Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Hunters had known about Hellhounds for decades. They were hard to track down, harder to hunt and impossible to capture and enslave. Collars that could repress the powers of Werewolves, Panthers, Coyotes, Chimera and other Supernaturals did not work on Hellhounds. The determination of Hunters to rectify that, and in the absence of method to capture, contented themselves with trying to kill Hellhounds instead. Hellhounds had gathered into nomadic colonies in remote areas, constantly moving to avoid regular Hunting parties. It was a hard life, always on the move, always wary and watching, always able to sense the deaths of other Supernaturals and Hellhounds that weren’t so lucky.

That was the life that Jordan Parrish had been born into. He had known nothing different from the existence made up of moving, watching, wariness. When he had been fourteen years old, his colony had sailed across the seas and found a location of relative safety, merging with a larger foreign colony. They had been undiscovered for ten years. Or so they had thought. When he was twenty-four, the Hunters had come for them. The Hunters had made a breakthrough not long before the attack; they had finally achieved the impossible. They had figured out how to capture and hold Hellhounds, and they had wanted to test their new technology. The attack had devastated the colony; those who survived the slaughter were scattered and an unlucky few had been captured.

Jordan Parrish had been one of the first Hellhounds ever to be captured by Hunters. It had been a great humiliation. But the feeling of guilt, the fear that he had disappointed his kind, was no kind of humiliation when compared to the year that had followed; he and others captured from his colony had been experimented on, and then once their captors had grown bored and had all the information they desired, they had separated the Hellhounds and sold them off to auction agents. Jordan had been passed around from auction to auction as a Hunter named Collins had tried to sell him off. The contraption that kept Jordan’s powers contained was a big and clunky device of chains and locks that were filled with runes - it was not a simple collar like that that contained other Supernaturals – it was unsubtle, ugly and made movement difficult, and that alone was enough to put off any Ludus Dominus or Domina that observed him. He looked like a burden rather than an asset, an unwanted challenge rather than a desired oddity. He would be hard to control, because nobody knew how to house a Hellhound, or whether they could unleash him in an arena. Nobody would buy him. Collin’s price became lower and lower, and eventually he sold Jordan to an agent taking captured or unwanted-slave Supernaturals to the mines.

And that was where he was found by the Beacon, chained up to twenty other Supernaturals at a campsite on the way down to a mine in the South.

The commotion at the guarded entrance to the walled camp was the first indication the Supernaturals had had that something was happening out of the ordinary. They were all instantly alert, despite their collars inhibiting their powers and the fact that their being chained together meant that they were all having to sit on the ground. It was a foggy afternoon, the air grey and infrequently broken through by sunlight, so it was hard to see what exactly was going on.

“What the hells is that?” Brett – a Beta Werewolf – asked, his keen gaze flicking suspiciously around at the shapes of the surrounding walls through the mist, as he reached out to grip his sister’s arm protectively, the chains around his wrists rattling as he did so.

“It could be the Beacon,” one of the Chimeras suggested hopefully. He had been one of a small group of Chimera and Werewolf slaves that had been experimented on by their former owners, before being sold on to the mines. They had been brought to the camp that morning. The boy – Corey, Jordan thought he had heard one of the other Chimeras call him – having only just arrived, was only hoping on a rumour of the Beacon. He had no idea how right he could be. He had no idea of who they were chained to, no idea of the person sitting amongst them.

Another of the Chimera new arrivals sitting nearby snorted doubtfully. “Do you really think that they would even bother…”

“Why not, Theo?” One of the Werewolves of the new group, Hayden, turned on him, her glare fiery even without the yellow glow of her Beta eyes. “They could! They have been freeing mine workers and slaves for months now!”

“We are pretty far from the Beacon Hills,” Theo argued, making a fair point in any other circumstance, “Why would they come out this far?”

“Well, because of Lydia,” Brett’s sister Lorilee piped up, “They would come out this far for her.”

Theo leaned around Brett to look at Lorilee, his eyes narrowed but curious. “Who is Lydia?”

Brett nodded to the figure sitting to Jordan’s right. “The Banshee.”

“You…are you being serious?” Theo exclaimed, as a chatter of excitement rippled amongst the slaves that had not known that Lydia was amongst them. “The Banshee from the Lupus Ludus?”

Almost every captured slave that had been moved through the auctions or through sales to mines knew about the infamous Lupus Ludus pack. The rebellion and escape of the Lupus Ludus and Alpha Pack Werewolf Gladiators, the Ludus’ human and Kitsune house slaves and the resident Druid doctor, had swept across the country through gossip amongst slaves. The Argent family, excluding Lord Christopher and his daughter, the latter of whom had mysteriously disappeared, had been destroyed, along with many of their close allies, nobles and Ludus owners. The pack, led by Derek Hale, a former Gladiator named The Undefeated Alpha, managed to make its way South, and after attacking a noble house allegedly holding Hale’s sister as a house slave, had set up an impenetrable base in a group of small mountains called the ‘Beacon Hills’.

The choice of base location had given rise to the name the ‘Beacon’, as teams of Hale’s Supernaturals would range out from the mountains, attacking Ludus’, rich houses, mines and their midway campsites and freeing the slaves they found there. Slaves could decide what to do next; make their own way in freedom or join the Beacon. Apparently the choice was even offered that if slaves wanted, they could remain in their servitude, though only a small percentage ever chose to do so.

Rumours about the Beacon were numerous and often hard to believe, but one that kept circling was that the Beacon were also still searching for a couple of slaves in particular; another sister of Derek Hale and a Banshee that had been sent away from the Lupus Ludus after her newfound Supernatural status, and her relationship with a Werewolf Gladiator known as The Kanima, had been uncovered by Kate Argent.

