Unreality

Title: Unreality
Author: Claire Watson
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Genre: AU, Fantasy, Mystery
Relationship(s): pre-Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Content Rating: G
Author Notes: This is set in a Teen Wolf canon that went divergent late S2. Allison didn’t go psycho when her mom died; Gerard died of heart failure before he could implement his plan. Scott grudgingly joined Derek’s pack at Chris Argent’s insistence. Cora arrived from South America and reunited with her brother and uncle. Aside from general monster-of-the-week-type issues, things in Beacon Hills have been relatively calm.
Beta: Grammarly
Word Count: 10,699
Summary: When a freak snowstorm blows through Beacon Hills, Stiles is annoyed that he’s the only one who thinks something sinister might be up. He’s on his way home when his car dies, and that’s when things start getting weird.

For the last several months, pack meetings had been held at Hale House 2.0. Derek, Cora, and Peter had chosen not to rebuild on the original site, instead building anew about half a mile away. The old burnt-out wreck had been pulled down, and a memorial garden had been planted in and around the remaining foundations.

Stiles looked forward to seeing it when the trees had established themselves; it promised to be beautiful. As thrilled as he was for the Hales, he wished that tonight’s pack meeting was closer to civilisation. Maybe then this freak snowstorm wouldn’t be inconveniencing him so much.

Snow was falling thickly. The windscreen wipers were on full, but visibility was almost non-existent. He was moving at a snail’s pace, and even then, Stiles found himself leaning forward as though that would make it easier to see.

It wasn’t as if he’d never been in heavy snow before; it just wasn’t something he’d ever expected to see in Beacon Hills. When he wondered out loud at the pack meeting if it could be a sign of supernatural shenanigans, his concerns hadn’t been taken as seriously as he thought they should have been. Apparently fucking with the weather took up too much power for it to be a worthwhile pastime.

Stiles had his doubts, but it was pointless reiterating them. He planned to research the hell out of it when he finally got home.

If Scott had been with him, as had originally been planned, he’d have been able to use his enhanced hearing to help Stiles navigate this unexpected storm. They’d initially planned a COD session, but then Allison called, and Scott bailed.

“Sorry, dude.” Scott didn’t sound sorry. “Rain-check?”

It was phrased like a question, but Stiles had known all too well that it was already a done deal.

Scott pulled on his shoes, talking animatedly. “Allison broke up with Isaac; she said that she’s been thinking about me a lot and wants to give it another go. I should go and see her, right? Should I bring her a gift? Maybe I should stop at the store and get some ice cream. Or chocolate! She likes chocolate.”

Stiles’ eyes rolled so hard it was painful. “Oh my god, again? What is this, the…ninth? Or is it tenth? I think it’s tenth…time that you’ve ‘made up’ this year. By next week you’ll be making moon eyes at Isaac again. Why are the three of you doing this to yourselves?”

“It’s tempestuous,” Scott had explained. “We fight because we have an overpouring of passion for each other.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Stiles replied, wondering which romance Scott had picked that one from. Not that there was anything wrong with romances, but they were fiction. He made a note to source some of the more real-to-life examples and leave them in Scott’s room. Hopefully, he’d get the hint. “I’m not sure why you’re even talking to me about it. It’s not like you listen to me. I’m lucky to even be notified that you’re standing me up.”

Scott looked wounded. “You’re my ultra-supportive gay best friend! Who else am I going to go to for advice?”

Stiles stared at him. “Well, thanks for the validation, buddy. If you really want my advice, then listen closely.” He leaned in. Scott leaned forward expectantly. “Break up with both of them. Journey to Nepal, and there take up the challenge of climbing Annapurna. When you reach the peak, strip naked and meditate for seven days and seven nights. On the dawn of the eighth day, you will receive enlightenment. Only then may you return.”

Scott drew back, frowning. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Sorry, was that the wrong genre?” Stiles asked sarcastically. He started ticking points off his fingers. “Male protagonist, seeking wisdom, tragic orphan…no, wait, you’re right. That was Derek’s advice. Here’s yours… Grow up. Either work out a way for the three of you to be together without constantly spilling your drama all over the rest of us or break up with them and find someone else.”

“You just don’t know what being in love is like,” Scott said, shaking his head. “One day, you’ll understand. I’ll catch up with you later.” With that, he’d tucked his phone into his coat and left. Apparently, he planned to run all the way to Allison’s.

There wasn’t much point in hanging around after that. Derek had never said it out loud, but Stiles knew he was only really tolerated because of his connection to Scott. Also, just because Derek never said it didn’t mean that Isaac was as reticent.

Straining to see through the falling snow, Stiles wondered if maybe he’d be better off just ditching the whole supernatural thing after all. Not even Scott respected him. Ultra-supportive gay best friend was synonymous with comic relief, and no one respected the comic relief.

The problem was that Stiles had epic FOMO and was self-aware enough to know that he’d be stressing about whatever was out there anyway, so he might as well be in the know and have a chance at solving things. And that meant dealing with bullshit like driving through a freak snowstorm that no one seemed to be taking seriously.

Derek had suggested that Stiles stay at the house until the weather cleared. Stiles was tempted, so tempted, but the way that Peter’s eyes lit up at the prospect convinced him that he would be better off at home. Anything that made Peter that happy was bound to end in tears.

Derek had scowled grumpily and loaded Stiles up with all sorts of winter gear before letting him out the door. Stiles had humoured him; a protectively insistent Derek was hard to refuse. Right now, he was glad that he had.

The echoing sound of the wind whipping the snow in and around the trees increased until it almost sounded like a howl. The already limited visibility was swallowed up, leaving Stiles blind to anything outside.

He was about to pull over when a burst of light exploded around him, and everything suddenly stopped: the snowfall, the wind, the jeep, as it ran into an obstruction hidden under a pile of snow in the road.

The engine sputtered in objection before dying.

“Shit!” Stiles turned the ignition. The engine turned over once, twice, before even that gave out. He hit the hazards harder than necessary, relieved that at least those were working. For now, anyway.

He pulled out his phone, cursing again when he saw it had run flat. He’d been meaning to get the battery replaced; a phone that couldn’t even hold a charge for a single day was not what he needed. He just hadn’t got around to it yet, and now it looked like he was going to pay the price.

Stiles was left with a choice. He could wait here in the car, hoping that someone would come by and either help him or give him a lift, or he could try making his way, forwards or backwards, on foot.

Stiles tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he considered his options. In the end, his decision was made for him. Something heavy suddenly smashed against the passenger’s side of the jeep, caving the door frame in and breaking the window before coming to rest inches from where Stiles was sitting. It was a tree, or what was left of one.

