[ into season 6 we go. bare with me — the pacing might be odd at first since i'm throwing derek into 6a while also taking the whole reason he's there out of it.

the first half of this is kinda boring bc it's just what happens in the show but i like the second half of it. anyway, i got some fun and angsty things planned. enjoy. or don't ]

☽︎

get her back to me.

[ 6.01 — 6.02 ]

In just a matter of hours, everything began to spiral out of control in Beacon Hills. Of course, given how peaceful things had been since stopping Theo and the Dread Doctors, the universe felt the small town was due for some chaos. Chaos in the form of people being forgotten.

No, not just forgotten. Taken and wiped from existence.

Scott and Stiles were running around all day trying to find clues as to what made a young boy's parents disappear. Those clues led them to the high school, which was covered with deputies who were examining some kind of crime scene — Liam, Hayden, and Mason found a body.

The boys rushed through the main entrance, seeing all the people being questioned. The crowd made them skid to a halt and share a worried look, not quite sure how bad things had turned. Both were fearing that Liam and Hayden were the next to be taken by the Ghost Riders, as they'd been on the same road as Alex and his parents.

"I'll check the quad. Let me know if you find them, and see if your dad knows anything," Scott instructed, already trying to find his beta's scent.

"Yeah, okay," Stiles muttered as Scott turned to jog off. But then he stopped him anxiously. "Hey, Scott, wait..." Scott stopped immediately and came back to his side. He could tell Stiles was concerned but wasn't sure about what. And Stiles couldn't seem to find the right words, either. "Um, I - I just, uh, I wanted to say, um..."

Scott smiled softly, clueless to Stiles' real fear. His fear of being taken — he'd seen one of them in Alex's abandoned house earlier when no one else had. Stiles wanted to say goodbye just in case, but it also wasn't the time, not with Scott so focused on finding Liam.

"Tell me later."

Stiles nodded reluctantly, his fear growing as Scott backed away. "Yeah, all right."

He didn't stop Scott as he ran away this time. Stiles pushed his fear to the back of his mind and took off in the opposite direction, ready to ask about the younger members of the pack. But instead, he barrelled right into Natalie Martin.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" she said as he nearly knocked her over.

"Sorry!"

"Slow it down!" she ordered.

"Sorry, Ms. Martin, sorry," Stiles muttered. "Hey, have you seen, uh, Liam and Hayden? Actually, forget that — have you seen my dad?"

Natalie studied Stiles with a puzzled expression. "Who?"

Stiles raised an eyebrow, not amused with her playing stupid when he knew how smart she and her daughter were. "My dad? He's here because of the body?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, growing concerned by his words. "How do you know about the body?" she asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.

Stiles let out an impatient sigh, exasperated over how difficult the woman was being. "Because my dad's the Sheriff? Ms. Martin, are you okay?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

Before she could question him more, she spotted the police officers wheeling the found body in a bag out of the school. Needing to speak with them, she moved past Stiles.

"Uh, just wait here."

Stiles watched her for a brief moment before rushing off again, having no need to stay behind. He ran through the back doors of the entrance that led into the dimly lit hallway. For a minute, he walked around aimlessly until he finally spotted Mason, glad to see him still there.

"Mason! Mason, hey! Where's Liam?" he asked, rushing up to him.

Having heard him shouting, both Liam and Hayden came around the corner, still in their gear from lacrosse and soccer practice. They were surprised when Stiles ran right up to them, speaking frantically.

"Liam? Okay, there you go. Liam, Hayden, perfect. You two - you two have to listen to me right now," he said, talking so fast they almost couldn't understand.

Liam, Hayden, and Mason all looked at Stiles with gaping mouths and wide eyes, clearly alarmed by his behavior for some reason. He took no notice and barreled ahead with his explanation about the Wild Hunt.

"Alex is gone, just like his parents, okay? The Ghost Riders took him, so you guys, you can't be alone. You gotta stick with Scott or with me because I can see them," he explained. When neither of the three responded, Stiles let out a frustrated grunt, knowing they didn't have time for them to act so clueless. "Why the hell are you looking at me like that?"

It was Hayden, who couldn't come up with an answer to his question, that leaned to the side to whisper to Liam. "Do we even know him?"

Liam didn't take his eyes off Stiles, not knowing if he was a threat. "I don't even know if he goes here..."

Mason was the one to address Stiles — who clearly heard Liam and Hayden. He managed to keep a kind expression on his face, assuming Stiles needed some kind of help. It wasn't the first time an Eichen patient had escaped, after all.

"Do you go to this school?"

