Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles is trying desperately to remember what he'd done:

Two Weeks Earlier:

He remembers everything that happened last night. He remembers the pack fighting the bears, following Derek's lead and working together. He remembers Derek telling him to stay back, and he knows for a fact he'd listened. He'd followed directions and stayed back, because contrary to popular belief he really WASN'T stupid and he did not want to end up being gutted by bear claws, thank you very much! It hadn't been his fault there had been another werebear! And it wasn't his fault he'd gotten his ass handed to him and he'd been sliced open like an avocado before the pack had realized! He'd even called Derek for help!

They'd finally brought the biggest bear down and Erica had stuck him with the thistle, and the other one-the smaller one that had attacked Stiles- Allison had brought down with a dipped arrow. The last one had been wounded but had gotten away, and then suddenly everyone was there standing over Stiles, Scott begging him to "Stay awake, Stiles!" and someone yelling to "call Deaton!" Stiles even remembered the joke he'd made about the Three Bears and a snack before he'd passed out from blood loss and pain, the last thing he saw being Derek's plainly stressed and horrified face as he stood over them.

So when he'd woken up at Deaton's clinic, arm and side stitched and wrapped and an IV drip hanging above his head, he'd asked. Scott was there, and Isaac, and he'd asked about Derek. Scott had seemed glad he was awake but also...odd. Distant.

The whole time he was at the clinic it was like that. Deaton was professional and someone had called his Dad, who was worried and pissed and way too clingy. He'd gotten the good drugs and his dad had babied him, which was both cool and mortifying and he decided he'd milk that later. But the others, before they all left, were off. Acting cagey and almost like they were afraid to talk to him. And no Derek, of course.

The Sheriff had gotten to take Stiles home the next morning, with Deaton warning Stiles about keeping his stitches dry and resting. Stiles reported that he honestly had no plans to do anything other than sleep and take the good drugs for awhile, and that seemed to mollify both of them.

He couldn't help byt notice there was no one there to see him before he left. No Scott, no pack. And no Derek.

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Stiles had been homebound for nearly two weeks as he healed, barely allowed downstairs for the first week unless Noah was there to help him. Deaton had come by twice to check on him, and he'd removed the stitches on his abdomen partially once he'd declared he was happy with the progress. He'd told Stiles he could go up and down the stairs, could take a full shower and he could go without the bandages, but no strenuous activity, and no lifting or running. Stiles had promised-seriously- and been extra careful the rest of the week. He was going insane, honestly, and the tiny bit of freedom felt amazing.

In all that time, he'd only received one text message from Scott, and none from the rest of the pack.

He'd texted and called all of them, with no answers, and most texts went unread. That was...weird and a little hurtful, honestly. Scott never ignored him. And even Derek would shoot him a one word answer most of the time. Maybe they were busy? Or, there'd been new developments with the bear? Still, something felt off and Stiles couldn't shake the feeling that his friends were ignoring him.

So, halfway just into the third week, Stiles had managed to convince his dad that he was okay to drive. Felt great honestly, and he needed to get out of the house or he was gonna go nuts. It was summer break! Who the heck spent their last summer break before graduation laying around at home? Noah had caved, but not until after he'd set some ground rules.

"Home before 10 p.m., Stiles. And no crazy stuff! No rolling around with the pack, or...taking on werebears!"

"Dad, that was ONE time! And I wasn't even fighting them! I was staying out of the way like a good little squishy human! It wasn't my fault there was a surprise baby bear lurking! I was ambushed!" Stiled defended petulantly.

His father looked unimpressed " So the rolling around on the floor is true, then?"

Stiles sputtered "No, father! There is no floor rolling!" His dad's raised eyebrow was immovable, and Stiles threw his hands up " Fine! There is floor rolling. And puppy piling, maybe. But I'm not, like, wolfy, so there's no rolling for me. Okay?"

Stiles didn't miss the sad expression that flitted across his dad's face before he rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. Noah rubbed his forehead "Just, take it easy, ok? I don't think either one of us can handle you on bedrest again for awhile. Or ever, honestly. Home by 10 p.m.. And call me when you get there, and as soon as you leave. Please, son."

Stiles bit his lip, suddenly realizing his dad was actually worried. He smiled " You got it, daddio. 10 p.m., and I'll call. If it makes you feel better I'll ask Scott to text you too."

Noah sighed, rolled his eyes, and reached out to pat Stiles's shoulder. "Thanks, kid."

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Two Weeks Later:

Stiles is trying desperately to remember what he'd done.

He was standing in the middle of the living room of Derek's loft, the pack sitting around him-most of them very deliberately not looking at him- while he stares at Derek Hale in disbelief and hurt. He doesn't know what he's done, but Derek had been cold and firm when he'd told Stiles he wasn't welcome. That he wasn't pack. Stiles had knocked on the door, and Scott had let him in. He'd looked excited to see Stiles, for just a moment. Then Derek had been there, cold eyes on them, while he stood there looking gorgeous (shit!) and Scott had suddenly tensed and deflated. He'd turned to Stiles with sad eyes and told him flatly that

" You're not supposed to be here, Stiles."

Stiles had managed a shaky grin, eyes flicking between his best friend and his alpha "Uhhhh...is it not pack night? I know I've been stuck at home, bored outta my mind but my phone works. It's Friday, right?" His voice sounds a little odd even to himself, because he knows something isn't right. There's a reason no one has contacted him and he has this awful feeling, looking at Scott's submissiveness and Derek's accusing glare that he's about to find out.

"It's...it's pack night Stiles, but...you.. I mean. It's pack night for us."

Stiles cheeks hurt from the fakeness of his smile, cuz what does that mean? " For...for us. What does that, uh...what does that mean, buddy?"

"I---"Scott starts, but Derek cuts in, striding forward so fast Scott stumbles back, eyes wide and in the floor.

"It means it's pack night for PACK, Stiles. And you're not pack." He says coldly, eyes hard. And Stiles must be pretty stunned because for a second all he does is just stare, eyes flicking between Derek and the rest of the pack, who he's noticed are all cowering on the couch or floor, very pointedly not looking at Stiles.

"I--excuse me? Did I miss something, because, two weeks ago I was. I was doing your research and cooking you food and putting band-aids on your booboos. I don't get it. Is this...is this a joke? Like, ha ha, Stiles got beat up and now we're gonna haze him? Cuz that's...that's pretty rude, guys." When no one was forthcoming and the look on Derek's face hadn't changed, he looked back to Scott "Scotty?" His best friend looked miserable, but he made no move to deny it.

"It isn't a joke, Stiles. You're out of the pack. Don't come back here. "

In the end Stiles hadn't even really been able to argue. He'd stared at Derek, eyes big and embarassingly wet, because what the fuck? Wasn't that shitty and humiliating? And then Derek had pointed to the door like Stiles was a bad puppy, and Scott had followed him out. He hadn't said a word, but he had hugged Stiles before he'd turned silently and gone back inside, shutting the door with a finality that had left Stiles breathless and cold.

Stiles had stood there like an idiot for several minutes, before he'd stumbled down the steps and back to his jeep.

As he pulled back out onto the road, he realized belatedly he'd forgotten to call his dad.

And he tried desperately to remember what he'd done.

Chapter Text

Stiles was glad school wasn't in at the moment because he was sure he wouldn't have been able to function.

Ever since...that night at Derek's, he'd been lost and kind of just...floating through life. Of course he'd tried texting everyone again-he thought he'd texted Scott like 147 times. But no one had answered him. Not once. The first time he'd texted Scott, he'd read the text and Stiles had had some hope. And then he'd turned off his notifications and that had been that.

Stiles hadn't even been embarrassed to admit he'd cried a few times. Or more than a few but that was between him and God. Or whatever.

Honestly, the whole thing had been awful and Stiles was pretty sure his world was ending. And the worst part was that he still had no idea what he'd done.

Stiles had gone 'round and 'round with himself, going over everything that had happened before and after the fight with the werebears, and he still couldn't come up with anything. Look, Stiles wasn't an idiot. He knew he was alot. He'd been told that pretty much every day of his life by someone, even people he cared about. Between his ADHD and his general inability to sit still, he knew he was exhausting. People got annoyed pretty quickly with him, whether they said so or not, and sometimes they just...left. He didn't blame them. Who would wanna put up with that all the time? Even his mom had...

