Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.

Author's note: The picture that inspired this chapter is linked in my profile.

Read on, oh faithful ones...

...

Derek has always been protective of others - family, friends, pack, complete and utter strangers - and when he was younger, it was something that his sisters had teased him for, saying he was next in line to be pack mother. With Paige, the list grew to include loved ones . After Paige's death and the fire, however, the list shrank to family and pack because he didn't have friends anymore and he no longer trusted strangers. Going to New York didn't change that, he kept to himself, buried in his grief and guilt, and not even Laura's pushing and comments could make him stop glaring at the world and his own reflection.

He returned to Beacon Hills with the intention of returning to New York in a few days, weeks tops, but then he discovered Laura's body, there was a rogue Alpha on the loose, a kid still in high school had been bitten, and he felt his old tendencies returning as he decided to stay around for a bit longer, maybe a few months. The months had changed to the end of the year, until Derek finally stopped kidding himself, sold the place in New York, bought the loft, and had his and Laura's meagre belongings sent down to Beacon Hills. He had a pack again, a family in Peter (and later, Cora), and since Scott warmed up to him and Stiles just refused to leave him alone, Derek had friends again as well. He had people to protect and he felt secure in his ability to do exactly that for them, no matter what the Nemeton released. That all changed after Peter's second betrayal.

The first betrayal had been for power, and Derek had killed him for it, for Laura, for their family. The second betrayal had been for power as well, but there was more than that - Peter wanted to cause complete and utter devastation. He'd killed Scott first, a syringe of wolfsbane right in his heart, and Peter had used Malia to do it. Over their time together, searching for a mother that no longer existed, Peter had convinced Malia that Scott was using Stiles, was a tyrant who only wanted power, to control Stiles and Malia and everyone else in the pack. There were far lesser beings that had believed and been twisted by Peter - Malia didn't stand a chance.

At the next pack meeting, Malia had stabbed Scott thinking that she was helping Stiles, the pack, only she was helping Peter instead. He had known he wasn't trusted by the rest of the pack, despite the small shows of trust over the years, and when Scott was gasping his last breath, Peter had come in and plunged his claws directly into his chest. They were all too shocked by what had happened to respond properly, and Liam and Mason were killed in a matter of seconds. The rest of them weren't killed quite so kindly nor quickly, and after injecting Derek with wolfsbane in the leg, Peter had tied him up and blindfolded him, taking away all of his senses as he slowly died except for his hearing, and then forced Derek listen to his friends as they died.

Peter had killed his own daughter first, then Kira, then Danny who'd only returned to Beacon Hills for a vacation from MIT, Parrish who'd been with Lydia at the time, Jackson and Isaac were next, both back from their European escapes now they were 18, and then Lydia and Stiles. He had saved them for last, teasing, taunting and cruel as he injured them, all the while forcing Derek to listen to every single whimper and plea.

Somehow, the latter two had survived, though not without their own consequences. Lydia had been sliced to pieces, wore her white scars as armour, her brilliant mind slightly bent though she swore she wasn't psychotic; Stiles had been beaten with his own baseball bat, his still favoured weapon now used as a cruel irony. Derek thinks that Stiles' spark had something to do with their survival, that he'd believed they would survive - that they would live - so strongly that nature itself had no choice but to obey. He remembers Peter gasping something about Stiles' eyes glowing white, hearing a sizzling of flesh just before Peter dropped the baseball bat; Derek remembers the welcome sound of police sirens, Lydia's screams for their friends, Peter running because they all knew that the police force had been armed with wolfsbane bullets ever since the Sheriff found out just what was going on, and he remembers his own laughter, broken and twisted and hysterical.

Stiles and Lydia had been given the same room, something wrangled by Stiles' father and Lydia's mother because they started screaming as soon as they were out of the other's sight, and drugging them only delayed the screams. Since he actually had to heal from the wolfsbane poisoning, Derek moved his own bed into their hospital room and dared anyone to tell him leave. (One of the nurses attempted, screaming and crying as she left with his growl and eyes and claws after her; Derek didn't care.) He was fine in a matter of days, but still refused to leave. He kept an ear out for Peter's return, for nurses and doctors with their syringes, for anyone and anything that could be a threat. The only people he now trusted were in the hospital room with him, and his list had been shrunk down completely to pack.

Of course, Lydia had simply refused to let them be just that to him, and mere weeks after they'd been released from hospital, she had dragged Derek to her and tugged Stiles over, and they'd never really left. He didn't want them to leave. They were pack and lovers and friends and they both meant everything to him now, Derek didn't think he had it in him to let them leave, but it was okay because they both promised that they wouldn't leave him either. He held them at night, clutching them to him, terrified that they would leave him anyway if he didn't hold them tight enough. They were his anchors, keeping him weighted to his sanity and whatever little was left of his humanity.