Icy air flooded the cabin.

“Fine!” Stiles said aloud to the universe that was clearly out to get him. “I’m going, okay? I’m going! Sheesh.”

Pulling his beanie down firmly over his brow and ears and moving his collar up to cover most of his nose, Stiles looked both ways before crossing to the other side of the road, where the trees provided more of a wind break. He knew he ran the risk of the snow being blown off the branches and dropped on top of him, but at that moment, he didn’t care.

It was probably better to return to Derek’s, even though it meant heading back into the woods rather than towards civilisation. The Hale house was closer; secondly, Derek was home, unlike his dad, who’d already let Stiles know that he planned to take the opportunity to get some of the paperwork backlog dealt with. If there was one positive thing you could say about a snowstorm, it was that criminals were no more eager to be out and about in it than law-abiding citizens.

Also, Stiles had just driven along the road, so he could reasonably assume that it would be clear of debris and that the snow level should be manageable.

Having decided, he started trudging back the way he’d come, imagining the look on Derek’s face when he showed up at the door.

The world around him still seemed unnaturally silent; the only sounds were the ones he made as he walked and the occasional creaking of the trees. The cold air felt like it was scraping his sinuses, but in a good way. Like his airways were being scoured with a wire brush and would emerge all shiny, with the caked-on evidence of the past removed.

He felt like the only person in the world.

Ten minutes into his walk, the snow started falling again. Not the dense blowing snow from before, more a gentle dance of snowflakes through the air.

A howl sounded off the left, the now-familiar sound of a wolf’s call. Without pausing to think, Stiles raised his head and answered with his own subpar human howl.

Seconds later, an enormous black wolf with glowing red eyes emerged from the undergrowth.

“Derek?” Stiles blinked in shock. He knew the stories; the Hale bloodline was coveted because of an inheritable ability to take a full-wolf form. He had no idea that any of the current Hales could do it, let alone Derek. Stiles put his hands on his hips and gave Derek the stare-down. “Dude, are you keeping secrets from the rest of us again? Do I need to remind you just how epically badly that has a habit of turning out for us? Especially me, the squishy human?”

Derek chuffed lightly, stepping forward and sticking his nose way too close to Stiles’ crotch for comfort.

“Whoa, Nellie!” Stiles said, stepping back hurriedly. “Let’s not get over-friendly. Why are you sniffing me anyway? You think I might be hurt? Well, I’m not, okay? I promise I can actually go whole hours at a time without injuring myself. Fine, fine, check if you don’t believe me.” He did his best to hold still while Derek quickly sniffed him over, pushing his muzzle away when it wandered towards his crotch again. “Uh, uh, I said no! That part of me is strictly off-limits to anyone without my express consent, you hear me?”

Derek made another chuffing noise but allowed the deflection. He shook himself. Snow—resting like a damp white blanket over his fur—flew in all directions. That done, he turned and trotted back towards the trees.

“Hey, wait!” Stiles called. “You’re not coming with me? You’re just leaving me to walk back to your place by myself? What kind of alpha are you, anyway?”

Derek looked back at Stiles and then at the trees. Then back at Stiles and then the trees again. He took another step towards the trees and then looked back at Stiles.

Stiles blinked. “You’re gonna show me a shortcut? Is that really such a good idea?”

Derek took another step towards the trees.

“Fine, fine; you know these woods better than I do,” Stiles capitulated, not wanting to be left alone again. He looked towards the road—visible primarily as space where the trees weren’t—and then turned his back and followed Derek.

v^v^v

Walking through the trees was simultaneously more manageable and more challenging than following the road. On the one hand, the wind was less biting and the snowfall less constant. On the other, he frequently had to jump out of the way of snow dumps.

“You know, I used to love doing this as a kid,” Stiles said conversationally, stepping to one side as the canopy above him dropped a pile of snow right next to him. “Every year, my mom would take me with her to do the rounds of her friends. We’d fly to New York for a couple of days, then to Minneapolis. Susan Hobson had a small craft farm out by Black Duck Lake. She had a workshop with all sorts of crazy herbs and things.”

Derek flicked his ears but didn’t otherwise react. Stiles didn’t let that deter him from continuing.

“I wonder if she’s a druid? Or a witch or something? Because, with hindsight, that was a fuck-ton of stuff to have on hand if she was just a new-age herbalist.”

He was startled out of his thoughts by a loud cracking sound. Then a warm, black-furred body was barrelling into him, knocking him ass over tea-kettle into a pile of snow.

Stiles spat out the snow that had found its way into his mouth. “What the hell, Derek?” He gave himself a quick pat-down to ensure all his bits were where he expected them to be. He turned to find Derek, ready to give him a piece of his mind, only to see him standing next to a fallen tree.

A fallen tree, right where Stiles had been walking. Stiles was starting to think that the trees were out to get him.

“Oh.” Stiles’ face grew warm, even in the chill air. “Thank you, Derek.”

Derek chuffed and then led him back to where the trunk had snapped, leaping nimbly over it before stopping to wait for Stiles again.

“I’m glad you seem to know where you’re going,” Stiles remarked as he struggled over the trunk. It was hard enough to walk gracefully in winter gear at the best of times, and no one had ever accused Stiles of being overly graceful. “I don’t have the slightest idea of where we are.”

Derek raised his face and sniffed at the air before changing course slightly. Stiles followed, rubbing his gloved hands together. He’d always thought that with gloves this thick, he’d be toasty warm, if not steaming, but the chill wind somehow made it through the layers to steal what heat the friction produced.

“I hope it’s not far,” Stiles grumbled, more to hear himself talk than any genuine desire to get to the Hale house. Spending time alone with Derek out here while cold in the snow was preferable to being warm and cosy while knowing Peter was waiting to pop up at any moment.

The most stressful thing about being a human in a werewolf pack wasn’t, as Stiles had initially imagined, fear of accidental dismemberment or concern about being the target of hunters. No, it was knowing that almost everyone around him had ways of knowing things that he didn’t.

Stiles regularly felt at a disadvantage. He was missing cues to people’s behaviour; he knew that for a fact. He’d tried asking Scott to fill him in, but Scott wasn’t the best at interpreting social cues at the best of times and didn’t understand why it bothered Stiles so much.

Thanks to Derek’s insistence, most of the pack were pretty good about not lording their senses over the humans. Peter, however, wasn’t cowed by Derek’s scowl and flashing red eyes. Stiles often caught him smirking like he knew something Stiles didn’t. It was really irritating.

Derek stopped abruptly, bringing Stiles out of his reverie.

“What? Why are we stopping?”