And didn't that thought hurt.

But Stiles had really thought that, even if he wasn't pack, that they at least considered him their friend. He did everything for them, and he'd been okay with it! Cooking, picking up their messes, gathering information and putting together a bestiary....he'd even kept medical supplies on hand for when training or fights got rough. He hadn't been joking when he told Derek he put band aids on their booboos...

But apparently that was just him being useful. 'Used' his mind supplied. "No, they didn't do that. SCOTT wouldn't do that. He wouldn't just let them use him and discard him like that. Even Derek was usually pretty decent to him. He'd protected Stiles so many times, and he always told Stiles about pack meetings or plans, or...well, he used to anyways. He used to tell him things. Stiles very purposefully took that nagging, nauseating pain he got in his gut when he thought of Derek, and put it in a box, closed the lid and threw away the key. Nope. Not happening. He might hate himself, but he was not going to torture himself over a crush that he knew for certain would get him killed.

And yet something had made Derek mad enough to kick him out of the pack. He had a fleeting thought that maybe it was because he's gotten hurt and Derek had been worried--Stiles had seen his face that night. He knew he'd been out of it but not enough to forget that expression on Derek's face. But that was probably the stupidest thought he had ever had. Derek might have been worried, but it wasn't because of any reason other that he probably felt responsible for Stiles. It was literally his job to care about his pack---

So maybe it had been easier to get rid of the weak link that was Stiles, instead of being responsible if he died? And wow, that thought hurt too. Derek hated him enough to just kick him out rather than have to care.

Stiles thought briefly about going downstairs for a sandwich while he laid out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He'd been doing that for hours now and he was aware that he was hungry. His stomah actually probably eating itself. And then he thought about Scott again and what he was doing, and that hunger turned to queasiness, and he decided against it.

That little voice in the back of his head nagged at him that he hadn't eaten much in the three days since he'd gone to Derek's--the voice his dad said was his common sense and he swore Stiles would benefit from if he's just listen to it occasionally-and he should probably eat before he passed out from low blood sugar or dehydration. But honestly, he felt like crap and he would just be pissed off if he threw up, sooo...

Sighing, he rolled over onto his side, to stare at the wall. A change of scenery, at least. Maybe he'd just go back to sleep again. Summer break didn't seem so great knowing he'd lost not only his friends, but his best friend in the world. Maybe when school started back in a few weeks they would change their minds. Maybe this WAS all a really bad hazing to teach him a lesson for...whatever he'd done wrong. Maybe they'd even tell him eventually so he didn't do it again.

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They did, in fact, not tell him. Not through the rest of summer break or the first day back. In fact, they ignored him at school just as masterfully as they had during the break.

Stiles had tried repeatedly to get someone to talk to him. He called Scott, and then he'd gone to his house. When no one answered, he went to the hospital to see Scott's mom. Melissa had been confused at first as to why Stiles would come to her work to ask her about her son, when he had Scott's number and they supposedly saw each other all the time at Derek's. But when Stiles had softly told her he hadn't seen anyone in weeks and that he was pretty sure Derek had kicked him out of the pack, she'd spit out an angry and disbelieving "What do you mean 'kicked you out of the pack'?!"

Stiles hadn't wanted to go into it, not sure why Scott had lied and frankly more hurt than he had been, so he'd simply apologized, and hurried out of. the hospital, Melissa calling his name until he got on the elevator and the doors had closed.

After that he'd gone to a few of the places he thought the group might hang out on days off, and when he'd found no one, he pointed his jeep toward Derek's house. Almost as if he'd known what Stiles was planning, an incoming text from Derek pinged to his phone. ' Scott says you've been asking around about the pack. STOP IT!', and then another 'And don't come here again.'

Stiles had stomped the brakes before he even pulled out of the parking lot, blinking back the sudden stunned tears. So Scott knew he'd been trying to find them and he'd gone straight to Derek. And Derek had stopped him in his tracks. Literally. Stiles swallowed against the burn in his throat and eyes, angrily scrubbing away an errant tear.

Stupid Sourwolf. Stupid Scott.

Stupid, stupid, STUPID Stiles!

He drew in a few deep breaths, looked down the road to the left, toward the direction of Derek's loft, then he'd pulled the jeep out and turned right.

That had been three weeks ago and Stiles had quickly found that Derek had meant what he'd said, and the rest of the pack, Scott included, was studiously pretending that Stiles didn't exist. Except Jackson. Jackson might actually have been enjoying the torment. The smirking and sneering Stiles name everytime he passed was getting old.

The first day Stile had gone to sit with the pack for lunch, Scott had told him firmly, eyebrows drawn and jaw stiff that he had to sit somewhere else. Stiles must have gaped for a full minute before Jackson had sneered " You heard him, Stilinski. You can't sit with us. Fuck off."

"Please, Stiles." Allison said quietly. Sadly. " You can't...you have to go." Stiles had looked around the table at Erica and Boyd and Isaac, their faces turned away and bodies stiff, and back at Scott.

"Scott, man..." god, he was whining. How embarrassing " I don't...I don't get it. What did I do? I don't, I don't understand. Whatever it is, I can fix it. I'll never do it again, I swear. Just don't make me leave---"

"I can't, Stiles." Scott said, shaking his head. "You're out. For good. Derek made that clear." His voice was hard, but his expression was miserable and Stiles was sure that meant something but he wasn't really focusing well at the moment. He drew in a deep breath, blinked back the tears--stupid tears!--and stood up, carrying his tray away from the pack and across he cafeteria. Instead of sitting down alone though, he dumped his tray and left.

After that, he stopped eating in the cafeteria, and went to his jeep to scarf down whatever he could bring from home or pick up at the gas station before school. In classes, he tried to ignore the others if they were together, first in and first out of the room so he could avoid them. it hurt to watch his best friend and the pack pretend he didn't exist. Lacrosse was harder and though they occasionally had to speak or stand near each other, Stiles was never more glad to be benched most of the time.

His dad was aware that something was up at this point, had been for awhile, and he'd even tried to talk to Stiles a few times. But the conversation had tapered off when Stiles had changed the subject or Noah hadn't really known how to approach it. It had been awkward and after Stiles had pretty much burst into tears the last time, Noah had hugged his son, told him he could talk to him if he changed his mind, then wandered off where it was safe. Melissa McCall was another story entirely. She had texted Stiles, called him, dropped by the house multiple times and even cornered Stiles in the parking lot wanting to know why Stiles and Scott weren't talking. What had happened? Had there been a fight? Was Derek responsible? Stiles had managed to make her understand it wasn't up for discussion finally after yelling at her (and then tearfully apologizing cuz this woman was like a second mom to him and she didn't deserve that) to please stop. Scott had made his choice and so had everyone else, and it obviously wasn't him. The way she'd looked at him, sad and lost about how to fix this, had broken his heart. Because Stiles knew how he was, okay? He knew he was pathetic and stupid and annoying.

But it still hurt like hell.

A few months after that fiasco, and since they'd started back to school for their senior year, Stiles had accepted this was his life now. Sure, he had people to talk to--Danny, sometimes Lydia when she wasn't with the others. His dad, Melissa every now and then. But other than those few, he was alone. And that's how it was going to be, he decided. If he wasn't pack, and he wasn't good enough to keep, then the faster this year went, the better. He'd been applying for colleges for the last week so at least he had options. He hadn't really talked to his dad yet but, well...he just couldn't do it. If he stayed here any longer, he was afraid Beacon Hills would suck the life out of him. Or put him in an early grave.

Stiles didn't think he would hurt himself. He was too chicken, for one. He hated pain, and he did not want to die, thank you. But the thought had crossed his mind on more than one occasion since this had all started, and that had scared Stiles. And then he decided that nothing-or nobody-was going to make him feel like this again, and never to that point. They didn't want him, and that was fine. But they wouldn't control him either.

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A few weeks later, Stiles was coming back from a movie--on his own, of course, cuz he could do that. He'd picked a late movie on Saturday night, an 11 p.m. showing of Dracula. He loved the old monster movies, both because of their campiness and the sheer amount of stuff they got wrong. He'd had a good time, and he was texting his dad , maybe halfway to his jeep in the empty parking lot--why the hell he'd parked out so far, he didn't know now, but a the time it had seemed like a nice night for the walk--when he heard footsteps.

