’m just the first to say it.”

Derek made a soft noise and when Stiles redirected his attention to him, he had a look of utter adoration in his eyes. It made Stiles squirm in discomfort. That gaze was stripping; it tore apart every wall that he had ever built and exposed everything that he had tried to hide. 

“What?” He whispered, feeling raw and exposed. 

“She’s right, you know?” Derek spoke with love and fondness in a voice, something that seemed utterly out of character for him, but still seemed inexplicably right . 

“Oh?” Stiles said dumbly as the emotions clogging up his throat rendered him speechless. 

“You cook for them,” he explained, his gaze softening further with each word, “you look after them when they're sick and you comfort them when they’re sad. You praise them for their achievements. You do everything that a mom would- that an alpha’s mate would. You’re their Lune, you always have been. My mate.” 

“Derek,” Stiles breathed out, unsure what else to say. He had never seen Derek so unguarded. So, instead of speaking, he leant upwards and rubbed his cheek against Derek’s. “My mate.” 

Derek pulled back slightly and leant their foreheads together. “I’m gonna make you mine.” 

“Yeah?” He breathed out. “That a promise?” 

Derek nodded, a look of utmost seriousness crossing his features. “I promise. Someday soon.” 

“Hey, guys!” Erica yelled back into the kitchen, thoroughly destroying their moment. “Mom and dad are getting married!” 

There was a loud commotion from the kitchen before Stiles and Derek were set upon by two overly excited betas. Scott and Isaac skidded into the room, scrambling with each other to get to the sofa first before they landed in a pile of tangled limbs at Stiles and Derek’s feet. 

Derek narrowed his eyes at Erica and growled in disapproval, but she simply grinned and walked into the kitchen to retrieve Boyd. 

“Are you really getting married?!” Scott yelled, a bit too loud, even for Stiles’ human hearing- it must’ve been like a foghorn in his ear for Derek. 

“Bit loud there, Scotty,” the beta looked embarrassed and Stiles rolled his eyes. “No, we’re not getting human-married.” 

Isaac snapped his head towards Derek and grinned, wide and blinding. “You’re going to mate him.” 

Derek chuckled warmly and nodded. “Sometime soon, yeah.” 

“I’m calling a pack night in celebration,” Erica announced as she walked into the room tucked under Boyd’s arm. “We’re going to go out for dinner and have a grand old time. No protesting!” 

Even despite her declaration of no protests, there honestly weren’t any. The Pack wholeheartedly agreed that they deserved to go out for dinner to celebrate and, even better, there was a great werewolf-friendly nepalese restaurant downtown. 

A few hours later, with bellies and hearts full, they all travelled back to their respective houses- Derek with Stiles, Scott with Allison, and Isaac with Erica and Boyd- “ to give you and Stiles some alone time ,” Erica had said with a wink. 

But little was able to happen, even with the loft being empty, because mere seconds after Stiles settled onto the couch to watch a movie with Derek, he fell asleep. 

Stiles was in a wasteland. The area ahead of him, once thick with gloriously tall, green trees, was barren and burnt. Smoke lingered in the air, pouring off the smouldering logs in waves and coating the surrounding area in a thick, muggy fog. 

His lungs burnt with every inhale, stinging with the smoke that began to build inside his chest, and his eyes were raw and dry. Alongside the stinging came a tight, ripping sensation, somewhere deep beneath his ribs and an all-encompassing feeling of grief and fear. 

He was on his knees, the cold, wet earth soaking into his jeans, his hands were resting on his thighs, palms tilted towards the heavens and coated in thick, red blood and blackened ash. Stiles caught a glimpse of a limp, black-furred body to his left and a head of golden-brown hair to his right. There were four more bodies a few feet ahead of him and he knew without looking that one had dark skin, the other had tan skin and the last two were female. 

There was a crunch from ahead, like someone standing on a twig, and Stiles lifted his head to see a figure approaching him. His skin was pale and stretched thin over his bones, his veins, as black as night, showing through. He was shorter than Stiles, but carried himself with an air of authority and power that made him seem a lot taller. He was bald, save for the four horns scattered across his head, and his eyes were sunken sockets and blacker than the depths of space. When he opened his mouth, he showed rows of razor-sharp teeth. 

“Xaxrith,” Stiles croaked out in recognition, swallowing around the lump in his throat. 

“Hello, Mieczysław, it’s good to finally meet you,” the demon crouched down in front of him and smiled a bloody-toothed grin. 

“I assume this was your doing,” he drew in a shuddering breath and gestured around at the bodies of his pack, trying his best not to look at their faces through fear of falling victim to Xaxrith’s petty games. 

Even though he knew that the images around him weren’t real, he allowed himself to feel the fear and sadness- it was the only thing keeping him grounded and safe.

“Well, it is one of many outcomes, Mieczysław,” Xaxrith explained. “Should you continue on this path, this will be your end.” 

Stiles swallowed around the lump in his throat and focused on the too-fast beat of his heart and the thrum of fear in his stomach. “I won’t allow it. My pack isn't easy to put down.” 

“You will not have a choice, I have met enemies like you before. You will suffer the same fate as them. I will murder everyone you love and make you watch. Their blood will be on your hands. You must make a choice, Mieczysław, your pack or me?”

Stiles awoke with a scream, the sound ricocheting through the empty loft. He vaguely registered a pair of arms around his waist and a strong chest behind his back. He scrambled to get purchase on Derek’s bicep, terror making his body shake and his eyes water. 

“You’re safe,” Derek purred in his ear, “you’re safe. I’m here. Nothing can hurt you while I’m here.” 

“Derek,” Stiles breathed, tears tumbling down his cheeks and Derek hated how Stiles’ scent had soured with fear, smelling more like rotten eggs than the usual spiced honey and electricity. 

“I’m here,” he murmured soothingly, dropping his hands to Stiles’ hips to thumb across the skin there. 

“You might not be forever.” 

Derek tilted his head so that he could look down at Stiles. “What do you mean?” 

“Xaxrith visited me,” the warlock admitted, shuddering at the lingering darkness from the demon’s power, and gave a weak smile when Derek growled protectively. “He showed me a potential future and warned that if I carried on, that future would come true.” 

Derek snarled, eyes flashing red and he grasped Stiles’ chin, forcing the warlock to look at him. “No one decides our future but us. Xaxrith showing you that was a poor attempt at throwing you off and we’re not going to let him win. We’re stronger than him.” 

“Derek-” before he could continue, the alpha cut him off. 

“No. I’m not going to let him win. I won’t let him make you doubt yourself. You’re stronger than him, Stiles, I mean that,” he said fiercely. 

Stiles blushed at the praise. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” 

Stiles sighed heavily and shuddered. “I can still feel him. He’s still there, his magic, in my head. I don’t want it. I want him gone.” 

Derek got a look of intense thoughtfulness on his face and Stiles tilted his head, just watching him as he pondered through whatever plan was forming in his head. He tore himself out of his thoughts and looked down at Stiles with a serious expression. “What if I could help you?” 

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at him. “How?” 

“Let me mate you.” 

Chapter Text

Stiles blinked rapidly in surprise and almost laughed, but then saw the sincerity in Derek’s gaze and was consumed by a feeling of love and devotion. “You mean it?” 

“Of course,” Derek nodded and cupped Stiles’ face, rubbing his thumbs across the warlock’s cheekbones. 

“You’d want that?” Stiles asked as the insecurity began to creep up his throat. 

Derek nodded, his gaze softening until Stiles could see nothing but his love. “More than anything.” 

"But, You've had other partners before me though," the warlock said, a hint of insecurity creeping into his voice that made Derek whine in disapproval. 

"Yes," he muttered, seeing no point in trying to lie because Stiles knew everything, "but nothing measures up to a mate. Whatever I felt for them is nothing in comparison to what I feel for you." 

The warlock dipped his head when a bright flush spread across his cheeks. "No, I know. But, you've had other partners."