Jordan had met Lydia three weeks before, when the Mines-Agent that had taken him from Collins had delivered him to a mine camp. Lydia had been in the mines for several months already; worn and drawn thin. Whilst she had been reserved at first, her curiosity regarding his unique captivity had gotten her asking questions. They had made firm friends after Lydia had learned that Jordan was another Supernatural with the ability to sense death, as strange a reason as that was. He had not initially known what Supernatural she was. She hadn’t had a collar on, but she had a muzzle on. He later learned that there was never a collar created for Banshees, only muzzles to stop them screaming. She was able to speak a little, unable to open her mouth for much more than mumbling speech. Through this she had explained her Banshee powers to the extent she knew, how she had been attacked by a Were, which had caused her dormant Banshee powers to surface, and how she had been sent away from the Lupus Ludus. She told him that when the rebellion at the Ludus had happened, it was feared that the escaped Weres would know the location of the mine that Lydia had been sent to, and would attack it, so she was sent away to work at another mine. It was during that transfer that she had ended up at the camp Jordan was being held at.

She was excited about the Ludus rebellion. She said it had given her hope and strength to carry on the gruelling work she had been forced to do. She knew without a doubt that they would be coming for her and that they would not stop until they found her. 

It looked as if they may well have found her.

Jordan looked at Lydia, who was sitting pressed to his side.

“Lydia?” he asked, and even though he spoke quietly, his voice carried over the chained slaves, even with the shouting of the guards in the background. He knew that the other slaves were all listening to him. “Is it them?”

Lydia looked up at him, her eyes shining with obvious, relieved delight. She nodded, smiling as wide as her muzzle would allow.

“It’s them. I can feel it.”

As though in response, a Werewolves’ roar split through the dark of the night.

The slaves waited in quiet, thrilled anticipation, waiting for whatever battle was happening at the camp walls to be over.

Jordan glanced down when he felt Lydia’s small hand slip into his and squeeze it tightly. His heart was hammering. Freedom was so close that he could taste it and he could not quite believe it. Lydia had come alive beside him, getting up on her knees and straining to see through the fogged air.

It did not take long for the shouts of the guards to be silenced and then, finally, there was the sight of glowing eyes coming into view through the mist.

Lydia gave a little shriek, but could not shout as she wanted to because of her muzzle. He wasted no time in shouting for her.

“Jackson?” he shouted, a little wary at first, but once Lydia squeezed his hand again in encouragement, he cleared his throat and did it again. “Jackson! Lydia’s here! Lydia is here!”

A mere few seconds later, a Beta Werewolf in Beta-shift skidded into view, running straight for them.

“Jackson!” Lydia gave a muffled shout and Jackson all but fell on top of her in his haste to reach her.

“Lydia!” Jackson gasped, shifting to his human form to kiss every part of her face that he could reach. “Thank the gods you are alive. I have searched for you for so long…”

“And I have been waiting,” Lydia promised, lifting her hand to Jackson’s face, the cuff on her wrist meaning that the Werewolf on the other side of Lydia had to lift their arm slightly as well.

“Thank gods you are alive,” Jackson whispered again. He frowned sadly at the muzzle on her face, “What have they done to you?” He asked, like it wounded him just as much, his gaze travelling up and down Lydia’s thin form. “They haven’t been feeding you enough.” His eyes landed on where Lydia still held Jordan’s hand.

Jordan let go abruptly.

“This is Jordan,” Lydia wasted no time in introducing him. “He has been keeping me sane these last few weeks.”

Jackson’s slightly hostile expression melted immediately and he sent Jordan a dazzling smile, “For that I thank you.”

Jordan was about to reply, but the words were frozen in his throat when he heard a loud voice behind Jackson.

“Lydia!”

A brunet young man approached, surrounded by a Beta Were with dark curls, a short fair-haired Beta Were, a young woman with a bow and arrow in her hands, a Kitsune with swords unsheathed and another dark haired, more muscular man.

Upon spotting Lydia and Jackson in the crowd of chained slaves, three of the six rushed forwards.

The Kitsune reached her first, hugging her tightly, and moving so that the muscular dark haired man could hug her too.

“Danny,” Lydia greeted, her eyes tearing.

“It’s good to see you,” Danny said, squeezing Jackson’s shoulder and the top of Lydia’s arm, before being pushed aside by the brunet young man.

“Lydia!” the young man beamed, wrapping her up in his arms.

“Stiles,” Lydia said with her mumbled words, clutching at him just as tightly, “I am so glad that you are alright.”

“I am supposed to be saying that to you!” Stiles argued tearfully, pulling back to press a kiss to her cheek.

As the others dispersed amongst the slaves to start working on their release, Stiles remained kneeling between Lydia and Jackson. He was glaring at the muzzle on Lydia’s face.

“Jackson,” Stiles demanded, “Why aren’t you taking that thing off her head?”

“I haven’t had a look at it yet,” Jackson retorted, “If I could get past your big head to see it…”

“I don’t see a lock or runes,” Stiles murmured, moving Lydia’s head carefully this way and that, inspecting the offending item. “So it’s not a triggered one.” He turned to Jackson. “You have claws, don’t you? Cut through the leather.”

Jackson scoffed at the order and shoved Stiles aside. Stiles flopped onto the grass in front of Jordan, limbs flailing.

“Maybe I don’t want to destroy it,” Jackson grumbled to himself, but still loud enough to be heard. “Maybe I want to keep it because in might come in handy when I want people to shut their mouths every once in a while.”

