Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

As Stiles blinks his eyes open, he wonders if he’s still dreaming or if he should pinch himself.

His life is surreal. Wonderful, but surreal.

For the past five years he’s operated successfully as a consulting detective, a cold case specialist with a sterling reputation across the States as the man to solve the most difficult of unsolved crimes. He guest lectures at Berkeley, his old University, and has the respect of his academic peers as a successfully published author of the definitive book on investigating cold cases.

But his professional successful pales in his view to the personal where he’s been successfully married to the love of his life who also happens to be the hottest Alpha werewolf in the world.  

As though he’s heard Stiles thinking about him, Derek’s arm tightens around him, his nose snuffling into the back of Stiles’ neck, a soft kiss landing on the skin there.

Stiles immediately turns around and indulges in a long slow kiss before settling into a cuddle.  

The early morning Californian sun lights up their bedroom, chasing away the shadows of dawn. Outside the sound of birds competes with the rustle of trees. Their property in Berkeley Hills borders the Tilden Nature Area which helps with Derek’s wolfy instincts.  

Stiles doesn’t move. They have nowhere they have to be for once.

Derek had designated the next few weeks a vacation months ago. He’s set aside his own work of running a small book-keeping business he runs to enjoy uninterrupted time with Stiles. The University is on its summer break, there is no pressing case to investigate, just the long stretch of summer ahead of them. Who is Stiles to argue with him?

The only plans Stiles has for the day is to keep Derek in bed for as long as possible and to maybe laze by the pool with a good book. Tomorrow he’ll let Derek cajole him into a hike or a beach trip and they’ve already agreed to head up to Beacon Hills at the weekend to spend time with Stiles’ Dad.

Stiles is definitely living his best life.      

He knows for a fact that his old Beacon Hill peers also can’t quite believe that Stiles Stilinski, the dork they tried to bully, is so successful because every single one of them from his epic crush Lydia Martin to his former friend Scott McCall are furiously disbelieving every time they speak to him.

Which isn’t often these days, Stiles considers matter-of-factly.

Apart from the calls with Laura, Derek’s older and favourite sister, he and Derek have had very little interaction with the Hale pack since the death of Derek’s parents, Talia and Richard, in a fight with a Nogitsune who had taken possession of a local teen playing around the Nemeton two years before.

Weirdly the Hale Alpha spark hadn’t been inherited by Laura, as expected as her mother’s chosen heir. It had instead settled on Scott.

Cora, Derek’s younger sister, had moved to live with Stiles and Derek soon after, occupying the studio apartment over their garage. She’d claimed that she wanted a change of pace but Laura had told them that Cora and Scott, once close friends themselves, had argued badly about his leadership of the pack.

Stiles marvels at the insanity of Scott being the Alpha of the Hale pack.

He’s the first to admit that his complicated history with Scott has left him with mixed feelings about his old childhood friend. He and Scott had been as close as brothers until Talia had offered Scott the bite during their high school years. One of the conditions she’d set was for Scott to stop being friends with Stiles as she had believed Stiles would quickly realise the big werewolf secret, and Scott had accepted. Stiles hadn’t known that at the time although as his suspicions grew over the ‘cure’ the Hales had financed for Scott, he’d also started to realise why Scott had iced him out.

Talia had apologised when it had all come to light. Scott still hasn’t apologised although if Stiles is feeling generous, he will concede to one possibly maybe might-have-been fumbling attempt at Talia and Richard’s funeral.

Possibly because Scott had started out with the words ‘I owe you an apology’ but maybe might-have-been because what followed had not been an apology but rather a plea for unity in the pack.

Except Derek is an Alpha in his own right. He’d killed another Alpha to protect Stiles in a showdown between the Hales and a so-called Alpha pack. Officially, Stiles and Derek haven’t been part of the Hale pack for years. Stiles, his father, and Derek are their own small pack and Stiles thinks Cora is considering whether to join them given she really hates Scott being her Alpha.  

Derek huffs. “You’re thinking about Scott.”

“How do you know?” Stiles asks since Derek’s eyes are still firmly closed.

“You tensed up,” Derek says. He slides a hand up Stiles’ back and clasps the back of his neck. “Scott’s usually the cause.”

Stiles hums. “I was thinking about the almost apology at the funeral.”

Derek opens one eye and arches an eyebrow. “You mean the one where he acknowledged he owed you an apology and then tried to argue that our house and cabin belonged to his pack?”

Talia and Richard had gifted them both properties.

Stiles believes that they were trying to make it up to Derek for the years they’d lost with their son after sending him away after the whole Kate Argent fire debacle because Derek’s Uncle Peter had lied to them about everything. That whole business had been a convoluted nightmare of misunderstandings sown by Peter to take revenge on Talia for hiding his own daughter. Derek had been the one to suffer the most spending years without his pack hiding away on the Preserve.

Stiles sighs, pulling himself back to the present. “I’m just glad we had all the paperwork in order to shut Scott’s argument down.”

“Dad was good that way,” Derek agrees. He drops a light kiss on Stiles’ lips. “Why are you thinking about Scott anyway?”

“I’m just thinking about how crazily wonderful my life is with you much to the disbelief of others,” Stiles says, snuggling closer to his werewolf.

Derek kisses him again.

Stiles lets any thought of Scott and the Hale pack slide away and he focuses on his husband, his soulmate.

They grab a late breakfast and eat on the back patio, drenched in sunlight and with the scent of the trees and pool competing with the dark rich coffee Stiles loves. They’re almost done when Cora walks around the side of the house, her face tight with tension.

The years have been kind to her; her trim body is showcased in tight black jeans, a simple grey t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her shoulders. The whole image is slightly destroyed by her footwear of plain black flip-flops rather than her typical boots. Her long black hair is loose and swings around her as she strides up to their table.

Stiles and Derek exchange a quick look of concern before greeting her.

“What’s up?” asks Stiles directly. He notes the glints of gold in her dark eyes and winces inwardly at the sure sign of anger.

“Jackson called,” Cora states bluntly. “Lydia has been missing for days but Scott insists everything is fine.”

Stiles frowns, a line appearing between his brows. “What?”

Sure he’d once had a huge crush on Lydia but he’d outgrown it by the time he’d graduated high school. They were civil as adults; he’d never call her his friend, but he would also never wish for her to be in any kind of danger.   

“Jackson wants us to return and help him look for her,” Cora continues, folding her arms. Her mouth forms a stubborn pout which Stiles is sure is a Hale family quirk.

Stiles pushes the chair nearest to Cora out from the table with his bare foot. “Sit and explain properly, and you know we can’t just stick our noses in since Scott can claim that’s a territory challenge.”