At first it wasn't a big deal. He was close to his car and it could have been anyone. Besides, he was a high school kid with no more than fifty bucks in his wallet, an old jeep and a faded tshirt and hoodie on. He didn't exactly scream money. And muggings weren't common here. But then the footsteps multiplied, and then they were running, and Stiles was startled enough to turn around.

There were two guys coming right at him, both of them a lot bigger than he was, both of them in black with masks pulled over their faces. Stiles brain stalled for a second literally at the obsurdity of it before he managed to scramble into an ungaily run, trying to open his lockscreen again--

He had nearly reached his jeep, fingers almost brushing the door, when something hit him-hard-from the back, and he slammed into the side of the car instead, his head bouncing off the door even as he reached up to try to find a handhold. Just as he started pulling himself up, blinking away the warm, wet liquid that was dripping into his left eye, someone grabbed him by the back of the neck. Before he could even get out a scream for help, his attacker slammed his head forward into the jeep again, and Stiles world went black.

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Stiles came to slowly, and painfully, his vision fuzzy and his eyes feeling like they wanted to pop out of his skull.

The light hurt, stabbing into his brain like an icepick, and he shut his eyes again, turning his head away to try and escape it coming through his eyelids. For a moment, he wondered if he'd gotten drunk on Jack again and was waking up somewhere weird. Like the park, or the Arby's parking lot. That was an experience no one needed to know about...

But then he remembered he hadn't been drinking anything other than a soda, and he'd been at the movies, flashes of a black and white Bela Lugosi and Twizzlers coming back slowly. He hung his head, trying to blink away the spots, because shaking his head was a no no and very bad. Make head hurt lots. Finally, he could make out his own legs, jeans clad and dirty...huh. But when he reached forward to try to touch a spot that looked strangely like blood on his thigh, he found he couldn't move his arm. Either of them.

Stiles wiggled his hands then, realizing that not only were they tied--very tightly--behind his back in an uncomfortable stretch but that his fingers were already tingling and throbbing, his fingers somewhere between numb and feeling like they'd been crushed. He was chained, not tied, he realized, feeling the metal links. He was fucking chained to a chair.

And then it all came back-- waking to his car, trying to text his dad. Then hearing the footsteps. And then being slammed into the jeep, twice.

Holy shit. He'd been kidnapped!

No sooner had he remembered than the panic set in. His chest grew tight and his headache spiked as he worked to keep his breathing under control. He could not do this right now. He hadn't had a real panic attack since the nogitsune and he could not have one now. God, his head....

He was still trying to calm his breathing and get a look around the sparse room he was in-- a closet? A storage room--noting the old boxes and supplies, and the dust-- when the door swung open suddenly. A man stood there, grizzled and scarred, looking in at him. "Well, well! Finally awake, huh, kiddo?" He strode into the room, his bulk impressive and intimidating in the small space. His eyes were mean, even when he smiled, and Stiles found himself pushing against the back of the chair like he could make himself smaller.

"I probably would have been awake a lot sooner if someone hadn't tried to bust my head open like a melon..." He muttered, and the man chuckled.

"You'll have to forgive us. Couldn't have you getting in the car and slipping away. Might have gotten a little...overzealous though. Sorry about that." He did not, in fact, sound sorry, but Stiles's head was hurting too much to really risk another round, so instead, he plastered on a pleasant if somewhat pleading smile.

" Ah, no worries. I'm sure it's just a mild concussion. Is there a particular reason you're kidnapping high school students or is this personal. Like, related to my dad or...?"

Another chuckle. " Your dad. The sheriff. Naaaah, kid. You're dad doesn't concern us. As long as he minds his business, and everything works out the way we want it too, then he'll be fine. And so will you." The man crouched in front of Stiles, looking just as menacing at eye level as he did towering over Stiles. "So, as long as you behave, and answer some questions for us, you should be fine."

Because he was an idiot--and had been accused of being a little shit-- Stiles asked " And if I don't?"

The man leaned close, his smile disappearing " Then you and my friend are gonna get better aquainted. And it's probably going to hurt." Stiles swallowed, leaning back and away from him.

He had a feeling that this was going to hurt no matter what he said, but maybe, just this once, someone would have some mercy on him.

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There was no mercy, as Stiles learned after just a few hours with his kidnappers. Or what he assumed was hours. Locked in here he had no sense of time...

They had gotten to the point fairly quickly, and Stiles honestly shouldn't have been surprised.

They were hunters. They knew who he was. And they knew about the Hale pack.

Stiles had clammed up immediately. He'd barely gotten any one liners in--something that generally got him punched but he found he couldn't help-- before they were doing very uncomfortable things with a knife. Stiles was pretty sure he had collected a cool little assortments of cuts and wounds before they realized he wasn't going to cave. Because of course he wouldn't. Derek and the pack may not want him anymore, but he'd be damned if he betrayed them. Derek didn't deserve to lose more family, even if he was a douchenozzle. He could go out pretending that Derek had felt the same way. And Scott...

Scott may have thrown him away but Stiles couldn't help it. He was his best friend, and his brother. He'd die protecting him.

Stiles was shaking and he was sure he was crying at this point. He didn't give a shit. He hurt. He was pretty sure he was bleeding from twenty different places, and his lip was split and his sides hurt where the Big Douche-- his name was James, but Stiles had decided he didn't deserve a name-- had punched him repeatedly with big meaty fists. From the way his chest hurt when he breathed in, he was sure something was broken. At least one rib. He'd had bruised and cracked ribs, even, and this was not that. The dude had used his hair for a handhold so much his neck hurt, and he thought a tooth might be loose...honestly, this was worse than Gerard. He'd just gotten the shit beat out of him then. It had sucked, but Gerard had at least been trying to keep him alive to send a message. Stiles had the feeling that if he died, these two would just stomp their feet and find another way to get what they wanted.

"Tougher than you look, kid." James commented, breathing just a little heavier after his last pummeling session. One that had left Stiles screaming with what he was sure was a dislocated shoulder and a broken cheekbone.

Stiles spit blood and snot at the asshole, glaring as best as he could out of a swollen eye " You think I survived in a wolf pack by being a little bitch? You know how often they threatened to rip my throat out?"

James laughed ruefully, shaking his head. " See, I think they must have liked you kid. The Hales were a strong pack before the Argents came along. I heard Hale is a hardass, and his uncle is insane. Maybe, maybe you were their bitch, huh? You an omega under that skirt, kid? They trying to get you to pop pups?" The way he said it was gross, and Stiles drew back, glaring.

"Omega? Dude, what kind of weird ass fanfiction romance have you been reading? Omega wolves are outcasts, not...fucking breeders."

"Oh, Stiles. You really need to touch up on your lore! " He leaned closer, studying Stiles's face (still gross) " Sure, an omega wolf is a packless wolf. Dangerous and all that. But an Omega, a true Omega...now that's special. Everything about them is special, the males especially. It's a third gender, wolves call them Carriers cuz thats what they're good for. Being fucked and carrying pups." He leaned back, grinning at Stiles's disbelieving expression " Lots of species have them. It's an evolutionary cheat code. The species starts to run thin, females are few and far between and boom! Nature finds a way--"

"It's life finds a way, dude..." Stiles murmured. " And that's not... I've never heard that. Someone would have mentioned something---"

"Who? Your precious emissary? Yeah, we know about him too. And the betas? Your friend Scott? They're all kids, Stiles. Just like you. And Hale? Well, really he's just a kid himself isn't he? Kate was robbing the cradle when she got ahold of him."

Stiles found himself seeing red. He snarled, lunging forward at James, who stumbled back a step, laughing. " Oh-ho! Struck a nerve there, did I? So you are fucking Hale? Their animal behavior rubbing off on you, Stiles? You don't want anybody else fucking your beast?"

"Shut the fuck up! I'm done with you. I'm not telling you anything. So kill me if you need to, but Derek is gonna rip your throats out once he finds out you're here. Just like he did Gerard Argent and his stup--"

Stiles' head snapped to the side so hard his neck popped when James backhanded him across the face, blood splattering the walls and the big man's shirt. Stunned, all Stiles could do was pant and wait for the walls to stop spinning. His face was nothing but pain, and blood drooled out of his mouth, stringing onto his pants.

