Chapter Text
Stiles couldn’t bring himself to go to the pack meeting Derek called. He didn’t even need to think about it—it was an automatic no. It had only been, almost nearly, three months since the Nogitsune had torn through and wrecked their lives, specifically Stiles’s. The whole ‘being a murderer debacle’ wasn’t even the worst part, but the aftermath—the vivid and demented nightmares that clung to him like a second skin—were getting much worse. All of the images that tormented and wrecked havoc on him, bleeding through into his waking hours. He knew what was reality and what wasn’t, but still, he couldn’t bring himself to face everyone—to see the look of fear reflected in everyone’s eyes… it felt impossible. Especially not after nearly killing Allison. Hell, who was he kidding? He had technically killed her. Her heart had fully stopped, according to both Scott and Isaac, while her blood pooled around her and his best friend’s body.
Thank the unholy, capricious gods, every single one of them, that Derek Hale had found them just in the nick of time. He had come to help and ended up rescuing them, his pack. Stiles could still graphically recall the memory of Derek’s fangs clamping down on Allison’s neck, the ripping sound of skin as he bit her, still haunting his mind. It had been a last resort, something she and Derek had talked about beforehand as an emergency contingency, a just in case, he—Stiles—fucked up. Which he did. It was a glaring reminder of how he had put her in that position in the first place—the Nogitsune’s plaything, Stiles its puppet of death. If not for Derek and Kira biting and then gutting the trickster in the eerie high school hallway, who knows what would have happened—or who else Stiles would have slaughtered.
All of his dreams were the same loop of horror—him killing all of his friends over and over while the Nogitsune laughed at him, sharp and cruel, while he himself cackled maniacally as their blood coated his hands and shirt. The telling silence as the Nogitsune stood in the background, its own amusement seeping into him as their screams sliced through the fog of his own terror—or was it delight? Stiles felt like each dream was his own reluctance crumbling underneath him, the dreams changing—giving into the monstrous side of himself, by that he meant the change he was going through. When Derek had bitten the Nogitsune, he had effectively, and in essence, bitten Stiles as well.
Stiles would wake up gasping—choking, as if he was still being suffocated in his own mind by the horrid creature. His body drenched in a cold sweat as his chest was filled with sporadic screams he couldn’t control. That he couldn’t stop. And then it would start: his spark, or whatever it was, emerging flaring to life violently like an enthusiastic hurricane destroying everything in its path. The objects in his room began flying and jerking about, colliding into the walls, crashing into the ceiling, and slamming each other… a frantic whirlwind full of untamed chaos that mirrored his turbulent and frenzied dreams. He was, for all intents and purposes, Mathilda, except without the whimsical and cute control. Stiles was a volatile fuse, an unpredictable explosion, an erratic trigger just waiting—teetering—on a sudden destructive eruption.
But the now walking disaster that he was wasn’t even the cherry on top. No, for Stiles, the most damning and telling evidence were his eyes. When he had dared, mostly accidental on his part, to catch a glimpse of himself in his mirror after all the wandering objects had finally fallen to the floor of the now-destroyed room. Staring back at him in the cracked mirror were a pair of foreign glowing—no, not a glowing—more like a furiously molten gold pair of eyes staring backat him, and they seemed to be burning with something primal and feral. When he went to count his fingers to make sure he was really and truly awake, it was to his utter shock and devastation, that he was. Where his once anxiously bitten nails had sat, were now tipped with razor-like claws. But the most fearful part to Stiles; were the glowing tails that gently swayed behind him. He hadn’t needed anyone to tell him what it meant; he could feel it in his bones, his core, that they weren’t just remnants or echoes of the murderous trickster spirit that had controlled him; he had merged with it; the Nogitsune was now part of him.
As much as he disliked Deaton—and he really did dislike the inscrutable vet—the cryptic druid had begrudgingly shown him how to make a silencing spell for a single room. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough that he could activate it while he slept, keeping his late-night episodes restrained. Dampening the terrified screams he unknowingly unleashed while his spark caused its own chaos within his now soundproof room. Preventing his already exhausted dad from waking up to a front-row seat of crazy.