Cora heaves a sigh, rolls her eyes and drops into the chair with a thump.

“When was Lydia last seen?” asks Derek calmly, his hands wrapped around his coffee mug.

“Two days ago,” Cora says promptly. She reaches for the jug of orange juice and steals Derek’s glass to pour herself some. “Jackson says she’s been having poor sleep and some kind of fits for weeks though. Deaton said it was just her banshee powers evolving and Scott accepted that like it was gospel.” She raises her glass and downs her orange juice like it’s a shot of whiskey.

Stiles agrees with her evident disgust about Deaton.

The situation with Deaton is messy. He’d held the position of the Hale Emissary for years and Talia had trusted him. Deaton had bizarrely decided to hide Derek away from her when Derek had run to him for help. Instead of explaining that Peter had been a dick and lied; instead of reuniting him with his worried family, who’d believed him to be a runaway at that point, Deaton had simply set him up with a business and a small property on Hale land and told no-one.

Deaton had been exiled himself by Talia in the wake of Derek being found. Stiles thought the exile was too kind a punishment, but then, Talia had already disposed of the main villain of the story, Peter. Derek had confirmed that his uncle was dead shortly after he and Stiles had become involved. Maybe with Peter gone, Talia had felt justice had already had its pound of flesh. Or maybe she hadn’t wanted to risk drawing attention with another weird disappearance.

“I don’t know why he brought that creepy old dude back,” Stiles complains.

“Scott doesn’t like me and never understood why Mom exiled Deaton in the first place,” Derek says dryly.

“Laura complains all the time that Scott listens to Deaton more than he listens to anyone else,” Cora pours the remaining juice into her empty glass. “Jackson went to pick Lydia up for breakfast yesterday morning and she was missing. Phone on the kitchen counter, purse left behind. He says it’s like she just walked out of her apartment with the clothes on her back and nothing else.”

“What about her car?” asks Stiles.

“Found abandoned by the edge of the Preserve this morning; it’s why Jackson rang. Scott still doesn’t think there’s a problem,” Cora says briefly. She fidgets with the glass. “Look, I’ve never liked her but it does sound worrying.” She points at Stiles. “You were going up there anyway after the full moon tonight, right? To see your Dad? I know you told Scott about the visit, just go early.” She grimaces. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get the time off. Joe has us all assigned to a major landscaping job.”

Stiles hums and looks over at Derek. “What do you think?”

“I think Lydia isn’t the type to disappear into the woods,” Derek says, his brow creasing a touch. “Scott should have the pack looking for her.” He tilts his head. “Maybe give your Dad a call? I assume Jackson reported her missing?”

Cora nods. “It was Jordan who found the car.”

Jordan Parrish has worked as a deputy for the Sheriff’s office for years. Stiles knows his Dad thinks he’s going to be a shoo-in for Sheriff once Noah Stilinski finally decides to retire. He’s also Laura’s husband. Beacon Hills is a small town.

“I’ll call my Dad,” Stiles decides. “If he agrees it would be useful to have us involved, we’ll head out today.” If they had an official request to help Scott couldn’t complain about them nosing into the problem.

Derek nods. His eyes flash Alpha red for a second underlying his agreement.  

Cora breathes out quietly beside Stiles, a soft rush of breath that gives away her relief at Derek’s words. “I’ll let Jackson know.”

Stiles pushes back from the table and picks up his phone. He has a call to make.

o-O-o

Beacon Hills never really changes.

Sure, there are small changes – the old bookstore shuts down and a new café opens, they put a one-way system in around the elementary school, new signage goes up around the town hall – but in all meaningful ways, Beacon Hills remains the same.

The Sheriff’s office is one of the most unchanging elements; the Sheriff is another. Stiles takes comfort in the solidity of his father’s frame, the small lines of age that crease his eyes and mouth, the minimal greying in his father’s hair.

Stiles squirms into a comfortable position in an old visitor’s chair in front of his father’s desk. Derek hovers beside him, standing with a firm stance, arms folded over his black t-shirt.

His father sits in his chair across the busy desk strewn with folders despite the shift to a paperless operation. He tidies a few things to the side and clasps his hands over a single folder.

“What do you know?” asks his father, his pale blue gaze snagging Stiles’ wandering gaze.

Stiles reels off the information Cora had given them at breakfast and points his fingers at his father. “What do you know?”

“Enough to open a missing person file ahead of the usual timelines,” his father admits. He passes the folder under his hands across the desk.

Stiles takes it and immediately starts flipping through the photos and statements.

“Lydia has been struggling with what appeared to be a health issue for months,” his father begins. “Her last known sighting is five days ago when she bought coffee and pastries at The Coffee Hub on Main. No sign of any of the cartons and bag in her trash at her apartment. Whittemore says he was still receiving texts from her until the evening before his breakfast date with her.”

Stiles flips through the printed text messages. There’s nothing truly alarming in the texts. They are the typical kind of messages between friends; in-jokes, logistics, random thoughts, cat videos…

Underlying all of it is the sense of two people who know each other well; who love each other despite their ups-and-downs of a fiery relationship which went from childhood sweethearts to bitchy best friends once Jackson came out as gay. It spoke of a strength of bond that Stiles envied a touch before he revelled in the knowledge that he had his own special bond with Derek.

He does notice that Jackson asks about her headaches and suggests again that she goes to the hospital.

“With these fits she’s having, did she wander off during them?” asks Stiles bluntly.

His father nods. “She sleepwalked right into a murder scene two weeks ago. She said a vision of a young boy lured her there.” He sits back, throwing up his hands slightly. “The murder was a mature prostitute who’d gotten on the wrong side of her pimp. No young boy. None of the characteristics matched to either of the victims and she admitted that she didn’t think she’d screamed.”

Stiles passes the file over his shoulder to Derek. He taps his fingers against his chin. “You’ve started a search in the Preserve?”

“Jordan and another couple of the deputies are there now,” his father says. “Jordan’s last update was that the tracks washed out around the creek.” He glances at Derek. “Sam and your sister are helping the search as volunteers.”

Derek shuts the folder and hands it back. “I thought Scott had decided against searching.”

“He has but Laura says he can’t object to them volunteering in an official search,” his father rubs his head and looks at Stiles. “He’s always been obstinate, but lately? I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“Power,” Derek answers. “The Alpha spark is…overwhelming. Scott wasn’t prepared for it. He should be taking lessons with Laura on how to control it. My mother gave me lessons and she prepared Laura as the most likely candidate to succeed her.”

“If only.”

