Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1021446.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV), The_Dresden_Files_-_Jim_Butcher
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale_&_Scott_McCall_&_Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Jackson_Whittemore, Lydia
      Martin, Danny_Mahealani, Sheriff_Stilinski, Alan_Deaton, Isaac_Lahey,
      Peter_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Blood_and_Gore, Alternate_Universe_-_Fusion, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon
      Divergence, Magic, Magical_Stiles_Stilinski, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics,
      Alpha_Derek, Alpha_Stiles, Alpha_Scott, Wizards, Vampires, BAMF_Sheriff
      Stilinski
  Series:
      Part 3 of Mandarin
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-28 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 5889
****** Once in an Orange Moon ******
by GreenasCole
Summary
     It's the night of the Red Moon, the last full moon before the new
     school year, and the pack is doing some training (i.e. Stiles is
     doing some showing off). Afterwards, he enacts a plot to spend some
     alone time with Derek out of sight of the Sheriff's magically
     enhanced watchful eyes.
     As usual Stiles has the WORST timing.
Notes
     This is the last mini fic before the next main installment. NaNoWriMo
     is four days away and that will be taking up all of my writing time
     fore the next month, so it will be a while.
     Didn't have much time to edit, sorry for the inconvenience.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Testing 1-2-3 *****
Derek howled out the start of the hunt as the Full Red Moon crested over the
horizon, bathing the woods of the preserve in a lambent glow that looked orange
through the eyes of his beast form.  Scott’s answering howl echoed from the far
side of the territory, signaling the rest of the pack who leapt into the game
with a chorus of excited yips and snarls.  From the final point of the
equilateral triangle of the Alphas’ starting positions came the rush of
Stiles’s anticipation before all sense of him was abruptly obscured like a
light being switched off.  It had only been two weeks since the novice
enchanter had got his “Packnet” up and running and Derek had already gotten so
used to having the constant reassurance of his boyfriend’s presence that it was
hard for him to restrain a whimper at the sudden loss; a discomfort he could
feel coming from Scott as well.
Well then, they’d just have to win this quickly.
Tonight’s training game was simple: catch Stiles, before he reached the
construction site at the center of the territory.  He had a feeling it would be
easier said than done.  This was meant to be the first full demonstration of
the new rings.  From the brief glimpse he’d gotten in London it was going to be
quite a show.
Unlike a true wizard Stiles only had a spark of power at his disposal, but
apparently his new toys were of sufficient quality and complexity that it
didn’t matter one bit.  Hell, there were some Council-level talents that
couldn’t flatten a werewolf with the kind of ease he’d displayed taking down
Jackson, and he had been training for all of three weeks.  In a century he
would be terrifying.  Coming home from Chicago to find the Alpha Pack’s sigil
carved into his and Scott’s front doors had definitely lit a fire in him.
Derek wasted no time, heading for the clearing at his fastest lope.  The
strategy they’d agreed on was simple.  The Betas would form a loose ring about
halfway to the finish line.  As soon as one of them encountered Stiles the rest
would close in and hamper his progress, while Danny, Lydia, and the Sheriff
tried to keep him distracted with suppressive fire.  He and Scott were taking
up positions on opposite edges of the site and would move in for the kill once
Stiles was pinned down.  It was a good plan; strategic, excellent use of
teamwork, and flexible enough to allow for changes mid-game. 
Naturally it went wrong almost immediately.  Stiles was surprisingly empathetic
person to begin with; now with the Packnet giving him a direct line to
everyone’s emotions it was downright unfair. 
Jackson had made a lot of progress since the Kanima debacle but he still
retained more than a little of his original asshole-jock personality.  Derek
huffed out a wolfy sigh at the triumph that surged through the ‘net as Jackson
charged something, undeterred by the warning emotions of the rest of the pack. 
Victory vanished into rage and panic as he ran headlong into whatever trap
Stiles had set.  He had to send caution at Scott to keep him from charging in
himself at the Beta’s distress.  The new Alpha had a protective streak a mile
wide.
