The Left Hand

AUTHOR'S NOTES;OH MY GOD ITS BEEN LIKE 4 MONTHS IM SO SORRY 😭

But! In my defense, I took a little vacation for almost a month and the newest installment of this series took way longer to write and post because it's very technical! Like, it took me one day for this chapter and like a month and a half to do the first 2 chapters of A Survivor's Will! But I think it will be easier now that I have a good start on how I want to handle the mechanics of it. And now there are 8 parts to this series and I wrote over 45k since you guys last saw me!

Still… I am sorry 💙 you guys are my most cherished and supportive readers so I feel bad for the wait. 

Anyway! I officially posted my walking dead gamer fic, so check that out if you're interested. Y'all know how this series works by now, but if you're new, hi! Welcome! Each part of this series can be read independently or in order as part of a souls journey through the cycle of reincarnation.

As always, thank you guys for showing your love for my work. I hope yall enjoy!

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I jerk awake only to settle at the feeling of one of my packbonds being flooded with the feeling of safety and love. Hot breath on my neck has me peering over to my left to see bright red eyes and I relax, reaching for the Alpha. Derek, who had created space between us to not touch me, immediately leans back into me. I sigh, the last of the fear and anger from my nightmare vanishes as he tucks himself around me. 'Thanks."

Derek doesn't say anything, merely nuzzling into me. Lydia, who had at some point during the night, wrapped her arms around my hips and started using my stomach as a pillow, sleeps on. 

I breathe in deeply, fingers entwining in strawberry blonde strands, relieved that the banshee managed to sleep considering how nervous she is for today's ritual, even if she'd rather die than admit it.

It had been a few days since my visions had given me a bit of a mental breakdown. After locking myself away for a few days, I'd manage to more or less get my shit together, but I couldn't deny feeling a bit sensitive, like a tender wound that is healing, but sore and aching whenever something brushes against it.

I shiver when Derek nuzzles me again, hyper aware of his lips touching my skin and the scrape of his stubble. Yawning, I stretch and carefully detangle myself from Lydia, sitting up. Feeling something tighten around my ankle, I look down confused.

"Um…. Did Jackson grow a tail?" I whisper to Derek, trying not scream. It was too early for me to manage my usual unconditional acceptance of all things weird.

"…" Derek abruptly sits up, stares, and then snaps a photo of the Kanima tail wrapped around my ankle. "Blackmail."

I bit my lip, shoving my absolute delight at the way Stiles and I have influenced him down our back bond, making him rumble a low laugh. Then, I made a speedy exit upstairs before he figured out the wild things that sound does to me. Thankfully, Jackson hadn't leaked his paralytic venom on me.

XXXXXXXXXX

 "Here," Boyd murmurs, handing me the dough for Polish Chruściki, or Angel Wings. It's one Stiles's favorites for after we finish resurrecting Peter.

I nod, smiling in thanks as I put the dough to the side to rest. I pass him the pancake batter and omelet mix to start fryiny before making my way to another part of the kitchen. I pause behind Erica, who was doing the mountain of dishes at the sink, the chore I hated most in the entire world, and so I give the blonde a tight hug, making her giggle. Then, I shuffled around Boyd once more to start the smoothies. "I can't wait to break in the new Pack House. This kitchen is getting too small, especially with so many mouths to feed." 

Feenie, with reluctance, allowed us to cook with her, although the brownie had to be bribed with honey to let us do anything. She was actually too efficient, and if paused for even a moment, she'd find some way to take over whatever task we were doing. And truthfully, the pack was too busy to always make our own meals, so Feenie was a godsend, but it was nice to cook for everyone, every once in a while, especially since Feenie liked it when we taught her cultural dishes she's never made before. Currently, she was distracted by pastry making, but I knew that the moment we finished, we'd find all the work taken from us somehow.

"So, today is Peter's re-birthday, huh? Are we throwing a party?" Erica smirks. The blonde, despite still battling her illness, seemed less frail these days, less angry at the world. Happier with packbonds wrapping her up every minute of the day, banishing the sadness and loneliness that used to press down on her. Her fresh greenery, berries and flowers and grass, is still a bit wilted, her epilepsy still present, but in our pack she is blooming.