Derek didn’t answer. He sniffed around for a bit before energetically starting to dig.

Stiles watched balefully. “This isn’t the time to chase after bunnies, Derek.”

Derek didn’t answer.

Stiles sighed and rubbed his hands together again. It wasn’t like he was in a tearing hurry or anything. It probably wouldn’t kill him to wait a bit while Derek played.

Before long, Stiles could hear Derek’s toenails scraping against something hard, maybe metal or stone. He leaned in, peering over Derek’s shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of what it was.

He blinked in surprise at the sight of crystals of all colours glittering in the dim light of the afternoon. They were set into a bright silvery metal surface that was large enough that Derek had only managed to uncover part of it.

“Want some help there, big guy?” Stiles asked, eager to see what it was.

Derek didn’t reply; just kept on digging. Stiles shrugged. Derek wasn’t much of a talker on two legs; it made sense that he’d be even more taciturn on four.

Stiles positioned himself opposite Derek and began scooping snow out of the way. Before long, he was able to wrestle the thing free and hold it up.

“It’s a mosaic,” Stiles breathed, brushing away some tenacious ice clinging to some of the crystals. “Are these gemstones? Surely not. Probably glass or something.”

The mosaic was of a big tree standing in the centre of a Stonehenge-type stone circle on an island surrounded by water. It was beautiful. It was also heavy. It had a diameter of about two and a half feet and was at least an inch thick.

“You know, you could change back if you wanted to,” Stiles suggested to his four-legged companion. Derek was sitting on his haunches, looking pleased with himself, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he panted happily. “Werewolf strength would come in handy.” A thought occurred to him. “Unless…okay, I can see why you wouldn’t want to be naked in this weather.”

Derek picked himself up, shook himself, and trotted off again.

Stiles trudged after him, grumbling. “Not that I don’t appreciate a little treasure hunting, but why the hell are you waiting for a time like this to get your scooby on?”

Derek’s tail swished, flicking some snow into Stiles’ face.

“Fine, I can take a hint.”

Ten minutes later, Stiles’ arms were starting to ache something fierce. “Is there somewhere I can put this down, Sourwolf? A designated rest area or something?”

Derek glanced at him but didn’t stop. Stiles sighed.

Suddenly, Derek dived into a fresh pile of snow and disappeared.

Stiles blinked. “Derek?”

There was no answer. Stiles stood there alone, holding his fancy mosaic while snow slowly drifted down and settled on him. Derek’s head appeared out of the snowdrift. He gave Stiles a look, then retreated. Shuffling to the side a bit, Stiles could see an entrance to some dark passageway or cave.

“Is that a cave? Derek, are you leading me into a cave? One ‘woof’ for yes, two for no.”

Silence.

The snow began to fall harder, and the wind picked up.

“You know I can’t see in there, Derek!”

Silence.

“Fine,” Stiles muttered. “If I fall down a mine shaft and die, I will haunt you for the rest of my life, Derek Hale.”

Gripping the fancy mosaic, Stiles ventured into the dark.

v^v^v

“You shouldn’t have let him leave,” Peter commented, looking out of the window at the falling snow. “With our luck he was right about this snowstorm, which means he’s out there, alone, easy pickings for whatever nasty has enough power to cause something like this.”

Derek glowered at him. “If you hadn’t deliberately made him uncomfortable, he might have stayed.”

Peter shrugged. “What can I say? It’s just so much fun to push his buttons.”

Derek paced, unable to rid himself of the feeling that something was very wrong. Outside, the wind picked up as the snow fell thicker. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m going to go and check that he’s okay.”

“I’ll come with you,” Peter offered.

Derek gave him a hard look. “Why, so you can tease him some more? He might be out there freezing to death right now! You’re the last person he’ll want to see.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s just a bit of fun. Oh, very well. I’ll leave off for a while.” He pouted. “Playing with Stiles is the only thing that makes pack meetings interesting. Most of your puppies are so…predictable.”

“I’m sure Stiles wouldn’t mind some verbal sparring,” Derek said. “Just do it from a level playing field. Feeding into his insecurities only alienates him.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or are you afraid that you’ll lose?”

Peter scoffed. “To a stripling?”

Derek just stood looking at him, eyebrows raised.

“Fine,” Peter said, annoyed. “I promise I’ll only play games Stiles knows from now on. Shall we go and find your prince charming before he freezes to death, nephew?”

Derek knew better than to rub his victory in Peter’s face. “Come on. He probably hasn’t made it far.”

v^v^v

Contrary to Stiles’ half-formed expectations, the cave wasn’t part of a derelict mine but appeared to be a natural fissure in the rock. It wasn’t completely dark, either. Little specks of blue light high up provided enough light for Stiles to make out the shape of the walls but not enough to stop him from tripping on the uneven ground.

“I wish my phone had enough charge for me to use the torch,” Stiles said softly to the dark shape moving before him. “This place is amazing. I never knew there were any natural caves in the Preserve. I wonder if it was caused by volcanic activity or water?”

At the sound of his voice, the blue lights flickered slightly.

Stiles sighed. “I wish I knew where you were taking me. Is it another treasure hunt?”

Derek didn’t answer, not that Stiles expected him to. It was much warmer here, and Stiles was starting to feel slightly stifled by the winter clothes that had appeared inadequate only a short while before.

Before long, Stiles could make out a glow in the distance. “Is that the exit? Have we, like, travelled through a hill or something?” Stiles quickened his steps towards the opening, eager to get back to the Hale House. He should never have left.

The opening didn’t lead directly outside; there was a passageway to traverse first. At every step, the glow grew brighter.

Even before he reached the end of the passage, Stiles realised that the glow looked wrong. “That’s not going to take me back outside, is it? I hope you’re not leading me into a bear cave, Derek. I don’t have a pot with me.”

The passageway opened out into another cavern. This one was huge, and although it wasn’t what you’d call brightly lit, there was a lot more light. Stiles’ attention was grabbed by the pond—or maybe a small lake—that nearly filled the cavern. At its centre was a small island. On the island…

Stiles tilted the fancy mosaic to get another look at it. Yep. Looked the same: stone circle, tree. Except the tree, in reality, didn’t look nearly as vibrant and robust as the one picked out in red, green, and yellow crystals. The few leaves that clung to its branches looked sad and tired, ready to fall.

Derek didn’t hesitate; just trotted into the water and swam over to the island, dragging himself out and shaking thoroughly before looking at Stiles interrogatively.

“I can see your eyebrows from here,” Stiles grumbled. He looked at all his cold-weather gear and sighed. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”

v^v^v

Stiles’ Jeep was sitting in the middle of the road, abandoned, the engine cold.