His dad, now very privy of the supernatural, with his newfound knowledge, due to recent events regarding the supernatural world, had decided—without asking—that he was now a permanent part of pack meetings. Definitely not because of all of Stiles’ friends were supernatural, or so claimed his dad. No, it was for his job, of course. Being the sheriff of a town plagued by supernatural shitstorms and all. All so he wouldn’t accidentally arrest innocent weres. ‘Again.’ Giving Stiles a pointed look that left no room for arguing what-so-ever. Along with words grumbling about Derek being a ‘murderer’ and a ‘freak incident’ with Isaac and a taser that was laced with a hint of bitterness. Stiles knew better. His dad’s involvement had little to nothing to do with protocol or his upstanding job; rather, it was for his own peace of mind. He could tell not only by his dad’s heartbeat but also by the way his dad's jaw tightened when learning of how close Stiles had actually come to nearly dying, a multitude of times. So when it came to his only son, John would not allow himself to stay sidelined.
“Hey kiddo, you ready to go?” John asked, casually leaning against his bedroom doorframe, the concern flooding the room was anything but.
“No, I’m still not feeling well.” Stiles answered, barely glancing up as he picked at some loose threads on his jeans. He half-lied, his voice calm and nearing nonchalance as he continued to refuse making eye contact with his dad. “Don’t want to get anyone else sick; you know how much of a whiner Scott is when he’s got the flu.”
Alright,” John sighed as he crossed his arms, letting the weighted silence of his unsaid words fill the air, hitting Stiles like a bull in a china shop. “If anything happens, give one of us a call.” He could sense the unspoken ‘please’ that echoed between them.
“I will; I have all the wards up, so I'll, uh, be fine.” Stiles nodded, quickly lying, knowing full well his dad could read him like a glass window and saw past his flimsy cardboard cutout words; to Stiles’ relief, he didn’t press further.
“Love you, kiddo.” John stated softly, air filling with hesitation before turning to take his leave. Stiles caught his dad's short-lived glance out of the corner of his now heightened sight, his dad's eyes lingering as if he wanted to say more to his accident prone son. Deciding against it at the last second, Stiles let out the tense breath he had been holding. He was grateful for the way his dad avoided confrontation with him most times, even if the guilt clawed around his chest with a crushing force.
*****
Derek immediately noticed Stiles’s adjacent scent, tracking the Sheriff as he entered the loft, noting that once again, the older man had arrived without Stiles. The quirky teens’ absence hit him like a blow to the solar plexus from another Alpha. As the Sheriff locked gazes with him from across the busy room, the exhausted Sheriff just shook his head, the sadness and quiet resignation a clear sign of defeat. Stiles was still avoiding the pack. Derek’s jaw clenched as his stomach twisted at the evident withdrawal from the pack. The Nogitsune, while inhabiting Stiles’ body, had murdered twenty-one people. Most—if not all—of which were innocent lives snuffed out by a force that the scraggly boy couldn’t control. Not to mention Allison—who Derek had barely managed to save by biting her. Knowing Stiles, he wasn’t the type to see that as a victory. He knew the scrawny teen was absolutely blaming himself, carrying around the guilt like a lead weight.
Derek could feel the absence, a gnawing hollowness, from a member of his pack avoiding him. It was like a wound that wouldn’t close, causing him physical harm. He wanted to demand answers and drag Stiles out of whatever dark gutter he had dug himself into. Reminding the quirky teen that it wasn’t his fault that innocent lives had fallen victim to a literal monster and been extinguished. Just as Stiles had done for him on multiple occasions. But Derek knew better than anyone how devastating it was and how it felt to lose your autonomy—having it ripped away. Twice now, his own had been forced from him; he refused to do the same to Stiles. For now, he would have to wait, hoping the self-loathing Stiles was feeling wasn’t too deep and so far gone, that himself and the pack couldn’t pull him back.