The alpha cocked his head in confusion and Stiles snorted, making him arch an Eyebrow. "I don't understand."

Stiles sighed heavily and tugged a hand through his hair. "I can't measure up to you because I've never had a partner. Sexually or otherwise. I mean, I was in love with Lydia for an insane amount of time." 

Derek cringed. "Please, don't mention Lydia right now."

Stiles winced and held his hands up apologetically, making Derek grin wolfishly. 

The alpha shook his head at Stiles' sheepish look and continued. "Do you understand how elated it makes me to know that I'll be your first? To know that my mate has never had anyone else; has essentially saved himself for me? Stiles, I couldn't care less if you haven't had a partner because I'm going to teach you everything that you need to know."

Without much more thought, Stiles spun in Derek’s grip and straddled his thighs before leaning forward and slamming his lips against the alpha’s. The growl that tumbled from Derek’s mouth vibrated through Stiles’ lips and the warlock squirmed in his lap. Derek grinned against his mouth and swiped his tongue across the warlock’s bottom lip, hushing him when he mewled with need. 

“I’m here,” Derek reassured, “I’m here.” 

Stiles grunted in surprise when Derek flipped them and shoved him against the couch, pinning him there with his hands on his hips. 

He fiddled with the button on Stiles' jeans and stared down at him with a darkened gaze. "Can I-?" 

Stiles nodded frantically and Derek wasted no time in tugging the zip down snaking a hand past the waistband of Stiles' jeans and underwear, gripping his cock in a tight fist, twisting his hand just so. Stiles gasped, arching into the touch, his hand flying up to grasp at Derek's shoulder as sparks flew from his fingertips, making the bulb above his head shatter. 

“Shit!” He yelled, fingernails digging into the alpha's shoulder as Derek brushed a thumb over Stiles' slit, smearing precome over the head. “Derek, you gotta-” the warlock cut himself off with a gasp when Derek pumped his hand faster. “Derek, alpha, my alpha, my mate, you gotta stop. We could get caught.” 

Derek just grinned wolfishly and leant forward to nibble his earlobe. 

“How are you so put together right now?” Stiles snarled. 

His thighs trembled with the effort to stay still and not roll his hips into Derek's grip. 

“I’m not, but we have the loft to ourselves for the entire night, no one is going to catch us," Derek soothed. 

Stiles frantically shook his head. "They could, though! You don't know!" He sucked a harsh breath in through his teeth when Derek tightened his grip pleasurably.  

“Okay, fine,” Derek grumbled, pulling away with an eye roll. 

The journey to their room was short and filled with tension, but both did their best to ignore each other, fearing that if they looked at each other their resolve would break and they’d be found naked on the stairs. 

The door barely had time to close before Stiles was pinned against it. 

“What is it with you and shoving me against things?” Stiles growled. 

Derek didn’t bother with an answer, just cupped the back of Stiles' neck and slammed their mouths together in a bruising kiss. Stiles groaned into Derek's mouth, licking across the seam of his lips and shoving his tongue past them as soon as the warlock gave him permission. He licked through Stiles' mouth, grinning when he tasted faintly of cheap beer and cotton candy. Stiles made the move to cup Derek's face but the alpha growled his disapproval and dropped his hands to pin the warlock's wrists against the wall. 

Stiles channeled a small amount of magic and sent a shock of electricity through Derek's fingers, making him flinch away and release his wrists. 

Derek pulled away and arched an eyebrow at his mate. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” He breathed. 

“Damn right,” Stiles replied, ducking his head down to nip playfully at Derek's jaw before he dropped to his knees in front of the alpha, relinquishing his grip on his magic to tear at the black jeans that hung low on Derek’s hips. 

Stiles grumbled in frustration and clicked his fingers, his magic ripping the fabric at the seams. Stiles pulled the ruined clothing away from Derek's body with a self-satisfied smirk. 

The alpha stared down at him, tutting softly, “So impatient, Mieczysław. I liked those jeans,” he whispered. 

Stiles shrugged. “You can buy yourself a new pair.”

Derek tutted again, reaching down to cup Stiles' cheek, grinning when the warlock leant into his touch, “You’ll buy me a new pair.” 

Stiles' eyes fluttered closed, “Anything. My mate.” 

Derek growled happily and stroked his thumb over Stiles' cheekbones, “Look at you, sweet thing,” he purred. “You act so mouthy, but does anyone know that you belong on your knees? Does anyone know what that mouth was really made for?” Stiles mewled and shook his head. 

“No, I didn’t think so,” Stiles' gaze fell to Derek's crotch, eyeing the tent in his boxers with a darkened gaze. Derek smirked and lightly tapped his cheek. “You want it?” Stiles nodded. “Then, take it. It’s all yours.” 

Stiles moaned in relief and reached up to pull Derek's boxers down, making a show of being gentle. Derek rolled his eyes and moved a hand from Stiles' cheek to the back of his head, wrapping the fingers of his left hand in Stiles' hair. He tightened his grip on the strands, forcing Stiles' head back and tapped his lips with his thumb, grinning when his mouth dropped open. Derek gripped himself in his right hand and guided his erection into Stiles' willing mouth, groaning when he instantaneously wrapped his lips around the hard flesh, hollowing out his cheeks and giving a long suck. 

Derek's grip tightened briefly on Stiles' hair, claws threatening to pop as the wolf inched dangerously close to the surface, but he slowly forced himself to relax, focusing instead on the tight, wet heat of Stiles' mouth dragging over his cock as he enthusiastically sucked, tongue swirling around the head to gather precome on his tastebuds. 

“God, Stiles,” Derek gasped. “You were fucking made for this. Made for me. So gorgeous. So fucking pretty.” 

Stiles moaned in appreciation and the feel of the vibrations sent a spark of pleasure up his spine, making him arch off the wall and into Stiles' mouth. The warlock grinned, staring up at Derek with an invitation sparkling in his eyes, and let his mouth drop open that bit further, arching an eyebrow in question when Derek made no motion to move. 

“Oh, Stiles,” Derek crooned and tightened his grip on Stiles' hair once more before bucking forward into his mouth, letting out a low moan when Stiles sucked harder, tonguing enthusiastically at the vein on the underside of Derek's cock. 

Derek's hips spasmed at the attention, letting his head drop back against the wall and his eyes flutter closed as he lost himself in the sensation of thrusting into Stiles' glorious mouth. 

He ground his teeth together, fangs dropping despite his every effort to stop them. “Fuck, you’re amazing. Your mouth , Stiles. God fucking damn.” 

Stiles giggled, relaxing his throat a little as the tip of Derek's erection nudged at the back of his throat and the alpha groaned when he swallowed around him. Derek growled, heat coiling in his stomach, and he pushed Stiles away with a heavy breath, fingers tingling as he balanced precariously on the edge. 

“Shit, get up here, my mate,” Derek ordered and released his grip on Stiles' hair to grab his hand and pull him to his feet. As soon as Stiles was in kissing distance, Derek pulled him forward and pressed their lips together, insistently licking into his mouth, but being careful to not nick him with his fangs. 

“Wanna ride you,” Stiles slurred as they pulled away from each other and stepped away to pull off his jeans, letting his cock spring free. Derek's brain short-circuited.  

The alpha moaned, both in response to Stiles' statement and his lack of clothing, and nodded. “Yeah, okay.” 

He led them over to the bed, dropping down onto the mattress, and patted his lap, grinning wolfishly when Stiles settled over him, straddling his hips. Derek rested his hands on Stiles' thighs, rubbing his hands over the milky skin, and grinned when the warlock whimpered at the attention. 

"L-Lube?" Stiles stammered out, barely able to get the words out around the excitement. 

Derek made a motion towards the bedside table and Stiles made a complex motion with his hand before the bottle flew into his palm. The alpha flexed his fingers, silently asking Stiles to hand it over, arching an eyebrow when the warlock shook his head and squirted the lube onto his own fingers instead. 

“Just watch,” he breathed. 