Stiles was nowhere to be seen.

Derek pulled open the door and poked his head inside, hoping to find clues as to why Stiles had done such an out-of-character thing. Nothing.

Peter circled the vehicle, inspecting it from all sides. “I can’t see any sign of damage,” he reported. “At least, no new damage. Want me to see if the engine works?” He brandished a key.

Derek’s frown deepened. “Stiles gave you a key to his car?” He ignored the stab of hurt that Stiles hadn’t entrusted him with one. He didn’t think Stiles even liked Peter.

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Gave is such a subjective term. I have a key; that’s all that’s important right now.”

That made Derek feel better, and he resolved to tell Stiles that Peter had copied his key at the first opportunity. “Hand it over.” Peter rolled his eyes but did as instructed.

When Derek turned the key, the engine turned over twice before the ignition caught. Then it sat there rumbling away just as it usually did.

Peter cocked his head. “The engine doesn’t sound any different. He’s going to need a new battery soon, though. Or maybe it’s the alternator.”

Derek left the engine running and got out. “If there’s nothing wrong with the Jeep, why did he just get out and wander off? In a snowstorm that might be unnatural? Stiles is smarter than that.”

“We agree on that much, at least,” Peter said. “Is there a reason you’ve left that gas guzzler running?”

“I’m warming up the engine so you can drive it back to the house,” Derek replied. “I’m going to see if I can find Stiles.”

“Anyone with enough power to create a snowstorm like this won’t have any trouble with an alpha werewolf,” Peter warned, sounding almost concerned.

“I’ll be careful,” Derek promised.

Peter sighed. “Whatever.” He pushed past Derek and climbed into the Jeep. “He might be trying to make his way back to the house. After I’ve dropped off the Jeep, I’ll head in this direction on foot. Maybe between us, we’ll find him before he freezes to death.”

Derek waited until he couldn’t hear the engine anymore before trying to smell any traces of Stiles that might remain. Nothing. Derek cursed the still-falling snow, which would have obscured Stiles’ tracks long ago.

Derek lifted his head and howled, hoping Stiles would hear him and try to respond. He strained his ears to catch even the slightest sound.

Nothing.

With no tracks, scent markers, or auditory cues to guide him, there was nothing for it but to go where his instinct led him. Derek hoped that it would be enough.

v^v^v

Derek lay at the foot of the tree, watching Stiles with judging eyes.

“This stuff isn’t as easy to get on and off as it looks, you know,” Stiles muttered. “My fingers haven’t recovered from being frozen, so forgive me if I find these buttons troublesome.”

Derek yawned and rested his chin on his front paws.

Having removed all of his outer gear, Stiles considered whether or not to remove the rest of his clothes. While getting naked in a cave while it was snowing outside didn’t seem like the most intelligent thing to do, neither was getting his clothes all wet.

“This better be worth it.” When Stiles was down to just his boxers, he dipped his toe cautiously into the water. He was surprised to discover that it was warm. “Are there hot springs here? Derek, why did you never tell me about this?” He glanced at the mosaic on the ground next to his clothes. “Should I bring the pretty plate with me?”

Derek ignored him.

Stiles shrugged. “Silence gives assent, I suppose.”

He picked up the mosaic and stepped into the water. The depth changed rapidly; within five steps, the water reached his elbows, but that was as deep as it got.

Stiles slowly waded to the island. “You know, if I wasn’t carrying this stupid plate, I’d be able to swim. It would certainly be a lot quicker.”

Derek watched his approach calmly, rising to his feet and giving himself a shake as soon as Stiles reached dry land.

“Okay, dude, what’s next?” Stiles asked. He followed Derek around to the other side of the island. “There’s a door in the tree. Why is there a door in the tree?”

Derek just looked at him, then scratched gently at the door in clear command.

Stiles sighed. “This is getting more and more ridiculous, you know.” Nevertheless, he reached for the door handle and gently eased the door open.

White light spilt through the opening. It was so bright that Stiles, shading his eyes with a wince, couldn’t make anything out. Derek walked into it without a backward glance.

Stiles looked down at his body. He was still naked except for a pair of wet, clingy boxers. “Maybe this is a dream. This is definitely the kind of thing that happens in dreams.” That thought cheered him up. “If it’s a dream, then it’s okay for me to walk into a mysterious door in a tree leading only to the light.” He frowned. “If it’s not a dream, it would be incredibly stupid.”

The cavern, which had at first appeared well-lit compared to the passageway he’d travelled to get there, now looked dark and foreboding. The stillness of the water and how it reflected the light from the tree door now seemed ominous and disconcerting. Stiles remembered the Watcher in the Water from the Lord of the Rings, and suddenly the idea of going back in to get to his clothes was less inviting than going through the strange door.

“This is the sort of behaviour that makes me yell at people in horror movies,” Stiles said aloud, needing to hear something other than his breathing. “What if I go through that door and can’t come back? No one will know what’s become of me.” He brightened. “On the positive side, since no one will know what’s become of me, no one will scold me about my poor choices. So, it’s not all bad.” He weighed his options in his mind again. “Oh well. Here goes nothing.”

v^v^v

It had been an hour, and Derek still hadn’t found any traces of Stiles. Peter had dropped off the Jeep and made his way back to Derek’s side, also without discovering anything helpful. The weather cleared, the temperature rose, and the snow was already turning to slush. Dusk was rapidly approaching. It didn’t look hopeful.

“Are there no tracks because of the snow, or because there never were any?” Peter asked, voicing the worry that Derek had been feeling.

“We might be wasting time out here,” Derek said. “Perhaps we should be researching creatures who can affect the weather, prioritising snowstorms.”

“You know who’d be really helpful to have around right now to help with that?” Peter said, sarcasm dripping off each word. “Remember when he suggested that the storm wasn’t natural? That kid will grow a Cassandra complex if we’re not careful.”

Derek didn’t have anything to say in answer to that. Peter was right. Derek was uncomfortably aware that he didn’t support Stiles more in those moments because his infatuation was causing him to doubt his own judgment. Given his dating history, he didn’t trust that any support he gave Stiles would be merited rather than because he liked how Stiles smelled when Derek complimented him.

Peter sighed. “Come on then, the sooner we get to work, the sooner this can be sorted out.” His eyes hardened. “Taking one of the pack’s most valuable members is tantamount to a declaration of war.”

Together, they turned back to the house.

v^v^v

When his eyes adjusted to the light, Stiles found himself standing on a wooden platform in the open air. The sky above him was a rich blue, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. It might have been his imagination, but the sun looked further away than usual. The air seemed thicker than expected and tinted everything golden, as though the world had a filter superimposed upon it.

