Chapter Text
Eli burst into the living room where his cousin slash best friend (only friend) was stretched out on the couch, watching TV and snacking on buttery popcorn.
“I’ve got an idea,” Eli said.
“No, you don’t.” Libby tossed popcorn at his head without removing her gaze from the reality show on the screen, nailing him right in the forehead. Sometimes she was so much like her mom, his Aunt Cora, that it was downright spooky. She had the same long dark hair, the same natural skepticism, the same stoic Hale frown that Eli didn’t seem capable of mastering despite his oh-so-special werewolf bloodline. “You’re not allowed to have ideas anymore, not after the one that ended with me breaking my ankle.”
Eli grimaced. “You’re the one who decided to jump off the roof with me. Besides, you healed in like two minutes.”
“Those were two painful minutes!”
While Libby watched two women on screen scream and swear at each other, Eli continued standing there and directing his big, pleading eyes on her. When he really wanted to get his way, this was the way to do it: look sad and adorable and a hint of pathetic. She finally turned to him at the ad break and demanded, “What.” A statement, not a question, which Eli was pretty sure she’d picked up from his dad.
“I need your help, Libs.” He set his chin on the armrest of the couch and pouted at her, doing his best impersonation of a dog with puppy eyes. “Please, please, please?”
Libby sighed heavily, but Eli knew it was all an act. These were their roles and they performed them well: Eli, the one who often acted before thinking, and Libby, the one who attempted to prevent his compulsive decisions, but never hard enough to really stop him. She was fighting off a smile, he could tell by the way the corners of her lips were tilting upwards despite her showy Hale eyebrows furrowing. She shoved his face away with the palm of her hand against his cheek and laughed softly.
“Fine,” she said, and for the millionth time in their lives, he had managed to rope her into another one of his stupid plans. “What’s your idea?”
He flopped down beside her, playfully jostling her shoulder with excitement. His leg was bouncing a mile a minute. “Okay, so, you know how my dad has been super depressed ever since he and Stiles broke up?” Libby’s expression shifted. Eli could tell she was already second-guessing getting involved. “Well, I’m going to fix it.”
“Eli, come on.” She lowered her voice, which was probably a good idea because Derek’s alpha werewolf hearing was better than anyone’s and he could be home any minute. “I don’t think we should be fucking with your dad’s love life. He’s so sensitive about the Stiles stuff. He’ll kill us.”
“He’ll kill us if he finds out that we meddled.” Eli grinned. “Which he won’t…because we’re basically secret agents when it comes to being sneaky. Besides, Dad’s distracted right now.”
Derek had been busy dealing with the sudden appearance of a group of hunters lingering right outside of Beacon Hills. So far, they hadn’t crossed into Hale territory, but they’d apparently been toeing the line over the last few days, daring Derek to act before they did. Derek had been on high alert; for the time being, Eli and Libby weren’t allowed to go anywhere besides school and home without a member of the pack escorting them, with the Preserve completely off limits. They’d been sneaking around anyway and Derek had been too preoccupied to notice. Just last weekend, they’d snuck out after dinner to go to the skatepark; Libby had done a cool, werewolf flip out the window and Eli had climbed down the lattice like a human, ever elusive werewolf powers be damned.
“God, you’re so dumb,” Libby said warmly. They were both fifteen, but it sometimes felt like her maturity outweighed his by a ton. She gently shoved his shoulder. “Fine, dude. I’ll walk the plank with you. What’s the big plan?”
“Come with me.”
Eli eagerly took her wrist and dragged her off the couch, ignoring her whines about missing the rest of the show. Once they were safely in his room, he shut the door and turned on his bluetooth speakers to drown out their voices for any listening ears. He had a few other tricks up his sleeve when it came to avoiding getting caught by his dad’s werewolf senses— like his dad’s Hale Auto sweatshirt, a perfect trick in preventing his dad from scent tracing him, a mask for his smell. He wore it whenever he snuck out of the house, but only enough that it still smelled like his dad, not like him.
From under his bed, he retrieved a large, dusty book— a leather-bound tome.
“Oh, my God,” Libby said, examining the cover. Eli tried to offer it over, but she pulled her hands back to her sides. “Did you steal this from Deaton’s?”
“I borrowed it from Deaton.”
“It’s only borrowing if he knows you have it!”
“Okay…then, yeah, I stole it.” Eli smiled warily. “Temporarily. I’m going to give it back.”
“Dude,” Libby said with feeling. “We’re breaking like a hundred rules right now. Why are you so hung up on this?”
