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.
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.