FIC: Teen Wolf -- Pack Up; Don't Stray (4/6)

[the_deep_magic]

Title: Pack Up; Don’t Stray (4/6)
Author: the_deep_magic
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: NC-17
Warnings (this part): themes of slavery

One / Two / Three

The next two days passed in a haze, Stiles trying to figure out how to resolve all of it while still doing his job.  Badly.  Scott was covering for him the best he could, but even Chief Martin could tell Stiles’ head was somewhere else, and he received a very public chewing out for it.  Luckily – sort of – the imaginary break-up story had spread widely enough that everyone looked at him sympathetically instead of suspiciously.  It didn’t make him want to punch Scott any less for blabbing, but since it excused his distracted behavior, Stiles managed to restrain himself.

So when he returned home late from another long day of not punching Scott, the last thing on Stiles’ mind was the phase of the moon.  Which was why the crude scratching sounds coming from somewhere in the dark house made him automatically draw his gun.  He followed the sound down the hall, back through the living room, all the way to the back door… where a hunched, shirtless Derek was clawing at the door.  With actual claws.  Stiles backed up slowly and lowered the gun, but he didn’t put it back in its holster.

“Derek,” he said softly, trying desperately to calm his fear response.  He wasn’t prey and this was still Derek, even a Derek with claws and – holy god – fangs.  He’d only seen the fangs briefly out in the woods; they were far more disconcerting in his living room.  Stiles had seen werewolves in full beta shift, and this wasn’t quite it – and it definitely didn’t match any description of an alpha shift he’d ever read – but there were claws and fangs and eyes that didn’t look like they were going to un-red themselves any time soon and damn it, they should have talked about this.  Stiles would really prefer not to get eaten, especially after all this time of very strategically not getting eaten.  Nobody would even know what a shame it was.

“Derek,” he said again.  Every one of Derek’s (many, many) muscles looked coiled to the point of pain, and there were long, deep gouges in the door, but he wasn’t moving to attack.  “Am I in danger?  Do I need to leave?”

“No,” Derek said, his voice strained but surprisingly human, considering… well, considering.  “I don’t want to hurt you.  I just want to run.”

The word came out as nearly a whimper and Stiles holstered his gun, but he didn’t move to approach Derek.  “You… you can’t.  It’s too dangerous out there.”

“I know.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.  I meant to ask you about this before.  What if I… if we took a ride in my car?  Drove really fast?  I can do that – I’ve got lights and a siren I can stick on the Jeep.”

Derek’s face contorted like he wanted to laugh but could quite choke out the sound.  “Wouldn’t help.”

Stiles racked his brain.  He had no idea how even domesticated werewolves dealt with this.  Most pharmacies stocked over-the-counter tranquilizers, but they were mild – more like sleeping pills – and Stiles couldn’t imagine they would do much for an alpha during the full moon.  The collar was keeping Derek from shifting fully, but Stiles had no idea what effect, if any, it had on his instincts – or, hell, even what his instincts were.

If either of them were in danger, really in danger, the station stocked werewolf-control methods… but Stiles would be damned if he was going to use heavy restraints or a weapon on Derek.  He just didn’t know how much he risked exposing himself or Deaton by calling the vet at home, but if it meant his or Derek’s life…  “Are you in pain?  I can try to get you tranquilizers or something from Deaton.”

Derek shook his head.  “No drugs.  Please.”

Right.  God only knew what the Argents had drugged him with at some time or other.  But Derek looked like he was about to go right out of his (mostly bare) skin.  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Stiles asked weakly.

“I think—” Derek started, breaking off to bury his face in something he had balled up in his left hand.  When his face re-emerged, it looked less pained, if only barely.  “Come here?”

Stiles froze.  He wanted to help Derek, but all of his own instincts told him not to walk toward an agitated werewolf.  “You want me to…”

“I won’t hurt you.  Trust me.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, forcing himself to take a single step forward, unable to hear anything but the pounding of his own heart.

“Slowly,” Derek growled.  “And try to calm down.”

Not comforting.  Not conducive to moving forward, either, but Derek still had that pleading look in his eyes, and Stiles was pretty sure Derek had no need to employ deception if all he wanted was to attack Stiles.  Besides, wolves chased their prey, right?  They didn’t wait for it to come to them.

So Stiles unbuckled his holster and set it on the coffee table as a show of good faith – not like the regular bullets would do a damn thing anyway except get him eaten slightly slower by an even angrier werewolf– and deepened his breathing as he edged gradually toward where Derek was hunched by the door.  He tried not to stare Derek in the eyes, which was remarkably difficult, as they were pretty much the only thing he could see in the dark room.

But as he got closer, his eyes adjusted to the moonlight filtering in through the blinds, and he could see that the item bunched up in Derek’s hand was some sort of dark fabric.  Derek broke his gaze away to sniff it again and Stiles was struck by a sudden thought.  He couldn’t be sure, because all the shirts he’d bought Derek were nearly identical, but it occurred to Stiles that it might be the shirt he’d worn into the woods.  The shirt that had both of their scents on it.

It smells like us, Derek had said.

Whatever it was, it seemed to help calm Derek, and Stiles felt his heartbeat slow a little, hoped Derek heard it, too.  His breathing had evened out by the time he was crouched down next to Derek, very carefully not touching him in case that would cause bad things.  “Okay, I’m here,” Stiles said softly.  “What do you—”

There was a split-second when Stiles mentally kicked himself for walking right into a mauling, but then he realized he probably wouldn’t have had time to self-reflect if it were an actual mauling, and didn’t those involve more bleeding and screaming and less snuffling and hugging?  Because there was definitely some hardcore hugging going on.  Awkward hardcore hugging because, well, claws, but there were big, warm (naked) arms around him and a nose pressed against his neck, and as confusingly enjoyable as it was, Stiles figured he’d better speak up before all the air got squeezed out of his lungs.