“Because it’s my fault, Libs,” Eli admitted, his voice going soft and sad even though he tried so hard to keep it flat. “I’m the reason they broke up, so I need to be the reason they get back together.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Eli rolled his eyes. He’d been there, six months ago, watching the entire disaster unfold at the dinner table: Stiles getting down on one knee, Derek’s panicked eyes shooting over towards Eli. Stiles, we should’ve talked about this first, he’d said. And then silence— the most painful silence Eli had ever experienced as Stiles picked himself up from his kneeling position with a look of pure devastation on his face. The look was mirrored on Derek’s face too. They’d eaten the rest of the meal in silence and then Eli had scurried upstairs so they could fight in peace.
“Agree to disagree,” he muttered, flipping open the book and thumbing through the pages until he found the right passage. Luckily, Stiles had taught him a thing or two in the decade that he’d lived with them: some Latin, a few easy spells, how to partially understand complicated works of ancient magic. He didn’t have natural magic the way Stiles did, but he knew how to outsource. One year, when Eli was nine or ten, Stiles had taught him how to use a charmed necklace to light his ceiling into a stunning display of colors mimicking the northern lights. It had lasted years before finally fading into darkness. Sometimes, even now, he swore he could still catch a quick glimpse of the colorful light.
Libby sat carefully on the edge of Eli’s bed, still eyeing the spell book like it was a bomb set to detonate at any moment. “What spell are you looking for?”
“This one.” Eli pointed to the page. “It’s a shapeshifting spell. I’ll be able to shapeshift into anyone for 24 hours. I’ll make myself look like my dad, call Stiles and apologize, then invite him to come back. Dad’ll never know, so when Stiles shows up, it’ll be a like a Christmas miracle to him.”
Libby looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. “How the hell are you going to not get caught running around here looking like Uncle Derek?”
“I’ll hide.”
“And you don’t think your dad’ll notice that you’re MIA?”
Eli shrugged. “Not if he’s busy with hunter lookout duty.”
“What are you going to use to cast it?”
“The Nemeton?” Eli looked away as he said it so he wouldn’t have to see the look of doubt Libby was probably wearing.
“So, let me run this back to you so you can hear it out loud, okay?” Eli nodded slowly, though he didn’t really want to hear it. He didn't have any space for doubt, only confidence. “You want us to take advantage of your dad being busy protecting the pack and sneak out into the Preserve, which we’re strictly not supposed to be going into until the hunters leave, to use the Nemeton’s power to cast a spell for you to meddle in your dad’s love life, after which there is a zero percent chance of you not getting caught.”
“Sounds about right.”
Libby caught him by the hand and tugged him to sit down beside her, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Listen, Eli, there are other ways to deal with your emotions. We could just talk about the Stiles thing, you know. I know you said you didn’t want to, but I’m always here.” There it was again, the maturity that made Eli feel like a dumb little kid. He shrugged her off, annoyed. Talking about Stiles, who had been like a second dad to him for most of his life but was gone now, was off the table. Those feelings were better left buried somewhere deep down where he couldn’t access them.
“C’mon, Libs.” He got to his feet and crossed his room to the window, which he pulled open as an invite to join him in sneaking out. He grabbed Derek’s sweatshirt from the chair and pulled it over his head, oversized and masking his scent. “Please.”
Libby sighed heavily and stood up. “Fine, but if...or more likely when we get caught, you’re taking the blame.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
After Eli managed to not hurt himself too badly climbing down the side of the house, they took their bikes. Libby could’ve just sprinted there, but she always slowed down for Eli’s humanlike pace. He felt constantly guilty about it, but she never brought it up or made him feel bad for being a failure of a werewolf. He did enough of that on his own.
The Nemeton made itself accessible right away, which rang warning bells in Eli’s head, but he refused to listen, quelling them down with the reminder of his plan: make everything okay again. If he pulled this off, Stiles would move back in and marry Derek and they’d all live happily ever after.
Eli abandoned his bike in the frozen leaves and climbed atop the stump of the tree, sitting crosslegged. Libby sat on a log a safe distance away, the large spellbook opened in her lap.
“So, I read this aloud with your names and that’s it?” she asked skeptically.
Eli fidgeted with the sleeves of his dad’s sweatshirt, long enough to dip over his fingers. It was always scary to mess around with magic, but he only had to remind himself that this would be worth it if it worked to find the courage to proceed. “I think.”
She cleared her throat. “Figura subcinctus,” she said. “Eli Hale et Derek Hale.”