Stiles gasped, clutching his chest as though mortally offended. “How dare you, Sir. My voice is nought but…”

“A nuisance?” Jackson cut in. “I know. Make yourself useful and help Scott and the others free these people.”

“Remind me to teach you a little bit about civility sometime,” Stiles sent back, but left the light-hearted back and forth with a nod at Lydia, checking he could move on.

It was then that Jordan found Stiles’ attention focused on him, as the young man looked at him like he had only just noticed he was there.

Stiles eyed Jordan’s chains, collar and heavy duty bindings curiously and gave a low whistle.

“This is a lot of security,” Stiles observed, “What kind of Supernatural are you, then?”

“Hellhound,” Jordan replied, glancing at Jackson as the Werewolf’s head shot up and turned to look at him in surprise.

“Oh, how marvellous!” Stiles said, and he sounded so delighted that Jordan looked back at him in bewilderment. “Another for my Supernatural checklist!” He winked, pretending to cross something in the air. “You know we have Werewolves, a Kitsune, a couple of druids,” Stiles said, counting them off on his fingers. “We have our Banshee back,” he looked fondly at Lydia, a relieved smile on his lips. “We picked a Werecoyote up the other day as well, though I can’t tell yet if she likes me or wants to kill me.”

“Probably the latter,” Jackson commented. Stiles ignored him.

“What else? Oh yes! We have a Chimera or five…though I think by the looks of it we may have a few more hopefully join us,” his eyes roamed over the slaves being freed by his friends. “Oh, and the other day we released a Kanima, which was more than a little terrifying; Derek and I ended up trapped in a lake for a few hours…long story.”

“It was hilarious,” Jackson added.

“For you! You made out like you were some kind of Kanima expert. You know just because it was your Gladiator moniker you can’t claim to be a bloody Kanima expert. You know nothing.” Stiles turned to Jordan, “If Jackson ever offers you advice on Kanimas, ignore him, ok?”

Jordan just nodded, a little stunned at the man’s cheery, joking behaviour. It had been a long time since he had seen anyone with anything to smile about.

“What are you?” Jordan asked, confused. He had not seen Stiles’ eyes glow a particular colour and he clearly wasn’t any of the Supernaturals that he had listed for his ‘Supernatural checklist’.

“Oh I’m boring, I’m afraid,” Stiles dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just human.” He perked up excitedly, “Though Deaton – he’s a druid – says I have a ‘spark’ for magic!”

“Gods help us all,” Jackson muttered and Stiles reached over to lightly punch him in the shoulder.

Jackson huffed, “Don’t push me, idiot. I have to be careful.” Jackson had studied the muzzle on Lydia’s head thoroughly and carefully sliced through the straps with a claw.

Lydia immediately reached up to tear the muzzle away from her face. “Thank gods,” she breathed.

Jackson leant forwards to press a kiss to her lips. “You look beautiful.”

“You do, Lydia,” Stiles agreed.

Lydia looked at Jordan and he saw her smile properly for the first time. “Freedom suits you,” he said.

“It will suit you too,” she said, “Once we get you out of those awful chains.”

“I am on it,” Stiles said, tongue poking out between his teeth as he thought. “Let me check these carved runes first though. I don’t want to make any mistakes.”

Stiles began inspecting each rune carved onto Jordan’s bindings with great care. Jordan observed him with wonder. It was rare that anyone met the discovery of Hellhounds with an immediate expression of joy. Jordan had never known a human be so at ease amongst Supernaturals. He had never met a human that held such excitement at meeting Supernaturals, believing them to be interesting, like their powers were a gift, and finding his own humanity a dull thing in comparison.

“A human working with Supernaturals?” Jordan could not help but ask aloud.

Stiles merely glanced up at him and smiled before returning to his work, “It’s a nicer crowd the vast majority of the time.”

Jordan blinked. “You are that boy that the slaves gossip about,” he realised, “The one that runs and fights with Wolves.”

“Oh gods,” Jackson complained, “Don’t tell him that! It will go straight to his big head…”

“My reputation precedes me,” Stiles grinned, “Hey Scott!” he called at the Beta Were with the curly hair that stood not too far away, releasing Corey. “The boy that runs with Wolves! My reputation precedes me!”

Scott grinned at him. “Consider me impressed.”

“The True Alpha, impressed by little old me?” Stiles feigned flattery, eyelashes batting, “Finally. After all these years of trying to impress you…”

“That’s the True Alpha?” Jordan heard Theo ask the short fair-haired Beta Were boy, who was opening the cuffs and collar on Hayden, looking rather besotted.

Jordan focused back on Stiles as Stiles turned back to his chains, muttering to himself as he looked at the runes. “If this one restricts and this one…” Finally Stiles snapped his fingers, “I have it!”

He began to dig in the small pouch attached to the belt around his waist. By this point, Jordan was the only Supernatural still tied up. The others were freed and collarless and standing up, their eyes glowing gold around him as they tested their long-suppressed powers.

Stiles found what he was looking for, holding up a glass vial which held a powder inside it.

“This should work,” Stiles said.

“Should work?” Jordan repeated, a little concerned.

“Will work,” Stiles corrected sheepishly. “It just needs a little bit here and here…” without further ado, Stiles tipped a little bit of powder onto a number of the runes holding the chains around Jordan together. “I’m Stiles, by the way,” Stiles introduced himself. “Stiles Stilinski.” He then held up a hand, closed his eyes and fell into some kind of deep concentration.

“Jordan Parrish,” Jordan returned, staring down at the chains, where the metal was starting to bubble away where Stiles had put the powder concoction.

“Good to meet you, Jordan Parrish,” Stiles said, eyes still closed, fingers wavering a little as he focused.