He managed to make a noise like a dying squeak toy.  Not his proudest moment.

But it got Derek to loosen his grip, and though he didn’t move his face from Stiles’ neck, he muttered, “Sorry.”

“Oh, no worries,” Stiles said, wondering vaguely if his voice was ever going to drop back from that octave.  “Could have used a little warning there, but I’m mostly just happy my skin is still intact.”

“I won’t hurt you,” Derek repeated, and he seemed disproportionately confident for someone with fangs and claws and an entire body that was shaking with tension.  Except the shaking was beginning to lessen, and some of the tension was bleeding out of Derek’s body.  That left Stiles with an enormous armful of hot, half-naked, moon-crazy, hot (yes, hot was on there twice, once for temperature and once for appearance) werewolf.

Stiles brought his hands up to rest on Derek’s back, and Derek shivered – Stiles’ hands had to feel freezing in comparison.  He suppressed the absurd urge to rub Derek’s back and whisper “there, there.”  But he didn’t know what to do, because now that the fear was starting to ebb, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins was causing said armful of hot werewolf to start to feel… stimulating.  Particularly with Derek’s mouth and nose still pressed to his neck.

“So, uh,” Stiles said, forcing his voice into a normal register.  “Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re doing it,” Derek said, his lips moving against Stiles’ throat, and now Stiles was the one shivering.  He just had to hope that Derek was too distracted to notice Stiles’… everything.  Heartbeat, breathing, hugely inappropriate semi that was not being at all discouraged by the way Derek kept sniffing him.  It had been years since Stiles had popped a boner at such an unfortunate time – his boss was Lydia Martin with a uniform and a gun.  Ironclad bodily self-control was a survival mechanism. 

But Chief Martin had never been curled half-naked in Stiles’ arms (well, not in the waking world) and there had definitely never been sniffing, and holy fuck, Stiles was quickly developing a new kink.

So he did what he normally did when he was trying to push thoughts out of his brain: he talked.  “So, what would you normally do on the full moon?”

“In the woods?  Run.  Chase prey.”

“But there’s, uh, not going to be any chasing in here, right?  Because I’m not prey?”

Derek’s dark laugh was a soft puff of air across Stiles’ throat that left his skin tingling.  “Not as long as you don’t take off running.”

“Okay, good.  It’s just that I can’t help but notice that you’re sniffing me, like, kind of a lot, and I didn’t know if it was a ‘waiting for the cookies to come out of the oven’ kind of a thing.”

“No,” Derek snorted, obviously amused.  “Your smell… especially mixed with mine…  It helps.  Reminds me of my human side.”

Well, that explained the shirt.  Sort of.  “It’s just… until the other night, I didn’t think you liked how I smell.”

That actually made Derek look up, confused, and Stiles immediately missed the warmth against his neck.  “Why did you think that?”

“You didn’t want to wear the clothes that smelled like me, only, what was that, three weeks ago?”

Derek rolled his eyes like Stiles was clueless enough to cause him actual pain.  “I didn’t know you.  I didn’t like having a stranger’s smell on me.  Especially when I haven’t been used to the smell of humans… not meaning danger.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense,” Stiles said, feeling a bit slow on the uptake.

“Now you smell like… safety.  And me.  So it helps.”

“Um, alright.  Sniff away, I guess,” Stiles said with a shrug.

Derek’s glowing eyes glinted with amusement.  “I think I’ve got it under control.  For now.”

“Well,” Stiles said, trying not to sound disappointed.  “If you need another hit to keep from tearing me – or the door – to shreds, please don’t hesitate,” Stiles joked weakly, looking at the distressingly deep gouges.

“Sorry about that,” Derek said softly.

“Better the door than me.”  Before he knew what he was doing, Stiles reached out a hand to fit his fingertips against the grooves in the wood.  Derek’s hands weren’t that much larger than Stiles’, even when he was half wolfed-out.  With claws.  Claws that Stiles still hadn’t gotten a good look at.  Well, now was as good a time as any, and Derek seemed to have calmed down significantly, enough for Stiles to risk asking, “Hey, can I see your hand?”

Derek peered at him suspiciously enough to send Stiles into babble mode.  “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.  Or if you think you might—  But I’m just curious.  I’ve never seen your claws up close.  And I want to.  If that’s not too weird.  Is that weird?”

Derek was still looking at him like Stiles had just asked Derek to cluck like a chicken, but he slowly lifted the hand that wasn’t clutching the balled-up shirt.

Stiles peered at the claws extending from the tips of Derek’s fingers like thick, gnarled, sharp fingernails.  He couldn’t be sure, but he thought they were slightly shorter than they’d been when he’d first come in.  Not that they weren’t still easily capable of ripping through his flesh like tissue paper, but Stiles found himself more impressed than frightened.  He even reached out and stroked his thumb up one of the claws, from where it emerged from Derek’s finger all the way to the tip.  “Wow,” he whispered.

He looked at Derek, who sort of shrugged awkwardly, and Stiles realized all the comments he was about to make about how awesome it would be to actually be Wolverine were completely inappropriate.  This wasn’t a comic book – it was Derek’s life.  And it wasn’t a superpower – it was the thing that kept him perpetually in bondage.

Still, though, the part of Stiles that was still (and would always be) a nerdy teenager had to admit that claws and fangs – when they weren’t threatening to bury themselves in Stiles’ softer parts – were pretty damn cool.  He couldn’t help his curiosity.  “What would happen if you weren’t wearing the collar?”