I snicker. "Please, I beg you, put that on a cake for when we get back."

Boyd snorts, and my lips curl up into a little grin. Boyd, too, felt different after he joined the pack. It was hard to describe, but he was lighter. Not at all like the spring and sunshine and flame of Erica, but calmer, like cool river rocks under a gentle stream as a canoe drifts along. 

The way they complimented one another was definitely not lost on me.

Boyd shot me look over his shoulder as Feenie sneakily usurped his position at the stove. "We'll hang up decorations and everything."

I tilt my head. Technically, Derek still had to decide what to do with Peter, but everyone but the alpha himself knew just how kind he was. We were all pretty sure we'd be adding a creeperwolf to the pack. "Are… are you guys really okay with Peter joining the pack?"

Erica pauses before turning off the water and drying her hands. "I mean, he didn't really do that much to me directly. Like, I totally had a seizure from all the stress, but that's not exactly new for me. And yeah, I am kind of pissed about how much he put the rest of you guys through, but from what Derek and Stiles explained, he was like super crazy at the time, right?"

Boyd nods, also coming over to the counter to stand with me. "The packbonds…. It hasn't been that long since I got them, but the idea of them snapping…. Just thinking about it makes me sick."

I grimace, hand going to my chest. "And it's actually supposed to be worse for the wolves. Peter had those bonds his whole life. It's not at all shocking that he lost it."

Erica sighs. "More than anything, though, I feel like this pack… it's a second chance, ya know? I love my parents, but pack is pack."

Both Boyd and I agree, instantly, knowing what she means. Before all this, I had Stiles and Scott, Melissa and Noah and Sunya, but actually becoming part of a pack, with the bonds tangled there under your ribs like a constant comfort was a whole other thing, something that went far beyond just love and family and friendship. It was an eternal promise of home, of belonging and acceptance and never being alone.

"Besides, he brought us all together didn't he? Can't say I'm not grateful for that," Boyd murmurs, slipping an arm around my shoulders, doing the same with Erica on his other side, and I smile wryly, not having really thought of that.

"I guess we should be thankful for that," I agree, leaning closer as we huddled together in the kitchen for a moment. "You guys know that if I thought there was even a chance he would hurt any of you, I-"

"We know," Boyd says firmly, even as Erica wraps her arms around both of us.

Erica smirks. "Well, it's not like we have another option if we want Lydia to stay sane. Or as sane as Lydia gets, I guess."

"Excuse you! Exactly how am I crazy?" Lydia demands, whirling in to the kitchen, make up perfect and heeled booties clicking on my tile floors.

Erica gives her a dubious look. "You spent all night securing ingredients for Molotov cocktails in case Peter's resurrection doesn't go well and he wakes up still murderous and insane."

I cringe, reminding myself to make sure those were played somewhere that wouldn't result in my house accidentally burning down.

"There is also the numerous blackmail portfolios you have that even out does Layla and Stiles's collection. Oh, and there is also the way you've been raiding everyone's closets and getting rid of everything you declare too unfashionable and then gaslighting them into thinking they imagined the missing stuff. Not to mention the color coded organizing you do. You nearly bit off Isaac's head when he put your eyeliner in the wrong place."

I blink, scowling. Firstly, why were Stiles and I getting out on blast for our perfectly reasonable blackmailing habits? And is that where my rattiest ugly sweater went?

"That's not crazy! That's called preparing for worse case scenarios! And Stiles's doesn't need that many torn up flannels! And Isaac is an artist who should understand the value of organizing by color!" We stare her down flatly until she deflates. "It's not that crazy."

"Only a little," I soothe gently. "But it's okay. We're all a little crazy in this house. Come, I'll show you a picture you'll like."

One glance at the photo from this morning has her demanding I send it to her, but unfortunately Derek already called dibs on this blackmail of Jackson with a tail.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I wanted to say thank you, Layla," Lydia says softly as she, Stiles, Derek, and I walk through the preserve to resurrect a certain murderous wolf. 

