Chapter Text
It was the first day since the whole supernatural nightmare had begun that Stiles was able to sleep in without feeling either guilty or worried.
Nobody was expecting him to be anywhere. Nobody was messaging or calling in imminent peril. Nobody was bleeding out on his bedroom floor. Nobody was threatening to rip his throat out, or arrest him, or expel him or even be mean to him.
It was Saturday, so there was no school. He had finished his homework the night before so there was no pressure on him to get out of bed at all.
Even his Dad had already left for his morning shift at the Sherriff’s Office and he’d not only left a note telling Stiles to take it easy, but had even voluntarily taken one of the flatbread, dip and salad boxes Stiles had been experimenting with in his eternal quest to make his Dad’s lunches a little less calorific and greasy.
It was just a little after 8am, the sky was cloudy but not raining and the oppressive heat and humidity which had plagued the city for what seemed like an eternity (but was probably only a month) had finally broken into more seasonally responsible weather. (i.e. cool but not yet freezing)
So, of course, Stiles couldn’t sleep.
Gerard’s little presents made that almost impossible, not to mention all the rest of the shit-storm Stiles’ life had become.
Stiles couldn’t even unclench.
He lay on top of his covers, gently moving his limbs in what an observer would probably describe as a slow motion Stilinski flail, trying with increasing desperation to find a position where he would no longer be putting weight onto his slowly healing wounds, but at the same time be able to release the tension which even Stiles was beginning to realise was probably not good for him.
In his mind’s eye Stiles reviewed the last couple of months. It wasn’t a fun review at all, probably less fun even than Faulkner or Hemmingway.
After his best friend and sometime blood brother Scott McCall had been bitten by a crazy Alpha werewolf on a revenge spree, things had rapidly gone from bad to worse. He had lied so many times to his Dad that he honestly couldn’t even try to figure out the actual number anymore. He had been threatened with torture, death, arrest, expulsion, torture again, more death, actually BEEN tortured and had been about 10 seconds from breathing his last more times than he wanted to even try to work out. He had witnessed murders, maimings, deliberate acts of terror, been knocked unconscious by parts of his own car, and almost been eaten by his best bud (and not in the porno way).
He had harboured and sexually exploited a fugitive, stolen police property, kidnapped a classmate, carried his abiding crush into a hall while she was unconscious and bleeding.
He had been both threatened and come onto by the same murdering, bad-touch werewolf and then later been responsible for setting him on fire so his nephew could murder him.
He had managed to somehow tread water in a freezing pool for two hours while holding up said paralysed man-mountain - a man, or werewolf rather, whose arm he had almost had to saw off with a freaking handsaw!
He had been kidnapped and almost beaten to death by a cancer ridden septuagenarian, smashed his beloved jeep through a wall to save the life of the douchebag who was the major stumbling block to his plans to woo the fair Lydia, been betrayed and played for a fool by his supposed best friend and finally ended the saga by having to lie about most of it to his Dad... AGAIN!
In fact the only positives to have come out of the whole mess were his epic contribution to the win his lacrosse team had enjoyed (plus his first ever time actually taking to the field during an actual game), being proven ultimately right in practically every part of the whole farrago (not that that really meant anything when everyone still refused to listen to him, despite being proven to be the only person to ever actually seem to know what the fuck was going on at any time). Oh, and the fact that it turned out he had super-awesome powers of magicness and stuff... well... maybe not super-awesome, but Deaton had been very serious (even for him) about the whole “having a spark” thing, and he knew that he had had nowhere near enough mountain ash left in his hand to cover those last few yards around Jungle but somehow, he had made it. The whole thing reeked of awesome.
Stiles gave in on trying to feel comfortable and decided to settle for “not actually in screaming agony” instead.
It was times like this when he missed his mother’s touch the most. With a soft hand and a calming word she would have been able to ease the pain, relax his tense body and send him off to blessed sleep in under a minute... Five tops. He even missed the mix of floral perfume that she loved to wear and wet, earth smell (petrichor!) that always clung to her, especially when she had come in to his sickbed after working or weeding her precious garden.
