Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For a long time, Derek believed that he could never have this. Only a few weeks ago he was as low as he had been during the aftermath of the fire – sort of numb all over from the pain. As the last of his family left alive, he had been well and truly alone.

But now…

It was still early enough that everything seemed to retain a softer edge than normal in the low light. So quiet that drops of morning dew splashing on a bed of moss seemed as loud as a beating drum. Even the birds had yet to stir.

Derek’s scruffy cheek was pressed against pale, smooth skin, and he was basking in the comforting warmth of pack. Listening to a slow, steady heartbeat and feeling every quiet breath.

They were still in danger of being hunted, but he had kept a vigilant watch – there wasn’t another soul for miles.

Derek wanted to trace between the other man’s shoulders and down his spine with the tips of his fingers. He would like to have followed the caress with his lips, mapping the soft skin with tender kisses. He would happily drown in the heady scent of their coupling. Hours later and the briny musk of it was still strong enough that he could almost taste it in the air.

However, he didn’t want to needlessly disturb his packmate.

Their clothes lay in haphazard piles among the leaf litter. The two of them had shared his Henley as a pillow. The bushes around them were lush and green, and the bruised stems of crushed sweetgrass whirled into a kind of nest beneath them.

This was only the second time they had gone this far. Their first time together had been quite different. It had been so unexpected. Their frenzied love making hadn’t been for pleasure so much as instinct, filled with anger and a battle for dominance. At least this time they had had enough clarity of mind to keep their fangs and claws in check – more or less.

Peter shifted slightly beside him, a sure sign that he would soon wake. They had been sleeping at each other’s side for days now with one of them always on watch. Despite being very thorough in taking care of one another the night before, Derek still felt his cock twitch and begin to swell in anticipation.

He rather hoped he would have the chance to rut one more time into the cleft of his uncle’s ass before they had to hide everything away beneath layers of fabric again. The idea was filthy, of course – and not one that he had dreamed possible growing up.

During their celebrations around the full moon, Derek’s family would often strip before shifting and taking to the woods. Clothes were a bother mostly, especially when there weren’t any humans around. So he had both seen and admired his uncle’s naked form many times before. The older man’s trim but strong body had made Derek rather envious back then – at a time when his teenage self was mostly big ears and long, awkward limbs.

But he never got to touch and taste.

While born wolves learned from an early age to blend in the best they could and not draw attention to themselves, they still didn’t fit neatly into humankind’s moral standards and customs. Some parts of them would always be wild.

Sex could be used as a tool to build trust between male wolves in the same pack. To be so vulnerable with one another strengthened bonds and – while it made them seem rather primitive – reinforced some levels of authority. Fighting was also common, but much less effective. It just felt natural, even though the outside world would likely judge them harshly for it.

Even now, Derek could feel his wolf curling protectively around what belonged to him, what anchored him, and what strengthened him as the Alpha. True, his pack was small, but it was enough – for now.

“Der?” Peter whispered groggily over his shoulder, having finally drifted back to the waking world. As if he was making sure this was real and not just a lingering dream.

Derek knew the feeling.

In response he growled approvingly into Peter’s exposed neck and pulled the older man tight to his chest. Skin to skin, nearly as close as they could get to one another. His increasingly heavy cock pressed firmly against warm flesh – a wordless request.

Not a dream. Real… and wanting.

Peter moaned at the sensation, unopposed to being handled this way. This was new for him too – or so he had claimed anyway. There simply wasn’t anyone willing to tie themselves to him like this before now.

Derek had to admit that it was a bit strange feeling someone he had known practically his whole life submit to him so completely. But the pull had simply proven to be too strong for either of them to ignore. After all, they were all that either of them had left.

“God, you’re needy.” Peter groused without any real heat behind it.

Derek started rolling his hips in response. Of course, things between him and Peter were still complicated. There were moments when Derek truly hated him for what he had done – and he hadn’t forgiven him yet. Not fully – and perhaps he never would. But for the moment, he couldn’t focus on anything except how it felt to slide his dick back and forth against his uncle’s beautifully sculpted rear end and the warmth slowly growing inside him.

He wanted to paint Peter’s back with his cum.

Derek’s breathing became heavier as the pressure and speed of his thrusts increased. His arousal was mirrored by his packmate – he could smell it. The tang was salty and bitter, but incredibly satisfying. Peter wanted this just as badly.

Once he came, Derek would make sure Peter finished too. Neither of them knew when or if they would ever have this chance again. And, obviously, no one else could know. Their allies back in Beacon Hills – if they could even call them that – didn’t fully trust this version of Peter yet. Sadly, it was somewhat understandable given the circumstances. But they didn’t know him like this.

Panting. Bent low. Pliable.

Peter leaned forward, bracing himself against the ground and pushed back with his ass just as hard as Derek pressed forward. His neck was bare and his pulse quick. Derek reached around to feel that his uncle’s cock was reacting quickly but not yet fully hard. He fondled it tenderly, hardly needing to do more than wrap his palm around the meaty shaft and pump it in time with his hips before his uncle’s prick was basically weeping.

In this compromising position, it would be so easy to do harm – which was exactly why Derek chose not to. Instead, he licked a wide stripe up Peter’s neck near his hairline and behind his ear.

His uncle let out a sound very close to a whine.

“Peter.” Derek’s rhythm faltered a bit and he had to will his fangs into retreat. Depraved noises like that triggered his wilder instincts, threatening their current, more languid pace.

He grumbled under his breath in frustration as he doggedly kept chasing his release anyway after becoming distracted, desperate to tip over the edge. Beads of sweat forming as they both exerted themselves decreased the friction and helped ease the burn slightly – but not quite enough.

“Let me help, love.” Peter pulled away, which made Derek almost whimper at the loss of contact. But he quickly aborted the sound seconds later when his uncle’s mouth closed around his cock instead. The older man’s tongue lapped up and down leaving liberal trails of spit in its wake.

The pet name was also new – and only used when they were alone like this.

Love. Somehow, the word was both too weak to describe what their coupling truly meant and a more intimate endearment than Derek felt he deserved. This wasn’t love so much as need – just with some additional feelings bleeding through.

“That’s enough.” Derek gasped when Peter kept on drooling over his hardened cock unnecessarily. Perhaps – if they got a next time – he would let his uncle swallow him all the way down and choke on it. The mental image made his prick bounce with need, eager to feel the wet heat of the other man’s throat. Not now, but soon – if they were lucky.

Peter wordlessly leaned away, waiting for Derek to decide how he wanted him. For a second, Derek got lost in his uncle’s icy blue eyes – his lustful gaze. He could imagine that an echo of the hunger he saw there must be just as visible on his own face.

“Turn back around.”

Obediently, Peter did as he was instructed. Derek plastered himself against his uncle’s warm body once more and gently rocked back and forth. He let out a contented sigh as he swiftly fell into just the right pattern so that the warmth developing inside him grew more intense. His cock slipped easily in between Peter’s furry cheeks as he felt a weak dribble of his own precum escape, aiding the way even further.

Derek needed this so much.

With Laura things had been very different. They had been tactile with one another, of course – especially when the moon was at its brightest. They could even be described as clingy during the particularly dark nights when they were reminded of all that they had lost. But it was never like this. No – nothing like this.

It wasn’t this way with any of the other men in his family before the fire either, which was a shame. Derek was sure he would have liked it. Perhaps he wouldn’t have—

Well, maybe things would have turned out differently if they had been.

However it couldn’t have been like this really. No point in pondering all the 'what ifs'. He was the Alpha this time – his wolf practically demanding that he make his claim. And Peter was his.

“Fuck.” Peter swore as Derek’s movements became more forceful, pressing the older wolf further into the ground.

“I’m close.” Warned Derek, basically panting into his uncle’s ear. His thrusts becoming jerky and uneven. The scent of both of them getting closer and closer like this was intoxicating. Peter wouldn’t be long behind him.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t let out a roar as he came – it would be too dangerous. So instead, he growled deep in his chest, the low rumble vibrating between them. Derek wanted Peter to feel more than hot splashes of his seed on his back. What wasn’t crushed between them slipped off fevered skin to the forest floor where it further perfumed the air. Then a tidal wave of pleasure momentarily robbed him of his other senses entirely.

However, he continued nipping and lapping at his uncle’s naked body as he came down - lightly rubbing his face into the man’s back, relishing in the euphoria of his release.

It was Peter’s ministrations on his own cock as they grew more rapid that brought Derek out of his bliss-filled stupor.

“Come on, Peter.” He manhandled his uncle until his uncle was lying flat before nestling his face into the man’s crotch. Once in place he continued to lick and tease – but this time with more of a purpose. He breathed in deep and let it out in another low, rumbling growl. One hand was pressed up into the firm flesh behind Peter’s balls, massaging it in time with his uncle’s swift strokes. Derek’s other hand carded through the velvety fine hairs that covered the man’s stomach.

“Goddamn it. Ahhh. AH… ah.” Peter was about to join Derek over the edge. His naked chest was heaving with every intake of breath, muscles rippling, pale skin stained red with effort, and his eyes shut tight. Derek pulled away just enough so he could fully take in the sight.

The energetic bursts of spunk that came from Peter’s cock when it happened landed high up on his shoulder before it was oozing a clear white puddle – soon lost in a tangle of dark hair. Derek wiped at both spots absently, smearing the stuff into Peter’s skin before licking his fingers clean.

Bitter and sulfurous. So similar to his own, but also… different.

The wolf inside him was pleased. A few moments went by before Peter’s breathing was back under control, and then he finally opened his eyes. They were glowing blue – far brighter than the gray sky overhead. Derek flashed his own eyes on instinct.

They didn’t smile or cuddle or say sweet words afterwards, but they did stay touching skin to skin. It felt like a promise. These carnal yearnings would subside – at least for a little while. But the cravings would inevitably return.

Derek yawned. The Alpha was tired after keeping watch all night, but he would have to catch a nap later. They should get moving.

The first beams of sunlight were just starting to filter in through the leaves above them. If they made it through the next few days, it would be the full moon. Their first together since… well, since everything began anew.

***

At first, Peter thought he was drowning.

He coughed as filthy water poured over his face, covered his nose, and dribbled into his mouth. Something wet was covering his eyes. His limbs felt unusually stiff and heavy. He was so cold. Still, he jerked upwards violently trying to get up and away from the threat as more water splashed around him. In his haste, he felt his claws tear through soft flesh – both his own… and another’s.

He wasn’t alone.

After a few gasping breaths, he stilled. Had he been holding his breath before? He was still too disoriented to know. And Peter could smell that the human – or mostly human creature – was still nearby.

Thankfully, the water turned out to be nothing more than steady rain. Now that he was sitting up, he could feel it hitting the crown of his head and rolling down his chest. Rain dampened most scents, so without sight or smell to really guide him – and taking into account his apparent nudity – he was feeling incredibly vulnerable. Frightened even, though he would loathe to admit it.

What felt suspiciously like mud partially encased and clung to Peter’s body. He also felt raw somehow. His legs were all but useless beneath him, entombed as they were in layers of mixed loamy earth and sticky clay. As he breathed deeper, he started to make out the faint smell of leaves, moss, and other detritus which told him that he was likely in a forest.

Rubbing the muck from his face so that he could fully take in his surroundings was difficult with claws that could easily do more harm than good, but he just managed it. All the while he expected a retaliatory attack from his silent companion. Of course, he would fight with everything he had if needed.

But nothing happened.

When he finally opened his eyes, it was very dark.

The shadow of a young woman cowered just above him on the bank of the shallow pit where he lay. She was grasping at a long and jagged cut on one of her forearms with a dirty hand. Had she been digging in the mud?

Her thin, white nightgown was completely soaked through and would probably leave very little to the imagination in the daytime – a shapely figure with porcelain skin almost as white as her dress. Her auburn-colored hair dangled in strings around her heart-shaped face.

Their eyes met for only an instant before she gave a terrified shriek. Then the strange figure fled barefoot into the trees as if she were being pursued by the devil himself. Peter felt like he should know her name. There had been the faintest hint of magic in her blood – a sickly sweetness. But he couldn’t make sense of the deluge of memories that were flooding his mind.

Fire and pain – so much pain and for a long, long time.

Warm blood gushing between his teeth as an indescribable power rushed through him. It was a more potent and headier drug than anything he could have thought possible.

Then hunting, hunting, hunting followed by more fire and pain – a cycle that only seemed to loop back on itself the harder he tried to concentrate on any one part.

The flashes of recollection – most of violence and anger – didn’t seem completely real either, almost as if they had happened to someone else. It took many deep breaths before he could try again in earnest. Slowly his racing thoughts became less fragmented. He was not in any immediate danger. He just needed to focus.

His last truly coherent thought had been… choking on smoke heavy with mountain ash and wolfsbane. Hunters had trapped them in the house in the dead of night. They were ambushed.

And his Alpha – his sister – was dead.

Peter roared in pain and confusion as the continuous rain helped wash the mud off. It sloughed away in soggy clumps all around him. He shifted fully. His fangs dropped too quickly, splitting his lip – and he could feel the rain hitting his long, pointed ears. The woods around him smelled like the beginning of summer, but he still shivered as the reality of what had happened wholly registered.

He had activated his failsafe, the blessing from the Urd Witch – his precious second chance – only to have survived the fire somehow. That miracle had delayed an even greater one. He hadn’t burned with the others, and it had all gone wrong.

Then came the monster.

Laura – oh, God – Laura. She had smelled so different. Not like pack at all.

As an Alpha, he could remember biting to turn, biting to kill, biting just to cause pain – wanting them all to suffer as much as he had. He had deluded himself into thinking that his actions were righteous. Glorious vengeance – an eye for an eye.

All the while, a blisteringly savage anger was draped over his shoulders like the yok of an ox, weighing him down and suppressing any deeper, more rational thoughts. His grief had been purposefully magnified – and weaponized – by someone that had sworn an oath to do no harm. She was dead now, of course. Peter hadn’t liked being her pet.

But the facts that he had been severely wounded, abandoned, and then used was not sufficient enough to excuse all he had done.

His nephew – the only family he had left – was forced to tear Peter’s throat out. And some part of him was grateful when it happened too. He could remember a sense of relief as he choked on his own blood and his vision went black just as the Alpha spark jumped host yet again.

Derek.

Peter howled into the night, hoping that somewhere, somehow his nephew could hear him. He howled and whimpered as he continued to free himself from what must be his own grave.

His remains had been left out in the woods, barely covered. Perhaps it was what he had deserved… but it still stung. Abandoned again.

He howled in grief and anguish after finally making it out before he began a stilted, staggering sort of walk back towards Beacon Hills. Peter recognized the trees around him now – he had wondered them his whole life. Dashed through them effortlessly every full moon.

He howled until the rain died down to a light drizzle and all that came out of his newly restored throat was a hoarse cry.

But there was no answering call.

***

Nineteen days. That was how long Stiles had naively believed that the nightmare was officially behind them. Scott was still a werewolf, of course. And now that Stiles knew the truth about what goes bump in the night, he would probably second guess every eerie shadow and strange noise he encountered for the rest of his life.

However, the rogue Alpha that had terrorized Beacon Hills had been defeated. Stiles had done more than just watch it happen too.

He looked down at his hands as they paused briefly over his keyboard. During the crisis a few weeks ago, he had gobbled up his meds like candy partially to focus and partially just to cope. Now, he was forced to ration them – weaning himself back to his prescribed dose, so his fingers twitched a bit from withdrawal.

Stiles could almost imagine how his hands might look stained with blood, which made him feel queasy. There had been a lot of blood. Not that he had actually finished Peter off – no, that was all Derek. But Stiles had still tossed a flaming cocktail at the hulking bastard as he bore down on them. Self-defense.

Fully shifted, Peter had been all crazed, red eyes, long teeth, and a hunched back of rippling muscle and fur. When Scott shifted, he was positively cuddly in comparison. Stiles shivered and refocused on the screen in front of him.

There had been another animal attack.

So far, the police weren’t giving the public many details, but Stiles had his ways. From the few crime scene photos he was lucky enough to get his hands on, it was obvious something with very large claws had been involved.

The victim was Jefferson Lahey, a mechanic that moonlighted as the local cemetery’s groundskeeper. But the attack didn’t happen out in the open as one would expect. Mr. Lahey was killed in his own home sometime between 10PM and midnight. The neighbors had largely ignored the racket because shouting and crashes were apparently a pretty common occurrence at the address.

It was the man’s teenage son who called it in: Isaac Lahey. According to the report, the kid insisted that he hadn’t seen anything - wasn’t even in the house when it happened. But the responding officer had been a bit skeptical. There was also something about a freezer in the basement that sounded alarming, but it was likely irrelevant.

While Isaac was in Stiles’ class, the two of them didn’t really hang out in the same circles. Isaac was… quiet.

Those oddities notwithstanding, the similarities of the case with Peter’s victims were almost uncanny – but there was a problem. Okay, so there were several problems. Not only was the former Alpha’s corpse buried somewhere and thoroughly worm-riddled by the time of the murder, it also didn’t line up with what they knew of Peter’s motive. Namely, revenge. The Laheys had moved to Beacon Hills from the East Coast well over a full year after the Hale fire, so there was no way Mr. Lahey could have been involved.

Stiles was pleased to see that his father had included this last detail in the preliminary notes. They hadn’t yet figured out that the previous killer was Peter – who was officially considered missing, not dead – but the police had picked up the rest pretty quickly. It meant that the Sheriff was confident that he had sufficient evidence to re-open the investigation into the Hale fire, even if it would probably take some time to get a court order to unseal the records.

Derek deserved that much, at least. Stiles thought the man did anyway. Scott was still painfully bitter about not getting the chance to take Peter out himself, even though it was obvious that there was no way he could have done it. Scott was still squeamish about hurting innocent woodland creatures while hopped-up on his monthly moon juice. Taking Peter’s life would have haunted him a lot worse than sprouting extra hair and claws once in a while ever could.

When Stiles had first caught wind of the new attack, his thoughts had immediately gone to the older werewolf. However, Stiles had wrongfully accused Derek for a murder once already – he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. Unless, of course, Derek really was the killer. Stiles still remembered with perfect clarity how intimidating Derek had looked for the first time with red eyes. But he had his doubts.

Derek had tried to talk to Scott a couple times since the horrible business with his uncle had all gone down in fire and blood. Rather predictably he was always pushed away. Besides that, however, they hadn’t really seen or heard from the him. Stiles assumed Derek could have gone back to New York, which was somewhat troubling. If there really was another supernatural threat in Beacon Hills – some unknown third party – then they could really use the big guy on their side.