They'd talked about revenge, however unlikely it had seemed, spent hours and days and weeks as they told each other everything. They could have no more secrets between them, they needed complete and utter trust. Stiles and Lydia talked about their parents, their families, their friends, their lives before Peter, and Derek found himself telling Lydia and Stiles the same in return. They heard all about Paige, Kate, Jennifer, even Braeden, and his voice went quiet as he talked about his family, his guilt, his own feelings about the fire. Derek had broken down as he told them about how revered his mother was with her ability to turn into an actual wolf, something he could do now, but doubted he would ever be able to live up to her legendary status as a werewolf. The other 'wolf packs had all bowed to her, let her unite them in a way that had never been done before or since, and she had organised them, made use of networking and helped settle disputes even if they were halfway across the country. She had been loved, respected, and there was no unity like that with werewolf packs anymore. Deucalion's Alpha pack had been a misguided attempt at recreating what had been lost since her death, but it had been a spectacular failure because Deucalion didn't have half the command his mother had had.

Lydia's eyes had widened at the story, and she'd spent the whole night in their computer room, making lists of creatures they still knew were alive and might help. It had been a long shot, but after Lydia had explained her idea, Stiles agreed and suggested his own ideas, and they'd started with Deucalion. Derek had run there himself, knowing that Deucalion was in Las Vegas now, had a somewhat misfit pack with him, and he owed them for Scott letting him live. Deucalion had come through, agreeing to their idea and vision, and letting them know the names of other packs that would help. He'd also been the first to let them know about the rogue and misshapen Alpha that was scouring the desert, limping on what looked to be still-burnt paws. (Stiles eyes had glowed white on hearing that news, and he told them in gleefully sharp and sadistic tones that he'd increased the fiery feeling to Peter's paws because that was something he could absolutely fucking do now. Since Peter was still healing, it would be something he would continue to do until Peter had - regrettably - fully healed. Lydia had just laughed, and Derek had smirked, both encouraging Stiles in their own ways.)

Derek heard the slide and step of Stiles' limp, Lydia's heels distinctive on the concrete behind him as they walked up to the loft's door, and he headed out to the lounge room to greet them.

"Peter's scent is still at his condo," Stiles calls from the front door, toeing off his sneakers but placing them on the rack beside Lydia's heels carefully, an ingrained habit after the first few months of living with Lydia.

"Good, that means I don't have to deal with them until later."

"Duke's asked to meet you beforehand. He'll be by himself, down at the diner's on Main Street. I told him we'd tell you," Lydia says, kissing Derek's lips in greeting.

He wrinkles his nose at the scent of other 'wolves on her, even though he recognises Deucalion's scent among the mix and knows he's not a threat. Lydia smiles and offers her neck to him, like she can tell exactly what he's thinking, and Derek doesn't hesitate in biting down, reaffirming his claiming mark. Stiles slips past them, and when he returns, Derek sees that he has a bundle of Derek's clothes for them to change in to. Lydia kisses Stiles and strips out of her dress right there, pulling Derek's worn henley on instead. Stiles drops Derek's clothes and pulls him in for a firm kiss before he too offers his neck, and Derek feels calmer after he retracts his fangs. Stiles hums a striptease as he strips out of his pants and shirts, tugging on Derek's sweatpants and ignoring the shirt to instead pull Derek onto the lounge between them, letting his head rest on his chest instead. Derek listens to his lovers' heartbeats, thankful for the beating sound that he remembers hearing, even as he was dying.

Lydia breaks the companionable silence first, her fingers carding through Derek's hair as he nuzzles against her shoulder.

"The Alpha will be here tomorrow," her voice is soft in the loft, but it feels as though she's shouted the words, and both Derek and Stiles nod sombrely in return.

"We'll be ready for him," Stiles says, and there's not a hint of a lie in his heartbeat.

They spend the rest of the afternoon wrapped up in each other, quiet with their moans and whispers of love. When they finally fall asleep, Derek clings to Lydia and Stiles just as tight as he did the first time they were in bed together.

...