Stiles had tried for weeks after her funeral to maintain the various garden beds she had created around their house, but the combination of grief, time pressures and the whole ‘being a nine year old with ADHD’ thing meant that although nothing had actually died.. much... the gardens were far from their former glory.
Actually... there’s an idea... the lawn out the back would still be cool, with no sun on it until afternoon, but the dew would have evaporated by now, so it would be dry...
The thought of soft grass, fresh breeze and the scents of his mother’s garden were enough to drag the groaning boy out of bed, down the stairs and out into the back garden; just barely remembering to take his phone with him and lock the back door.
As he let his battered form sink into the thick, soft lawn between the overgrown and weed-filled former flowerbeds, Stiles could already feel the smells and sounds working their own kind of magic. It was weird, but the grass actually felt softer than his mattress. He had forgotten to bring his pillow, but the ground seemed to be supporting his head at precisely the right angle to let his bruised back finally let go of the memory of his terror and pain. Even the burn scars and whip marks seemed to be less immediate or troublesome, despite his fresh, and still slightly bleeding, scars being pressed against the ground.
From this angle he could see, with his peripheral vision, the remains of his mom’s favourite plants, some of them still surviving, somehow, against all logic or chance underneath the riot of grasses and weeds that had invaded their former sanctuaries.
“You go little plants!” Stiles mumbled, his eyes already fluttering closed “Don’t let the bastards beat you down!”
His last thought, as sleep claimed him, was a wordless, inarticulate wish that he could, somehow, against all the odds, emulate those plants, and find a way to flourish in a world that had become so hostile towards him.
Sleep is nice... Three cheers for sleep... Hip Hip H......................
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Derek could not for the life of him work out why he still cared. He should have known better. Idiot!
The universe continued to remind him of the simple facts.
Nobody could be trusted. Nobody cared.
Nobody ever thought about anyone but themselves.
Nobody ever did anything nice without ulterior motives, hidden agendas or a cunning scheme of betrayal in mind.
Even his sister, his Alpha, the person who had been the only rock he had to cling to as his life was swept away by his own stupidity and weakness – even she had betrayed him. Laura had left him alone, lied to him. If only she had trusted him enough to share her worries about events in Beacon Hills. If only she had taken him with her. Maybe then she’d still be alive. Perhaps Peter might have killed him instead? He deserved it...still... Faced with Laura’s loss, Peter’s betrayal and madness and the reappearance of... of... Derek had done his best.
He had tried again, again!
He had tried to befriend and help the new werewolf, McCall, turned against his will, without even knowledge of the supernatural world, let alone informed consent! He had tried to keep both him and his friend safe and out of the worst of things. He had failed, of course. Even after Peter’s death (and his act of avunculicide had already added itself to his roster of nightmares) and trying to form a new pack he had failed. His first beta had blackmailed him into the bite and then turned into a murdering lizard monster. Isaac was still haunted by his past and had so far to go before he could try to come to terms with his wolf. Erica and Boyd had run away. He could still feel the faint stir of the pack bond, but it was strained and flickering. They were alive, but something was wrong. He wished he had the time, the resources and most of all the support to find out what was going on. Peter, who had been unwilling to stay dead like a reasonable person would, seemed less insane than previously, but he could never be fully trusted even before the fire. Scott had not only pretended to join his pack, but had finally seemed to be grateful for Derek’s advice, which made his betrayal cut even deeper. OK, perhaps he had been plotting against the damned Argent at the same time, but being used as a mindless patsy still hurt Derek to the core. As for Stiles...
Stiles had hurt him most of all. All those conversations, all the times he had saved the boy’s life, the times Stiles had returned the favour...
Derek had been starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, he had found someone he could trust fully. Then Stiles’ best friend had stabbed Derek in the heart. He must have known, those two were inseparable. Also, where had Stiles disappeared to the night Jackson died and came back? Derek had wanted to rail at the boy, but in all the confusion over Lydia saving Jackson and Gerard being bitten and then the revelation of Scott’s betrayal he had lost track of the young chatterbox.
Derek was prepared to just wash his hands of the rest of them, but Stiles needed to hear a few home truths. Hidden from view near the Stilinski home Derek listened for the unmistakeable rabbit-patter of Stiles’ heartbeat.