Derek growled in approval, clenching and unclenching his fists and breathing heavily to retract his teeth and claws. Stiles found it quite flattering that he'd forced Derek into beta shift because of his arousal. 

Derek lifted one hand from Stiles' thigh to wrap it around his neglected cock, pumping it softly as the warlock reached behind himself to finger himself open. “You’re so hot, my mate. What did I do to deserve you, huh? Perfection, so pretty. So good to me.” 

“Alpha,” Stiles mewled, squirming in the alpha's lap. 

The man in question hummed an affirmative. “That feel good?” Stiles nodded, eyes fluttering closed as he twisted his hand just so and his fingers brushed against his prostate. “That’s it. Get yourself nice and open for me. I want you dripping, like a bitch in heat.” 

“‘M ready,” Stiles slurred, eyes half-lidded, and shuddered when Derek forced him to pull his fingers away. 

“Go on, then, sweet thing,” Derek lifted his arms and tucked them behind his head, reclining against the headboard. “Take what you want.” 

Stiles drew in a shaky breath and nodded, reaching a hand down to hold Derek's erection still as he lowered himself onto it, sucking a breath in through his teeth at the slow drag. Derek groaned, refraining from bucking his hips upwards, and linked his fingers together, squeezing them as he tried to keep some semblance of self-control. 

“Der,” Stiles whimpered. 

“I’m here,” Derek replied. “You’re doing good, you feel so good. So tight. Fuck, Stiles. Feels like I’m taking a girl's virginity.” 

“Not a virgin and I'm not a girl,” Stiles replied, dropping his head forward to rest on Derek's shoulder as he took in the last few inches, seating himself fully on Derek's cock. 

“Nah, you aren't, but you don’t half feel like one,” Derek crooned. “Sweet on me like one too. Give it to me so good. You’re so precious. Those eyes, cooler than a glass of whisky, and this ass,” Derek dropped his hands to rest on Stiles' asscheeks, grinning when the warlock blushed. “I’ve never seen an ass like this on a girl.” 

“Der,” Stiles groaned, a bright blush covering his cheeks as he hid his face in the alpha's shoulders. 

Derek rolled his hips upwards into Stiles, almost as punishment, grinning when the warlock gasped and arched his back, lifting his face away from Derek's shoulder as his mouth fell open in a silent ‘o’. 

“Don’t hide from me, my mate, you look so pretty when you blush,” Derek whispered, coaxing Stiles to look up with a hand under his chin. Stiles pulled his gaze up and they locked eyes. Derek saw the moment that something changed within them and he barely had time to prepare himself before Stiles lifted himself up and dropped back down, trying to find the right angle for Derek to hit his prostate, but he struggled. Stiles' thighs quivered as he repeated the action, a broken moan falling from his lips, and he ducked his head down, capturing Derek's lips in a sweet kiss. 

The alpha grinned, hands coming up to cup Stiles' cheeks as he deepened the kiss, and he thrust his hips to meet Stiles' as he sank back down, angling his hips so that he nailed Stiles' prostate on every downstroke. The warlock pulled away from the kiss, his jaw dropping open in a silent scream, and Derek dropped his hands to Stiles' hips, holding him still as he planted his feet and thrust up into him, grinning when Stiles jolted forward, hand shooting out to grip at the headboard. 

“Fuck, Derek, please,” Stiles moaned, eyelids fluttering as Derek continued his onslaught, dropping his head down to suck a beautiful mark into Stiles' throat. Stiles tightened his grip on the headboard and there was a crackling noise as his magic sparked across the wood, leaving deep, sooty grooves in the wood. 

Derek couldn’t find it in himself to care when Stiles lifted his free hand to wrap it around his erection, pumping it in time to his thrusts, moaning openly into his ear. 

“Derek, Derek, Derek,” he chanted, breathless and needed and Derek moaned back his affirmative, tightening his grip on Stiles' hips enough that he’d have bruises there the next morning. 

“Shit,” Derek murmured when Stiles began to squirm relentlessly in his lap, circling his hips down to meet Derek's every thrust. “You close already?” Stiles mewled and nodded. “Can I mark you? Let me give you my mark," Derek nuzzled at Stiles' throat urgently. "Please, let me. Let me mark you. Want you to be mine. Please." 

"Yeah," Stiles panted, nodding frantically. "Yeah, you c- ah !"

Stiles didn't get to finish his sentence because Derek sank his teeth into Stiles' throat, a bond snapping into place as he did. Stiles' vision went white with pleasure, his veins singing with mate.mine.now.marked. and he wasn't sure if it came from him or Derek. 

As Derek retracted his teeth, the skin that he'd bitten into flaring with a burning heat until he flattened his tongue over it, soothing the fire.

Stiles could feel the skin knitting back together, Derek's saliva soothing the wound and healing it until there was nothing more than a scar.

When the wound healed, Stiles was overwhelmed with the emotions flooding him from both sides of the newly-formed bond and the all-encompassing feeling of Derek that settled deep beneath his ribs. 

“So- ah ,” Stiles’ mouth snapped shut and he shook his head. “Derek!” 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he panted, thrusting his hips upwards with dead-accuracy, driving harder and deeper with every thrust. 

“Derek!” He yelled, louder this time, breathier and higher-pitched too. “Please. I need- I want- Der!”

“I’ve got you. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, my mate,” Derek promised, feeling a burning warmth coil within his stomach and he thrust up even harder, trying to bring Stiles to completion as much as he was chasing his own orgasm. 

Stiles tipped his head back, letting out a loud shout, and the bulbs and window shattered as Stiles released a wave of energy strong enough to shatter any and all glass within his vicinity. With a final twist of his hand, Stiles came over his and Derek's stomachs, jerking his hips forward with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Derek groaned, feeling Stiles tighten around him, and thrust up a few more times into Stiles' tight heat before biting down onto the warlock's shoulder to muffle his scream as he came, slumping back against the ruined headboard with a sated sigh. 

Stiles slumped forward and rested his forehead against Derek’s collarbone, only just realising that there was a burn mark in the junction where his neck met his shoulder. It was in the shape of Stiles’ hand and the warlock didn’t even remember doing it, but as he laid his palm over the scar, it thrummed with his magic. He distantly realised that it was his magic’s way of returning Derek’s own mating bite. 

“You’re mine now,” Derek whispered, tracing the bite with his index finger. “Now, you’ll only feel me and I promise that as long as you wear my mark, nothing will hurt you or our pack.”

“I’ve always been yours, Der,” Stiles replied, voice soft. “It’s just that now everyone can see it. But, I promise that I’ll be the best mate and Lune that the Hale Pack could ask for.” 

Derek gathered him up in his arms and held him close. “You already are, Stiles. You already are.”

Chapter Text

The morning after he and Derek finally mated, after years of dancing around one another, they were greeted with a bed full of happy betas. 

“We sensed it,” Erica explained, as blasé as normal. “The pack bond felt different, felt like Stiles, and we came over when we knew that it was safe.” 

Isaac purred happily when Stiles reached over to ruffle his hair. Stiles felt a swell of pride in his chest when he fumbled around in his mind for a bit, noticing a second bond alongside his mating bond with Derek. He grasped onto it and pulled experimentally, grinning when the betas- and Derek- made various noises of glee. 

The Pack Bond. It was bright and warm, thrumming with happiness, and Stiles fed a small amount of his magic into it, strengthening it even more than it already was. Derek was right, he had always been their Lune, their mom- as Erica insisted he be called- but now it was official and other packs, and supernatural entities, would know. 

He was finally at home, at peace with his place in the pack, and he would rise to the position, becoming a worthy Lune and a worthy mate. 

“Can we take the day off?” Isaac asked, wiggling excitedly. “I think we deserved it.” 

“I second that!” Erica exclaimed and cast her gaze between Derek and Stiles with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. 

“Me too,” Boyd agreed and that just sent it home for Stiles and Derek. 

“Pack day out!” Erica shrieked, without having the need for the two of them to say anything.

It was going to take Stiles a while to get used to the non-verbal cues that came with the pack bond. 