His Dad’s whisper makes Stiles snort.

“Deaton seems to have Scott’s ear,” his father continues, tapping the desk, “and only Deaton.”

Stiles sighs and brushes a hand through his hair. “Right.” He pulls at the toggle on his hoodie. “As much as I don’t like the old guy, I think he’s probably right that something is going on with her powers.”

“That makes sense,” Derek agrees.

“So, I think we divide and conquer,” Stiles turns to his husband. “I need to set up a call with a banshee to get some intel and you…”

“If the Sheriff is directly asking for help, I’d be happy to join the group at the Preserve,” Derek says immediately.

“Consider this a direct request,” his father says brightly. “I know you know the Preserve better than most people. Jordan’s on the old Mill Road side, I figure if you head that way you’ll come across them soon enough.”

“Or you could call Laura,” Stiles offers cheekily.

Derek shoots Stiles a chiding look.

“Good luck getting through if she’s in a dead zone,” his father quips.

Which is a valid point. Stiles sticks his tongue out at him and his Dad smirks back at him.

Derek clears his throat. “I’ll head out now. We still have most of the afternoon light.”

“I’ll walk you out to the car,” Stiles says jumping up.

They head back through the reception area where old Mrs Buttey is complaining about her neighbours again and into the grey ambience of an overcast Beacon Hills.

When they reach their car, Stiles tugs on Derek’s jacket to demand a kiss and his husband obliges him.

The sound of a motorcycle pulling up near to them has them easing apart if not letting go. They look over and find Scott dismounting his bike, stowing a helmet on the back before he walks over to them.

He looks the same old Scott; sturdy boots, denim jacket, jeans and t-shirt showing off his werewolf-gifted physique. His hair is messy from the helmet but he doesn’t bother to fix it, too intent on getting to them. His dark eyes survey them in a sweep and Stiles clocks a muscle tightening along Scott’s uneven jawline.

“What are you doing in my territory, Derek?” Scott’s eyes flash red.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “We informed you and your Emissary by email that we were planning to visit this week over a month ago.”

Stiles nods. “Which is a courtesy and a tradition, Scott. It isn’t actually necessary since we have property and family here which predate your ascension to Alpha.”

Scott grimaces. He doesn’t deny it though. “Deaton says he didn’t receive any kind of notice.”

“Well, that’s because we emailed your Emissary,” Stiles repeats slowly, “you know, Lydia?”

Scott’s expression brightens, his eyes opening wide in realisation. “Ah, I reinstated Deaton a few weeks ago. Lydia is having some health problems.”

“Right,” Stiles says, not bothering to hide his disbelief at Scott’s phrasing and his decision. “My Dad asked for our help with the search for her. Derek’s just on his way to join the others at the Preserve.”

Scott blinks. His mouth shifts into an unattractive pout. “Lydia’s not missing. Deaton says that there’s nothing to worry about and Jackson’s just being dramatic.” He glances towards the Sheriff’s office. “I should talk with your Dad and get this cleared up.”

Stiles stares at Scott. “Scott, she hasn’t been seen in five days. Nobody’s heard from her since yesterday.” He throws out one arm. “She didn’t take her phone with her or any money. Her car was found abandoned on the edge of the Preserve.” He gestures in the general direction. “What about that says that everything is peachy keen?”  

Scott ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t realise any of that.”

Stiles swallows down the hundred different responses he wants to make. Rage at Scott’s obliviousness and total trust in Deaton boils through his veins.

Derek’s fingers curl over his wrist. “I should go. I’ll check in when I get to the Preserve.”

Stiles accepts the light kiss Derek drops on his lips.

“I’ll follow you there,” Scott offers. His shoulders go back and his chin lifts. “She’s part of my pack.”

So nice of him to remember that now, Stiles thinks grimly.

Derek regards his fellow Alpha with stoic forbearance and simply nods rather than taking the bait and starting an argument.

Stiles bites his lip as he lets go of his husband. He watches with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie as Derek drives away. Scott’s motorcycle rumbles past in his wake.

Stiles shakes himself and turns around. He has a call to make.

o-O-o

In the privacy of the car and without any Stilinskis nearby to watch him, Derek calls Laura. Noah isn’t wrong, Derek muses, cell service can be spotty in the middle of the Preserve but he figures Stiles’ suggestion is worth a try anyway. A good suggestion as it turns out when Laura picks up straight away.

“Tell me you’re close to Beacon Hills,” Laura demands.

“On my way to the Preserve,” Derek says. “Where are you guys?”

“We’re at the old ranger hut off the trail by the Old Mill Road,” Laura states. “Jordan and Tara set up a base camp. We’re regrouping.”

Derek assesses the journey time. “Be with you in fifteen. By the way, your Alpha is following me.”

“Great,” Laura says dryly and hangs up on him.

Typical no-nonsense Laura. Three kids hasn’t exactly softened her either. Derek’s looking forward to spending time with his nephews. Parker, JJ, and Richie are a perfect combination of Jordan and Laura, and entirely themselves too. He and Stiles have talked about adding a kid to their family but they’ll have to go the adoption or surrogacy route. Stiles wants to wait until he’s thirty and Derek is looking forward to them starting their journey into parenthood.

His heart aches a little because his own parents won’t see it. Their relationship had still borne the scars of everything that had gone down after the death of his first girlfriend, but it had been mended. No thanks to Deaton.

Why Scott values the old druid so much…

Derek won’t lie and say Deaton hadn’t helped him back when he was a scared teenager, on the run from hunters and thinking his parents had sent him into exile because of what had happened with Paige, with Kate and the fire, because Deaton had helped provide him with a place to live and helped set him up with work. What Deaton hadn’t done was tell the Hale Alpha that Derek was found since as far as Deaton knew at the time, and what the rest of the Hale pack believed, was Peter’s manufactured lie of Derek running away from a school in New York.

He didn’t trust Deaton now and never will.

But he could believe Scott would ignore all of Deaton’s actions around Derek in order to bring Deaton back to Beacon Hills.

Derek really, really does not like Scott and the feeling is entirely mutual.

He glances in his rear view mirror. The other Alpha is following him on his motorcycle.

A lot of their enmity is because Scott resents Derek for being Stiles’ friend because Scott had ruined his own friendship with Stiles and Stiles just forgive him; Derek considers Scott an idiot for how he had treated Stiles. Things had worsened when Derek and Stiles had started dating. Scott disapproved strongly of their relationship and they hadn’t exactly approved of his with the late Allison Argent. While Scott hadn’t been a factor in their move to Berkeley, Derek was still grateful that they’d rarely had to deal with Scott while his parents had still been alive.