"Awful brave there, boy. But I'm not stupid. See, I thought maybe I could use the fact that the pack would come for you. Stall a little and you'd either cave after a few rounds or eventually, Hale would come for you. I thought you were their pack bitch. But then, you didn't, and I started thinking, maybe they aren't coming for you. And you know that, don't you Stiles? " He bent to eye level again, grabbing Stiles's chin and forcing his head around until Stiles was groaning with the pain " Your pack abandoned you, kid. They're not coming for you, and you're stuck here with me, and my friend. So, you can either tell me where they are and how to get in their defenses, and I let you go--since you're human. Or, I can let Robbie play with you a bit. Since he's been so patient. And believe me, kid. You don't want that. You'd rather have a broken face and a few broken ribs." He smiled-sneered really, waiting for Stiles's answer. "So what's it gonna be?"

And Stiles...Stiles wasn't even contemplating it. He couldn't.

Yes, the pack had abandoned him. And he was probably going to die here. Horribly. But he just couldn't do it. They were his friends. His family, whether they considered him that or not. Stiles sniffled, then blew out a wet breath. And spit a bloody ball of spit and mucous right into James' face.

Stiles remembered hearing the man's roar of outrage, and then there was pain. And then nothing.

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Chapter Text

  Stiles decided that, though he would never have given up the pack, he wished he had told them SOMETHING. Because this? This was definitely worse than the broken bones...

  He'd come to, again...not where he'd been before. God, had the douche had to hit him so hard?

  "What an ass.." he murmured, blinking against the throbbing pain. No head shaking. He had no desire to throw up. His hands were still tied, but he was lying on the damp, gritty concrete floor of a bigger room. Less packed with crap and with more light. The corners of the room were dark and seemed far away, probably farther than they actually were but he was pretty sure he had a concussion and it was messing with is vision. It also smelled. He didn't have to have werewolf senses to pick up the moldy, dense smell of wet and the underlying sweet smell of rot. It was a smell like no other and one Stiles had become unfortunately intimate with since his foray into the world of the supernatural had begun.

  His head hurt, and his face hurt, and he was lying on his right side, so his shoulder was numb...and Stiles was just generally miserable. His legs weren't tied though and that was weird. And maybe not good. It hardly mattered though. There was no way he could have run.

  As far as he was concerned, the only good thing about this change in scenery was the fact that Major Asshole was no where in sight. Although Stiles had only seen his buddy Asshole # 2 in passing while he was getting his face beat in, somehow James' threats about the man's preferred methods of torture made Stiles very nervous. He might have had a concussion (definitely had a concussion) but he was wide awake now and very aware that this was going to be so bad.

  He wasn't sure how long he lay there, but he thought he had dozed. Probably a bad thing with his head, but he was exhausted and frankly, he didn't know when he would get real sleep. The door opening somewhere to his left, squeaky and rusty, startled him out of the relaxed state he's managed and sent his heart skipping. Footsteps on the concrete made him tense up and he felt himself break into a cold sweat. Before he could decide whether to roll over and meet his torturer, a pair of boots came into his line of sight. And then a tall man, leaner than James but not by much, in blue flannel and dirty work jeans, dropped onto his haunches.

  Stiles blinked at him blearily. "Uhhh.." The guy was kind of handsome, a bit less rugged than his partner, with brown eyes and shaggy brown hair with gray at the temples. When he smiled, his teeth were straight but cigarette stained and Stiles caught a whiff of old tobacco.

  "Well, hey there, kid! James told me you were being a little difficult but he didn't say he'd had to wail on you this hard!. Look at your face!" A big hand reached out to touch Stiles's cheek, smelling of beer and unwashed body, and Stiles drew back, startled. Before he even had a second to process, that same hand shot out and grab Stiles's chin, jerking his head back. " Don't." he said low and firm. Threatening. One word, a warning, and that's all it took.

  Asshole # 2 wasn't nearly as patient as James was.

  Stiles forced himself to be still while the big man turned his face this way and that, inspecting the damage. Finally, he released him, and Stiles scooted just a little further away, glaring. He'd have new bruises there too.

  " Well, that's fine. Your jaw looks alright and no damage to your eyes. You're lucky, honestly. Or maybe tougher than you look, huh?" He straightened and pushed to his feet, knees popping. "I'm sure my buddy told you all about what we're doing here. I'm assuming you weren't agreeable, judging by the fact that he called me back. I was busy too, out looking for your friends."

   Stiles scowled, hissing as his split eyebrow stung "I'm not giving up my friends. They haven't hurt anybody, not anybody who didn't deserve it. You're just gonna have to beat me again."

  Inwardly, Stiles knew that was probably a very bad idea. Because if this guy decided to take him up on that, Stiles was pretty sure another beating would kill him. But the man-- no, the hunter, because that's what they'd called themselves-- smiled, almost pleasantly. It was odd on his face and completely terrifying, because Stiles knew there was nothing pleasant coming his way " Oh, no, no, Stiles! I'm not gonna beat you. See, James and I, we know you aren't gonna tell us where your pack is. Most people would have broken at the knife work earlier, And then they definitely woud have given in after they'd been beaten bloody. No normal fragile little human is gonna be able to withstand torture. But you, Stiles, you're different. You're loyal, and you got heart! That's something special. Cuz, see, people like you? It takes alot more to get through that...light you got. Now me, I got a way with people. I know what really wittles 'em down. Gets to them. And I'm observant, Stiles. "

  He leaned down, placing one boot on Stiles outer thigh. Gently, no real pressure. And said, almost whispered "I know about your little crush on your alpha, Stiles--"

  Stiles eyes widened and he choked on a gasp " Wh--what are you talking about? Who ARE you people?? I don't even know your name! H-how--?"

  "Don't you know we've been watching you? All of you? I know James told you all the things we knew about you especially, Stiles. About your dad, and your friend's mom...Melissa, was it? How do you think we did that? "

  "Obviously by being stalkerish, you gross motherfucker--" Pressure on his hip had him squirming, the dude's boot grinding into his hip bone.

  "Watch your mouth, Stiles. Or I'll break it first before I get started. It'll be a lot less pleasant with a broken jaw."

"Wha-- " Stiles yelled when he was suddenly flipped over onto his belly, and the hunter straddled him. A startled yell turned into a scream when Stiles's broken and bruised ribs ground into the concrete floor. When he could draw breath again, trying to relieve the pressure on his sides, he bucked, panic taking over. "Get OFF! " He screamed, his breath punched out of him, and his lungs refusing to expand. " Get off...me! What--"

  A big hand shoved his head down, grinding his cheek into damp concrete and he felt his skin scrape raw, and the other landed just above his butt on his spine. The touch was a warning, and Stiles stilled, breathing heavily. "I'm gonna cut right to the chase, Stiles. James had his time with you and it didn't work. Me? I don't do all the...punching and bone breaking. Too rough. And I'm gonna be honest, I like to blow off steam while I work. " He leaned down and Stiles could feel his breath on his ear, hot and stale like old cigarettes and coffee. " You know what is both a good way to blow off steam, AND a good motivator to get someone to talk, Stiles? Sex."

  It took Stiles a moment to process what he meant, and when he it finally clicked, it was like a switch was flipped in Stiles's brain.

  He started to buck and fight--

  Stiles used to dream that his first time would be with Lydia Martin, perfect human that she was.

  But he'd known even then that that would never happen. He didn't exist to Lydia for years, not until she joined the pack.

  And then there had been Derek. Gorgeous, broody, Sourwolf...the perfect specimen of a man.... Stiles knew that one was definitely a dream-- Derek barely saw him as person on a good day, and now he wasn't even pack.

  But Stiles had still held out hope....

  But Stiles realized now that his first time was going to be stolen from him on a dirty concrete floor in a damp room by a murderous, oathbreaking hunter with bad breath. The thought scared him more than any knife or beating ever could. More than any werewolf or demon fox or trial ever could. Because then, when Stiles had been alone at least he knew--or held out hope--that someone would come for him. And if he died it might be painful and bloody, but it wouldn't be...this. Here? No one was coming because no one knew. He'd be ruined and left for dead. It was gonna be humiliating and painful, and Stiles dad wouldn't know because he didn't even know if he was in Beacon Hills anymore. And the pack would never know that he hadn't given them up. He hadn't given away their secrets or their numbers or their weaknesses. That Stiles had been the only one they really knew about and he'd suffered to keep it that way.