An amused Peter along with a nervous Isaac went to Jackson’s aid instead.  His
uncle’s glib mood was quickly replaced by pain and frustration just as his
sense of Isaac faded to a muteness he guessed meant the boy had been knocked
out.  Jackson followed him into unconsciousness a moment later, even as Peter
was covered in the crawling tension of a Mountain Ash barrier.
Derek and Scott nodded to each other despite being a quarter mile apart, the
link carrying the intent of the gesture just fine.  They ran to intercept
Stiles’s most likely course as the twanging of bowstrings and gunfire erupted
in the trees.  Convincing the Sheriff to use live rounds, even rubber ones, had
been difficult.  It was only after Stiles had deflected a beanbag round from a
shotgun that he’d consented.
The man’s laser focus as he fired soon broke into shocked pride and chagrin. 
From the stinging sensations plaguing Danny and Lydia, the volley of rubber
rounds had somehow been turned into friendly fire.  At the apology thrumming
from the Sheriff, Derek broke off and doubled back into the clearing.  They
only had one shot at this now.  Stiles didn’t have anywhere near the strength
and speed he and Scott had in this form, but probably didn’t need it.  The
devious teen had been watching Heroes on Netflix and it was too much to hope he
hadn’t figured out how to focus telekinesis into a Sylar slash.  Their superior
physical powers wouldn’t be much help if Stiles could clip a couple tendons
with a second’s thought.
Derek had just taken up position in the shadows of a stack of lumber when Scott
collided with a distortion in the air.  A blinding flash washed out the
clearing in shades of white, sending lances of pain through Derek’s eyes.  When
his vision cleared the struggle was over. Scott was a crumpled black blur at
the treeline and the writhing sensory anomaly that was Stiles was nearly on top
of him.  It looked like young practitioner had somehow reversed the effect of
the supersensory charm and projected it, muting and scrambling his presence all
the way down to his scent.
He was close enough.  Derek sprang arms outstretched, clawed paw-hands curled
to prevent accidental evisceration.  But when he collided with the distortion
he didn’t fall into a roll, Stiles curled protectively in his arms.  Instead he
slammed into Scott with a meaty thunk and crack of snapping bone.  Instinct
took over for a moment as they went down in a heap, clawing and snapping at
each other, but they snapped out of it as soon as they felt the frisson of the
barrier trapping them.
“Waaaah Haaa!” Stiles whooped.  “I’m the king of the preserve!  Hail to the
kings bitches!”
He was too busy celebrating to notice the sound of the twig snapping at the
edge of the clearing but Derek and Scott heard it just fine.
“I think you’re forgetting something,” Derek growled in the horrifying mockery
of speech his beast shape could produce.
Stiles tilted his head confused “What’s that?”
“You’re not safe until you reach the whistle in the center and blow it.”
The roar of a shotgun broke Stiles’s shocked silence.  A split second after the
beanbag struck the line of Mountain Ash and broke the circle Derek and Scott
were on him, wringing out shrieks of protest with slavering doggy kisses.
“The king is dead; long live the king,” the Sheriff intoned, walking up with
the shotgun resting casually in the crook of his arm.
“Wanna help me out of here Dad?”
“That’s King Dad to you,” he said loftily.  “Come on boys, off.”  He shooed the
Alphas away from the prostrate form of his son.  Stiles sat up and wiped a lock
of sweaty hair off his forehead.  Using his own metabolic energy to catalyze
the enchantments on his gear was effective but translated into one hell of a
full body workout.  Stiles had been too engrossed in his magical studies to buy
looser clothes to compensate for his rapidly growing muscle mass.  Not that
Derek was complaining.  Especially not since his boyfriend was currently
wearing extra tight jeans and a beater, both black, and his spelled red leather
jacket.  Stiles had forced him to buy that in retaliation for his refusal to
fess up about how much the rings had cost (custom rush jobs from svartalf
jewelers were not cheap).  Derek was not sorry.
