Note: This is the 10th part of the “Home Is Where the Spark Is” series. To understand better what’s going on, we recommend reading the previous entries. Enjoy!

Fandoms: Teen Wolf, Sterek

Characters/relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale, Marin Morrell

Rating/category: R (explicit), supernatural, post-Teen Wolf, canon and non-canon elements, slash, M/M, Sterek, hurt/comfort, dark, angst, aged up characters, Spark Stiles, Magic Stiles, Emissary Stiles, Emissary in training Stiles, detective Stiles, matured Stiles, Alpha Derek, switch Derek, switch Stiles, drama, epic romance, love, magic, soulmates, Mate bond, Emissary bond, werewolves, PTSD, trauma, insanity, violence, blood, gore, triggers

Summary: Bringing a tortured and fractured soul back from Hell itself is no small task, but the mates have been working towards this for months. They have to try. And it’s time…

Disclaimer: This is a product of our imagination and was written only for entertainment and fun. We don’t profit from this fanfiction and we mean no harm or disrespect against any real person, culture or custom that might appear in the story. All original pictures and fictional characters used in the story belong to their respective owners and credit goes to them.

Midnightgirl edit

Home Is Where the Spark Is
By Just Jim & Useless-girl

10: Whole Again – Part 1

Stiles was nervous as he was sitting on the concrete floor further away from the parked Camaro and Jeep. All the ingredients and his notes were lying in a painfully straight line on his left. Candles, herbs, a mortar, a lighter, a bowl of mountain ash, two warded talismans and a ritual blade. He was flipping a piece of white chalk in his hand while lost in thoughts. Neither Derek, nor Deaton were present. The former was upstairs in the loft, waiting. Probably pacing like a caged animal. Waiting for Stiles to call for him. The vet stayed in the animal clinic. Maybe to maintain his neutrality or because he was confident they can pull this off on their own. Or maybe he was saving his own ass in case something went wrong. One could never know with Deaton.

The last two weeks were leading up to this point. To this fateful night. The big showdown. And it made Stiles nervous and jumpy. Even if by then he knew the steps and words of the ritual by heart. He made sure of that because there was no room for mistakes when you plan to open a portal to Hell to get back a missing soul. It was going to be the most difficult thing he’d ever done with his magic so far. But he had to believe without a hint of doubt that he can do it. The desire to help Derek was like a mantra to him, strengthening his belief and control over the magic.

Since the rut and that talk in Stiles’ bedroom, things got somewhat better between him and Derek, but some tension stemming from their miscommunication and different opinions stayed between them. But at least they managed to get physically closer again. Hugs, cuddling and kissing sessions were back on the table, but they didn’t force anything else yet. Even if they both missed each other.

Stiles painstakingly paid attention to keep the magical balance between them and trained relentlessly with Deaton to perfect his control and learn new useful ways to use his magic in case he had to protect them from whatever might get too close to the portal. And also to prepare himself how to search and call for Derek’s missing soul when the time comes. Although he kinda doubted that one could really prepare for something like that. That’s where Deaton reminded him of one of his biggest strengths: improvisation. That’s where his quick thinking came in handy countless of times in the past and hopefully will help him out now too, if needed.

All these, though, didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t feeling like going into this half-blind. Yes, they knew how to open that portal, theoretically he was going to be able to use his magic to pull the missing soul part to them through the bond, but... they couldn’t really know what might lie behind the opened portal. Okay, yes... of course, demons, Devils and other terrors, but one could never fully prepare.

Besides the extra wards to keep those creatures on the other side, the only solution to protect themselves as much as possible was to wear his talismans and draw up the very complicated magic circle with care. For that he needed time and no interference or distractions. Not even from his mate. That’s why they chose the ground floor of Derek’s building, which served as a mostly empty garage with enough space for the ritual. No one was going to bother them there and Stiles had time to work fully focused.

No amount of meditation or mental preparing would be able to fully dissolve Stiles’ nervousness, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It kept him aware instead of lulling himself into false safety. He was going to keep his guards up all the while and finally give free rein to his magic – which was bubbling expectantly under his skin, seeping somewhat out of him to swirl around him like amber flames being blown by some non-existent wind.

Taking a few deep breaths, he cleared his mind as much as he could. When he picked up the chalk and began drawing up the circle, his heartbeat was steadier and he got to work.

It took him around an hour to draw up everything because he double-checked the lines and ancient, forbidden symbols to make sure there was no mistake left in it. The circle wasn’t finished yet, but he could already feel the shift in the air as he lit and placed the black candles to their places then ground the herbs and lit them in the mortar. The next step was to reach out for Derek through the bond to call him down, which he did and waited.