The wooden platform had stairs leading down to a flat stone disk, maybe a hundred feet in diameter. The central point was the tree he’d just walked out of. It looked just like the tree in the underground cavern, only this one was utterly bare, not a single leaf in sight. Rather than a door, there was an outline of a door painted on its rough bark.

It looked like that had been a one-way journey. Stiles put the mosaic down so that it rested against the trunk and stretched, reaching his fingers as high as he could. It felt good, freeing.

On the positive side, standing around in his boxers in the sunshine wasn’t physically uncomfortable.

On the negative side, he was in his boxers on a stone disk that appeared to be floating in the air. Stiles couldn’t see any sign of steps or a door—aside from the one painted on the tree—nor of Derek. Who Stiles was beginning to suspect wasn’t Derek at all.

With nothing else to do, Stiles wandered over to the edge of the stone disk, peering over. What he saw made him step back, heart thudding uncomfortably. Wow. This stone disk was rather high. Falling off would probably be fatal.

A familiar chuffing had Stiles turning to see that Probably-Not-Derek was back, sitting at the edge of the disc and watching him with amusement.

“You’re not Derek, are you?” said Stiles accusingly. “Who the hell are you, and why have you brought me here? Are you even a boy wolf?” He glanced down. “Never mind, you’re definitely a boy wolf.”

Probably-Not-Derek didn’t reply, just got up, turned around, and stepped off the disc—without falling. He looked over his shoulder at Stiles in that ‘hurry up’ way he was becoming increasingly familiar with.

Stiles slumped down on the stone surface and glared at the blue sky above him. “No, thank you. I’m done being led around by the nose without any explanation. I’ll just wait here in the sunshine, well away from the edge, until someone gives me a reason why I should move.”

The blue was blocked out by a black snout, followed by a pink tongue that licked his face.

“Yuck,” said Sties, rolling over to avoid that slobbery tongue. “Fine, I get it.” He sat up. “Just so you know, I’m doing this under protest.” He got to his feet. “I wish I could wash my face, or even had something to wipe it with. Your drool is all slimy; did you know that? What am I saying? Of course you know that.”

The wolf sat there, panting and staring at him with those red eyes.

“I’m ready,” Stiles pointed out. “What are we waiting for?”

The wolf closed its mouth and looked pointedly at the mosaic.

Stiles sighed heavily. “I hope there’s a reason you’ve got me lugging that thing all over the place.” He picked it up and then turned to face the wolf. “Anything else?”

The wolf trotted back over to the edge of the disc, Stiles following. As he neared the spot, he saw a ramp leading down that had somehow not been visible from the platform.

The ramp was made of the same stone as the disc and was wide enough that Stiles and his wolfy companion could have walked side by side if they’d chosen to. There were no rails, so Stiles was absolutely going to walk in the centre. The ramp spiralled around a tall, octagonal stone column almost as wide as the disc at the top.

“You’re lucky I don’t get vertigo,” Stiles commented, trying not to look at just how far down the ground was. “One thing I don’t get is where did the roots of that tree go? There was no soil, and I couldn’t see anything the roots might have burrowed into.” If nothing else, having something other than the possibility of falling to his death to concentrate on could only be a good thing.

At least the ramp was easy to walk on. They walked downwards for what seemed like half an hour before the ramp levelled out onto another, much wider disc. The flat surface of the octagonal column directly next to him had a circular area cut into it about half an inch deep with a diameter of about two and a half feet.

Stiles looked at the mosaic he was carrying and then back at the space on the column. “I take it this isn’t a coincidence?” He lifted it and placed it in the gap.

There was an audible click, then the sound of stone grinding against stone. The platform Stiles was standing on started to rotate slowly.

v^v^v

Derek and Peter weren’t having much luck. Whoever curated the Hale archives hadn’t been particularly concerned with snow-based threats. They were mentioned in passing but without much detail, leaving them to try their luck with Google.

So far, they’d found references to Yeti and Yuki-onna, but from the information they could find, neither fit the circumstances they were dealing with. While both were commonly found in wintery climates and could cause snowstorms, they wouldn’t be able to survive in California.

“What about the Seelie Court?” asked Derek, grasping for straws. “From what I remember, it’s here and not here at the same time.”

Peter nodded slowly. “If there was a snowstorm in the fae realm and they brought their court here, it would explain how it could be an unnatural snowstorm but not smell of magic. But is that something the Seelie do? And what would they want with Stiles?”

Derek shuddered. All the stories he’d read as a child painted the Seelie as capricious and cruel. To be a mortal caught in their trap… “Worse, what could we possibly do about it?” The only times Seelie interacted with werewolves were fraught with blood on both sides.

“Nothing,” said Peter, looking uncharacteristically grim. “Let’s hope it’s not them.”

Derek got to his feet and stalked over to the window, glaring out at the melting snow. “We’re not getting anywhere. It’s time to call the others.”

v^v^v

Thankfully, Stiles had no difficulty keeping his footing on the moving stone, although that didn’t stop him from moving as close to the central octagonal column as possible—no need to take risks when the ground was still so far away.

When the sound of grinding stopped, a much larger platform had risen around the one Stiles was standing on. Or had his platform descended? It was hard to tell, and the horizon offered no clues. Either way, the surface area available was much bigger than it had been.

As before, there was a ramp descending below. Not-Derek trotted over and started down.

Stiles sighed. “I’m really not thrilled about this. I have no idea who or what you are, where I am, or what I’m supposed to be doing.”

Not-Derek ignored him.

Stiles sighed again, but followed anyway. This time, the ramp only made two revolutions before ceasing. There was no platform this time, just a door drawn in what looked like crayon on the central column.

Not-Derek looked expectantly at Stiles.

Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face. “What the hell am I supposed to do? That’s not an actual door, dumbass. It’s a pretend door.”

Not-Derek rolled its glowing red eyes and scratched impatiently at the concrete. Only it didn’t sound like concrete; it sounded like wood.

“Okay, so it’s not what it seems,” said Stiles. He reached for the childishly drawn doorknob, feeling stupid when his hand connected with nothing. “Argh! What am I supposed to do?”

Not-Derek lay down and rested his head on his paws.

Stiles felt a brief desire to shove the damn thing off the side of the ramp. Unhelpful furry menace. “Maybe it’s a riddle or something. The only problem is that riddles normally have clues, and all I see is a stupid drawing of a door.”

Not-Derek yawned, eyes drooping.

“If there’s nothing else, maybe the drawing is the clue,” Stiles mused. “What do you do with a door? You open it. You close it. You lock it. You knock on it.” He blinked. “So…. Maybe I should knock on it then?”

