In truth, Derek should have seen it coming. Werewolves heal. Even the most terrible of wounds like a bullet to the arm had taken digging the bullet out and then lighting up some magic wolfsbane and shoving the mixture into the wound. Derek had fallen down a gorge as a child. He woke with blood matting his hair, but not a scratch on his body. His sister had come into contact with a weed whacker and her thumb was cut clean off; it healed back together in a day though with some ace bandage wrapped around it to keep it in place.
Derek watched Stiles' eyes, the terror shown through easily as well as a sickening sense of guilt. There was no reason for Stiles to be guilty, none at all. Derek's claws dug into the flesh of his palms as he restrained himself from attacking. Peter's voice wasn't helping the resolve.
"Quite a valuable little human pet you've found here, Derek. I didn't think he was worth much more than lunch, but now I see why you like him so much. He could make me do anything, did you know that?"
The words don't make too much sense to Derek. Stiles was clever, manipulative, and always sticking his nose where it didn't belong, but he couldn't force anything other than a headache on an alpha gone rogue like Peter.
"You know, your little rag-tag band of two betas and a human groupie was supposed to be so easy to take apart. You're only an omega Derek, you know that. That's what a lone wolf is. No matter what your lineage was."
Derek snarls, but he's trapped listening to the rantings of the madman who was once his family. As long as Stiles is in his claws, Derek must move carefully. The rant rambles on and on, self absorbed making grand sweeping assumptions about the world. Derek tunes his ears into the shifting of humans on the floor of the hospital wing; there's so few, much less possible collateral damage. He misses most of the macbethian villain's speech.
"And then it hit me, fast as the speed of sound. You have an alpha. You and my changed beta, both of you have had an alpha all along."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Derek snapped. They didn't have an alpha. He and Scott were not a pack, even though he was constantly trying to get Scott to join forces with him. If Derek was honest with himself, he knew he was only an omega with memories of a having pack.
"You never were the brightest. This boy here." Peter's claw traced the delicate flesh covering Stiles' larynx. "Is an alpha."
A noise, a gurgle of choking rose from Stiles, pounding against his senses louder than anything Peter could have said. The mad wolf was ranting, his body healed but brain still gone. "He's just a human boy, a disabled one at that. Why don't you settle things wolf to wolf., Peter."
A bloom of blood slithered across two of Stiles' moles on his throat. Without ever removing his eyes from Derek, Peter licked the line of red from the puncture. "This metallic tang, it makes me so greedy for more. Derek, how many glasses of the pretty red do you think I could pull from him before he can't hold himself up anymore?"
Derek's ice blue eyes snapped as his teeth gnashed. He nearly lunged when from the other end of the hall a dark figure came slamming into Peter and Stiles. Derek's heart leapt into his throat as he watched Stiles become buried in the ball of fangs and claw. He rushed forward, slashing across Peter's back when it was turned to try to find Stiles.
Three werewolves went still as the grave as the thin, fragile boy pushed himself to standing with glowing red eyes. An alpha, a powerful alpha, stood before them and Derek would have bared his neck if he'd been given any chance.
"Back away from each other and then do not move."