After the Alpha Pack’s defeat, Scott had become the Alpha, and Derek had lost his own Alpha status—though, oddly enough, had only lasted a few days. That directly contradicted Deaton’s True Alpha spiel, which hadn’t made much sense at the time to begin with. The same man who was never as forthcoming as he could—should—have been, being his mother’s Emissary—the Hale Pack Emissary. Derek had learned to trust his gut thanks to the pack, and something about the whole ordeal... seemed off. Deaton, being as cryptic as ever, offering a vague possibility that someone with the right tools and motivation might have placed an unknown spell of sorts on Scott, claiming that the Alpha Spark had rightfully returned and chosen Derek, one of the last remaining Hales.
Derek was certain, even more so, after piecing together knowledge he accessed from the Hale family vault. With just a smidgeon of research, all the clues pointed to Deaton himself. The former Hale Emissary had been the one to place the spell on him and Scott. Even if Derek couldn’t prove it, he just knew, almost like the uncanny way Stiles always knew things. The Alpha Pack didn’t have that kind of mojo within their arsenal. And a dark druid like the Darach would have stolen the spark for themselves, not handed it to a gullible teen. No, this had all of Derek’s hackles on edge. Deaton was far too slippery and full of tricks to ever admit that his fingerprints were all over the supernatural wonder.
That instinctual suspicion was partly why the pack was gathered here tonight. They needed to establish who was officially pack and who wasn’t. Find clarity with each other and set basic boundaries. What that meant going forward, Derek had no clue, but most importantly, they needed to find a trustworthy emissary for the pack. Someone they could truly rely on in the time of need and danger. The cagey and underhanded vet who only spoke in half-truths and hidden agendas was no longer an viable option. Not if Derek was going to make this work, the Hale Pack.
At the last pack meeting, Derek had given everyone the freedom of choice, to join the Hale Pack. Even extending the offer to the Yukimuras’, Chris Argent, Melissa McCall, and the Sheriff. The rules for this agreement were simple and straightforward: Join the Hale Pack, and you would be protected by the pack with no hesitations or exceptions. Yet if one refused and decided not to join, they of course would be permitted to stay in Beacon Hills, but on the fringes of the pack. This meant they were not a priority for safety or saving when danger inevitably found its way to the supernaturally attuned town. Not to mention that if they failed to inform the Alpha of anything supernatural afoot, consequences would be instant: banishment, or worse, death. Derek made sure to not tread lightly on the subject and explained both sides of the offer and what it truly meant to be pack. Despite his harshness on the subject, Derek was confident that the majority of them would accept his offer.
His only real concern or worry was Scott and Stiles, though for two very different reasons. Stiles, because Derek knew the smartass teen was convinced that he wasn’t good enough—because he thought that he was broken and dangerous now that he was a murderer. Which was absolute and utter bullshit. No matter how much Derek tried to deny it, Stiles had been his first pack member, whether or not the hyperactive teen realized himself. Always ready with answers for the pack or willing to run headfirst into a fight when he was only human.
Scott, on the other hand, was another problem entirely. That child was arrogant and stubborn to the end with his self-righteousness views. After Scott had allowed Deucalion to leave, especially after coming for his betas and putting Boyd into the critical unit, a real feat for any werewolf, Derek was seething. They towed the line—skating on thin ice around one another till they had gotten into a spat a few days later, which ended in Scott trying to pull rank and use his Alpha voice on Derek and having no effect. It had set off something primal in Derek. He was being challenged, and the Alpha Spark had only been gone for maybe forty-eight hours. Whether it was due to instinct or just his full dislike for Scott’s methods, it had devolved into a physical fight, in which Scott ended up submitting to Derek. Losing the very Alpha Spark he had just gained. Even more surprising—and much to everyone's shock—the Alpha Spark returned to Derek.
The return of his Alpha status had been a turning point for all of them. One that led him to reevaluate how things needed to be done. For the betterment of the pack and not just for power grabs. Which led them to weekly pack meetings becoming the norm and his newfound goal to run things how his mother, Talia, had. For the first time in an extremely long time, Derek felt like he was doing something right for once.
