Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter scowled as the reports came in from his minions. He had sent them out into Beacon to gather more information, and proof of what Mischief had said. Oh, he went by Stiles now, but he would always be the little Mischief who trailed after Peter and his father, wanting to be involved in their cases and help them hunt down 'the bad guys'. That little boy would never have imagined that it was his own best friend who would become one of those 'bad guys', but the reports were clear.

Noah was under house arrest in Stilinski village, held there more by his own recognizance than any actual effort on McCall's part. The story came out easily, from gossips all over Beacon Keep. When Noah had refused to arrest his son — and everyone Peter's minions spoke to agreed it was self defence — McCall had insisted that he retire as Sheriff, for losing his objectivity.

When Noah refused, and then strenuously objected to his son's imprisonment and banishment, he'd almost been shot by McCall's little princess paramour — Peter had to suppress a growl at the name Argent — and had finally been marched out of the Keep and sent back home. His second in command, a hellhound named Jordan, had taken over as Sheriff, but his deputies all agreed that it was only to prevent McCall from placing one of his corrupted minions into the position. Jordan was fair and just, like Noah before him, and the people were safe under his command.

That also explained the messages Peter had been getting from the Sheriff's office — passing on the usual types of information, but without the personal touch of stories about Mischief and the like. Anyone trained by Noah would know what was important for a person like Peter to know, which is why his information channel hadn't been closed. The fact that Jordan hadn't mentioned he was replacing Noah, and simply signed the letters as Sheriff, was probably due to a moratorium on that information from Deaton. He was only a druid, but his power could be strong when used in certain ways, and the geas he had placed on the town of Nemeton spoke to the strength he was willing to call up in use against the Stilinskis.

Another report from Stilinski Village wiped the scowl from Peter's face, temporarily. The villagers were under no doubts that both Mischief and his father were innocent, and had no intention of stopping the latter from doing whatever he wanted. They would probably even have granted sanctuary to Mischief, hiding him from McCall's men, had he managed to escape on his own.

Of course, with one of his broken shackles brought back and examined, it was clear why Mischief couldn't have achieved it, despite his prodigious spark. The chains weren't bespelled by Deaton, but by a much more powerful mage. He'd likely obtained them from the Argents, since they had their sticky fingers all over this plot.

But the support the Stilinskis enjoyed meant that it would be no trouble at all to have his men get their hands on Noah and sneak him across the border to claim sanctuary himself. Once he was assured that Mischief was safe, he was likely to come along without a fuss, eager to be reunited with his son.

In fact, his wouldn't be the only request for sanctuary they'd had. Some of the residents of Nemeton had crossed the border around the time Stiles had been imprisoned, though all they had known was that their town was being quarantined under the order of their Alpha King, so their request was more about finding a new, more stable home, than sanctuary itself.

But others from Beacon were stirring. Peter's minions in the Keep told him that some of the other courtiers — Mischief's friends, no doubt — were chaffing under McCall's reign, and those who didn't suck up to him were unsure who would be next. After all, even his best friend wasn't safe, so why would they be? There were those who would definitely run to the Hale border, if they knew it was an option. Peter would check their names with Mischief first, but his people were fairly good at weeding out those who had less than pure intentions.

Peter read over the last few reports, but there was nothing new in them, so he gathered up his notes. He needed to check some facts with Mischef, and then he had a report to give to Talia and the others. If they really were going to war with Beacon, they would need all the information his spies could get.

Part of Stiles missed his old life in Beacon, but he was happier here than he could remember being in years. Since before the feral attack, even. He was worried about his father, of course, and the friends he had left back at Beacon Keep, but he had been worrying about them when he was locked in the dungeon too, so that was nothing new.

Now, thanks to Uncle Peter's spies, Stiles knew that his father was still alive, that his friends were willing to flee to Hale sanctuary too, and that they would have more allies in this war than expected. Alphas Queen Kali and King Ennis had been upset at the passing of Alpha King Deucalion and were not impressed that he had been succeeded by an upstart bitten wolf like Scott. They were eager to show their displeasure and get to the bottom of things.

Part of Stiles mourned for the boy he had once known — he and Scott had been best friends for years — but ever since the pack had been bitten, the boy had changed. And not for the better. Some might say Stiles was the one who had changed, but he was quite certain that it was Scott, developing an arrogance and self-righteousness that hadn't been there before.