"What's your name?" Liam asked him.

Horror washed over Stiles, realizing that his friends and packmates didn't remember him. Natalie didn't seem to remember him either. More and more things ran through his memories, putting together all the pieces pointing to the fact that he was next. His blank yearbook form. Some random player now wearing his lacrosse jersey, saying Coach gave it to him.

Stiles was going to be taken.

With a hardly audible gasp, Stiles backed away from the heavily confused teenagers. He ran down the hall, needing to find someone to help him. Thankfully, his dad had arrived on the scene.

Sheriff Stilinski saw Stiles running toward him right away. "Son, you okay?"

Stiles let out a big sigh of relief. "Oh, thank god!" he exclaimed before diving forward to give his father a big hug. Then he took in a deep breath and pulled away, keeping his hands on his arms to focus his attention on him. "Thank God! Okay, everyone's forgetting. Everyone is forgetting everything—"

Noah held up his hands to interrupt Stiles, a concerned look on his face. "Okay, okay, slow down, slow down. We'll figure this out together."

"Okay," he said, still a little out of breath and fighting off a panic attack.

"Now, why don't you tell me your name?" Noah asked calmly.

Stiles flinched back from his father, feeling like he'd been struck across his face. But it was much worse than that, he knew, as he backed up. His own father had already forgotten him.

He could do nothing but run away, it hurting too much to look at his father. Tears welled in his eyes as he ran, leaving behind a very confused Noah who didn't follow after.

When Stiles reached the entrance hall, he pulled out his phone and shakily dialed Scott's number. It rang several times — too many times — before Scott finally answered, not even getting a chance to say 'hello' before Stiles was talking.

"Scott?"

"Hey—"

"Scott, where are you? Where are you right now?" he asked, his voice rising.

The alpha paused for a long moment, and each second made Stiles' stomach twist even more. "Who is this?"

Stiles began to hyperventilate then, realizing the only person that had a chance of helping him forgot about him. His hand dropped, knowing it was pointless to carry on a conversation with someone that only knew him as a stranger.

"It's me," Stiles whispered, practically drowning in fear at the realization. "I'm next."

The Wild Hunt was coming for Stiles Stilinski, and no one, not even a banshee, would be able to save him from that fate. He'd be forgotten just like Willow.

☽

Stiles Stilinski was gone, but his effect on the world was left behind. Scott's instinct to wait by his locker in between classes was still there. Malia's loss of control over her shift was prominent now that she didn't have her memories of her anchor. And Lydia was drowning in banshee visions that made her feel like she was going crazy.

All of them missed someone that wasn't there — someone they couldn't even remember.

Now, Scott, Lydia, and Malia were gathered at the animal clinic. If anyone could help them, it was Deaton, who they told all about these odd occurrences and feelings and gaps in their memories.

Like why was Scott out in the woods looking for a dead body on his own the night he was bitten? Who helped chain Malia up in the boiler room of the school during full moons before they started using Lydia's lake house? Lydia could recall solving a hundred mysteries with someone but couldn't recall who helped her.

Who helped Scott improve his lacrosse skills the summer before he got bit, rendering the sessions useless? Who was it that tutored Malia in all her classes before Lydia took over? Lydia could remember being comforted after Jackson broke up with her, but it wasn't Allison, so who could it have been?

Deaton figured their best bet at remembering was via Lydia and her banshee abilities that they still didn't quite understand. But if the Ghost Riders had taken someone from them, her connection with death might be helpful — though erased from existence and death weren't exactly the same.

So now, the veterinarian had a small area in the dimly lit exam room set up for Lydia to work at. A piece of blue-tinted glass that Scott took from the windshield of the car Alex's parents disappeared in was hanging from a string. A bright LED flashlight was shining on it from below, one of the only light sources in the room.

Lydia was sitting at the exam table, her eyes fixed on the piece of glass. Scott and Malie were both looking at Deaton, wanting some kind of explanation of what was about to happen.

"Now she just magically writes down all the answers?" Malia asked skeptically.

Deaton smiled at her patiently. "It's not quite that simple," he said.

"It never is," Lydia said with a grim expression.

With that Deaton looked back at the banshee. She was holding a pen and looking down at a blank piece of copy paper. "In automatic writing, the hand moves outside of any conscious awareness. Now, hopefully, the silence, the darkness, and the light will allow you to find a more comfortable trance-like state. Lydia, I want you to stare into the light, and let go of all thought."

Lydia did just that, slowly relaxing the longer she stared at the piece of glass. And then a few moments later, her hand began to write on the paper all without her looking at it. As she worked, Deaton pulled Scott and Malia back to talk, keeping their voices low so they didn't disturb Lydia's focus.