It wasn’t there. He must have gone out to celebrate the success of the plan he had given Scott. No way was McCall clever enough to manipulate people so effectively. Stiles might be a damned liar, but he was also cunning and an excellent strategist.
Deciding to leave a message informing both Stiles and his minion that Derek was no longer foolish enough to trust either of them, and to steer clear of him and Isaac if they valued their skin, Derek leapt from the tree near Stiles’ window and slid it open. He slipped into the room silently, never having been exposed to the neighbours’ view for more than a second.
The room was empty, of course, and... a mess.
The smell of teenage boy (sweat, lust, hormones, sketchy laundry habits and junk food) was almost overwhelming. Intertwined with the stench was Stiles’ personal scent (bitter medicine, burnt sugar, fresh mown grass and rainclouds) a scent Derek had been starting to actually enjoy.
He could smell blood.
Without thought his eyes flashed red as he assumed his beta form. His nose wrinkled as he spotted the smears of blood on the top sheet of the bed, the used and blood-soaked wound dressings in the almost full waste basket. So many dressings... bandages... Derek spotted a half-used bubble pack of codeine on the table beside the bed.
Closer to the bed Derek could sense more than just the first impressions. He scented sadness and pain. He could smell the tang of anger burning his nostrils and under it...
Despair... Self Hate... Confusion... Shame... Betrayal... Sorrow, deep, deep sorrow and loss... and... Loneliness?
He could also smell Scott’s scent but... so faint... Scott had not been in this room for days, maybe as long as a few weeks.
The scents told him a very different story to the one in his head.
Stiles hadn’t known.
Stiles had been betrayed too.
Stiles hadn’t known.
Stiles had been lied to as well.
He hadn’t known.
Stiles had been...
He’d been injured sometime in the last 48 hours, badly injured.
A few cuts or bruises might be explained by the championship game, but this much blood... He’d been deliberately beaten. Derek looked closer at the dressings and smelled... burn ointment?
Stiles had not just been beaten, he had been tortured. Derek was all too familiar with the Argent family and their predilection for electrocution and fire.
It was further proof that Gerard had not corrupted Stiles as he had Scott.
Instead he had...Oh... My... God...
So where was he then?
With injuries this severe he wouldn’t have willingly gone far.
The evidence suggested that he didn’t quite need a hospital, but it must have taken some fast talking to his father to stop the protective man from...
Did the Sherriff even know? Or... Stiles might have hidden the injuries on his body and told some half-convincing lie about rough and tumble team rivalry or similar...
Derek knew that Stiles had been feeling worse and worse about the lies he was being forced to tell, the secrets everyone seemed to feel free to just dump on the boy.
Derek’s heart missed a beat as he thought, just for a second, of how Stiles must have been feeling after the last few months of death and evil and violence.
His wolf was whining at the thought of a packmate suffering as Stiles must have suffered; not just the torture, but the deception, the chaos, the fear...
Oh God, Derek thought, I threatened him too. I hurt him. I lied to him. I used him. I let him get hurt.
Where is he?
Derek closed his eyes and tried to push his senses to the limit even as his heart was beginning to race and his head began pounding.
He could smell Stiles’ father, he had spent a lot of time in this room over the last 24 hours and the man was worried and angry in equal measure.
He could...
He could hear the Sherriff shouting... outside... the backyard!
Flowing through the window, leaving it open behind him, Derek jumped to the ground. His legs flexed as he landed and he was already moving. He managed to reverse his shift as he came around the corner of the house.
The Sherriff had his phone out, and was standing near a large, low mound of plants which dominated the yard. Derek could see the source of the man’s tension. An enormous rattlesnake was hissing and rattling but not attacking the man standing less than a foot from it.
“Sherriff, don’t move, ok?”
“Who’s there?” Sherriff Stilinski replied, breathlessly. “Wait! Hale?”
“I’ll try to lead it away from you.”
“Don’t be stupid son, I was on the phone to Melissa when I spotted it, or rather, it spotted me. She’s calling for backup and is on her way here with antivenin. I just have to stand still for a few minutes.”