And surely the others wouldn't be fleeing to the Hale lands if Scott hadn't changed from being their friend to becoming a tyrant. It must be worse for the wolves, Stiles knew, because Scott was capable and all too willing to back up his orders with an alpha command that they struggled to resist. Stiles had always been headstrong, and unwilling to bend when he thought Scott was in the wrong, but the others wouldn't have a choice.

That's probably what had gotten him locked up and abandoned in a dungeon, come to think of it.

Not that Stiles had wanted to go through those months of house arrest, let alone those months of cruelty in the dungeon of Nemeton, but seeing as they had brought him here, to Derek's side, he wasn't sure he could complain.

Derek was everything that Stiles could ever want in a mate: attentive, loving, and possessive. Most would view the last as a bad thing, but for Stiles it was proof that Derek wanted him and only him. When the wolf left love bites all over his neck, or scented him throughout the day, it was proof that Stiles was loved. He wallowed in Derek's love for him, and did his best to reciprocate. He couldn't leave love bites with the way wolves healed, but he had learned how to leave his own scent on Derek, and he did his best to leave no doubts that his mate was a claimed man.

All of the Hales had been welcoming to Stiles, and it was wonderful to connect with Uncle Peter again. Especially when his spies quickly brought word that Stiles's dad was still alive. Cora was judgemental and sarcastic, much like Erica, and Stiles knew the two of them would either hate each other, or get along splendidly, ganging up on the rest of them. Laura was rarely around, living with her own husband and young children, but she had been very welcoming when she had come to the first war council. Talia and her husband Eric, of course, were quite busy as Queen and King Consort, so Stiles rarely saw them outside of meals, but they still seemed happy that their son and heir had found a mate, and not displeased that that mate was Stiles.

The most shocking person he met in Hale lands, however, was their emissary, Braeden. She had taken one look at Stiles, shading her eyes, and then immediately got to work. It turned out that Stiles's spark needed a lot of healing. Not only from the torture of being locked down for the past six months, but apparently it had been regularly siphoned away before that, causing instability now that he had access to all of his potential.

Deaton was the obvious culprit, especially since Braeden confirmed that his spark was not at all "tiny and barely worth bothering with", but was in fact an inferno of magic dwelling within him.

Stiles had healing sessions with Braeden almost every other day, and had a small collection of potions and tinctures that he had to take every morning and evening. Derek had hovered, worried, as Braeden gave all her instructions, and he was even more strict than Stiles was about taking his medicines on time.

Slowly but surely, however, Stiles's spark was getting better, and so was he. He was used to eating full meals again, and he had gained a little of his color back from being able to bask in the sun again. His nightmares were still there, nights he woke up in the dark and thought he was still in that dungeon, or remembered having to kill Donovan, but Derek's strong arm around him was usually enough to banish those thoughts. When he woke, Stiles would cuddle back into his wolf, enjoying his warmth and the smell of him, and remind himself that he was here, now, and safe.

Things were getting better.

Chapter Text

"Erica!" Stiles shouted joyfully, throwing himself at the blond wolf the moment she alighted from her horse. The other two were a bare moment behind her, and in seconds the trio had Stiles wrapped up in a hug.

Derek clenched his fist and reminded himself that these were Stiles's friends, and the last time they had seen him he was being dragged away in chains. Of course they wanted to reassure themselves that he was alright now. They weren't trying to steal his mate from him.

Stiles eventually pulled himself out of the melee and returned to Derek's side, slipping under his arm as though he belonged there — and he did. "Erica, Boyd, Isaac, this is Prince Derek Hale, my mate," Stiles announced proudly.

The trio fell into a line, each one bearing their neck subserviently. "Thank you for allowing us into your territory, Prince Hale," Isaac said. "We petition for sanctuary from the tyrant McCall, Alpha King of Beacon."

"Your petition for sanctuary is granted, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, and Isaac Lahey," Derek said formally, using the old ritual he had been taught. He had no idea who had taught Stiles's beta friends, as it was certainly something that McCall wouldn't have covered — or likely known himself — but perhaps Deucalion had done it after they came to his attention from the rogue attacks. He placed his hand on Isaac's neck, and felt the small spark of power jump between them, marking them as under the protection of the Hales. They weren't pack — not yet — but that was for his mother to decide. Derek then welcomed in Erica and Boyd, all while Stiles squirmed eagerly at his side.

Once he was done with the formal sanctuary rites, the trio stepped back, and Stiles slipped away from Derek to throw himself at them again. "I'm so glad you're alright!" he said, his voice muffled into Boyd's chest. "You're going to love the Hales. They're so warm, and welcoming. Nothing like Deucalion was."