He looked over at his phone, hoping that he had just missed a reply from Scott as he fumbled his way through the files he was borrowing while his dad slept. He was simultaneously browsing several tabs on his computer researching supernatural entities. And porn – there was definitely some porn in there too.

No such luck. His phone screen remained unchanged from the last time he had checked it. Scott was probably either stalking Allison online or otherwise still moping about how the two of them were no longer together. Stiles had never been in a relationship – but he had dreamt about and hoped for one for himself long enough to genuinely feel bad for his brother from another mother.

But this was serious.

He tried sending another message in all caps and with five exclamation marks instead of three. Maybe that would finally get Scott’s attention. A heavy silence stretched on for almost a full minute. So… maybe not.

Stiles sighed heavily. Without Scott’s super sniffer, it was highly unlikely that he would be able to track Derek down if the older werewolf had remained in the area. But he could still try if Scott proved to be this uncooperative in the morning. Absently, he checked the time.

3AM.

“Well, shit.” He grumbled out loud.

Alright, so maybe Scott wasn’t ignoring him just to mope about Allison.

Stiles blamed the rain. Unlike many people, he always had trouble sleeping when it rained. He got up from his desk to peek through his blinds and the streaky window out into the dark. There wasn’t much to see besides how the raindrops reflected the golden light of the nearest streetlight, making them glow like tiny meteors.

Was there some new supernatural monster out there killing people again? Perhaps. And perhaps Stiles would always feel this anxious – feel this worried about some unseen horror hiding just around the corner. Not so long ago, he would have dismissed such childish fears.  Now he wasn’t sure what to think.

***

Derek was teetering very near an edge he had once promised never to cross. It was that promise that he clung to, even though Laura wasn’t around anymore to make him keep it.

Werewolves were physically resilient creatures, but not invulnerable. Destroy their brain or heart, deprive them of oxygen, or poison them with the right substances and they would die. For a desperate wolf looking for a way out, there were still plenty of options. Destroying their pack was also a surefire way of ensuring their demise – one way or another.

And if they had no pack at all, well…

Currently, he was squatting in a woodshed behind a vacant house that was for sale. Technically he was still a person of interest in his uncle’s disappearance, so he did what he could to stay out of sight. His car was well hidden deep in the Preserve.

Derek tried sleeping through the day and only went out for food when it was getting dark – but the night before it had rained heavily almost until dawn. In the dewy morning light, his wolf was restless and frustrated. The Alpha spark coursing through him was desperate for pack.

The floor of the woodshed was splintery and not quite large enough for him to fully lay down on, but at least it kept him up off of the wet ground. There was a small, cracked glass window too. Nails for where a rusty ax had probably hung at some time in the past protruded from the wall – and that was it. The shed was locked when he found it, but with his newly bolstered strength as an Alpha it wasn’t very hard to break in.

However, as it grew brighter and brighter outside, his mind started playing tricks on him.

“At least the kid didn’t die.” A projection of Laura said half-heartedly. Derek could imagine her curled up in a camping blanket in the opposite corner of the shed. “Not that he seemed to care much about the risk.”

Her long, dark hair would probably have been in a braid – that was her usual style whenever they needed to escape the city and run freely out in the wild during the full moon.

Derek growled, not wanting to engage with the illusion.

“Besides, you didn’t really want him anyway. He thought you were selling drugs.” Continued Laura, unphased by Derek’s lack of response. Of the two of them, she was usually the one that talked. Derek knew her voice better than his own – so much so that he could imagine exactly what she would say and how she would sound.

“Go away.” They were probably the first words he had spoken in days.

“You need someone, Der.” Replied Laura sternly. If she was really in the shed with Derek, she would probably be angry for him shutting himself away like this.

“It didn’t work.” Derek grumbled as he reluctantly gave into the delusion. He always did. These gentle exchanges with his dead sister were much better than the nightmares that normally plagued him, at least.

“So, try again.” Laura suggested, as if it was obvious.

Derek growled again, deep and low. He never challenged Laura when she was alive – but this was different.

“Yeah, that isn’t going to work on me, Der.” Laura laughed. Or at least, Derek could remember her laughter. She definitely wouldn’t have just left him alone to wallow in his failure, no matter how much he would have wanted her to.

“You aren’t really here.” Derek reminded himself as he closed his eyes, knowing that it didn’t matter. Hallucinations were a pretty good sign that his human side was close to breaking. Instinct would soon take over, and then he would become a monster. Just like Peter.

“Hear that? Someone’s coming.” Laura whispered back.

When Derek opened his eyes, the shed was empty again.

But there was a strange sound outside. Heavy breathing. A rapid heartbeat.

Warily, Derek got up off the floor of the woodshed and peaked out the dirty window. A jolt of fear flooded through him for a brief moment – but it was just another ghost.

Peter stood on the back lawn a mere dozen paces away. He looked just as Derek remembered him from before the fire, healthy and whole. But he was wearing clothes that were too big, which was strange. A frumpy gray sweater with a faded university logo and cargo shorts. And he was filthy.

“The real Peter wouldn’t risk being seen dead in that.” Commented Derek to the empty space around him, unconcerned about being overheard.

“Der?” This new illusion sounded just as convincing as Laura had been.

“Don’t call me that.” Derek spat angrily. He could feel his eyes flash involuntarily. His fangs dropped too, but he willed them back.

Only Laura had called him that for a very long time.

“Derek?” Peter tried again, his blue eyes were earnest and clear. He also looked sort of scruffy. Like he needed a proper shave, not just a hot shower. Not that Derek was one to talk.

“Go away.” Derek turned back around and slumped once more to the floor of the woodshed, giving himself a cursory sniff as he did so. He should probably do something about that.

“I can’t.” Peter answered, even though Derek could no longer see him. But Peter was dead – just like Laura. Derek had dug both of their graves himself.

“Bring Laura back.” Requested Derek. He would beg if he had to. If he was going crazy anyway, he would much rather be with her.

“I can’t.” Repeated Peter, although his voice broke partway through. Watery with feeling, as if he truly meant it.

Something familiar was in the air, a scent Derek had thought was lost forever. His uncle’s wolf was sharp in how much it came through in his natural odor – it always had been. A bit more animal than human. But it was the same scent of Peter before the fire.

Warm. Comforting.

The hallucinations were getting worse.

“I don’t want you.” Growled Derek rather petulantly.

There was a sour note to Peter’s scent after he said that. It almost made Derek feel bad – but only for a second. Afterall, the man had killed Laura.

“But you need me.” Reasoned Peter. Any real werewolf could probably tell that Derek was falling apart. When Scott rejected him for the second time after they had defeated what Peter had become, it had made Derek desperate.

The handsome lacrosse player that cornered him behind the school afterwards was his last chance – and again, he had failed.

Why could he never do anything right?

“The bite didn’t take.” Derek said out loud – not really expecting an answer. He wanted Laura to come back. “He didn’t turn.”

The specter of his uncle crept closer to the shed as he spoke. The phantom scent was so strong, it was almost as if Peter was right outside the door. But Derek knew he wasn’t. No one was there – it was just his mind playing tricks. So many tricks.

“What? Oh. I… Derek, I—” The ghost seemed lost for words – which was just further proof that it was all a lie.

“The real Peter would say something clever and mean. He would make it hurt worse before… before he would help make it better. At least he used to.” Derek rambled to himself. He didn’t actually need to speak to these ghosts. They weren't real. He was alone.

“You don’t think I’m actually here, do you?” Peter asked rather breathily through the door after a prolonged moment of silence. As if he was scenting him – trying to gauge how sick the newly turned Alpha truly was. His uncle sounded disappointed.

That was more like it. Peter always seemed disappointed in him. Always.

But Derek ultimately chose to ignore him. It was probably better not to engage. Maybe they would finally leave him alone if he stayed silent.

…

Eventually his eyes grew heavy and he began to nod off. Peter’s ghost keeping watch at his side.

…

He woke hungry from a troubled sleep an hour or so before the sun would set. By then, both the woodshed and the yard were empty. But strangely, the nostalgic scent of pack lingered in the air.

***

Peter very much wanted to tear the McCall brat limb from limb. The kid had been a terrible mistake from the very beginning. He thought Derek and Scott were allies - so where the hell was he?

Once it was clear that Derek was deeply asleep in his poor excuse of a makeshift den, Peter set off to find the young werewolf – fully intending to get some answers. Of course, he made a few stops first. He needed to steal a car, get cleaned up, and acquire better clothes. If he was going to confront Scott, he was determined to go in fully prepared.

Derek was slipping.

It pained Peter to see his nephew – his Alpha – in such a sorry state. Derek had somehow always felt like his responsibility, even if Peter had failed him in that regard time and time again. Talia wasn’t always a bad parent, but she was rarely present for and attentive to her only son. The unfortunate incident with Derek’s first crush during high school should have been a wake-up call, but it had only seemed to make the distance between them grow. A truly fatal mistake on her part.

Peter could own up to his own faults. As the left hand of the pack and duty bound, he had grown accustomed to the less savory aspects of his role. Instead of succumbing to them, however, he wrapped himself in a protective cloak of dark humor and biting remarks. But he wasn’t a martyr. He was happy to shift the blame for his family’s tragedy back to where it rightfully belonged. His older sister had always been blinded by her own arrogance.

In the end, that was what had brought them to ruin. Save for the occasional whisperings of her Emissary, Talia took no council and believed herself invincible. The hunters would never have had such an opening otherwise. Kate would have been torn to bloody ribbons long before… before Derek.

With his second chance at life, Peter was going to do better. He still had someone to live for – someone who needed him. Or it was rather more accurate to say they needed each other. Peter’s desire to be near his nephew had never felt so strong. For some reason he could sense Derek as his Alpha more acutely than he ever had with Talia.

His nephew was both fragile and strong. Not quite the successor his sister would have chosen, but sensitivity wasn't necessarily weakness. Peter remembers making light of the fact before the fire, as he often did with serious topics. Derek hadn’t taken his words as the compliment he had intended them to be. But in the years since then, this dichotomy was still as much a part of him as ever.

For as much as Peter yearned to return to the young man’s side, he also needed to gather more information. Derek was currently safe and could rest. Peter would return to guard him again once this was done. No doubt some kind of reckoning would occur once his nephew fully regained his senses and realized he was truly back among the living, but Peter couldn’t stay away even if he wanted to now.

He tracked Scott from the high school to the Sheriff’s home. The clever, fidgety boy named Stiles lived there. For a human, his scent was pleasing. Peter was sorry he hadn’t turned him instead of McCall.

The pair of them were pacing back and forth in a room up on the second floor. Peter kept himself hidden in the trees behind the house as he eavesdropped. It took a little while, but eventually their topic of conversation shifted from ordinary teenage complaints about school and playful bickering to something more relevant.

“It’s gotta be Derek.” Scott said rather definitively.

“Or not. He didn’t seem all that murdery to me the last time we saw him – you know, besides the angry eyebrows and leather jacket. It could have been someone or something else.” Stiles protested.

“Don’t be stupid, Stiles. Derek probably offered Mr. Lahey the bite and then went psycho when he got turned down. Becoming an Alpha is making him just as crazy as his uncle was.” Growled Scott bitterly.

Peter paled at the thought. As much as he didn’t want McCall to be right, Derek had mentioned that he had offered someone the bite – and that it didn’t take. A mercy killing was far more likely than what Scott was suggesting though.

“Not everyone out there is going to be as averse to being a werewolf as you are, dude.” Stiles replied wearily. “Like, seriously.”

“You turned it down.” Countered Scott.

“And I told you, Peter was just messing with me. He seemed like he was getting off on being terrifying or something.” Stiles deflected.

Vaguely Peter could recall something like that happening. Not all of his memories after the fire had stuck though, and it wasn’t entirely wrong to say Alpha Peter and who he was now were two very different people. It probably had been a rush to seductively flash his eyes and teeth at the handsome young man – pleasurable even to offer him the gift rather than to just take what he wanted.

Stiles had obviously picked up on the sexual nature of his offer anyway.

Peter wasn’t exactly subtle about it when he found someone attractive, and intelligence was a big turn on for him. Stiles had great potential – but Peter was easily twice his age. Things could be different if they were both wolves though.

“What do you even expect us to do?” Scott whined.

“Well, wolves are territorial by nature, so it stands to reason that werewolves might be too. Derek seemed to be at least. If this killing is as supernatural as it seems, we are probably going to get caught up in it either way. So… wouldn’t you rather we try and figure this out before something tries to kill us again?” Replied Stiles rationally.

“What is there to figure out? It’s not like I want Derek to keep—” a disgruntled sound from Stiles made him amend his response, “—or whoever it is then, to keep on hurting people.”

“Scott—”

“No, just listen to me for a minute. We’re not superheroes, okay? I know you want to believe that, but I don’t. I just want things to go back to being normal. Besides, Allison’s dad can handle this or something. Isn’t that what he does?”

“You do realize that any hunters are going to think you’re a suspect in Mr. Lahey’s murder too, right?” Stiles prompted. “Didn’t Allison's dad say that he didn’t trust you with her because newly turned wolves are 'too unstable'?”

While Peter didn't have a visual, he could almost picture Stiles making air quotes. The Sheriff’s son was patently awkward in his own unique way. But – heaven help him – Peter genuinely found the kid amusing.

“Ugh. Oh, come on. When I lose control – which doesn’t happen all that often anymore – I just tear through my lacrosse gear or break my mom’s dishes. I don’t kill people.” Scott said defensively.

“Yeah… you and I remember your first full moon after being turned very differently. But I got you, man. Your homicidal urges have gone way, way down since then.” Teased Stiles.

Despite Stiles’ unorthodox charm, Peter was getting bored – and he was anxious to get back to Derek. While it remained a mystery to him why Scott had kept from going feral without the support of a pack, he wasn’t all that keen on figuring it out anymore. The boy had suppressed his wolf so much that his instincts were all but dead – as was evident that Scott still hadn’t realized Peter was doing very little to stay hidden.

In truth, he had half expected a face-to-face confrontation with the young werewolf. He would have enjoyed seeing the surprise and fear on the brat’s face. But if Scott couldn’t smell or hear him even at this range, then there was little point. He had been so incredibly angry at Scott for rejecting Derek. The two lone wolves should have naturally come together, even if they didn’t ultimately become a pack. However, his anger was cooling rapidly now and settling into something more akin to lukewarm contempt instead.

Besides his iron will to ignore the animal within, Scott was unremarkable and made for a terrible werewolf. Peter wasn't going to pursue him any further.

“We should find Derek if he’s still around – see what he knows, at least.” Stiles suggested after a bit more back and forth.

“I thought we were going to play Black Ops.”

Did Scott do anything else but whine?

Stiles seemed annoyed as well. But his patience with the young wolf easily exceeded Peter’s. “I know, but— please, Scotty? Help me out here. I was up super late worrying about this and you’re acting like it doesn’t even matter.”

“Okay… but if I’m right and Derek is involved, then he would probably turn on us for even asking.” Scott countered rather weakly.

“One hour of driving around town – that’s all I’m asking for. And if you can’t sense anything with your furry little nose after that then the rest of the evening is all yours, buddy. We can even stop and get treats.” Stiles all but begged.

“Oh, my God – I am not a dog, Stiles.” But Scott’s protest was rather half-hearted.

“Would you rather I go out and try and find him on my own then?”

“Forty-five minutes, and you’re buying the snacks.” Scott relented. “And I get to tell you ‘I told you so’ when Derek tries to rip our faces off.”

“Deal.” Stiles sounded pleased. “Then I get to tell you ‘I told you so’ when—”

“Alright, alright. Let’s just go.”

Peter suppressed a groan.

Reluctantly, he decided to tail the two teenagers a little longer for their search. He would keep his distance, remain up wind and out of range. The terrorizing and maiming he longed for might still come later. Plus, he didn’t really want the pair of them as spectators for whatever ultimately happened between him and Derek.

He stealthily made his way back through the trees to where his car was waiting. Once inside the cabin, he donned a pair of dark Aviators that came as a bonus with the stolen vehicle. If Stiles was driving, there was always a chance that Peter might be recognized if he followed the young man’s beat-up, old Jeep for too long. Best to keep his face partially hidden, just in case.

Peter could play dead a bit longer.

Chapter Text

Stiles was beginning to regret his suggestion that they look for Derek once they found him.

Derek looked like shit – or at least as bad as anyone could with a face and body like his. The guy could probably still pull off a modeling gig for a magazine cover.

He was just coming out of a gas station on the edge of town – the kind with large bays for semi-trailers and showers in the restrooms for long-haul truckers. The older werewolf’s hair was still wet, giving them some idea as to why he was there, and he was carrying a couple plastic bags. Possibly food or clothes. Derek had dark circles under his eyes and hadn’t shaved in a few weeks at least. Seriously, he had a full-on beard rather than just tasteful scruff.

“What do you want?” Derek didn’t sound pleased to see them. The sun was setting, so everything was cast in a red glow. He probably wasn’t flashing his eyes at them, but Stiles could easily imagine it anyway.

When it did not appear that Derek was really going to attack them – not that he would in such a public place anyway – Scott wordlessly took a step back and gestured at Stiles as if that was explanation enough. Stiles was not privy to all of the non-verbal ways werewolves seemed to communicate, so it probably was sufficient for them. All smells and sub-vocal growls and shit.

“Wow, dude. You… uh… what are you still doing in Beacon Hills?” It was not at all what he had wanted to say. While Derek remained human in his outward appearance, Stiles couldn’t help but think that there was still something about him that simply screamed ‘predator’. It made him nervous.

Derek just scowled at them. “I used to live here.”

“We know. I meant… I just thought— you know what, it doesn’t matter. In case you didn't already know, there has been another attack. We wanted to ask if you could tell us anything. Like, I know the chances of there being another big, bad Alpha out there are probably pretty low, but—”

“You think I hurt someone?” Derek interrupted, looking just as angry as he had back in the Preserve when they had first met. After everything they had gone through together, they seemed to be back at square one. Great.

“No. I mean, maybe. Scott thinks so anyway. But I told him we should get your side of things.” Stiles was frustrated that he never seemed to say the right things to Derek. Conversations always went wrong between them somehow. Stumbling over their words on Stiles’ part – or barely using any words at all in Derek’s case. The man's eyebrows spoke volumes. At least this time Stiles got the message. Hurt and angry. But that was kind of Derek's default state, honestly. Someone should probably try and fix that.

“Not that you would tell us if you were. Obviously. I mean, that is like psycho killer 101. But this recent attack really looks like something Peter could have done, which is, you know, impossible so—”

The older werewolf turned away and didn’t bother with a reply.

Stiles hurried after him rather pathetically. He shouldn’t have brought up Peter – Derek was probably still working through all that crap. “Come on, dude. Someone died – which is like really bad news considering that there are hunters in town again. We just want to know if you’ve heard or smelled anything… er… off. You haven’t made any new friends recently, have you?”