“I don’t want to be rude sir, but you aren’t looking so good.”
“It’s shock. First thing I knew about it was the rattle, then motion next to my foot. My boot or pants might be enough to stop it from getting a bite through them, but I really don’t want to take the risk. My heart may or may not have skipped a few beats, but never tell my son that. It’s bad enough being guilted to eat like a rabbit to stop him worrying about my cholesterol, I don’t want him to start keeping me in a hutch as well.”
“I’ll try to refrain from bringing the topic up sir.”
“What are you doing in this area anyway? Not that I’m asking in an official capacity of course. I think we’ve done enough to harass you over the last few months. I’m not sure if I ever did apologise for...”
“You did sir, no need to mention it again. You were just doing your job.”
“Still, you do have my condolences for your loss. It can’t have been easy at the time.”
“I understand why you had to arrest me sir...”
“Enough with the sir business, it’s making me feel old, and I really don’t need the added pressure just at this moment. My name is John.”
“Well... John, you know my name too, please feel free to use it.”
“Thanks Derek... I wonder if I could slip my gun...”
As his hand moved slightly, the snake raised its body and the rattle sounded even louder.
The sound of the back door opening caused Derek to tense as John automatically turned his head to see what the noise was.
The movement spooked the snake and it struck. Derek used all his wolf speed to grab the Sherriff by the waist and leapt backwards with him in his arms.
Both men landed on the lawn near the back door, the Sherriff landing on top of Derek and winding him slightly. They looked up to see a terrified Melissa McCall and a sullen looking Scott standing there. Scott was carrying a bright orange medical case.
“Oh my goodness...”
“It’s ok, I didn’t feel a bite.”
“Sherriff, you should look at your shoe.” Scott said, his golden skin paling a little.
John stood, with help from Melissa and looked down at his right foot as Derek stood up behind him. The toe of the shoe was discoloured and torn, and they could all see the toes of his sock through the small hole. The liquid was venom. It had been too close.
John suddenly felt the need to sit, and only Derek’s strong arm around his waist stopped him from falling. Melissa grabbed a chair from just beside the door and forced the panting man to sit. Derek and Scott grabbed some more chairs from the deck and they sat with him.
“Why didn’t the snake follow you?” Scott asked.
“Snakes are usually more scared of humans than we are of them,” the Sherriff answered, “It’s probably long gone in the other direction by now. We should just keep an eye out though.”
He reached down to his belt and unclipped his gun, drawing it from the holster. With a practiced eye he checked the safety and the barrel and rested the gun loosely on his knee as he recovered.
“Is Stiles upstairs?” Melissa asked suddenly, “I told him I’d look in on him to check on his... his bruises.”
“Bruises?” Scott was puzzled.
“Did he tell you the real story Melissa, or is he lying to you too?” the Sherriff asked, seeming more tired and old at the mention of his son than he had when facing the rattlesnake.
“Story?” Scott asked, “What happened to Stiles?”
“You mean you don’t even know?” Derek spat, unable to keep his anger under wraps at this display of total ignorance.
“Know what?” Scott replied defensively, “He was fine at the match. Then I guess he wandered off somewhere. I was... I was...”
“Too busy ‘celebrating’ with your ‘real friends’ to bother about the boy who has been your best friend, supposedly, for years?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Did you even notice he was hurt? Did you even think about what danger he might have been in? Do you even remember the last time you hung out together?” Derek was in a rage.
“We hang out all the time.”
“Bullshit! You haven’t been here for weeks.”
“How could you possibly know that? That’s not true! I was here...um...”
“Your scent has almost completely faded from his room Scott. Stiles doesn’t even...”