  And Derek....well, maybe that was better left as it was.

  So Stiles bucked and growled and bit, until the hunter shoved his head against the floor so hard his teeth scraped the ground and tore his lips. He shoved his hips and tried to roll like an angry crocodile, shoving his knees up and under him. He earned a cuff on the temple for that, and the his hair was grabbed and his head pulled back. A hand tugged at his jeans, cold air hitting his lower spine and then his butt---

  "NO!" He yelled, spitting blood and not caring that his face was wet with tears and snot. He was angry and afraid, and he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna make this as hard as he could for this bastard--

  His pants were yanked down past his thighs and his face was shoved down again, his cheekbone bouncing against the floor so hard he swore he felt a something crack, and then there was a heavy nearly immovable weight on his back...and then hot breath by his right ear, as he lay panting and gasping. " You fight pretty hard, Stiles. I like it . The harder someone fights the more it breaks them when I'm done."

  "Not even gonna..t-take me to din--dinner first, you ass-h-hat?" Stiles wheezed out, gritting his teeth when his tormenter ground down hard, and driving his ribs into the concrete. Stiles keened when he felt the man's hard dick through his pants.

  A gravelly chuckle "Cute, kid. Very cute." A moment later, the weight lifted from his back for just a moment, and he almost thought--just for a second-- that maybe the asshole had changed his mind.

  But then he heard a zipper and the rustle of cloth, and the weight resettled. This time Stiles could feel the hunter's dick, skin to skin, on his ass as he pressed his weight down on Stiles's back. Stiles bound arms were crushed under the weight and his shoulders screamed when he leaned down to whisper in Stiles ear " Now, Stiles. If at anytime you wanna stop all this, all you have to do is tell me what I wanna know. Where is your Alpha and how many are there in your pack. That's it. Of course, I can't promise I can stop."

  Before Stiles could curse him again, he felt something breach him-- hard and rough and dry, and he screamed, trying to pull away from the intrusion " Whoo-boy. Are you a virgin, kiddo?"

  Stiles gasped into the floor, spit and blood running from his mouth.

  The next few moments were agony as the hunter fingered and tormented Stiles, and then he drew in a satisfied breath, pushed down on Stiles neck, and pushed inside with one rough thrust, groaning loudly over Stiles screams and retching.

  " Ohhh. And Stiles? Call me Shep. You're gonna be screaming it one way or another."

-------------------------

  Maeve Tristan had been following a string of violent supernatural murders around the state for nearly 6 months.

  She'd come across the first by accident on her way to speak to the emissary of the Calverty pack, up in Boulder not far from the state line. They were a medium sized pack, and the only ones for miles in either direction up into Oregon. Her coven and their allies had been made aware of some roving nightwalkers wandering the state and killing at random, and had thought the Calvertys should know. She'd volunteered since she was already heading to Washington for a conference.

  Maybe a hundred miles out, she'd come across a burned out farmhouse , far from the last town and nestled in the hills. It had belonged to a family of Deer shifters that had often opened their home to travelers like a Bed and Breakfast, and Maeve had thought to stop and eat---what she'd found had cut her to the bone and enraged her.

  The Cailleach Bheara were peaceful creatures, and the Nells family was kind, the buck and doe raising a mixed family of preternatural children they had adopted. Maeve had liked them. And someone had murdered them. Burned them in their own home.

  Since then, Maeve and her allies had been investigating and following kills like this across the West Coast. All kinds of creatures, individual and families, peaceful and not. There was no pattern except that the victims were all preternaturals. She'd seen whole packs of wolves wiped out, even a coven of peaceful vampires in Oregon. Maeve and her grooms speculated it was hunters, human hunters.

  But that would mean that they were rogue, killing without direction or discretion. The greatest breech of the Hunters Code, and one that would make them open prey for whoever caught them.

  Maeve had contacted every faction of hunters that she was on good terms with-- which was several-- and reported them as rogues. So far, she'd gotten return messages from intermediaries that said they had some ideas of who the killers could be, but they would have to send out feelers. Maeve was unsatisfied with the answers, but for now all they could do was keep following until someone actually saw something. They'd been extremely careful, up til now, and so far no one had even seen the signs of hunters. Certainly not psychopaths like these... And then she'd caught wind of two suspicious men asking questions in a small town outside Los Angeles---very specific questions about werewolves.

  Maeve knew the Hale clan was the closest pack outside LA, down in Beacon Hills. She had known Talia Hale and her family. She also knew what had happened to their family, killed by Gerard Argents daughter years earlier, leaving only two of the children and Tonya's brother Peter. It had been a tragedy and incredibly cruel, and Maeve's kind had placed warnings out to the Argents and any other clan of hunters who sympathized with them. If you ever come near us or our allies, you'll be the hunted.

  Methuselahn were the only preternatural kin who both could and would follow through. There was a reason they were the top predators in the supernatural world. Favored by the goddesses and hunters of the hunter.

  That had been a week ago, and Maeve had sent out members of her kin and their allies to try and track down the hunters before they could reach the Hale clan, newly built up from what she'd heard last and consisting of mostly young betas and a young spark. She had sent out messages to their emissary, the Druid named Deaton, to carry to Derek Hale. And to her relief, she'd gotten an answer quite quickly, Deaton informing her that she was welcome in Beacon Hills and that the Alpha would meet with her.

  So here she was, dressed in treating garb and standing on the front porch of the old Hale house, staring at Derek Hale while his pack gathered nearby eyeing her warily. Maeve didn't think she was particularly intimidating as far as her kind went. Females could be...a lot, especially to those who had never met a vampyre. Maeve was fairly tall, and though she wasn't a muscular woman, she was athletically built. Her face was open and her eyes, though pale, were kind. She'd worn less black and covered her tattoos, and been careful to smile with her mouth closed initially to avoid flashing her teeth. Those she couldn't help, unfortunately.

  It had only helped a little. The pack watched her both curiously and as if they thought she might attack at any moment, and she remembered how a female's aura could be to other species, particularly wolves. Not unlike an alpha.

  "Alpha Hale. I am Matron Maeve Tristan, of the Methuselahn coven of Vida Falls. I've come to speak about the message that was sent to your Emissary, The Druid Deaton. I understand my own emissary-mate conveyed the importance of finding the hunters mentioned."

  "Yes. Welcome, Matron. Deaton and I have spoken concerning the rogue hunters. We've made preparations for your visit. We've also put our allies on guard in and around Beacon Hills. Come inside, please." Derek Hale opened the door of the old house and allowed her to enter. He took one look at the pack on the porch, conveying a stern warning to stay outside, and then closed the door behind them.

  After a moment, Scott looked around the others "That's...that's definitely not how I imagined any vampire to look."

  Lydia rolled her eyes " She's not a vampire, Scott. At least, not like the ones we've read about. She's a Methuselahn. They're LIVING vampyres, not he undead." Lydia pronounced the "y" as a drawn sound like "ears", rolling the "r".

  Allison shrugged at the others confused looks. "They're nothing like the undead kind of vampire. They're alive, like Lydia says. They have babies and families and can't really turn people, and they don't drink blood. Most hunters like us respect them. Even my family did. Once." Her lips turned down unhappily when she mentioned her family, and Scott reached out to touch her arm.

  Lydia sighed, and Erica shuffled uncomfortably.

  " This sucks." The female beta said " This is the kind of stuff that we should know, right? Especially if strange creatures are gonna be showing up in our turf to talk about this shit. I know Derek separated Stiles from the pack because of all this crap with these douchey hunters, but he's the one that always keeps us in the know." Scott visibly deflated at the mention of his friend's name.

  " I hate this. Stiles didn't deserve to be treated like that. I know he needed to be protected and Derek was afraid after he got hurt that these guys might go after him, but...if Derek had just grown a pair and EXPLAINED things to Stiles! And to us!" Everyone looked unhappy at that.

Erica kicked a rock from the porch slats "This should have been done ages ago. Instead Derek had us isolating Stiles for months. And NOW we still can't talk to him because of these douches." She suddenly looks worried, turning to Boyd "What if something happens to him and we aren't there to protect him? What if these guys do find him before we catch them?"