That made Derek stop, but he didn’t fully turn to look back in their direction. “No.”

“Yeah – okay. That’s good. But you would tell us if you did sense anything weird out there, right? I mean, we really don’t need another supernatural killer on the loose—”

“Who was it?” Derek asked swiftly through gritted teeth. Possibly fangs. They were probably fangs.

“What?” Stiles couldn’t help but notice that Derek’s gaze was firmly fixed on the cement in front of them – refusing to meet him in the eye.

“The person who died.” Derek clarified.

“Oh. Uh… Jefferson Lahey. He’s an auto mechanic. He had a kid in our year at school.” Answered Stiles, still trying to decipher the man’s body language for answers. He noticed how Derek’s shoulders looked especially tight.

“Don’t know him.” Derek spat back and then continued walking.

“Hey, wait up! Couldn’t we at least talk—” Stiles tried to say, but he was cut off again, this time by Scott pulling him back. The sidewalk ended in a few yards anyway because they were so close to the Preserve. Derek kept on walking into the grass.

Stiles glared at Scott’s hand on his arm, but didn’t resist any further.

“Leave him.” Scott explained with a frown.

Together they watched Derek quickly retreat around the corner and out of sight. Stiles briefly wondered why he wasn’t driving the Camaro, before realizing that it probably stood out too much.

Derek was hiding.

“That could have gone worse, I guess.” Stiles sighed in exasperation. He looked forlornly back in the direction the older werewolf had disappeared. He had hoped for a better outcome – a lead of any kind would have been welcome. He hated not knowing what was out there.

“He didn’t smell right.” Scott had his nose scrunched up, as if he had caught a whiff of something bad.

Stiles was intrigued. “Like he wasn’t telling us the truth or something?”

“Werewolves can’t smell lies, Stiles. We can hear a change in someone’s heartbeat, or at least that is what Derek told me. But that takes practice and I was never much good at it. And, I dunno – he just smelled sort of sour and… chemically. Some of the dogs at Deaton’s are like that. Like he’s hurt or sick.” Explained Scott with some difficulty.

“I thought furries like him didn’t get sick. But maybe you’re right and being an Alpha is doing something to him.” Stiles suggested. Maybe all Alphas were douchebags. There was still so much that they didn’t know about werewolves – and their only legitimate source for information wasn’t exactly cooperating. “Did Peter smell like that?”

“Sort of. At least when he was at the hospital.” Scott replied. “But there was… a kind of wildness to Peter’s scent too. More animal than human.”

Unsure what more they could do Stiles turned back towards the gas station. He had parked his Jeep in the parking lot, so this was as good of a place as any to stock up on the junkiest of junk food. “Let’s pick out some stuff while we’re here, I guess.”

“Awesome.” Scott seemed to forget about Derek almost instantly.

Stiles was still concerned. Being without a pack probably wasn’t healthy, especially for an Alpha. So maybe Derek was hurting people. His best friend had just admitted that he kinda sucked at being a supernatural lie detector, so it was possible. All they really got from this stunt – besides getting to make fun of Scott as he stuck his head out of the window while they drove around town looking for Derek – was learning that the older werewolf was still in town.

He dreaded when their evening of gaming would come to an end and Scott went back to his house. Stiles would be left all alone again – seemingly the only one worried that everything they had just made it through with Peter was somehow going to repeat itself.

Scott at least had teeth and claws, but Stiles was pretty much as defenseless as ever. Feeling disappointed and anxious, Stiles trailed Scott into the store.

***

Derek was being followed.

At first, he thought it had to be Scott. Seeing the young werewolf again like that – only for Stiles to accuse him of wrongdoing – had been like rubbing salt on the wound. Scott hadn’t even said a word to him, but he didn’t need to. It was glaringly obvious that Scott wanted nothing to do with Derek – not now, and not ever.

His burning anger and rekindled hurt blinded him for the first mile or two. But the further he went along the edges of the Preserve, the less confident he was that he knew his silent stalker.

It could be a hunter.

He wanted to retreat back to the little woodshed from the day before, but that was impossible now. Once he lost his tail Derek would have to find a new place to stay, just to be safe. There were enough abandoned buildings or forgotten spaces in Beacon Hills that he would find something suitable before too long. Another temporary shelter.

Despite his gnawing hunger, he might have to drop his bags and make a run for it too.

But maybe he was just being paranoid. Taking a shower had helped clear his head a little, and he could stand to smell himself now without cringing. However, he knew he was still getting worse, not better. For one thing, the hallucinations were back.

This time it was his mother.

“You could catch something in the forest. I taught you to hunt, didn’t I?” Talia walked right beside him after taking that last turn. Her illusion was nearly perfect too – just like Laura. Raven black hair flowing behind her in silky waves. Fine lines around her eyes. Her floral print dress with a wide neckline. It was rather shapeless - but that was kind of the point. He clothing didn’t restrict her movement in any way. She wouldn’t look out of place running errands around town or picking her kids up from school, and then she could still run effortlessly through the trees of the Preserve.

And, just like when she was alive, her advice came with a heavy dose of quiet judgement.

“Leave me alone.” Derek tried to keep his voice down. How he wished it was Laura by his side instead.

“You should listen more to your wolf – it knows what you need.” His mother continued relentlessly. Derek noticed that she made no sound when she walked. She had also liked soaps that smelled faintly of lavender. It always made Derek think of her when he caught a trace of it, even this many years after her death. But that signature scent was absent. Not a trace.

Laura's ghost didn't smell like the way she aught to either. No scent at all.

“You’re not real.” Derek tried to speed up into a jog and leave her behind – but it was no use. He could never outrun her before, so why should he be able to now?

Derek loved his mother – he truly had. But she was a formidable woman and very strict. He was never sure if it had been her innate character that made her the best choice as the next Hale Alpha, or if she turned out that way only after taking on the role. She always emphasized showing the world that her pack was strong and capable, even though they were forced to conceal the actual source of their power. It was an exhausting standard to live up to – especially when all Derek really wanted to do was to be left alone.

“I'm still right.” Talia chided him. “You liked the smell of Scott’s friend – don’t try and deny it. If you turned him, the McCall boy might come around.”

“No. He doesn’t want it.” Derek wasn’t going to bite Stiles just to get to Scott. He wanted – no, he needed a pack – but that was not the right way out of this mess. It would only make things worse, especially since Stiles' father was the Shariff.

He was determined to resist the urge to bite and claim without permission for as long as his sanity would hold out. He didn't want to think about what might come after.

“Pity that you couldn’t have fallen for a nice girl instead. I would have loved to have had grandchildren.” Talia spoke without gasping, even though they were both running hard now. After all, she didn’t need to breathe.

It was a variation of a comment he only half-remembered hearing his mother say to Laura once about her first girlfriend. Although, why his mother was so obsessed with grandchildren when her oldest was only in high school was a mystery to him. But the words had stuck with him – somehow making him feel guilty about noticing through stolen glances in the locker room how fit some of his friends on the basketball team were becoming.

Maybe his obsession over Paige a few months later wouldn’t have felt so important if he had never heard her say anything about it.

But just because Stiles smelled like warm honey and chocolate did not mean Derek wanted anything to do with the spastic teenager. Besides, the boy had already made his allegiance perfectly clear – Team Scott all the way.

Derek quickly turned into the trees rather than keeping near the road, hoping to lose whoever was following him in the natural maze of woodland paths and thick brush. After another mile or so he stopped to listen. It took a while, but then he heard them.

It wasn’t working.

“Shit.” Derek swore out loud. No human could move so quickly or track his movements so precisely. Whoever it was could smell him.

Stiles’ idea that some other werewolf was in the area was starting to seem a lot more plausible. But that wasn’t necessarily good news. With his luck it was likely that they already belonged to a pack and were seeking him out to squabble over territory. Or it was an Omega – one already turned feral and blind to reason.

Someone in Beacon Hills had been killed, so Derek thought he knew the answer. It made something in his gut turn cold. He was probably in for a fight.

Reluctantly he dropped his bags as he took off again, hoping that the smell of food would distract the other wolf long enough that Derek could get away. Currently, he was weak and without a pack. Despite the added strength and enhanced senses gained from of the Alpha spark, this was still a struggle that he might not win.

“Running isn’t the answer, Derek. Once you start, you can never stop. Better to turn and fight.” The ghost of his mother tried to capture his attention again, but he ignored her. She didn’t look happy at his lack of response but continued to kept pace with him as he hopped over fallen logs and took sharp turns, trying to make it harder for anyone to follow his exact path.

It was as if the ghost of his mother was always waiting in the corner of his vision, giving him disapproving looks. Expelling more disparaging words rather than comfort. He didn’t want to remember her this way. There were good times too – times when she had been proud of him. Couldn’t he imagine her like that instead?

Derek ran and ran. If he was fast enough, then maybe—

In his haste, he subconsciously fled towards his old family home. The ruins of the Hale house were nothing more than a dark reminder of pain and loss now, but his instincts were trying to turn him towards safety. If he wasn’t going so fast, maybe he would have sensed the trap sooner. He only had about 100 yards to go when it happened.

KER-SNAAAP.

Derek howled in excruciating pain when a spring trap large enough to take down a grizzly bear closed around his ankle, savagely biting into his skin and cracking bone. There was no way the other werewolf – or whatever it was pursuing him hadn’t heard.

And whoever had set the trap would probably be along not long after.

***

Peter hadn’t expected Derek to notice him from so far away – nor would he have guessed that his nephew would try to flee rather than stand his ground.

But Derek wasn’t Talia. Just because he was an Alpha now, it didn’t mean that they would act the same. And, of course, Derek probably wasn’t in the best mental state either.

Peter looked at the discarded bags of food with a frown. The contents were mostly unspoiled, but gathering everything back up from where they lay scattered among the undergrowth would take time. They had obviously been tossed aside in a hurry – and for a purpose.

He wasn’t going into this with much of a plan. Few from his old pack knew about his blessing from the Urd Witch, and they were all dead now. Derek wouldn’t have expected his uncle to seemingly rise from the grave, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that when he first found his new Alpha holed up in a tiny shed like some kind of criminal that Derek hadn’t believed Peter to be real.

Night had descended in earnest now, leaving nothing to guide them this far out into the Preserve save for the pale light of a few twinkling stars. Crickets and small frogs were chirping in the mossy patches near puddles of water. Peter probably would have enjoyed going for a run on a night like this if he wasn’t so sure that he was going about approaching his nephew in entirely the wrong way.

He had killed Laura.

And he had done worse. He tore her apart and left what remained unburied. As if she didn't matter - wasn't family. He would be surprised if Derek didn’t try and kill him again once he realized that Peter wasn’t just some figment of his imagination. Blindly pursuing his nephew just because he inexplicably needed to be at the younger man’s side again was just plain stupid.

However, the pull towards his Alpha was too great to resist. He had already been away far longer than he should have. For as aloof and independent as Peter always tried to seem, he still needed a pack. He had to hope that Derek would see his first death as punishment enough. A life for a life.

Derek couldn’t run forever, so Peter continued tracking his nephew – just at a much slower pace. The trail became much harder to follow as it wove back and forth, sometimes crossing over itself or wandering off in a sudden new direction for no discernable reason.

His nephew was acting strange. It wasn’t a good sign. Maybe Peter should retreat after all for a while and—

Suddenly an anguished cry – part howl and part scream – shattered the still night air, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise in alarm. It was Derek.

Peter knew these woods intimately. He took off in the direction of the sound in a dead sprint, deftly dodging trees and not worrying over how the small brambles and branches he passed in a rush were tearing at his clothes and skin. His Alpha was in trouble.

It took longer than Peter would have liked to make it to a small clearing not very far from the site of their family’s greatest tragedy. He wasn’t sure if the faint traces he was picking up of ash and smoke in the air were entirely real, but it hardly mattered. Derek should not have come back this way.

The first thing he noticed was that there was a lot of blood.

“P-peter?” Derek was on the ground and had crawled into a patch of yarrow and was desperately trying to free himself from some metal trap. Peter could smell the wolfsbane. His nephew was looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

Without thinking too much about it, Peter tore what was left of his shirt off and wrapped the remains around his hands. “We need to get that off you, and fast.”

However, when he knelt down and reached for Derek’s injured leg, his nephew pulled away with a pained intake of breath.

“You’re not him. Y-you’re someone else.” Derek was still mostly bleeding red, which was a good sign. Whatever the hunters had used, it hadn’t delivered a fatal dose. Not yet, anyway.

“Stop touching it. You’ve burned your hands.” Peter scolded. “And you can imagine me to be anyone you want – but I promise I’m only trying to help. Listen to my heartbeat, Der.”

Derek seemed to consider it for a moment. He must have passed the test because Derek reluctantly let go of the trap and cradled his inflamed hands to his chest instead.

“Good boy.” Peter tried to sound calming.

“You smell like him.” Derek said rather dumbly, almost too soft to hear. "I couldn't smell the others."

Peter ignored the comment and just got to work. The device wasn’t just a classic spring trap. Pulling on the sides was not enough to release the mechanism. Its jagged teeth were still deeply embedded in his nephew’s leg. It looked like it required some kind of key, like an Allen wrench, in order to retract. This was not a normal hunter’s trap.

“Fuck.” Peter wiped the metal clean the best he could with the torn fabric anyway. Something this sophisticated was really bad news. It was also attached by a fine steel cable to a stake that sank deep into the ground. That, at least, he could deal with. His teeth and claws made short work of things.

“Der, we need to get out of here. These are professionals. They might have hidden cameras on us. You’ll need to ride on my back – alright?”

“Don’t call me that.” Derek repeated what he had said last time. Fine beads of sweat had broken out over his forehead and his eyes looked glassy. What little wolfsbane had made its way into his system was still doing damage.

“Listen, Derek. We don’t have time. You are going to die of blood loss at this rate. The wolfsbane is keeping the wound from fully closing and I didn’t think to bring my toolbox with me on this trip into the forest. Quick, give me your shirt. I need to wrap this up.” Peter pulled on Derek’s clothing, but was stopped by a firm hand on his arm.

“You’re dead.” Insisted Derek. “I killed you.”

Peter shrugged. “I got better. Now take your clothes off.”

Derek seemed too stunned to move. It should not be this difficult.

“Oh, for the love of— if you weren’t my Alpha, I would leave you here, and serves you right.” Peter ripped Derek’s hand off of him and then used his claws to tear Derek’s shirt off himself, since his nephew wasn’t going to help.

Once the wound and the trap were tightly wrapped, Peter looked deeply into his nephew’s face unsure what he would find there. Derek looked… confused? Hopeful, maybe?

“How?” Derek simply asked – as if any of it could be answered quickly while their lives were in danger.

“Get on my back. Hurry. We aren’t safe here.” Peter wasn’t going to wait around for the hunters to come and finish them off. And the stench of blood was starting to become a problem. Peter could feel his fangs wanting to drop – it took effort to keep from shifting.

Derek finally moved, hopefully recognizing that following Peter’s orders for the time being was probably a good idea. They could fight about the dynamics of it later.

“There you go.” Peter coaxed Derek into position. Dragging the frayed cable might aggravate Derek’s wound further. Peter had to balance his nephew’s legs and what remained of the cable in his arms before moving forward. “Hold on tight, Der.”

“Peter?” Derek asked as Peter finally got up and headed deeper into the trees – away from Beacon Hills. It came out a little slurred. Peter had gotten to him just in time.

His nephew’s breath was hot on Peter’s neck.

“Trust me.” Feeling his nephew’s bare chest against his back was affecting Peter in… uh… unexpected ways. The younger man was a lot wider in the shoulders and heavier with muscle than he was as a teenager, that was for sure.

They would need to double-back at the river. Derek would leave too obvious of a blood trail otherwise despite Peter’s efforts at staunching the flow.

Derek nuzzled his face into Peter’s hair, scenting him over and over again as they hurried to safety. A growl rumbled in his chest whenever he was jostled a bit too harshly, but otherwise he didn’t speak again. Perhaps the closeness was comforting for him or something despite the danger they were in. Peter wasn’t opposed in any case.

He could only imagine what must be running through his nephew’s head. It was probably a lot to process.

Eventually, they made it back to Beacon Hills and not too far from Derek’s little woodshed. The empty house it belonged to was as good a place as any for them to spend the night, Peter reasoned. But he would still need to get some tools, and possibly some other supplies. And eventually food – he realized. Healing took a lot of energy.

Derek seemed poised to get down off Peter’s back when they reached the backyard, but Peter wasn’t about to let go. “Not yet.”

“It was you before. You were real.” Derek finally spoke, lucid enough that he recognized exactly where Peter had taken them.

“Yes.” He admitted freely. “And then I was pigheaded enough to think that chasing after some teenagers for information was a good idea instead of just waiting for you to come to your senses. Now hold on.” Peter kicked the back door in, splintering the frame as the deadbolt was pushed clean through the wall.

Unfortunately, it was rather loud. Hopefully none of the neighbors would come to investigate.

As expected, the house was pretty much empty of any real furniture or any personal belongings. Peter eased Derek from his back and onto the floor in a room without carpet. No need to make cleaning up after themselves any harder than necessary – especially if professional hunters were going to be chasing after them.

Derek seemed reluctant to let him go once he was down though. “Let me check on your leg, Der. And then I need to—”

“Don’t leave.” Derek begged, his hands kept pulling on Peter’s neck, pulling him down so that they were face to face.

“If I don’t then we won’t get that thing off.” Peter tried to reason, gesturing down at the metal trap still attached to his nephew’s foot.

“Don’t leave me.” Derek repeated as he pulled Peter even closer. “Please.”

A hot and deeply possessive feeling began pooling deep in Peter’s gut. “I won’t. I won’t. I promise.”

When Peter pulled away this time, he noticed that Derek’s eyes were very dark – his pupils blown wide. They silently gaped at one another for a moment or two in the dim light from the window as the earthy scent of arousal grew stronger between them. Was he really… ?

Oh.

“We… we can’t do this now. I need—” Peter was interrupted by a searing kiss. Derek continued to pull at him until he was laying on top of his nephew. Peter tried to pull away, but Derek wasn’t letting go. The muscles he had been admiring earlier clearly weren't just for show.

Peter gasped as Derek moved on to his neck – licking and scraping his sharp teeth on his uncle’s throat. But he didn’t bite down, as Peter half expected him to.

Well, if this is what Derek needed, then—

“No! No. Not yet, Der. Please. The trap has to come off first.” Using his brain and not letting all the blood rush down to his cock was no easy feat. “I promise – I promise that I won’t leave you.”