“I could shift into full beta form, at least.  But I don’t have any practice controlling myself without it because I’ve had it on since I was twelve.  Now, since… since I’m an alpha, I have to work harder at holding back, even with the collar.  It was easier in the woods, because I could run, and there were always other werewolves to run with, even if they weren’t pack.”

Stiles was still holding Derek’s hand, watching the claws shift in and out by a few millimeters as Derek wrestled with control while talking about running free.  “Is there really a different alpha form?  I’ve read descriptions, but I’ve never seen any pictures.”

“I think there is.  But I’ve never seen it, and as far as I know, no one in my family had, either.  We’ve all been collared too long.  But supposedly it’s a form much closer to an actual wolf, only bigger and… uglier.”

Stiles was a little taken aback by that – he couldn’t imagine any form of Derek as ugly.  Even the claws, which never entirely ceased to be terrifying, weren’t ugly, really.  And Derek’s fangs, which were still visible but had long since receded enough for him to be able to talk, were gleaming white and just as intriguing as the claws.

Stiles wished he could see Derek shift, really shift all the way, even if it was just into his beta form.  But he felt the tightly coiled power in Derek’s mostly human body and figured that if anyone could make a full alpha shift, it would be Derek.  Mindlessly, Stiles reached up to touch the silver around Derek’s neck.  “I wish I could take this off you.  Just let you… be you.”

Unexpectedly, Derek flinched away.  He pulled his hand back and Stiles could see the claws lengthen significantly.  “No,” Derek growled, taking a few seconds to calm himself down, and though Stiles didn’t panic, he tried very hard to concentrate on not smelling like a fat, juicy rabbit.  Whatever that smelled like.

“I mean,” Derek said after a minute, his voice low and rough, “if I could be free in the woods, away from people, then yes.  I’d want the collar off.  But right now… I told you, I never learned to control myself without it, and I have no idea what would happen if it came off.  I’d probably hurt someone.  You… most of the time, your smell calms me, but when you’re afraid, you smell like prey.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Stiles said, setting a hand on Derek’s shoulder and pulling him closer.  “I get startled the first time I see you do something wolfy, but I’m not really afraid anymore.”

“You should be,” Derek said miserably, burying his face in Stiles’ neck and resuming the sniffing.  How peculiar, Stiles thought, that something that had been unnerving just a few minutes ago was now almost reassuring.

Stiles held Derek again, since it seemed to calm his shaking, and stroked his hair.  “Maybe when you get up north,” he mused.  “I don’t know how the sanctuary works, but maybe you won’t have to wear a collar at all.  You’ll learn to control it and you can just be yourself.”

It sounded too good to be true, even to Stiles’ ears, but it was a comfort to imagine a place where werewolves could just roam free, presumably no humans within miles.  Derek could find a pack, maybe even a mate, start a family.  Of course, that was a future with no room in it for Stiles, and he was surprised at how much that thought hurt.

This was always supposed to be temporary, Stiles knew that, but Derek had become such a huge part of his life so fast, and now he dreaded to think about coming home to an empty house at night.  How had he done that before?  After his father had died, how had he survived with no one?  He’d had Danny for a while, but that had never really been enough.  There was Scott, of course, but Scott had his own growing family now, one that Stiles could never really be a part of.

After a few long moments, Stiles realized Derek had lifted his head, his nose now pressed to Stiles’ cheek.  “You’re sad,” Derek observed, his voice closer to human than Stiles had heard it all night.

“You can smell that?” Stiles asked shakily, trying hard to sound more amused than despondent.

“Yes,” Derek murmured, “but I don’t have to.”  And then there was warm-wet-rough pressure moving up Stiles’ cheek.  Derek’s tongue, licking up a tear.

Stiles was mortified, but Derek just held him close, laving away the few tears that escaped before Stiles could stop them.  Derek never asked why Stiles was sad, just whimpered softly in sympathy, so close to Stiles’ face that Stiles could feel the warmth of Derek’s breath against his ear.  Stiles was struck with the sudden, overwhelming desire to be able to sense whatever Derek smelled on that shirt, how their scents mingled together.  Would it calm Stiles the way it did Derek?

They were so close together that Stiles couldn’t tell which one of them moved first, how scenting and nuzzling turned into actual kissing, but it felt like such a natural progression that Stiles wasn’t even surprised when his lips slid against Derek’s.  They mouthed at each other clumsily for a few moments, both out of practice, before it turned into a proper kiss.  Even then, it stayed hesitant for a long time, Stiles wary of pushing Derek too far – and also of the fangs, which had appeared to be little more than pointy teeth last time Stiles had seen, but nonetheless remained a concern.

Derek wasn’t skillful, not exactly, but Stiles could tell it wasn’t his first kiss, either.  And he grew bolder, tilting his head and sliding his tongue against Stiles’ lips so sweetly that Stiles couldn’t convince himself to break away.  He wasn’t taking advantage of Derek, not with Derek gently encouraging Stiles to open his mouth, but for his own self-preservation, Stiles thought, he shouldn’t be doing this.  It wouldn’t make the ending any easier.

But when Stiles finally relented and their tongues slid against each other, he let out a helpless little moan.  Derek kissed him like he needed it, and when he put his hand on Stiles’ cheek, Stiles could feel the claws retract completely until human fingertips were pressing against his face, cradling it.  Stiles would have sooner torn the heart from his chest than push Derek away.