"I have to warn you," Deaton said quietly. "We may not be able to access these memories."

"Why not?" Scott asked.

"The legend has always been that the Wild Hunt takes people. But, if what you're telling me is right, the truth is much worse. They erase people from reality," he explained.

Scott glanced at Lydia, who was now completely in a trance as she continued to scribble on the paper. Deaton wasn't exactly filling him with hope. "How do we remember someone who has been completely erased from our minds?"

The problem was that Deaton had no idea how to do that, which was evident by his exhausted expression. It was a miracle that the three of them even managed to tell something in their lives were off — that something was missing.

While Deaton and Scott shared their concerned looks, Malia focused back on Lydia. The girl's focus on her writing had gotten more intense, her hand scrawling words over the page at an erratic pace. And as she scribbled more furiously, she began rocking back and forth, shaking with each move.

"Maybe he hasn't been," Malia muttered, drawing attention to Lydia's behavior.

They'd never seen her like this, and it was worrisome. "Oh, is she...? Should we stop her?" Scott asked when Lydia started breathing heavily, panting from exertion.

Scott was about to rush forward to bring her back to the real world, but Deaton held up a hand to keep him back, slowly stepping toward her himself.

"Lydia?" he called gently. "Lydia? Slow down."

When Lydia didn't react to his voice, Deaton chose to shut off the light that illuminated the shard of glass. Instantly, Lydia dropped the pen and sat back in her chair, her eyes still glazed over from the trace. She didn't say anything, so Deaton and Scott leaned closer to try and get her attention. It was like she didn't know they were there.

"Is she okay?" Scott asked, his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

"Lydia?" Deaton called, gently touching her shoulder.

As those two tried to rouse Lydia, Malia was the one to curiously grab the sheet of paper, holding it close to peer at the messy word written over and over. It was scrawled all over at random, making no sense to the coyote.

"What does 'mischief' mean?" she asked, showing the paper to the others.

Scott turned his attention away from Lydia, taking the paper and holding it out as he studied it. As he didn't hold it as close as Malia had to read it, he could make out what Lydia really put on the paper.

"That's not what she wrote," he mumbled.

He set the paper on the exam table, all of them looking at it from afar. The hundreds of 'mischief's actually formed a different word, each letter spelled out with the word. A word that meant nothing to them.

STILES

Suddenly, Lydia woke with a gasp and looked up at her two friends with a confused and exasperated expression. Yet again, she had no idea how to interpret her banshee abilities.

"What the hell is a Stiles?" she whispered.

"No clue, but it sounds stupid as shit."

When everyone heard Derek Hale's deep voice for the first time in months, they all turned to see him in the doorway of the examination room. None of them even noticed when he arrived.

"Der, you're back," Malia said, the corners of her lips turning up at the sight of her cousin.

"We thought you were staying in New York for good," Scott added, surprised by his arrival.

"I guess something brought me back," Derek said, stepping into the room.

"What?" Malia asked, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed and uncrossed his arms — as he did so, they noticed how exhausted, how miserable he looked. "I don't know," he said, sounding almost defeated. "But something wasn't right there. Felt like I was going crazy, and crazy usually points—"

"Here," Lydia whispered. Derek glanced at her knowingly and nodded. "How long were you standing there?"

"You were talking about people being taken," he said, looking at Deaton. "There's someone missing?"

"Yeah. Well, we think. There are these gaps in our memories, things that don't make sense," Scott said, rubbing his forehead. Then he nodded down to the paper. "This is all we've got so far. Does Stiles mean anything to you?"

Derek shook his head. "No, it doesn't."

"Derek," Deaton said, moving closer, "you said things aren't quite right. How unusual do you mean?" They needed to compare it to what the other three were going through.

He sighed and leaned against a counter, shaking his head. "Why did I move to New York?"

The other four looked at him with confused expressions, not understanding where he was going with this.

"Actually," Derek continued, "why did I stay in Beacon Hills? When I first became an alpha, I was going to build my pack and then leave. But I didn't. I stayed. Why did I stay? Then when I did leave, I went to live with Cora. Why didn't I stay with her and Boyd? Why did I get some small apartment in New York, where I don't have anyone, not even a pack?"

"You wanted to be alone?" Malia suggested with a shrug. "You're not exactly a people person. And it's not like you love Beacon Hills."

"That's just it — I do love Beacon Hills," he said with a deep frown. "I think about this place despite all the pain it's caused me, and it feels like home. Except I kind of hate everyone here and don't have any fond memories of any of you, except maybe Malia."