“Can we got to the beach?” Isaac questioned nervously, fiddling with the edge of his shirt. 

Derek smiled at him, something warm and soft that Stiles knew was reserved for the pack, and nodded. “Of course.” 

“Can Scott come?” Stiles asked hesitantly, wondering if the others had forgiven him yet for his stint with Wrath. 

Erica, Boyd and Isaac shared a look before they all nodded their agreement. “Yes,” they said in unison and Stiles was distantly reminded of the twins from the Shining. 

“We’ll have to take two cars. You can take either Boyd and Erica or Isaac, Scott and Allison in the Camaro,” Stiles suggested and, when Derek made a noise to protest, glared. “We can’t fit in one car, certainly not with Boyd and Isaac- no offense,” the betas waved dismissively. “Unless you want to try to fit four people in Roscoe’s back seat?” Derek’s jaw snapped shut and Stiles preened smugly.

Stiles rolled out of bed, thankful that he and Derek had the sense to put on pyjama pants before going to sleep, and trotted down to the kitchen. “I’m gonna make up a picnic to take with us, any suggestions?” 

“Deli meats!” Erica yelled. 

“Brownies!” Issac added. 

“Yoghurt!” Boyd chipped in. 

Derek smiled at his betas, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Stiles decided that he loved the look on him and wanted to see it more. “Salt and Vinegar chips?”

“Text Scott for me and tell him to meet us at the clinic in about two hours,” when the pack gave him confused looks, he chuckled softly. “There’s a couple of things that I need to ask him for.” 

The pack hummed in acceptance and Stiles nodded before disappearing downstairs, rubbing the imprint of Derek’s teeth as he padded into the kitchen. He worked on autopilot, making sandwiches with deli meats, like Erica had asked; packing yoghurts for Boyd; brownies for Isaac; and salt and vinegar chips for Derek. He threw in a few healthier snacks, like berries and apples slices, and wrapped some soft drinks in paper towels- wetted with cold water- before chucking it all into a wicker basket that he’d made Derek buy a few months ago. 

He set it down by the door, along with three blankets, a bottle of sunblock and some aloe- knowing that someone, likely Erica, would argue that they didn’t need the sun cream and end up getting burnt. 

With the things for the picnic set up, Stiles trudged back up the stairs and paused in the threshold of Derek’s bedroom, watchin the commotion happening within. Derek’s voice was the clearest amongst the chaos, laughter lacing his tone as he fought with the betas to get ready. 

“No, Erica, you can’t wear just a bikini in the car,” Derek argued. 

“Why? I’m just going to take off all my clothes when I get to the beach!” Erica shrieked. 

There was a loud thump as Isaac threw a pillow at her. “Because you’ll get seat belt rash and your thighs will stick to the leather, like they always do, and you’ll complain, like you always do.”

“I do not complain!” She shrieked indignantly and there was another loud thump as she threw the pillow back at Isaac. 

“You do,” Boyd spoke up and Erica shrieked even louder. Stiles struggled to hold back his laughter.

“You’re a human, Erica,” Derek said, almost like it was a reminder. 

“I know!” She yelled back. 

“Then act like one and put on real clothes,” he yelled. 

“Now, kids. Stop winding up pack dad,” Stiles said jokingly. “You really should listen to him,” The betas actually looked apologetic and Stiles’ heart clenched at the sight. “Go get dressed. We leave in 20 minutes. If you’re not ready, I’m leaving without you.” 

It was partly amusing and partly pride-inducing that they scrambled out of the room, pushing and shoving at each other in their haste to follow Stiles’ orders. 

Derek rolled out of bed, much more graceful than Stiles could ever be, and wandered over to his mate, immediately plunging his nose into the warlock’s throat. “Why do they listen to you?” 

“Because they like me,” Stiles teased and giggled when Derek nipped at his neck. “They do listen to you, you’re their alpha. They just take longer because they’ve already impressed you. I’m sure they’ll be equally as snarky to me when I’ve been around for as long as you have.” 

Derek gave a hum of agreement and pressed a kiss to the imprint of his teeth before pulling away to get dressed. He tugged on a pair of form-fitting jeans and an equally tight tank top, making Stiles mock-growl in approval. Derek’s fangs dropped down and his eyes flashed red at the sound, making Stiles laugh loudly, smacking a hand over his mouth. 

“I hate you,” Derek said around his fangs, closing his eyes and breathing for a moment to calm himself down. 

“No, you don’t,” Stiles argued and wandered over to the draw that he kept his own clothes in, pulling on a white tank top and a pair of black, pull-string shorts. He turned back to Derek moments later and grinned. “Ready?” 

“Almost,” Derek wandered into the bathroom and came back with two towels, leaning his head towards the open door as he passed them over. “Remember to bring your towels!” 

“Yes, dad!” Came the simultaneous replies and Stiles giggled, feeling warmth flood through both his mating and pack bond. 

It was going to be a good day. 

Stiles pulled into the Animal Clinic’s parking lot, the Camaro not far behind, and he hopped out, telling Isaac to stay put as he’d only be a minute. He scurried across the lot to the front door and pushed inside, grinning when Deaton was already there waiting for him. 

The druid smiled and his gaze immediately fell on the mating bite peeking out from underneath the strap of Stiles’ tank. “Hello, Lune Stilinski.” 

Stiles ignored the feeling of glee that spread through him at the title, but allowed the grin to spread across his face. “Hello, Emissary Deaton,” he greeted. 

“You look happy,” Deaton said and stepped back to allow Stiles to follow him into the Examination Room. 

"I am," Stiles replied.

"Good, you're going to make a powerful Lune to a powerful pack," the druid soothed and gave a warm, fatherly smile. "You wanted some books."

"Yes, three specifically," Stiles explained, "on the safe summoning of the wrathful faction, the banishment of vengeful entities and the defeat of rage."

Deaton looked thoughtful for a moment before his eyes lit up and he turned on his heel to rummage through his office. "I know and have exactly what you're looking for." 

He resurfaced a few moments with, as promised, exactly what he needed. He gave him the three books and smiled warmly. "Be safe, Stiles, and don't hesitate to rely on your pack. They are there for you as much as you are there for them." 

"I won't. I know that I can call on them if I need them," Stiles agreed. 

Deaton nodded in acceptance. "You know where I am if you need any more help. But, you have a pack of impatient wolves out there, don't leave them waiting." 

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes, tipping his head respectively. "Don't I know it. Thank you, again, Emissary Deaton." 

"You are very welcome, Lune Stilinski." 

When Stiles exited the clinic, he was met by Derek slamming into him. The only reason that he didn’t fall over was because Derek wrapped his arms around his middle, but plunged his nose into Stiles’ neck moments later. 

Stiles whined soothingly and buried his head in Derek’s neck. “You okay there, sourwolf?” 

“The bonds were so alive while you were in there,” the alpha mumbled into his throat. “What happened?” 

“Nothing important,” Stiles murmured in response, tucking his nose towards Derek’s chest to breathe in his scent, not as strong or accurate as it would be for a wolf, but still enough. “Deaton called me Lune Stilinski.”

Derek, if possible, buried his head further into Stiles’ throat, whimpering gleefully. “I'll make you a Hale one day, my mate.” 

Stiles grinned wider, feeling the positivity and love flowing through their bond, and felt a thrum of contentment from the pack. “I know, my mate. I know.”

They were broken apart a few moments later when the purr of Scott's bike sounded from down the road. When Scott and Allison hopped off, Derek tilted his head in greeting and Stiles grinned at the pair of them. 

"Congratulations," Allison said, nodding towards Stiles' throat and smiling when the warlock lit up. 

Scott's gaze fell on Stiles' mating bite and smiled wider, gathering the warlock in his arms for a tight hug. 

"I felt the change. I was going to come this morning, but I didn't know if I would be welcome," Scott murmured, shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other. 

"You're always welcome," Isaac's voice sounded from behind Scott, where he was hanging out the passenger window, and he whirled around to face him, nodding his thanks. 

