Chapter Text
Derek slammed the rolling loft door shut behind him with enough force to nearly knock it off its track. His head was reeling, thoughts racing so fast but nearly indecipherable above the constant enraged roaring.
He could still taste Gerard’s foul, tainted blood in his mouth…
Feel clammy skin beneath his teeth…
Another Argent had used his body against his will.
With a scream of wild, impotent fury, he turned and drove his fist through the wall, sending a burst of bricks flying through the other side. The outburst did absolutely nothing to assuage the boiling anger he felt over the betrayal – no, the fucking violation – he had just been subjected to at the hands of that stupid, arrogant, useless excuse for a beta.
After everything he did trying to save that dumb fuck, this was the thanks he got? All those times keeping Scott and Stiles safe from everything from hunters to Peter to the Kanima and everything in between… and for what?
He felt as if he was going to burst out of his own skin. His rage was a living thing – wild and ravenous and bloodthirsty. The darkness of it threatening to overcome man and wolf. Threatening to twist his Alpha form into something monstrous – something as truly grotesque as his Uncle had become.
His phone rang and he snarled in response to the intrusive sound.
He ignored it at first, too busy gripping his head with clawed hands, squeezing in an attempt to ground himself. Everything was all wrong. His family was dead. His sister buried in fucking pieces. He had lost his pack again – abandoned by the broken teens he had foolishly hoped might need him as much as he needed them. Gerard fucking Argent had limped off into the night, just one more loose end that would undoubtedly come back to haunt him. And Peter – fucking Peter was back from the dead and acting as if all was forgotten. What the – ? What was he even supposed to do with that? He could not even muster the emotion necessary to kill his last living relative again.
His phone continued to ring, the sound clawing at his mind until he could no longer stand it.
“WHAT?!” he roared as he brought the phone to his ear.
“…Derek? …thank God…” a familiar voice breathed shakily.
Derek recoiled as if slapped, rage burning brighter still at the fucking audacity of Stiles calling him after all of this. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” the Alpha demanded. “You’re calling me? Who the fuck do you think you are? After the shit you and your idiot friend just pulled, you’re lucky I haven’t tracked you down and ripped your spine out through your mouth and you have the fucking BALLS to actually CALL me?” he roared.
Stiles exhaled sharply. “What – ? Der, I – I don’t know w-what – “ he stammered weakly.
“Oh, bull fucking shit, Stiles,” he snapped back in disgust. “Save it. Everyone knows Scott couldn’t find his ass with both hands. You expect me to believe he thought this shit up on his own? Huh? That he decided to work with Gerard behind my back? That he planned out paralyzing me and forcing me to bite Gerard?”
“What?” Stiles managed in barely more than a choked whisper. “No… No, that’s not… He wouldn’t… That can’t be…”
“Don’t even try it!” Derek spat contemptuously. “You had to fucking know. And I’m not even surprised!” He scoffed before shaking his head and saying bitterly, “No, you know what – that’s a fucking lie. I am surprised. Because I really – as STUPID as it was, against my better judgment – thought that maybe, just MAYBE I could actually trust you. Well, I guess that was my own fault, huh? Lesson fucking learned. So, do me a favor? Stay the fuck away from me. Don’t call me. Don’t look for me. Don’t go anywhere near me. Because I swear, I don’t know how I’d react if I saw either of you right now. Have a nice fucking life, Stiles.”
He pulled the phone away from his ear, disconnecting the call before Stiles could even hope to respond. Just before the call ended, he caught a strange, stricken sound through the receiver… a sob… but he easily dismissed it in his blind rage.
He turned back to the wall and returned to using his fists like sledgehammers in an effort to quell the fury and pain that was nearly drowning him. Because he had trusted Stiles. He really had. He had known that it was dumb, but for some inexplicable reason, he actually felt safe with the spastic human. His wolf had been so settled and calm in his presence – had wanted so badly to get closer, always closer. And so many times, Stiles had seemingly established himself as being worthy of trust. He repeatedly put himself in danger in a foolish attempt to protect Derek. Shouldn’t that prove that trusting him was a good decision? Shouldn’t Stiles’ record of actually successfully saving Derek’s life on more than one occasion mean that Derek was justified in giving that trust?