"I forgot how sweet you are," Lydia muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"That's not the only thing that doesn't make sense though," he said. "I do these things that just - they don't make sense."

"What kinds of things?" Scott asked.

Derek looked at the ground, avoiding looking at them for his confession. How could he let himself be vulnerable enough to admit what he was going through? He thought he was crazy for the things he was doing, so why wouldn't they?

"I make two cups of coffee in the morning — one for me and one for someone who likes it a lot lighter and sweeter. I - I reach for someone on the right side of the bed who isn't there. And every morning, I wake up, and it feels like my chest is gonna cave in when I realize she isn't pressed against it — whoever she is. I haven't dated anyone since the Alpha killed Laura, so why does it feel like someone is supposed to be in my arms?"

"Because someone is," Lydia said, her eyes going wide. She stood up from her chair. "I - I don't know who is missing, but I think I loved him. And maybe it's the same for whoever you're missing."

"But Derek has been in New York," Deaton reminded them. "So, presumably, this second person that is potentially missing would've been in New York with them. While my knowledge of the Wild Hunt is limited, I don't suspect they would be taking people from opposite sides of the country."

"What if she wasn't from New York, though?" Scott asked, tilting his head. "Derek has all these fond feelings for Beacon Hills. What if whoever she is, she's from here? And they moved to New York together? Maybe they're taking people from this town no matter where they're located."

"Or she was visiting," Lydia added, thinking it was more logical. "She could've been visiting us, even. Leaving you in New York with no clue what happened."

"Okay, wait," Malia said, waving her hands around. "How do we know Derek isn't just lonely and needs to get laid? I highly doubt we'd actually forget one person, let alone two."

Derek glared at his cousin. This wasn't some joke. He wouldn't have driven from New York to Beacon Hills with hardly any stops if something wasn't seriously wrong with his life.

Malia saw his look and scoffed. "Don't look at me like that. An empty bed and not remembering why you moved away from this hell hole of a town isn't proof. Not solid proof, at least."

Deaton sighed and stepped in between the two cousins, not wanting them to argue. Malia could barely control her anger and shift right now, and they didn't need her attacking Derek over a person that may or may not exist.

"Derek, perhaps Malia is right," he said softly. "Obviously, we're all going to continue to look into this, but there's no way to know for certain—"

A soft meowing sound cut Deaton off, drawing all their attention to the entrance of the exam room. Well, all of them but Derek looked. A small, black cat wandered into the room, looking around curiously at them all.

"I guess I didn't lock the cage," Scott muttered. "Sorry about that."

Deaton peered at the animal. "That's not a current patient, Scott."

Derek then let out a low, annoyed groan. They all watched as the cat came right to him, brushing up against his ankles while letting out a content purr. The man clenched his eyes shut and had to refrain from kicking the annoying animal.

"I present to you the rest of the fucking proof, Malia," Derek grumbled. He knelt down and picked the cat up, setting him on the exam table. "This cat will not leave me alone. It follows me everywhere. No matter how many times I throw it out, it gets back into the apartment."

"So, you brought him here?" Lydia asked, reaching out to pet the animal. She bit back a smirk as the man repeatedly referred to the animal as 'it'.

"No, I specifically left the cat in New York. Then when I stopped for gas in Missouri, I found it stowing away in the trunk," he griped, crossing his arms angrily. "It won't fucking leave me alone. I hate it. It's everywhere."

"It likes you," Scott said, a confused look on his face as the cat kept close to Derek. But then the cat trotted across the table and right up to Scott, nuzzling against the alpha's arm. "It likes me?"

"What's so odd about that?" Malia asked, not seeing the big deal.

"Felines typically have a negative reaction to werewolves," Deaton explained, a thoughtful look on his face. "They can sense what they are. It makes it very difficult for Scott to help when we have a cat in. This animal shouldn't want anything to do with either of them."

"He knows them," Lydia realized, her eyes wide. "They've both met this cat before — been around him long enough to make him like them. It's her cat. Whoever she was, she must have been real."

Derek had been glaring at the cat, but the look softened at Lydia's revelation. With how annoyed he was at the creature, he didn't even consider something like that. Of course, he hadn't considered someone he cared about was erased from his memory as well.

"I have to get her back," Derek said softly, looking at the cat. "I have to remember her."

"Except we aren't sure that's even possible," Deaton told him.

"Well, make it possible!" he shouted, growing angry.