“Danny and Lydia getting the others?” Stiles asked as he reappeared on the
‘net.  He felt exhausted but exhilarated.  Derek shifted into full wolf and
trotted over to lie down next Stiles, as much to conceal what the hot scent of
Stiles was doing to him as to offer comfort.  At first he had wondered why
Stiles had given in so easily when the Sheriff had insisted on getting a
supersensory charm, but now he could see Lydia’s devious fingerprints all over
this.  Every day the Sheriff’s grimace at being able to literally taste his
son’s UST on the air got more and more pained.  Derek felt certain the man’s
desperation would peak long before his own self-control, failed.  Assuming the
“surprise” Stiles had planned for later didn’t unravel him completely.  He
honestly wasn’t sure which he wanted at this point.
 
A few minutes later the rest of the pack trudged/limped out of the trees.  A
smug Peter and sheepish Isaac trailed behind Jackson, Danny, and Lydia.  The
two humans had soothing hands placed on the irate werewolf’s shoulders.  “We
done here?” he asked.
Stiles looked over at Derek and Scott; all three nodded in unison.
“Good.”  He stalked off towards Danny’s car, the goalie’s apologetic shrug
rattling the arrows in his quiver (he’d turned out to have a quite a talent for
archery).  Lydia gave Stiles a wink before her expression returned to haughty
queen with a “Hmph!” as she glided after the two boys.
“That was awesome, Stiles,” Isaac said slouching up to Stiles and giving him a
hand up.
“He got you with that shadow switcheroo thing too didn’t he?” asked the
Sheriff.
The mop of curly hair bounced in an enthusiastic nod.  “Yep.  He put the whammy
on Jackson.  The guy clawed up Peter and slammed me into a tree when we tried
to calm him down.”  He rubbed the back of his head dislodging some bloody dirt
clods.
“Then he trapped me and knocked out Jackson with a blast of force to the base
of the skull. 
Impressive.”  Peter put in.  Derek wished he’d been surprised that even Stiles’
mystic doodads couldn’t clear up the murky darkness that lingered within and
around his uncle, but he really wasn’t.
“Indeed.”  The Sheriff stares were practically captioned “Call for Backup”
every time he looked at Peter.  Derek shot Stiles a warning look as the
Sheriff’s fingers twitched towards the magazine of wolfsbane rounds clipped to
his belt.
“Ooookay!” Stiles said with forced cheer.  “So Peter is going to take Isaac
home, Scott’s going to pick up Melissa after her shift, and Derek’s got some
alone time at the loft.  I’m going home with my Dad and turning in early.”  He
yawned and stretched expansively and unconvincingly to a silent chorus of
“Bullshit!” from the remaining pack members.
The Sheriff mulled that over for a moment.  Unable to see whatever loophole
Stiles was trying to squirm through he just clapped him on the shoulder and
said “Good idea.”  The hand moved up to grasp the back of the red leather as he
started to haul Stiles over to the cruiser like he might bolt at any moment. 
He turned back to nod goodbye at them.  “Boys.  Peter.  Hale.”
As he watched them get in the car and drive away Derek wondered how the man
could make his last name sound like a threat.
 
Soon Derek was alone getting dressed by the Camaro, which allowed him to read
the letter Stiles had snuck into his pocket in peace.  He laughed softly after
he finished.  Stiles was a devious, wonderful man.  If this worked they could
spend some quality time together without technically breaking any rules (or
laws).  Technically.  Of course it might fail spectacularly and leave them both
drooling wrecks.  Either way the most interesting portion of the evening was
still yet to come.
***** Is This Thing On? *****
Chapter Summary
     Stiles and Derek's super secret sexy rendezvous.
     Really? They thought this would go according to plan?
Chapter Notes
     Explicit stuff. Not quite what you are expecting I imagine.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Derek took his time preparing.  While the ritual was not exactly complex there
were about a million ways this could go wrong.  He had great faith in Stiles’
abilities but if the enchantment was wonky he didn’t have the fix it and would
have to wait until tiles worked it out.  So he did everything he knew to make
this safer for the both of them.
The wizard Dresden had sent a friend of his to help them out.  Elaine Mallory
had been cool, polite, and professional for all that she radiated magic and
danger, from her baggy jeans and plain t-shirt to the tip of her wheat-brown
ponytail.  Now all the pack residences had a set of basic wards that were keyed
to the signature of the earrings that carried the Packnet enchantment.  Within
them he was more or less safe from outside magic forces. 
