"Too late, my time has come
Sends shivers down my spine
Body's aching all the time
Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth
Mama, ooh (any way the wind blows)
I don't want to die
I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all"
_________________________________
The last thing he saw was Braeden crying above him begging for him to hang in there. He tried, he really did, but at the end of the day, he wasn't strong enough. He was never strong enough.
He wasn't strong enough to ignore Peter's manipulations or save Paige from dying. He wasn't strong enough to resist Kate or see through her lies when she tried to seduce him. He wasn't strong enough to save his family from burning alive, or preventing Peter from killing Laura and biting Scott.
He wasn't strong enough to help Jackson, save Erica and Boyd, or let himself be vulnerable with Isaac and Cora. He wasn't strong enough to realize that Jennifer was the Darach and stop her when he had the chance.
He was perhaps the biggest failure in his entire family.
He wasn't wise like his mother or noble like his father. He wasn't caring like Laura or independent like Cora.
Hell, even Peter was more cunning and ruthless than he could ever dream to be.
He wasn't an Alpha or a Beta. He was simply a boy who never got over the trauma he experienced as a child. He was a loner, an outcast.
He was an Omega through to his core.
That's how he died, and that's how he will be remembered: Derek Hale, the Omega of Beacon Hills.
* * *
Suddenly, his eyes shot open, and the Hale werewolf choked out a raspy breath. He quickly sat up and looked around only to find himself laying on a bed in a motel. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as he looked at the nightstand and saw that it was 9:00 at night.
"What the hell?" Derek mumbled.
Just then, the memories of what had transpired merely seconds before he woke up in wherever he was assaulted his brain, triggering a wave of nausea that formed in the pit of his stomach. Derek jumped off the bed and bolted to the bathroom, skidding on his knees on the tile floor, and leaned over the toilet bowl just as he began to heave his guts out.
Once his stomach settled, Derek groaned and slowly got to his feet. Then he turned on the sink faucet and splashed his face with water, gargling some of it to rinse his mouth before spitting it out again. He looked up to reach for the towel again, but when he did, he was startled by the sight of his visibly younger reflection in the vanity and stumbled back with a yelp.
His chest heaved in exhaustion as he gazed at his reflection in bewilderment.
What was going on here? Why was he in a motel when a few minutes ago he was dying in the desert of Mexico? Did Braeden put him here? Where was Braeden? Where was the Pack?
For that matter, where was he?
And why did he look the same as when he first met Scott?
Then an idea struck him. When he died out in the desert, he died as a human, but now he was alive again and seemingly younger (ie: sans the beard and excess worry lines). So what if...?
Derek steeled himself and glared at his reflection as he walked back up to the mirror. Then he closed his eyes tightly, as he braced his hands against the countertop. At first, he felt nothing but then slowly, very slowly... he sensed something ignite within him. A spark. His spark. When he reopened his eyes, they were no longer their natural seafoam blue-green hue. Instead, his eyes glowed an electric shade of blue. The same shade of blue they were when Paige died.
He was a werewolf again?! But that couldn't be true! And yet, he was staring at the proof of his lycanthropy dead in its glowing eyes. He didn't know how it could have happened, but he was. Not only that, but he was also at least a year younger than he should have been which was impossible. At least it should be. Who knows? Maybe there's more to it than he knows about. If so, there might be one person that he knows who might be able to help him figure it out. That is if he can give him a straight answer for once.
With a goal in mind and an unbridled determination, Derek stormed out of the bathroom and grabbed his iconic leather jacket off of the coat rack, and searched through the pockets until he found his car keys. Then he grabbed the hotel key card, you know, just in case, and left the motel room, making a beeline for the parking lot.
And so help him, if Deaton didn't give him answers, he was going to rip that vet's throat out with his teeth!