The past weeks had been calm, in a way. Stiles had been busy training and Derek had met with a line of contractors to show them the plans for the loft to eventually pick one he had a good feeling about and had a fair price for the work needed to be done. Rewiring the electricity, updating the pipes, making the bedroom livable and cleaning the walls. It wasn't that much works since Derek had done most of it himself, it was the rest of the building needing most of it. He was having the contractor do the entire stairwell on all floors and update the elevator to be up to code. The rest of the work he wanted to do himself, not that he was going to make all the apartments ready to move into. Clean them up, rewire, paint the walls and wood works, that sort of things. The contractor was going to start next week, and Derek had it all written down. Everything had been written down. From his bank accounts to custody of Elizabeth.

His soul was going to be coming straight from Hell, and it had been there for decades in Hell-time so the chances of the Hale being considerably sane when it was back... it wasn't looking good. He didn't think he'd die, but he was very sure that he wouldn't be in any shape to take care of Elizabeth yet again. It seemed to be becoming a regular event, something she was getting used to. However this was needed. Ever since the rut, Derek had undone some of Stiles' work. He wasn't feeling as much anymore and what he felt had been mostly Stiles' emotions. It was a strain on his mate, on his magic, and with that on their relationship.

Deaton and Stiles both had been very certain this was going to work, this ritual. Derek hadn't been as eager to get it going. He couldn't help but wonder how many times can a broken thing break?

Too many times. Too often.

And he was going to willingly be broken some more. It plagued him, haunted him in his dreams, the knowledge that half of his soul had remained in Hell. Decades of being a personal toy to torture and break over and over. He did fear it. The nightmares had returned, not violent as before but haunting memories of fire as it took his breath away, melted his flesh, burned away at his humanity. He didn't wake up screaming, he woke up with wet tears streaming down his face and the need to shower the filth of ashes and blood away.

The taste of sooth lingered in his mouth all day so he kissed Stiles as often as he could to soak in some warmth, to chase away the bad taste, to pretend he wasn't suffering. It ached inside, an emptiness pulsing with a terrible cold, trapped with his mate's magic to keep him warm, to give him feelings even though it was a strain on the human, even though Derek needed more, like a leech because every day with half a damaged soul was a day too long and he knew, knew that one day he was going to wake up and not feel at all unless...

Unless he would get his lost half back. As he had told his friend Rowena, he'd rather be broken and feel too much than not feel anything at all. And he'd heal, he was going to overcome this as well and heal and find his footing again.

He was a survivor, he was used to breaking. He was used to having his legs pulled from under him each time he attempted to walk. Derek Hale would rather crawl and keep on moving instead of curling up and admit defeat. He'd rather have a head full of fire and a mouth full of ashes for years to come than to not have anything at all. He had a family now, reasons to not be a bastard without a soul.

How many times can a broken thing break?

As often as it’s needed.

With that resolve kept firmly in mind, Derek walked over to the elevator to join Stiles downstairs when he felt the tug calling for him. With sure steps he found his mate looking like the druid he was training to become, so he nodded. They had to do this, they were going to do this and they'd succeed. Whatever was going to become of it, they were going to do it together.

While Stiles waited, he recalled the nights he woke up to a crying Derek. How the dark emptiness and memories were getting stronger in his mate with each day once the date of the ritual was set. He could feel the desperation in those kisses, Derek's need to be close to him, touch him. And he never once flinched away or denied him. Those all urged Stiles on to work harder, to prepare everything to make this a success. He and Deaton have made preparations for after the soul was back too. In hopes of making it easier for Derek to reconnect with his lost side and to stay relatively sane. Neither of them thought that it was going to be easy. Not with that part staying so long in Hell in that dimension's time. More hardships were guaranteed, but Stiles knew... felt it in every bone in his body that this was something they had to do. To restore the balance for real. Because until now – since they bonded and used his magic for that – it’s been a temporal balance. His magic was constantly protecting the remaining soul, drawing from the vast amount he and Derek shared. But that couldn't stay like that forever. They both knew.

Stiles also knew that his mate was making preparations of his own. Concerning the renovation and also his life. He was preparing for the worst and although it chocked Stiles up every time he thought about it, he also understood why he did that and accepted it.

And now as Derek was walking towards him, he felt pride welling up in his chest. There was no fear in him, just a strong resolve and determination. He was the strongest werewolf and man he'd ever known and he also felt proud of being able to call himself his mate. With a tiny smile he waited until Derek got there and reached up with his free hand to pull him close by his nape for a long, emotion-filled kiss, his magic curling around the wolf with familiarity. Stiles wanted Derek to know everything he felt for this man, to give him comfort and support and a promise to stay with him no matter what. Everything he couldn't say out loud.

Then he let their foreheads touch for a few moments longer, inhaling his mate deeply, before finally letting him go and looking into his eyes with a nod.

"Once you step inside the circle, I'll close the ash line and join you. When the magic activates, we'll both be stuck in the circle until I break it. Nothing comes in or out. The portal will open inside it too to contain whatever might want to come through," he explained and motioned with his hand towards a round smaller circle within the circle in the middle, surrounded by symbols.