As it drew closer to the prescribed time, midnight, he swept and cleaned his
bedroom, removing any items that might carry a residual energy signature other
than his own.  When he was done he took a long shower, thoroughly cleaning of
the mud and blood from the game.  He visualized the water cascading over him in
a shower of cool cerulean light, washing away everything but thoughts of Stiles
and their feelings for each other.
Once he felt soothed and clean he got out and toweled off but didn’t dress. 
Instead of clothes he put the talisman that had been folded into the letter
around his neck.  With one good tug he moved the bed a couple feet out from the
wall so he could walk all the way around it.  Slowly he circumambulated thrice,
spilling a fine stream of salt in a circle while chanting a phrase in Gaelic,
Stiles preferred language for magic.  After the third revolution he drew a few
drops of blood from his finger tips with a flick of his claws and used them to
power up the circle.  They had been surprised to discover that the Packnet
continued to function through circles, Stiles power being so intimately blended
with the wolves’ that they were a single entity as far as some applications of
magic were concerned.  That also meant that the pack might feel some of what
was about to happen.  Hopefully they’d just pass it off as coincidental and
hardly unexpected steamy dreams.
His phone trilled out midnight from the floor below.  Derek took a deep breath
and placed a hand on the talisman, holding it over his heart.  “Stiles Failbe
Stilinski.”  He whispered the trigger phrase and touched the waiting magic with
his mind, sending his spirit winging through the Nevernever to the demesne
created by Stiles’s spell in a whirl of stars and color.
When his feet touched down it was on a cushion of soft leaves.  He stood fully
dressed in a forest unlike any that existed in the real world.  The trees
around him were an impossible blend of species from all over the planet,
probably randomly assembled from Stiles’s subconscious, and all of them bore
leaves, needles, or blossoms of warm Alpha scarlet.  A red sun was rising
bathing the dreamwood in fiery light that made a sharp contrast to the bite in
the air.
“Winter is coming,” he murmured, words coming out in a puff of steam.
“Of course you’d be a Stark,” Stiles said behind him, dressed as he had been
when Derek saw him last.
Derek didn’t flinch as he turned around but in his effort not to his mouth went
ahead without him “More of a Martell really.”
His boyfriend’s delighted laugh seemed to emanate from the landscape around
them as much as echo through it.  It might be the most wonderful sound he’d
ever heard, although part of him wanted to claw the word “dork” into his own
forehead for thinking something so ridiculously sappy.
“Unbowed, unbent, unbroken.”  Stiles took a step forward with each word putting
them only a few inches apart.  “That’s my guy.”
“So, you brought me here, what do plan to do with me?”  He moved closer, until
they were bare millimeters apart but not yet touching.
Stiles swallowed, pupils expanding until only a needle-thin ring of pulsing red
remained.  For his eyes to appear that way here meant that he taken the Alpha
power all the way to the core of him.  Derek had believed him when he’d said he
was happy about how things had turned out, but seeing the proof of it manifest
here in his spirit’s manse swept away any lingering doubts.  “Actually, I was
thinking that since last time things kind of got away from us…  I mean we did
some…uh…stuff neither one of us really expected and we haven’t exactly talked
about it…”
“Breathe Stiles, your turning as red as your foliage.”
“Ha.  Okay.”  He took a deep breath before continuing.  “I thought maybe this
time you could decide what we…do…and I’ll follow your lead.”  The scarlet
staining his face had faded to a delicate pink flush on his cheeks.  Derek kind
of wanted to lick it. 
He pretty sure his frantic pulse could be taken by just looking at the front of
his jeans (and when had he decided that jeans this tight were a good idea). 
After spending a couple of hours with Stiles’s laptop he felt they were on a
more even playing field, idea wise.  How he could still feel like a blushing
virgin after everything was beyond him.  Maybe the third “virginity” was the
charm.
Between some of the stuff in Stiles’s browser history and some of the things
that had slipped out his mouth during their soon aborted make-out sessions,
Derek had gotten the impression that Stiles was a fan of…talking.  Shocker. 