“Could someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?” Sherriff Stilinski suddenly thundered. “I know Stiles’ story about the rival team beating him up was bull, but this is starting to sound serious. It’s also starting to sound like you and Scott know something about what my son has been up to the last few months and since I am never going to get the truth from him, I am going to get the truth from you. Is he in a gang? Are you selling drugs to my son and his friends Hale? Scott, is there something going... no, I know there is something going on in this town, and Stiles is deep in the middle of it. I’m sick of finding him at crime scenes or next to dead bodies or sitting at my kitchen table with his face looking like he’s gone eight rounds with Mike Tyson. He thinks he’s so clever hiding his pain pills and washing the blood out of his clothes while I’m asleep. He thinks I don’t hear him waking up night after night screaming from whatever has terrified him from his sleep. I always thought he was a good kid, cheeky as hell and way too clever for his own good – but basically a decent person. But he’s changed. Is it a fight club? Is it drinking? I found him outside Jungle the night of... Is he being groomed by some sort of pervert? Has he... oh my God, please tell me he hasn’t been...Did someone get him drunk and... Someone is going to tell me what the hell my son is up to or so help me God I will begin taking names and slamming cell doors!”
“I’ll tell you.” Derek was sounding a lot calmer than he felt.
“You can’t!” Scott blurted, “It’s not your secret! Stiles didn’t want his Dad to know about... He won’t be happy. It’s not your secret to tell!”
Derek’s mouth twitched as a wan smile flitted across it.
“Funny. That’s the excuse Stiles always uses when I tell him he should be telling his Dad what has happened. That it’s not his secret. It’s mine, or yours, or Lydia’s, or Jackson’s... He’s willing to lie to his father and tear himself apart to keep you and me safe Scott. It’s tearing him apart. Stiles will never let anyone he cares for get hurt if he can take the pain for them. You know that Scott. That’s what you relied on all these years, isn’t it?”
“It’s easier not to know!” Scott almost howled the words, “Mom was happier when she didn’t know!”
“No, I wasn’t.” Melissa McCall was looking at Derek and her son with a growing sense of realisation. “Scott, what have you done?”
“Why am I being blamed? It’s all his fault!” Scott roared as he threw the medical kit at Derek’s face.
His eyes flashed gold for a second, only a second, but it was long enough.
“What the hell...?” John blinked.
“John, you’re right. It is beyond time that you were told what has happened around here. I was reluctant to say anything while it was all happening, because it does need a calm mind and a lot of focus to take it all in. But Derek is right. Stiles has been lying to you for so long that he probably doesn’t know how to stop. You know how hyper focused he can become on some things. This is one of those things. It’s the same impulse that makes him plan your meals out weeks in advance. He’s terrified of losing you, of failing you, of you dying or getting hurt, or sick. When things first happened, you would have been in danger had the main protagonists known that you knew about their secrets, but now it’s more than time you were told.”
“So tell me.”
“First, you’ll need to give me your gun.” Melissa held her hand out.
John Stilinski paled and took a sharp breath.
“It can’t be... is it that bad? I’m not about to... who am I going to shoot? You? Scott? Derek?”
“It’s just best if we remove the whole issue before we start. You’ll understand why soon.”
Melissa smiled wearily at him as he stood, went inside and returned a few moments later without the gun.
“It’s in the safe. Want to frisk me?”
“No need Sherriff, I know you were telling the truth.” Derek said simply.
“How can you be so sure son?”
“I would have heard your heartbeat change if you had lied.”
“From there? How?”
“Werewolves have very powerful senses Sherriff.” Derek said as his eyes glowed red and his face shifted.
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In some ways it was terribly disappointing that the entire saga of the last few months in Beacon Hills had only taken a little over ten minutes to explain; once Melissa,
Derek and John had successfully stopped Scott from trying to explain anything that is. Between Derek’s knowledge, the Sherriff’s keen questions and Melissa’s ability to force reluctant truths from her son, the whole sorry mess had been laid out before them all.
“...so my son is...”
“He’s not a wolf sir.” Derek was much more subdued after having to recount, even tangentially, his involvement with Kate. It hadn’t helped that both the Sherriff and Ms McCall had looked at him with a terrible understanding in their eyes. He had seen them calculating in their heads and had just murmured “It was 2 months after my 15th birthday.” The Sherriff had bitten the inside if his cheek so hard it had bled.
“He’s a something though.” Scott said vaguely, “At least that’s what Dr Deaton says.”
“The vet?” John exclaimed.