So Stiles let himself have this, this one little thing, ignoring the heat simmering low in his belly at the feel of Derek’s mouth.  Stiles licked in deeply, but he kept his hands very still: one on Derek’s shoulder, the other on the back of his neck.  Derek did the same, never moving to touch more than Stiles’ cheek.  It kept the simmer in Stiles’ gut from boiling over, much as he wanted to sweep his hands over the broad expanse of Derek’s back, feel the muscles of his chest and arms.  But Stiles knew if he did that, he’d be lost.  Probably they both would.  And, emotions aside, Stiles couldn’t afford to forget the full moon outside the window, the effect it had on Derek’s ability to keep his wolf in check.  So it stayed slow and languid, strangely chaste considering the intimate connection of their mouths.

After a long, long time, it was Derek who pulled away, resting his head back into the crook of Stiles’ neck and breathing deeply.  Stiles’ lips felt raw and swollen, cold now without the heat of Derek’s mouth.  From what he could see through the blinds, the moon was much higher in the sky now.  Derek had a careful hand wrapped around Stiles’ side, and Stiles could feel the slight prick of the claws that had slid back out.  Derek was fighting for control again.

With slow movements – and a lot of help from Derek – Stiles shifted them around until his own back was resting against the flayed door and his legs were splayed out straight.  It promised to be a long night, but Stiles had no intention of letting Derek suffer through it alone.

Stiles dozed off and on, but he was pretty sure Derek was never able to relax enough to sleep.  He stayed curled against Stiles’ chest, breathing deeply at the junction of Stiles’ neck and shoulder, until the sun finally began to break over the horizon. 

Stiles forced himself fully awake and helped Derek up off the floor.  Derek looked dazed and groggy, but his eyes were their normal indefinable mix of green and hazel, and the fangs and claws were nowhere to be seen.  Stiles led him to the guest room, where Derek had finally begun sleeping on the actual bed.  Stiles pulled back the covers and Derek climbed in without a word.  He was asleep before Stiles had finished tucking the blankets back around him.

Stiles couldn’t help but notice that Derek still had the t-shirt clutched tightly in his left hand.

&&&

After an hour of trying and failing to fall asleep, Stiles resigned himself to getting up for the day.  But even after a long, hot shower, he still looked like shit.

He didn’t feel any better than he looked.  Maybe he should have been happy – ecstatic – that he and Derek had both made it through the full moon unscathed.  There was also the matter of the lengthy make-out session with the hottest guy Stiles had ever seen, werewolf or human.  He didn’t feel guilty, exactly, but it was hard to feel good about it, either.  While it had been had been happening, it had felt right in a way that nothing else had – not in a long time, at least.  But all that warmth, all that affection and acceptance… in the cold light of day, it seemed like a cruel taste of something Stiles couldn’t have.  Something in his chest felt viciously empty, and maybe it was no different than it had been before last night, but now Stiles could feel it.

Far worse, Stiles had begun to think about what Derek had said the other day.  About tagging Derek.  And if he tagged him, he might be able to keep him.  Stiles still felt sick over the idea of legally owning Derek, but he’d begun entertaining fantasies of somehow getting the Argents arrested so that it would be safe for Derek to stay.  And in order for him to stay and be safe from Services, he would have to be tagged.  After all, they didn’t know what the sanctuary was actually like, but Beacon Hills was Derek’s home, where his family had lived for generations, and he had actually asked for Stiles’ tag…

Stiles didn’t want Derek to leave.  He could admit it to himself, but even voicing the idea to Derek seemed sickeningly selfish.  How could he ask Derek to stay here, even if Kate and Gerard were out of the picture?  Derek would have to bear a mark of ownership to be able to stay around humans.  He would be allowed some degree of freedom to go out on his own if he were tagged and put in a proper alpha collar, but he would always be viewed with fear and suspicion.  Perhaps worst of all, he would never have the chance to be around his own kind – to build a pack, a family.  Up north, he might have a chance at both.

Stiles stared at the dark circles under his eyes in the mirror.  He’d managed to get dressed and waste time pretending to read until the grocery store would be open.  Getting more provisions would at least give him something to focus on for a little while.  He checked in on Derek, who was sleeping so deeply that he hadn’t moved from the position he’d fallen asleep in several hours ago.  Stiles closed his eyes and leaned against the door frame, letting all the worry and fear wash over him one more time before heading out.  It was something he’d learned a long time ago, a way to cope – give himself a moment to just fully experience the anxiety and the pain before tucking them away again and going about his life.

The weather had gotten cold enough that Stiles had to put on gloves and a hat, and it took a few false starts to get the Jeep’s engine to turn over.  The drive to the store was a short one, and not many people were there so early.

Stiles dazedly pushed his cart up and down the aisles, lack of sleep making everything seem unreal.  He found himself standing in front of the peanut butter section for minutes on end, trying to puzzle out why there needed to be so many different kinds of peanut butter. 

But what he needed was meat.  Derek was slowly adjusting to the cooked stuff, but he still ate a hell of a lot of it.  Stiles loaded up his cart with a few pork loins and T-bones, supplemented with nearly all of the supermarket’s supply of ground chuck.  Stiles hadn’t eaten so much meat since his dad – who’d been an avid griller – passed away, and he needed to go get some veggies to balance it out.  And peaches.  Couldn’t forget the peaches.

Stiles yawned so hard he managed to veer his cart sideways and ram it right into… Kate fucking Argent.  Jesus Christ.  Stiles snapped awake in an instant, hoping like hell he’d controlled the shock on his face.

“Hey, watch it!” Kate said, looking at him as though he were a garden slug.  “Detective Stilinski.”  She made it sound like an insult.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said through gritted teeth.  Then he managed a smile, knowing the ma’am thing would piss her off.  Small victories.

