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Derek hadn’t seen sunlight in years.
The hunters kept him caged beneath the mountain in a cell, where he was chained with silver and iron his body weakened, and his mind eroded by constant doses of wolfsbane. Each injection burned, twisting his wolfish instincts, pulling him deeper into rage and raw animalism. He stopped recognizing faces. Stopped remembering names.
But he remembered the pain.
Derek knew they wanted him, feral, savage and compliant. First as a test to see just what it would take to turn the wolf into a raging beast. Then Gerard Argent changed everything. Suddenly he needed the feral animal to save his life.
To do this he needed an Alpha. He needed Scott McCall, his granddaughter nieve boyfriend and new Alpha werewolf. Gerard managed to convince Scott that he wasn’t like the over hunters that he wanted to help rescue a werewolf that was captured by evil hunters in the mountains just outside Beacon Hills. Scott felled for this hook line and sinker with Allison’s pretty smiles as bait.
The plan was simple, trick Scott into Derek’s cell during the rescue mission then have Derek kill the young Alpha—Scott—he would inherit the spark. Become Alpha. And Gerard, twisted and terminal, planned to take that power for himself by slaughtering Derek after the deed was done. He would cure himself and cull the ranks of hunters that continue to abide by the obsolete code.
It was all timed perfectly. One final injection. One final blood-soaked command: Kill Scott.
But the smell that clinged to Scott’s hoodie changed everything.
Derek lunged at it, at Scott, his nostrils flaring, claws itching to shred anything tied to his target—Then he paused.
Beneath the acrid sting of Scott’s scent was something else. Something electric. Familiar. Comforting.
Derek’s entire body froze. His breath came shallow.
“Mate.” He growled out. “What have you done with my mate?”
The words surfaced unbidden. Not logical, not voluntary, an instinct. In the haze of his ruined mind, this one scent cut clean through. He buried his face in the hoodie, ripping it from Scotts body, trembling. His claws retracted. And for the first time in years, Derek Hale sobbed.
Scott sat down in the far corner of the cell and spoke to the feral wolf. He told him about his best friend, the owner of the jacket the he borrowed just before coming to rescue him.
Hours later the rescue came with fire and chaos.
Two hours later the remainder of Scott’s pack with Stiles at the front, baseball bat in one hand and a flaming ball of magic in the other. They tore through the mountain facility like a wildfire. The hunters tried to fight the wolves but in the end they were overpowered. Meanwhile Scott and Derek, still weak, broke out of the cage. They pulled on the sliver and iron cage. Their palms burning didn’t stop them nor did the guards who panicked and ran.
Derek ran for miles with the call of his family’s blood and the pull of the full moon guiding him to the forest edge, to burned down shell that was once his home.
He collapsed.
From exhaustion.
From guilt.
From the feral rage as he screamed, and hollowed from the pain of it all.
Scott followed at a distance, but it was Stiles that was first approaching him.
“You’re okay,” he whispered, crouching beside the battered man. “We got you.”
Derek blinked slowly, golden eyes flickering. He didn’t speak. Just stared.
He hadn’t felt real connection in years. And now the source of his clarity, the reason he’d escaped, the scent that had saved his mind...was crouching in front of him, babbling nervously with wide eyes and a worried grin.
Stiles touched his shoulder, and Derek flinched—not from fear. From overload. Suddenly exhaustion won and he fell into his mates’ arms asleep.
In the days that followed, Derek remained mostly silent. Scott, kind but cautious, respected the space between them—they didn’t know each other, yet Scott offered a tentative place in his pack along with shelter, and safety.
Stiles came by everyday but, Derek barely looked at him. Not because he was avoiding him. But because every time Stiles walked near, Derek’s pulse stuttered, his instincts surged, and all he could think was—
‘Mate.’
He knew that the primal, feral mind of his wolf was at the forefront and his human side had been pushed back in order for him to survive. But now, he struggled to get control. This internal battle wasn’t something he could explain. Not after everything. Not yet.
And Stiles, perceptive as ever, noticed. He cornered Derek one evening, arms crossed, nerves hidden beneath faux confidence.
“So... you going to tell me why you look like you’re in pain every time you see me?”
Derek looked away. “…You smell...”
Stiles snorted. “I shower. Sometimes.”
“No. Not like that.”
Their eyes met. Something hung in the silence between them. Attraction. Derek interpreted the chemo signals coming off his mate.
Stiles raised a brow. “Dude. Are you ever going to explain to me why you called me mate just before you passed out in my arms the other day.”
“No.”
He knew Stiles would have many questions after his one word answer so, Derek ran. He ran for miles trying to escape, to prevent himself from doing something he’d regret. He knew his mate was young and that made him scared. He was afraid that…that he’d become her.
Derek didn't remember collapsing. Just the cool pressure of forest moss beneath his cheek, The quiet was different out there. Natural. No hum of generators. No scent of blood and metal.
Then voices.
Scott’s pack spilled into the clearing in a flurry of urgency and relief. Scott hovered protectively over Derek while Lydia kept an eye on the surroundings. And Stiles—Stiles was already crouched at Derek’s side, hands trembling but steady.
"You're safe now," Stiles murmured pulling the wolf into his arms and speaking soft word of safety and love.
Safe. The word cracked something inside Derek. He opened his eyes to Stiles’ worried face and the echo returned, low and undeniable.
Mate. His mate found him. His pack found him. In that moment he finally gave into maybe this was real that it wasn’t something he could runaway from. His mate understood, and he felt safe for the first time in years.
The next few days blurred.