“Okay, first on the list tonight,” Derek stated, scanning the group, his voice steady though his chest was tight. He tried not to let his disappointment that once again, Stiles wasn’t here, show or affect tonight’s agenda. “Who’s wanting to join the Hale Pack?”
“Both Stiles and I are in.” The Sheriff stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for any shred of doubt. Derek’s head snapped, startled, looking towards the older man. The Sheriff offered him a warm and reassuring smile. Derek nodded, his expression sitting in it’s usual unreadable mask, but his heart pounding in his throat. The fact that Stiles’ father showed no hesitation that his son would remain in the pack despite everything—it made his wolf preen with a satisfactory growl as Derek walked over to him. He leaned in and carefully scented the older man—Noah Stilinski, Sheriff of Beacon Hills, completing the bond between them.
“I’m in. We’re already family,” Boyd said calmly as he stood his ground and looked to Erica and Isaac briefly, who both nodded in unison before continuing. “But don’t expect me to blindly agree with everything going forward.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from my second. This is our pack.” Derek replied, giving his beta a rare faint smile, his voice full of pride at his packmate. “My word is still final, but for this to work, I need to know what you all think and how you feel about every situation. That is what pack meetings are for.” Derek stepped forward, scenting Boyd, reaffirming the bond between them.
“I’m in too, but,” Isaac chimed in, his tone lighthearted, and his eyes gleaming with a mischievous undertone bordering on sarcasm. “But only if I get a T-shirt that says, ‘I Survived Derek’s Alpha Brooding’.” A verbal groan emanated from the group as Erica snorted in amusement while Boyd rolled his eyes at the other beta.
“Only if I get Erica to bedazzle it for you first.” Derek shot back, his lips almost betraying a genuine smile, but instead rolling his eyes as he scented his first ever turned beta.
“Deal, and I’m in.” Erica said with a grin, her tone more playful than serious. “But I want a hoodie that says ‘Pack Mom’s Favorite Beta.’ That way, if Stiles nags me, I can remind him who’s his favorite. Oh, and it needs it in black, obviously—you know, to keep the aesthetic.” Derek suppressed the instinctive need his wolf felt to howl in acknowledgment of Stiles being Pack Mom as he scented Erica.
“Pack mom?” Scott asked, fully confused, his voice matching his faces' scrunched bewilderment.
“Yeah, have you seriously never noticed how he dotes on all of us but scolds us all the minute we mess up? He’s like an old lady with claws sometimes.” Lydia said, her smug tone cutting through the air like a freshly sharpened knife as she fixed her gaze on Scott. “Stiles has basically been our mom when it comes to anything to do with the pack.”
“But… he’s a guy.” Scott protested, as his face scrunched in further, his little brain trying to wrap around the thought of his best friend being ‘Pack Mom’. “He’s not even a mom—or like, a girl.” Earning him a collective eye roll from the group and a very unsubtle, chuckle from Boyd.
“Obviously I’m in too,” Lydia said with a smirk as she gestured at Erica. “but only if I get to be the final approval on the bedazzling; we want sophistication, not trailer park.”
“I want in.” Kira said, grinning from ear to ear. “Especially on whatever this bedazzling thing is.”
It took the group several minutes to not only explain bedazzling to Kira, which then turned into a lively debate about glitter placement and the glaring superiority of rhinestones versus sequins. The chaos was nearly enough to fully derail the rest of the evening. Derek needed to do all but get all the girls back on track, but no matter how impatient his wolf was, he was thrilled to see how they were all getting along so far. Derek had long since been able to perfect the art of looking like he wasn’t paying attention when, in reality, he was overtly aware of everyone in the loft. That’s how come he didn’t miss the pure look of utter shock and betrayal on Scott’s face when Kira had casually declared she was to be part of the Hale Pack—Derek’s Pack.