He expected her to keep walking, but her eyes landed on the contents of his cart and she stopped.  “That’s a lot of meat for one guy,” she said, all but purring, and it turned Stiles’ stomach.

Fuck.  “I’m having a barbecue.”

She cocked an eyebrow.  “In November?”

Fucking fuck.  “I like grilling in cold weather.  It’s bracing.”

The way she smiled, Stiles was half-expecting fangs to pop out.  “I’m sure it is.  Am I invited?”

“What?”  Who the hell even asked that of someone they barely knew?

“Well, I’m assuming Scott and Allison will be coming over, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen my favorite niece.  I hear she has a new baby.”

“You should probably talk to her about that,” Stiles said, trying to maneuver his cart around her, but she just stepped closer and looked him up and down until he felt his balls shrivel.

“You’re not looking so hot, Detective,” she said with a pout, and was she flirting?  Because it was really creeping Stiles out.

“Sweet of you to notice.  It’s been a long week.”

“You look like you barely slept last night.  So tell me, is the urban legend true?  Is there more crime on the full moon?”

Oh shit.  Stiles had to get out of there.  Fast.  But he kept his voice as even as possible.  “Actually, it is true.  Nothing paranormal about it, though – more light means it’s easier to see what you’re doing at night.  If it’s not cloudy, property crimes go up, but only slightly.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get going.  Lots to do.”

“Of course,” Kate said, bumping against his side as she slithered between Stiles and the shelves to continue down the aisle.  “Enjoy all that meat,” she said over her shoulder.

Stiles forced himself to walk at a normal pace to the cash register.  The peaches were going to have to wait.  Kate obviously suspected something, but she had no proof.  For all Stiles knew, she could be suspicious of everyone in town, and even she wasn’t stupid enough to make a move without hard evidence.  Deaton had said the Argents had been doing this for a long time – they couldn’t continue to keep it a secret by going after a police officer on nothing but a hunch.

It wasn’t until Stiles had finished loading the groceries into the Jeep that he reached in his pockets and realized he only had one of his gloves.

&&&

Stiles didn’t stick the siren on the top of his Jeep on the way home, but only because it was so close.  He took deep breaths to try to make himself calm down.  He didn’t know for sure that Kate had taken the glove – it could have fallen out of his pocket.  But he didn’t want to go running back through the store and risk seeing her again, making her even more suspicious.  If the glove was just on the floor somewhere, she almost certainly wouldn’t know it was his.  But the way she’d bumped into him there at the end, like it was purposeful…

He didn’t even bother to take the groceries out of the car, just pulled into the garage, dashed inside, and ran up the steps.  He stopped dead in the doorway of the guest bedroom at the sight of Derek sleeping so peacefully, fingers curled around a pillow.  Stiles had never watched him as he slept – it seemed like too much of an imposition – but Derek was even more impossibly beautiful when he was asleep.  His face was smoothed of worry and he looked years younger, coal black eyelashes almost delicate against those sharp cheekbones.

So this was how it was going to end.  Stiles needed to talk to Derek first, of course, but he already knew what the outcome would be, really.  The simple act of waking Derek up cracked Stiles’ heart cleanly in two.

But he did it anyway, as gently as possible.  “Derek,” he said, sitting on the bed and shaking Derek’s bare shoulder.  “Derek, you need to get up.”

God, he was really deeply asleep – he just mumbled something and batted at Stiles’ hand.  He was surely still exhausted from the night before, but Stiles wouldn’t be doing him any favors by letting him sleep.  So Stiles swallowed, his throat so dry it clicked, and said, “Derek, I ran into Kate at the supermarket.  Kate Argent.”

The name had Derek awake and up instantaneously.  “Did she talk to you?”

Stiles nodded.  “I didn’t even see her coming, but she asked about all the meat I had in my cart and then mentioned the full moon last night out of nowhere.  I don’t think she got a reaction out of me, but… god, Derek, I’m so sorry, but I think she took one of my gloves.  Could… could Peter pick your scent off of that?”

Derek’s face remained blank, but his eyes hardened.  “Were they the same gloves you were wearing when you came looking for me in the woods?”

Stiles couldn’t even look at Derek, could barely manage to croak out, “Yes.”

“I don’t know,” Derek said after a long moment, his voice surprisingly quiet.  “They’ll mostly smell like you, of course, and I don’t remember touching them that much, but… it’s possible.”

Stiles wasn’t surprised, but it still made him sick to hear it.  All this time he’d tried to be so careful, and now he felt like he’d betrayed Derek.  “It’s not safe for you here anymore.  We need to start driving north right now.”

A warm hand closed around Stiles’ wrist and it nearly made him jump.  “Stiles,” Derek said.  “What about your job?”

Stiles laughed humorlessly.  “I’ll call in sick tomorrow, tell them I have pneumonia or something.  Frankly, I’m more worried about my Jeep.  But if it dies on the way and I have to commandeer a fucking snow plow, I swear to god, I’ll get you up there.  Fuck, this is all my fault.”

The hand on his wrist tightened slightly.  “Stiles, you didn’t have to do any of this.  But you’ve kept me safe for three weeks.  You’ve given me a… a home.”

At least Derek didn’t seem to be able to meet Stiles’ eyes either, because Stiles was pretty sure he’d do something remarkably embarrassing and/or stupid if they’d been looking at each other right at that moment.  As it was, he put his other hand over Derek’s and said, voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll get you a bag.  Get all your stuff together.  We need to leave as soon as possible.”