"Isaac is right," Stiles reached out for him and squeezed his shoulder, "you've been forgiven." 

"You're pack," Derek said and Stiles felt the moment that a bond snapped into place in Scott, adding to the four others that he could sense. 

"Thank you," Scott whispered, eyes shining and grinning wide. 

Derek shook his head and squeezed Stiles' hip before walking to the Camaro. "Get in the jeep." 

Allison and Scott climbed into the backseat and they were on their way, following the Camaro as close as they could.

Stiles was reclined on a blanket, weighted down on the sand by some large rocks, with his various books spread out around him. He had one of Deaton in his lap and leather-bound journal- his spellbook is what Scott called it- balanced on his knee as he scribbled down any important information. 

As he lifted his head to watch at the pack, frolicing around in the ocean, he had the joy of witnessing Isaac body-slam Scott under the water. The beta resurfaced a few moments later, spluttering indignantly as he drew his hand across his face to clear the salt water from his eyes, and proceeded to grab Isaac in a choke-hold and force his head under the water, eyes shining gold as he did. 

Derek was in there too, treading water a few feet away from Scott and Isaac’s rough housing, too busy in a conversation with Boyd that he didn’t notice the two of them sneaking up behind him. 

The betas grabbed him from behind and dragged him under the water with them, wheezing with laughter as they resurfaced and proceeded to shriek and paddle away as fast as they could when the alpha began to chase after them. 

“Put the book down and join us!” Erica yelled through laughter as she watched Derek chasing Isaac and Scott. 

“I’m good where I am, thanks!” Stiles replied and waved down at his book and journal. 

A second later, a shadow was cast over him and the warlock peered up at the figure over the rims of his sunglasses. Derek was standing over him, dripping wet, and Stiles unabashedly watched the water trickle over the planes of rippling muscle. 

The warlock shuddered as a flash of heat burst through his stomach and followed the droplets of water to the waistbands of Derek’s swim shorts, trying very hard to ignore how the fabric clung to his legs, framing the outline of his thick length. He swallowed harshly at the memory of how it felt inside him and grinned when Derek growled in warning. 

“Whatever you’re thinking about,” he began, eyes flashing red, “stop.” 

“Sorry,” Stiles held his hands up in defense and shrieked in protest when Derek gathered him up into his arms, pressing him against his wet, bare chest. “Put me down, you heathen!” He yelled, smacking Derek’s chest in a vain attempt to escape. “Derek Samuel Hale, put me down!” 

Derek smirked and nodded. “Okay.” 

Stiles' world turned on itself as Derek dropped him, flailing wildly for a moment before he was encased by a cold wetness. He registered somewhere distantly that Derek had just thrown him in the sea and cursed loudly, using a colourful array of horrible names as he resurfaced. 

“You asshole! ” Stiles screamed, running a hand through his hair to get it away from his forehead. 

Derek didn’t reply, just shot him a smug smirk that was soon wiped away when Stiles sent a wave of water at him, splashing him across the face. Stiles' laughter rang through the air as he dived underneath the water to escape Derek’s returning wave. 

It wasn’t long before a water war started with Stiles, Isaac, Scott and Allison against Derek, Erica and Boyd. Their gleeful laughter filled their air and a similar energy thrummed through the bond linking them all. It left the Pack feeling warm and weightless. 

A few hours later, as the sun was beginning to disappear beyond the horizon, the Pack were curled up around a fire of Stiles’ making whilst the warlock hunted through the basket for the marshmallows that he’d packed. 

When he resurfaced with the packet, there was a resounding cheer as the Pack raised their toasting-sticks to the sky in celebration. They made s’mores and traded stories in the light of the fire, watching as the sun set and the moon rose, bathing the beach in a brilliant, pale silver-blue light. 

“You look beautiful like this,” Derek whispered in a moment of uncharacteristic expressiveness. 

Stiles lifted his head from Derek’s chest to look up at the alpha, his eyes shining with happiness as he did. “You do too.” 

Derek really did, with the moonlight reflecting in his hazel-green irises, making them burn like pools of molten sea glass. His body was relaxed as he reclined on a blanket, arms crossed behind his head, making his biceps bulge deliciously. His jeans hung loose on his hips, exposing the mouthwatering v of muscle, and Stiles found himself wanting to lick the divots of his abs. 

“Keep your dirty thoughts for when we can’t smell you,” Isaac hissed, curling his nose up in disgust and thoroughly ruining the moment. 

“I second that,” Erica giggled and curled further into Boyd’s side, making grabby hands at Isaac as she did. The beta rolled his eyes and wiggled closer so he was plastered against her back. 

Stiles didn’t care if they could smell his arousal because it was overpowered by the elation at being surrounded by his Pack. It had been a day full of laughter and love, something that they had all been missing out on while trying to juggle school and various supernatural threats. Stiles was just glad that they took the day out while they could- they certainly deserved it and it definitely did them good if the feelings of happy.content.pack.fun.love. were anything to go by. 

In the few days after the Pack Beach Day, Stiles let the Pack have some peace, giving them time to catch up on missed homework assignments and sleep, whilst he continued his research into Xaxrith and the ways to combat his hold over the innocents of Beacon Hills. 

His journal had at least seven pages on the safe summoning of a wrathful demon; how to combat and weaken its unbridled power; and how to banish it. He still needed to research and make notes on what protections could be put in place to make sure that would safeguard their town against another attack; and how to cleanse the area after it had been defeated. 

He was sitting at his dining room table, his books spread out around him with his journal in front of him open on a half-full page. His pen was trapped loosely between his teeth, dangling precariously above the page as he scoured through a lengthy paragraph in one of Deaton’s books, breaking it down into easier, more manageable chunks. 

Suddenly, six bodies filtered into his dining room and settled themselves around the table with him, grabbing some of the books and scraps of paper to share between them. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, lifting his head to stare around at them. Determination and protectiveness flooded into him from all ends of the pack bond and his heart swelled with warmth. 

“We’re helping you, so shut up and tell us what to look for,” Erica barked, leaving no room for arguments and Stiles decided that there wasn’t much use in trying to dissuade her, relaying the information that he needed to find. 

With the pack helping him, which he was enthusiastically grateful for, he managed to get through a lot of the information, stapling their own findings into his journal alongside his own. They had a good, solid background to work on and Stiles was certain that, after a lot of money spent and a lot of hunting for ancient herbs, he would be ready to confront Xaxrith. 

But, even with his confidence, Xaxrith’s warning still rang in his head. Would he really risk losing his pack to beat the demon? Could he live with himself if he ignored Xaxrith’s warnings and they turned out to be true?

Chapter Text

Despite his hesitance and worry for the pack, his decision to confront Xaxrith was made for him when another body turned up in the morgue, even worse than the last- which shouldn’t have been possible. 

The girl had recently given birth, leaving her child an orphan when her life had been taken, and Stiles was consumed with such a powerful rage that, when his father told him, the power went down in every building within ten blocks of the Stilinski Home. 

He was on his knees, head hung low in defeat and vibrating with anger as the air around him sparked with small lighting strikes. His dad slowly approached, hands outstretched placatingly, and knelt in front of him when Stiles’ magic allowed him to come close enough. 

“Are you okay, bud?” 

Stiles lifted his head, eyes burning a scorching white-blue, brighter than they had even been, and when he opened his mouth to speak, electricity danced between his teeth. “I’m going to end this,” he snarled, the anger and certainty in his voice making Noah shudder. “Today is the last day that someone dies because of that… monster .” 

Noah made a noise of concern and lifted a hand to squeeze his son’s shoulder. “Are you sure that you’re ready?” 

Stiles nodded, not bothering to hide his true eyes anymore. “I’m sure. No more deaths, dad. No more loss. I’m ending this and I’m ending it now.” 

His dad nodded, pride pouring off him in waves, and stood up, holding out a hand for Stiles to help him off the floor. Sparks danced up Noah’s exposed forearms and he shuddered at the feeling before pulling away. 

