Shatter My Reality

Magic

The shrill of Scott's phone could be heard from Derek's room. Praying that it was Stiles, Derek yanked open his door. The pack were all gathered around the pack table, a map laid out as if they didn't have the territory memorized. It was something they did when they didn't know what else to do.

"Deaton, whoa, slow down," Scott said into his phone.

Derek focused his hearing.

"—tore the place apart and found it. I'm sorry. I tried to stop them, but —"

"Found what Deaton?" Scott asked.

Deaton's tone was worried. He also sounded out of breath.

"The book. The one Claudia had. It's not a good book, Scott. The spells inside are dangerous. Using this book is what killed her. Spencer said her mind started to go. It's a side effect of using the book. Suppressing their magic made her sick."

"They're gonna make Stiles use the book." Scott's eyes fell on Derek across the room.

Derek's hands clenched.

"He won't be able to do the spell for them. It has to be a natural emissary. That book was made by a natural emissary and can't be used by anyone else."

As if Derek wasn't worried enough.

"If he doesn't do the spell..." Scott trailed off.

Silence hung.

Derek grabbed his keys from the hook and yanked open the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, where do you think you're going?" Peter asked, scrambling from his spot on the couch. He caught Derek's wrist.

"I'm getting Stiles back."

"By yourself? In that condition?" Peter nodded to the still-healing wound on Derek's torso.

"If he can't do the spell, they're gonna kill him."

"Or they're gonna try and trade him for Spencer."

Derek narrowed his eyes at Peter.

"Is it ideal? No. But we get Stiles back."

"We're not trading Spencer," Derek growled.

Spencer stood from his chair. "It's a good idea. I'm the only one who can do the spell."

Derek took in a breath. Was it a genetic trait that all Stilinski's be self-sacrificing idiots? Were he in a better mood, he might ask, but right now, he was dangerously close to ripping someone's throat out. "I already told you no," he snapped.

"But—"

"Drop it. Both of you." Derek's eyes flashed red. Despite Spencer not being a wolf, he sat back down. Peter glared but released Derek's wrist.

"You can't go after him alone though, Peter's right. And if we show up claws out, they could kill Stiles before we got through the front door. We have to be smart about this," Scott said.

"Stiles is clever. He can handle himself for a few hours while we come up with a plan," Peter agreed.

"Why don't we show up with the entire police force? There are only four of them." Spencer pointed out, his eyes falling to Derek.

"No. The sheriff is the only one who knows about the supernatural. Their bullets would just piss them off. And how is he going to explain them walking off a dozen bullet wounds? Plus, Stiles would be pissed if anyone got hurt to save him, especially his dad." Derek closed the door. As much as he hated it, they were all right. Stiles was safest so long as they weren't interfering. And if anyone could handle themselves, it was Stiles. It didn't mean he had to like it, though. "Lydia, have you seen anything?" he asked, facing her.