So, as a dutiful partner Derek had put some thought into selecting a few choice
phrases.  He leaned in a close as possible to whisper in Stiles’s ear in the
most husky, sensual tone he could manage “I was thinking we could kiss while I
undress you slowly.”
Stiles licked his lips “Uh huh.”
“Once you’re standing in front of me bare, naked, exposed, I’ll take my time
licking my way down your chest, over your abs.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll sink to my knees and worship your cock with my mouth while I tease you
with my fingers.”
“A-and then?”  Stiles had started to shake and Derek could hardly breathe for
the cloud of arousal hanging about them.
“Then, when your prepped and ready for me I’ll take from behind, and fuck you
so long and deep you come without having to touch yourself once.”  He let his
breath ghost over Stiles neck, exposed and inviting, drinking in the shudder of
anticipation and heaving breaths that were approaching sobs.  “Then, when my
knot swells and ties us together we’ll rock, and grind, pressing it against
just the right spot inside you.  Slowly at first, then faster, and faster,
until we both come together a second time, screaming with it, filling you up so
full I’ll be dripping out of you for days.”  He might not be winning any awards
for Harlequin Romance novelists but Derek thought he’d gotten his point across.
“Oh fuck yeah,” Stiles breathed.  “But I’m afraid we’re gonna have to skip that
first part.”  He snarled and all but tackled Derek, hands pawing desperately at
random articles of clothing without finesse until he got tangled up and pitched
over sideways with a frustrated squawk, sending up shower of crimson leaves.
Derek rolled his eyes fondly and pulled him back to his feet.  “Here, this is
the dream world.”  He gestured at his own clothing which dissolved in a puff of
smoke.  Seeing the look of burning, possessive pride in Stiles’ eyes as he took
in the sight of him standing there naked incinerated any lingering awkwardness
Derek had.
“Right.  Dream clothes.”  His clothes burst into scarlet flames and fell away.
They crashed back into the kiss, passionate words forgotten in their desperate
struggle to get as close to each other as they could.  Soon Derek spun Stiles
around to face a tree, the younger man bending forward to brace himself with
his arms stretched out to the silver bark.  He sank down behind him as he
shifted, claws trailing lovingly over the pale mole sprinkled skin that was his
and only his to touch.  He gently pressed apart the supple cheeks of Stiles’s
ass, saliva threatening spill over his tongue as he extended it over his fangs,
leaning in.
Just before he would have buried himself in Stiles movement registered in his
peripheral vision and a chill swept over him.
The warm morning light was swallowed up as swirling black clouds rolled in on
an icy wind that left wisps of frost behind as it churned through the scarlet
trees. 
They were no longer alone, a familiar gaunt figure had joined them.
“Harry!?” Stiles squeaked, clothes reappearing with a pop.
The wizard looked like death.  His eyes burned with a icy and calculating
madness from black pits above stark hollowed out cheeks.  He wore clothes in
his usual fashion but leather duster and all they had been bleached out to the
pallid hue of cold corpse.  When he spoke his voice sounded like steel scraping
over ice, while overhead streaks of red lightning kindled in the swirling
darkness.
                              Heartsblood is red,
                            My Lady’s ire is blue,
                   The Wolves of Winter are coming for you.
The apparition raised a hand as it recited and dug it into its own chest,
crunching through ribs and sending out spurts of sluggish dark blood.
“Oh my God, Harry stop!” Stiles cried in horror.
“No, Stiles!  Whatever that thing is it’s not Harry!” he cried, desperately
trying to hold back the madly struggling teen.
Not-Dresden removed its heart with a sickening pop and held the still beating
organ out to Stiles like an offering.
                            Love’s eyes are blind,
                             As his eyes are red,
                The biers of Pack will build your marriage bed.
“Stiles!  We need to go!  STILES!!!”
He lost his grip on the sobbing Stiles as the earth bucked beneath him.  The
wind rose to hurricane force as a tidal wave of shattered trees and riven earth
swept towards them, suffused with bloody radiance.  The sound of thousands upon
thousands of agonized screams crashed over Derek as the fabric of the dream
world around him was rent asunder.