I blink. "What for?"

"I know that you had to stand up to Derek for this, and that most of the reason you even insisted on resurrecting Peter is because that bastard would drive me insane from beyond the grave and this way, I wouldn't have to deal with that. So, thanks. It probably also can't be easy to face Peter after everything."

I squeeze her arm, guiding her along as I follow my bond to Suhel to the nemeton's clearing. "Nah, you don't have to thank me. To be honest, I probably would have just let him stay dead if it wouldn't harm you, but I also think he deserves a second chance, one where he isn't being torn apart from the inside. Besides, this stuff is my duty anyway, both as a packmate and a Guardian."

Lydia huffs. "Just shut up and accept my thanks."

I laugh as we enter the clearing. With the help of Suhel who materializecss to hovers next to me, Peter's body is unearthed near the base of the Nemeton. And soon enough, due to her proximity to the corpse, Lydia goes into a trance as her banshee instincts take over, using various ingredients like wolfsbane, mistletoe, mountain ash, and even Derek's blood to start the resurrection, the last of which she took by walking up to Derek and slicing his palm with a particularly sharp stick, an empty look in her eyes.

"Okay?" I whisper to a stiff Derek, his palm healing instantaneously as Lydia turns away, eerily silent as she moves back to Peter, even her boots not making a sound. Derek softens and nods, leaning down to brush his cheek against mine before turning his attention back to Lydia. The alpha has been barely spoken all morning, but all of that rage he'd shown when I first told him about Peter was nowhere to be found. I'm not sure if he just doesn't want to show it to me, still regretful about the previous incident, or if it's really gone, but all I can sense from him now is greif and anxiety.

"Lydia's eyes are glowing white," Stiles informs me, and I nod, breath catching as the air grows icy. Something dense filled the air, and I twitch, feeling eyes on me. My magic bubbles up under my skin, swirling silver wrapping around me as bone deep fear fills me, but to my confusion and alarm, it doesn't seem like the others have noticed at all.

I tense, hands tightening on Derek and Stiles, but Suhel's calm voice in my mind, speaking so only I can hear, interrupts my rising anxiety. "Peace, Guardian. There is no danger. This is just the aura of Death."

I still. "Death?" 

Suhel moves to hover in front of me, wrapping his incorporeal arms around me, his smiling face taking over my field of vision. "Of course. Usually, rituals that circumvent Death are forbidden as they are abominations that alter the Balance. This ritual, however, was prepared before the wolf died, so it's more a measure to prevent true death rather than a resurrection. As such, a soul is not actually being stolen from Death. But, that doesn't mean Death is not watching."

I stare, hearing the odd emphasis he puts on the word death. "When you say Death, do you refer to, like, a god?"

Suhel hums. "That is not inaccurate, but calling Death a god is overly simplified. It is a sentient force of existence, far beyond a mere deity. Do you fear, Death, dear one?"

I pause. "I don't know. Doesn't everyone?"

Suhel smirks, pulling away. "But you are not like anyone else, my Gaurdian."

My brows furrow as I think about it. "I don't want to die, but I don't really see it as a terrible thing either. I mean, aren't there far worse things than dying?"

I grimace, unable to help the thought that there were definitely times Death was a mercy, like with Peter. Suhel's sudden cackle has Derek and Stiles flinching, the two not having been privy to our telepathic conversation. "Truly, you are precious, a treasure even among the other Guardians, especially in this era!"

I startle. I had kind of assumed my mind set about these things was part of why I was a Gaurdian in the first place, but were my thoughts not normal even among others like me?

Before I can question the tree further, Peter is gasping, ragged, and I flinch at the corpse's sudden animation. I feel a cold hand on my shoulder and for a moment, I assume it's Suhel, but the nemeton merely smiles from where he's hovering a few feet away. 

I turn, confused, but find nothing, feeling an odd sense of peace settle on me, one I couldn't pinpoint the origin of, and I decide I don't really want to know.