All Derek owned was the stuff Stiles had bought him, and Stiles himself just threw his warmest clothes into a second duffel.  Hopefully, with enough layers – and the heat in the Jeep holding out – he could make it through Canada and up into Alaska.  Even if they only stopped to sleep for a few hours each night, the trip would still take at least three days.  And where were they going to sleep, once they left civilization?  Stiles was pretty sure there weren’t a whole lot of Holiday Inns in the Yukon.  But all those ice road truckers had to stay somewhere – fuck, now Stiles wished he’d actually watched a couple of episodes of that show – so they’d figure something out on the way.

Stiles was charging into this without a plan, something that he’d had to remind Scott over and over again was incredibly dangerous.  He should’ve started seriously thinking about it right after Deaton had told him the Argents were missing an alpha, but he’d still been so sure Deaton would be able to find other transport for Derek.  Somebody that actually knew what they were doing.

They threw their bags into the back of the Jeep, and Stiles pulled all the nonperishables from the grocery bags, dumping everything else in the trashcan in the garage.  They’d find a gas station someplace far out of town and stock up on travel-ready food there.

“Stay down, just until we’re out of the neighborhood,” Stiles said as he backed out of the garage.  “I think we’ve managed to keep anyone from realizing I’ve got someone else staying in the house, but I don’t want to chance anyone seeing you.”

Derek glared at him like slouching down in his seat was a terrible affront to his dignity, but he did it without any protest.  Fortunately, though, Stiles didn’t see anyone he knew, and after a few minutes, he told Derek he could sit up again.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Stiles said, because he’d had to come up with something, at least to get them started.  “We take back roads until we get near the county line so nobody sees me roaring through town.  We drive until I need gas, then we stop and pray that wherever we end up is anachronistic enough to have a pay phone.  Which reminds me…”  Stiles slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and switched it off in case anybody got the bright idea to track the GPS chip.  Driving an old blue Jeep was distinctive enough to cause trouble, since everyone in town knew exactly who it belonged to.

“I’ll call Deaton,” Stiles continued, “and find out the exact location of the sanctuary.”

“You don’t know?” Derek asked in disbelief.

“Deaton doesn’t even know.  It’s supposed to be a security measure, to keep everyone in the chain as safe as possible.  But he’ll know who does know, and I’ll contact whoever that is.  Since the, uh, transport problem is taken care of, Deaton can vouch for me and I’ll get the location.”

“What if you can’t?”

“Hey, detective, remember?  Getting information out of people is my job.  Not gonna lie, the pretty face helps, but I can be just as persuasive over the phone.”

Derek’s lips didn’t even twitch at that, but Stiles could hardly blame him.  “So,” Derek said softly.  “If you don’t even know where this place is, I guess you don’t know anything else about it.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Stiles said, wishing he had a better answer.  “If Deaton says it’s safe, I know it’s safe, but I don’t know if it’s mostly just woods, or if it’s more like a… community.  There will be plenty of other werewolves there, though.  You can start building a pack.  A family.”

Stiles shot a quick glance at Derek, who didn’t look particularly encouraged by any of this.  “But hey,” Stiles said, making his voice light, “if you hate it, you don’t have to stay.  You’ll be off the Argents’ radar.  You could find some woods between here and there.  Hell, maybe I’ll stay with you.  Find myself a little cabin near a little town with a suspiciously high murder rate and start a private detective agency.  I’ve always thought ‘Stilinski, P.I.’ had a good ring to it.  Not like I’ve got all that much to come back to.”

Stiles had meant it as a joke, but the words came out with a tinge of bitterness he didn’t expect.

“You have friends,” Derek said softly.  “You have a home.”

“I have a house and co-workers,” Stiles spat out, coming to a stop at a red light even though the intersection was clear.  He didn’t think anyone was around to see him run the light, but he didn’t want to risk drawing any unnecessary attention.  “And I guess I have Scott, but he’s got his own family now.  I’m okay with things, I am.  I like my job and the people I work with, but I’m not kidding myself – if I just… left… there wouldn’t exactly be wailing and gnashing of teeth.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” Derek said under his breath, almost as though he didn’t mean for Stiles to hear.

The light turned green and the road ahead was clear, so Stiles chanced a quick look over at Derek as he pulled into the intersection.  Which was the only reason he saw the black SUV hurtling toward them before it rammed into the passenger side of the Jeep and everything went dark.

&&&

Stiles slowly floated back to consciousness in a room full of beeping machines and tubes and Scott.  Scott?

“Dude, you’re awake!”

Scott.

Stiles’ first two attempts at making words were sabotaged by a painfully dry mouth and a pounding head and what he suspected were an awful lot of drugs, because Scott seemed to change position significantly every time Stiles’ blinked, like each blink was several seconds long.  But he kept his eyes open long enough to see Scott standing there with a cup and a straw, raising the back of the bed until Stiles was sitting up enough to drink.  He suspected he was trying to guzzle the cold, clean, delicious water too fast, because Scott pulled the cup away.

“Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick.”

The very idea of Scott playing nurse struck him as hilarious, so even though he couldn’t quite laugh, Stiles figured he hadn’t sustained too much brain damage.  After what he hoped was a reasonable amount of time, he made grabby hands at the water until Scott relented.

As he tried to pull his thoughts together, Stiles took a mental inventory of his body.  The throbbing in his head wasn’t overpowering, but his thoughts were fuzzy enough that he figured there was a significant amount of pain medicine holding back the worst of it.  There was a cast around his left wrist, though thankfully his fingers were free.  And when he reached out for the water, the rest of his body twinged enough to let him know that he was probably bruised all to hell, like he’d been hit by a truck.

Fuck it all, he’d been hit by a truck.

