FIC: Teen Wolf -- Pack Up; Don't Stray (3/6)

[the_deep_magic]

Title: Pack Up; Don’t Stray (3/6)
Author: the_deep_magic
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: NC-17
Warnings (this part): themes of slavery, references to violence and minor character death

One / Two

“You look like shit,” Scott said earnestly.  Helpful, helpful Scott.

Well, Stiles thought as he rubbed at his temple, it wasn’t actually Scott’s fault that Stiles couldn’t tell him anything.  Scott’s sudden foray into perceptiveness just happened to come at a very inconvenient time.  Maybe it had something to do with the sudden responsibility of raising a daughter.

“I’m fine,” Stiles mumbled.  “It’s just been a long day and I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night.”  Technically true.

When Stiles glanced up, Scott’s eyes had widened alarmingly.  “Oh my god.  Oh my god, dude.  You got dumped.”

“What?”

“It totally makes sense now,” Scott said, obviously torn between being impressed with his own cleverness and expressing sympathy for Stiles.  “You were all relaxed and Zen before, and now you look like you got hit by a truck.  You were dumped by your secret girlfriend.”

Stiles was still struggling to catch up.  “What?  No.”

“Secret boyfriend?” Scott tried again.

The denial was on Stiles’ lips when he realized that, from Scott’s point of view, that wasn’t actually a bad deduction.  And if Scott believed it, he probably wouldn’t ask too many more questions.  Stiles sighed.  “All right, fine.  He dumped me last night.  Can we not rub my face in it while I still have some dignity?”

Scott looked immediately chastised.  “Yeah, no, sorry.  I just wish you’d told me.  I know I’ve been kind of a shitty friend lately, but, well…”

“Tiny human infant partially dependent on you for survival.  I get it.”

“Tell you what, you’ve been picking up my slack for weeks now.  Why don’t you cut out of here early and I’ll finish the reports.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped.  “No, c’mon, your helpless spawn takes precedence over my—”  Lost werewolf.

“No, really,” Scott insisted, his smile a little grim.  “A few extra compulsory hours away from the endless squalling?  You’d be doing me a favor.”  Then the smile dropped completely, replaced by a look of horror.  “Please don’t tell Allison I said that.”

Despite himself, Stiles laughed.  “If you’re sure.  I’d really appreciate it, and if Allison asks, you can totally blame it on me and my delicate emotional state.  Seriously, though, I could use a little time to, y’know.”  Go looking for the runaway werewolf.  “Get my head together.”

“Hey, no problem,” Scott said, throwing his arms around Stiles and pounding him on the back in what Scott probably considered a comforting fashion.  “And if you ever, you know, want to talk about it…”

“You’ll watch the baby while I weep into Allison’s shoulder?”

“You know me so well,” Scott sighed, giving Stiles a final squeeze before releasing him.

Stiles darted out of the station as soon as he could, miraculously managing to avoid pretty much everyone on the way out.  He only had a few hours of daylight left and still hadn’t had time to come up with a search plan other than “head into the woods.”

As soon as he got home, he changed into warmer clothes and began shoving things into a backpack – a flashlight, a hat and gloves, some water bottles, a map of the area that probably wasn’t going to do a damned bit of good, a slightly rusty compass that still seemed to point more or less north.  God, this was a terrible idea; he didn’t even know where to start looking.

Stiles slipped into the guest bedroom on the off-chance that Derek had left some kind of clue behind.  Of course he hadn’t – from what Stiles could tell, he’d taken off with nothing but a single set of clothes, thankfully including the coat.  Stiles sank down on the edge of the bed.  The woods surrounding Beacon Hills went on for miles before they even got to the county line.  The only place Stiles knew Derek wouldn’t be was near the Argent estate, not only for obvious reasons, but also because he had said there was at least one wolf there who knew his scent…

Derek’s scent.

Stiles’ head snapped up and he went straight for the closet.  Sure enough, crumpled in a pile on the floor were some of the clothes that Derek had worn, but that Stiles hadn’t gotten around to washing yet.  He picked up one of the shirts.

It was risky as hell.  The werewolves – probably betas – who had gotten close enough to smell Derek’s scent on him before had been immediately deferential, but Stiles could only guess what would happen if he should encounter another alpha.  As far as he knew, there were very few feral alphas, and even if he encountered one, he was pretty obviously not a werewolf and there was a chance he’d be spared if he smelled like he belonged to another alpha.  Though there was a more or less equal chance he’d be ripped to shreds for wandering into the wrong alpha’s territory.  He had found so little information about werewolves in the wild.