I follow the other to a confused, but smug Peter, where he lays covered in dirt on the ground. Stiles goes over to comfort a disturbed Lydia who comes out of her trance to see that she is no longer where she remembers being a moment ago. I, however, just tilt my head as I crouch next to the newly alive Hale, jabbing him lightly in the cheek. He still feels… wrong. Cold, angry, and twisted.

Suhel hums, understanding without words. "You are feeling his spiritual corruption. It is partially the price of this ritual and partially the damages done to his soul from the packbonds all breaking and his madness."

"Your majesty," Peter says mockingly as I continue to poke his dirt covered cheek again and again. I can tell that the only reason he is letting me do this is because he can't actually stop me, far too weak at the moment. "Can I help you? Is this revenge for my bad first impression?"

Derek scoffs. "You think this is enough retribution for all you did?"

"Well, you already killed me, so…"

I ignore them as they start glaring at one another, glancing at Suhel, mentally asking, "Any way to fix this spiritual corruption?"

"Of course. You just need to purify him," Suhel says cheerfully, fluttering around like leaves in the wind. I listen to his instructions before getting to my feet.

"Okay, drag him to the nemeton," I say, standing as I cut through the tension between a still immobile Peter and Derek.

Derek doesn't even hesitate, just grabs his uncke's collar and drops him like a sack of patatoes on the roots. Peter, however, panics as I retrieve a sharp branch from the Nemeton, the new tree growing from the stump nearly twenty feet tall by now and still growing fast.

"Your majesty, please, we can talk this out, right? I am sorry about the whole, biting thing, and that little kidnapping incident, but surely we can handle this without violence," he barters as he tries to crawl away from Suhel's old roots, only to let out an oof when Stiles none too gently nudges him back with his foot. "Hey!"

I snort. "Relax."

Peter growls. "I just want to say sacrificial rituals are so five centuries ago!"

I giggle. "We aren't sacrificing you, so calm down."

I lean down and catch his jaw in my palm, all the levity draining from the situation. His aura is still chaotic, but nothing like the nauseating disaster it was when he was an alpha. Derek still wasn't sure if he could accept Peter, if he could forgive him for everything, especially Laura, and while I am pretty sure I knew how this would end, the answer's Derek needed should come from a Peter that wasn't still a bit crazy and tainted. So, I reach forward, taking some sap from Suhel's branch and painting a crescent moon onto the werewolf's brow, mimicking the one that always appeared on my own forehead before pressing them together. Blue eyes go wide as I let my magic errupt into him, light almost blinding as it floods off of us. 

The power swells, like a tsunami crashing to the shore, enveloping us entirely, and I push it on, urging it to chase away the darkness in the man, to soothe the cracks left in his soul, to force out the feeling of wrongness wherever I can find it. He gasps in pain, claws biting into my arms in his surprise, but I hold him still until Suhel tells me it is enough. When I pull away, I expect exhaustion, but I'm shockingly fine, and the realization has me reevaluating just how much power I received from taking all those vows, especially when I notice that the claw marks Peter left behind are gone, only a bit of blood on my skin proving they were there to begin with.

When I glance at Peter, I have to do a double take because the man is not only squeaky clean looking, but also visibly younger, barely appearing older the Derek himself even though he's 34, something Suhel whispers is a result of me burning out the leftover wolfsbane in his system from the fire. He just sits there, mouth and eyes wide as I draw my power back into myself, dimming the light show.

"Alpha Hale, the curuption, the wolfsbane in his body, and the damage done to his soul has been corrected. You may ask you questions and give your verdict," I state, voice echoing in the clearing as I rise to my feet.

"Verdict?" Peter asks, voice rough, but there was something in his wide eyes that I couldn't quite define. His aura, one that before I could only equate to burning forests and agony, is entirely different now. Peter feels like sleek, stainless steel, silk sheets, leather bound books, and fresh snow littered with bloody paw prints. It still feels dangerous in essence, but not actually threatening.

"Now is the time to bear your soul, Peter Hale, Left Hand of the late Alpha Talia Hale," I advise the man, solemnly. This would determine if he joined our pack, died, or was exhaled. While I sincerely hope that Derek is able to reconcile his uncle for his sake, whether or not Peter was allowed a second chance all came down to the Alpha's decision since this was an internal pack matter, and even I as the Guardian had to concede to his authority here.