But once again he had been wrong. He just could not seem to get this right – was always putting his faith in all the worst people.
And for some reason, Stiles’ betrayal hurt worst of all. Because Derek had already given up all hope. He had already lost everything. He knew better. He had vowed to never, ever again count on anyone. Yet somehow, against all odds, from the ashes of his former life, from the broken wreck he had become, a delicate tendril of hope had still managed to rise… only to be ruthlessly stamped out.
His wolf howled mournfully in his chest at the thought of losing Stiles now, too. It was all too much. He could not do this anymore… He dropped to his knees on the cold concrete floor, breaths coming in fast bursts as he began to lose control.
Just before he fell over the edge, a familiar sensation caused him to freeze in place. His eyes went wide as he tried to assess it. There… faint and broken but still present… two pack bonds were drawing tight. Noise on the stairwell at the ground floor caused his head to whip around. He held his breath as he listened to their frantic footfalls racing up the stairs.
His heart stuttered in his chest as the door was hauled open to reveal his missing betas. His wolf was whining frantically, wanting nothing more than to crawl to them and wrap around them. He nearly collapsed in relief, his mind repeating like a mantra, ‘they came back… not alone… not alone again…’
He opened his mouth to speak, but they were both faster than him.
“We need to find Stiles!” Erica sobbed at the same time as Boyd asked, “Have you seen Stiles?”
Derek’s expression hardened, rage rising again to smother the anguish. “Fuck Stiles. Where have you two been? What the hell happened?” he demanded as he leapt to his feet and crossed the loft to reach them. His brow furrowed as he spotted blood on their clothes. Their scents were a muddled mess of far too much information to easily decipher. The most pressing items were… Burnt flesh. Hot metal. Concrete dust. Argents. He snarled at that.
Erica drew back in disbelief at his words. “No. NO, Derek! We need to find him! You… You don’t know what…! We have to find Stiles NOW! Please!” she begged, gripping the front of his shirt and gazing up at him with wild, tearful eyes.
Her desperation gave Derek pause, causing him to frown in uncertainty. His rage began to recede enough to allow him to think clearly. “What? Why?”
Boyd’s eyes were tearful and haunted as he insisted, “Der, I don’t know what you think happened, but if we don’t find Stiles right now…”
“He’s gonna die!” Erica cried urgently. “The hunters… and Gerard… they…” She brought a trembling hand up, covering her mouth as tears streamed down her face. “Oh, God, Derek… They…” she whimpered. “The things they did to him… Just, please! We have to go! We have to – “
“They tortured him,” Boyd choked out. “So bad. Der, they…” His expression twisted in horror at the memory. “I don’t think he’s gonna make it,” he whispered and shook his head. “I mean… maybe if we can get to him in time and you can bite him, but…”
Derek’s eyes narrowed in confusion as his mind fought to deny this information. Clearly, there was some kind of mistake. “No. No, that’s not… Stiles is fine. He just…” He turned in place, a chill running through him as he looked back to where his phone was lying among the shattered bricks. “He just called me.”
Erica’s eyes widened. “He did?! What did he say? Is he at the hospital?” she demanded frantically as she grabbed Boyd’s arm and started back toward the door.
Derek felt dizzy suddenly – disconnected as he shook his head and struggled to follow along. “N-no. He… I… I don’t know. I didn’t…” he struggled to say. Dread coiled in his gut, heavy and cold. He felt sweat break out across his upper lip as his stomach roiled. “I didn’t let him talk,” he confessed on a whisper before quickly crossing the space to grab his phone.
“What do you mean?” Boyd asked uneasily.
Derek tried to hold back a broken sound when he focused on his phone’s screen. It had been cracked at some point during his frenzy, but it still lit up to reveal six missed calls from Stiles and one voicemail. He bypassed the message for now, going straight for returning Stiles’ call.
Only it didn’t ring.
It went straight to Stile’s recorded greeting.