But it was his only shot at finding Derek, assuming he could find a beta or an omega willing to track the scent for him.  Otherwise, Stiles knew, he’d do nothing but wander the woods for hours – Derek hadn’t managed to stay hidden for so long by accident.  But how long could he really hide from the Argents now?  How many people in Deaton’s network knew that someone was harboring an untagged alpha?

Stiles still trusted Deaton, but for all he knew, the Argents had ears in that network.  If nothing else, they’d at least suspect the alpha was Derek, and Stiles knew they’d go out looking for him sooner rather than later, with whatever wolf could track his scent.  Stiles would just have to do it first.

The long-sleeved grey t-shirt was loose on him, even over his own layers of shirts, but he had to cover it up with a jacket anyway – the temperature was already starting to drop.  And if Derek could pick up Stiles’ smell on clothes that had washed a hundred times, the jacket wouldn’t do much to mask Derek’s scent from other wolves.  Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, Stiles would soon find out.  After a decent amount of consideration, he unbuckled his holster from his belt and left his gun at home.  It wouldn’t protect him from werewolves, but the sight of it might scare off potential allies.  He would just have to hope he didn’t run into any dangerous humans.

He gripped the steering wheel hard as he drove, parking at the end of a dirt cul-de-sac not far from where he lived.  There was an embankment at the edge of an undeveloped tract of land that led back into the woods – the closest entry point from Stiles’ house – and he guessed that was where Derek had gone first.

Stiles grabbed his backpack and slammed the door of the Jeep much harder than he meant to.  He figured he had an hour, maybe an hour and a half of daylight left.  Goddamn it.  What had he said to Derek last night?  Stiles couldn’t even remember.  Something about how he’d “take care of it.”  Fuck, he’d been so freaked out at the thought of the Argents getting their hands on Derek.  With all that agitation, he’d probably convinced Derek that he was actually about to turn him in to the Argents out of self-preservation.

If Stiles found him, but Derek had decided he didn’t trust Stiles and wanted to take his chances in the woods instead… well, there was nothing Stiles could do about that.  Still, he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make sure Derek knew that if he wanted to go north, forever out of the reach of the Argents, Stiles would do everything in his power to make that happen.

It took Stiles a distressingly long time to realize that his frustrated stomping through the woods was probably scaring every living creature away.  So he forced himself to slow down, step lightly, even though he didn’t want to make any of them think he was trying to sneak up on them, either.  Every few minutes, he tried speaking aloud softly, knowing the werewolves would be able to hear him.  Luckily, Stiles had had enough experience talking to himself that he didn’t feel too ridiculous.

“Hello, hi,” he mumbled, glancing around carefully in the dying sunlight.  “I, um, come in peace?  I’m looking for a friend of mine.  I… fuck, this all sounds really suspicious, but he’s in danger, and I want to help him.  I’m unarmed, and I realize that all of you are fully capable of tearing me limb from limb, though I would really prefer that didn’t happen.  Anyway, I’m wearing his shirt – my friend’s – and I just need someone to help me track his scent.  I’m not interested in… in capturing anyone.  I just need to find him and talk to him, I swear.  If he doesn’t want my help, I’ll leave.  But I have no idea where he is, and I could really use the help of a werewolf to find him.”

Stiles kept it up – the careful walking and the steady, murmured monologue – for over an hour.  He checked his compass every few minutes, by flashlight when the sun finally set, and prayed he really was going in the direction he thought he was going.  He didn’t think he was actually lost, but he was a lot less sure of himself in the dark.  The moon would be full in a few days, but it was a cloudy night and the tree canopy was surprisingly thick.  He hadn’t seen a single werewolf, but he’d heard the occasional rustling in the undergrowth, and several times, he’d known without looking that there were eyes focused on him.  Certainly no volunteers, though.

But he kept going, trying to keep the fear out of his voice while sounding calm and nonthreatening.  He didn’t say Derek’s name or the word “alpha,” just in case, but any of the werewolves would probably be able to smell it on him anyway.  Eventually, losing hope (and the feeling in his fingers, even with the gloves on), he started heading back toward the Jeep – or where he thought it was.