As he knocked, the badly drawn image changed, turning into a door made of some dark-stained wood. The handle was real under Stiles’ fingers, and the latch retracted smoothly. The door opened inwards with only darkness on the other side.

Not-Derek got to his feet and ambled through as if there was nothing odd at all about this whole thing. Since he didn’t exactly have a lot of options, Stiles followed.

This time, he found himself standing in mist. It was an outdoor area, going by the grass on the ground, but the lack of visibility made discerning anything else about the location impossible.

The grass looked grey but was soft under his bare feet, uniform in texture like you only got with well-manicured gardens. The mist was cool against Stiles’ skin, not quite cold but not comfortable, either.

Stiles turned in a circle. There was no sign of the door, nor anything a door might have been set into. It looked as though he’d just stepped out of nothing, and it was more good luck than good management that there had even been something to stand on.

“This is starting to get ridiculous,” Stiles said to the wolf. “Also, I’m really not dressed for this. I don’t suppose you can lead me somewhere with clothes or something?”

Not-Derek watched him, head tilted slightly to one side.

Stiles rubbed his hands up and down his rapidly chilling arms and scowled at it. “I’m not kidding, you know. This is not an optimal temperature for a nearly naked human.”

Not-Derek made a conversational-sounding grumble that ended in a short bark. Before Stiles could put together a scathing response, the red-eyed wolf shimmered and became a red-eyed fox. He looked at Stiles expectantly.

Stiles scowled harder. “I don’t see how your ability to change forms helps me stop freezing.”

The fox rolled its eyes and shimmered into a bipedal form that looked something like a cross between a tree and a squirrel. Its tiny forearms gestured first at its body, then its head; then at Stiles’ body, then his head. Then it transformed back into the wolf.

Stiles blinked. “You’re saying I can…huh.” He put the fact that he didn’t truly know what the creature accompanying him looked like—since it could apparently change forms at will—out of his mind as best he could and bent his mind to the logistics of achieving the same result for himself.

The wolf/fox/tree-squirrel thing hadn’t given him much to go on.

“I don’t know why you couldn’t just transform into something that can talk and tell me,” Stiles grumbled. “Would that have broken some oath you made to your Yoda’s Anonymous support group? What am I supposed to do? Just close my eyes and wish? Like that could work!”

Not-Derek stared at him and then sighed.

“I can’t believe I’m standing here being judged by a shapeshifting wolf. Fine. I guess it’s stupid to disregard the easy options without trying them first.”

As annoyed as he was with the whole situation, there was no point in making a half-hearted attempt, not with something as potentially dangerous as shapeshifting. The last thing Stiles wanted was to screw it somehow up and get stuck in some ludicrous halfway shape.

Since he’d been following a wolf throughout this crazy adventure, a wolf was easy for Stiles to visualise. Closing his eyes and concentrating hard on the image in his head, Stiles tried to imagine pouring himself into the wolf shape.

There was a strange sensation, as though his ears popped because of a change in altitudes. Suddenly, the cool air no longer bothered him. When he opened his eyes, the grey world looked subtly different, like it had been overlaid with a slight bluish filter.

“Did that work?” he asked. Or tried to ask. What came out was a quiet whining noise.

Not-Derek gave itself a shake, came close enough to bump shoulders with Stiles companionably, and then began walking away.

“Wait!” Stiles tried to say, scrambling to follow. It came out as a short yip, and Not-Derek didn’t acknowledge it other than to twitch its ears.

Stiles’ first attempt at walking on four legs ended with him face-planting into the ground, but he didn’t take long to get the hang of it. The tail was the most challenging part; it kept interfering with his balance.

By the time Stiles felt he had a handle on walking, Not-Derek was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey!” Stiles barked. “Come back!”

There was silence.

v^v^v

Whatever was happening had somehow interfered with the mobile network. Neither Derek nor Peter could get a signal. As soon as Peter tried to access email on his laptop, the internet went down as well.

“I guess we should be grateful we’ve got electricity,” Peter grumbled.

“You sound like Aunt Maureen,” said Cora. “Before long, you’ll be telling us that our misfortunes are proof that we’re sinners and that the only way to achieve peace is to give our lives to God.”

“Bite your tongue,” retorted Peter. “Maureen was a bitter harridan who enjoyed making everyone around her miserable. I’m nothing like her.”

Derek and Cora exchanged a look.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Don’t even start. Besides, I’m not into misery; I like chaos.”

“But only chaos directed at other people, right?” Cora pointed out. “Being the butt of someone else’s chaos was never something you enjoyed.”

“Can we focus on the issue here?” Derek wasn’t interested in listening to this argument again. The only positive thing he could say about it was that, at least this time, no one else was around to get caught up in their petty bickering. It wasn’t like either of them even meant most of what they were saying, they just enjoyed arguing. “Something has taken Stiles. Cora, have you thought of anything else you can tell us about that sound you heard?”

“No,” repeated Cora for the third time. “I already told you everything I know. My window somehow blew open; when I got up to close it, I heard a distant creaking noise. That’s all.”

Derek was getting more and more frustrated. “We can’t just sit here doing nothing! Maybe we should go on foot to get the others.”

Cora sighed. “And tell them what? That they should all come back here to sit around feeling as useless as we do?”

v^v^v

“I can’t believe this!” Stiles said—although it came out as a whine. “What kind of asshole spirit guide are you? Have you forgotten that I can’t see you in this mist? What do you expect me to do, sniff you out?”

Although, trying out his nose couldn’t hurt. He breathed in, paying attention to what he could smell.

Unfortunately, Stiles didn’t seem to have a much better sense of smell than usual. Or maybe he was doing it wrong; it wasn’t like there was anyone to give him pointers. After some careful sniffing that must have looked ridiculous, Stiles determined that the air in one direction smelled slightly different to the rest of the air. Since he couldn’t think of another way to decide his path and didn’t want to sit there forever, he set off.

He’d only gone ten yards when he saw a shadow that resolved into the familiar shape of Not-Derek waiting for him.

Since having his vocalisations sound like dog noises wasn’t something Stiles was enjoying, he didn’t say anything, just pulled his lips back from his teeth in a silent snarl.

Not-Derek ignored his irritation like he’d ignored all of Stiles’ dialogue and trotted away.

With a sigh, Stiles followed.

After a short while, the trot turned into a gentle lope, slowly increasing speed until they were racing through the mist. It was eerie; despite how fast and far they were running, nothing around them changed. The blue-grey grass was the same soft and even texture, the surroundings the same mist-filled emptiness. Stiles had a mental image of them running on the equivalent of a giant treadmill, going nowhere.