Suddenly, the powder completed its work, and the runes that were melted away broke in half, the chains immediately loosening around him.

Stiles cracked an eye open as one of the chains hit the ground with a clang. “It worked!” Stiles said brightly, beaming. “Hey guys! I did something! I did something!”

“Good job, Stiles!” Scott called encouragingly as Jackson rolled his eyes.

Jordan breathed a sigh of relief as Stiles pulled the chains away and Scott came to hand Stiles a key so that Stiles could unlock Jordan’s collar.

“You ok?” Stiles asked him.

“I…” Jordan paused, smiled, “Thank you.” He rolled his shoulders, letting a little bit of hellfire flame wave up and down his arms, just to feel that power released and rolling through him again, familiar and long-missed.

Stiles was staring at him in awe and then looked up at his eyes, which would have turned their Hellhound flame-orange.

“So I told Kira that she had the coolest Supernatural powers, but actually, I think you win it, buddy.” He clapped Jordan on the arm, and then drew his hand back fast. “Damn you are hot!”

“Don’t let Derek hear you say that,” Scott teased, knocking his knee into Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles laughed.

“I’m sorry if I burnt you…” Jordan worried, but Stiles just leapt to his feet, reaching out a hand to help pull Jordan to his feet.

“You didn’t,” Stiles promised and when Jordan decided to take Stiles’ offered hand, Stiles hauled him up on his feet.

Lydia and Jackson stood beside them and Lydia rushed to hug Jordan once he was on his feet. Jordan was about to speak to her, when he was interrupted.

“Hunter!” The shout cut across the grass and Scott and Stiles were moving before anyone else could react.

One of the newly released Beta Weres had shouted it. He was shifted and advancing on the brunette young lady with the bow and arrows, who had the weapons up and ready in her hands in an instant, before Scott and Stiles reached them.

With a “Whoa, whoa!” Stiles neatly slid between the two, his back to the girl, whose knocked arrow pointed over Stiles’ shoulder at the Were. Stiles faced the Beta with his hands raised, placating, while Scott stood beside him, shifted also and watching the Were carefully.

“Allison?” Scott asked, “You ok?”

The girl responded with a quick nod, her eyes and the point of her arrow never leaving the shifted Beta.

“Would you mind telling me?” Stiles asked, “Why you have decided to threaten our best archer?”

“She’s a hunter!” The Beta spat defensively. “You think I can’t tell? Even from the way she walks and how she holds her weapons. I know blue blood, Hunter training, when I see it.”

“She was trained by them,” Scott admitted, “But she isn’t one. She is one of us.”

“She is not one of us. She isn’t any kind of Supernatural.”

“Neither am I,” Stiles responded, eyes hard.

“You were a slave. You have scars on your back.”

Stiles was wearing thin leather armour plates, held together by straps, so patches of his skin were on show. Jordan’s eyes fell to the areas of Stiles’ back that he could see from the side lines, and saw the white criss-crossing lines, obvious evidence of whipping.

“You’re different,” The Were continued, “She was never a slave.”

“She has helped us and given up more than you could ever know,” Scott interjected, angry on Allison’s behalf.

“You have your freedom,” Allison said, “Whether you join us or make your own way is up to you. But I fight with and for the Beacon.”

“And what if,” the Beta snarled, “After fighting for my life in the arena for the entertainment of your kind for years. What if I decide to kill you?” He took a threatening step forwards.

Allison’s arrow drew back further. Jordan took a cautious step forwards. Stiles was still right in the middle of it and Scott threw an arm out to block Stiles a little further from the Beta.

“Enough! Enough!” Stiles snapped at the Beta, “Stop right there or I’ll…”

There was a flurry of movement in the mist and a moment later Stiles stopped talking when an Alpha-shifted wolf appeared at his side. It was coal-black, red eyed and had its lips curled back over glistening teeth.

“Peter, don’t,” Jordan heard Scott mutter, even as Stiles stretched and curled his fingers so that they brushed over the fur on Peter’s back in acknowledgment.

Jordan glanced around them, realising that everyone had stopped and was staring at what was happening. That was when he saw, standing at the edge of the mist, a black haired, muscular man, his eyes Alpha-red as he watched the proceedings silently.

“Please,” Scott tried to reason with the Beta again, “Stop this, now. Allison is loyal to the cause. She helped us escape the Lupus Ludus. Without her we would not have managed it. She has given up her life to aid our cause and is one of our best warriors. You can join us, or you can leave and enjoy your freedom on your own.”

“But if you try to kill her, we will be forced to stop you by whatever means necessary,” Stiles said, the black wolf still growling at his side. “Besides, if you want to get to her you would have to go through me and I know a couple of Weres who wouldn’t be very happy about that." The wolf beside him snarled again as if to prove a point. "Do you really want to try that?”

“Have a little faith in us,” Scott tried, “You can get revenge on as many Hunters as you want – ones who deserve your hatred – but Allison is not one of them.”

Jordan blinked, stunned, when he thought he saw Scott’s yellow Beta-eyes flicker with red.

The Beta backed up a step, possibly having seen the same thing. “It’s been a long time since I have had faith in anything. I choose to leave.”

“Then you are free to leave,” Scott said, “Just make sure you gather some provisions before you do.”

The Beta shifted back to human form and Allison moved the arrow away from the string. She stepped back and Stiles turned towards her to say something.

The Beta shifted again the moment their guards were down and several things happened at once. The black wolf called Peter jumped at the Were at the same moment that Scott barrelled into Peter to prevent him from doing so, putting himself in front of Stiles and Allison as he did so. The black haired Alpha that had been watching the scene unfold launched forwards, and Jordan, for need to do something to stop what was happening, lit himself up with hellfire. It caused enough of a distraction for the Beta to pause, which gave the black haired Alpha the time to spin Stiles even further out of the way and stand between the Beta and Scott and Allison.