Peter's waiting for them at the old Hale house. He's lost a large number of his makeshift pack - Deucalion's pack know how to shield themselves from other werewolves, which made it easier for them to work with Stiles to capture a number of the kidnapped 'wolves and break the spell on them. Stiles is quiet and efficient, his eyes glowing white as he removes the loyalty spells on each 'wolf, finally allowing the werewolves to return to their own packs. Emile and Jan are two of the first rescued and decide to stay and fight with them instead; some choose to stay, others - some younger than Scott when he was first turned - just start running for their home and packs. Derek doesn't blame them. Lydia stands within one of Stiles' silenced spelled circle to call their packs so they can be met halfway or closer if need be - some of these 'wolves were taken from as far as Minnesota and have been running almost non-stop, and they'll collapse sooner rather than later if they don't stop, but thankfully, a lot of the packs have sent one or two 'wolves after Peter's trail by car rather than on foot. Stiles murmurs that they'll all be found one way or another, Lydia nodding in agreement as she steps outside of the circle and grabs her axe while Stiles shoulders his baseball bat carefully and they all head to the old Hale house where Peter's waiting.

Peter's already shifted, eyes red and claws elongated, but Derek doesn't bother shifting. Stiles eyes glow white as he pulls Peter towards them with his magic, slamming the 'wolf's body against the barrier of mountain ash that appears at their feet. Peter snarls and breaks away from Stiles' magical hold - Derek has done that before and knows it shouldn't be as easy as what Peter made it seem, Alpha or not. It doesn't matter though, because there's another line of mountain ash behind Peter, and Stiles shouts a series of words that don't make sense to Derek but he can feel the power of them along his skin. The gathered werewolves behind Peter and the mountain ash slowly stop snarling, their eyes clearing from the blues and golds, and they all seem to gather their senses at once, realising that they're no longer in their homes. There's some snarling, some more 'wolves leave, but faced with the Alpha that had kidnapped them, not as many run this time.

"Think you've lost your edge there, Petey," Stiles chuckles, the white in his eyes fading.

"You haven't stopped me! You will never stop me! I'M THE - "

He cuts off with a blood-filled choke as Lydia's axe slams into his chest, shattering at least four of his ribs with the angle.

"Hmm, missed your heart. Though it is a minuscule target, so I really shouldn't be judged poorly for the effort. I guess I'll just have to try again," Lydia quips, smiling as she reaches for the axe handle.

Peter snarls, blood splattering as he grips her wrist firmly, the barrier flashing fiercely as he pulls her across the barrier, his nails digging into her skin.

"He's here. Find him," Derek snarls and while he's not an Alpha anymore, the weight of his command is just as heavy, and Deucalion and his pack immediately disperse.

Peter seems delighted that they've just lost the weight behind their attack, and puts his mouth close to Lydia's ear. "See that, dearest Lydia? They're not interested in saving you."

"You mistake a strategic move for a folly, dearest Peter," Lydia mocks.

Stiles launches himself across the line of ash to barrel into their bodies, knocking Lydia aside and swinging his rowan-crafted baseball axe into the other side of Peter's chest. Peter just laughs, even as Stiles slaps spell after spell onto his body, not one of the spells having an effect. Lydia scrambles to her feet, and breaks the line of mountain ash on both sides, even as Peter backhands Stiles and he's thrown across the ground and into the surrounding fence. Derek snarls and moves forward, claws out and eyes blue. The gathered werewolves aren't far behind, and there's soon close to twenty werewolves shifted and working towards bringing Peter down. He struggles and fights against them, and for a moment, it looks like he might even beat their combined force, his Alpha strength too much for even twenty betas. Lydia screams, but it's not a name of any gathered, and Derek almost laughs at the expression on his uncle's face when he realises just who's died. Stiles gets off the fence and brushes himself off, straightening his shirt as he makes his way over. Derek spares him a glance now that Peter actually looks scared, and is relieved to see that his lover is all right. Lydia's just smiling down at Peter, like she can't wait to get the axe out of his chest just to bury it right back in. Maybe a few inches lower.

"You think we didn't know about Deaton, Peter? We've known for years; he's been feeding us misinformation and we've been doing the same right back," Stiles says, rolling his eyes.

"He's dead now, thanks to Duke and his pack, and you're no longer under the Druid's protection. You have the same amount of power as any regular Alpha, which means we can kill you," Lydia says, pleased.

"Deaton was never loyal to our family; he was loyal to you. That's how Kate was able to douse the house in accelerants without anyone hearing, and that's how you were able to survive the fire. Bet you didn't count on being in a coma for all that time," Derek muses, flicking his hands to elongate his claws.

"No, Derek. Don't. I... I did this for our family, to get revenge for what they all did. They all left us, left our family, the minute Talia died! We're family, remember?" Peter says, eyes wide as he looks between Derek's claws and his face.

"Oh, I remember," Derek promises, then plunges his clawed fist right into Peter's chest.