I step back, Stiles taking my hand and guiding me to stand with him and a tired but contemplative Lydia. This was the first time Lydia had used her banshee powers, and thankfully, she isn't too shaken up.

"Peter Hale, did you intentionally kill the former Alpha, Laura Hale," Derek asks, voice unyielding.

Peter flinches and I feel the grief and self loathing fill him. "No, nor would I have had I been in my right mind. Even though I resent the fact that she abandoned me."

It is Derek's turn to drown in his guilt. "Do you resent me?"

Peter huffs wetly, burying his face in his hands. "No, you were just a pup. None of this mess was on you. We should have protected you better. If anything, the fire was my fault since I didn't see the danger to our pack which was my duty as the Left Hand."

Derek actually staggers, like his words are a physical blow. "Uncle Peter, no."

Derek falls to his knees and Peter crawls over to grip the younger man by his nape. "Ask your questions, pup."

I glance at Lydia, knowing from Stiles that she was one of the few to protest Peter's joining the pack most vehemently, but to my relief, I don't find the harsh glower I was expecting, merely a scrutinizing stare as she watches the two wolves desperately reaching for one another across a chasm of grief, longing, and pain.

"Don't you hate me for leaving you?" I shut my eyes leaning into Stiles and pulling Lydia closer as Derek's voice breaks, tearful. The alpha sounded like he wanted his uncle to hate him, to scorn and revile him as if that would somehow allow him to atone for things he alone blamed himself for.

"I heard you. In- in th-the coma, I was awake the whole time, all those years…," Peter says, just as tremulous, and I grimace at hearing the man sound anything other than totally in control for the first time. "I heard the way you begged Laura not to leave me. You were so young, Derek. It's not your fault, pup."

Derek sobs, burying his face in Peter's neck and I grit my teeth, unable to stop my own eyes from filling with tears at the heart breaking emotions around us. I desperately want to run over and bundle both of them up in warm blankets and bubble wrap and cuddle the shit out of them, but I also know that they need to work things out on their own. I settle for gripping my packmates tighter and shoving calm affection down my bond to the Alpha.

"Do you still want to be Alpha?"

Peter hesitates, the hand rubbing his nephew's back, right over his heart, stills and the danger of such a vulnerable position is suddenly clear to all of us, as the clearing floods with tension again. "I… I just want a pack again, to have the power to protect my pack when I failed before… it wasn't about being alpha…."

Derek breathes out harshly and pulls away, gripping Peter by his shoulders, gathering himself. "Peter Hale, will you join my pack?"

Peter makes a pained wounded sound. "Y-you…"

"If you don't hate me, if you want to be pack again, then there is a place for you, Uncle Peter."

"…Your pack won't accept it."

"We already have," I state, finally stepping away from Lydia and Stiles, startling the two Hakes who had clearly forgotten they had an audience from the way they startle and flood the air with mortification. I crouch by the older wolf once more, carefully reaching a hand out to him, and ignoring their flustered attempts to compose themselves and act tough. "You'll have to earn your place among us, and definitely make amends, but we are willing to sincerely take you as one of our own."

Peter stares and this close up I can see the tears on his face and the way his hand shakes as it reaches for mine. I squeeze it gently, smiling softly at the man, truly unable to hold anything against him.

Turning back to Derek, Peter nods, gulping and bearing his neck, seemingly unable to speak. Derek inhales sharply and, since Peter makes no move to drop my hand, I just hold his palm between both of mine as Derek bites him, the new bond settling into place, one that feels like pain and bone deep sadness and hope all spun together in silky spider thread, a timid thing that didn't match Peter at all.

Derek pulls his uncle in for a tight hug and as soon as he releases him, I lean in as well to brush my cheek against our newest pack mates in a wolfy greeting. Grasping the bond, I send forgiveness and acceptance and understanding down it in a welcome, smiling. The man crumples, hiding his face in his hands as weeps, seemingly overwhelmed by the simple kindness.