“Back down,” The Alpha growled, eyes flaring.

He was a powerful Alpha. Jordan could feel it from where he stood, aflame. The Alpha had to be Derek Hale, the leader of the Beacon, the ex-Gladiator champion The Undefeated Alpha, and allegedly the mate of the Boy that runs with Wolves.

The Beta submitted almost instantly, falling back and retreating into the group of newly released Weres.

The tense silence that followed was broken when Stiles stepped forward and declared, “Well, I think that went well.”

Scott gave a wobbly laugh, one of his hands finding the back of Stiles’ neck, as the other drew Allison in close.

Jordan cancelled out his hellfire to find the Weres and Chimeras that had been in captivity with him watching him with the same awe that Stiles had.

Corey was the one to speak for them all; “That was amazing.”

Still a little stunned at the positive reactions he was receiving, he jumped when a hand circled his wrist. He looked down to see Lydia smiling up at him. He smiled back.

Lydia’s smiled dropped however, the moment that Peter shifted back to human form and sauntered towards them.

“Lydia, darling. It is, quite honestly, marvellous to see you.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it.

When he let go, she stared at him wordlessly for a moment before slapping him across the face, hard.

“Yeah,” Peter said, rubbing his face, looking a little sheepish, “Yeah I deserve that one.”

***

The Were that had mistrusted Allison decided to leave a few hours later, with a couple of others. The majority decided to stay.

“I am a little sorry he left,” Stiles told Derek, as they led the group back towards the Beacon Hills. “His reaction was understandable, really. Allison is a rare, rare case where Hunter families are concerned.”

“We still need to remain vigilant and cautious,” Derek replied, gaze ever watchful as their procession crossed the open lands. “There will be others that will react the same. And you need to remember that you are still human and won’t heal as fast as we do if you decide to put yourself between a Were and a master archer.”

“Ah,” Stiles glanced at Derek’s serious expression, “I knew you would be angry about that.”

“I am not angry,” Derek argued, breaking his attention for a moment to look at Stiles, “I just want you to think a little before you rush headfirst into reckless situations.”

Stiles frowned in jest, “But, that doesn’t sound like me at all.”

Derek’s stern face cracked when the corner of his lips twitched up at one corner, before he swung an arm around Stiles’ shoulders, and Stiles felt Derek’s smile against his temple.

Stiles smiled to himself, pressed himself into Derek’s side as they walked.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I will be more careful.”

“Uh-huh,” Derek said in his ear, “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

Stiles grinned at him. Derek looked good like this. The months since their escape from the Ludus had brightened his eyes and hardened his muscles even further. The access to his powers after so many years without had made him stronger, faster, more in tune with his Wolf. His dark hair was longer than it had been and had a habit of spiking wildly, his heavy stubble framed his chiselled face, his eyes held the power of an Alpha. He moved with such stealth, such grace. His accelerated healing meant that he wore even less armour than he did as a Gladiator, which left a lot more torso available for Stiles’ eyes. It could get quite distracting.

Stiles was getting distracted just thinking about it.

“It is probably a good thing that you love me anyway, then.”

Derek side-eyed him, “Whoever told you that?”

Stiles gave him a light shove. “You did, Hale. You telling me that you didn’t mean it?”

“No,” Derek said, and the sight of his smile still made Stiles stupidly happy. Derek was so much happier, now, and his happiness was infectious. “I meant it.”

“Good.”

It took three days to travel back to the camp in the Beacon Hills and by the time they arrived they were tired but triumphant. They had found Lydia alive and, while under-nourished and exhausted, otherwise of sound mind and health.

They had added numbers to their movement, gaining more Beta Weres, Chimeras and a Hellhound. They had set them free.

Boyd, Erica and Isaac had been left in charge of the camp in Derek and Peter’s absence and they were waiting at the entrance to the camp to meet them.

Isaac bounded forwards to greet Scott and Allison, Melissa following. While Boyd and Erica spoke with Derek about what had occurred in his absence and of how their mission had gone, and Kira, Danny and Jackson took Lydia and the new arrivals to see Deaton and Melissa to be checked over, Stiles weaved through the crowd until he found who he was looking for.

“So,” he said, “Guess who used one of Deaton's powders to the amazement and awe of all?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Sparky,” Cora Hale turned to face him, eyebrow arched, a smirk playing on her lips. “You?”

“Good guess.” He cracked his knuckles. “Worked like an absolute charm.”

Cora rolled her eyes and pulled him into a hug.

The first place that the Beacon had raided had been the house that Cora had been enslaved in. They had gotten her back. The sight of Derek and Peter wrapping Cora up in their arms and the three Hales standing together, reunited after so many years, would never leave Stiles’ memory. Derek was even brighter, lighter since finding her.

Derek had been correct the day, so many months ago, that he told Stiles that he and Cora would get along if they ever met. Cora was just like Stiles in so many ways, sassy and sarcastic, stubborn and fiery. They had made instant friends, much to Derek’s obvious joy and feigned chagrin.

“And,” Stiles said, smug, “My reputation as the ‘Boy who runs with Wolves’ preceded me.”

“You want me to be impressed? Shouldn’t you be at least a little embarrassed that you are labelled as the boy rather than the man?”

Stiles pretended to look offended, shaking his finger at her.

“Don’t you try to take this away from me,” he told her. “A reputation is all a pale skinned, fragile boned human has.”

 Cora laughed, “My apologies, darling.”