“So, look, I can’t stay out here for much longer, because it’s getting cold, but if you know of a werewolf with this scent, please just tell him his friend is looking for him.  He knows where to find me, but I’ll be back tomorrow if I can, because this is really impor—oomph!”

Stiles hadn’t even heard it coming until he was shoved hard to the forest floor, the wind knocked out of him.  He gasped for breath, struggling under the hot, hard weight on top of him.  Well, he’d found himself a werewolf.  At least that half of his plan had worked.  It was a shame he probably wasn’t going to survive long enough to implement the other half, though.

“What the fuck are you doing out here, Stiles?” the creature on top of him hissed in his ear, and oh, okay, it was Derek.  So that part of the plan had worked, too.  Then it was a double shame that Derek was probably going to kill him, if the tone of his voice was any indication.  And the claws.  Stiles had never actually seen them fully extended, but there were definitely a set of claw tips pressing into his neck.

“At the moment?” Stiles wheezed.  “Pissing myself.  Please don’t kill me.  But if you do, make it quick?”

Suddenly, the weight was off his back and he was being yanked up to his feet by – ow – clawed hands.  There was just enough light for him to get a good look at Derek.  Stiles knew about the red eyes, and now had first-hand experience with the claws, thank you very much, but he had to hold back a totally manly shriek at the sight of Derek with fangs.  They were glistening white and looked terrifyingly sharp, but even as Stiles watched, they receded back into regular human canines, and Derek was just Derek again.

Didn’t mean he was any less pissed off, though.  “Are you wearing one of my shirts?  Are you insane?  You just decided to wander out into werewolf territory reeking of—”

Stiles drew himself up to his full height, which was actually the same as Derek’s, even though Derek had what felt like several hundred pounds of muscle on him, plus the whole supernatural strength thing.  “It was the only way I could think of to find you, since you bolted out of my house last night without a word.”

Derek gaped at him like Stiles had genuinely lost his mind.  “I left to keep you safe, you idiot.”

“You… what?”

“We’re not safe out here,” Derek said, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, my Jeep is—”

“I know where your Jeep is,” Derek said, scooping Stiles over his shoulder like he was a damsel in distress and not a grown-ass man with a concealed weapons permit and access to all sorts of firearms.  But even in his inverted state, Stiles was pleased to note that he’d been right about the direction his car was in.  He may have been insane, but at least he hadn’t been insane and lost.

Stiles had estimated it would take them at least 45 extremely uncomfortable minutes to get back out of the woods, but Derek made it in less than ten.  He deposited Stiles by the driver’s side door and growled “Get in,” not allowing Stiles time to determine which way gravity went.

But Stiles was able to dig the car keys out of his pocket with shaking hands, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, Derek commanded him to drive the moment they were both in the car.  “Drive where?” Stiles asked, trying not to sound as peeved as he felt.  He’d found Derek; that had been the goal.

“Not your house.  Somewhere populated.  I don’t think anyone’s tracking me, but if they are, it’s harder to track a car.”

“But you were able to find—”

“I figured you came in the same way I did, and I could follow your scent back through the woods anyway.  Now drive.”

“Bossy,” Stiles muttered, pulling back onto the paved road.

“Alpha,” Derek shot back, and Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.  Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Derek’s lip twitch, too.

But by the time Stiles had gotten to the highway, his irritation had returned.  “I can’t believe you just ran away like that.  That you actually thought I would turn you in.  I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I’m really fucking insulted.”

“Stiles, if I thought you were going to turn me in, would I have gotten into the car?”

Oh.  “No.”

“I told you, I ran away to keep you safe.”

“From what?  Deaton’s the only one who knows you’re with me, and he doesn’t even know who you are.  He just knows you’re an untagged alpha.”

“How many untagged alphas are running free around Beacon Hills right now, Stiles?”

“Well, none until you decided to head for the hills.”

Stiles didn’t have to take his eyes off the road to know that Derek was glaring at him. “By now the Argents will have heard that somebody’s harboring a runaway alpha.”

“But they don’t know it’s me!”

“They don’t know yet.  The longer I stay with you, the more likely they are to find out.”

“And what if they do?  I’m law enforcement, and the last thing they want to do is get the authorities involved.  Not to mention the fact that they haven’t tagged you.  There’s no legal proof you belong to them, that you ever belonged to them.”