Derek was unsurprised. Deucalion had a reputation for being ruthless, which made it all the more surprising that a feral alpha had made its way into his territory. And that it hadn't been found and put down before it had bitten so many teens in the capitol's school. He was also a bit of a warmonger, and only his friendship with Kali and Ennis, and his respect for Derek's mother, had kept him from taking a bite out of their territories. The kingdom on his other side, formerly held by Queen Julia, was not so lucky.

"So? Tell us everything!" Erica demanded, drawing Derek out of his thoughts.

"Eh, it was pretty boring actually," Stiles shrugged. "Locked in a dungeon, started to go crazy, met a vision of a wolf who saved me and carried me back to his kingdom." He was grinning by the end, and he slipped back to Derek's side once again. Derek leaned over and kissed him firmly — and if that was a little bit about staking his claim, well, no one needed to know.

Erica whistled. "Damn Stiles!" she cheered.

Stiles broke the kiss with a laugh — not the crazy one he'd displayed down in the dungeon of Nemeton, but a bright, happy thing. Derek never tired of hearing it.

"Come on, let's get you all to the capitol. You can meet Alpha Queen Talia and get settled in," Stiles told his friends. "I'm sure they'll want to know everything you can tell them about what Scott's been doing in the last few months."

The trio turned grim. "Nothing good," Boyd said sourly.

Stiles sighed. "I thought, maybe once I was gone, that he'd get better."

"Only until Deaton or his Argent princess turned their gaze on someone new," Erica said bitterly.

"Or Theo," Isaac pointed out. "Liam was the most recent to have the beady eye directed at him."

"But Liam was one of his loyal minions!" Stiles said, shocked. "He was one of the ones who kept me under house arrest!"

"Not anymore." Erica shook her head. "Things have gone even more downhill in Beacon since you've been gone."

Derek listened carefully as the trio began to describe what had happened in the last six months. His mother would want to know about this as soon as possible.

"You've heard all the evidence against the so-called True Alpha King McCall," Talia announced gravely to the war council. "How say you? Will we go to war?"

Almost as one, the representatives raised their hands. Stiles, as a witness, was sitting in a small box to the side, along with his friends from Beacon. Derek, as his mother's heir, was sitting behind her, taking notes, but he'd given Stiles encouraging looks the entire time he'd stood before the horseshoe shaped table, telling his story. To his surprise, they'd gone all the way back to the feral alpha attack, and even asked him questions about when Deaton first told him about his spark.

Even more surprising, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac weren't the only ones in the witness box beside him. Danny had apparently gotten a tip from the Kitsune Queen, Noshiko, and Lydia had dragged him and Jackson here. Kira, Noshiko's daughter, who had been attending Beacon's school during the feral attack, but had returned home soon after, was also there to give her own testimony. It had been a bittersweet reunion, with Stiles glad to see his friends again, but fearful for what it meant for Beacon that so many were seeking sanctuary with the Hales or other kingdoms.

Braeden had also testified to the magical damage she had found on Stiles, but he wasn't alone. It was the worst on Lydia, tearing down her natural defenses and making her unable to control her banshee powers, which should have been second nature. But all of the others bar Kira had subtle manipulations placed on them. Braeden had broken all of them, and his friends had almost instantly lost some of the tension they had been carrying.

Stiles hadn't ever thought he could hate Scott — what he did, yes, but not the boy he had once called brother — but it was becoming harder and harder to separate the two in his mind. Of course Deaton held some of the blame — the lion's share, even — but Scott was clearly complicit, according to the others' testimony. Lydia's was the most damning, given her intelligence and ability to make connections at a pace unmatched by all but Stiles.

The situation had grown dire, it was clear, and it was also clear what the council had unanimously decided. War was coming to Beacon.

Stiles was exhausted, and he was very grateful for his mate as Derek cuddled him close. He'd ensured that Stiles got dinner, even though he'd thought himself too tired to eat, and was now holding him as he tried to get his mind to relax.

Braeden had called a council of her own, full of the highest magic users from each order. The lead Spark, Amelie, had been delighted to meet Stiles, and furious with the damage done to him, even though it was almost fully healed. She immediately arranged with Talia to remain with the Hales for a few months to train Stiles in how to use his magic. Braeden had covered the basics, as she could for any new magic user, but he really needed a true Spark to continue.