“Ugh,” Stiles pulled a face, “Don’t ‘darling’ me. It makes you sound too much like Peter trying to be charming.”

“Speaking of whom,” Cora turned back towards the new group of Supernaturals, looping her arm through Stiles’, “Did you find the Banshee he turned?”

“Yes, we found her,” Stiles breathed yet another sigh of relief in knowing that Lydia was safe and back with them. “And a few more besides. A Hellhound, for instance. He seems a good man, helped us out of a slight confrontation. His powers are certainly impressive and,” Stiles nudged her with his elbow, “He is as hot as his Supernatural creature implies.”

“You need to introduce me,” Cora said immediately.

Stiles grinned.  “All in good time, my dear.”

“Anything else exciting happen?”

“Erm,” Stiles thought, “Lydia slapped Peter. It was great.”

Cora grinned, “That will have knocked him down a peg or two.”

“He took it remarkably well. Apologised and everything; well, as far as Peter can do apologies.”

“Huh. My uncle must have learnt some humility in our years apart.”

They fell silent for a moment, Cora gazing out into the camp, her mind suddenly elsewhere.

Stiles paused, watching Cora closely before breaking the quiet. “Has there been any more on Laura’s possible location?”

Cora shook her head and Stiles felt guilty for making her look sad when she had been so cheerful.

“Nothing new,” Cora said.

The information that Allison had found out about Laura from the documents in Chris’ safe - that she had been sent away to the mines from the villa that she and Cora had been slaves in - had been confirmed once they had found Cora at said villa and she had told them the same story. Once Laura had been sent away from the villa, however, the trail had gone cold. There had been several rumours as to Laura’s potential whereabouts, gathered from mines and camps that they had overpowered and freed; Laura had been sent to the mines, Laura had died, Laura had headed a rebellion and had a rebel group of her own somewhere in the south, Laura had been picked up from the mines and made a Gladiator. There were so many rumours with no concrete evidence as yet as to where she actually was. The woman had become a legend amongst slaves in the south, the Were that no-one could track down, and while the rumours of her were, for the most part, impressive, Stiles hoped that rumour would one day become reality and that they would find her alive. He hoped he would meet her one day. He hoped Derek, Cora and Peter would see her again one day.

Stiles squeezed her arm. “We will find her.”

Cora sent him a wavering smile. “I hope so.”

Stiles smiled back, before pulling her along with him across the camp.

“Come on,” he said, “I want to see Melissa and Deaton. And I will introduce you to Parrish while we are there.”

*

Less than an hour later Stiles escaped the medical tents, leaving Melissa and Deaton, Lydia and Jackson, and Cora with Parrish as he headed in the direction of Derek’s tent.

“Stilinski!”

He whirled around at the sound of Erica’s voice and grinned when he spotted her, Scott, Allison, Boyd, Isaac and Kira sitting in a circle around a small fire.

Stiles grinned at them all before answering Erica. “My lady,” Stiles gave a small bow.

Erica pointed to the space of grass between her and Scott. “Sit.”

“Whatever my lady commands,” Stiles sat down.

Erica pulled him over to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“How is Lydia?” Boyd asked.

“It may take a little time for her to regain her weight and her strength,” Stiles said. “But she is doing well,” he laughed with relief. “She is doing really well. I left her with Melissa and Jackson.”

Scott reached out and squeezed Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles reached up to briefly cover Scott's hand with his own.

“Hungry, Stiles?” Kira asked, reaching over Isaac to offer a plate with cooked meat and vegetables to Stiles.

“Always,” Stiles accepted the plate eagerly.

They sat in comfortable silence, picking at their plates and keeping conversation light. Stiles felt at home amongst his friends, with Scott and Allison sitting beside him in each other’s arms, Erica and Boyd with their fingers intertwined and Isaac and Kira joking with each other.

Since fighting together for their freedom, their unconventional pack had only grown closer and stronger. When they fought their enemies, they fought as a unit, reading each other, watching each other’s backs. It must be quite a sight, Stiles thought, seeing a group of glowing eyes descend on a Ludus or a mine or a camp, freed Supernatural and human slaves fighting side by side, defending each other, working as one. 

“Hey Stiles,” Isaac said, “We can fill Derek a plate too if you want to take it to him?”

“Sure, thanks,” Stiles smiled, watching Isaac start to do just that. He was about to comment about how times had changed, having Isaac serve him dinners instead of the other way around, as Stiles had often had to do in the Ludus dining hall. But that made him think of Matt, who had served dinners to the Gladiators every single day and had died in the rebellion at the Ludus. The sudden memory of Matt hurt him and he decided that he did not want to remind the ex-Gladiators, Kira and Allison of the Ludus and the people they had lost. Not tonight. Not when they looked so happy.

Isaac was smiling his puppy-dog smile as he handed Stiles the plate, and Stiles took it with a nod of thanks.

“Right, I had best get food to the Sour Wolf, lest he turn sourer still.”

“I am still surprised he lets you get away with calling him that,” Erica said, raising her eyebrow.

“He only does because I tend not to say it to his face,” Stiles lied, “So don’t you get me in trouble.”

“But Stiles,” she grinned, “Where would the fun be in that?”

“Traitor,” Stiles accused, getting to his feet. He looked down at Scott and Allison, who were smiling up at him. “See you later, lovebirds.”

"See you later, brother," Scott returned, looking ridiculously happy, as he often did nowadays, which was something that nearly a year ago when Scott had been turned and made a Gladiator, seemed like something that would never happen again. Stiles was eternally grateful to see Scott and Allison so happy again. He did not voice those feelings, however, choosing to affectionately nudge Scott with his foot instead before he left to find Derek.

He was halfway to Derek’s tent when a figure suddenly emerged from the shadows to his left.