He was yanked away from Stiles and thrown back through the Nevernever, the
rushing stars and swirling vistas all stained scarlet and ringing with that
horrible death wail.  He returned to the loft with an impact that he felt in
his soul, even as his physical body crushed the bed beneath and red power
blasted from the ruined circle to shatter every window, mirror, and piece of
glass in the place.
He sprang to his feet and started throwing on clothes.  He was reaching for his
shoes when he realized he could only feel the faintest trace of Stiles, so
barely there he wasn’t sure it was real.  Derek’s instantaneous shift into
beast form tore his clothes into so many scraps of cloth as the foundation of
all that was began to crack.  All over Beacon Hills the pack, werewolf and
human alike, were torn from their sleep and pulled to their feet to add their
howls to the Alpha’s roar of rage and despair.
Before he knew it Derek was running.  He could smell the chaos in the air as
the fabric of reality itself quaked and churned under the burden of the power
that tore its way across the globe.  He howled again, ignoring the senses
gained through the Packnet, needing the primal comfort of his pack’s voices. 
They were close, converging as a single unit on the Stilinski home in a moment
of black irony.  Finally they were acting like a seamless pack.  Not that it
mattered now.  The pack would shatter if they lost Stiles.
He poured on more speed, moving faster than the familiar blue jeep he could see
ahead could run.  In lieu of trying to find the spare key he simply went
through the door, taking a piece of the wall on either side with it.
As he leapt up the staircase in one bound he dreaded what he’d find in the room
at the end of the hall.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry, I'm a tease.
***** We're Having Some Technical Difficulties *****
Chapter Summary
     Fallout. Tears. Recriminations. Inspirations.
     Derek needs to carry extra clothes when the Sheriff is going to be
     around.
Chapter Notes
     And here it is.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The sun had risen red some time ago.  The light from the broken window fell
across Stiles’s deathly pale face as he lay comatose in his bed.  Every second
Derek saw him like this was like razor blades shredding his guts but he
couldn’t look away, his world consumed with capturing every tiny rise and fall
of breath that proved his lover still clung to life.
“Shouldn’t we be taking him to a hospital?” the Sheriff asked in a desperate
whisper.
“We can do more for him here.  Besides, if you want to move Stiles you’ll have
to move Derek first,” Deaton answered.
“I left my forklift at the station.”
Derek was dimly aware that the twin bed was a little lower to the ground than
usual, having buckled under his weight.  Stiles probably wasn’t as small and
shrunken as he looked in Derek’s red-tinged vision, except by comparison, as
the paw-hand resting lightly on Stiles’s chest almost covered it entirely.  He
was pretty sure he hadn’t turned into Werewolf King Kong when he’d shifted the
night before, but he had more important things to do than stare at himself in a
mirror, not that any had survived.
He heard the Sheriff shifting his weight back and forth.  “Is Scott doing any
better?”
“Some.  Isaac, Danny, and Jackson are with him; Lydia is still under heavy
sedation.  Peter is still recovering from the wounds Scott gave him when he
tried to force his way up here.”
“Shame.”
“Agreed.”
Derek growled sub-sonically, vibrating the floorboards.  There was a time for
wit and this was not it.
“I don’t understand what happened to Lydia.  None of us were in great shape
after Derek called us out, which was the freakiest thing yet by the way, but
the way she was screaming…I’d never guessed that sound could come from a human
throat.”
“That’s because she isn’t human.”  One of his ears swiveled towards Deaton at
that.  For fuck’s sake, he was the Alpha, people were supposed to tell him
these things.  “Banshees sense death, especially supernatural ones.  That spell
last night was something from a bygone age, death and blood magic of the
blackest kind.  No doubt every banshee on earth was shrieking when it went
off.”
“But why is she still screaming every time she comes out of sedation?”
“Whatever spell Stiles was using to dreamwalk with Derek was shattered by the
death spell.  The backlash fed back into the Packnet.  Essentially, Lydia was
directly linked to the spirit world when the curse tore through it, opening her
mind to every death it caused.”