It felt good to run, though. To push himself, toenails digging into the grass to help his muscles shove him further and faster through the air. He could feel his lungs expanding and contracting, air whistling through his teeth. Occasionally, he leapt into the air just because he could. It was invigorating.

Just as Stiles was starting to feel tired, Not-Derek began to slow. Soon, they were walking again. They were still going nowhere, as far as Stiles could tell, and it was still frightening, but much of his irritation at the situation was gone.

There was no point in worrying about what would happen; he just had to continue moving forward despite his fear, and trust that Not-Derek would eventually lead him home again.

Just as Stiles reached that conclusion, Not-Derek stopped at what looked like the edge of a cliff. The grassy ground just…ended. What was left was a whole lot of nothing.

Just misty nothingness.

Stiles sat on his haunches beside Not-Derek and tried not to think about what this next bit could involve. He tried desperately to hold onto the zen acceptance he’d just achieved but was only partially successful. At least he wasn’t actively hyperventilating at the thought of being asked to take a leap of faith out into the void.

Having gained as much control over himself as he was going to, Stiles decided he should wait for Not-Derek to indicate their next move.

Not-Derek raised its head and howled. It was long and high, and made Stiles’ chest feel oddly full and happy. Without thinking about it, he joined in, lifting his head and voice and pouring all his remaining wonder and fear into it.

When his lung capacity gave out, Stiles took a deep breath and continued howling, losing himself in the moment and enjoying the ability to express himself vocally. The longer he howled, the more he felt like he was singing a wordless song that conveyed all his emotions in a way that conventional song couldn’t. With that thought, he became more aware of the tones in Not-Derek’s howl. There was a beckoning, coaxing quality that differed from Stiles’ exuberant calls, as though Not-Derek knew that something extraordinary was just out of sight. Stiles got the impression that Not-Derek was trying to lure whatever it was closer.

With a mental shrug, Stiles took another breath and focused on finding a way home, raising his voice again. Their songs joined together, the sounds winding around each other in a dance that Stiles could almost see. Finally, the sound formed a misty circle suspended above nothing.

Not-Derek’s howl tapered off, Stiles’ finishing soon after.

Not-Derek turned and looked expectantly at Stiles. Something in his body language told Stiles that the next move was his.

Stiles stared at the misty circle. If he took a running jump, he’d be able to leap through it, no problem. The problem was what was on the other side…if there was anything to find at all.

What if Stiles made the leap and fell into nothingness? Would he fall forever? Even worse, he might hit the ground. There might be rocks, or scary monsters, or pools of acid that would liquefy his flesh.

Stiles looked at Not-Derek again. Whatever kind of being it was, it looked happy, confident, and encouraging.

Stiles thought about all the crazy things he’d done so far. He’d followed a strange wolf into the forest during a freak snowstorm and walked recklessly into a cave, and that was just the start. Was leaping into a misty circle suspended above an abyss really any worse than walking through a strange door into bright light? Or taking off his clothes to swim through an underground moat of dubious origin?

Stiles got to his feet, nudged Not-Derek’s muzzle with his own, and then retreated away from the edge a few feet.

With his heart in his throat and hoping like hell he wasn’t doing the stupidest thing yet, he ran towards the edge of the cliff and leapt, soaring through the centre of the misty circle with an accuracy that would have thrilled him if he wasn’t also terrified of what would happen next.

The world went black.

v^v^v

“That’s it,” said Derek. “The two of you should stay here in case something happens. I’m going to do another search, see if I come across anything strange.”

Cora rose to her feet. “I’ll come with you. Your nose is better, but my hearing beats yours. Between us, we should be able to pick up any oddities.”

“Don’t even think about leaving me to sit here in an empty house wondering what the hell is going on.” Peter glared at them both. “We’ll all go together. Besides, if this is the Seelie, then splitting up is the last thing we want to do.”

“We already split up,” Derek reminded him. “Nothing happened then.”

“Don’t tempt fate,” said Cora. “This whole thing is weird enough that sticking together sounds like a good idea.”

They didn’t bother with footwear. The only reason they wore clothing at all was the slim possibility of running into their bitten-born packmates, who weren’t nearly as comfortable with nudity as born werewolves were.

v^v^v

When Stiles opened his eyes, he was lying in the shade of an enormous tree. He barely had time to register that he was still a wolf when his nose started reporting in, letting him know that this place was home. A glance at the surrounding forest confirmed his nose’s impression; it was the Preserve, everything about it familiar.

Other than the colossal tree he was under, that was. It didn’t look like a native to California, and he’d certainly never seen it in the Preserve before. It reminded him of an oak, only it was taller than any oak he’d ever heard of. He stared up at it for several long moments, marvelling at its splendour.

It resonated across Stiles’ senses as magical and protective. Without knowing how he knew, he was aware that this tree was somehow important, and his presence here was significant, too.

The tree’s leaves rustled in a breeze that Stiles couldn’t feel. It might have been his imagination, but it sounded and smelled like an affectionate welcome. Unable to think of any other way to answer, Stiles lifted his head and sang his joy to be home and how honoured he was to have met and been welcomed by the tree.

His song lifted to the leaves, which drank the sound the same way they might drink sunlight. The rustling increased; the tree was excited, yearning. Stiles obligingly continued to sing, feeling the tree’s reaction. The chilled air began to warm; it flowed over him like the first breath of spring. The rustling leaves began to join his song, adding a counterpoint that exulted in new beginnings, in love and comfort and health and life.

Stiles raised himself on his hind legs, set his front paws against the tree trunk, closed his eyes and lost himself in the song.

v^v^v

The Hales started with a thorough search of the area just outside the packhouse boundaries, encompassing a radius of approximately a mile in either direction. This was the area that knowledgeable threats to the pack were most likely to infiltrate—out from under the werewolves’ noses but close enough for an attack to happen quickly.

They found nothing.

They were discussing whether they should go directly north, which was the direction Cora’s window faced, or start out going west and then circling around when the sounds of the forest hushed and the ground beneath their feet shuddered.

They exchanged concerned glances, but before they could say anything, an unfamiliar howl rose from the north. It wasn’t a call or a threat, sounding joyous and happy.

The forest came alive again. To Derek, it felt even more active than before. The birds were singing louder, and the rustling of small creatures in the undergrowth seemed more energetic. The air around them seemed to warm, smelling sweeter and chasing away the remnants of chill from the freak snowstorm.

The joyous howl continued, even happier than before.

“Come on,” said Derek. “We need to find out who that is.”

They started towards the source of the disturbance using the ground-eating, energy-conserving lope they’d learned as children. A werewolf in good condition could run all day at this speed and still be fit to fight at their destination.