With obvious reluctance Derek’s grip loosened enough that Peter was able to get free. He immediately dashed to the kitchen. All he needed was a bent piece of metal small enough to fit. A fork might work or a metal skewer. Anything.

Most of the drawers were empty, but… there, in a one filled with spare parts and manuals for the appliances. He dashed back to Derek’s side – it couldn’t have been more than a minute.

Derek had curled in on himself and was pulling on the trap again, tearing the skin open even further as he tried to rip it off.

“Stop that!” Peter ordered. Derek glared back at him with his red, Alpha eyes. Peter had to swallow the rest of his reprimand with a nervous gulp. The air had become thick with the smell of his nephew’s need. The significant bulge in Derek’s pants was very hard to ignore as Peter knelt down beside him and got to work.

It took a few tries, but as soon as there was a satisfying CLICK and the trap finally fell away Derek had him pinned to the floor.

The younger werewolf moaned as Peter tried to wriggle free – accidentally providing friction for Derek’s hard prick. And that was all it took to set Peter off. He hungrily devoured his nephew’s lips in turn, letting his fangs drop as he growled.

What happened next was inevitable. Derek shifted to prove his dominance as Alpha. Peter snarled in pain as Derek’s claws dug into his shoulder.

They both bit and nipped and scratched as clothes were shredded so that they could feel every inch of each other. Peter briefly escaped and tried to push Derek beneath him instead, but it wasn’t for long. Derek’s teeth made marks up and down both of Peter’s arms as he flailed uselessly under the weight of his Alpha. Blood made the floor grow a little slick.

Derek finally won the struggle by biting deep into Peter’s shoulder.

Instead of crying out in pain, Peter moaned and bucked up into Derek’s firm stomach. His own cock felt as hard as steel and was very eager. He could feel Derek’s heavy prick between his thighs – warm and demanding. Neither of them was capable of uttering real words for a long while. Instead, they spoke mainly through grunts and growls as they took turns rutting shamelessly into the other’s body.

Kissing around fangs proved difficult, but not impossible.

Eventually, Derek was lapping at the last bite he had made on Peter’s flesh, probably helping it knit itself closed. Peter shivered wantonly at the sensation. Derek’s wound on his leg had also seemed to have closed – the danger had passed. Any residual wolfsbane should make its way out on its own.

Derek lifted Peter partially up off the floor by the back of his knees so that he could fold the older man in half. Then he greedily buried his face in Peter’s ass, licking as he went.

“Derek! AH… ah.” Peter tried to muffle his cries by biting into the meat of his palm. This was an unexpected turn of events, but if he was honest, it was definitely something he wanted. Derek needed him, and… well, Peter found that he rather liked being needed like this.

Even so, Derek could still be considered compromised. They really shouldn’t be—

“Fuck.” Derek swore darkly as he came up for air.

Peter tried to wrestle his legs free from Derek’s grip, but that only made Derek hold on tighter. His claws were still out, so it wasn’t very comfortable. Peter was breathing in gasps as his cock dripped precum onto his belly. Strings of it were already caught in the hair on his chest. He was in a rather compromising position at the moment to try and object to something they both seemed to want.

“Hate you.” Derek growled – his words were barely recognizable around his fangs. “Hate you. Need you. Need you. Need you so much, Peter.”

Again, Peter swallowed loudly. “I know.”

Derek brought Peter’s legs down himself so that he could crowd into Peter’s neck instead.

“Peter.” Derek began crying. Peter could both smell and feel the tears as they fell. “Peter.” Derek continued to repeat his uncle’s name as he kissed and caressed the vulnerable swath of skin that not so long ago he had ripped open with his claws.

Peter wasn’t sure how coherent Derek truly was, but he was quickly losing himself to his own desire. He contemplated petting Derek’s hair to comfort him at first, but Derek’s tears quickly transformed into sloppy kisses so he didn’t bother. If he wasn’t a werewolf, he would probably have some incredible bruises in the morning.

He wanted Derek to claim him. He wanted anything his nephew was willing to give him.

Derek must have sensed Peter’s will to fight had evaporated because now they were kissing again. Amazingly their fangs were gone - or at least had momentarily retreated, so they were messy, wet kisses that betrayed how much they both wanted what was about to come. Peter spread his legs, showing that he was more than willing.

Thankfully, Derek had already prepared Peter well enough with his tongue that when a blunt cock pushed against his entrance, Peter wasn’t surprised when the tip went in with minimal effort.

His nephew was not small. Peter might have protested more if he wasn’t lost in the sensation of slowly being filled. His nephew began rocking back and forth. Upon every thrust forward he slipped in just a little further.

“Derek. Oh… oh.” Peter unconsciously mimicked his nephew’s limited vocabulary – but, granted, coming up with words was rather difficult with a massive cock being shoved up one’s ass. It was a sensation he hadn't felt in far, far too long.

The younger werewolf was still buried in in neck, so Peter brought his hands up to grab fistfuls of the younger man’s hair. He rubbed their cheeks together, even though Derek’s beard was very rough. He wanted Derek’s scent to cover him completely, and he couldn’t seem to form the right words to ask for it. But words weren't always necessary.

Derek quickly got onboard with his silent request as he enthusiastically rubbed his face down Peter’s chest, rumbling rather gutturally as he went. He was close to bottoming out too, so he needed to pull them closer together anyway. Peter felt the root of his cock spasm as it suddenly came flush with warm skin. Derek let out another pleased sound that reverberated through his chest and went straight to both of their pricks. Peter’s was still dribbling clear sap, especially now that his prostate was so compressed, while Derek’s kept twitching deep inside him.

It wouldn’t take much longer. Peter was already feeling a warm sensation pull his balls tighter and tighter as Derek began working himself in and out in slow and steady thrusts. Every pass made his toes curl – the stretch was a heady mixture of both pain and pleasure. And so full.

“Mine.” Derek insisted. His fangs made a reappearance. His chin was more than a little bloody, so he looked far more vicious than he actually was – obviously lost in a carnal fever.

Peter nodded readily, unable to do anything but moan in response. He was so close.

Derek was his Alpha. Peter had said it before back in the woods, but this was what he had meant. He knew what their coupling would entail - how it would bind them together.

And he wanted it so much.

Incredibly, this was what he had hoped for when the Urd Witch gave him that blessing so many years ago now. He was unhappy under Talia, but he felt trapped by obligation and familial ties that had grown strong long before she ever took on the mantle of Alpha. He would often dream of a day when his bond was fulfilled and he would be free of her. In his fantasies, he often became the Alpha himself in his second life – but it wasn’t what he needed.

History proved that that had been a big mistake. Instead—

This. This with Derek. He had his answer.

He came without words or fanfare. Derek’s cock was buried deep inside him and he couldn’t stop his release. He felt warm droplets of cum paint his chest and splash onto his face as he closed his eyes in ecstasy. His Alpha’s pace was increasing and Derek’s claws were back as well – but the pain hardly registered. Peter was floating as the chains of his old life broke into pieces and fell away.

His nephew’s hot spunk filled him up just as he was coming back to earth. A whine, broken and damning fell from Derek's lips. Peter felt the mess they had made together slowly leak out of him and onto the floor as the younger wolf collapsed over him, still breathing heavy and completely blissed-out.

Getting to see Derek’s face as he followed him over the edge was priceless.

***

Lydia was missing.

Stiles was used to his routine of following her every move whenever they were in the same space. So when she didn’t show up for school for the third day in a row, he knew something must have happened. She had been a little more tolerant of him since the mess with Peter, but not enough that they were truly friends. Not yet anyway.

Besides a few more weeks, the school year was almost over. Finals would begin soon. They had come so close to finishing out their sophomore year without more carnage and mayhem. Stiles had a horrible, sinking feeling in his chest.

Peter’s bite had landed her in the hospital before. What if this new threat had gone after her too? Was she okay?

It was more than just Lydia, though. Jackson was also acting… odd.  He didn’t seem to know anything about his own girlfriend’s absence when Stiles asked, just said something about them not living out of each other’s pockets. Then there were times when he seemed to stare off into space and ignore the rest of the world completely. It happened more than once after lacrosse practice, actually. Jackson would gaze into his open locker for so long that most everyone was out the door and on their way home before the Coach would have to go in and snap him out of it.

And, of course, there was their new Principle Mr. Arthur. What kind of school changes management this close to the end of the school year? He was a gruff old man with white hair and a military bearing. When Stiles inquired about what had happened to Mrs. Rogerson, he was just told that she had been called away to handle a family emergency.

Stiles wasn’t dumb.

He suspected that the murder of Mr. Lahey was somehow related and just a part of a series of events that he needed to figure out before it came back to bite them – perhaps literally. Scott would say he was overreacting, but there was no way it was all just a coincidence. Something weird was going on.

Stiles parked his Jeep in front of the Martin’s mansion. There wasn’t really another word for it. The building had an expertly manicured lawn out front, a long driveway and was easily three stories tall. He had known the address since forever, but this was the first time he had ever visited. His crush on Lydia was epic – but unlike Scott, he didn’t follow his dream girl home like a creep.

Scott had said that he couldn’t help it – wolfy hormones or something messing with his self-control. He was just lucky that Allison liked him back enough that she had found it kind of romantic and didn’t call the cops on him. Lydia could probably get Stiles deported to Cuba if he ever actually crossed the line from fawning after her at school and became an actual stalker.

He walked up to the front door with a few stacks of papers in a manila folder. Stiles shared most of his classes with Lydia, so it was easy to use this opportunity to drop off homework as an excuse to make sure she hadn’t fallen victim to yet another ravenous creature of the night.

Waiting for someone to answer after he rang the doorbell was torture. But eventually the door opened.

“Oh. Hello. You’re the Sheriff’s kid, right? What can I do for you?” Lydia’s mother answered somewhat politely. She was a round woman with a short blonde hairstyle and wore a business suit and skirt combo. She had opened the door only part way – a fake smile pasted on her face.

“Er… yes, mam. I came to drop off some homework for—” Began Stiles, but she quickly interrupted him.

“Lydia isn’t taking any visitors right now.” She held out her hand expectantly for the folder.

Stiles hesitated. Then the door was pulled the rest of the way open by Lydia herself. “It’s just Stiles, Mom. He visited me when I was in the hospital, remember?” She hadn’t bothered with her hair and make-up, which was surprising. A white bandage was wrapped around one of her forearms, which was not a good sign.

“You aren’t dressed for company.” Lydia’s mother protested in a hiss, as she tried to pull the door closed again, but Lydia stood her ground. True, Lydia seemed to be in a nightgown and a robe – but a lot less skin was showing than with the outfits she normally wore to school.

“Honestly, Mom, it’s just Stiles. If you could stop fussing over me for just five minutes – please.”

Reluctantly, Mrs. Martin pursed her lips and nodded. She retreated back inside the house, leaving Lydia and Stiles alone on the front step.

“Did your dog bite you again?” Stiles tried to sound casual, but knew he had missed by a mile.

“Scratched it on a branch out in the Preserve, actually.” She held up her bandaged arm with a grimace. But then, after looking over her shoulder for a second, she leaned forward and added more in a quick whisper. “Meet me at Benton Park, nine o’clock. Bring Allison.”

Her pleading eyes told Stiles that his fears had been justified. Lydia couldn’t talk about what had happened now – and, obviously, she expected that her mother was still listening in. “Oh… uh… sorry to hear it. I mean, those trees are a menace – all sharp and pointy and stuff.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, unamused. She leaned heavily onto the doorframe and resumed their conversation as if nothing strange had happened at all. “So, when is Harris planning our practical exam?”

“Harris? Oh, Chemistry. He… um… Wednesday next week. Yeah.” Stiles stumbled over his response, trying very hard to not let his growing panic show.

Lydia snatched the folder from Stiles’ hand, since he didn’t seem like he was going to let it go otherwise.

“Well, thanks for dropping this off. I wouldn’t want to fall behind. I’ve missed enough school this year already.” Lydia still spoke like they were being watched, but her eyes told a different story.

She looked frightened.

“Yeah, sure thing.” Stiles said awkwardly. “I guess I should… go.”

“Bye, Stiles.” And with that, the door was shut in his face.

He was in a bit of a daze as he made his way back to his Jeep. Lydia was alive, at least. But something supernatural was definitely going on.

***

Derek woke to someone gliding their fingers through his hair. His body went tense.

“It’s just me, love.” Peter crooned in a soft whisper.

His thoughts needed a few seconds to untangle themselves. The last few days were kind of a blur. His uncle was alive – it wasn’t just an illusion. Peter was alive and he had a pack. Derek wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t alone.

Derek slowly sat up from where he had curled into his packmate’s side. They were currently holed-up in an abandoned train car at the old rail yard. They had stacked a bunch of ancient seat cushions together to act as a bed.

“I would have let you sleep longer, but if we want something warm to eat, I’ll need to head out before all the restaurants close.” Explained Peter carefully.

The sun had already set and the sky was getting dark out the train car windows. Derek felt conflicted. He didn’t want Peter to leave – but he also desperately wanted him gone. He needed some space to think about what was going on between them. His uncle had tried to explain how it was possible, but Derek could hardly believe it.

Plus, Laura was still— well, there was no miraculous resurrection for her. It was a horrible parody of justice where her killer got a second chance while his sister had had her life cut short. She deserved so much better.

Then there was his wolf. Some wild part of him wanted to tear Peter’s clothes off so that he could taste every inch of his exposed flesh. He growled audibly as the instinct tried to force its way to the forefront of his mind, claws already extending.

“Food first – and then you can do what you want to me after.” Peter interpreted Derek’s wordless struggle perfectly. He could smell it.

“I should rip your heart out of your chest.” Threatened Derek angrily around a mouthful of fangs. He could probably do it too – the Alpha spark was burning very strong inside him.

Peter nodded. “I know. So… what’s stopping you?” His question was more like a taunt.

Derek growled again. He didn’t need to answer that. No doubt his spark would dim again just as soon as the awful deed was done. Alone again.

“The hunters have your blood now. Their hounds can only be tricked into chasing their own tails for so long. You wouldn’t last long without me.” Peter almost sounded smug.

It was true, too. They continued to make false trails with Derek’s blood every night, hoping that they stayed one step ahead of whoever had planted that trap in the woods. They had been lucky so far – but it only took one mistake. One wrong move.

“You— I… I hate this. I hate you.” Derek tried to mean it, but his voice shook. His heartbeat also faltered, betraying the lie.

Peter got to his feet from their makeshift bed and stretched. A stripe of pale skin was visible as his shirt rode up briefly. Derek almost had to lick his lips at the mouthwatering sight.

“Just for that, I’m not even going to ask what you want. Tonight, it will be my choice – and you’ll just have to eat what I give you.” Peter started making his way to the door rather stiffly. He had probably been waiting at Derek’s side in one position for hours. It made him rather ashamed of his outburst.

“Wait.” Derek called out before he could stop himself.

Peter obediently waited, turning to see what his Alpha was going to say next. His icy blue eyes were beautiful in the low light.

“Just… come back to me. Come back safe.” Begged Derek in a grumpy whisper, knowing that Peter would still hear him.

His uncle looked back at him fondly, almost the same way he had before the fire. The moment was strongly reminiscent of when his uncle would run errands after dropping Derek off at the gym for basketball practice. If things ran late, sometimes they stopped for food on the car ride home.

Peter had loved him once, and he had loved the man in return. Had any of that survived the intervening years and cruel actions – both those perpetrated by others and the ones they had committed themselves?

“I won’t be long, Der.” Peter sounded sincere before he disappeared into the dark.

Derek could feel it in his chest as the distance between them grew. It hurt… it hurt… it hurt. But he needed to think around the pain.

He had had sex with his uncle. Good sex. Really good sex. And it wasn’t because he was tripping on wolfsbane. He could remember wanting to claim Peter in every way possible. Biting the older man’s shoulder. Burrowing his cock deep inside Peter’s ass. Kissing his lips.

Derek’s prick was hard just thinking about it. He cupped his cock through the stiff fabric of his jeans. The scent of his arousal was musky – but he didn’t want to spoil his clothes, so his hand remained motionless.

He had heard of something like this happening between male pack members back when he was a teenager, but he didn’t expect it to be this intense. The need was so strong.

After Peter had freed Derek from the trap – and they had done what they had – his uncle stayed by his side. They watched each other sleep and procured by any means necessary what they needed to survive. They bought what they could and stole the rest.

Derek lay back down on the cushions and greedily drank in the traces of Peter's scent left behind.

The betrayal and outrage he had felt against his uncle was crumbling. For better or for worse, they were tied together now. Derek was still angry – and rightfully so. But he was grateful too. He would gladly take Peter over being alone again.

…

“He will probably get you something spicy, out of spite.” Laura’s ghost said some time later from one of the train car seats. She looked much the same way she had back in the woodshed, healthy and whole. Her favorite gray sweater – the one she had bought several sizes too big on purpose – dangled off one shoulder and the sleeves covered her hands like mittens. She was smiling softly at him.

“Why are you still here?” Derek asked, knowing that he was really alone. Just more illusions. Tricks.

He didn't want it all to be a dream - but he couldn't help but fantasize on how perfect it would have been if Laura really was here with them. A pack of three.

Laura shrugged. “You still need me, I guess.”

Derek smiled back, even though the pain in his chest only increased. He wanted her to be real so badly.

“But I’ll leave again if I have to watch you beat off.” Laura struggled not to laugh. While living together in New York she had walked in on him doing just that on more than one occasion.

Derek’s cheeks grew warm and he quickly let go of his junk. He hadn't even realized. He quickly folded his arms tight to his chest, avoiding her mocking gaze. But he was feeling embarrassed over a memory, nothing more. Those years in New York weren't always terrible. They had relearned how to laugh together on the good days, even if they sometimes felt guilty after. And he had caught Laura bringing girls back to their apartment too.

“You’re going to be okay, Der.” Her gentle voice seemed to echo in the silence.

When Derek looked back in her direction, she was gone.

Chapter Text

Peter was absolutely gone on Derek. His nephew was still a broken mess. They both were. But somehow that made him even more beautiful - more delicious.

A quiet anger simmered just behind his eyes at all times – rage that could easily grow into an inferno if Derek wasn’t constantly holding it back. After the fire, Peter’s anger had nearly consumed him completely, but with the younger wolf things were different. Derek’s anger was directed just as much towards himself as it was to anyone else.

The obvious self-loathing was something that Peter would have to address sooner or later, but only after he was certain that doing so wouldn’t cause more harm. After all, Derek’s lingering sense of guilt was probably one of the few things keeping Peter alive at the moment.

And Derek would die without a pack.