Once Derek took his place, Stiles raised his other hand which has been holding the handful of ash in it and closed the outer circle. When that happened, he became more focused than ever. The energies were already changing beneath his sneakers as he put the remaining ash back into the bowl and picked up the ritual blade. The light of the candles glinted on it as he carefully – not to smudge the chalk lines – stepped in front of Derek to take and lift his hand.

"You'll be the focus of the circle and it will feed from your blood and my magic," he said as he closed Derek's hand around the blade firmly then pulled it out to make a deep enough cut on his palm so that as he turned his hand, the blood coated the blade. Stiles' face was the calm, focused mask of a druid as he nodded satisfied and splashed a few drops towards all four cardinal points in the circle. The second the last drops landed on the lines, they began shimmering in red as the circle activated.

Once he put the blade down, he stood a few steps to Derek's right side, staying behind him. "Keep our connections open, no matter what. I'll feed the circle and the portal too along with you. I need our connection to search for your soul through it. Keep it open," he warned then took a deep breath and exchanged one last look with his mate before opening himself up and letting his magic loose, eyes immediately changing colors to a bright amber as the first words of the spell channeled their powers into the circle, releasing a massive wave of energy that started gathering not far in front of Derek to soon form the portal.

Stiles was still convinced he could ease the suffering once the soul was back, but he hadn't been there when Derek had returned from three years of Hell with a partial soul, he hadn't seen the bad months. Only the aftermath. Three years was nothing compared to decades of torture, so Derek knew there wasn't going to be much left of him for a while. He didn't doubt his ability to bounce back at some point, didn't doubt that his friends were going to help him through it. His calm visage wasn't as calm on the inside, his heart was hammering and he wasn't ready for any of this. Could never be ready for it. But it had to be done, as simple as that.

"I love you," Derek whispered, wanting to say that, not sure if the druid was even able to hear it but he'd feel it, because their connection was open and pulsing. It could be weeks or months before he would have a sane thought again so he had to say it now, now while he still could. The futile thought was a realistic one, Stiles deserved to know.

The younger man was concentrating hard on opening the portal, but for a moment he thought he'd heard Derek say something that he's been longing to hear from him for a while. But he wasn't sure if it really happened or was only wishful thinking. What he was sure about, though, were the warm emotions flowing from Derek for a moment. He treasured those, but then focused his mind and magic more on their task. Opening a portal to Hell was no small business after all.

The circle formed, a swirling mass of energy gathered together to create a doorway to a realm they had no business meddling with and it was a direct flashback to the time he was taken. All around them the electric feeling intensified, as if they were about to be swooped up by a tornado, which wasn't that far from the truth. Time was going to be limited for Stiles to find the soul in an endless pool of souls. If they were discovered, they'd get dragged down there, no matter if they belonged or not. That was the punishment for opening a portal and nobody cared if they deserved to be there or not. Derek's soul had been hidden away there as well when werewolves don't even go to Hell after death. They belong in Purgatory, nor Heaven or Hell should have any claim on them.

It opened, and Derek forgot to breathe, the familiar scents assaulting him: mouth full of ashes, breath full of fire. A desolate wasteland of pain. He wasn’t ready. But he had to be. For Stiles, for Elizabeth. Don't shy away, keep it open, it would all end soon enough.

But he knew, it only just started.

"Don't panic. I'm here with you!" he shouted at Derek once the last words of the spell were uttered and the oppressing scent of sulfur and unimaginable heat lashed out on them from the rift they managed to create between the two worlds. Of course, Stiles knew that his wolf wasn't ready, but they had to do this and quickly formed a shield from his magic to protect them from the stench and heat somewhat.

He only got a glimpse of the vast burning landscape, the sulfur scratching his throat and making his brightly glowing eyes burn. The screams of the tortured souls shook him to the core, but he had to focus. So he closed his eyes and concentrated on his other senses and their bond. He had to close out Derek's stirred up emotions right now, because he had to hurry.

The druid whispered the ancient Gaelic words Deaton had taught him. It made the circle glow a brighter red under them and he could feel Derek's blood on the floor, nearly tasted it on his tongue. In his mind's eye that blood formed a connection with both the portal and Derek's remaining soul and Stiles gently touched that idle string, fusing his magic into it. As if it got invigorated and something that have purpose now, the invisible strand seemed to weave stronger and moved past the open portal in a speed neither of them could really comprehend. Stiles knew it was searching for the energy that resonated on the same level. Derek's soul.

While he was keeping the portal and the string steady, Stiles could feel as if being watched all along. But to his surprise he didn't feel malice against them, so maybe that other dimension was just starting to mess with his head and senses. There was no time to dwell on that, though, because he could feel other presences flocking nearer. Those were dark with violent intents. Probably some demons sniffed out the opening to another realm.