“You’ll come home in one piece?” 

Stiles smiled. “I’ll do my best.” 

Noah nodded and Stiles took that as permission to leave, turning on his heel and plucking his keys from the table by the front door as he did. When he got into the car, he inhaled deeply and tried to reel in his magic, not wanting to unnecessarily waste any. 

It partially worked and Stiles summoned up thoughts of the pack to keep him grounded, allowing feelings of need.safe.protect.love.pack. to flood through his end of the bond. He grinned when he felt the same resonating in return. 

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other fishing his phone from his pocket to send out a mass text. 

To: Scotty, Allison, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Sourwolf (My Mate)

Avengers Assemble. 

From: Scotty

With Ally. 

At Derek’s loft?

Will pick Erica and Boyd up on the way.  

From: Erica

With Boyd, Scott and Allison. Will be at Derek’s loft in approx. 5 minutes

From: Isaac

I’m here. So is Derek, he says don’t text and drive. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and chucked his phone onto the passenger seat, focusing on the road ahead. It was mere moments later that he pulled up outside the loft, Allison’s car was already parked, and he had barely turned his engine off before he tumbled out of the car.

He took the stairs to the loft two at a time and flung the door open with a swipe of his hand, tendrils of blue-white smoke pouring into the loft as he did. The lights above his head shattered as he walked inside. 

The pack looked up at him with looks mixed of awe and concern. Derek was on his feet in seconds, snuffling at Stiles’ neck and holding him close. The warlock felt his magic recede considerably at the attention. 

“Talk, my mate,” Derek ordered and guided Stiles’ head into his chest. “Tell me what you need.” 

Stiles crooned at the order and rubbed his cheek against Derek’s chest. “I need to end this tonight, Derek. No one else is allowed to die.” 

Derek rumbled something deep in his chest, the sound travelling up his throat before it tumbled out of his mouth. It wasn’t as loud as a roar, but it was close enough- a warning that the Hale Pack were on the hunt. 

“Then we end it,” Isaac spoke up from behind Derek, eyes shining gold. 

“I agree,” Erica said, stepping up beside the tall beta. The rest of the pack made their own declarations of agreement and Stiles felt the pack bond thrumming with power and noticed the moment that they all began to draw on it to feed their strength. It was an exhilarating feeling and it left Stiles vibrating with restless energy. 

They could take on the world as long as they were together as a pack. 

“We need a place that has emotional significance to all of us,” Stiles explained. “The stronger the connection, the stronger we will be. If we’re in an area that is considered our territory, Xaxrith will be weaker.” 

“The Lacrosse Field,” Allison spoke up. “We’re never stronger as a pack than when we’re cheering each other on.” 

Erica made a noise of agreement. “She’s not wrong.” 

Stiles nodded his acceptance and turned to Derek, who was deep in thought. “What’s the verdict, my alpha?” 

Derek broke away from his thoughts, red bleeding into his hazel-green irises and his fangs and claws dropping. “The Lacrosse Field.” 

“To the Hale Mobiles!” Stiles teased and grinned when Derek rolled his eyes, trying to feign annoyance, but Stiles could feel the fondness pouring through their mating bond. 

The Pack moved as a collective to their cars, Derek forcing Stiles into the passenger seat of the Camaro, with Isaac and Scott in the back seat whilst Allison took Erica and Boyd with her. 

The journey to the school took barely any time at all, especially in the Camaro, and they were pulling into the car park before Stiles had the chance to blink. It was a quiet ride, comfortable and filled with anticipation. 

Derek was the first to get out, followed by Stiles and then the others began to trickle out as well. He distantly wondered if it was something to do with the pack’s dynamics. 

Derek leant against the hood of the Camaro as the other members of the pack began to gather around, allowing Stiles to take charge. It was a show of trust and belief that was uncharacteristic of Derek, something small and meaningful, and it made the warlock’s heart soar. 

“Okay,” Stiles drew in a deep breath, trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. He knew that the wolves could probably smell his fear, but they didn’t need to see it. “We shall fight on the beaches-” 

“Stiles,” Allison snorted, cutting him off. “You can’t quote Churchill.” 

Stiles grinned, all teeth, and nodded. “I can and I will! It’s a good speech,” at the unimpressed looks of his page, he giggled and shrugged his shoulders. “Fine. What I’m trying to say is that we’re stronger than he is, we’re a pack. We’re the Hale Pack- that stands for something, even outside of Beacon Hills. We’re going to beat him, even if I have to use every ounce of magic that I possess. I’m not going down without a fight, we aren’t going down without a fight.” 

Derek pushed off the Camaro and laid his hand on Stiles’ shoulder in support. “I couldn’t have said it better. We’ll fight until our last breaths and we won’t stop until this… monster is back where he belongs.” 

The sound of the betas going into shift resonated through the car park, alongside the thwip of Allison’s bow as she armed herself. Derek let out a roar- a true, alpha roar, louder than Stiles had ever heard- and the warlock knew, even without their bond, that it was both a warning and an invitation: we’re here. Come find us, if you dare. 

Xaxrith had heard Derek’s roar and was waiting for them on the Lacrosse Field. He looked exactly the same as he did in Stiles’ dream: pale skin, ink-black veins, sunken sockets for eyes and rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth. 

Stiles swallowed thickly and grasped tightly onto his pack and mating bonds as he stepped forward. Derek sent a thrum of serenity through both and there were answering purrs from the betas as they did the same. It gave Stiles more confidence than he had ever had and he felt like he could take on the world. 

“Xaxrith, inflictor of pain and torture, architect of the salem witch trails, bringer of chaos,” he addressed the demon, using his full title as per the etiquette, and his voice was steady and strong. He clicked his fingers, making a cross with his hands as he did, and ancient judicial runes ignited in the centre of his palms. “I call you forth to stand before me and answer for your crimes against my kind and your insubordination against your mother.”

Xaxrith hissed, like a snake preparing to strike its prey. “You dare call upon me for judgement.” 

Stiles remained steady, a mantra of pack.safe.strong.calm repeating itself through the pack bond helping to maintain his confidence. “I, Mieczysław Stilinski, 25th Generational Warlock of the Gajos Coven and Lune to the Hale Pack, challenge you under the 27th Diabolical Order.” 

Xaxrith recoiled for a moment and blinked in confusion. “ Should a demon of any faction commit insubordination against his/her mother/father, they who invoke this order must engage in battle. Whomever wins, decides the punishment ,” he recited and Stiles gritted his teeth. “Do you think that you can beat me, Lune Stilinski?” 

“I’ll do what it takes to make you pay for disturbing my city and killing my people,” Stiles spat, the anger that he felt early slowly resurfacing, but he pushed it down. 

“Very well, may the best,” Xaxrith paused for a moment, as if thinking about what word would be best, and grinned, “ creature win.” 

Seconds later, an earthquake rippled through the ground beneath their feet before the field cracked open. The beings that escaped through the rupture were humanoid, perhaps once people, but now something else. Zombie was the only word that came to mind for Stiles, but they were faster and much more ravenous, a set of sharp teeth protruding from their gums. Something luminous yellow poured over their lips and Stiles knew that it was poisonous, he could feel the dark energy radiating from it. 

“Remember,” he said quickly, “fight with fear. Not with anger. You can’t fight fire with fire. Be the water. Summon up the things that you are most scared about and use that fear. We’re going to need it.” 

Derek grabbed his wrist and pulled him in for a short, meaningful kiss. “Don’t die.” 

“You don’t die either, any of you.” 

It was the last thing that any of them said before Derek turned, shifting into his wolf form as he did. It was a seamless transformation, something that Stiles would find forever awe-invoking, but had little time to admire. 

Stiles felt a thrill run through him and smoke danced through his fingers, blue-white as it always was, but darker. The magic that he was using came from somewhere dark and dangerous. 