Derek still can’t believe that when his mother had died the Alpha spark had gone to Scott.

He pulls off the main road and into a narrow service road that runs up to the ranger hut.

There is a part of him which sympathises with Scott’s situation. Derek had killed an Alpha to save Stiles and the surge of power had been overwhelming. His mother had stepped in and taught him how to control his instincts before he started randomly biting people to create betas to stabilise himself, and Stiles’ steady presence as his anchor and mate had been essential.

Scott had lost Allison in the same fight which had seen Derek’s parents die and him inherit the Hale spark. He had claimed she was his anchor and the love of his life. It was a lot for anyone to deal with and Scott’s struggle in the wake of it all had been expected. His complete obstinance about accepting help from anyone in the pack has been mind-boggling.

It’s not that Scott doesn’t have the potential to be a good leader, Derek concedes to himself. He tries to be a good guy, he has a friendly affability, and he’s a solid vet by all accounts. It’s just that Scott’s flaws keep getting in his way; his stubbornness, his inability to listen to other points of view once his own mind is set, his actual poor leadership decisions.  

Which brings Derek back to his original thought: Deaton.

He sighs.

The Hale Pack isn’t his to worry about truly, but he’s worried. Cora has all but left and joined Derek’s pack bar the vows. Alaina and Ben, Peter’s widow and kid have moved over a county and joined another pack. His younger brother Jake had confided at Easter that he and Kenny, his partner, were thinking of doing the same. Jackson, Sam and Laura are all clearly unhappy and only Malia who is dating Scott seems settled.

Once the business with Lydia is resolved, he’ll make time to talk with Laura and the rest of his family. The Hale pack is about more than its Alpha; it’s a legacy, a territory which they’ve held for centuries. It can’t be ruined just because of one immature Alpha who is still getting used to his responsibilities.

He parks up beside the police off-road SUV.

Jackson’s completely impractical Porsche is parked across the clearing, its polished silver exterior splattered with mud. Beside it is Laura’s practical minivan and Scott chooses to park beside it.

Derek ignores him. He gets out of the car and heads to the camping table which is set-up at the side of the hut.

Laura straightens from looking at the map and moves to hug him tightly. “It’s good to see you, Derek.”

Her hair is the shortest he can ever remember on her and he vaguely remembers her complaining about Richie getting some kind of sticky stuff caught in her hair over a month before which had necessitated the cut. Otherwise, Laura looks like a worn version of herself; stress lines furrow her brow and mouth, her dark eyes have purple shadows underneath, and her lips look half-bitten and chewed. Her scent pile is a muddled mess of anxiety and tension.

She tenses even more at the sight of an approaching Scott.

“Laura, I didn’t realise you were part of the search,” Scott says brusquely.

“I volunteered,” Laura says tersely.

Jackson scoffs as he rounds the corner of the hut. He lifts a travel mug in Scott’s direction. “Some of us are actually worried when someone goes missing!”

Scott flushes an ugly red as he glares at Jackson. His eyes flash Alpha red but Jackson isn’t intimidated and he doesn’t flash his own in submission.

Laura holds up her hand. “Enough. Let’s just focus on finding Lydia.”

Derek nods. He places a hand on the table as he leans over to look at the map. “What’s happened with the search so far?”

There is a flicker of something in her expression which Derek catches but can’t decipher.

Laura’s fingers trace a path through the Preserve. “This morning we followed her trail all through here and lost her at the creek.” She taps a section to the East. “Sam, Tara and Henry are searching here as there were signs she might have gone in that direction.” She looks up at Scott. “I think you would be best placed to help them. The land adjoins the school and is often used for cross-country runs.”

“It is,” Scott agrees.

Laura immediately picks up the radio and contacts the oldest of the Hale siblings. Sam offers a landmark which Scott can use to locate them.

Laura hands her Alpha a radio. “Stay in touch with this, Scott. Phones can be tricky out here.”  

Scott pushes it into the pocket of his jacket and heads back to the motorcycle.

Laura turns back to the map. “Jordan is searching here and here. We think Lydia is in a sleep-state, sleepwalking maybe, or certainly in a banshee fugue.”

“It’s happened to her a couple of times before,” Jackson says coolly. Derek guesses his jeans are worth more than he and Stiles earn in a month.

The Hale lawyer is putting on a good show of his usual rich bastard façade but Derek can see the deep concern shining through his blue eyes and the way his fingers are clenched white around his travel mug.

The sound of Scott’s motorcycle travelling away finally fades.

Laura breathes in sharply and her posture changes as though someone has flicked a switch. “She’s digging up Uncle Peter.”

Derek flinches back a step before he can stop himself. “She’s what?”

“Digging up Uncle Peter,” Laura repeats, folding her arms over her chest, pulling the grey shirt she wears taut. “We found his first burial site disturbed when we followed her trail. We made something up for Tara and Henry since they don’t know about Peter. We said it looked like she’d just dug in the dirt for something but Sam and I realised straight away.”

“Sam’s taken Tara and Henry on a wild goose chase on the other side of the Preserve,” Jackson says grimly.

“Jordan’s tracking Lydia, she’s just missing his head now,” Laura grimaces and rubs her nose. “I have no idea what she plans to do with him once she has all of him.”

“Maybe she wants to set him on fire,” Derek mutters. He can hope at least.

A twinge of guilt flickers through him but he presses his lips together and ignores it. Peter had lied to him; he’d made him believe his family hated him. Peter had deserved the fate of being torn asunder by his Alpha, his body parts wrapped in wolfsbane and buried across the Preserve.

“How is she even dragging his body around with her?” Jackson wonders out loud.

It’s a good question.

Derek pulls out his phone and texts Stiles. He trusts his husband might be able to work out what’s going on; Stiles is a great investigator and one of the cleverest people Derek knows.

‘We think Lydia is looking for Peter.’

Stiles sends a thumbs up in response. ‘I’ll ask B.’

Derek figures B stands for banshee. He shakes his head and gestures at the map. “Point me at where she’s headed next. I’ll try and get there before her like Jordan.” He starts to strip out of his jacket and Henley. He’s going to need to change into his wolf form for maximum speed.

Laura’s finger stabs down.

It takes Derek a few minutes to get organised. He puts his phone in his jeans pocket and transforms.

Laura’s face softens at the sight of him. She reaches out and pets his head firmly. “Watch yourself and come back to us safely, Derek.”

Derek pushes his snout into the palm of her hand and licks her.

She hauls back with a loud ‘ew!’ and his job is done as a younger brother. He bounds away, a doggy grin on his wolfish face. He sobers quickly as he runs towards the place Laura had given him.