“Gods,” Stiles gasped, swerving out of the way. “Are you trying to scare me to death?”

He turned around and saw Malia, the Werecoyote that they had freed not so long ago, watching him, silent and wary. The first time he had met Malia, she had tried to attack him. Luckily Isaac and Kira had not been standing too far away and had managed to intercept. He understood why she acted as she did; she had been forced to fight in illegal fighting pits for months and had gone almost feral with it. She clearly needed to build trust again in others. She seemed to have a penchant for dealing with things with violence and for some reason - so he had been told several times before by Jackson, who had absolutely no authority of opinion on the matter - Stiles made for an appealing target.

“Ok, maybe you might be,” Stiles said. He noticed Malia staring at the plate in his hand. He held it out. “Do you want some?”

She watched him for a moment longer before she snatched the whole plate out of his hands and disappeared back into the camp.

“Alright then,” Stiles nodded, “Good talk. Glad we have made progress.”

He turned to walk again, before leaping backwards for a second time. “What the…”

“Making friends, Stiles?” Peter asked from where he was also standing in the shadows, watching him with amusement.

“I am very good at making friends,” Stiles argued, “So no need to sound so sarcastic. In fact, if there is anybody who is lacking in friends-making skills, it would be you.”

“You flatter me,” Peter’s teeth glinted as he smiled.

“How do you manage to find all my insults complimentary?”

“Because you don’t mean them,” Peter answered airily.

Stiles thought about that. He realised that that had come to be, for the most part, true.

“Thanks,” Stiles found himself saying, “For the other day at the camp with the Beta.”

Peter had appeared in wolf form at Stiles’ side when the Beta had acted threateningly. Peter’s support had made Stiles feel grateful, but also powerful, in having Peter for an ally, for being the coal black wolf that stood at Stiles’ side.

“Of course,” Peter shrugged as though his defence of Stiles were perfectly normal, “I am not about to lose the best intellectual conversationalist I have to some foolish Beta. Besides,” Peter added as he walked past Stiles and away into the night. “You are family now, and we protect our own.”

Stiles found himself swallowing the sudden lump in his throat at Peter’s words, but by the time he had turned around, Peter had gone.

***

Derek looked down at the map spread out in front of him on the table and placed a small carved wolf onto the location of the mines camp. Another camp down, another group of Supernaturals saved from a lifetime of slavery. And they had found Lydia.

It lifted a significant weight from his shoulders, leaving only the absence of Laura remaining. There were so many rumours, rumours that made him optimistic, rumours that made him fear the worst. The most painful part was the not knowing. He needed to find her. They had found Cora, they had found Lydia. They would find Laura, too, he was determined of it, and until then, in their journey to that moment, they would continue to raid every Ludus, mine and slave camp that they could, freeing every slave that wanted to be freed, until that day. It was all he could do.

He heard Stiles approach their tent before he even entered it. He knew Stiles by sound and smell now; he knew Stiles’ heartbeat, his footsteps, the smell of him, the sense of home.

“Hey,” Stiles said, ducking through the flap of the tent.

“Hey,” Derek turned away from his maps and his wondering about where to strike next, where Laura could possibly be. “Where is Cora?"

“I left her talking to Parrish,” Stiles said, rolling his shoulders and shedding his sandals. It had been a long journey back to the camp and it was always more tiring on the humans than the Supernaturals. “He was sitting right next to Hayden, and Liam’s mooning over her was becoming a little nauseating, so I left.”

Derek arched an eyebrow. Stiles carried on talking as he carried on undressing, seemingly oblivious, or possibly completely aware, to Derek watching him as he did so.

“I was going to bring you dinner, but I bumped into Malia,” Stiles said, shrugging out of the belts and pieces of leather armour. “She didn’t try to attack me this time, so that was a nice surprise. I think she might be warming to me. She did take your dinner though, so, sorry about that. Werecoyotes sure are interesting folk, that’s for sure. Speaking of interesting, have you spoken much to Parrish, yet? Cora seems intrigued, so she will be able to tell you all, I am sure. Also, one of the new Chimeras – the chameleon one – seemed to be getting on quite well with Mason in the medical tent. I swear the Beacon is becoming as much of a matchmaking retreat as it is a rebel encampment; Scott and Allison, Jackson and Lydia, Boyd and Erica, you and me, obviously. I think Ethan and Danny have something going on. Do you think they have something going on? I do. Oh, and did you know Peter has been flirting with Melissa? I know! It’s adorable and disturbing in equal measure.” Now free of belts and armour, he picked out a fresh shirt from the wooden chest in the corner that was clearly way too large for him, and clearly Derek’s, but Stiles liked wearing Derek’s things, and Derek liked Stiles wearing his things. “I wonder if Isaac and Kira are…”

Derek effectively managed to shut him up by crossing the tent in a matter of strides, stealing the shirt from Stiles’ hands.

“Hey!” Stiles protested with a knowing smirk, looking at him with eyes full of mischief.

He was wilder, this Stiles, in his freedom. His smiles were even more constant, but were laced with something knowing, cunning, and experienced. He would laugh louder, enjoy confrontation all the more. His killing of Lord Ithan had tormented his nights for a little while, but they did not last and Derek believed the only reason he felt any guilt over it in the first place was because he was worried what Scott might think. Scott still had managed not to kill another living soul, throughout their entire rebellion and rebel action. There had been a couple of times, during several fights, when Derek could have sworn he had seen Scott’s eyes flicker Beta yellow to Alpha red and whilst it was blink-and-you-will-miss-it quick, Derek would not be at all surprised if Scott one day transformed fully into his Gladiator namesake; a True Alpha.