A hand on my back has me catching Derek's gaze and when he sends me his love and gratitude, I merely pat his cheek.

XXXXXXXXXX

Peter wastes no time making amends, apologizing sincerely to me and Stiles, and then to Lydia for biting her and planning to manipulate her from the beyond. Even he seemed a bit disturbed by his final, diabolical scheme.

"Although," he smirks, determinedly erasing all evidence of the emotional scene from 5 minutes ago. "I do have to admire my own brilliance."

I groan as we walk back through the perserve. "Fuck, are you telling me he's just naturally a smug asshat? That wasn't the crazy juice?"

"Unfortunately not," Derek deadpans, already exasperated.

"Come now, sweetheart. Don't pretend you aren't entertained," he pats his chest, indicating the newest bond, his smile wide and knowing since I left our bond open to him. "Besides, as Left Hand, I'm the one that has to work closest with the Guardian."

I blink. "Are you even the Left Hand?"

Peter pauses. Derek does too as they stare at one another. "….Do you want to be Left Hand, Peter?" Derek asks after a moment.

The Left Hand was not an easy position. They were the pack enforcers and were the first line of defense against external threats, often taking out those threats before the rest of the pack even knew they existed. It was a bloody, thankless job that required a wolf to drench themselves in the darkness, violence, and suffering of the supernatural world to protect the pack's peace, and there were even packs that emotionally isolated the Left Hand since they were so dangerous. Derek had privately admitted at one point that he thought such might have been the case in the old Hake Pack, too, since Peter always seemed to be the black sheep of the family, never quite as close with the others despite being the Alpha's brother. It had been a difficult admission for my friend, who had always seen his mother as the ultimate example of Alphahood and the realization that she might not have been perfect after all had deeply unbalanced him.

"I'll do it, if your okay with that, nephew. I… I want to protect this pack since I failed before. Please entrust this with me," Peter says seriously, and Stiles shoots me a wide eyed look. He too had accepted Peter after the display with Derek earlier, but he was still struggling to see the man that hunted and tormented us so soft and sincere.

Derek nods, bumping their heads together, and Peter grins, sauntering over to grab my arm and entwining it with his. I twitch, and sensing my discomfort, he goes to pull away, but I nearly tightened my grip on him since my reaction had more to do with him being a man and my recent retraumatization than the fact that it was Peter Hale.

"Do Left Hands actually work that closely with Guardians?" I ask, curious and hoping to distract the blonde wolf.

Peter nods. "Yes, actually. Since oftentimes the Left Hand acts as a Guardian's personal guard. While the whole pack works to enforce the Guardian's will upon the territory, sometimes the Left Hand is really all that is needed. If the Guardian notices a threat, then the Alpha sends out me to deal with it, and if that's not enough-"

"-the whole pack gets involved," I finish for him. "Does the Left Hand do the same for the Emiisary?"

Peter tilts his head back and forth in a so-so motion. "The Emissary is more of a dimplomat. If they are out conveying your will, they are more likely to be with the Alpha and or Right Hand, who acts as an advisor to the Alpha and a sort of moral compass. Left Hands work more in the shadows and I'd only really be with them if we were concerned about there being some form of threat or hostility, since otherwise, with Alpha and Right Hand gone, I'm better off staying to protect the pack. Generally speaking, it's rarer for the Left Hand to work one on one with the Emissary like I would the Guardian."

"So if I suspected there was a threat to the territory…." Stiles asks, hooking an arm through Peter's free one, much to the man's startled delight, but I only smirk, knowing that Stiles has never been one to hold back once he decided someone was one of his, and Peter joining the pack had automatically made him so.

"Then, you would tell the Guardian and Alpha who would then tell me, and we'd maybe work together then," Peter answers straight faced, even if I can feel how pleased he is by our lack of hesitancy. "Or, at least, that's how it works from what I read. We never actually had a Guardian in Beacon Hills in my lifetime. Hell, it's been decades actually. I'll take a look and find some books for you all."

"Cool."

I snort.

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AN; Hi 💙 sorry, there was supposed to be more plot but the fluff took over, whoops.

Tell me your thoughts 💙