It was fleeting, but still clear as day, Scott stood there, his brows furrowed in disbelief at Kira’s words. Scott didn’t growl at him when Derek had stepped forward, scented her, sealing the bond. Derek, keeping his face as stoic as he could, hiding his satisfaction. Though Scott still refused to meet the Alpha’s gaze. The refusal was not quite a statement of defiance nor a challenge—not quite—but it was clear that Scott hadn’t fully accepted the new situation and changing dynamics within the pack.
“Back to the task at hand: anyone else want to join the pack?” Derek asked, his voice still calm and steady as his gaze scanned the group. Hidden beneath his usual broody demeanor, was a glimmer full of hope that more would also join the pack.
“If I say yes, what's next? A bake sale?” Peter’s tone was half-mocking and half-serious as he leaned back in his chair, his smirk sharp as ever. “Do you even want me in your pack, dear nephew? We both know I don’t play well with others.
“I do. You’re…” Derek took a deep breath, unclenching his momentarily tightened jaw, locking eyes with his uncle Peter. “I may not fully trust you yet, but it's what Mom would have wanted.” At that, Peter’s ever-present smirk faltered, replaced with a new, serene, and almost remorseful look softening his pointed features. He nodded his head in understanding acknowledgment as he let Derek cement the bond by scenting him.
“I mean, if Creeperwolf gets a free pass, then I’m definitely in too.” Allison voiced, breaking the awkward and weighted tension as she crossed her arms with a knowing smirk filling her face. “But don’t expect me to sit back quietly while he monologues.” Derek bit back a laugh at this point but couldn’t hold back his grin as he glanced between his uncle and Allison, his freshly turned beta. After everything that had happened between the Hales and the Argents, she was handling the transition much better than had been expected.
“Creeperwolf?” Peter finally echoed, as he placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Please tell me that our resident Spark and Pack Mom gave me that loving moniker.” Throwing an almost delighted wink in Derek’s direction, who all but rolled his eyes.
“You’re lucky Stiles isn’t here right now.” The Sheriff scoffed, his tone dry but his humor at the situation leaking through. “He’d never let you live that down.”
“Oh, I’d expect nothing less.” Peter’s wicked grin carved its self int his face as the mischievous glint in his eyes giving nothing away. “That sharp-tuned tongue of his? I’d say it's practically a weapon at this point. You should be proud, Derek—your little Spark could put me to shame.” Derek didn’t dignify his uncle with a response. Peter wasn’t entirely wrong, but the very last thing he wanted, or needed, was for Peter to start on about Stiles’ snark, mostly for Derek’s own sanity.
Afterwards, everyone except Chris and Scott had decided to join the pack. Surprising himself at how much relief he felt at Scott declining his offer of a pack—which now included Scott’ very own mother, Melissa. Again to Scott’s visible surprise. Her choice had been quiet but resolute. She had practically adopted over half the betas over the last few months. So it was not a surprise to Derek, yet it clearly blindsided Scott, whose wide-eyed expression was as if his mother had just stabbed him in the gut instead.
Chris’s reasoning, however, had a different and pragmatic response. This was new territory for him—a hunter joining a werewolf pack was unheard of. It had never happened in the whole of history. And while he wasn’t ready to take the final step, yet. Letting the three-letter word linger in the air purposefully, he was absolutely making it known to other hunters that he had a pact with the Hale Pack of Beacon Hills and wasn’t quite walking away. His word as a hunter would hold a heavy weight as the last remaining Argent Hunter.
As for Scott, his hesitation was clear. He stated he wanted some more time as he wanted to talk to Deaton first. Scott awkwardly glanced at Kira, who was busy with Erica, Lydia, and Allison. Then he darted his eyes to his mother, who was talking to both the Sheriff and Peter. Derek simply nodded, not wanting to push him for now. Scott left dejectedly to speak with Deaton, but not before making those ‘puppy eyes’ as Stiles called them, at both Kira and his mother. Whether or nor it was to gain their approval or their pity. Still, Derek would let it slide for now.