Derek jumps the creek and shoots across a patch of grass into another cluster of trees. He sends the wildlife scattering, birds taking to wing in reaction as he sprints through the undergrowth, leaping over random branches and logs, his mind focused on reaching his target.

Time slips by as he runs.

He catches the scent of ash and sulphur, gun oil; Jordan. He darts past him, revels in the startled heartbeat of the hell hound, and hears the muttered swearing of his brother-in-law.

Derek slows as he reaches the location, taking a careful sniff of the air.

Lydia’s usual perfume is faint and almost entirely doused in the more acrid smell of terror. Whatever is going on with her is not something she is enthusiastically on board with.

He stalks out of the treeline and huffs.

There is a hole in the ground, a tangle of wolfsbane to the side of it, and Lydia is long gone.

He transforms back to his human self and shivers a touch as the cool air hits his naked torso; the dirt is hard under his bare feet. He’s glad that he’s mastered transforming with his jeans because he can’t imagine having to be completely naked in the woods. He steps forward carefully, avoiding the wolfsbane and looks down into the hole.

It’s empty.

He looks at the ground around him thoughtfully.

Lydia’s shoe prints, some kind of sneaker, are visible around the hole. There’s a dragline of wheels leading away from the hole back into the forest but it disappears six feet away as though it’s been erased by magic. Maybe she has some kind of suitcase on wheels she’s using to store and carry Peter’s body parts.

It’s a grim thought.  

Jordan breaks through the treeline and joins him in front of the hole. “Damn it. She has all of him now.”

Derek nods. “Do you have any idea why she wants his body?”

Jordan shakes his head. “I know the hellhound in me isn’t on board with whatever she is doing though. My skin is literally crawling.”

Derek sends him a sympathetic look. “I’ll try and follow her trail. Maybe I can catch up with her in my wolf form. I’ll leave a trail for you to follow me.” He points in the direction of the dragline. “Stiles is going to speak to a banshee to try to work out what’s been going on with her.”

Jordan nods. “Maybe we…” he breaks off as his radio crackles to life with Laura’s voice sounding through the small speaker.

Derek frowns and exchanges a disbelieving look with Jordan as they try to make sense of her words.  

Jordan lifts a hand and presses the send button. “Say again, Laura.”

Derek tilts his head as though to listen better.

‘Is Scott with you? Sam says he never turned up to their location and he isn’t answering his phone or the radio.’

“He isn’t with us,” Jordan says crisply.

“He probably went to consult with Deaton and didn’t bother to tell anyone,” Laura’s exasperation is as clear as day even with the radio’s tinny overtone.

Derek finds himself hoping that Scott is with Deaton for once because he doesn’t think the Alpha going missing when Lydia is gathering Peter’s body is a recipe for anything other than a disaster.

As he changes back into his wolf, Derek hopes Stiles is having better luck than him.

o-O-o

“Thanks for speaking with me, Orla,” Stiles smiles at the elderly woman on the other end of his Zoom call.

He’s envious of her study which appears to be wall-to-wall bookcases with the only relief a window just beyond her shoulder. He glimpses the rolling hills of Irish countryside, a tapestry of rich greens, through the glass. He’s envious of that too. Maybe he can convince Derek to take a holiday to Ireland.

Orla smiles, her deeply wrinkled face shifting slowly as though age has caught up with every muscle. Her long grey hair is pulled back from her face in a simple braid which hangs over the front of her blue dress. “Tell me about your case, lad.”

Stiles launches into an overview of Lydia’s situation. It’s short and succinct because all he really has are the statements in the case file and Derek’s brief text just before the call which had communicated the weirdness of Lydia trying to find Peter’s body.

By the end of his spiel, Orla is frowning. He doesn’t think that bodes well.

“What do you know about necromancy, Stiles?” asks Orla softly.

Stiles blinks.

Necromancy?!  

He hides his minute shudder with a wild arm gesture towards the laptop camera. “Necromancy as in the magical raising of the dead?”

“The mystical art of communing with the dead in all ways,” Orla corrects in her gentle rolling accent, “including raising the dead.”

“Clearly I don’t know a lot,” quips Stiles.

Orla’s lips quirk upward a touch. “Banshees have a deep connection with the dead. We see the end; we announce the departure of the soul.” She grimaces and he can see one of her hands has formed a fist on the desk. “Necromancers sometimes target us as a channel between the living and the dead.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Stiles comments seriously. He reaches for his discarded pen and twirls it through his fingers. “You think a necromancer is using Lydia?”

There didn’t seem to be evidence of her being in touch with anyone other than her usual circle, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t had contact with someone they didn’t know about using a different communication mechanism.

“Perhaps,” Orla’s eyebrows meet in the middle as she ponders. “The body she is retrieving, is it connected to her in a spiritual way somehow?”

Stiles almost shakes his head before he stops and thinks. He clicks the pen on and off. He looks at Orla. “They were part of the same pack. Not for long, I think.”

He’s not entirely certain when Jackson and Lydia joined the Hale pack but he knows they were part of it when Peter died.

“Did the Alpha bite her?” asks Orla.

“I don’t think so. I mean, she’s not a werewolf?” Stiles replies, leaning forward.  

Orla shakes her head. “She wouldn’t be. We banshees can’t turn; we just go comatose and get very ill for a few days.” She sighs. “But Alphas can insist if a banshee is part of the pack that they take the bite so the Alpha can properly bond with them. It forms a spiritual connection between the pack and the banshee. If she wasn’t bitten, there are rituals to bind them. He would only need some of her blood.”

Stiles presses his lips together. “So, if they have this spiritual connection…”

“Then there may be no necromancer per se,” Orla says. “It could be a restless spirit reaching out to haunt her. They could be manipulating her into resurrecting him.”

That sounds like Peter.

Stiles winces. “If the dead dude is manipulating her from beyond the grave and she digs up all his body parts…”

Orla raises her eyebrows at that nugget although he’s almost certain he mentioned it in his preamble.

“…he was executed for betraying the pack, the Alpha kind of went feudal on him and buried him in bits,” Stiles waves away his explanation as unimportant, “what happens then?”

“He’ll direct her to a place of immense magical energy or to where he was killed,” Orla says. “There will be a ritual involved in raising him.” She holds up a finger briefly before suddenly shoving her chair back, getting up and walking away.

Stiles can hear her moving around her room.

She returns holding up a book which she’s opened. “Here. On the night of the full moon past the Summer Solstice, at one, three or seven years past their death, a werewolf’s soul may be resurrected and their body reformed anew. There are glyphs which must be written in the blood of the individual on the actual body remains. The blood must come from the current Alpha of the werewolf’s pack. There is a cautionary note that usually the Alpha will die in the process of providing the blood.”