Under Talia, Peter was always expecting his sister to finally ask too much of him. He grew to dread pack events, but hated the verbal reprimands his sister would give him for skipping them even more. So he ran with the others in the light of the full moon and stayed at her side whenever they needed to meet with powerful allies and enemies alike. Peter performed his duty to his pack – always.

But so far, Derek had only asked him for what he already planned on giving him anyway.

Don’t leave me.

Come back safe.

Stay.

It was possible that Laura could have made a good Alpha someday. However, Peter seriously doubted that Talia would have handed over her power willingly for a very, very long time. Whatever training Laura might have received before the fire for becoming the head of the Hale pack would have been minimal and likely useless on its own. Still, after the fire she had failed to keep the very first pack rule: that they are at their strongest – and their safest – when they were together.

Leaving Peter behind had been a mistake, but - just like Derek couldn’t pour all his anger out on the older werewolf - Peter couldn’t lay the blame on his niece alone. Talia had few contingencies in place for emergencies other than the tunnel under the house. An escape that had been all too easy to cut off with a simple line of mountain ash. No secondary den. No wards.

Peter had protested, of course – but everything had been too inconvenient. Talia had inherited a territory at peace and had arrogantly assumed that she would hardly need to lift a claw to keep it that way. So there simply wasn’t a place nearby for his niece, the newly turned Alpha, to go that was guaranteed to be safe.

Running must have felt like their only option.

Unlike his sister, however, Derek was obviously in distress any time Peter was gone from his side for even a few minutes. His wolf knew that keeping Peter close was important. Of course, his instincts as Alpha had yet to be truly tested. They might need a bit of a push in the right direction later on – but for now, at least, the other wolf was doing exactly what was needed in order for them to survive.

And the sex was fantastic.

Peter was grateful that the place he had chosen for dinner had a drive-up window. The needy look Derek had given him as they parted back at the rail yard had made him hard in his pants, and it had refused to go down. Thankfully, his condition wasn’t so easy for the average human to notice unless they were really looking for it. And Peter was pretty confident that the bored looking woman who handed over his change and the bags of food had absolutely no interest in dick.

He welcomed the smell of food as it permeated the air around him, drowning out the scent of his arousal on the car ride back. Good meals were important for them to keep up their strength, and it was currently Peter’s job to provide.

Derek had yet to initiate another tumble in the sheets, as it were, but it was just a matter of time. Every brush of skin made Peter want to melt further into the younger wolf’s side. After every angry growl, he wanted to bare his neck – hoping that Derek would claim him again. And it was inevitable.

God, Derek was pretty – and not just in human form. He had truly grown into himself. The awkward boyishness from his teenage years only reappeared in brief glimpses here and there as they danced around each other while testing the boundaries of their new relationship. Broad shoulders, nicely defined arms and thighs, woodsy scent, and a brooding face. When he began to shift, his fangs pulled at his lips, forcing a faint smile even while his seemingly perpetual scowl only grew more intense.

Derek had always been attractive though. Peter had once joked with the hint of a jealous sneer that his nephew would turn out to be a real heartbreaker someday. In hindsight, it definitely wasn’t his finest moment. A lot of hearts were broken in the end. Granted, his rare moments of sincerity were hard to parse from his sarcasm, and his nephew always seemed to assume the worst of him.

It was just that Derek had never shown any real interest in Peter before – so he had done his best to ignore the fact before now. However, it wasn’t like he had never entertained the thought of the two of them together.

Peter treasured a particularly vivid memory from when he was barely a teenager himself of his father and uncle who shared a similar bond. After a seemingly innocuous gesture of affection during a moonlit run, things quickly evolved into something more. Of course, he had known about their relationship theoretically before that night, but it was the first time they had ever been so open about it with him nearby. While the two wolves retreated further into the trees to be alone, their actions were easy to guess at by the sounds alone.

He revisited the memory when he jacked-off for months – if not years – afterwards. Sex with Derek was the closest he had ever come to reliving that experience.

…

But then… uncle Brian had wasted away a mere two months after his father’s heart unexpectedly gave out several decades too early, leaving his mother alone in her grief over the pair of them. Wolves tended to have shorter lives than your average human - their enhanced bodies aged just that much faster. It was still heartbreaking to lose them like that though.

Peter’s mother slowly started to fade away as well – a much-prolonged goodbye. But she hung on for the sake of her grandchildren who were the only ones that seemed capable of bringing life back into her clouded eyes. Her bedtime stories often featured her husband and brother as heroic figures, braving all kinds of supernatural obstacles side-by-side.

He had asked her once when he was angry and bitter about it why she never included herself in her stories. She was quick to correct him – saying that she was always there. She was the home that they fought to protect, and the first to welcome them back with open arms at each story’s end.

She passed away years before the fire. Peter was her youngest. He had just turned 19 which would mean Derek couldn’t have been older than seven or so. It was hard to remember exactly. However, if he was honest with himself, that was probably the turning point – when everything started getting worse rather than better. Talia became eager to prove her own strength, again breaking the first pack rule. She stood at the top alone.

With all that had happened recently – losing himself to his raging wolf after a long time in isolation, dying, coming back to life – he had almost forgotten the carefree moments before his sister became the Alpha and those early years when Talia was pregnant more often than not. How good it all was. The times he longed would return if he could ever feel truly safe again.

The ride back to the rail yard became especially lonely upon the realization that Derek had never truly met either man – his grandfather and great uncle. He was barely a toddler before they were gone.

There was no one left alive that shared his memories.

…

When he got back to the train car, Derek looked relieved to see him – even if he quickly schooled his features back into a frown. He was trying very hard to keep hating him, and Peter couldn’t much blame him for it.

They flashed their eyes in the dark at one another and then his nephew asked if Peter had been followed. He shook his head, unable to form words. His arousal from earlier had completely died as thoughts of the past crowded out everything else. Derek didn't smell quite as strongly of arousal anymore either.

This sudden onset of melancholy was unexpected. Had he ever truly mourned them? Any of them? And… was it too late?

Afterall, his revenge hadn’t brought any of them back.

…

As promised, Peter handed over the bags of food and returned to their pile of cushions to pick at a meal he had little appetite for anymore. Derek quickly finished his share despite it being covered heavily in garlic and mushrooms – a dish the younger wolf probably never would have ordered on his own – before he seemed to realize that something was wrong.

“Peter?” Derek finally asked after the silence grew unbearable, even for him.

“Der… did your mom ever tell you about great-uncle Brian?” Peter asked in a whisper, lowering his gaze to the floor.

Derek took his time in answering. “Only a little.”

Peter grimaced, rubbing at his tired eyes absently. Not enough then.

Derek didn’t know that uncle Brian had lived on the edges of their extended family for years before it happened – before he was pulled in close to the heart of the pack. Derek didn’t know how that moment had changed things. How the pack felt stronger back then because their Alpha had found two mates. How the love they shared was an almost tangible thing that wove seamlessly between every pack member knitting them together.

“Was… was he like us?” Asked Derek carefully.

Peter nodded silently.

Derek must have thought that that was the end of it. He didn’t ask any more questions – just busied himself with cleaning up since it was obvious that Peter wasn’t going to finish his plate. They needed to get moving if they were going to set more false trails tonight. And then it would be time for Peter to rest while Derek kept watch.

“He died.” Peter added rather softly. It felt like this was something important that Derek needed to know. He made sure that he had Derek’s full attention before he continued – his voice a little stronger. “After my father… after his Alpha passed away – he died.”

Eventually, Derek’s gorgeous hazel eyes widened in understanding.

***

Stiles liked Allison well enough, but they weren’t exactly close. Without his best friend situated between them, they had dreadfully little in common. And seeing how she was currently pretending that Scott didn’t exist, he was genuinely surprised when she answered his texts. He had been tempted to bring Scott to this meeting as well, but decided it was better not to risk it.

Apparently, all of Allison’s attempts to reach Lydia over the last few days had failed – Stiles had just beat her to making a visit to the Martin’s palatial abode.

“Where is she? Are you sure she said nine o’clock?” Allison was currently pacing back and forth impatiently in front of the swing sets at Benton Park.

Stiles, for once, was the calmer one of the two. He had squeezed himself into one of the swings, feet firmly planted in the sand beneath. The seats had been much more comfortable when he was smaller. “Her mom probably just held her up. I told you, Mrs. Martin was, like, seriously in mama-bear mode or something.”

Allison just groaned and kept on pacing.

“So… you know about Mr. Lahey, right?” Stiles was good at talking, but Allison wasn’t playing along with his attempts at making small talk. So far, he had attempted to chat about school while they waited, but every topic inevitably led back in some way to Scott or the supernatural – neither of which the girl seemed very pleased with at the moment.

“Of course.”

“And you know that Scott had nothing to do with—”

“I’m not the one that needs convincing, Stiles.” Allison gave him a withering look. “Believe me, I know he wasn’t involved. That doesn’t mean the rest of my family doesn’t still have him in their crosshairs anyway.”

“Right. So, what is—”

“We are not talking about this right now either. My family is taking care of it – that’s all I know.” Allison’s brow was wrinkled as she frowned. She looked very uncomfortable being out after curfew like this. She probably had to sneak out.

“Bullshit. You definitely know something – you just don’t want to tell me.” Stiles didn’t like how snappy she was being – how quick she was to interrupt him. She hadn’t just become distant with Scott recently either. Allison seemed to have cut off almost everyone at school. Everyone except Lydia anyway.

But Allison didn’t reply. She was ignoring him in favor of looking behind him. Stiles turned to see Lydia hurrying over from the trees – although she was wrapped up in a few too many layers for how warm it was out.

Once she made her way over, the two friends embraced, leaving Stiles feeling like the awkward third wheel as usual.

“Sorry I’m late. My mom means well. I mean— I can understand why she’s a bit freaked.” Lydia looked more composed than she had earlier, but she still wasn’t wearing any make-up. She was still gorgeous, of course, but she looked more real than she ever did with painted, cherry-red lips.

“Are you okay? Stiles said you were injured.” Allison was looking Lydia over carefully.

“Hey, Stiles.” Lydia gave a half-hearted wave in his direction, but otherwise pretty much ignored him. More of the usual. “I’m fine, Ally. I promise.”

Stiles gave a little wave back but stayed sitting. He wasn’t entirely sure he could stand without the plastic seat coming up with him, wedged in as he was.

“So… what happened?” Prompted Allison.

Lydia shook her head. “Uh… it is probably going to make me sound crazy.”

“Crazier than werewolves? I highly doubt that.” Stiles stifled a laugh.

Lydia narrowed her eyed at him, looking unimpressed. “Seriously, if I heard this from anyone else I would definitely think they had lost touch with reality. And I… I’m still kinda scared it might happen again.”

“What might happen again?” Allison looked worried.

Lydia took a deep breath before she continued, directing her response to her best friend. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone else about this. Not unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“We promise.” Allison was quick to agree.

Stiles lifted up three fingers and bent his arm in a salute. “Scout’s honor.”

“Yeah, okay. Well… I…  I used to sleepwalk as a child. I don’t remember most of it, except for a few instances when I would wake up in strange places. But my parents got better at keeping the doors secure at night, and then I grew out of it.” Lydia sounded nervous.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Come on, if we are sharing embarrassing stories, I’ve got way better ones.” As he had hoped, his teasing helped lighten the mood – even if just a little. “Want to hear about the time I—?”

“Shut up, Stiles.” Allison cut him off again, even as she fought back a small smile.

Lydia’s tone of voice, however, stayed soft and serious as she continued. “I started sleepwalking again after we killed Peter.”

 “Oh. I’m so sorry—” Allison tried to bring Lydia in for another hug.

Lydia pushed her away gently. “And I’m pretty sure it is more than just sleepwalking. I’ve also been having nightmares, but not about when Peter bit me or the night we fought him.”

“What about?” Stiles wondered aloud when she seemed to need some encouragement.

“I… I’m floating over a sea of endless trees. I see tangled roots and branches. It's kind of hard to tell which was is up. And then, I feel… trapped. Like I’m buried alive. It’s dark and I can’t move. I woke my mom screaming the night before I— well, before it happened.”

“Before what happened?” Asked Stiles, suddenly very worried.

“Three nights ago, I woke up in the Preserve in the middle of the night. I had cut my arm on something and it was bleeding. I couldn’t remember how I had gotten there. I— I  was only in my nightgown and it was raining pretty hard.” Lydia spoke with a glazed expression on her face, as if merely speaking of it had somehow transported her back in time to that very moment. It must have been terrible.

“Oh, my god.” Allison’s eyes were wide with fear.

“Then there was a muddy pit in front of me. I— I think I was digging.” Lydia said in a whisper. “It was a grave.”

Stiles did not like that sound of this. He noticed how Lydia’s hand shook as she went to tuck her hair behind her ear. She hadn’t yet told them the worst part.

“Lydia, no, that can’t be—” Allison tried to sound comforting.

“I think it was Peter’s grave.” Lydia revealed with a shuddering breath.

Stiles was beginning to understand. “Lydia… was he dead?”

Allison scoffed. “Of course he was dead, don’t be stupid, Stiles.”

Stiles ignored her and repeated his question. “Was he dead?”

Hesitantly, Lydia shook her head. “No.”

Allison gasped. “Not possible. We saw what Derek did to him. That much blood— nobody could come back from that.”

“Did he hurt you?” He asked next, urgent. He looked at her still bandaged arm in a whole new light. Did he try and bite her again?

Thankfully, Lydia shook her head, still looking a bit dazed. “I ran away when he— just as soon as I knew. I think I did something that… er… woke him up. My nails… all of my nails were broken off, and my throat felt strange. And I was bleeding.” She was looking down at her hands, which looked about as blunt and ordinary as Stiles’. Definitely not manicured to her normal standards.

Allison hissed in sympathy and took Lydia’s shaking hands in her own.

“Jesus. You’re right. That sounds crazy. But… shit, I believe you. Of course, I believe you.” Stiles felt a coldness in his chest begin to form. Chills went down his spine. The shadows in the bushes surrounding the playground suddenly seemed sinister. Dangerous.

Peter was clever – clever enough to have a failsafe just like this. It was just so fantastic, they never would have suspected it. Didn’t even know it was possible.

But, hey, werewolves were real – so why not this?

“Okay. But… are you sure it was Peter?” Allison pulled Lydia into another embrace and this time Lydia went willingly.

For once, Lydia looked unsure. But who else could it be, really? How many other fresh werewolf corpses could there be in the Preserve?

“His eyes were blue.” Lydia offered with conviction.

“The timing doesn’t line up though.” Stiles admitted out loud, trying to make sense of what Lydia just told him.

“What do you mean?” Lydia pulled away from Allison’s shoulder to look at him quizzically.

Stiles shivered as a light breeze swept through the park making the swings on either side of him sway ever so slightly. “Mr. Lahey was killed last week. Officially considered an animal attack – just like Peter’s other victims. So, unless the guy has been alive again for a while and escaping his grave in a cloud of mist like a vampire, then he didn’t do it.”

“Then it was just a wandering Omega. A coincidence.” Offered Allison.

“Seems like a pretty big coincidence. Peter might have an accomplice. Which means we could have two psycho killers to worry about. Or—.” Stiles began to suggest.

“What?! Isaac’s dad was killed?” Lydia looked appalled. “Ally, the Lahey house is right next door to Jackson’s. Is… is he okay?”

Stiles did not know the two were neighbors. He never would have guessed either. Jackson and Isaac didn’t really talk to each other or anything. “Who – Jackson or Isaac? Because I’m pretty sure Isaac is doing just as you would expect, now that he’s an orphan. Hasn’t been back to school yet.” He was being obtuse on purpose – no one was really asking about how Isaac was doing, which made Stiles feel kind of bad for the guy. But also, fuck Jackson.

“Jackson’s fine. He’s just been mopey since you haven’t been speaking to him. Now I understand why, though.” Allison answered soothingly.

“I just… I didn’t think that he would understand.” Confessed Lydia. “All this freaky stuff would really spook him, you know? I know he suspects something, but…”

“Allison!” A gruff, male voice unexpectedly called out from the other side of the playground, making all three of them jump.

The new principal, Mr. Arthur, came marching up to them with a disapproving look. Stiles noticed how guilty Allison looked as he approached. Interesting.

“Your father told me you were safe at home studying. But clearly that wasn’t true, was it? Now, why don’t you say goodnight to your little friends and I’ll have Greg here drive you home.” He did not sound like the kind of guy you said 'no' to. A second guy dressed all in black silently emerged from the darkness in the principal’s wake. He also had a gun strapped to his back.

Hunters.

“Yes, sir.” Allison replied rather meekly, eyes to the ground. “Er… Goodnight.” She croaked out the word like it was painful. Then she immediately followed ‘Greg’ towards a dark SUV in the parking lot. It’s engine roaring to life before they even got close.

“You two run along home now. There’s supposed to be a mean mountain lion roaming about – haven’t you heard? It isn’t safe.” Mr. Arthur folded his arms in tight to his chest and rocked back on his heels, fully expecting Stiles and Lydia to comply just as Allison had. The SUV drove away while Mr. Arthur continued to glare at them for not moving faster, the lights momentarily illuminating all of Benton Park.

Stiles had a little trouble extricating himself from the swing set, as he had suspected, but then he was only too happy to follow Lydia back the way she had come. He had parked his Jeep off the street anyway.

When they were finally out of earshot, Stiles risked a quiet whisper. “So… that was weird.”

He was suddenly very, very glad that he hadn’t invited Scott. Allison had probably been followed – and the company she kept wasn’t exactly werewolf friendly. Then there was their principal who was definitely in Beacon Hills for a reason completely unrelated to the scholastic excellence of the town’s teenage population.

“The car Allison got into was there the whole time. How much do you think they overheard?” Lydia whispered back, looking stricken.

But he just shrugged. “I dunno.”

***

It was supposed to be Peter’s turn to sleep.

Instead, the pair of them were hiding on the roof of an old laundromat out of breath from running and pumped full of adrenaline. Some hunters had appeared not long after they finished eating. Luckily, they didn’t have any hounds with them, at least at first. From their banter back and forth it was easy to gather that they were new recruits just following orders to sweep the area.

One of them was especially dim – and trigger happy – because he shot at a passing shadow. It was probably just an owl, and the hunter missed. Novice hunters like him probably didn’t last long in the business. Drunk on the false sense of power waving a gun around gave him, either he would end up shooting his partner or an innocent human bystander before he actually took down anything supernatural anyway.

But the gunshot alerted other hunters canvasing nearby areas of Beacon Hills that something was up.

The fourth hunter that came to the yard had a dog with him, and that was all it took for what should have been a ‘false alarm’ and a fierce reprimand into an actual chase. Derek and Peter slipped away unharmed, but they had to leave everything behind. Food, clothes, Peter’s stolen car – they wouldn’t know if the hunters had found their makeshift den and confiscated what little they had to their name until it was safe to go back and check.