  Jackson scowled " You really think they'd go after Stiles? He's just a human. " The way he said it was sneered, and Lydia kicked him in the shin. "Ow! What?! It's true! They've got no reason to go after him--"

  "But Stiles ISN'T just a human." Allison said, frowning. "I mean, besides being our friend and a member of the pack, he's special. He's a spark."

  "So he's a witch or whatever. He's still not important enough for a hunter to go after him." Jackson shrugged " He'll be fii--don't kick me again!" He snapped at Lydia, scooting away from her "I'm JUST saying, he'll be okay! Jesus!" He huffed, then leaned back against the wall. " And they're just humans, anyways. Once Derek takes care of them, you guys can go crawling back to Stilinski and beg him to forgive you." He crossed his arms, sulking "Maybe we'll have some decent food around here finally. It's been like 3 months..."

  Scott sighed, not bothering to argue. In a way, Jackson was right. Stiles would be safe, and they could make it up to him later. If he forgave them... "It was a terrible plan. Nobody should get kicked out of the pack, even if they're hurt. Especially then. God, Stiles probably thinks we hate him." Scott felt awful, and he really did miss his best friend. Even his mom was upset at what was going on, telling Scott that sometimes protecting someone meant making hard decisions, yes. But there were ways to go about it and ways not to, and isolating your best friend was not really protecting them when it hurt them so badly. Melissa had been pretty mad at him, and the first month after school had started back had been uncomfortable in their house.

  Scott had gotten into a few good fights himself with Derek, snarling and snapping, and Derek had just...let him. He hadn't really tried to defend his decision, even after he'd insisted that 'it wasn't forever' and 'this was for Stiles's own good'...and Scott's personal favorite, 'He'll understand, Scott. Everything will work out.' And hadn't it just?

  It was silent for a few minutes and, though they wouldn't admit it, they were all trying to listen to what was being said inside. Deaton had placed wards in and around the house and property for privacy ages ago though, and apparently it had worked so well that not even the pack could hear what was going on inside the decrepit old house. It was irritating and it made Scott's skin crawl--and probably most of the others too. Not just the curiosity, but he not knowing. Here was this strange woman that wasn't pack or human, showing up to talk about a threat that was apparently targeting their pack, and not even Derek had known until just over a week ago. 

  "I don't like her." Erica snarled suddenly, nostrils flaring at the lingering scent. They'd all caught it, the smell of cloves and anise, a spicy sweet scent tinged with citrus. It didn't smell bad, not at all, and  it was certainly her natural scent because her perfume had been floral and pleasant and definitely artificial. But it was her presence, the way she FELT. It was powerful and commanding, like an alpha, but darker. And yet not at the same time. It felt like a threat, but protective all at once. It confused Erica, and she didn't like that.

  Isaac, who'd been quiet, shrugged "She seems ok. Derek said they were okay, the vampyres. He said they used to ally with wolf clans alot. Solve disputes and stuff."

  "It's not that." Scott said. " It's just...she's a stranger and we don't know anything about them..." 

  The pack settled uncomfortably when Lydia said " Well, we might as well just accept the fact that we're not included in whatever is going on in there, and wait. Derek will explain things when it's done, and then we can fix this whole mess, and...and get Stiles back." So Scott flopped down on the porch beside Allison, and they settled in for a long day.

-------------------

  "They've killed indiscriminately as far as supernatural creatures are concerned." Maeve said, fingers wrapped around her mug. The tea was hot and smelled spicy "We've laid whole clans and packs to rest. We even had to call in White Necromancers to some sites because the killings had been so violent and careless. "Her silver eyes flared with inner rage and Derek had to suppress a shudder as her scent went hot like chili pepper and burned cloves. "I've never buried so many children, Alpha Hale. And I've been alive for more than four hundred and fifty years. "

  Derek closed his eyes, clenching his teeth to fight down his own anger. His own family's deaths had been years ago now, nearly a decade, and even then they were still fresh. The screams of his younger siblings and the other children in the pack...  "I'm sorry you had to see that. But I am glad you gave them proper funerals."

 The vampyre shrugged " Death Rites are important to us, and they deserved to be remembered well. They were peaceful and innocent for the most part." She leaned forward then, expression serious and a bit cold, and Derek realized now what Peter had meant when he'd said vampyre matrons were truly intimidating. "I'm sure you've realized I'm not just here for the courtesy, and certainly not just to warn you and your pack. I have every intention of catching these people before they can massacre anyone else. My kin and I have lost several friends and allies in the last months and I will not see another death because of these hunters."

  "I expected as much. My uncle and I have been strategizing and paroling as often as possible. I've tried to keep the betas out of it. They're young, and even though they aren't untested, this is...this is too close to the issues we faced with the Argents." Derek said. 

  "Ah, the Argents. I understand there are only Chris Argent and his daughter left then. The young woman outside?"

  "Yes. But they aren't a threat to you or yours--" he rushed to assure her. He realized after he said it how ridiculous it sounded. There weren't many hunters who WERE a threat to this woman. Or who would dare. Vampyres were widely respected throughout the supernatural world, and also feared. There was a reason their hunters were called Gore Crows, killers initiated under the Temple of the Morrighan.

  She held up a hand, "Please. With Gerard Argent gone their clan is diminished, and any of their allies who would have dared break the code before have distanced themselves. It's my understanding they received fair warnings from the Bone Council and the Druids. For now, with your permission of course, I'd like to bring a few friends into town to help." At Derek's slightly thunderous look, she held out a placating hand " Only with your permission, and under the strict promise to keep to any rules you implement. At least until we make a move on the killers. I understand that the sheriff in town and one of his deputies are aware of the...happenings in town? As well as a few other citizens. It is probably best they're kept abreast of this."

  Derek had to reluctantly agree. Even though he was the alpha of the local pack, Maeve was a powerful matron with a lot of pull with other important ruling supernatural factions. She had connections to every court and sisterhood and temple around, and many of the hunters factions as well. She was owed a certain say even here.

  "I think Deaton has already spoken to them individually, and the Sheriff is aware. He and Deputy Parrish are keeping tabs on anyone they notice that's new in town. Also any thefts or other strange events. The problem is that we have no idea where and when they might strike. It could be days or months. "

  Maeve considered a moment. " Vida Falls is less than two hours from Beacon Hills. It wouldn't take me long to get here if needed, especially with magic. My Groom can help with that. I'm only a call away. We'll keep in touch. Perhaps my Groom can keep correspondence with your Emissary. Or I understand you have a young spark in your pack? Perhaps he could be of help."

  Derek scowled "How did you know about St--the spark?" he demanded, hackles rising. Maeve saw that she had apparently struck a nerve, and she tilted her head, expression oddly soft. This alpha was very protective of their little witch.

  "It's no secret when a spark ignites, Alpha Hale. Especially to other magic users. It's much more than a simple awakening of magic, and other powerful witches and magic users can even feel that person's magical designation if it's strong enough. We were all very aware when that spark awakened. "

  Derek's blood ran cold at that, the idea that others knew about Stiles magic. And that it had spread, apparently. The thought made his wolf quiver, the need to protect warring with the pride that Stiles--his Stiles-- was so powerful. He had to shake his head to banish that thought. "Stiles hasn't been trained yet, as far as I know. He's...he's not currently with the pack. For his safety."

  The vampyress's gaze sharpened, her eyes narrowing. "You have seperated your spark from the pack?!" She demanded, her tone disturbed and disbelieving, and with an odd undercurrent of power running through it that made Derek shudder. "And without training to protect himself?? What offense could possibly warrant that?"

Derek flinched despite himself, then gathered himself to be be the firm alpha "Stiles was injured--badly--a few months ago, during his summer break. A werebear that snuck under our defenses. He nearly died, although I don't suspect his father or Deaton told him that. I made the decision to seperate him for awhile in order to keep him out danger while we tracked the last bear. And then, things...got out of hand when this issue with the hunters came up and we thought it best to keep things as they were---"  Maeve's eyes widened, and her lips pulled back to expose six perfect white fangs that were not much smaller than his own.