“Of course they do,” Stiles says deadpan.

Jesus.

It’s all sounding like Harry Potter with Peter creating a horcrux-like connection to Lydia and then resurrecting himself with the blood of his enemy. It is the kind of convoluted revenge shenanigans Peter Hale loved though. What better way to hurt his sister further but by making her take part unwillingly and even dying in his resurrection? Yet Peter probably hadn’t planned for Talia Hale not being the Alpha.

Lydia was no match for Scott physically so maybe all was not lost? But she was clever and sneaky. Not as sneaky as Stiles but the girl he’d once had a massive crush on was definitely just as clever.

“He’s probably compelling her to go through with this ritual by possessing her through their spiritual connection,” Orla continues.

And if she was being compelled by Peter who was a clever sneaky bastard himself, it probably meant that they could get the best of Scott; well-intentioned, wants to be the good guy, slightly dim Scott.

Which is not good.

“She must have spent the past weeks in a great deal of pain and worrying about her own sanity,” Orla concludes.

“How do we stop him, her?” Stiles asks lifting his hands briefly and realising he was still holding the pen.

“You need to break the spiritual connection,” Orla says. “The Alpha can declare her excommunicated from the pack but it may be too late for that. Depending on the offence, it can take a while for pack connections to completely fade and break.” She pauses. “I think the cautionary note might have been there to warn about the Alpha dying because that will break the connection.” She gestures. “The only other way I know of is for another Alpha to bite her. A secondary bite would be horrible for her but it would override her existing bond.”

“If Peter is possessing her, we might not be able to get her consent to do that,” Stiles notes as he shudders a touch at the implications.

Having Derek bite Lydia would mean taking her into their small pack and Stiles isn’t really keen on the idea. He’s not certain Derek will really want to do it either. But if it means saving Lydia’s mind and stopping her bringing back Peter maybe they could live with that outcome.

Scott’s probably not going to like it either. He may have replaced Lydia with Deaton, but he won’t want to let go of something he considers his, especially if it means losing it to Derek and Stiles.

“Surround her with mountain ash,” Orla suggests, “that should disrupt the connection between them long enough to talk to the girl herself.”

“Mountain ash?” queries Stiles. He’s vaguely aware of mountain ash being used against werewolves, but he is not certain where he’s meant to acquire it, except from hunters and the Argents are long gone from Beacon Hills.

“A pack’s Emissary might have some,” Orla says. “They sometimes have to contain an omega or an enemy pack.”

Right.

Stiles grimaces. He’s going to have to talk with Deaton, the cryptic bastard.

“Thanks, Orla,” Stiles says warmly. “I really appreciate all your help.”

Orla smiles, the wrinkles on her face rippling again before it fades away. “Your banshee will be wounded badly by this. My home is open for her to seek healing with her own kind.”

Stiles nods, a little thrown at the compassionate offer. “Thank you.”

“Good luck, lovey,” Orla says and reaches forward.

The call ends.

Stiles picks up his phone and dials a number he’d thought he’d never use.

“What do you want, Stiles?” Jackson’s sneering voice echoes in the small room.

“Hello to you too,” Stiles says brusquely. “I’ve just had a call with a banshee contact. Did Talia bite Lydia to create a connection to the pack?”

“Yeah, Talia insisted, it was part of the conditions for her to join,” Jackson replies cautiously.

Stiles hears a voice in the background.

Jackson huffs. “Laura wants me to put this on speaker.”

“Are you asking about why Mom bit Lydia?” Laura demands.

Stiles relays Orla’s theory.

Jackson inhales sharply when he talks about the ritual.

Stiles trails off. “What?”

“Lydia was ill the summer after it went down with Peter and you found Derek. She had weird headaches. That bitch Julia…”

The Emissary who’d originally taken over Deaton’s role, Stiles supplies. She’d ended up a murderous Darach who they’d had to put down.

“…she said she was just probably stressed with university pressure,” Jackson says. “Lydia was ill again when she was in Cambridge; similar fits and headaches.”

“So this isn’t the first time Peter’s tried to use Lydia to resurrect himself,” Stiles deduces.

Maybe those tries had failed because the connections to the pack weren’t solid enough, Stiles muses. Lydia was a relatively new member and away at college when Peter had been killed. Four years ago, Lydia had spent a year in England, researching at Cambridge. The geographical distance might have helped her resist Peter’s attempt at possession.

“Of course this isn’t the first time,” Laura grumbles. “Damn it!”

Stiles clears his throat and picks back up explaining the ritual.

“We have a problem,” Laura says, right on the heels of his final word. “Scott’s gone missing.”

“What?” Stiles winces at how high his voice sounds. He’d thought he’d gotten over that high pitch in college.

His phone buzzes with an incoming call. It’s Derek.

“Hold on,” Stiles says, “I’m going to conference us with Derek.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for their reply and simply pushes the right series of buttons.

“Derek?” Stiles greets his husband with a cheery tone. “I’ve got Jackson and Laura on the line with us.”

“Jordan’s with me. We’ve lost Lydia’s tracks at a service road,” Derek says bluntly. “We think she had another car.”

“Makes sense,” Stiles says and launches into the explanation of the ritual again.

Laura sighs. “Mom never said where she killed Peter. She and Dad took him somewhere. I know Sam doesn’t know because we talked about it afterwards.”

“The Nemeton!” Stiles says, getting up and pacing the room. “That has to be the biggest source of magical energy she can get, right?”

“Right,” Derek says. “It’s getting dark. If we’re going to stop her, we should head there now.”

“What about tracking down and protecting Scott?” asks Jordan. “Wouldn’t that just stop this whole thing?”

“Oh,” Stiles flounders a little realising he hadn’t explained the plan for that. “Uh, probably not?” He sighs. “The banshee I talked to says the only way to stop her and make sure she doesn’t lose her mind is to break her connection with the pack because…”

“That breaks the connection with Peter,” Laura jumps in. “Derek’s going to have to bite her and make her part of his pack.”

Stiles grimaces, pushing his hand into his hair. “Derek?”

“If that’s what it takes to stop her resurrecting Peter.”

Stiles knows his husband. He can hear the weariness and the reluctance in his voice.

“Doesn’t Lydia get a say in this?” asks Jackson angrily.

“She suggested using mountain ash to disrupt the connection so we can ask Lydia for her consent,” adds Stiles.

“Fine but let’s be clear; I go where Lydia goes,” Jackson growls.