While Scott had not killed, Stiles had. The Gladiators had been training the human slaves how to fight for months and Stiles had a distinct, scrappy fighting style and where the Werewolves would growl or snap or roar during battle, Stiles would hiss or snarl between his teeth when vexed, to the point that Derek would tease him, asking him if he were sure he wasn’t some kind of Were-fox rather than human. Stiles would laugh, ask if such things even existed outside of the Kitsune and tell Derek he would be the best Were-fox ever. Of course, Stiles had no wish to be turned by any Were, but if, gods forbid, Stiles were attacked and bitten, or was injured so badly that turning were the only option - something that Stiles had given permission for – then it was clear that Stiles did not think it would be the end of the world for him. The majority of the people he loved were Supernatural. He was intrigued by Supernaturals, admired their speed and their strength and their healing.

Stiles had no wish to be turned – despite several offers, including Peter, which had led to some strong words from Derek – and seemed perfectly content remaining human and learning more of his spark for magic, learning under Deaton and the other druids that had decided to join the rebel group. He had talent for it and sometimes when he performed mild druid magic, his amber eyes would light slightly, glow slightly, almost like a Weres would. It made Derek think of the dreams he had had of Stiles with the yellow and blue eyes of a Beta, and yet this was something different. The light in Stiles’ eyes while performing magic was mesmerising. It was the sign of a gifted human and Deaton seemed to see it, to know it. Stiles was powerful, he was intelligent, he was confident, and he was only just starting out with his tuition. He would be a force to be reckoned with, even more than he already was.

Derek took Stiles into his arms, absently tracing his thumb over the Triskele tattoo on Stiles’ lower back. All the former slaves had their own ways of dealing with the brands of former owners; some decided to keep them, to remind them what they had endured to get to where they were, and many covered them somehow, often by tattoo. Derek, Peter, Cora and Stiles had all covered their slave brands with the Triskele of the Hale family. Scott had covered the Argent family brand on his arm with two thick black bands. Jackson had had his edited into a Kanima, while Kira had hers covered by a symbol of the Thunder Kitsune. Aidan and Ethan, the only two of the Alpha Pack that had decided to stay with the rebels in the Beacon Hills, had decided to keep the edited Triskele brands of their Alpha Ludus and displayed them with the pride of Alpha Gladiators.

Stiles smiled at him, his skin a little more tanned from being outdoors for several months, his moles and freckles standing out even more on his skin, the hair on his head shaved at the sides and long on top, a Druid symbol shaved into one of the shorn sides of his head. He looked so very alive. Derek dragged his hands up the skin of Stiles’ back, over the faint bumps and scars of the whipping, that stood out whiter now against the golden tan, and Stiles shivered in his arms.

“Ok?” Derek murmured into Stiles’ hair, pulling back to smile at him, eyes searching Stiles’ face.

Stiles dragged his blunted nails down the naked spaces of Derek’s chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Derek bit his lip, watching Stiles hungrily. He was not sure quite how it was possible that he wanted Stiles more and more with each passing day, but he did know that that feeling of love would never leave him. They were mates for life, with the whole world ahead, to live it in freedom.

“More than ok,” Stiles promised.

Derek wasted no time in wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist and pulling him in, as Stiles’ hand gripped Derek’s hair and tugged his head down, meeting him halfway.

***

The kiss was open mouthed and hot and slick, hands exploring familiar territory, fingers grasping, quiet groans, hips pushed together. Stiles was addicted to it, needed more of it. He would never tire of the sound, taste, feel, sight of Derek Hale like this; hazel-green eyes darkened and focused, his dark hair soft in Stiles’ fingers, his hard body pushed against Stiles’ own.

When Derek began to work his thigh between Stiles’, Stiles managed to pull away and breathed, “Derek, do you think we have time to…”

“No!” A voice shouted from outside the tent and it startled Stiles so much that he tripped over Derek’s foot and fell on the floor. “You don’t have time!”

“By the gods…” Stiles threw his arm dramatically over his face from his spot on the floor. “Cora!”

Derek looked down at him and the bastard had the audacity to smirk at him, clearly finding Stiles’ ungainly tumble hilarious. Unfair, really, with it being Stiles’ third fright of the night, no less. Bloody Werecoyotes and Hales.

“I didn’t mean to listen in,” Cora protested, still outside the canvas, “But then I didn’t think you two would be getting it on so soon after getting back.”

“Well,” Stiles threw Derek a wink, “You surely can’t blame me.”

“Erm,” Cora’s voice said, “That’s my brother, Stiles. I am not about to answer that.”

Derek huffed fondly, rolling his eyes. “Cora, can you just come in?”

“That depends entirely on whether the pair of you are decent.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Derek and sprawled himself out in his shirtless state. Derek narrowed his eyes, gaze wandering Stiles’ body even as Derek kicked at Stiles half-heartedly and Stiles smirked back in triumph.

“Yes,” Derek replied, “Decent enough.”

Stiles stuck out his tongue and lifted up his arm so that Derek could pull him to his feet. Derek steadied him with a hand on Stiles’ bare waist, watching him in a way that made him feel a little breathless again, a moment before Cora entered the tent.

“Sorry for disturbing you,” Cora apologised, looking like she didn’t actually care in the slightest. “Derek, you are needed for your Alpha and Beacon leader duties. You need to do your official speech for the new rebels.”

Stiles slipped out of Derek’s grip to locate and tug on the shirt he had intended to wear while Derek straightened himself up. Derek slung his arm around Cora’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“Come on then,” Derek said, steering Cora around and holding his hand out for Stiles to take. “Let’s go.”

Stiles took it.