“You think they’re relying on legal proof?” Derek said with an incredulous almost-laugh.  “Stiles, if they try to take me back or kill me and you get in the way, they’ll kill you.”

Stiles was gripping the steering wheel so hard that if he’d had his own claws, they’d be out by now.  “What aren’t you telling me, Derek?  Because this goes beyond hunting.  Not that that isn’t sick enough, but they’ve been doing that for a long time.  They know how to hide it, and if you haven’t tried to expose them by now, they’ve got to know you’re not planning on it.  So why do they want to find you so badly?”

“Other hunters will know they let an alpha escape.  These aren’t people that take humiliation lightly. And Kate…” Derek said quietly.  Then he fell silent, and Stiles forced himself to calm down before asking Derek any more questions.  He kept driving west.  He wanted to find somewhere to park and the only place he could think of that was both populated and somewhat private was an old drive-in movie theater just out of town.  It was the last in the area, and Stiles prayed that it was open and showing a movie tonight.

Which was how he and Derek ended up parked in front of a giant screen playing From Here to Eternity.  The guy in the ticket booth wouldn’t give Stiles a discount, despite the fact that he’d missed the first half of the movie.  But he didn’t want to risk anyone, even that pimply teenager, getting a good look at Derek, just in case, so Stiles paid full price and pulled the Jeep into one of the spots in the back.  Now he just had to make his grumbling stomach ignore the heavenly scent of buttered popcorn.

Stiles had questions he needed answered.  He just didn’t want to make Derek feel like he had to run again.

But when Stiles turned to Derek, illuminated by the flicker of the black and white screen, Derek looked exhausted, like he had the first night at Stiles’ house.  “Ask me whatever you want,” Derek said quietly, staring blankly ahead.

Stiles didn’t even know where to begin.  He just went with the first question that popped into his head.  “Who is it that knows your scent well enough to track you, and how many of them are there?”

Derek actually flinched.  “Just one that I’m sure of,” he said.  “My uncle Peter.”

“But you said you didn’t have any family left.”

“I don’t,” Derek growled, his eyes burning red.  “Peter isn’t family.  Not… not anymore.”

Worrying his lower lip with his teeth, Stiles glanced up at the movie screen while he tried to decide whether to ask Derek what that meant.  But he only had to wait a few seconds before Derek began speaking again, and maybe it was doing Derek good to actually tell this to another person.  Stiles found it hard to believe he’d told anyone else.

“I didn’t figure all of it out until only Peter, my sister, and I were left.  At some point, Peter cut a deal with Gerard to be his… well, his guard dog.  He stayed with Gerard and Kate when they went out hunting, and if it looked like they were going to be overpowered or if they were in danger of serious injury, Peter… stepped in.”

“Oh god,” Stiles whispered.  “And he’d be… he’d be willing to hunt you down, even now?”

“He’d be leading the charge,” Derek said bitterly.  “If he’s the one who kills me, he becomes an alpha.  Even though there’s no pack left, he gets the title and the power.”

“Then how did you get it?  You’re not wearing the right collar, and you told me you never wanted to be an alpha.”

“I didn’t,” Derek said, his voice breaking, and this time Stiles almost told him he didn’t have to continue.  But now Stiles knew Derek needed to get this… whatever it was… out.  Stiles knew the look – it was somebody so burdened by what they’d done that they were about to confess, no interrogation needed.  Seeing that look on Derek’s face was chilling.

“My father was our alpha,” Derek started, speaking so softly that Stiles could barely hear him.  “I think Peter assumed that once the Argents killed my father, it would automatically fall to him as his younger brother, so he didn’t bother to strike the killing blow himself.  Maybe he still had some humanity left back then, or maybe one of the Argents just got there first, I don’t know.  But it didn’t work.  Laura – my older sister – became the alpha.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.  My parents had never explained how that worked – they might not have known themselves.  But Peter had been helping to kill the pack, not protect it.  And Laura… Laura did her best to protect me.”

“You were the last one?”

Derek nodded.  “Laura knew they’d take her first, and that Peter would try to kill her himself this time, so she… she made me promise…”

Fuck, Stiles knew where this was going.  Deaton’s rumor had technically been right – he’d just gotten the motive wrong.