“Deaton was my mother’s Emissary sir,” Derek explained, “A sort of combination diplomat, advisor and knowledge source many of the more established packs have. The position is often filled by someone with either knowledge or talent for one of the traditions of... well... magic.”
“Again, stop with the sirs Derek, and what is Dr Deaton’s interest in Stiles?”
“You remember when you found Stiles outside Jungle, just before the attack at the rave party.” Derek raised an eyebrow. “Well... he had been laying a circle of Mountain Ash around the nightclub. When a circle or a barrier is made, using ground up carefully made charcoal from the Rowan or Mountain Ash tree, if the barrier is made with deliberate intent, most supernatural creatures are unable to cross the ash line, or even touch or affect it in any way.”
“And you need to be a...”
“No sir... John, almost any human can make a barrier, but Stiles ran out of ash before he had finished the circle. It was a huge area, and he was left with only a handful of ash and about twenty yards to try to cover.”
“So?”
“He completed the circle.”
“How?” Melissa hadn’t heard this detail of the event before.
“Doc had told Stiles he had a ‘spark’ or something.” Scott explained, “After he did that thing with the ash, he said that maybe Stiles had more than just a spark.”
“Did he explain what he meant by that?” the Sherriff enquired.
Derek snorted a sardonic laugh as even Scott had the decency to blush.
“Dr Deaton never really explains anything Sherriff, “He sighed, “But he did say something about Stiles being in danger or maybe he said he was a danger...?”
“When did he say that?” Derek snapped out before the Sherriff could.
“Uh... maybe a few weeks ago? It was after the Jungle thing, but...”
“Scott! How could you just ignore that?’ his mother was trying not to shout at him.
“I was busy! I just... he’s ok isn’t he? No harm, no foul.”
“He’s probably still upstairs sleeping.” John sighed as he stretched his legs in the chair.
“No, he isn’t.” Derek said worriedly, “I checked his room earlier, before the snake thing. I was on my way to look for him when I heard you out here and... he wouldn’t have gone wandering in the Preserve would he?”
“I don’t think Stiles would have gone far with those bruises.” John said. “Let alone the injuries you just told me he’s been hiding from me.”
“Bruises?” Scott’s face was a picture. “Injuries?”
“Do you not listen to anything said to you?” Derek was furious again, “Your supposed best friend was kidnapped by your girlfriend’s crazy grandfather, the man you had been helping to murder people so he’d put in a good word for you with her Dad. Gerard then electrocuted Stiles repeatedly, beat him to a pulp, cracked a couple of ribs I think, judging by the pain meds he’s been popping and then carved a few choice words and symbols into his back for giggles. And you were too busy playing tonsil hockey with your psycho bitch of a...”
“Derek! That’s enough!” Melissa was calm. “I will deal with Scott, not because your feelings on the matter are less important, but because, quite frankly, you deserve to not have to deal with his stupid shit anymore.”
“Mom!”
“Shut up Scott, or you will be grounded so long your great-grandkids will never know what ‘going out’ means.”
“He will have his phone on him.” John said, pulling his own phone out of his pocket. “I’ll find out where he is and we can go fetch him.”
Derek and Scott both stiffened suddenly as they heard the familiar strains of ‘Daddy Cool’ coming from... the overgrown area where the snake had been. Even Melissa and the Sherriff heard it.
“You don’t think...” Melissa asked warily. “Maybe he dropped it in the garden bed?”
“Where did all those plants come from anyway?” Scott asked, puzzled expression echoing his voice.
“What do you mean?” Derek asked.
“I was wondering that too, “the Sherriff added, “That’s why I had walked up to it in the first place. See the gardens on either side of the big hump? Those were planted by Stiles’ mother. The one on the left was her herb and edibles garden, and the right was her flower collection. She had a huge collection of rare plants in both. After she died, Stiles tried to save them, but they’ve been overgrown for years. Neither of us could ever bring ourselves to dig them out though.”
“I still don’t...”
“See where the washing line is? It’s on the other side of the ‘hump’ as you call that overgrown area between the beds. Well the laundry is through this door, so yesterday, when I hung out my towels, I walked from the door, straight to the washing line. Those plants weren’t there.”
“Scott, “Derek growled softly, “Call Deaton.”