The hard concrete of the laundromat roof was not the ideal place to wait out the night, but the exterior service ladder was chained too high up for normal humans to reach. Plus, the drop to the ground wasn’t so great that they could easily make it without breaking their legs if they had to jump and make a run for it.

It would have to do.

Peter didn’t outwardly grumble when Derek sat down and tried to make himself comfortable leaning against the large metal box of an industrial h/vac system, but Derek could sense his disapproval anyway. His uncle was tired and… well, Derek probably couldn’t have picked a worse location to try and get some sleep.

It smelled strongly of tar and bird droppings.

“We can’t keep this up forever, Der.” Peter finally said after he had reluctantly found a relatively clean patch of rooftop to sit down on at the very least.

Derek growled deep in his chest, but it wasn’t because he disagreed. He just didn’t know what else they could do.

Peter sighed heavily. “If they raid the train car, they could get my scent too. Then neither of us will be able to move freely. It… it won’t take them long.”

“I know.” Derek replied through gritted teeth. He was frustrated, and the Alpha spark wanted him to snarl and snap.

“If we hide, it will only be a matter of time. If we fight, then they will think that putting us down is justified. We can’t take them all down with us as a two-wolf pack. If we run, we might lose them for a while, depending on how far we go. But that would mean abandoning our territory and always looking over our shoulders – sleeping with one eye open, just like this. Possibly forever.” Peter sounded rather defeated.

“I know!” Derek repeated, more harshly than he intended. He felt his eyes flash in warning.

But Peter didn’t look phased by it. “We need a bigger pack. We need a sanctuary where they can’t get to us – at least long enough so that we can rest and recover. Perhaps try and straighten things out with the law. As the Alpha, you get to decide. No one else is going to come rescue us from this.”

The idea of giving some stranger the bite frightened Derek. He could admit that much to himself. The urge hadn’t left him completely, but it was much more manageable now that he had Peter. A newly bitten wolf would probably just put them in more danger though. “I’m not going to bite someone just to give these monsters someone else to kill. I… I won’t do it.”

Peter cocked his head and gave Derek an odd look. “The bite isn’t the only way to grow the pack, love.”

“Scott isn’t—”

“Fuck, Scott.” Peter quickly interrupted. “He’s a sorry excuse for a werewolf anyway. But there might be someone else. Who helped you before? As I recall, you had had quite the little gang when you brought me down.”

Derek shook his head. “They won’t help me now. Not with you in my pack. And I… you can’t leave.” He was angry that his voice sounded so weak. His mother would be so disappointed. She would know what to do. Laura would know what to do.

Peter’s scent changed to something sweet, something almost kind. Or at least as kind as Peter could be. He smelled like family. It was the rich, warm scent from before the fire. “I don't have much of a choice, you know.”

Derek found himself scrambling to his uncle’s side so that he could scent the man’s neck. Surprisingly, Peter offered it up without hesitation.

“You can’t leave me, Peter.” Derek found himself crowding into the older wolf’s space, cursing that they didn’t even have a blanket to make things more comfortable. No matter how much he might still hate him, Derek knew that for sure: Peter could never, ever leave him.

He hovered over the man for a few seconds, debating with himself about taking what his uncle was freely offering before he gently lapped at Peter’s pulse point until the man let out a thin, needy sound.

“I was never going to, love.” Whispered Peter, his words coming out a little slurred around his fangs. Derek's ministrations were proving to be quite stimulating for both of them.

The concrete was cold and hard, and this was supposed to be his uncle’s time to rest. After pulling away slightly, Derek shuffled them around and pulled Peter into his lap instead – pulled the older man’s head to rest on his shoulder. It was awkward at first, but once his uncle understood what he wanted, he complied readily.

“Okay. We need someplace safe. We need allies. But… tomorrow. We can look for them tomorrow.” Derek wasn’t sure what else he could promise – what more he could do.

Peter carefully kissed his neck in turn before leaning back to look him in the face. “Nephew, do you really expect me to sleep when I can smell how much you want to fuck me?”

Derek’s cheeks grew very hot. It was true that his dick was more than a little excited – and Peter’s scent was pleasing. But that wasn’t what this was about. He wanted to, of course. Needed it even. His wolf craved the feeling of holding the older man in his arms as he came. But not right now. “Shut up, Peter. That’s not… just, let me do this. Please.”

During the day he had slept on a pile of cushions with his uncle carding his fingers through his hair. He had felt safe. Looked after. And up on this rooftop they had nothing else.

Peter obediently relaxed into Derek’s hold, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “Alright. I guess I can wait then.”

Derek held his uncle a little tighter. Two heartbeats. Steady breathing. Proof enough that they made it through another day.

“Der… I want you to tell me what happened before I came back.” Peter whispered after a few moments of silence passed between them.

Derek’s stomach dropped. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Uh, uh, uh. That was a lie.” Peter scolded him.

Derek’s fangs wanted to drop. He wanted to growl and tell his uncle to be quiet and go to sleep. He didn’t want to talk about it.

“When I first came to you back at the woodshed, you told me the bite didn’t take. And the hunters have been so aggressive because a man died. I need to know what happened.” Reasoned Peter coolly – even though the scent of their mutual arousal was still rather pungent. 

He was looking far too intently at Derek – icy blue eyes far too close.

“I didn’t kill that man.” Derek’s anger was back – coursing through his blood and making him see red. He came close to shoving his uncle off of him and pretending that it wouldn’t hurt him just as much, if not worse to do so. But he willed it back. He forced himself to speak around his fangs. “Why does everyone—? It was a kid, Peter. Some jock on the lacrosse team. A high school kid. He… he knew something was different with Scott – knew that I was involved somehow. He told me he wanted it. So, I… I bit him. I bit him and nothing happened. I watched him for days, but…”

Peter’s hands brushed against his scruffy cheeks and his uncle kissed him gently on the lips. It was soft. Chaste. Not at all like the kisses they had shared before.

“The Martin girl didn’t change either. I remember now… she was there the night you killed me. A real pity, that. She had magic in her blood – so faint that I missed it the first time. She couldn’t be turned, but it was better than a rejection. This lacrosse player must have been similar.” Peter was obviously relieved. “I admit, I had feared the worst.”

Derek grimaced. He knew it could have been so much worse.

“We should keep an eye out for him anyway. If he knows about us, he's still dangerous. But that also means the hunters could be tracking a legitimate threat. An Omega – or worse. If we remove whoever the killer is from the equation – or at least keep whatever it is from killing again – then we have a much better chance at surviving this.” Continued Peter as he kept stroking Derek’s beard and hair.

“Stiles. He said—”

“Mmmm. The clever boy.” Peter hummed approvingly. Derek could tell he was getting sleepy.

“Yes, he seemed convinced that it was a werewolf that killed Mr. Lahey. It… it wasn’t you, right?” Derek asked, suddenly uncertain. Peter had killed before…

“Don’t be stupid, Derek. Of course not.” Peter almost growled. He shifted in Derek’s lap and deliberately elbowed him in the ribs. But he could feel as well as hear that his uncle’s heartbeat was steady.

“And you didn’t bite anyone else, right?”

Peter frowned and his hands stilled from where they had been smoothing down Derek’s sideburns. “Some of my memories are a bit hazy. I remember biting McCall and the Martin girl, but it is possible…”

“Shit.” Derek swore.

“I would apologize, but I’m not particularly sorry for wanting to kill the people responsible for murdering our family. At the time, I wanted all the help I could get to see it happen. But I suppose I will owe us both an apologize if this mess turns out to be my fault.” Peter dropped his hands and finally nuzzled into Derek’s shoulder with a yawn. “The urge to bite was very strong. I’m surprised at your restraint, love. You are going to make a good Alpha.”

Derek wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or appalled – just like he wasn’t sure if he should curl around his uncle the way his wolf wanted to or do his best to stoke the fire of his hatred for the man in his arms instead.

Peter had killed Laura first.

But Peter was all he had left.

“Tomorrow, we should try talking to the Sheriff’s kid.” Peter’s voice was muffled as he spoke into Derek’s neck. “Besides, I like how he smells.”

It would have been easy for Derek to agree – he liked Stiles’ scent too. But it didn’t mean anything. Stiles was too loyal to Scott. The longer it took for him to come up with a coherent response, however, the closer Peter drifted towards sleep. The older man was heavy in his lap, but very warm. It was making him a little sleepy too.

Eventually, Peter’s breathing became slow and steady. Derek could kill his sister’s murderer for the second time in a flash of claws and gore. But it was barely a passing thought. He remembered how it had felt the first time. Even as a feral monster hellbent on killing anyone who stood in his way, Derek had still hated killing Peter. It wasn't in revenge for Laura. He had felt nothing but bitter sadness in the aftermath.

Derek had allowed himself to cry when he buried his uncle’s body out in the Preserve. He had cried a lot in New York after the full weight of all the fire had taken from them continued to crush him into what had felt like a bloody pulp. So much, in fact, that he had thought he didn’t have any tears left. But he had been wrong. There were always more tears.

And now… Peter was asleep in his arms. Safe. Alive.

So, until the town around them began to wake, it was Derek’s job to keep watch.

***

Peter stayed hidden in the trees behind the house as his nephew crossed the backyard and jumped up to the ledge off of Stiles’ bedroom window. After reclaiming what they could from the rail yard that morning – thankfully more than what they had feared was lost – they had debated exactly how to go about getting the Sheriff’s boy to cooperate with them.

Derek seemed convinced that it was going to be a waste of time, but he eventually folded. They really didn’t have a lot of options anyway.

They had to wait patiently until the boy had made it home from school. The Shariff was elsewhere.

A crash of some kind accompanied the sudden rush of fear – a jackrabbit quick pulse – once Stiles noticed he had a visitor.

“Holy shit! Oh, my god – don’t do that! What’s wrong with you?!” Stiles protested even though he quickly opened his window and stepped aside. His nephew disappeared from view. “You could totally use the front door like a normal person, you know. We have neighbors.”

“Relax, Stiles. No one else is around.” Derek all but growled.

“Oh, so no one is going to hear me if I scream? I see how it is. I’m still not afraid of you, dude. And besides, if you rip my throat out with your teeth or whatever, Scott will know it was you and my dad will shoot your ass.” Stiles babbled nervously.

Peter chuckled softly from his hiding spot.

“Tell me more about Mr. Lahey.” Demanded Derek without any further preamble.

“What is there to tell? Doors were locked. Broken window. There were claw marks on his body and his heart was punctured. He bled out. Sound familiar?” Stiles was obviously frustrated. “Are you really going to tell me it wasn’t a werewolf that killed him?”

“There are a lot of hunters in town. They have set traps.” Derek continued, not really answering the question.

“So… you’re here to warn Scott? Because he’s not speaking to you and I’m his best friend.” Reasoned Stiles aloud. “Not really keen on being used as a messenger boy, but I guess I should be grateful for the warning. But it’s not like he actually goes out at night and runs through the woods on a regular basis like you do, you know.”

“Stiles—”

“So tell me about Peter.” Stiles suddenly asked in return, shocking both wolves.

“Uh… I don’t know—”

“Lydia said he’s back. She was in some kind of trance or something when she found him out in the Preserve – but I believe she’s telling the truth. So… what’s going on, Sourwolf? Are werewolves immortal? You told me silver bullets weren’t a thing. But they should really, really be a thing. How do you make sure werewolves stay dead? Steak through the heart? Cut off his head? ‘Cause if any wolf needs to stay dead, it’s Peter.” The younger man was pacing back and forth and obviously upset.

“It wasn't Peter.” Replied Derek.

“Uh… what do you mean? Like there is some other zombie werewolf running around or that Peter isn’t the killer this time? Because I already figured that out. Unless he's a vampire. And you told me there was no such thing as vampires either. I don't see why not, because magic is totally a thing. How can we have werewolves and zombies and magic users but no vampires?"

"Stiles."

"Right. Sorry. Just kinda hard to focus, dude. If Mr. Lahey’s murder wasn’t your doing, and you already said it wasn't, then that means we have a problem. Another big, furry problem with teeth and claws and—”

“Zombies. Really, Stiles?” Derek’s incredulity was obviously forced, but his frustration wasn't.

“She was pretty convincing, Derek. I mean… she was… oh. Oh. Oh! When Peter bit her, he did something. Tied them together somehow. More magic. She didn’t turn because she was his tether – his failsafe in case he was killed off before he got his revenge. Is that it? Is that how he did it?”

“I told you he was smart.” Peter couldn’t help but chime in even though only Derek would be able to hear him. He wasn't sure exactly how or why the Urd Witch's blessing had manifested through the strange girl, but Stiles' speculation had the workings of a sound theory.

“What is it? What’s outside?” Stiles sounded a bit manic. His nephew must have glanced out the window in his direction. But they would have to discus Derek’s distinct lack of a poker face later.

“Nothing.” Derek lied. “We need, I mean, I need… listen, I came here because there are—”

“We? Who’s out there? Who is it, Derek?” Demanded Stiles.

“You might as well tell him the truth, Der.” Peter said, knowing that his nephew wasn’t going to get to ask for what they really needed otherwise.

“He’s my family, Stiles.” Derek said defensively.

Stiles didn’t respond for a few moments, obviously needing a moment to take it all in. But his pacing continued. More of a stomp really.

“Stiles—”

“Are you insane?! Please tell me you don’t mean Peter. You mean Peter Hale is outside right now and you’re working with him? The guy who killed half a dozen people including your sister is back from the dead and you aren’t rushing out there to rip him into teeny, tiny pieces? You mean Peter knows where I live? What’s going to stop him from coming back here at night and—”

“He’s not going to hurt you, Stiles.” Derek tried to interject.

“—definitely going to eat me! Oh, my god, how is this real? He is definitely going to eat me. Or come after my dad. Or Scott. I can’t—”

Peter had heard enough. He quickly followed his nephew’s lead, crossed the Stilinski’s backyard, and jumped up to the young man’s window.

“AHH!” Stiles shouted before falling to the floor in a boneless heap.

The boy’s room was a bit messy and smelled strongly of teenage hormones, salty snack foods, and cum. Peter wasn’t so old and decrepit that he couldn’t remember what it was like to be sixteen.

“Hello, Stiles.” Peter crooned from the windowsill.

“He’s not going to help us, Peter.” Derek looked disappointed.

“You haven’t got around to asking yet, Der.” Peter climbed inside and straightened his clothes. The stench coming from the young man’s bed alone was positively sinful.

Stiles hadn’t moved from his place on the floor with a look of absolute terror still on his face.

“Come now, am I really that frightening, Stiles?” Peter made sure he smiled with his teeth.

“Fuck!” Stiles swore before scrambling up and backing away towards the door. Not that he would be able to outrun either wolf if they didn’t want him getting away. Peter almost wanted the boy to try it.

Derek moved between them. “That’s enough. Peter isn’t going to eat you.”

“Unless he wants me to, of course.” Peter couldn’t resist.

But Derek flashed his Alpha eyes at him in warning, so he snapped his mouth shut.

“Wha— what do you want?” Stiles all but squeaked. The fear coming off him was not insignificant, but it wasn’t nearly as much as Peter had expected. The human boy seemed resigned – like he had somehow expected them to come face to face again like this.

“We… uh… we need someplace safe to stay. Just for a little while.” Explained Derek clumsily.

“And you came here?!” Stiles’ look of fear quickly turned to one of outrage. “What? Just because I let you hide here one time – one time – now you think you can come back anytime you want?”

“You don’t have to—” Derek began, but Peter stopped him.

“The hunters have Derek’s blood. We’ve been able to avoid them for now, but with Mr. Lahey’s death they have become relentless. Now, I’m not going to pretend that I’m not what I am – but my nephew has done nothing to deserve this.”

“Peter—”

“He’s smart enough to know what will happen if they catch us, Derek. And by helping us, he’s helping Scott too. Let him decide.” Peter insisted.

The two wolves looked at the human expectantly.

Stiles’ eyes were still comically wide. His scent was a bit sour, but still pleasant underneath. Sweet but earthy. It took a few tries of opening and closing his mouth before he was able to form a reply though.

“You look… different.”

It wasn’t the response Peter had expected. “What do you mean?”

“The scars… you look fully healed.” Continued Stiles absently. “And younger. I know you guys probably hate it when I compare you to vampires, but I can hardly help it when I feel like I can suddenly relate to Jonathan Harker so, so much. I’m going to have a nervous breakdown and everything. It's just that there aren't as many classic works of literature about your kind. Nothing accurate anyway. And don't get me started on the modern stuff. So… uh… I need to shut up now.”

“Like what you see, then?” Peter teased.

The teenager blushed even while his scowl grew more intense. Flirting with Stiles was going to be a delight.

“Not helping.” Derek glared at him again. If Peter didn’t know better, he would have thought his nephew was jealous.

“You know you’re asking for a hell of a lot, right? Like, what would stop these hunters from tracking Derek here? What am I supposed to tell my dad if he finds you? Because it was hard enough keeping one innocent werewolf hidden for only a couple of days. But harboring a serial killer?”

“Guilty as charged. But in my defense, I was certifiably insane at the time.” Admitted Peter.

“Uh… Yeah, I still don’t trust that you won’t tear my throat out while I sleep, dude. Either of you. Oh, and Scott is totally going to smell that you guys were here even if I kick you out. So don’t’ go getting any ideas. You guys are crazy if you think this could possibly work.” But despite his words, Stiles looked conflicted.

“Fine. Peter, let’s go.” Derek moved towards the window.

“Wait—” Stiles’ reached out to stop him, but quickly retracting his hand at Derek’s cold look.

Peter stayed right where he was. Stiles was already working it out – he could tell.

“You’re going to get rid of whatever killed Mr. Lahey, aren’t you?” Stiles reasoned, sounding resigned.

“That’s the plan.” Confirmed Peter.

Stiles sighed heavily. A brief moment of tense silence followed before he started up again. “Derek, what are you doing? You and Peter – how is this a thing? If it was just you, maybe I would… I mean—”

“He’s pack.” Derek said simply, as if that should be enough of an answer.

“I don’t know what that means! Seriously, like half of what you say about werewolves doesn’t make sense. And I get it – this is your whole life. But to us lowly humans, you can’t just say something like that and expect us to understand.” Complained Stiles, who was now more frustrated than afraid.

Derek just growled deep in his throat. It was likely that Stiles couldn’t even hear it.