“I was able to follow them into the woods, but not close enough to attack without exposing myself.  I don’t know how long the others lasted, before, but Laura made it a long time.  It got dark, and if the Argents hadn’t had Peter with them, Laura and I could probably have taken them out, even with the wolfsbane weapons.  If we had, the rest of the Argents – even the ones that don’t hunt – would have had us put down or turned us over to Services.  But at least we would have stopped Kate and Gerard.”

“Come on, you can’t think that would be better than—”

“Than what?” Derek snapped, his eyes burning red and staying that way.  “Than not being fast enough to catch the poisoned arrow before it hit her heart?  Than hearing her last words begging me to do what I’d promised?  Better than watching the life drain out of her eyes when I slit her throat?”

“Derek,” Stiles said softly, completely unaware of the tears burning in his own eyes.  “Derek, you didn’t have any choice.  I don’t know a lot about werewolves, but I know that you can’t heal from a wolfsbane arrow to the heart.  You probably spared her a lot of pain.  And you would have been next.”

For some reason, that made Derek jerk away hard from the hand that Stiles had been reaching out to him.  “I caught them by surprise, is all,” Derek mumbled.  “They hadn’t thought to put an alpha collar on me.  But they already had one on Peter, so I was fast enough to get away.  I still don’t know how I survived climbing over the fence.  Probably adrenaline.  It took me months to heal.”

“How… how did you manage to hide for so long?” Stiles asked shakily.  “They had to have been looking for you.”

“I don’t know that either.  I ran as far as I could before I passed out, and then holed up in a cave until I healed.  If they’d wanted to, they could’ve used Peter to hunt me down.  I can only guess they didn’t because…”  Derek took a deep breath.  “Whatever they did to Peter for letting me get away left him in no shape to track me.  They’re… Stiles, you have no idea what they’re capable of.  They’ve owned us for so long, they know more about us – about what hurts us, what kills us – than we do.”

Stiles’ jaw tensed.  “Well, if they want you, they’re going to have to go through me first.  And I know how completely unthreatening that sounds, but I have guns, and friends with guns, and a terrifying boss who I’m pretty sure has access to anti-aircraft weaponry and is itching for the slightest reason to use it.”

“Stiles, if you put up a fight—”

“You’re goddamn right I’m putting up a fight!”

Derek growled, his eyes flashing.  “If you put up a fight, they could easily have Peter kill you and before any of your gun-happy friends get there.  And they can frame me for it, because my scent is all over your house.”

“Exactly.  Your scent is all over my house, so there’s no point in running away now,” Stiles insisted stubbornly.  “And did I mention that I, myself, carry a gun?”

“Which would not even slow Peter down.”

Stiles didn’t mention that he could requisition wolfsbane bullets from the stock at the station, though he’d have to have a reason and it would start a paper trail.  “The gun’s for the Argents.  I don’t give a shit how rich they are, what they’re doing is illegal and seriously sick.  If they show up at my door, I’m pulling a Han Solo and shooting first.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, voice betraying the slightest hint of alarm, “calm down.  Your heart is beating too fast.”

Suddenly, Stiles realized he was so furious he’d been grinding his teeth.  But wait… “How do you know that?”

The curl of Derek’s lip was almost a smile.  “I could probably hear it a mile away – this close, it’s deafening.  Plus, you stink of rage.”

Stiles was dumbfounded; he was vaguely aware that werewolf senses were extremely sharp, but he hadn’t known just how sharp.  Or how they easily could cut through a human’s bullshit.  For a second, Stiles thought he’d have to be careful around Derek… before realizing that there was really no way he could be.  Not if Derek could smell emotions.  Still, he couldn’t suppress his curiosity.  “What does rage smell like?”

Derek wrinkled his nose.  “Ashes.  Ozone.  It doesn’t smell good on you.”

“Then we’d better not run into Gerard or Kate.  Fuck, I wish… I wish we had probable cause for a warrant.  They can’t be using legally registered weapons, and that might be enough to start an investigation.”

“They’re too good at covering their tracks.  They won’t just have the artillery sitting around in gun safes.”

This time Stiles was the one who growled.  “What if I could get you in there?  Could you find something?  Sniff it out?”

Derek bit back hard on something that might have been a whimper, and Stiles realized what he’d just suggested.  “Shit.  Sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I wasn’t thinking.  You don’t have to go back there.  You’re never going back there, I swear.”  He reached out a hand, expecting to lay it on Derek’s shoulder, but before he could, Derek pressed Stiles’ palm to his cheek, nuzzling in.