He smashed his fist on the table, and everyone flinched. Malia wasn't the only one that'd had a hard time controlling her temper as of late. On nights of the full moon, he'd have to dig his claws into his palms, focus on his anger, and count the glow-in-the-dark stars that the previous tenants left on the ceiling of his bedroom to keep control.

"Get her back to me!"

"Derek," Scott said, speaking softly. "We're only just now understanding what we're dealing with. It'll take time. All we have is this cat and something called 'Stiles'. It's not much to go off of. But we're all missing something. I think I'm missing my best friend. We'll do everything we can to remember."

"She's not just my best friend, Scott," he said, rolling his jaw frustratedly. "I think she's everything."

"You couldn't possibly know that if you can't even remember," Malia said skeptically.

Derek took in a shallow breath, and both Scott and Malia saw his hands start to shake. "There's... something else. Something that doesn't make sense," he admitted.

"Something bigger than the cat?" Malia questioned, looking at said cat that came over to her. She was happy to scratch behind his ear.

No one noticed when Lydia began writing again, this time on the back of the paper, everyone too focused on Derek. Too busy hoping he could help them figure out what was really going on.

"I have something — something that's been locked in the Hale vault for years," he muttered, looking at the table. His hand was deep in his pocket. "Except, I got it out of the vault before I left for Argentina. And I take it with me almost every day, like I'm just waiting to use it."

"Is it a gun to kill yourself because of how lonely and pathetic you feel?" Malia asked bluntly.

Scott's eyes went wide and he elbowed her harshly in the gut. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed lowly.

Derek was ready to shoot her as he glared at her. "No," he said gruffly. "And you wonder why I don't have any fond memories of any of you."

Deaton sighed and pushed Malia back from the table before looking at Derek. "What is it?"

Before removing his hand from his pocket, Derek took in a deep breath to calm his racing, aching heart. His movements were slow and deliberate as he set a small, velvet-covered box on the exam table, shocked silence falling over all of them.

Deaton was the one to move, carefully opening the hinges of the box to see what they all figured was inside. The veterinarian had seen it a thousand times before on the hand of Talia Hale before she and her husband died.

The engagement ring was made up of a gold band that was formed to look like thin, delicate leaves twisting around a finger. Small diamonds were set around the larger, light green stone in the center.

"That used to be a ruby," Deaton noted, glancing from the ring to Derek. His father got it to match Talia's alpha eyes. This new stone, he thought, matched Derek's green eyes.

"I had it swapped out for a green sapphire," Derek told him, running a stressed hand through his hair. "Why would I do that unless there was someone in my life that likes green?"

"Someone you were going to propose to," Scott muttered, his eyes still wide. Never had he pictured Derek Hale as the kind of man to get down on one knee and start a life with a woman — at least, he didn't remember picturing him that way.

This wasn't the same as meeting someone beside a locker or helping Malia through a full moon. A part of Derek Hale was missing, was erased from existence, and if they didn't get that part back, he'd never recover.

In the silence, they finally heard the sound of a pen scratching against paper again. They turned back to Lydia, who'd been mindlessly drawing since the moment Derek's thoughts fell on the engagement ring.

Unlike her frantic behavior from before, Lydia was motionless aside from her hand that was gliding across the paper. There was no shaking or rocking or quick breathing. But there was—

"She's crying," Malia said with a frown. Thick tears slid down Lydia's cheeks, dropping heavily onto the paper below her that she wasn't even looking at.

"Lydia," Deaton said softly, not wanting to startle her. She wasn't even focusing on the shard of glass this time — this trance came all on its own. Him speaking did nothing. She kept drawing and crying.

"Lydia!" Derek then snapped a little louder.

At the sound of his voice, Lydia's movements ceased abruptly. Her bottom lip began to tremble then as her eyes fell down, looking at what she'd done. They all looked as well, this side of the paper much different from the other with no letters or names to be found.

"You're just drawing trees again," Scott said with a sigh.

"Not a tree," Lydia whispered, not even really registering that she was talking. Her eyes slowly panned up to Derek. "Not just a tree."

Derek studied the drawing intently, that familiar ache in his chest only growing at the sight of it. He touched the paper and slid it closer. "What kind of tree is this?" he asked, unfamiliar with the different types.

"I believe it's a willow tree," Deaton told him, drawing his eyebrows in tightly.

"Willow," Derek whispered to himself. It wasn't a tree. It was a name. A name that felt at home on his lips, like a name he was meant to call out for the rest of his life.

Derek whispered it again and again, not daring to take his eyes off the drawing. He was clinging to anything he could get of this person that was driving him crazy without even existing.

Willow. Willow. Willow.