  "You have isolated your spark--who is a child!-- and untrained while a group of malicious hunters come for your pack! Do. you realize what danger the boy is in? If we have heard about him, there's a very good chance they have as well!" She stood quickly, surprising Derek enough that he stood as well. She drew in a breath, closing her eyes a moment as if to gather herself. When she opened them again, she looked Derek in the face, her lip quivering. "If you wish to protect Stiles, you will recover him and keep him with the pack, or with someone who can keep him safe until this is taken care of. I suspect there will bee some fences that need mending as well--"  Derek did flinch, to his shame, then. 

  "And the hunters?" he gritted out

  "We'll keep watch for now. Nothing changes there. My Groom will correspond with your Emissary and I will check in periodically." She turned toward the door, controlled but still obviously upset. As she opened it, the pack attempting to back away and appear as if they hadn't been trying to evesdrop, she turned back to Derek, her expression angry and...upset. " There is something you should know, Derek. There were some bodies they left whole--mostly. They were separated from their families and kin. Mostly young, male and female...they had been raped. The assault was obvious, and it was brutal. They aren't just killers, Derek. They're monsters."

  With that, she stepped outside onto the porch, nodding to the betas, and then climbed into her SUV, and left. Derek stared after her until the car disappeared, everything she'd said swirling around in his head. H was shamed and angry. But most of all, he was guilty. He had more than he could fathom to make up for. He just didn't know how to start. He and Scott looked at one another for several long moments, until Scott turned and left the porch.

  Two days later, Sheriff Stilinski called Derek. Stiles hadn't come home from a night at the movies. And they'd found his jeep abandoned in the parking lot of the theater, the door covered in blood.

Chapter Text

Stiles is...

Stiles is alive. He's hurting and he's ashamed, and he's filthy.

He's angry. Really angry, which he thinks might be alot of what's keeping him from totally spiraling right now. He's so goddamned angry that he's imagined a countless number of scenarios in his head about how he'd kill "Shep." All of them violent and bloody, some of them shameful, and even a few where he's imagined Derek and Scott ripping pieces off the man. Slowly, and with lots of screaming.

Stiles thinks about that variation more than the others. He likes it. Because he can imagine that Derek swooped in and found him before Shep ever touched him-- before he defiled him and made him dirty. That Derek got here sooner because he cared and he was looking for Stiles...

Of course the little scenarios don't fix anything. They don't make the pain go away, or the horror that he's sure will sneak back in again when he's alone later-- if he lives to later. Right now, Stiles has already screamed and cried himself into a miserable silence, mostly because his throat hurts like he's torn it to shreds. He'd cursed and shrieked and screamed while Shep had hurt him, and then he'd sobbed himself out of tears. And now that Shep was gone for his post-pedophilia rape beer and cigarrette or whatever, Stiles had decided to just...lie here. It was quiet and dark, and there was no one touching him. So he could feel every broken bone, and cut and bruise--and all the deeper hurts, but for the moment at least, there wasn't any new pain. He let his mind wander, to keep it away from darker thoughts, and wondered if anyone had noticed he was gone. 'Ok, Stiles. Not really helping to think about more awful crap, there'. He couldn't help it though. Had his dad noticed? How long had it even been? Had he called anyone? Scott? Or Derek? Did they know, or suspect, what had happened?

God, the hunters. Derek still had no idea about the hunters and how they were looking for the pack. Stiles didn't even know if they were the only ones, or if they had friends.

Stiles drew in a breath and tried to turn onto his side. His ribs were pressed into the floor and it was hard to draw a full breath. He regretted the move immediately, little stuttery gasps punching out of him as he settled. Fire shot up his left shoulder and his vision darkened for a moment until he could finally pull air. He lay still as the room spun, willing the pain in his ass and at the base of his spine to dull out again. It throbbed if he was still, but when his muscles clenched, it traveled up his spine.

Shep had at least done him the "courtesy" of pulling his pants back up so his ass wasn't hanging out. He could still feel the sticky, half dried fluid there, and between his legs. Blood. There had to be blood. And everything else he didn't want to think about. He knew he'd cum--he didn't think he would have but Shep had decided to up the psychological torture or whatever and he'd...he.. he had touched Stiles. There. Until he'd orgasmed, and...in his head Stile knew that wasn't his fault. That that didn't mean he had liked it. There's no way he....but he still felt like his body had betrayed him and it made the whole thing so much worse.

Stiles thought that the only good thing that had come out of it was that he knew for a fact he hadn't said a word about the pack. The hunter had asked all kinds of questions during...during it, in this lewd inflection that Stiles had had a hard time concentrating on. He'd asked about the betas and where they lived, and their families. He'd asked about Derek and the Hale house, and the fire. And Scott. He knew wat too much about Scott. And then he'd threatened the sheriff.

The asshole had threatened Stiles's dad while he raped him, like they were having a pleasant conversation about the weather. Then he'd come. loudly and lewdly and rough, pulled out of Stiles, fixed both their pants, and threatened Stiles pleasantly-- promised him-- that he'd be back for another round sometime later. "If you're still alive, kid."

Stiles swallowed convulsively, his mouth dry and tasting of blood and dust. He had had no water since his last round of beattheshitoutofStiles with James the douche and he knew he was dehydrated as it was. The thought of food though, that turned his stomach. Drawing in a breath that burned his throat, he tried to relax his body. He would try to rest--and try not to cry, because what good would that do him? Sleep though...maybe with some rest his head would be clearer...

Either that or the concussion would kill him. At this point, he didn't think he cared much.

----------------------------------------

Derek was frantic. There was no other way to translate the way he was feeling into words.

He was frantic, and he wouldn't even argue if someone told him so. Derek was used to being the calm one. Cold and precise and unapproachable. It's the only way he could function--the only way he knew how usually. Yet right now, he could care less what everyone thought.

Stiles was missing. Stiles had been alone and unprotected-- because Derek was an idiot and an asshole--and now he was missing. Taken by a group of psychopathic rogue hunters who had left a trail of rape and murder through the state, and who had proven they had no qualms killing the innocent.

When Derek had answered his phone, the Sheriff's number flashing across the screen and making a cold sweat break out across Derek's brow, he'd thought initially that Stiles had finally told Noah everything about them kicking the kid out, and that he was about to get an earful of threats (that the Sheriff would most definitely keep). He'd hesitated before answering, steeling himself for the vitriol. It wasn't as if he didn't deserve it.

But the words that came pouring out of Noah Stilinski's mouth had been " Derek, have you seen Stiles?? He went out the other night and I thought he was with Scott, or..or the pack, but Scott says they haven't been talking still and----Derek, my kid didn't come home and they found the jeep--!"

Derek had managed to get the man to slow down and explain what had happened, his own stomach dropping as the pack had gathered nervously around him. Just as Noah had been telling him that Stiles jeep had been found in the theater parking lot-blood on the door-- Scott had come tripping into the loft, sweating and frantic, clutching his phone and yelling "Derek! DEREK! The Sheriff says Stiles is missing and he went out night before last and he's hasn't come home! We gotta-----"

He's stumbled into the room, noticing the pack gathered nervously around Derek and his jaw had clicked shut when the Alpha's eyes had met his. The pack was already half shifted, eyes bright, and Derek's claws were dangerously close to crushing his phone as he listened. When he'd finally hung up, Noah was calmer but he'd managed to promise Derek there would be a conversation coming when they found Stiles, and it would be very unpleasant. Derek had told him to meet him at the station, and they would go over everything. Derek knew this had something to do with the rogue hunters. He could feel it. The timing was too close.

Which left the other issue--Derek would have to call Maeve and let her know. They had very little on these guys, but the Vampyres had been following their killing spree for months. She would be able to help. And they would need it to get Stiles and take care of this once and for all...

The little voice in the back of his head reminded him visciously that Stiles could be dead already. And whose fault would that be?

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Maeve couldn't say that she was happy to have gotten the phone call, given the circumstances. And Derek Hale's quietly frantic explanation laced with guilt certainly didn't help. But the fact that he was nearly positive it was their hunters--citing the smell at the site of Stiles kidnapping and the time frame--meant that they wouldn't have to wait for them to strike the pack for weeks.

She had gathered the clan, her grooms Morgan and Alec, a single male from her house named Corvus, and two more females. Normally she would have called her sisters, but without knowing the hunters numbers, she didn't think the Hunter's council would appreciate the full power of the Morrigu coming down on humans--even given their crimes. Derek had asked her to help them rescue their Spark before they truly brought the hunters down, otherwise they might not find him, and Maeve had refrained from reminding him that the boy could be dead. She hoped that had not come to pass, though she felt that if they found him alive, he would not be the same.