“What happened?” he finally managed to croak out.

“Hit and run,” Scott said, dragging his chair up to sit right beside Stiles’ bed.  “You were t-boned by something big out on County Route 7.  What were you even doing out—?  No, never mind, that doesn’t matter.”

“How bad?”

“You?  Concussion, broken wrist, some severe contusions and a few cuts from the broken glass.  Your Jeep, though…  I’m so sorry, man.  She’s gone.  Went to the big garage in the sky.  Actually, it’s sort of a miracle you weren’t hurt a lot worse, even though the other car hit the passenger side.”

Stiles groaned – his Jeep.  His baby.  Though through the medicated fog, Stiles felt like there was something else even more important that he was forgetting.  He closed his eyes, saw the big black car coming at him like it was slow motion.  Derek reacted fast, though.  Before the truck had even hit, Derek was clawing through his seat belt, reaching for Stiles.  Derek was…

Derek.

The sudden shot of adrenaline was enough to clear the fog in Stiles’ brain, though it also had the regrettable effect of sending a searing pain through his skull.  “Was there someone else in the car with me?” Stiles asked frantically.  “Did they find anyone else?”

Scott was looking at him suspiciously, but Stiles figured Scott was chalking the questions up to the concussion until Scott said, “No.  There was no one else.  But there was a lot of blood.  Much, much more than could have come from your injuries.  And the passenger seat belt had been sliced clean through, like with a knife.  But there was no blood trail leading away from the car, which there should have been if someone else had been in the passenger seat and actually managed to crawl away.  So they’re not out looking for anyone else.  But you tell me, Stiles: was there someone else in the car?”

Luckily, Scott sounded more confused than accusatory, so Stiles had a few seconds to think.  Of course there wouldn’t be a blood trail if Derek had had time to heal.  But there was no way the Argents would have ambushed them like that and let Derek escape.  If he’d been well enough to struggle before the Argents took him, any evidence was probably masked by the wreckage of the car.  Assuming – oh god – assuming they took him alive.

“How much blood was there?” Stiles asked, able to hear his own heart rate shoot up on the monitor.  “Just more than there should have been, or more than someone could lose and still survive?”

“Enough that there’s probably going to be an investigation.  They’re going to want to question you.”  Scott’s face was sterner than Stiles had ever seen it… and then it collapsed back into tired concern, as if Scott was incapable of being suspicious of Stiles for very long.  “But off the record?  Nobody bled to death in your passenger seat.  Stiles, what the hell is going on?”

“Off the record?” Stiles repeated.  He didn’t have any reason to mistrust Scott, but he still felt immensely relieved when Scott nodded.  “I’ll tell you everything, I promise.  But not here.”

Stiles wasn’t worried for his own life at the moment – if the Argents had wanted him dead, he’d be dead three times over by now – but he still couldn’t talk about it in public.  And he needed to move fast, which was going to be difficult with his injuries, but not impossible.  A plan was already starting to take shape in his head, but he was still going to need help.

“And there’s something I need you to look up for me while I convince the doctors to let me out of here,” Stiles said, before taking as deep a breath as his bruised chest would allow.  “And then I need you to take me back to your house.  I need to see Allison.”

&&&

Scott had finally gotten the baby to stop crying and go to sleep, which did more to relieve Stiles’ blinding headache than the frankly unimpressive pills they’d sent him home with.  Technically speaking, he should still be in the hospital, but his attending physician had been a none-too-friendly former high school classmate, and Dr. Whittemore didn’t want Stiles hanging around any more than Stiles wanted to stay in the hospital.  So Stiles was let go after signing something that ensured he wouldn’t sue the hospital if he suddenly dropped dead.

Scott had gotten the information Stiles needed and returned to pick Stiles up.  Scott had seemed reluctant to involve Allison in something Stiles refused to explain (mostly because he didn’t have the time or the patience to go through it all twice), but he had brought Stiles back to the house anyway.

It was Stiles’ last-ditch plan and he really, really hated to involve Allison – or Scott – in the danger of any of this, but he couldn’t think of another way.  So once the baby was asleep and the three of them could sit down in the living room, Stiles turned to Allison and asked, “How well do you know your aunt and grandfather?”

The conversation was all downhill from there.

Stiles explained everything Derek had told him as coherently as he could, and though Allison didn’t get angry (which she was perfectly capable of doing – Stiles had criticized her cooking once… and only once), she kept shaking her head with disbelief.

“Admittedly, I don’t know them all that well,” Allison said, sounding exactly like she was treading carefully around the delusions of a man with a recent head injury.  “I haven’t seen my grandfather since I was twelve, and I only see Aunt Kate about once a year, but what you’re saying…”

“Is horrific, I know,” Stiles said sympathetically.  It was obvious that Allison was aware of none of it.  “And believe me, I wouldn’t charge in here like this and make accusations if I wasn’t absolutely sure.”

Allison shook her head again.  “The Argents used to hunt wers, but that was generations ago, back when it was still legal.  My dad told me.  And he doesn’t know a long bow from a compound bow.”

“I know,” Stiles said quickly, pushing any disgust he felt for Chris away.  “Your father refused to do it.  He turned Gerard down.  I think that’s probably why you haven’t seen your grandfather for so long.”

“They don’t get along, I know that.  But my dad is a good man.  We always treated our wers well – everybody knows that.  If my dad knew what my grandfather was doing…”

“He’d what?” Stiles asked, trying hard not to lose his patience, since he knew dumping all of this on Allison at once was unfair and painful.  “He’d turn his father in for multiple murders?  If I was in his position, if my dad were still alive, I don’t think I could do it.  I think I’d do everything in my power to protect him.”