Alpha Queen Talia was happy to agree, and Derek was thrilled on his mate's behalf, but the work was exhausting. Especially today, when Amelie had used her own magic to pull out Stiles's memories and encase them into crystals that others could view. It was based on the way that werewolves could use their claws in someone's neck to view their memories, but had the advantage of being viewed by more than the wolf in question, and being permanent unless the crystal was broken.

The rest of the magical council — the grand coven, officially — had reviewed Stiles's memories, as well as a few from the rest of their little pack — and were now certain that Deaton was a darach. There was also something that intrigued them about the feral wolf, and how he had come after Stiles so many times, but failed to bite him, but that was going to take more research, they had claimed. The sight of the wolf — frozen in place and not desperately trying to kill him — sparked something in Stiles's memory too, but he had no idea what it was. He would need to meditate on it.

For now, Stiles was just happy to be dismissed and able to cuddle up with his warm, soothing mate. Derek ran his fingers through Stiles's hair, and Stiles hummed happily. He could easily stay right here forever.

Chapter Text

"We have figured out the identity of the feral alpha," Amelie announced when they met two days later. "Between your various memories and the assessment we were able to make of those bitten, we narrowed it down. Mage Malachi then scried for the pack in question, and was able to use a special spell to see their destruction."

Alpha Queen Talia frowned. "So the pack was destroyed purposefully, then."

"Yes, by Gerard and Kate Argent," Head Mage Malachi said sorrowfully.

"We suspected they might be behind the rogue attack at the time, but could never find proof," Peter growled.

"They were very clearly visible in the sense memories," Malachi said, waving his hand and pulling up a translucent image above it. Two people — Stiles recognized them as Kate and Gerard Argent — were standing over several bodies. Bodies with familiar looking faces.

"Hang on…" he murmured, ignoring the fact that he was not supposed to speak in front of the war council without permission.

Braeden was at his side a moment later. "I'm sorry, Stiles," she said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"The pack that was killed were the Gajos Pack, from the border near the Argent territory," Amelie continued. "According to our records, the humans from the pack — Mirriam Gajos and her niece Claudia — claimed sanctuary in Beacon two decades ago. The wolves were supposed to follow, but never did. The territory had since been claimed by the late Deucalion, but the Gajos pack was never seen again."

"So the feral…" Stiles knew there were tears running down his cheeks, but he didn't care. He knew now that he recognized the faces from the pictures of her family that his mom had kept in an album. He hadn't looked at it since she died, not wanting to see her features in them, but he hadn't forgotten them.

"Was your grandfather, Mieczysław," Braeden said softly.

"It explains why he did not bite you, despite the clear desires of those who were controlling him," Amelie said. "He must have smelled that you were his family, even in his feral state, and did his best to resist."

Since they had already confirmed what Deaton had said — that the bite would have burnt out Stiles's nascent spark — it was a small comfort to know that his grandfather had still been fighting to protect him, even in that state.

"Are you saying that the Argents kept Alpha Mieczysław Gajos a prisoner for two decades?" Talia asked firmly.

"We are unsure, but the rest of the pack was killed at various times, ranging from a decade or so until five years ago," Malachi said. After his mom had died, then, Stiles realized, which was why she hadn't felt the packbonds snapping and warned someone. "As to how long he was tortured until he became the feral who attacked Beacon's school three years ago, we are unsure."

Tortured. His grandfather — and likely the rest of his family — had been tortured by the Argents until he became a feral that they could point in any direction they wanted. Stiles remembered Allison transferring into the school right before the attacks started, remembered how quickly she latched onto Scott, remembered overhearing her say that she was staying with her Aunt while her parents ran their kingdom.

Stiles saw red.

A firm hand clamped down upon his shoulder, but it wasn't enough to keep him still as Stiles struggled to his feet. The Argents had tortured and killed his family, and they were responsible for the attacks three years ago. They had tried to kill Stiles then too, by having the feral — his grandfather — attack him. Then they had swanned in and put down the feral, acting like heroes instead of the architects of so much misery. Stiles was going to kill them all, as painfully and slowly as they had killed his family.

Strong arms wrapped around Stiles, and his face was suddenly buried in a warm chest. He took in a deep breath and realized he was tucked against Derek. His mate ran soothing hands up and down Stiles's back, and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek. Stiles burst into tears of rage and sorrow, clinging to his mate and muffling his sobs as best he could. He should feel embarrassed about breaking down here, in front of the war council and the grand coven, but all he felt was the need to make the Argents pay.