“Son of a bitch.  Reports are still coming in from all over the world but the
word is tens of thousands died, hearts ripped out or rapidly aged like in The
Last Crusade.”  The Sheriff’s voice turned grim. “Will she recover?” 
“I hope so.  She’s made of sterner stuff than even she realizes.  But it’s a
moot point until Stiles returns from wherever he is.  As long as he wanders the
Nevernever the echoes of the curse will keep reaching back through him.”
“So all we can do is wait?”
“Yes and no.”  Derek rolled an eye to look at the vet.  “That curse
destabilized every enchantment in the western hemisphere.  For some reason
there is feedback loop around Stiles.  If the power keeps building like this
something unfortunate is likely to occur.”
“Could you vague that up a bit; I’m in serious danger of clarity over here.” 
Derek snorted in agreement.
“Stiles’s talent is for gathering up the flows of magic that naturally occur
and binding them into enchantments.  Beacon Hills is a place of Power, to which
Stiles was somehow connected.”
“He told me something about leylines running through the town.”
“Exactly, at least in part.  The lines are the largest of such power flows in
the world but there are many more subtle kinds.  It’s like Stiles was thrown
sideways by the effect of the curse and tried to grab on to whatever he could. 
He wound up tangled in an unstable web of energy.”
“That’s why he’s not coming back?  He’s…caught?”
“Like a fly in a spider’s web.  Or more accurately a spider in a spider’s web. 
He has to unravel himself in order to return, hopefully before the building
energy begins to manifest on its own.”
“Kaboom?”
“Aye.”
 
They fell quiet and continued their vigil in silence for most of an hour.  The
sound of a text alert on the Sheriff’s phone sounded like a bomb going off in
the tense silence of the room.
The man sighed despondently.  “Still no word from anyone in Chicago.  Tommy
sent me a vague text last night that read like a “just in case I don’t
return”.  I still haven’t heard back from him.  Not from Sgt. Murphy or Dresden
either.”
At the sound of that name Derek’s head jerked up.  There was something
important there.  Something about a poem.  It came back in a rush: the
dreamscape, the apparition, the warning.  He fixed the Sheriff in his gaze,
trying to force the images down the connection between them since coherent
speech was currently beyond him.
Surprisingly it worked.  The Sheriff staggered at the rush of memory.  Normally
an Alpha needed to pierce the spine with its claws for memory transference. 
Derek was currently twice the size of a normal Alpha and already shared a
psychic bond with the Sheriff, so perhaps it wasn’t so odd.  Or perhaps normal
was so far behind them at this point shock and awe had simply lost their
novelty.
“Sheriff?” came the chorus of concerned calls from Deaton and the people
downstairs.
“I’m fine.  I can see it; what they saw in the dreamwalk.  An apparition
appeared right before the spell broke.  It spoke.  I think Derek’s trying to
say it was a prophecy?”
Deaton’s turned a piercing stare on Derek “What!?”
The Sheriff recited it, repeating it twice while Deaton mulled it over.  “What
does it mean?”
“I can guess at parts but prophecy is not something to take lightly, if that’s
what this is.”
A wave of dizziness made Derek’s head spin.  The Sheriff had to reach out to
brace himself against the desk and from the sound of breaking glass downstairs,
the whole pack was being affected.
“I’d ask what’s going on but if you said “I’m not sure” again I’d have to shoot
you.”
Deaton merely nodded, putting as much of his usual mysterious into the gesture
as he could.
The bed began to creak.  For a second Derek had the hysterical worry that he
was going to keep growing until the floor collapsed, until he realized he was
shrinking and shifting back.  The power that Derek had been holding was
returning to Stiles.  From the slightly green expression that had come over
Deaton’s face the turbulence wasn’t just affecting the pack.  The emissary
produced some Mountain Ash from a pocket and threw it, exhaling in relief when
the protecting circle formed, shielding him from whatever the hell was
happening.