“You’ll have to forgive him, Stiles. The last time Derek trusted someone and they betrayed us, well… they set our house on fire. You must understand that the more information we provide, the more ammunition you will have to use against us.” Explained Peter, even though Derek gave him a pained look at the possible revelation. Peter wasn’t sure how much Stiles already knew about his family’s tragedy, but he suspected it was a lot.

“Shit. I’m sorry. No, that makes sense. However, it makes you look shady as fuck though – you get that, right?” Countered Stiles, directing his response to Derek alone.

“Are you going to help us or not?” Derek challenged through clenched teeth, looking profoundly uncomfortable.

A few seconds more passed in uneasy silence.

“God, I am so going to regret this.” Stiles let out his breath in a defeated huff.

Chapter Text

The next morning Stiles made sure he only picked out the cleanest clothes from his closet. He also took extra care to scrub himself down very thoroughly in the shower. Every inch of him was glowing slightly pink when he wiped away the steam on the mirror.

He was terrified that as soon as he got to school that Scott would just know.

The master bedroom where his father slept was down one end of the upstairs hallway, while his room, the upstairs bathroom, and the guest room were down the other. And while it was true that the guest room technically contained a bed, it hadn’t been used in years. There were boxes piled up around and on top of it that had barely been touched since his mother died. Some of her clothes. Her collection of dolphin figurines carefully wrapped in newspaper. Photo albums of her childhood in Poland. Objects too precious to get rid of but too painful to have out on display.

Needless to say, it was a storage space first and foremost, and it wasn’t a place that the Sheriff would visit often enough to notice that it temporarily housed two new occupants. And with a relatively fresh unsolved murder in town, he wasn’t home much anyway.

Stiles grimaced at the dark circles under his eyes and sighed in resignation. He had barely slept all night.

Of course, he had made Derek triple swear that neither wolf would hurt him or his dad, but locked doors didn’t do much against werewolves that really wanted to get on the other side. Even his dad’s sidearm was no better than a pea-shooter with how little it would do to slow down such a dangerous supernatural threat. Not without a lucky shot to the head or wolfsbane-laced bullets, at least.

It seemed like every time he nodded off Stiles jerked awake from visions of glowing eyes and sharp teeth.

After a while he just gave up and scrolled through a dozen or more new research tabs on his laptop – hyper aware of even the smallest of sounds that might be coming from the room next to his until the morning sun came through his blinds.

Logically, he knew that allowing Derek and Peter into his home hadn’t made much of a difference in how deadly they were to him other than a change in proximity. Of course, there was a joke in there somewhere about ‘biting the hand that feeds you’, but Stiles hadn’t yet figured out how to make it. Or was it better to go with ‘keep your friends close but your enemies closer’? He wasn’t sure.

Regardless, it was the unknown danger that still lurked in the shadows outside his home that Stiles found even more frightening.

But ever since he had apologized about the thick layer of dust covering everything in the guest room, had stacked his mother’s belongings a little precariously more off to the sides of the already crowded space, and provided clean sheets, well… Stiles hadn’t heard or seen anything significant from either man. Everything had been almost too quiet.

Derek had looked tired before though, so perhaps they were still sleeping?

Stiles did his best not to make much noise as he continued to get ready for school, just in case – even though he knew that with their enhanced senses, Derek and Peter would be able to hear even the faintest whisper. He found himself noticing how his can of shaving cream clicked when he set it down on the bathroom countertop. The scraping of the shower curtain rings against the metal curtain rod Running water through the pipes. His barely stifled curse when he stubbed his toe on the door jam. But there were probably a million other things detectable to werewolf ears that Stiles couldn’t fathom.

Of course, if they were both sleeping, then they were sharing a bed. A twin-sized bed.

On the plus side, that meant that Derek would definitely know if his uncle got up to go on a killing spree. Stiles was really banking on the newly turned Alpha’s ability to keep the older man in check. Peter looked better – like, a lot better – but he still gave Stiles the creeps a little bit. And there was definitely a fear boner happening in his future over the man, he just knew it.

On the downside, that would mean Derek would probably be shoulder to shoulder with his crazy, killer uncle all night long. With all the boxes piled around, there wasn’t even enough space to lie on the floor.

Stiles shared a bed with Scott on multiple occasions, so it wasn’t like sharing with family was that big of a deal to him. But it was difficult to imagine prickly, angsty Derek willingly curling up next to the man who had killed his sister.

He had no idea what he would do if Peter freaked out and killed Derek first. Stiles didn’t really want to think about how he might come back from school to a bloody corpse later. Or how his dad might find both their bodies if the wolves somehow managed to kill each other. Not going to think about that. Nope.

He really didn’t get much sleep.

Finally dressed and ready for the day, he did his best to tip-toe past the closed guest room door and down the stairs with his backpack in hand before carefully opening the front door and locking it behind him. Stiles wasn’t even going to try and make breakfast. Instead, he would just go through a Starbucks’ drive-through on his way to Beacon High.

Thankfully, the drive was uneventful – and the cool morning air helped keep him from nodding off just as much as his triple-shot mocha latte did.

Scott was waiting for him by his locker when he arrived at school. Stiles knew his heartbeat was fast – he could feel it thumping in his chest, but he was determined to blame it on the sugar and caffeine currently running through his system if asked.

He didn’t like keeping secrets from his best friend, however, he had promised Lydia that he wouldn’t say anything about her midnight jaunt into the woods – and now he was kind of in league with a resurrected serial killer with the hope that the man would help stop another supernatural murderer currently roaming their town.

Fuck. How was this his life?

“Stiles? So… are you coming?” Scott seemed to be repeating himself.

Stiles hadn’t been paying attention. Whatever Scott had been talking about what a mystery. But he assumed it was probably something, something, Allison, something. Even if they were broken up, she was still Scott’s favorite topic.

“Huh?”

“Dude, you are such a spaz.” Scott smiled as he said it though, so Stiles knew he meant it fondly. “Movie night at my place. My mom is making meatloaf.”

“Oh. Sorry… uh… didn’t sleep good.” Stiles apologized, and it was the truth. “But yeah – of course. I love your mom’s meatloaf.” A legitimate reason for him to not go back home right away. He was sure that it stank royally of murderous werewolf by now. Awesome.

Stiles could even swing by the station and bring his dad something to eat after practice – no need for the Sheriff to return home until late either. And then it would be the weekend. Stiles was semi-confident that he could keep Scott away for a couple days, at least.

Derek and Peter might even be gone by Sunday night, giving Stiles enough time to deep clean everything he owned. Air out the place.

He might just get away with this.

“Cool.” Scott patted him firmly on his shoulder before heading to class with a wave.

Still Stiles watched Scott walk away with a boyish grin still on his face almost in disbelief. How could Scott be so carefree? So… so… oblivious?

Strangely, a part of him had wanted Scott to notice that something was up – he had wanted to be told that he was making a huge mistake. However, it seemed like his best friend simply wasn’t so perceptive, even as a werewolf. He had known Scott was a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, but—

Then he noticed something else.

Their new principal was standing at the end of the hallway openly glaring in his general direction. Stiles quickly looked away as he shut his locker, eager to escape the man’s gaze. How long had Mr. Arthur – if that was even his real name – been there? More importantly, did he know about Scott?

Stiles adjusted his books in his arms and took off in the opposite direction at as quick of a pace as he dared. The man probably recognized him from the park with Allison, but he hadn’t approached him about it. Not yet, anyway. Hopefully never.

Lydia still wasn’t back yet either.

The bell rang just as he found his seat and Stiles did his best to pretend like he was listening to the following lecture. As the day wore on however and Mr. Arthur didn’t reappear, he just struggled to stay awake instead. Sleeping at home was really going to become a problem.

It was possible that since Derek and Peter had a place to hide that the hunters could flush out the actual threat and then move on all on their own. But Stiles doubted that things would be that simple. Kate and her band of hunters had been vicious – completely careless in hurting innocent supernatural beings and humans alike so long as they got their kill.

He worried about Scott. He worried about his father. He worried about Lydia – even though he knew she was likely at home being fussed over by her mother. Stiles was willing to forgo a little sleep and align himself with the lesser of two – or was it three? – evils if it meant he could keep his people safe.

***

The sun was shining and by all accounts it was probably a beautiful day.

“This is ridiculous.” Derek muttered under his breath knowing that Peter would hear him grumble and not really caring.

“Well, it is clear that Scott can use his gifts when he wants to impress people. Curious how he can have enough control to play a sports game but still hasn’t caught on that he’s being watched.” Peter ignored him.

“We’re upwind.” Derek wasn’t sure why he was defending the boy. He had had to cut his rest short for this stake out and was missing the first real bed he had slept on in weeks back at the Stilinski’s. Seriously, it was the best sleep he had gotten in ages. And while the sun might be shining, his body was convinced he should still be unconscious right about now.

He wasn’t cut out for intelligence gathering.

Peter continued to focus solely on the lacrosse field a few hundred yards away. They were just inside the tree line of the forest and barely hidden, but to be fair there wasn’t any reason for anyone to be looking in their direction anyway.

“Nearly done, love. This was well worth it, I promise.” Assured Peter, although he didn’t sound very happy.

“How so?”

“Do you recognize the man with white hair who is not so subtly keeping an eye on the Argent girl?” Peter asked.

Derek had noticed Allison on the bleachers, but he hadn’t thought much of it. Last he knew she was still dating Scott, so it made sense that she would be there to support him. He looked around to try and spot the man Peter was talking about. “No. Should I?”

“His name is Gerard.” Peter said the hunter’s name like it pained him. “Kate’s father.”

Suddenly Derek’s blood turned to ice.

“I wasn’t aware that the old shit stain was still alive, otherwise I probably would have gone for his throat too.” Said Peter around his dropped fangs.

“That was his trap in the woods.” Derek replied rather numbly. “He… he knows who we are.”

“It explains a lot actually. With how sophisticated that trap was, it could easily have been made even more deadly. But a bastard like him didn’t want to risk an instant kill – probably wanted the satisfaction of destroying any wolf he snared himself.” Peter let out a low growl. “It also explains how the hunters we’ve been avoiding at night are so numerous and well organized. He’s out for blood.”

“And whose fault is that?” Derek growled back without thinking.

“Watch it, Der. I will not apologize for killing that woman and her pathetic string of henchmen. She deserved far worse than I gave her, and you know it.” Peter’s gaze stayed steady on the high school lacrosse practice as they tossed the ball back and forth.

Somewhat chastised, Derek kept silent.

He was just tired and in an irritable mood. In reality, he was profoundly grateful that Peter had killed Kate – but he wasn’t quite ready to say as much out loud. It felt too much like accepting her death for Laura’s, and that was something he knew he could never do.

“Stiles isn’t the best at this game, even for a human. Keeps tripping over himself.” Mused Peter after a few uncomfortable seconds of silence. “Whittmore is the kid you gave the bite to, isn’t he?”

Derek just sighed. Part of the reason for creeping on a bunch of high school students like this was to ascertain Jackson’s condition – and the young man was almost keeping up with Scott. Almost. He was clearly fine.

But that didn’t seem to matter very much now that they knew Gerard Argent was the one hunting them.

“I can practically smell his hatred for McCall from here. He’s talented, to be sure. And strong. Physically he would be a good candidate to add to the pack. But how is he mentally?” Asked Peter as the game continued to play out in Scott’s favor.

“I don’t know. He’s… actually a bit of a bully. I was… er… rather angry at Scott when he approached me about the bite.” Derek admitted quietly.

It was Peter’s turn to sigh. “You have nothing to be sorry for, you know. If I had been less out of my mind, I would never have picked McCall as my first bite.” His uncle’s words were a small comfort. “From what I can see, Jackson definitely has some anger issues. But I’m not a psychologist. Whether he just has a chip on his shoulder or if there is something more serious going on would require a lot more than just an hour of observation. And that just seems like a waste of time. He hasn’t died and he clearly isn’t a wolf.”

Derek had already figured as much on his own.

“Ow. Stiles took a bit of a tumble there. But he’s getting right back up again. Good boy.” Peter’s commentary was hardly necessary, but it was interesting to note that they were both thinking the same thing. Or, watching the same players anyway.

“Do you think Stiles kept his word?” Derek asked.

Peter smiled. “I highly doubt that Gerard would be playing babysitter if he had received a tip off about our location.”

“What about Scott? If Stiles tells him then—”

“I think we can trust him.” Interrupted Peter. “There’s something special about Stiles – I just haven’t worked out what it is yet. But I intend to.”

Derek took a deep breath. Wishing things to be a certain way didn’t magically make them so. He was convinced that Stiles would betray them eventually – whether on accident or on purpose, it hardly mattered. He was too close to Scott, and Scott was too close to the Argents. This was bound to blow up in their faces.

“Jesus, McCall isn’t subtle at all. If Gerard didn’t already know about Scott, then he probably suspects him now.” Peter shook his head in disappointment after the young werewolf jumped completely over another player before scoring a goal.

The cheers that followed from the small crowd were enough for Scott to raise his arms up in acknowledgment of their praise. For how much he had hated the idea of being a wolf, he certainly had no qualms about benefiting from it.

“Stiles is upset.” Observed Derek.

“He has every right to be. That idiot pup doesn’t deserve such loyalty.”

Again, Derek agreed, but he didn’t want to say anything. He wasn’t so unobservant that he hadn’t noticed that Stiles didn’t really have anyone else. The Stilinski’s den only carried three distinct scents after all: Stiles, Scott, and the Sheriff.

It reminded him a bit too much of his own bond to Peter – and breaking ties with his uncle was unthinkable.

“Losing Scott would hurt him.” Derek said almost in a whisper. Having one’s pack torn away was the worst feeling imaginable. He knew – he had lived through it twice already.

Peter was quiet for a long time before he answered. “No, you’re right. And no wolf deserves what Gerard Argent would do to them if caught.” His next words were so soft – his tone strangely gentle. Derek almost didn’t’ catch them. “Not even Scott.”

As he suspected – but perhaps didn’t fully understand, Stiles agreeing to give them refuge was a big deal. Wolves didn’t share an outsider’s den unless they were in dire need. While Derek might not fully trust the young man yet, they were still indebted to him. They couldn’t just turn a blind eye.

“Not even Scott.” Affirmed Derek, knowing that their plans to rid Beacon Hills of its newest threat and the wave of hunters that followed were about to get a lot more complicated.

***

Something didn’t feel right. Slowly, Peter cracked his eyes open just enough to confirm that the bed next to him was empty and cold.

After returning to the Stilinski household from the lacrosse practice and grabbing a bite to eat, Derek had crashed for a few more hours before Stiles and his father made it home late – close to ten o’clock. They had to stay silent and basically motionless for almost an hour more before they were confident that neither of the humans were likely to reemerge from their respective bedrooms for the rest of the night. Only then did Peter take Derek’s place in the bed while his Alpha kept watch.

Listening in on the father and son winding down from their respective days had been awkward to say the least – especially since Stiles definitely suspected that they were upstairs eavesdropping. But true to his word, he didn’t let anything slip even as he gabbed endlessly about some movie he had watched over at Scott’s.

After coming upstairs, Stiles had paused briefly outside the closed guest room door for a moment, possibly debating with himself if it was wise to check in on them or not. In the end he left them alone, which was a bit of a disappointment. But perhaps tomorrow…

“Leave me alone.” It was Derek’s voice – barely a whisper – that brought Peter fully back to the present.

There was a dark silhouette by the window – familiar broad shoulders and tussled hair indicating that Derek was looking out into the night. No strange smells. Close to a normal heartbeat.

No danger.

“I can’t.” Confessed Derek seemingly to nothing at all, an answer to a question unasked. There wasn’t so much as a squirrel in the yard outside.

Peter might have suspected Derek was on the phone with someone, except that with his supernatural hearing he should have been able to pick up the caller’s voice. Nothing else broke the silence except his nephew’s carefully whispered words. And Derek’s hands seemed empty.

There was a prolonged pause, and then Derek shook his head back and forth and the sour stink of misery drifted through the air. “You don’t understand. I need him.”

Whatever was going on, Peter was only getting half of it. His Alpha was in distress – enough that he hadn’t yet realized that the packmate he was guarding was no longer asleep.

“Who is it, Der?” Peter tried to sound calm, but his question still made Derek jump slightly and turn around. His Alpha-red eyes flashed in the dark. But almost immediately he turned back to look out the window. His breath fogged up the glass a little.

“There’s no one there.” Answered Derek after a tense silence – and it wasn’t a lie. But he didn’t seem particularly reassured by the fact. “Go back to sleep.”

Peter slowly sat up, not wanting to make the bed creak or groan as he shifted positions. He could hear the Sheriff’s slow and steady breathing down the hallway and Stiles’ slightly less steady but still resting heartrate just next door. It was still the middle of the night.

“What did you see?” Peter asked instead, slipping out from under the covers and making his way over to the younger wolf.

“Nothing.” This time it was a lie.

Peter deftly sidestepped the stacks of boxes and then slowly and carefully positioned himself behind his nephew so that he could wrap his arms around Derek’s middle and rest his head on a warm shoulder. Derek leaned into the touch.

Whatever this was, Derek was still upset. Peter had a guess – but he wasn’t sure. His nephew had thought he was a hallucination back when they were first reunited. It wasn’t something that they had really talked about yet.

“I’m not here to judge you, love.” Peter kissed his Alpha’s neck, lingering on the stripe of skin on the neckline of his shirt – enjoying the soft feel of cotton and warm flesh on his lips. Beneath Derek’s worry, his nephew’s natural scent was grounding.

“You’ll think I’ve lost my mind.” Answered Derek even as he brought Peter’s hands from his waist up to his chest – lacing their fingers together.

Peter kissed Derek’s neck once more, tightening his hold on the other wolf as he did so. “Believe me, I know crazy, Der. And you seem perfectly lucid to me.”

A deep rumble in Derek’s chest was all the answer he received. Disagreement about one or more of those statements, but without any desire to fight about their differences of opinion.

“What did you see, love?” Peter asked again, peaking over Derek’s shoulder to confirm for his eyes what his other senses had already told him. The Stilinski’s back garden was completely empty and dark.

Derek didn’t answer right away. Peter reveled in his nephew’s warmth, content to wait until the man was ready to talk. Secrets in a pack this small would ruin them, and they both knew it. But that didn’t mean that sharing was easy.

“I… I saw my mother. Just like… how she was before the fire.” Confessed Derek hesitantly.

Peter thought that over for a moment, nuzzling into his nephew’s space. It was still a bit of a surprise to hear his suspicions confirmed, but not necessarily something that would make him question his Alpha’s sanity. Certainly nothing worse than Peter’s own break from reality anyway.

“I’ve seen Laura too. But she never stays for long.” Derek continued unprompted, his voice catching with emotion. Peter froze where he stood – unsure if Derek would welcome comfort for a wound that he himself had caused. Thankfully, Derek didn’t pull away.