As they ran, they discussed theories of what they would find.

“The only beings I know of that can change a forest’s atmosphere so quickly and effortlessly are the Seelie,” Peter insisted. “But the Seelie don’t accept carnivorous mammals, so who is howling?”

“Could the Seelie have taken Stiles to use him as a bargaining chip?” asked Cora. “Do they want our territory?”

Derek shook his head. “No, the Seelie realm is outside this one; they don’t need our land. Also, they operate under strict rules. They can’t take Stiles unless he attacks them without cause.”

Cora wrinkled her nose. “He’s more likely to insult them. Aren’t the fae notoriously touchy about stuff like that?”

“Depends on what he’s insulting,” replied Peter, calming down slightly. “And how cleverly he does it. They don’t like being lied to, but that shouldn’t be an issue. Stiles is more likely to refuse to talk than to lie, and the Seelie would respect that.”

“If it’s not the Seelie, who is it?” asked Derek. “Someone with enough power to affect the weather twice in a short period and who associates with wolves.”

“Whatever it is feels nice,” said Cora. “Do either of you feel inexplicably happy?”

“I wonder if it’s some sort of supernatural fight?” mused Peter, idly using a nearby tree trunk to gain enough height to vault an enormous fallen tree without breaking his stride. “Maybe it has nothing to do with us.”

“If that’s the case, where’s Stiles?” Derek did a handspring converted into a backflip over the same fallen tree. “Next, you’ll suggest that the White Witch from Narnia and Aslan are duking it out in our backyard.”

Cora made a simple leap to the top of the fallen tree and another to the ground. “That’s lions, not wolves.”

Derek found himself smiling like an idiot. “It doesn’t matter; we’re nearly there.”

“Wait,” said Peter, stopping at the edge of a clearing. “I recognise this place.”

Derek halted beside him. “So do I.” He stared up at the tree. “I thought this tree was cut down.”

Cora stood on Derek’s other side. “I guess it grew again. I’m more concerned about the wolf still howling its guts out directly in front of us.”

Derek conceded her point.

Standing on its hind legs, the wolf was nearly as tall as a man. Its fur was dark brown with lighter tips; it looked sleek and clean, well-fed rather than forced to scavenge for food. Aside from the fact that there were no wild wolves in California, wolves ran in packs. A wolf as healthy as the one they were looking at had to have a pack somewhere nearby.

“It’s a wolf,” said Peter. “Much less mysterious than a huge tree that appeared out of nowhere.”

The wolf stopped howling, dropping to all fours and turning to look at them with familiar amber eyes.

Derek blinked. “Stiles?” It didn’t smell like Stiles, but then it smelled like a wolf, and Stiles was a human, last Derek had known.

The wolf made a yipping noise, followed by a series of whines and grumbles.

Derek held up a hand. “I can’t understand any of that. If you’re really Stiles, prove it.”

The wolf rolled its eyes, and then sat on its haunches and stared at them.

Derek exchanged glances with Cora and Peter. It was undoubtedly acting like Stiles.

“Don’t look at me,” said Peter. “I don’t know how he’d prove it either. We could get him to do tricks, I suppose. I doubt an ordinary wolf knows how to play fetch.”

The wolf gave Peter a familiar withering look. It closed its eyes for a few seconds before being enveloped in a shimmery haze. When it cleared, Stiles sat naked on the ground, blinking up at them.

“Wow,” he said, looking around with a strange wonder. “I guess it’s true when they say canines have dichromatic vision. Everything is a lot more vivid now.”

Derek crossed the intervening space and pulled him to his feet. “Are you okay? We found your Jeep abandoned in the middle of the road but couldn’t find any tracks. Where have you been? How the hell did you turn into a wolf?”

“Whoa, there, Sourwolf,” said Stiles, patting Derek on the shoulder. “I’m fine. I’ve been on a crazy journey that no one will believe a word of, but I wasn’t harmed at all. The only damage done was to the Jeep.” He made a face. “At least being hit by a falling tree is going to be easier for my insurance to accept.”

Derek frowned. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with your Jeep. Peter drove it back to the house. Did you know he got himself a key cut?”

“No, but it doesn’t surprise me.” Stiles glared at Peter for a moment. “That’s weird, though. The only reason I left the Jeep and went on foot was that the engine stopped, and a falling branch caved in the whole passenger side.”

“Isn’t anyone going to ask Stiles why he’s naked?” Peter leered at him playfully. “Not that I mind. Those layers you wear don’t do you any favours, you know.”

Stiles glanced down, blushing bright red and clapping his hands over his groin. “Where did my boxers go? I was wearing them before I turned into the wolf, and they transformed with me, so I expected them to transform back!”

Cora raised an eyebrow. “Why were you only wearing your boxers in a snowstorm!”

Stiles snorted. “It made sense at the time. I guess you had to be there. But hey, all these crazy shenanigans mean I was right; it wasn’t a natural storm! Wait, why are you getting undressed?”

“You can wear my jeans,” said Derek, glad he didn’t have to bother removing heavy boots.

“Oh my god,” Stiles muttered, his blush increasing. “Dude, put your pants back on! I’ll cope with streaking through the forest, okay? I’ll run behind you three, and you can make sure we don’t accidentally run into anyone else. The last thing I need is a charge of indecent exposure.”

“You’re on private land,” Cora pointed out. “I thought you could only be charged with indecent exposure if you were in a public place.”

“It’s a bit grey, legally speaking,” Stiles explained. “Don’t ask me how I know that. Can we go now?”

“Wait,” said Peter. “I want to know about the Nemeton. How come it’s suddenly back? It was cut down.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’ll be happy to tell you what I know once I’m dressed in my own clothes.” He blinked. “Come to think of it, I have a better option now. I’ll race you home.” He shimmered back into his wolf form and raced away, crashing through the forest more like a bear than a wolf.

“That little shit,” grumbled Peter. “If he makes it back first, we’ll never hear the end of it.” He wolfed out and took off.

Cora smiled, following his example.

Derek reached out and laid his hand on the trunk of the tree. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Unlike the other times he’d attempted it, pulling on the alpha spark to achieve his alpha form was easy. Derek found himself laughing in exhilaration as he ran, catching up with and overtaking Cora and Peter by the time they’d covered half the distance to the house.

Stiles was still far enough ahead that it would be an effort to catch him.

Derek pushed himself to his limits. He was running through the forest with his family for no reason but because they wanted to, towards a safe and secure pack house that had finally begun to smell like home.

For the first time since Paige’s death all those years ago, Derek felt truly happy.