“Lydia’s situation aside, we should have a meeting after this and talk about the packs and membership,” Laura says soothingly. “I know Cora’s already got a foot out of the door.” She pauses. “If that’s OK with you, Derek?”  

Stiles is appreciative of her respectful tone. He really wishes Laura had become the Hale Alpha.

“We can talk after,” Derek says quietly.

“Great. What’s the plan for now?” Stiles says briskly.

Derek huffs. “You tell me. You’re the one with the plan usually.”

“We need to find Scott,” Stiles says. “Jordan, why don’t you head out and see if you can find Scott?”

“I think we divert Sam and the others to that too,” Jordan says. “Stiles, can you get your Dad on board with that?”

“Absolutely,” Stiles salutes the phone even if they can’t see him. He imagines Derek knows what he did anyway and is probably rolling his eyes at him.

“I’m going to make my way to the Nemeton,” Derek says. “It’s the most likely place for her to take him and it’s a good hour away from where I am in my wolf form.”

“We can drive there and meet you,” Laura says.

“I’ll get some mountain ash from Lydia’s stock on the way,” Jackson says.

“OK,” Stiles says, “I’ll update Daddio and meet you guys out there.”

He signs off and heads out.

They have a plan. He can only hope it works.

o-O-o

The Nemeton isn’t Stiles’ favourite place after the whole Nogitsune fiasco. He and Derek hadn’t even been there for the start of it, but the end confrontation had taken place in front of the overly large stump.

Stiles shivers as he follows the reassuring form of his father. He’d tried to argue for his Dad to stay out of it but his Dad had pulled the ‘I’m the Sheriff’ card and the ‘Dad’ card. So unfair.

Although, he’s kind of grateful not to be stumbling through the woods by himself. He has gotten into some scrapes with his consulting work and as an ally to the Hales including the Nogitsune fight, but most of the time he’s happy to leave any confrontation to actual law enforcement people and to those with supernatural abilities.

Stiles tries to point his flash light at the ground in a helpful way which will allow him to place his feet in the same spots as his Dad to minimise noise.

Thank God they are nearly there.

Ahead of them through the trees they can see some portable artificial lights illuminating the clearing around the Nemeton’s stump.

His phone gives a gentle buzz in his pocket signalling one of their group has arrived at the Nemeton.

His Dad signals for them to stoop and they crouch behind a tree and peer into the clearing.

Stiles plucks his phone out of his jeans’ pocket and sends his own signal that they’ve arrived. His brown eyes scan the clearing.

Lydia kneels by the Nemeton stump. Her eyes are closed. She’s as white as a ghost, her face smeared with dirt. Her clothes look like she’s slept in them for five days, her red hair is a greasy mess gathered into a loose ponytail on the top of her head. It’s the most dishevelled he’s ever seen her and as far from her usual put-together beauty princess as it’s possible to get.

On the stump, the body parts she’s dug up are arranged like a grotesque Frankenstein puzzle. There is a waft of rot mingled with blood that faintly scents the breeze. Even from his position, Stiles can see that the flesh is almost gone bar some bits hanging from joints. It is mostly just a skeleton.

The bones are streaked with red. He assumes they’re painted with the glyphs of the ritual. He hurriedly tries to locate Scott and finds him lying discarded not to far from them at the edge of the clearing on the ground.

Stiles bites his lip, worry coursing through him and making his stomach churn uncomfortably. He might still hate Scott for abandoning their friendship, but he’s never wanted Scott hurt.

Lydia begins to chant something.

His phone buzzes again.

Stiles searches around the clearing’s edges and finds Derek. He’s in his wolf form, low to the ground, crawling slowly towards Lydia.

Laura is following slowly behind Derek. She’s also in full shift; a smaller black wolf but with dangerous fangs and claws all the same.

Jackson slides into place beside Stiles and passes him a jar filled with black dust – the mountain ash.

“Laura says we need to move. Scott is bleeding out. Even as an Alpha he won’t last much longer without help,” he says in a low tone.

Before they can do anything, Lydia suddenly lurches to her feet. “Why isn’t this working?! This should have worked!” She storms away from the stump back to Scott and raises a dagger…

Stiles’ Dad strides out, gun pointed at her. “Drop the knife!”

Jackson follows him.

Stiles tries to shuffle to the side, to get closer to Scott.

Lydia’s head snaps towards him. “This doesn’t concern you, Sheriff.”

“You’re holding a knife with clear intent to harm so I think it very much concerns me, Lydia.”

“Small problem there, Sheriff. Lydia isn’t home at the moment,” her eyes shine with mad glee.

“Peter, then,” his father says.

“Ah, you worked it out! Good for…”

Stiles quietly opens the jar and throws the contents towards her, wishing with all his might that it works. Somehow the dust settles into a perfect circle.

There’s a brief look of shock and horror before Lydia’s eyes roll back and she drops to her knees.

Stiles winces as he hurries over to her. Jackson is right beside him.

Derek and Laura bound over.

Lydia’s head rolls up and she gives a gasping cry. Her fingers go up to her head. Her eyes frantically run over all of them, landing on Jackson.

“Oh thank God, he’s gone, he’s gone…” Lydia sobs.

“Not for good,” Stiles says swiftly. “We need to sever the connection between you fully. Either Scott dies or Derek bites you.”

Lydia suddenly jerks, her hands fly out and she shoves her palm through the ash breaking the circle.

Derek leaps forward and…

Lydia – no, Peter points the knife at her throat.

Derek aborts his jump and lands by Stiles.   

“Careful now, nephew,” Peter says in Lydia’s voice. “You don’t want to kill an innocent, do you?” He sweeps a gaze over Derek’s form, over Laura’s. “Clever puppies, you achieved the full shift, Talia must have been so proud.”

Derek transforms back, standing proudly half-naked, his muscles gleaming with sweat.

Stiles resists the urge to place his hand on his husband for comfort, for anchoring them both in the face of Peter.

“Stop this, Peter,” Derek says quietly. “You can let her go; end this.”

“Talia and Richard are dead so if you wanted revenge, you’re too late,” Stiles gestures at Scott. “He’s the Alpha.”

Peter laughs harshly. “Turns out he’s not the true alpha.” He gestures with his free arm back towards the stump. “My resurrection didn’t work and do you know why?”

“Because he isn’t the Alpha who killed you?” Stiles offers, not feeling very certain of the answer.

“I guess you can’t be clever at all things, now, Stiles, can you?” Peter taunts lightly.

Derek shifts, placing himself subtly between Stiles and Lydia’s possessed body. “Uncle.”