Stiles held his breath, acutely aware of his heart speeding up now that he knew Derek could hear it.  Had that happened every time he’d touched Derek?  Or Derek touched him?  Had Derek been listening?

Almost as soon as Stiles had the though, Derek was pulling away, looking momentarily embarrassed until his features settled into something more like his usual disapproving scowl.  “What the hell did you think you were doing, charging into the woods wearing my shirt?”

The emotional about-face left Stiles stammering.  “It was the only way I could think to find you without canvassing every square inch of the woods.  I hoped I’d find another werewolf who would recognize your scent and lead me to you.”

“Stiles, you don’t just smell like me,” Derek growled, obviously exasperated but not quite meeting Stiles’ eyes.  “You smell like us.”

Oh.  Oh.  What?  There were so many questions Stiles could pull out of that, none of which he could actually articulate, so he went with “Was there a better way?  Do you carry a cell phone I don’t know about?”

“You shouldn’t have been in the woods at all.”

“Fat chance, buddy.  I grew up here.  I’ve been going into those woods since I was a kid.  Admittedly not quite that deep, or at night, or while wearing an alpha werewolf’s t-shirt, but—”  He stopped dead in his tracks.  Something had suddenly occurred to him.  It was so stupidly simple that Stiles, in full-on save-the-day mode, had never even considered it. 

“Did you… Do you even want to come back with me?  I just assumed… I know it’s taking longer than I thought to get you transport, but I promise I’ll get you up north, even if I have to drive you myself.  But only if you want to.  If you want to… to take your chances in the woods, I wouldn’t blame you.”  Stiles laughed humorlessly, scrubbing a hand across his forehead.  “I’m guessing you were doing just fine until I showed up.  Or until Isaac did.  So if that’s what you want, I’m not going to keep you against your will.” 

Derek wasn’t saying anything, just looking at him, and Stiles, now acutely aware of his body’s reactions, felt a light sweat break out at his temples as his heart thudded unevenly.  “I can take you back to the woods.  Or I can take you a few counties over.  It won’t keep you any safer from Services and I won’t be able to help you if the police get a hold of you again, but at least you’ll be farther away from the Argents.”

Derek was still staring at him and it was like jamming the “on” button that ran Stiles’ mouth.  “It’s totally up to you.  I don’t—  I know you didn’t ask for my help, or my opinion, but I… I’d like for you to stay.”

Stiles had intended to end that thought with until we can get you to sanctuary, but for some reason, his mouth chose the moment before to stop.  So he was shocked when Derek simply said, “Okay.”

“O-okay?  You’ll come back with me?”

Derek’s eyes flitted briefly back to the screen in front of him, which Stiles had completely forgotten about.  “Well, I’d like to finish watching the movie first.”

“You… what?”

“The movie,” Derek said evenly, like they hadn’t just been discussing his possible capture and death.  “I think I saw part of it once, a long time ago.”  Then he shifted in his seat to face the screen.

Stiles’ mind tried to switch gears too fast and ground to a halt; it had been a while since that had happened.  In the midst of all this insanity, Derek was screwing with him just a little bit, and Stiles couldn’t help but admire that.  He let out a helpless snort of a laugh and this time he was sure he saw the corner of Derek’s mouth curl up.  Just a little bit.

&&&

They hardly said a word to each other for the rest of the movie or on the drive home. Stiles was turning Derek’s words over and over in his head.  Derek had killed a member of his own family to end her suffering and help him escape the same fate, but it was clearly tearing him up inside, even if it had been what his sister wanted and had managed to keep Derek alive.  Stiles still got the feeling Derek was leaving something out, but he wasn’t about to push.  He was mostly just amazed that Derek had held it together for so long, and done it by himself.

He was so used to taking care of himself, no wonder he’d taken off when he got rattled.  But Stiles wanted to make damned sure Derek knew that he wasn’t alone in this.  So as he put away his own scarf and coat in the hall closet, then began to unpack the bag he’d taken into the woods, he muttered, “You— Like I said, I’m not going to keep you against your will.  Though at least do me a favor of leaving me a note, even if it’s just, like, Yo, Stiles, peace out.”  He looked up briefly to see Derek half-heartedly glowering at him.  “Because that’s totally what you’d say.  But I want you to know that I’m not going to— That I’m on your side.  I haven’t figured out what we’re going to do yet, but between the two of us, we’re going to make sure you’re out of danger.  And that Kate, Gerard, and Peter are stopped.”