Honestly, Eli had expected nothing to happen. How could it? He wasn’t good at supernatural anything; he didn’t know how to be a werewolf and the only spells he’d ever cast had been guided by Stiles. Despite his insistence on coming here and trying his best, he’d believed in his heart that it wouldn’t really work, that they’d sit here in silence and call it a night and at least his mind could rest a bit easier knowing he’d tried.
Instead, when Libby spoke, Eli had no time to think anything at all before he was crying out in pain as a sharpness pulsed through his body, and then he was falling, falling, falling into darkness.
#
It had been a long day. Derek sat back in the driver’s seat of his Camaro and closed his eyes, just for a second. Soon, he would have to drive home, make and eat dinner, make sure Eli was safely in bed, and then return to the Preserve as lookout until Scott showed up to replace him around three in the morning. Then, he’d get a little sleep and be due at work.
The hunters had shown up on Sunday. Peter had spotted them first, had wanted to start an all-out war, but Derek was more careful now. He’d been an alpha for enough years to know that waiting things out usually ended with less people hurt.
He had only closed his eyes for a minute, he just needed a second of rest to find the will to drive home, but then suddenly he was sprawled out on his back in pain and his niece Lizzie was leaning over him, shaking his shoulders.
“Oh my God, you’re awake! Are you okay?” she asked, and her voice sounded genuinely terrified. He blinked, clearing his vision, and saw that her eyes were shining. Behind her, he could see huge trees stretching into the sky, stars twinkling in the darkness. “Holy shit, dude, I thought you were dead.”
He groaned in response, bringing a hand up to his face to rub his eyes, trying to remember what had happened. How had he gotten here, passed out in the Preserve? He’d been in the Hale Auto parking lot, last he remembered.
“Come on, say something,” Lizzie said frantically. “Eli, please.”
Eli was there? Unease trickled down Derek’s spine as he tried to sit up to find his kid, dizziness pressing in from every direction until he had no choice but to squeeze his eyes closed, gripping his forehead.
“Whoa, take it easy,” Lizzie said softly. He could feel her hands on his shoulders, easing him back to a laying position.
“I’m fine,” he slurred, barely registering that his voice didn’t sound quite right. He didn't feel fine though; his whole body hurt and he had a pounding headache.
“Oh, shit, thank God.” Lizzie was suddenly embracing him, squeezing him tightly. She started to cry, beginning with a few stray tears and revving up into full choked sobs. “I thought you were dead, Eli. I was so scared. I’m never doing anything like this with you again.”
Wait, was she calling him Eli? He tried to shift out of her embrace, but he felt too queasy and weak to break her werewolf-strong grip.
Finally, she pulled away just enough to look at him, holding him by the shoulders at arm’s length. “It didn’t even work. All that, and it didn’t even work.”
“What?” His voice sounded pitchy and wrong, cracking on the word. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What?” Still wrong.
“Are you sure you’re okay?" She reached over and swiped a finger below his nose. Her finger came back stained crimson. "You're bleeding.”
Derek stared at her, frowning. “Lizzie—” he managed, cutting himself short again when he heard the strange voice coming from his lips. She looked confused, which was strange. Lizzie was what everyone in their family called her, everyone except—
“Eli,” Lizzie said gently. “I think you hit your head when you collapsed, and I’m freaking out here. I think you should get checked out at the hospital. I’m going to call your dad, I don't care if we get in trouble.”
“Why are you calling me Eli?” He looked down at himself— he hadn’t been wearing this sweatshirt today and why did it feel so big on him? He lifted his hands and pushed the sleeves up, frowning down at softer, smaller hands. All wrong. It made the edges of his vision blur with panic. What was wrong with him? “Lizzie, what’s going on?”
Lizzie’s eyes went wide as saucers.
“Wait...” she whispered. "Uncle Derek?"
A horrible realization clicked into place in his mind. He flipped his hands this way and that, inspecting them, then felt along his face, up to the messy head of hair that fell into his eyes—not his own, but he knew why this was all familiar, who this hair and these hands and this voice and this scrawny body belonged to.
“Oh, my God,” Derek said. "I'm not me, am I? I'm...am I..."
"You're Eli," Lizzie confirmed. He could feel her staring at him as he frantically patted his hands all over his body, his face, panic rising in his chest, making it feel tight, so tight, like he could suffocate right there. "Oh, shit. If you're Eli, does that mean Eli's...?"
"Fuck," Derek said, wobbly as he climbed to his feet, breathing shallow. "We have to find him now."