Lydia’s eyes land on Derek almost sadly. “I am regretful about what happened to you, Derek. My plan was perhaps too hurtful to you in hindsight.”

“If you’re truly regretful, put down the knife and let this go,” Derek states again.

“I’m afraid I can’t quite do that,” Peter says, “it’s my only chance.” His eyes slide back to Scott. “Miss Martin never believed Scott deserved the Alpha spark and she was right.” He looks back to Laura’s wolf. “It should have gone to you, dear niece, but it didn’t and therein lies the reason why this little ritual hasn’t worked.”

Laura shifts back and Stiles is very thankful that she has found someway to shift with a sports bra to cover her bust.

“What do you mean, Uncle?”

“I suspect dear Deaton is behind it,” Peter sneers. “This brat didn’t win the Alpha spark from your mother by virtue of being the best. Someone stole the spark and gifted it to him. The blood glyphs aren’t drawn with the blood of the true Hale Alpha so it doesn’t work.”

“That’s…” Laura starts to protest.

“More than likely?” Stiles blurts out.

They all look at him.

“Seriously?” Stiles says. “Nobody thinks Scott deserved the spark, but when you think about Deaton interfering so he’d get back to a position of power, doesn’t that ring true to you?”

“It does make sense,” Derek notes with a sigh. He’s still tensed for a fight; ready.

“Yes,” Peter says, “and the only way this works is with the right Alpha so my ritual won’t work with him as Alpha. I just have to hope that killing the False Alpha won’t break my connection with the lovely Miss Martin.” A grin suddenly appears on her face, wild and crazed, and…

Derek leaps forward as Peter moves…

The knife arcs down and…

Derek tumbles them both away from the body but Peter pushes him away with inhuman strength, opens his mouth and screams…

They all falter.

Stiles goes to his knees and covers his ears.

Peter scrambles forward and…

There is an arc of blood as he stabs Scott.

For a second there is silence.

Stiles can hear his own heartbeat, his own breathing, loud in his ears.

He just knows what’s happened as Derek’s gaze meets his and his eyes flash red.

Derek howls and the pack follows.

Lydia slumps over, unconscious, the bloody knife falling to the ground.

Jackson hurries over to her, pressing a hand to her neck. “She’s alive.” He glances at Scott and winces.

His Dad walks over and examines the scene. “Damn it. What the hell do I tell Melissa?”

The words are softly spoken but they make Stiles tear up, the memory of Scott and him as children suddenly clear and present in his mind.

Jordan walks out of the trees, his path focused on the Nemeton stump and the skeletal remains. He places a hand on the skull and flames erupt over the surface.

The skeleton turns to ash.

Peter is gone.

Derek walks over to stand with Stiles and Stiles doesn’t even hesitate to hug him tightly. He feels Derek’s hand stroking over his hair and presses into him, closing his eyes.

His childhood friend is dead and Derek is the Alpha now.

o-O-o

Derek knows Stiles is not a fan of the cabin.

To his husband, the cabin represents the years of misery Derek spent alone thinking he was abandoned by his pack.

To Derek it is his safe space; his sanctuary.

After the events of the past week, it is a sanctuary both he and Stiles need.

Derek leans on the porch railing, staring sightlessly out at the water, his hands wrapped around his coffee mug. In the distance, a bird fishes, diving and wheeling. The trees rustle their secrets around him and his head fills with the scent of the countryside around him.  

Noah had taken charge at the Nemeton. They’d sold a story of the search parties stumbling across Scott’s body and Lydia’s unconscious form; how an unidentified person must have kidnapped Lydia, only to kill Scott when he found them.

Lydia had been taken to the hospital. She had woken three days after the full moon, her memory missing all the days when Peter had possessed her. She was enduring night terrors and she was definitely traumatised from the experience. Stiles had given her Orla’s offer and he suspects that both Jackson and Lydia will be heading for Ireland within days. He’s not sure they’ll return. He should probably have Laura or Sam hunt out some of his Mom’s old contacts to put Lydia and Jackson in touch with.

Noah had broken the news of Scott’s death to Scott’s mother and the funeral had taken place the day before. His death had been ruled a murder and the coroner had found he’d inhaled wolfsbane sometime in the hours before he was stabbed. It explained how Peter had managed to secure him. Melissa McCall had quietly informed Noah and Stiles of her intention to leave Beacon Hills to live with her ailing mother.

Deaton had stayed for Scott’s funeral before he had crisply informed Derek he would be leaving. It saved Derek from banishing him. He had no doubt the theory of Deaton stealing the spark was true.

Which leaves the pack without an Emissary.

The pack.

Derek is the Alpha. He sips his coffee. He’s talked with his family. He knows what they want.     

The door creaks open behind him and he allows a small smile as Stiles wraps his arms around Derek and hugs him from behind. For a second Derek simply enjoys the feel of Stiles’ athletic body tucked up against his own. One of Stiles’ fingers traces the triskelion on his back and Derek shivers.

“You got up,” Stiles says accusingly.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Derek admits.

“Want to talk about it?” Stiles asks.

Derek turns in his arms and Stiles uses the opportunity to steal the mug and take a large gulp of coffee.

“Want to? No,” Derek admits, leaning back against the porch railing and pulling Stiles close. “Need to? Probably. My family have all confirmed their acceptance of me as the Alpha. Nobody’s going to challenge.”

“You’re the Hale Alpha,” Stiles states.

“We have a life in Berkeley,” Derek says.

“Eh,” Stiles shrugs. “We can set up shop here easy enough for both of our businesses. I can offer to still guest lecture at Berkeley maybe. If not, I can just focus on the business.” He leans over to set the coffee mug on the small table behind them before shifting back in Derek’s arms. “Plus we’ll be closer to my Dad and your family which is a bonus.”

“We’re really doing this then?” Derek checks. Nerves skitter up his spine.

Stiles meets his eyes firmly. “We’re really doing this.”

Derek leans in and rests his forehead on Stiles’ shoulder. “It should be Laura.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Stiles says quietly. “The spark chose you, dude.”

“Don’t call me, dude,” Derek automatically says. He lifts his head again. “Be my Emissary.”

“Really?” Stiles blinks at him. “I mean, yes! But really?”

Derek laughs at him and Stiles kisses his smile.

“Come on back to bed, Alpha. We’re on vacation,” Stiles tugs him back into the cabin and Derek lets himself be pulled in.

There’s a million things they’ll need to do to get the ball rolling on moving their lives back to Beacon Hills, but the day is barely starting and Stiles is pulling him back to their still warm rumpled bed.

Everything can wait a while.

They have nowhere else they have to be.

fin.

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