“But they are just ghosts. Memories. Nothing more.” The Alpha added – trying to reassure himself more than anything since Peter still hadn’t replied.

Peter cleared his throat, being careful not to make enough noise to rouse the rest of the house. “There are old tales of Alphas who could commune with the previous holders of their spark. It isn’t as farfetched of an idea as you seem to think, Der. Memories and experiences could leave an imprint or a kind of legacy behind. Perhaps that is what you sense.”

It wasn’t something that had happened to him though. Thank God. Peter shuddered at the thought.

“That isn’t what is happening, Peter. Its late and… and too quiet. My mind was just playing tricks.”

“Maybe. Or maybe not.” This conversation was starting to feel rather intimate. It was rare for Derek to be so open. Perhaps it was because it was the middle of the night and they weren’t looking one another in the eye, but it made it easier for Peter to be sincere in return. “They both loved you very much, Derek. And… it stands to reason that they would want to help you as the next Hale Alpha.”

A sad sound came from Derek’s throat – almost a whine.

“Seeing Laura is… good, but mom…” He drifted off, making Peter imagine how Talia might differ in how she might try to help. Unfortunately, he didn’t have to try very hard.

“What did she want?” Peter felt like he already knew the answer, but he needed to ask anyway.

Again, Derek took some time to respond. But the longer Peter held onto his Alpha the calmer he became. The sour smell of worry from earlier was all but gone. They were matching one another breath for breath. In and out in a soothing rhythm.

“She doesn’t approve of us.”

Peter huffed in annoyance. He carefully withdrew one of his hands from Derek’s chest so that he could flip his spectral older sister the bird. Derek’s vision of her seemed to have moved on from the backyard, but it still felt good to send the crude gesture in her general direction.

Derek had to stifle a small laugh in any case, so Peter counted it as a win.

“She should know better.” Peter eventually grumbled, returning his hand to rub it against Derek’s firm chest – right over his heart. “If I wasn’t worried about waking the Stilinskis, I would give her more of a show.” He slowly ground his soft dick against Derek’s ass. He was sure it wouldn’t take long to chub up and cum even in his pants if Derek would let him get off that way.

But he probably wouldn’t be very quiet about it.

Derek’s shoulders shook again in quiet laughter. “God… I want you, Peter. I want you so bad.”

“Yeah?” Peter liked where this was going, even if they couldn’t actually follow through. Derek smelled like himself again. Rich and musky.

Because Derek still had control over Peter’s hands, instead of answering with words he slowly brought one hand down over his budding erection. The scent of arousal hit Peter just as soon as he felt his nephew’s hardening prick through several layers of fabric.

Peter would have been embarrassed by the strangled sound that came from his mouth if they hadn’t already been so vulnerable with one another just moments before. “You feel so good, love.”

“Touch me?” Derek asked in a near growl. It wasn’t quite a command, but close enough.

Obediently, Peter worked on his Alpha’s jeans, opening them up just enough that he could reach into Derek’s boxers and feel the warm heat of a thick, engorged dick on his palm.

“I… want to feel more, Peter.”

“Doesn’t hurt to say please.” Peter fake complained in a hushed voice even as he complied with his Alpha’s wishes. His own pants and underwear hit the floor in a soft thump. Then he ground his swelling cock deep into Derek’s backside so that the other wolf was sure to feel it – showing him proof of how much he wanted him.

“Please.” Derek amended, even though he gave a satisfied sigh at feeling Peter’s length pressed up against him.

They rocked lazily against each other, a pleasant if inadequate sensation that would only make them desperate for more.

“That’s better.” Peter almost purred, kissing the back of Derek’s neck while the hand not currently fondling his nephew’s privates slipped up and under the younger man’s shirt. Skin to skin. But even as he indulged in feeding that carnal hunger – a deep-rooted longing – he knew he should stop. “We can’t, Der. I want to so much, but you know we can’t.”

“Then stop tempting me.” Grumbled Derek who was leaking pre-cum all over Peter’s hand.

Peter chuckled softly, rubbing his thumb over the head of Derek’s cock and feeling how slick it had become. He wanted – oh, how he wanted.

He quickly checked that both of the humans in the house were still sleeping. Stiles was restless and might wake again soon. According to Derek the young man didn’t sleep very well the night before either. They had to stop.

“One of these nights – and soon – we are going to go deep into the woods. Somewhere far away where we are less likely to be heard. And then you are going to fuck me.” Peter all but demanded in a heated whisper right into Derek’s ear.

“Hmmmm.” Derek hummed his approval. “Might be dangerous.”

“I’m counting on it.” Mumbled Peter around his fangs – a clear sign that things were getting out of hand.

“Go back to sleep.” Directed Derek, although he didn’t sound too happy about it.

Reluctantly, Peter withdrew his hands from Derek’s pants and from beneath his shirt. But he couldn’t resist licking the clear sap from his fingers – being just sloppy enough about it that Derek would know what he was up to. It was deliciously salty.

“Stop teasing.” Derek scolded him with a low growl. Then he fixed his pants, neatly tucking everything away again. Such a shame.

Derek was still looking away from him and out the dark window, staring at nothing. Maybe that was why Peter felt like he could keep talking.

“When I woke up in the woods, I howled for you.” His simple statement implied a lot. In that moment, he had been so afraid to be left behind again. Peter couldn’t remember the last time he had ever admitted to being scared.

At this, Derek turned around. The intensity of his gaze made Peter immediately regret mentioning it. He had gone one step too far. Too open. Vulnerable. Hazel eyes bore down on him – the pupils blown wide from the dark and the smell of sex.

“I thought you were gone.” Derek whispered solemnly – gently. “I figured it was the wind. That it was just the storm and my lonely, fraying mind playing more tricks.”

Derek seemed hesitant as he leaned in for a feather-light kiss – an unspoken apology that Peter didn’t feel like he really deserved. But he kissed his nephew back anyway. The scrape of stubble – the slight burn it left behind was a reminder that this was all real.

He never could have imagined that someday they would be this close.

Derek must have felt it too. When they parted, his Alpha briefly looked conflicted about sharing such a tender moment with him. There was still a struggle inside him between needing Peter and hating him. And it was still a long way from being resolved.

Peter didn’t blame him for it.

“Lie down with me?” He asked despite the doubt lingering in Derek’s eyes, hoping that he was still willing to give him that much. He didn’t deserve the man at all, but…

His nephew gave a silent nod.

Peter pulled his own pants up off the floor and slowly settled himself back on the bed and under the covers. Before his nephew could follow him, however, Peter felt like he needed to say one more thing.

“Talia loved your great-uncle Brian. He was her favorite. Maybe that’s why she didn’t talk about him much with you.” If Derek really was communing with past Alphas, then Talia was undoubtedly going about things in entirely the wrong way with her son, as usual. Peter had no doubt she would see the resemblance between them if she would only look.

“Next time you see her, ask about him. Ask her about the color of his eyes. If it is really her or just some trick of your mind – I’ll know.”

Derek seemed to contemplate his suggestion for a minute, waiting until they were thoroughly wrapped around one another before he answered.

“Okay.”

***

Somehow Stiles had made it to Sunday afternoon.

Like ships in the night, save for noticing a few tiny details – and only because he was really looking for them, he hadn’t seen or heard from either Peter or Derek since offering them a place to crash. And it was kind of a problem. He had naively thought that with their extra-special wolfy powers combined that they might resolve the issue of who or what had murdered Mr. Lahey rather quickly, or at least have secured a more permanent place to stay.

Stiles wasn’t going to kick them out or anything – not if it wasn’t safe out there for them yet, but his nerves were shot. He had barely slept in days, and he was scared that Scott might come over unannounced before the Hales had fully packed-up and left.

His father had the weekend off, so ever since his movie night with Scott on Friday he had stayed home too, giving out the excuse that he was studying for finals. He wasn’t. Stiles just didn’t like the idea of leaving his dad home alone despite Derek’s promise.

Earlier in the morning, he couldn’t help himself from snooping. He had to know if every thing he did and every word he spoke to his father on Saturday had been for an audience that only he knew about. But when he checked the guest room it was completely empty – the window closed but unlocked. The bed was even made, looking practically untouched.

It was a huge relief.

Rather predictably the Sheriff got called down to the station for some reason or another before too long. It was rare that he got more than 24 consecutive hours to himself. He seemed to like it though, even if the county wasn’t paying him nearly enough overtime.

It was just as his dad’s cruiser drove away, leaving him truly alone in the house, that Stiles decided that enough was enough.

As much as he didn’t want to – he needed to ask the wolves for an update. The very idea of coming face-to-face with Peter again was… terrifying.

Seriously, what was going on with Derek’s head?

But yeah. It needed to happen. He needed to know.

Desperately in need of a distraction while he waited for the wolves to return, Stiles turned the TV on in the living room. It helped him feel less alone and kept him from drowning in his own thoughts. Then he started poking around the fridge to see what he might make for dinner. Maybe he could even make extra and offer it up as a kind of peace offering? Stiles knew perfectly well how much Scott ate, so they would probably appreciate it.

He wasn’t exactly going for ‘Host of the Year’ or anything, but he did wonder if offering two wolves a one-person bed in a dusty, cramped guest room and basically nothing else had been insulting. After all, with the Sheriff home the last couple of days, when did they shower? What if they needed to take a shit? These were important questions.

It was just as Stiles was pulling a package of ground turkey from the freezer that he heard a soft thump from upstairs – possibly a window closing. It was one of the few sounds he had heard from the wolves, knowing it meant company. He instinctively knew it wasn’t an ambient feature of their old house, at least.

He placed the meat into the microwave on de-frost and slowly headed up the stairs to see if the wolves were indeed back. The guest room door was still slightly ajar, but no more than an inch or two from his check earlier – so he didn’t think anything of it when he pushed it open just a little more, preparing to call out a slightly nervous ‘hello’.

Except the greeting immediately got caught and died in his throat.

It took him a long few seconds to process what he was even looking at. Long enough for the wolf who wasn’t sound asleep to notice his presence. Shining blue eyes swiftly met his own in a kind of warning. From the way Peter was curled protectively around his Alpha – looking more than a little primal in his posture – the message was easy enough to understand. Crystal clear, in fact.

‘Don’t you dare wake him.’

They hadn’t just returned – they must have been back for a while. Derek was completely out of it. His jeans and leather jacket were draped over some nearby boxes, leaving him just in his Henley and boxers. Of course, he had seen Derek shirtless before – salivated over the guy’s muscles aplenty. Stiles hadn’t considered that the werewolf had equally sexy and well-defined calves.

Since when were hairy man legs a turn on for him?

And Peter… well, big, scary Peter Hale was keeping watch and… and stroking his nephew’s hair while he slept. Reverently.

Derek even had a loose fistful of Peter’s shirt as he slept. These insufferably attractive and potentially murderous werewolves were basically snuggling. Together. In a very small bed.

…

With tremendous effort, Stiles turned right around and went back downstairs without so much as a peep. It was going to be very difficult to unsee that.

Derek’s face was different when he slept. Softer – more open. It was strange. Was it all because of Peter? Bloodthirsty, devious, and decidedly creepy uncle Peter?

Stiles was sort of in a daze.

Was that real? Did that really just happen?

A few moments later he nearly jumped out of his skin when the microwave released a loud chime as the de-frost timer came to an end. He rushed to cancel it, but it was too late.

“Jesus!” Stiles couldn’t help but exclaim under his breath, feeling his heart pumping a mile a minute. Rather belatedly, he also noticed that the TV was still playing in the living room. It was possible that Derek hadn’t been disturbed. Unlikely, but possible. Maybe the microwave blended in as general white noise or something.

The intense look Peter had given him – the protective way he held his nephew in his arms. It was kind of a lot.

Then Stiles had to stifle a laugh. He was being ridiculous. This was his home – and he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Sometimes when he was alone, he turned up his music loud enough to rattle the windows just because he could. Things were actually pretty quiet, considering. They should be grateful.

In a normal tone of voice, Stiles finally decided to address his ‘guests’. “Hey, Zombie Wolf – and Derek if I accidentally woke you. Er… sorry about that, if I did by the way. But I’m making food. Come down in a bit if you want some. We should talk.”

When Scott was learning to control his enhanced hearing, they had done all kinds of tests. Stiles knew that Peter would be able to hear him at the very least.

He did his best to continue with the prep work after that. Chopping onions. Starting a pot of water to boil on the stove.

Stiles wasn’t nearly as surprised as he should have been when he looked back towards the stairs and a pair of glowing blue eyes were watching him from the shadows. He felt his heartrate spike a bit, but he forced himself to continue on with what he was doing.

“Derek is still sleeping.” Peter finally spoke as Stiles began peeling some potatoes.

He was amazed that his hands didn’t shake.

“You are such a creeper.” Complained Stiles. “What is it with you Hales and being all moody and shit out on the fringes instead of just walking around like normal people.”

Peter took a couple steps into the light of the kitchen. “Better?” His voice was honey-sweet and dangerous.

Stiles took a good look at what had been the source of his nightmares for the past few months – and a big part of why he hadn’t been sleeping well the past few days. Peter’s clothes were rumpled and creased, betraying that he had been curled up in bed with Derek for some time.

“You’re a lot less scary like this.” Stiles heard himself say. His voice didn’t tremble at all.

Peter looked slightly amused. “I’m having an off day.”

Stiles sighed, still doing his best to keep his panic at bay. And it was working. Seeing Peter and Derek like that… well, it was just working.

Peter was in his kitchen and Derek was asleep upstairs. He was casually talking to a serial killer. Because that was a thing he did now, apparently. The wolf beside him could easily rip his throat out before their resident Alpha was even on the stairs.

But now Stiles was pretty sure Peter wasn’t going to hurt him. He had already made that deduction logically, but it was different now that he actually believed it.

“If you’re going to eat, make yourself useful. We have canned green beans, beets, cauliflower in the crisper drawer, spinach, or baby carrots. Pick a vegetable.” Stiles turned his attention back to peeling.

After a few awkward moments of nothing but the sound of potato skins falling into the sink one by one, Stiles was surprised to hear Peter begin to laugh. It was just as creepy and villain-like as he expected it to be.

“You’re extraordinary.” The werewolf slowly and carefully made his way to the refrigerator and emerged with a bag of carrots.

They didn’t really talk after that. Peter asked what they were making and where to find things on occasion, but for the most part they just cooked.

It was completely bizarre.

When they were just about ready to plate everything up, Derek came down squinting owlishly at them with a baffled expression on his face. His hair was even sticking up in the back like a turkey’s tail.

“Sleep well, Der?” Peter asked, reaching out in an attempt to flatten out the errant tufts atop his nephew’s head. He was unsuccessful. But the weird thing was that Derek let him. Spikey, aggressive, and very possibly traumatized Derek Hale was letting Peter fuss over his hair and rub the back of his hand down the younger man’s cheek.

It was endearing. And completely unexpected.

Stiles was definitely staring. How could he not? This was a wolf thing. There was no way this was anything else but a wolf thing. He had only ever observed Scott alone. When Derek said Pack – with a capital P – this must have been what he was talking about.

“What’s going on?” Growled Derek once his patented scowl was firmly back in place. But only after Peter stopped touching him. Fascinating. Stiles didn’t find the look nearly as scary as he once did.

“Stiles made us dinner.” Peter said simply, as if it was obvious.

“Peter helped.” Admitted Stiles. “Take a seat at the table.”

“Why?” Derek asked, still looking sour.

Peter laughed again, and somehow it wasn’t quite as chilling as it had been earlier. Perhaps it was more genuine. Either that or Stiles was just getting used to it.

“Don’t be rude.”

Needless to say, Stiles didn’t get a full update on how things were going in Beacon Hills like he had planned. He was too busy making meaningless small talk while they ate and not freaking out – especially when Derek and Peter insisted on doing the washing up.

Afterwards he found that he didn’t mind if the two werewolves stayed a bit longer. But he might need to do a load of laundry before school the next day, just to be safe.

***

Derek ran through the Preserve, following his uncle by scent alone. It felt good to run.

They had left the Stilinski’s shortly after Stiles had finally fallen asleep. It seemed less troubled than usual. Being asked to have dinner with him had come straight out of the blue. Awkward, but not unwelcome.

His uncle wasn’t very forthcoming when he asked him what might have changed.

Peter wasn’t that far ahead, even though he couldn’t quite see him through the trees. The other man wanted to be caught, after all.

The moon was three-quarters full and high in the sky. The air that whipped past him as he let the shift take over tasted clean and smelled of pine. Nighttime creatures scattered as the wolves cut a path away from Beacon Hills.

He wanted out of his clothes. He wanted to run through the woods unencumbered in the same way he had with his family as a young teenager. Free and wild.

Derek wanted to have Peter under him again. Fevered skin and the smell of arousal heavy between them. But for that they had to go further. They were going to run for miles and miles into the forest until they couldn’t catch even the faintest trace of everything that they had left behind.

Peter risked a low call from up ahead, almost a bark. Laughter. His uncle was laughing. He was shifted too.

Immediately, Derek returned the call, turning it into a howl. Mournful but joyous at the same time. Haunting.

Peter howled with him, and they continued back and forth for a long time.

When they finally stopped, heaving for breath and hot, it was only to drink from a clear, mountain stream. The cold water numbed his lips and soothed his throat. It had been years since he had been able to howl like that.

“Is it time, love?” Asked Peter, knowing that they both reeked of want. “Or do we go on a bit further?”

Derek looked around. The stream was loud and the ground rocky. But there was a rise not too far away that was lush with grass. Derek didn’t need to answer with words, confidant that his uncle would just follow.

It didn’t take more than a couple minutes at an easy pace.

Ferns grew in clumps and every tree was coated with moss. The sound of running water was almost completed muted and the sparse canopy above allowed for shifting beams of moonlight to filter down to the forest floor.

“Here.” Derek replied, turning to his packmate. He didn’t waste any time in divesting himself of his sweaty shirt. His prick was already hard.

Peter growled approvingly and got to work on his own clothes. Shoes. Pants. The smell was intoxicating.

“Let me.” Derek ordered, and Peter stilled.

Derek finished pulling Peter’s shirt over his head and then threw it unceremoniously into the bushes. His lips were on the older man’s neck even as he pulled them together and bucked their cocks into one another through what little they still had between them.

“Come on, love.” Peter whispered and then groaned wantonly into Derek’s hair. “Take me.”

Derek growled deep in his chest. They kissed fiercely, gasped between bouts of bruising each other’s lips, tasted, teased, and continued to undress until there was nothing left to remove.

Then it was just the two wolves rolling together in the grass under the moon and the stars.