“Derek,” he whispered, his voice small and scared, “I need to work on instinct alone, that means losing myself to my magic; I need you to promise that you’ll be here to bring me back when this is over.” Derek lifted his snout, letting out a soft whine. “I’ll be fine. I just need you there after.” 

The wolf nodded and Stiles felt a burning feeling of protectiveness and love through their mating bond. There was a similar burning sensation in the pack bond too and he knew that the betas would be there as well, to help Derek bring him back. 

But, they would be okay. All of them. Stiles would make sure. 

With silent confirmation from the pack, Derek let out a second roar, something like a battle cry, and the pack answered in kind, already in beta shift. 

Stiles closed his eyes, listening to the sound of paws pounding the grass, followed by the trampling of feet, and grasped tightly onto his core, ripping away the runes that kept the darkness at bay. 

Power flooded into him, making every nerve-ending sing with pleasure. His entire body tingled and he was left able to do little more than vibrate with its intensity. He’d never used this amount of power before, never let himself loose like this, and it was exhilarating. His magic was more responsive than it had ever been. A single twitch of his finger sent a zombie stumbling a few feet back, a single thought sent sparks dancing between his fingertips.

He was unstoppable. 

When he opened his eyes, they were shining with the power of the moon, dazzling in their brightness. 

“I call on the ancestral magic of the Gajos women for power,” there was a pulse of warning in his core, using this much power was dangerous, but he knew the implications and ignored it. He took a step forward, the grass beneath his feet becoming blackened and singed as he did, the heat of his magic burning it away. 

“I call on the deceased women of the Hale pack for protection," he felt the same gentle, protective warmth settle over him, just as it did in the warehouse. They were here. 

He took another step, this time letting his magic wrap around the nearest zombies before he clenched his fists, their necks bending at awkward angles and the life draining from their already-dead eyes. 

"I call on Talia Hale for protection and strength," there was a warm energy at his left side, likely Talia’s spirit coming to settle with him. She would give him what he needed. 

The world around Stiles was quiet, falling on deaf ears as he was consumed by the roaring of his magic, like water rushing from a broken dam. His gaze found Derek, amongst the bodies, the fur around his mouth matted and teeth blackened with blood. He looked every bit the feral alpha that Stiles needed him to be.  "I call on Derek Hale, my mate. I call on his intuition and his wisdom; and I call on him as my anchor." 

A zombie crept towards him and he clicked his fingers, making a complicated motion with his wrist before the creature was encased in white-blue flames, reduced to mere ashes moments later. 

The grass around him was cinders, nothing left but charred remains as lightning sparked from his body, like a thunderstorm. 

He was the eye. 

Its source of power.

And he would destroy anything that got into his path. 

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he felt Derek calling out to him through their mating bond and it served as an anchor to keep him going too far. But, at this point, there was no such thing. 

The pack were tearing into the zombies around him, oozing black blood flooding across the Lacrosse Field as bodies kept dropping. He was remotely aware of a roar of pain, originating from Derek and he faltered for a second, turning on his heel to approach his mate. He only stopped when Derek shook his head at him and motioned towards Xaxrith. 

The demon was watching the fight unfold with a gleeful gaze, pulsating with happiness at the chaos around him. But, Stiles could see the fear behind his eyes when the warlock set his gaze on him and began to advance. 

Xaxrith grinned, something mischievous and frenzied, and barked out an order in an ancient language that Stiles recognised as Sumerian. 

A horde of zombies began to run towards him and Stiles focused on the jolt of fear that resonated inside his chest. There was a building terror inside his head, singing through the pack and mating bond, and Stiles dug deep into it, harnessing it in a way that only he could. 

His eyes burnt brighter and the smoke that was curling through his fingertips turned to flames that danced up his arms and down his legs until his entire body was encased. He wrapped his arms around his middle and waited. 

He ignored the initial reaction to run and held tight onto the fear that pulsated inside his head and heart. 

Just as the zombies grew close enough to reach out, to touch, Stiles threw his arms away from his body and an explosion rang through the air. Whatever was missed by the burning flames of his magic, was taken out by the shockwave that followed. 

Stiles was surrounded by a circle of ash,  glowing faintly blue blue remnants of his magic, and he muttered a short incantation to draw the energy away from them and into him, taking back what was rightfully his. 

When Stiles lifted his head, hair sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead and eyes still burning brightly, Xaxrith swallowed thickly. 

As he stepped forward, the pounding of four paws against the grass sounded from behind him and Derek was soon at his side, hackles raised, teeth bared and eyes shining crimson. 

The betas soon followed. Scott on Stiles' left; Isaac on Derek's right; Boyd behind the four of them and Erica next to him. 

Stiles turned his head to look at each of them and nodded his acknowledgement and thanks. They returned the sentiment by bowing their heads at him- the wolf way of saying where you lead, we will follow. 

"H-How?" Xaxrith stammered, looking around at the remnants of his army, burnt to ashes or torn to pieces. 

Stiles smirked, an evil thing that really had no place on his angelic face, and shook his head. "You still don't understand, do you?" 

The warlock dug deep into the pack bond, threading his magic through it deeper than it had ever been, and grasped onto their fears. 

I'm scared of never being good enough.

I'm scared that I'll never be loved. 

I'm scared that I don't belong here.

I'm scared of losing everyone again.

I'm scared of making the same mistakes and never being forgiven. 

Stiles shuddered with the intensity of their emotions and decided that he was most definitely calling a pack meeting to deal with it all. 

But, right now, he had slightly more important matters to hand. 

"You're in our territory," he took a step forward and Derek moved with him, body close to the floor and growling low in his throat. 

"You threatened our city," he clicked his fingers and drew a complex pattern in the air, lifting upwards towards the sky. 

The ground shuddered and a pale, orange glow like something from an open fire, burst out from the hole that had been created. 

"You threatened my pack," Stiles hissed and Derek growled his approval, "and now," he clenched his fists and, when he unclenched them, a jet of white-blue lightning shot from his fingertips, piercing through his chest into his heart. 

"You're going to pay." 

Stiles funneled all the fear that he had been holding back into the lightning bursting from his hands and Xaxrith screamed in pain. 

"Let me go!" He snarled and Stiles sent another stream of magic to wrap around his flailing limbs. 

Stiles ignored the warnings of death and destruction and simply held the demon still while Derek stalked towards him, teeth bared in a dangerous snarl. 

Xaxrith's fear was palpable in the air, sour and rotten, and Stiles drew on it, forcing the demon to feel it. 

Derek lunged moments later, jaws clamping down on Xaxrith's calf, black blood pouring out of the wound and dripping down Derek's snout. 

The alpha dragged Xaxrith towards the portal that Stiles had opened and stopped on the edge before stepping back a few centimetres. 

Xaxrith let out a sigh of relief, but soon cut himself off with a shriek of fear when Derek, now human, grabbed the demon by the scruff of his neck and tossed him, unceremoniously, into the pit.

"He's yours now, Lady Wrath," Derek snarled. 

"Thank you, Alpha Hale and Lune Stilinski," came the answering roar before the portal was closed by Wrath. 

Just like that, the pack burst into howls of relief and triumph, Stiles sending sparks of blue and white; and red and gold into the sky. 

They'd actually done it. 

They'd defeated Xaxrith. 

Chapter Text

Six Months Later…

"Now welcoming the graduating class of 2013!" 

Derek was on his feet, along with Mrs. McCall and Sheriff Stilinski, clapping like a madman as he watched his mate and pack walk towards the front of the auditorium. 

Derek had adopted the three of them- Isaac, Erica and Boyd- a few weeks ago. It had been a long time coming. Derek had been debating it for an ungodly amount of time and it was only when Isaac had caught him mid-panic attack, staying with him until he had calmed down, that he made the concrete decision. 

He went to the attorney's office the day after and finalised the papers before going home to ask the pack for their permission. 

Boyd had stared at him with a blank look, but nodded, a faint smile on his lips as Derek signed off his papers. 

Erica had openly cried, but threatened to kill anyone that told. 