She and her clan were on the road less than 24 hours later, each of them farewelling the others, especially the children. Maeve, Morgan and Alec had dropped kisses on their twin childrens' heads, Alec taking a moment to hold the little ones and take in their scent. They were 5, still almost babies as vampyres went, and Alec had not been separated from them since he'd given birth to them. Maeve had asked him to stay, worry about the children. But one of Alec's close friends, a raven shifter named Ora, had been killed violently and slowly by these hunters, and the half fae had some frankly disturbing plans for them when they were found. He was determined, and she could never tell him no. Honestly, most of the time she wouldn't. As delicate as he appeared at times, he was frightening and cold when he needed to be. It had been decided that they would stay with her cousin and he grooms, and that Maeve's wolf warden would stay to protect them.

Alpha Hale might not take so kindly to a wolf like Kade being in his territory without warning.

They hit Beacon Hills a little over an hour later, driving faster than was wise through the hills, but more so for the worry of being caught by police than any danger. Any vampyre was an excellent driver. With their reflexes and senses they had to be. Hale had instructed them to meet at the Sheriff's own home, warning her that the sheriff was indeed the Spark's father, and though he was up to speed on a great deal there was still a lot left to discuss.

Nora pulled up to a plain but cozy two story house in a normal neighborhood, noting the vehicles-- a police cruiser with the words "BEACON HILLS SHERIFF PATROL" printed across the side and back already in the drive. Maeve climbed out and instructed the others to wait, while she made for the door.

It opened before she even made the porch, revealing the young Hale alpha. He looked grim and exhausted, and she slowed her approach, bowing her head. "Alpha Hale. I've brought trusted members of my clan to assist in the search for your Spark. May we enter, or would you prefer just me?"

Derek turned back as if listening to someone in the house, exchanging words she politely declined to listen to, before looking back at her. " The Sheriff says to come in, all of you. So we can talk."

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Noah Stilinski was worn down. He had been looking for his son now for days, and they'd uncovered very little else to help them in their search. He was worried sick about his kid, and he was angry. At Derek. At Scott. At himself. God, he'd known something was going on between them. He'd seen the signs. And though Stiles hadn't told him in so many words, he'd been withdrawn and sad. Scott and the others had been nowhere around and Stiles's normal rush to get to Derek's for pack meetings had just...stopped. Noah had tried to talk to his son about it a few times, but after Stiles had all but told him to "fuck off" he'd stopped, thinking the kid would come to him when he was ready.

But he hadn't. And the behavior had continued on into the school year. There were so many signs! And now he was gone.

When he'd called Derek, thinking---he hadn't known what he'd been thinking--but when he'd called Derek and told him, the werewolf had been worried. Upset and concerned and if Noah hadn't known better he would have even said "frantic" or panicked. And when Derek and the pack had told him everything, well. Noah had been furious.

But there had been no time for that at the time, and they'd started searching. After two days and the dread of not knowing if his boy was even alive, if the reputation these hunters had was anything to go by, Derek had decided to call in help.

And so Noah found himself sitting in his living room with not only a pack of werewolves, but a group of what were apparently...vampyres. Not to be confused with...vampires. Their leader, who Derek had introduced as Maeve, was a tall, incredible beautiful woman, with pale skin covered in tattoos--wherever he could see it-- and long thick black hair. Her eyes were a grey silver and she had a piercing nose--

What was it called nowadays. A septum ring.

She had a surprisingly warm open smile for someone so initially intimidating. Her teeth were...sharp, but not like the wolves. They were neat and even and they never receded. Her companions, two of whom she introduced as her husbands (yes, plural) stood behind her, and to the side were two other beautiful women and another, frankly, beautiful, man. Noah was a bit overwhelmed, despite the clear efforts his guests made to make him more at ease. There was a lot of supernatural in his house right now.

"Sheriff Stilinski, firstly, let us convey that we have every intention to do whatever we must to find your son and bring him home." Maeve said, seriously. Noah, a bit overwhelmed, simply nodded. Se looked at Derek as if asking to truly speak, and the werewolf nodded. "I understand that Derek has filled you in on the issue that lead us here. "

"A...a uh, group of hunters. He says they're rogue. Operating outside the code."

"Yes. They came here for the pack, to wipe them out just like they've been doing all down the coast. They've killed many innocents, mostly supernaturals, but also some humans. " Her face took on an oddly sad expression. "Sheriff, these people are not merciful. They've killed children as well as whole families, and they've done worse than kill."

Noah searched her face for a moment, until a terrible understanding dawned on him. "Is my son....would they do that to him??" He turned to Derek, eyes wide "Are they...torturing my son right now?"

"Sheriff--"

"NO! What the hell?! " Noah stood abruptly, whirling on the pack " You--ALL OF YOU--abandoned my son, why? Because he got hurt? Because he's the weak little human? So you distance him, knowing damn well these monsters are out there?! They have MY SON, Hale! My baby!"

"I know, Noah. I KNOW! It's my fault Stiles was alone but I thought I was doing the right thing! Keeping him safe! But I fucked up, I know that. ME. Not them. They were following their alpha. " Derek stepped up to Noah, arms lax and face drawn in guilt and self loathing "You have every right to hate me. And so does Stiles. And I...I accept that. And after we find Stiles I will let you SHOOT me if that's what you need. But right now, Maeve and her people are here to help, not only find your son but to stop these monsters once and for all. " He drew a deep breath, looking resigned to his fate, whatever that may be, then said " First, we find Stiles and kill these hunters. THEN you can punish me. Okay?"

Noah stood there, glaring at Derek for what felt like an eternity, his scent like burning leaves. And then he raised his hand, finger raised and halfway to Derek's chest, before he seemed to get control of himself. He turned around then, marched into the kitchen, threw open the back door and stepped outside. Closing it uncomfortably quietly behind him.

-----------------

"Can you...track him? With magic?" Derek asked, some time later. They were sat around the living room in a circle, the pack huddled on the floor and in kitchen chairs they'd dragged into the room, while Maeve's people perched wherever they could. Maeve sat in a folding chair the sheriff had found, after he'd returned from his break outside. He'd apologized for being a bad host and disappeared into the garage, coming back with a few folding chairs. Maeve had declined the recliner, telling him to sit while she took one of the metal ones. He did, looking a bit small despite the exhausted, stiff pull of his features.

It was Maeve's husband, Alec, that answered, his deep voice still surprising considering his features. Alec wasn't particularly tall, and he was lean with a swimmers build and long limbs. Almost skinny, and very pale. He was also unsurprisingly beautiful, with striking blue eyes, a pouting mouth and wild, stylish black hair. Like the others, he wore all black, and tattoos peaked out of his clothes wherever skin was visible. Derek had found that though he had the same spicy, sweet herby smell the others did, there was something...else underneath it. It was kind of making Derek crazy. It was...familiar.

" As you've said that Stiles's magic hasn't been trained, it would be difficult. Without a signature to follow, I would need something that held his magical energy. An object he has handled while working the craft, or something exposed to his every day magical fingerprint. "

The pack looked amongst each other, obviously thinking of something like that. Derek did too, though he was ashamed to say he couldn't think of even seeing Stiles attempting to use his magic the last few times he'd seen him. He'd done some basic spellcraft and even some herb work but no real use of his spark..."I know he was working with simple stuff. Uh...he was using some wiccan books Deaton gave him, and basic items...a cauldron, candles...a knife---"

Alec sat forward "An athame?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess. It was a curved knife with an antler hilt."

"Yes. Yes, if he used it in any kind of spellcraft within the last few months I may be able to use it. It will be harder than if he'd used natural magic powered by his spark but it can be done."

The sheriff looked hopeful if a bit lost, standing " I don't..."

"Don't worry. " Derek said. " I know where he keeps his stuff." He couldn't help but glance at Noah to gauge his reaction because, hello. How would he know where his kid kept his stuff? In his room? Noah's face did this funny little thing where he went through several different emotions. When he finally landed on one it was a wide-eyed expression of murderous disbelief that made Derek take the stairs two at a time. He hoped that was a conversation they wouldn't have until after they found Stiles. Or ever.