Derek recovered in the Hale cabin, newly reinforced by Stiles's magic ward. He barely spoke, and when he did, it was clipped, cautious. Scott was patient, unnerved but kind. They didn't know each other—not really. Just names passed in whispers during war.
But every time Derek saw Stiles, he stiffened. Fought the instinct to circle, protect, claim. It was humiliating.
Stiles, ever observant, tried to play it off. Jokes. Sarcasm. Eye contact held too long.
“You look at me like I stole your favorite chew toy,” he teased once. “Or like... I don’t know, you're imprinting. Is that a thing wolves do?”
Derek’s eyes darkened. “It’s not funny.”
“Then explain.”
“I can’t.”
Stiles leaned against the cabin doorframe, watching him. “Is it because of that shirt? Scott’s hoodie? Scott said that you pulled it off of him like it was made of glass. Then you zoned out on it inhaling it like it was catnip.”
Derek stared. Then I looked away.
“It smelled like you,” he said quietly.
Stiles blinked. “Me?”
“Your scent. It cut through everything.”
Silence stretched like a wire between them.
“I think... I think that’s what brought me back.”
And there it was. Unspoken. Heavy. Real.
Meanwhile, Gerard plotted, again.
The plan had failed, but Derek was alive. Worse: freed. Gerard’s sickness was eating him alive, and desperation made him reckless. The hunters weren’t done. They needed Scott. Still young. Still vulnerable. Still Alpha.
So, Gerard made a new plan.
Force Scott to challenge Derek. Ignite bloodlust. Turn them against each other—and claim whichever survived.
The bait?
Stiles.
They struck during a supply run. Stiles were cornered, tasered, bagged.
Derek felt it before anyone said a word. The sudden absence. The ache. The panic. He hollowed and Scott and his pack came running.
“Stiles is gone.” Is all Derek managed to growled out at the pack as they entered his cabin.
No one asked he knew but it was confirmed by a text message to Scotts phone. It was a picture of Stiles, beaten and tied to a chair. He was unconscious and bleeding from his nose, ears and forehead. The line of text read simply, ‘fetch’.
He tracked Stiles’ scent through rain, mud, and concrete. When he burst into the abandoned compound where they’d chained Stiles up, his roar shook the walls.
Gerard smiled from behind glass. “Still so obedient. Shall we see if your 'mate' survives?”
Then gas flooded the room. Pure wolfsbane. Derek stumbled, snarling, vision streaked, he collapsed to the floor face first.
Chaos erupted in the compound as the pack stormed in—Scott at the front, eyes blazing red, claws at the ready, he held his breath. Lydia’s came in next her banshee scream shattered the reinforced glass allowing the gas to escape and knocking Gerard back. The metallic tang of wolfsbane in the air slowed them but couldn’t stop them.
Isaac and Erica flanked the guards, taking them down in swift, practiced motions. Scott lunged for Gerard, who pulled a gun—mountain ash bullets—but Allison through her dagger with practice ease embedding itself into her Grandfather wrist. The gun dropped and Boyd quickly picked it up and removed the bullets.
Gerard turned to his granddaughter and spoke “Allison, I didn’t expect this betrayal from you.”
“I didn’t want to expect this betrayal from you. I thought you believed in the code. That we only hunt those that hunt us.”
"I never believed in that outdated 'hippy' code. I taught my children that the code should be open to interpretation. Kate understood. Kate was my greatest creation, my legacy until that beast,” he pointed to an unconscious Derek that was being tended to by Lydia and Erica. “killed her. She was the best of us.”
“She burned down a house with eleven innocent people inside.” Chris said emerging from the shadows his gun raised and pointed at his father.
“Christopher, I’ve explained to you many times that these unnatural creatures will eventually kill that we must strike first. The need to be wiped from the face of the earth.” Gerard said spitting with rage. “You never believed in my crusade.”
“One lesson you taught me that I do believe is that a rabid dog must be put down.”
Gerards eyes went wide with fear when Chris pulled the trigger shooting his father at point blank range killing him instantly. Chris turned slowly and left the compound without a word.
The sound of the gun woke Derek, and he raced barely conscious to Stiles’ side and ripped the ropes and chains from him. Then he pulled the young spark to his chest.
“Knew you’d come for me sourwolf.” Stiles managed to say.
Derek pulled back and looked into those whisky eyes of his mate then leaned in for a gentle kiss. “Mate.” The wolf growled out as accepted he was and could never be like Kate.
Back at the cabin, silence settled.
Stiles sat beside Derek on the porch, legs swinging, his injuries had been tended to by Melissia a few minutes ago but the bruises blooming on his neck were evidence of the beating he had endured for him.
“So…” he began. “This mate thing. Is it like soulmates? Or, like, magical pheromone bonding? Or is this just a super intense 'you smell good' vibe?” Derek gave him a long look.
“It’s more than instinct,” Derek murmured, eyes tracking the tree line like the woods might offer answers. “I used to think it was a curse. Something the hunters tried to twist into a weapon.”
He paused, glancing toward Stiles with something raw in his expression.
“It wasn’t the pain that brought me back—it was you. That scent, that connection... it cut through everything they did to me. That kind of pull? Only a true mate could reach that deep.”
Stiles didn’t reply right away. Just slid a little closer, bumping Derek’s shoulder like gravity was working between them now.
Stiles nodded slowly. “So, you don't want to eat me?” He tried to lighten the mood.
“I want to protect you. Besides, you don’t have enough fat on you to make a decent meal for a wolf.”
Stiles chuckled and Derek slowly reached over to where Stiles was seated on the steps of the cabin and place his hand in Stiles.
For the first time in years, something inside him felt still. Whole.
Stiles smiled as they gazed over the forest, their growing relationship bringing a sense of warmth.