Isaac had hesitated- unsure if it was a joke- but, when Derek made a show of signing the papers, he collapsed on the floor in a fit of sobs. 

The ensuing puppy pile was worth it. 

To see how far they had come since first receiving the bite made him so proud. Not just his betas, but Scott, Allison and Stiles too. 

Stiles. His mate. If you had told him two years ago that the skinny, defenseless teen. that barely knew his left from his right, was his mate, he’d have outright laughed. But, now with Stiles’ handprint pulsating against his throat, he couldn't see himself wanting anyone else. 

As if sensing Derek’s thoughts, Stiles turned around to look at him, a great, beaming grin spread across his face and Derek couldn’t help but give one back. He flashed his eyes for a brief moment and nodded towards the front of the auditorium, silently telling him to turn around. Stiles grinned wider, which should’ve been impossible, and mimicked the action before turning around. 

Derek couldn’t help but tune out of the ceremony, watching Stiles wiggle restlessly as the various speakers and performers did what they needed to do. Even despite his restlessness, Stiles was still beaming and was casting looks at Erica, Boyd and Isaac every so often. 

It was almost as if they were scheming and Derek knew, from first-hand experience, that that never ended well. 

“Allison Argent,” Allison’s name brought him out of his thoughts, reminding him of where he was, and he started to pay attention again, knowing that his pack would be receiving their own diplomas soon enough. 

There were a few names, unknown to Derek, before Erica’s was called, but he was certain that Boyd should have been after Allison. 

But, then, when Erica was called to the stage, things started falling into place. 

“Erica Hale,” Derek’s heart jolted with happiness and he heard the answering calls through the pack bond. 

Sheriff and Melissa’s heads shot towards him in surprise and he shrugged, trying his best to hide the tears that were gathering in the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t know. I told them to graduate with their birth names.” 

“Isaac Hale,” Isaac strutted onto the stage, head held high with pride, and Derek distantly recognised that the beta was a Hale long before he changed his last name, 

“Vernon Hale.” 

Derek let out a whine of content and Stiles turned around to look at him, a shit-eating grin spreading across his lips. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” He mouthed. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles whispered back, loud enough for Derek to hear him over the names being reeled off, but quiet enough that he wasn’t disturbing anything. 

Derek scowled and shook his head, deciding to leave it for after the ceremony. Scott’s name was called after Lydia’s and Stiles ended off the precession, stumbling over his gown as he walked onto stage. It was such a Stiles thing that even the superintendent cracked a smile. 

After that, they did the ceremonial, inescapable hat toss and, finally, the Class of 2013 had graduated. 

“I’m proud of you,” Derek whispered when the pack gathered together for celebrations with the Argents, the Sheriff and Mrs. McCall. 

“Here’s to surviving high school,” Scott muttered and there was a chorus of cheers as people lifted their glasses in a toast. 

“Here’s to not dying,” Stiles piped up, grinning when Erica slapped him upside the head. 

Derek’s heart soared at the display and lifted his own glass to join the others. “Here’s to the pack.” 

Stiles met Derek’s gaze and smiled softly, eyes crinkling at the corners and- in Derek’s opinion- he had never looked more beautiful. “Here’s to family.” 

“To family!”

Three Years Later…

“If I see that campus again,” Stiles groaned as he set down his last box down in the corner of the loft and promptly collapsed onto Derek’s warm, comfortable bed, “it’ll be too soon.” 

“It was worth it though,” Derek replied and came to settle beside his mate, gathering him up in his arms and holding him close. 

“Yeah,” the warlock murmured happily, “it was.” 

“What now?” Derek asked, voice dropping to a low growl as he began to trace the imprint of his teeth with his tongue. 

Stiles grinned and moved to straddle Derek’s hips. “You tell me, sourwolf.” 

Before they could get any further, a voice called up from downstairs. “Pack meeting! Now!” 

“ERICA!” Derek roared and buried his face in Stiles’ neck, whining pitifully. 

“One day, Derek. We’ll get peace one day,” the warlock promised. 

Derek grumbled something under his breath and Stiles rolled his eyes before tumbling off the bed and galloping downstairs. Derek followed shortly after, pulling the warlock down onto his lap as he seated himself in an armchair. 

There was something different, a new smell in the loft, and the alpha tilted his nose towards Erica, inhaling deeply. Beneath her normal honeysuckle scent, there was something clean and new, like the sterile unit of a hospital, and Derek’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“No,” Derek hissed. 

Erica grinned and placed a hand on her stomach protectively. “Yes.” 

Stiles made a noise of recognition, glancing from Erica’s stomach to her face and back again before he launched off Derek’s lap and into the beta’s. “I’m so happy for you! I’m gonna be a Grandma!”

Derek rolled his eyes at his mate before turning to Boyd. “You’re gonna be a dad,” he whispered. “How does that feel?” 

Happiness rolled off the dark-skinned beta in waves. “Really good.” 

“There was actually something that we wanted to ask you both,” Erica reached for Boyd’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Stiles settled back into Derek’s lap and motioned for her to continue. “Will you be the godparents?” 

“Grandparents and godparents?!” Stiles shrieked.

The alpha shook his head and squeezed the back of Stiles’ neck, making the warlock go limp. “What Stiles is trying to say is that we would be honoured.” 

Four Months Later…

Erica was just starting to show when Boyd got down on one knee, asking for her hand. It had been a gorgeous engagement and an even prettier wedding. Derek had cried, though he would never admit it, when Erica asked him to give her away and there were a few tears in his eyes when he watched them say their vows. 

After the wedding, at the after party, Derek and Stiles were swaying gently to a slow song. Neither of them were listening to the words, just moving slowly to the beat, holding each other close and relishing in the contact. Erica and Boyd were a few feet away, Boyd's hands on Erica’s small bump. 

“It would be nice to have that,” Derek whispered, gaze trained on his betas, smelling like happiness.love.mate.child. 

“So, let’s have it,” Stiles muttered in return, grinning when Derek jolted in shock. 

“Did you just propose?” The alpha asked, eyes shining bright crimson as he pulled back to look down at his mate. 

The warlock snorted and softly punched Derek’s bicep, rolling his eyes. “Not without a ring, you heathen.” 

“I’ll get you one,” Derek said fiercely. “I’ll get you a ring and make you a Hale.” 

“I look forward to it.” 

Five Months Later… 

Erica was about ready to burst when Derek called them out to the preserve. “Derek Hale,” she hissed, waddling towards him with her swollen belly on show, “I’m three weeks away from my due date, this better be good.” 

Stiles, Isaac, Scott and Allison were all there too, looking just as confused and pissed off as Erica. 

“It will be, I promise.” 

Derek turned on his heel and led them towards where the Hale House used to be, before Kate got her hands on it. But, instead of a burnt-out shell, there stood a newly renovated, gorgeous house. 

“So, this is what you’ve been up to,” Stiles said, the penny finally dropping. 

Derek wandered over to him and tucked the warlock under his arm. “You thought affair?” 

“I thought affair,” Stiles agreed and Derek made a noise of acceptance. 

“I figured that everyone basically lives at the loft anyway,” he explained. “But, there’s hardly going to be enough room if the pack keeps expanding,” he gave Scott and Allison a pointed look, the beta and hunter giving sheepish smiles as Allison settled her hand over her five-month bump.

“So, for the last five months, I’ve been rebuilding the Hale House, in the hopes that the Hale Pack can move back into it, where they belong,” Derek sounded sheepish as he suggested the idea, but the betas were already moving towards the front door, a thrum of home resonating through the pack bond. 

“I think they like it,” Stiles said, leaning up to press a kiss against Derek’s cheek. 

“Do you?” The alpha asked. 

“I’m your Lune and your husband,” he glanced down at the rings on their fingers, “this is as much my home as it is yours. Wherever you go, I follow. Wherever you are, I will be. You, my alpha, my mate, my husband, are my home.” 

“And you are mine,” Derek whispered in kind and dragged Stiles towards the front door. Towards home .