Stiles had been fiddling with the flashlight, because it was easier than looking at Derek as he spoke, and he was trying to keep his heart rate even.  But it must not have worked, because suddenly Derek was right up in his space, a big warm hand around his forearm.  “Stiles, why do you even care?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles looked Derek in the eye.  “Because what they did to you is so wrong that I don’t even have the words for it.  Because you deserve to make your own choices about your life.  Because it’s what my parents would have done.  Because… because you’re my friend, and I want to do whatever I can to help you.”

Derek’s eyes were unreadable, but Stiles didn’t have more than a second to worry about it before Derek was pressed flush against his front from chest to knees, Derek’s nose buried against Stiles’ neck.  “O-okay,” Stiles stammered.  He didn’t object to the closeness – in fact, he’d missed it – but he had no frame of reference with which to respond to this particular situation.  It wasn’t a hug; Stiles was pretty sure hugs traditionally involved arms, and though Derek’s hand was still lightly encircling Stiles’ wrist, his arms were most definitely not wrapped around Stiles.  But it was far, far more intimate than simply standing close together, because in addition to breathing deeply, Derek was now nuzzling against Stiles’ neck, and – hey, okay – that was a very sensitive spot to have a nose and mouth pressed against and still allow Stiles to remain upright.

Werewolf thing, Stiles told himself.  Totally platonic, non-seductive werewolf thing.  Even if he did really sort of want Derek to open his mouth, warm and wet, and make it a neck-sucking thing.  Or, alternatively, Stiles could tilt his head just a bit until his mouth was in range to make it a tongue-sucking thing.

But now that he knew Derek could apparently smell certain emotions – well, arousal was also an actual smell, even to human noses, if it got strong enough – Stiles tried to be very, very careful with his thoughts.  So yes, he’d been dreaming pretty explicit things about Derek – that gorgeous body, so obviously starved for touch, would feel so good under his hands – but he wasn’t about to take advantage of the situation.

True, Derek was more than physically capable of fending off any unwanted advances, but was he emotionally capable?  As hard as Stiles had tried to treat Derek as an equal – and he wasn’t sure he’d always managed it – the fact was that Derek was brought up as a slave.  Despite the fact that Stiles had yet to see him display any behavior that was even close to servile… it didn’t feel right.  Not like this.  Not when Derek was so clearly vulnerable from spilling out some of the most horrific parts of his life to Stiles.

Even so, Stiles wasn’t going to deny Derek the physical closeness if he needed it, or… whatever this sniffing thing was.  You don’t just smell like me, Derek had said.  You smell like us.  Stiles had yet to figure out if Derek thought that was a good or a bad thing, but Derek still had his nose pressed just behind Stiles’ ear and was inhaling deeply, so Stiles figured his particular aroma couldn’t be that offensive.  And he felt like an idiot just standing there, being sniffed, so he mirrored Derek and grasped Derek’s other wrist lightly with his free hand, stroking his thumb over the thin skin on the underside.

It must have been the right thing to do, because Derek whined softly and pressed in a little.  There was no help for Stiles’ heart rate by then, because if Derek got any closer, scent wasn’t even going to be an issue; Derek would be confronted with indisputable evidence that Stiles was aroused.  But if Derek was picking up on any of that, he didn’t seem to mind.  So they stayed like that, pressed together while Stiles quietly freaked out and Derek simply breathed him in.

Stiles didn’t know how long that went on, but it ended as abruptly as it had begun.  Responding to some cue that either Stiles couldn’t sense or existed only in Derek’s mind, Derek suddenly pulled away and walked back toward his bedroom.  Stiles fought the urge to follow him.

&&&

The way Stiles saw it, there were two options: he could try to drive Derek up to the sanctuary himself, or he could try to find a way to expose Gerard and Kate, which would take the price off Derek’s head and give Deaton more time to find transportation. 

The first option was… not ideal.  Even if the Jeep could make the 2,500-ish mile (one-way) trip and Stiles could find a plausible reason to disappear for a week, winter seemed to be coming in early this year.  He’d be driving his poor baby through the snow and ice without even a clear idea of where to go, since even Deaton didn’t know the exact location of the sanctuary.  Yes, it was something Stiles could find out with a lot of badgering – and he was no slouch at badgering – but then Kate and Gerard would not only get away with the murders they’d already committed, but surely future ones as well.  Derek had said there were other packs at the estate, and the Argents were certainly rich enough to buy more families of werewolves.