He hears Lydia's laughter and Stiles' little breath of amazement, and then they're both there beside him, their own hands ripping and tearing into Peter's chest. The other betas all let go of Peter, backing away as his red eyes start to fade back to their natural colour. Derek's start to filter from blue to red, and beside him, Stiles' white eyes are tinged with red, while Lydia's brown eyes are ringed red. By the time Peter's dead, the other betas have all made a circle around them, their scents terrified and their pulses racing.

Peter's death is somewhat anti-climatic overall, but three Alphas certainly makes up for it. It's never been done before, one Alpha's power shared between three, but Stiles believed that it could work, and that's all Lydia and Derek needed to agree. They're three parts of one whole, and they'll be a better Alpha together than one alone. They don't work well with one leading and two following, they all need to be equal in their relationship, and this will ensure that more than ever before. Their hands are covered in blood when they stand up, turning to face the werewolves still gathered and now kneeling before them.

"Well, I could get used to this," Lydia murmurs, smirking.

"Axe first, worship later," Stiles reminds her, and Lydia nods, tugging her blood-slippery axe out of Peter's dead body.

Derek and Stiles help with claws and magic, and in a matter of minutes, Peter's body is hacked into pieces. Stiles sets his head on fire with a burst of magic, and when Deucalion and his pack return with Deaton's body, they're given Peter's arms to bury as far away from each other as possible. Emile and Jan are given his legs and the same instructions. They both look a little ill, but nod determinedly anyway and leave with a quick nod to the three Alphas. Deucalion seems impressed with the red glow of Stiles and Lydia's eyes, and gives his farewell with a promise to visit sooner rather than later, his pack leaving after him. The rest of the 'wolves disperse, some still looking a little shellshocked at the three Alphas, but they're ignored as they try to decide on what to do with Peter's torso.

The Nemeton has been quiet for the past month, as if it knew their plans and that they were too busy to fight off whatever it let loose. The tree's been growing, considering the power it's been gaining from Stiles' magic and the increase of magical creatures and beings in the county, and the Nemeton itself looks almost as it once did. Deaton had suggested cutting it down to stem the flow of power, which is what helped solidify Stiles' suspicions about the Druid because stemming the power is what turned the Nemeton evil-ish in the first place. It was always meant to grow and thrive in order to properly house the evil it caged. Once the tree had been cut down, the magic had stopped, reduced to a trickle that barely kept anything caged. The Nemeton had twisted in on itself and later, was corrupted by Jennifer's ambitions, even while there was a Druid in the area that was meant to heal a tree as sacred as the Nemeton. Stiles had taken over that duty since Deaton didn't seem interested. (Lydia still claimed that the Nemeton was playing with Stiles by letting out the monsters now and then, and since it had been so quiet recently, Derek was starting to agree with her.)

Derek and Lydia hung back while Stiles went forward to talk to the Nemeton (it was something he did because if plants could grow with singing, then he didn't see the harm in asking a prison tree to actually keep holding things prisoner). The Nemeton seemingly accepted both Peter's torso and Deaton's body as offerings, both disappearing when they were close enough to the tree's roots. Stiles pressed his hands to the Nemeton's trunk, letting some of his newly acquired power flow into the tree to help restrain its inhabitants.

Peter's never coming back, Derek realises, and he feels almost giddy at the thought.

"Is it finally over?" Derek asks hesitantly, just in case.

"The thing with Peter? Yes. The thing with us being Alphas? Hell, no," Stiles replies, grinning broadly with red eyes.

"We're Alphas," Lydia breaths out, and Derek knows the exhilarating feeling of power that's coursing through their bodies.

"We're not going to abuse the power," Derek murmurs.

He pulls them both against his chest and leaching their pain because Stiles was limping more than usual after being thrown against a fence, and try as she might deny it, Lydia's emotional pain is enough to send black lines up his arms as well.

"Of course not. Complete and utter worship isn't abuse of power," Lydia says, a little dazedly like his lovers always are when he takes their pain.

"Can you imagine that, though? There'd be so many people around, and they'd want to be near you all the time, and that just doesn't sound at all appealing if there's more than one or two people," Stiles mumbles.

"Are you saying you want me to worship the both of you?" Derek asks, leading them out of the forest and back to the car.

"Yes. But you already do anyway," Lydia says, frowning slightly.

"You can worship us when we get home," Stiles proclaims, sounding very pleased with his solution. "We'll worship you too."

"Of course," Derek promises, because he was planning something similar anyway.

Derek needs them to be close, needs to have them near so that when his mind catches up to the idea that they could have been killed, when he replays the night over and over and realises just how close Peter had come to killing Lydia and Stiles, Derek will need them even more than they need him.

Lydia and Stiles are his pack, his lovers, his friends, his anchors, his everything, and if he can help it - if he can fight for it - Derek never wants that to lose that.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!