"We will make them pay," Derek murmured into his hair. "We'll find out every Argent involved and make all of them pay," he promised.

Stiles was dimly aware that they were moving, walking somewhere, and he trusted Derek to steer him backwards down the halls without running into anything. All the while, Derek kept up his soothing murmur of vengeance.

Finally, they reached a new room, one without the quiet susurrations of the court, and Derek shifted them down so that they were sitting together. It felt like a small couch, and their legs tangled together awkwardly for a moment before they managed to get situated.

Stiles wasn't sure how long they sat there, but slowly his rage ebbed from a burning inferno into a small, tightly packed ember. He could feed it and send it — and his spark — raging again, but he was as calm and contained as he was going to get. Stiles finally pulled back from Derek slightly, and realized they were in the small antechamber he and the others had waited in before being called before the council. He should feel bad about breaking down in front of them all, he realized, but the rage and sorrow still had a hold of him, and there was no room left for his embarrassment.

Derek placed one hand under his chin, and tilted Stiles up to meet him for a chaste kiss. Then he pulled back, eyes glowing blue. "I promise you, my mate, we will kill them all."

"I'll personally deliver their hearts to you on a platter, Mischief," Uncle Peter offered, and Stiles turned to find him lounging against the door. There was no one else in the room, but Stiles didn't mind Uncle Peter seeing him break down. He'd seen it often enough after his mother died, before his father got better.

Derek snorted. "Save the courting gestures for your own mate," he said without heat.

Uncle Peter just grinned in reply. "Ready to rejoin the council?" he asked.

"It's still going?" Stiles asked. "I thought they'd be done by now."

Uncle Peter shook his head. "The grand coven had to show proof of their findings, and they shared several memories from your friends about the— the feral attacks, as well as the magical visions they used to backtrack to the Gajos pack."

"I should— should I have…"

"You didn't need to see that, pup," Uncle Peter reassured him. "No one really needed to see it, but the formalities do have to be observed before war is officially declared. We don't want to risk attacking someone innocent — though the Argents are anything but. I came to get you because they've moved on from the Gajos pack so it's safe for you to come back in."

Stiles cast a quick charm to clean up his face — one he had learned as a child that he could do with his 'limited' magic — and straightened his shoulders. "I'm ready."

Derek gently tugged up his hand and kissed it. "Then let's go."

They were able to slip back into the council room without anyone paying attention to them, and Derek and Uncle Peter escorted Stiles back to his place in the witness box before retaking their own seats with the council — Derek a pace behind Talia to her right, and Uncle Peter matching him to her left. The other rulers had their consorts or heirs and left hands present as well, but Stiles hadn't gotten any names, or paid much attention to their faces.

Once upon a time, he had thought about becoming a left hand like his Uncle Peter. It certainly sounded like more fun than becoming the Sheriff, like his father. He had even dreamed of becoming Deucalion's left hand, and working side by side with his dad the way Uncle Peter did. But then Scott took over, and everything slowly dissolved into chaos. Scott didn't believe in having a left hand, and fired Deucalion's — something he chose to brag about in front of the rest of the pack. Theo acted like his left hand, however, choosing to do Scott's dirty work whether he knew it or not. Stiles still wasn't sure how many of his own woes could be laid at Scott's hands, and how many were from Theo (and Donovan) working independently. Of course, there was also Deaton to consider. He certainly had his own agenda, given he had been siphoning Stiles's spark since his mother died, and he too operated in the shadows, more like a left hand than the emissary he purported to be. Though the head druid had named him a darach, so perhaps operating in the shadows just came naturally to him because of that.

When Stiles tuned back into the council, they were deliberating the fate of Allison. There was no proof she was in the know about her aunt's and grandfather's activities, but no proof that she wasn't. Stiles was inclined to capture her alive and get the information they needed, and it sounded like most of the council agreed with him. Certainly Uncle Peter and the other left hands were probably looking forward to all the information they could gather from the Argent heiress.

Once upon a time, Stiles might have felt bad for Scotty, and the hell that was about to rain down on him and his beloved Allison, but now all Stiles could feel was that ember of rage sitting in his chest. Scott was going to deserve everything that was coming to him, and so would Allison, Deaton, Theo, and all the rest. Beacon wouldn't know what hit them, but — as Derek and Uncle Peter had promised — Stiles would have his vengeance. If he had to, he'd kill them all himself.