The rush of power peaked and suddenly stilled before something like a sonic
boom shook the house down to its foundations.  Silence reigned save for the
ringing in Derek’s now human ears.  He reached toward Stiles’s face.  “Sti-
The boy bolted upright, eyes flying open in a blaze of scarlet light, the red
all through pupil, iris, and sclera.  He spoke in the same hideous voice of the
apparition in their shared dream, each syllable raking through his mind like
frozen claws.  There was more this time.
                              Heartsblood is red,
                            My Lady’s ire is blue,
                   The Wolves of Winter are coming for you.
                                        
                            Love’s eyes are blind,
                             As his eyes are red,
                The biers of Pack will build your marriage bed.
                                        
                              By blade of glass,
                              One battle is won,
                  And the Red Wolf rides with the rising sun,
                                        
                             With silver in hand,
                              And war to imbrue,
                 But the Wolves of Winter are coming for you.
Stiles blinked spastically as the Voice of Doom trailed off with a rattle. 
When his eyes regained focus they were their normal whisky color and brimming
with tears.  “He’s dead, Derek.  Harry’s dead.”
Derek caught him as fell over sobbing, holding Stiles tight pressing his nose
into his hair.
“Definitely prophecy.”
Derek and the Sheriff gave Deaton glares that promised a slow, agonizing
death.  The vet left, soon followed by the Sheriff, leaving Derek alone with
Stiles.
It took a long time for the young man to finally wind down.  When he’d been
quiet for some time Derek risked speaking.  “Do you think I could borrow some
pants?”
Stiles’s hiccoughing laughter was slightly hysterical, but it was a sound Derek
had thought he might never hear again.  It was perfect.  It was over too soon. 
“The Red Court.  All of them.”
“Harry?”
Stiles nodded into his shoulder.  “He made it out.  Someone else killed him
later, I think.  That cold blackness took him and he was gone.”
“Deaton said it was a blood curse.  All the full vampires died, I guess the
halfies turned human again but their natural age caught up to them and most of
them died too.”
Stiles’s head snapped up like a hound catching a scent.  “Let me up!”  He
scrambled out of Derek’s arms and flung himself at the closet, tearing door and
frame out of the wall in his haste.  It was turning out to be a rough day for
the Stilinski home.  He pulled his emergency trunk out and pulled it apart
magically, shredding the physical and mystical protections guarding the laptop
inside.
“What are you looking for?”  Stiles leg was bouncing up and down so quickly
while he waited for the computer to boot up it was nearly a blur.
“The Half-Turned, Derek.  The Half-Turned!”  Derek was considering whether or
not to point out that repeating something emphatically didn’t count as an
explanation when Stiles yelled triumphantly, spinning around in a flash and
planting a kiss on his lips.  “I know how to find them!”
“The Halfies?” he asked bewildered.
“No!  Erica and Boyd!  They’re still alive and I can find them!  We’re going to
get them back!”
This time it was Derek that initiated the kiss.  “How?”
“It’s time to have that talk with Danny,” he said solemnly.
Derek floundered in confusion for a moment before it clicked.  “You sure
that’ll work?”  The wild hope surging back and forth between them was making
him giddy.
“Yes!  But we have a lot of work to do and we have to ready before the New Moon
at the latest.  With any luck we’ll have them back before Labor Day and just in
time for school.”
“When have we ever been lucky?”  He managed not vocalize the thought that he’d
used up all his luck in meeting Stiles.
“Fine, then.  Fuck luck, we’ll use claws.”
“Yes, claws.  But first, pants.”  He beamed at Stiles, returning his fierce
smile and glowing with pride at the power and surety radiating off him.
“And curly fries?”
They were kissing passionately once more when a pair of jeans struck Derek in
the back of the head, thrown with surprising force and aim.  He couldn’t
remember for certain if the Sheriff had played baseball in college or not.
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you all for reading. Your feedback is what makes this worth it.
     I'm not entirely sure where this is headed. Doubtless down the rabbit
     hole.
     Race you to the bottom!
End Notes
     I'm fudging the timelines a bit. Sorry.
     Things are gearing up for alternate season 3a. It will be more of a
     conflagration than in canon due to the aftermath of the Red Court's
     demise so soon after Stiles an company lit up a flashing neon sign
     pointing to beacon hills.
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