Derek exhaled tremulously and tried to stay calm. He called several more times, growing steadily more frantic each time, before allowing the truth to settle in.
Stiles’ phone was off.
“No. No, no, no, please, no,” Derek whispered to himself, barely able to see the screen through his tearful eyes.
What had he done?
Had he been so blinded by rage that he dismissed Stiles' call for help?
“Oh God…” he whimpered. He pressed a hand to his mouth as he brought the phone up to his ear and listened to the message that had been recorded just a few minutes prior.
The voice on the message was weak, and breathing was labored, and Derek was already dying inside from guilt and terror.
Stiles sounded disoriented as he mumbled, "...h-hey... Der... 'm... ‘m s-sorry ‘bout what Scott did… y-you might not believe, but… I swear… had no idea… never woulda... done that… to you… um... listen, I… I know... know you don't trust me... but... well, I do trust you and I..." His voice broke as he fought to hold back tears. He paused to breathe for a few seconds before losing the battle and sobbing, "I really need your help right now… I… I can't... see… can't help you find me... and I... I don't know where I am... and I… I can't... can't fucking see... I..." His words became indecipherable as he gave into the need to break down for a minute, weeping and whimpering into the phone.
Derek bit back a sob, biting his hand and squeezing his eyes shut as he listened, holding his breath and praying for something to indicate where Stiles might be.
Abruptly, Stiles’ crying ceased. When he spoke again, he sounded jarringly alert, as if his next words sobered him from his sorrow and made him fully aware of the reality of his plight. "I guess... Wow, I guess you can't really help me if I can't even tell you where I am, huh?” he asked with a broken, wet laugh. He whispered, seemingly to himself, “…so stupid... shoulda realized...” He took a shaky breath before pleading, “Just... just tell my Dad that I'm sorry… please? Tell him I love him… that I was just trying to do the right thing… I never meant for… for him to be alone…" He lost it again for a minute, keening and sniffling. "Fuck, it’s so shitty of me leaving all this on your voicemail, huh?” he eventually asked with a bitter laugh. “I’m sorry, man. You shouldn’t have to… I... Listen, I don't blame any of you, okay? This isn’t your fault. It’s the Argents. They did this. You tell my Dad that Gerard did this to me. Gerard Argent. And... if Erica and Boyd find their way back to you... tell 'em I'm glad they're okay. I’m glad they survived… I… I tried to help them… I really did, Der, but... I just... I wasn’t… I couldn’t… I tried so fucking hard, man…” He let out a frustrated, broken sob, then descended into silence for a moment. His voice was increasingly faint as he struggled to say, “…'m sorry. I don't... I can’t… I think... I'm just..."
The message ended abruptly.
Derek stood frozen in the resulting silence, swaying in place with his lips parted in disbelief. He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen.
“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No. That… That can’t… That can’t be it. I don’t… I don’t know where…” He gripped his hair, his breathing coming in shallow bursts as he looked to Erica and Boyd. “I don’t know where he is!” he said frantically. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do,” he said, voice coming out small and broken as his fractured heart threatened to hammer its way out of his chest. “You don’t… You don’t understand… I… I fucking… I screamed at him. I… Oh God…” His face crumpled in horrified realization, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. “He trusted me…” he gasped. “He trusted me, and I… I screamed at him… I hung up on him… I left him like that to… I… nnn…”
He was barely aware of it as he collapsed heavily to the floor, the full weight of his failure hitting him like a freight train. Erica and Boyd rushed forward to try and keep him upright, taking his outstretched hands, and attempting to calm him.
“Derek? Der?” Erica tried in hoarse voice as she cupped his face and tried to meet his gaze. “Listen to me. We have to go. We have to go look, okay? We have to go now. We can track him. We can. We’ll look. We’ll find him. Come on. Get up,” she pleaded tearfully. “Please, Derek?”
“I’ll help,” Peter volunteered from the doorway, causing the other three to look over at him in surprise. The elder Hale had a determined, somewhat homicidal glint in his eyes, but his voice was calm as he informed his nephew, “If we split up, the four of us can cover a lot more ground.”
Derek took a steadying breath before nodding his head in agreement.