And even if Derek never went near his former prison again, Stiles would need him to get an arrest and conviction.  He knew things that no one else on the outside did, and unlike the werewolves that were currently in the Argents’ possession, he had nothing left to lose by standing up to them.  Stiles might not be able to get them on murder, but they had to be breaking all kinds of weapons restrictions in addition to the abuse, which he was sure they couldn’t hide entirely.  Werewolf testimony was accepted in court, though its weight depended on the sympathies of the judge and the jury.

Whenever he thought about the Argents, Stiles had never been so tempted to kick a door down and just start shooting.  But never mind the murder charges he’d face; if he didn’t get Kate and Gerard and Peter (plus any other werewolves they used as bodyguards – Stiles figured they had to have upped security after Derek escaped) all in one go, both he and Derek were dead.

“Do you think we could get Chris Argent to flip?” Stiles asked Derek one afternoon, out of the silence they had been sitting in.

“On his own father and sister?  Not a chance.  He might not approve of what they’re doing, but he’s not going to get them locked up for it.  Besides, he’d be guilty of being an accessory.”

It had been a long shot anyway, but despite what Derek had said, Stiles might still be able to make it work.  If Allison was informed what was going on and found out her father had known about it…

“There’s another option,” Derek said.  “It’s not a permanent solution, but it would buy us time.”  He paused, like he was having trouble forming the words, until he finally said, “You could tag me.”

If Derek was listening to Stiles’ heart at that moment, he would have heard it stop altogether.  “I’m sorry, what?”

The look on Derek’s face was infuriatingly blank.  “Tag me.  That way the Argents would have no legal claim to me.  Only you would.”

Stiles gaped.  “You really thing that’s going to stop them from k—”  He choked on the word.  “From coming after you?”

“No, but if they abduct or kill me, you can press charges.”

“Don’t—Jesus, why would you even think that?  That’s not going to happen.  I’m not going to let that happen.”

Derek glared at him, and yeah, okay, maybe Stiles was in a little bit of denial.  Kate and Gerard were clearly capable of murder, and certainly Peter was, too, if he’d been ready to kill his own niece.

After a long moment, Stiles realized he’d been staring at Derek’s left wrist, the same one he’d been clutching the night before during their not-hug.  The same place Stiles’ name would go, tattooed with wolfsbane-infused ink so Derek’s body wouldn’t reject it.  So it would stay there permanently.

When Stiles looked up, Derek’s gaze had softened slightly, but it was still focused unwaveringly on Stiles.  “I would own you, Derek,” Stiles said, his voice cracking.  “In the eyes of the law, you would be my possession.  You can’t tell me you want that.”

Derek remained silent, his mouth a grim line.  Stiles put his head in his hands, trying hard to think it through.  Whose decision was this?  Yes, it was Derek’s body to do with what he liked, but it was also Stiles’ name, and he thought he deserved a say.  Stiles was pretty sure Derek wouldn’t see it as anything more than mere scribbling on his skin, but the rest of the world would.  Stiles would.  The thought of actually owning another person, especially Derek, was anathema to everything his parents had taught him.

Everything in him told him it was wrong… everything except a tiny part of him that thrilled at the dangerously forbidden idea of his name being written on Derek’s very skin, so that even when he was finally free in the sanctuary, he would never be able to forget Stiles – and Stiles was disgusted at himself for it.  Derek was proposing this under a life and death situation, and he wouldn’t be able to take it back once this was over.  His judgment had to be compromised – otherwise, why would he be trusting Stiles with this?  How could he know that Stiles wouldn’t turn around and decide to keep him?

After a long time, Stiles raised his head.  His voice, when he spoke, was soft and hoarse.  “Right now, I’m not convinced it would do a damn thing to keep either of us safe.  If that changes, if I feel like tagging you would really, truly protect you—” Derek scowled, and Stiles rephrased.  “—would protect either of us, then yes, we’ll do it.  I just don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret when we’ve figured this out and you’re free.”

Stiles didn’t mean it as a rejection, and Derek didn’t look hurt.  So why did it feel like one?

Continue to part four.