All Derek could really do was stand there, being a shield between Stiles and the portal, which was the only reason why he was willing to stand there so quietly with all that was coming from the portal. There were no demons yet, no hellhounds running their way, but it was only for now, they were going to soon enough. Especially with that strange stream searching for his soul. Could others see that as well, was it as visible to them as it was to Derek and Stiles? Because that was dangerous, they could try to tug on it and that no doubt was going to harm Stiles and his magic.

His soul wasn't locked away anymore, it should be easier to reach it now. Question was if they would find it in time. He didn't want the portal to remain open once there were actual demons because he could fight as long as he kept their connection opened but... he could be pulled back into Hell and then all of their hard work would be for nothing. Stiles would try to get him out of there if that happened, risking his own life. Would he die when Derek did, even when in Hell? He didn't want to find out.

Back, far away, dark shapes were looming and the wolf's nostrils flared. Danger was approaching. Stiles was chanting, they couldn't talk, but he knew his mate saw them as well, or sensed them since his chanting became more urgent. Derek tensed up, got ready to fight if needed.

Stiles could feel Derek's tension bleeding into him with each passing moment more and more and his words slurred together from the fast pace he was chanting. It didn't matter to the magic, though. His intent and belief stayed clear and strong, directing the thread towards that faint energy he could already sense. It was Derek's soul. Not captured as they thought it was. But why? For what purpose? More torture?

Those were questions Stiles didn't have time to think about, so he continued, pushing more of his magic into the thread and keeping the portal open. It was a considerable amount now. Never before did he release so much of it and it seemed that the magic was balancing and steadying itself this way too, taking some from Derek's being as well. It felt like unlocking a gate, tapping into a secret preserve which made them both stronger, more powerful. If he let himself, Stiles could have gotten drunk on that amount of power, but he wasn't that kind of a Spark. He remembered the cautious tales from the book on Sparks. How easily all this could tip towards dangerous.

And then suddenly...

"Gotcha!" Stiles exclaimed kinda excited as their invisible thread connected and wrapped around the fragile soul with utmost care and he began to pull on it gently but quickly. He was praying hard that no being would be able to actually see that thread, because he had no idea if it would hold if something tried to cut it. So he worked as fast as the delicate maneuver allowed him.

His brightly glowing eyes snapped open at one point, though, when those dark presences were pushing closer and he felt Derek prepare for it with fangs and claws and probably alpha eyes on display.

"Won't let them through," Stiles grunted, the wards in front of the portal sparking to life in a burning amber color. The constant screams sounded louder in his head, the foul odor of sulfur getting suffocating, but he was just pulling and pulling the soul closer to the portal, even if his eyes widened once the terrors of Hell were starting to take shape as they were getting closer, rushing towards the portal like rabid dogs.

It's gonna be a close call...

His soul... it was this oddly white orb-like thing. It looked so innocent, almost pretty. It wasn't as bright as it should be, though. Which showed it wasn't in a great condition after all this time it had been down in Hell. The rune on his arm burned brightly, magic drawing from him as well because they were already connected through the ritual. Derek didn't fight it, let it take all it needed, they were going to build up reserves again at some point.

It wasn't a strain on him, since it wasn't his to have, though, he could feel the elated power coming from his mate, it was a lot for him to take in. It was used right away but still, it was a lot to handle. He glanced back at his mate, seeing those eyes flared up like they were on fire.

Won't let them through… Sure. It seemed like they were about to, though, it wasn't even minutes, it was seconds. Derek didn't call out for the human, not wanting to break his concentration when he was working so very hard, giving it his all and the soul was right there! Derek didn't dare to touch it, to break the fragile hold the magic had on it as he crept closer to the portal. If they were going to come through, they were not going to get Stiles. Eyes fiery red, claws out, the wolf roared out a challenge, ear-piercing shrieks welcoming him. They were about to jump through, not focused on the soul because maybe they couldn't get at it?

Derek remembered something about hellhounds collecting the souls. Not everyone down there had the power to get the souls, not even in Hell itself. But they could get at them.

"Stiles! Yank it, use whatever you have got, yank it in and close it!"

Or he was going to jump in and hold them off. For Stiles.

Thick sweat drops were running down on the emissary’s temples and neck, his clothes starting to stick to him, but the magical wind brought some release regarding that. Though, not to the pace and intensity which made his whole body strain against it all. Each fast heartbeat felt as if someone was hammering against his rib cage. His mouth was dry, throat scratchy and voice hoarse as tremors ran through his limbs. His rune was burning as well and this time both his tattoos too. The anti-possession one on his chest, and the tree on his back, golden roots and veins crawling up on his neck, side of his face and even his arms. He kinda looked like someone moments away from bursting into flames.

Next part

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