“But you’d also try to stop him,” Allison insisted.  “So would my dad.  Our wers are like family to us.”

“To you.  Maybe to your dad.  Not to Gerard.  I’ve heard – and not just from Derek, but from people that try to protect werewolves – that he’s an incredibly dangerous man.  That he taught Kate to be the same way.”

“I’m sorry,” Allison said.  “I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t believe my family has anything to do with it.”

Stiles had been prepared for that.  “How much property does your grandfather own?”

Allison looked stunned by the sudden shift in topic.  “I… I don’t know.  There’s the main house, which I only ever visited a handful of times when I was a kid.  And at least a few dozen acres extending into the woods.”

“If you wanted – hypothetically – to let werewolves loose in those woods to hunt, but you had to be sure they wouldn’t escape, what would you do?”

“I don’t know, mountain ash?” Allison said, looking even more confused.  “But you’d need the right person to lay the perimeter and it could get worn away by the weather, so you’d have to keep maintaining it.  What does this have to do with anything?”

Stiles didn’t let up.  “So if mountain ash wasn’t practical, what else?”

“Well, you obviously couldn’t use a regular fence, even with concrete or razor wire.  The wers would be strong enough to go over or right through it.  You’d need something that would weaken them first, sap their strength, keep them from healing.  So… an electrified fence, I guess?”

Beside her, Scott went pale.  “Stiles…”

But Stiles kept his focus on Allison.  “Before we got here, I asked Scott to look something up for me.  I didn’t tell him why or what exactly I was looking for.  Scott, have you told me what you found?”

“No, but—”

“Then tell both of us right now.”

Scott gulped audibly as he took a folded printout from his pocket.  “Allison, Stiles asked me to check electricity usage within the city limits.  And your grandfather’s estate… it’s pulling huge amounts of power.  Like, ten times what even a house that big would need.  Not just that – there are spikes in the usage every four weeks, like clockwork.”

Allison grabbed the printout from him, face twisted with horror.  She looked it over.  “Every full moon.”  She looked up at Stiles, her eyes huge, and in the midst of everything, Stiles felt for her.  Everything she thought she knew about her family had just been turned upside down.  “This doesn’t prove my father knows about any of this,” she said defensively.

“I’m not interested in your father,” Stiles said as calmly as he could.  “I just need to find a way into Gerard’s estate.”

Scott put his arm around Allison’s shoulders.  “Stiles, if everything you’ve said about Gerard and Kate is true… I know you don’t want to think about it, but Derek’s probably already dead.”

Stiles shook his head firmly.  “I don’t think so.  And it’s not just a gut feeling.  They left him for last.  Peter, Derek’s uncle, he’s crazy but he’s not stupid.  Derek told me alphas are stronger when they have pack members.  After Laura became the alpha, Peter would’ve wanted to take Derek out first.  That would also guarantee it didn’t somehow pass on to Derek and force Peter to fight another alpha for the title.  But Kate and Gerard didn’t let that happen, and I don’t think it was coincidence.  They left Derek for last and there has to be a reason.  There’s even a chance they may not have wanted him dead in the first place.”

Stiles had his own speculations as to why that was, but he didn’t share.  Scott and Allison were already looking at him like he was deeply in denial, and hell, maybe he was.  “But even if Derek’s… dead,” Stiles continued, “they’ll probably still have his body.  They can’t just dump it in the woods like the others.  So I have to get in there before they find a way to… to dispose of him.”

Scott shook his head.  “Anything you find without a warrant—”

“I’m not going in there as a cop, Scott.”  Stiles could tell Scott was dying to ask exactly in what capacity Stiles was charging into the house of a pair of psychopaths, but to his credit, he didn’t.

Instead, Scott said, “I don’t want Allison involved in this.”

And, really, even Stiles could have predicted the glare Allison shot at him.  “I’ll decide whether I want to get involved in this,” she said firmly.

“But… our daughter—” Scott protested.

“Apparently has a psychotic great-grandfather,” Allison snapped.

“I’m not asking either of you to come with me,” Stiles said.  “I just need a way in.”

“And a way out,” Allison said sharply.  Then her tone softened.  “Stiles, I know you wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t urgent, but you’re risking your entire career for this, and what I don’t understand is… why?”

Actually, Stiles was pretty certain he was risking his life once he got inside the estate – the car crash had been both a kidnapping and a warning, and Stiles wasn’t naïve enough to think he’d get another one.  But if Allison wasn’t ready to accept the fact that her relatives probably wouldn’t make much distinction between killing werewolves and humans when it came to keeping their secrets, well, Stiles had dumped enough horror on her today.

But the question remained, and Stiles wasn’t sure he could fully answer it himself.  All he knew was that it wasn’t optional; all he’d thought about since waking up in that hospital bed was finding Derek.  “Because… because I promised I’d never let him go back there.  He trusted me to keep him safe, and I didn’t.  I owe it to him to keep trying.”

Neither Scott nor Allison looked convinced, so Stiles kept going.  “Look, my injuries from the car accident should have been much, much worse, right?  Well, Derek has enhanced reflexes.  The last thing I remember is him reaching for me.  He probably saved my life.”

Even that didn’t feel like the full answer, and Allison looked like she knew it.  But she just squeezed Scott’s hand and said, “Tell me what you need me to do.”

Continue to part five.

Comments

[crys48270.livejournal.com]

(Read everything on AO3 but easier to leave comments here!)

First off, Im ridiculously happy your writing more and more Sterek, and all of it is incredible. So finding a 50,000+ words of Sterek from you? Guhhhh......

I love the twist you put on this certain ?trope? (hope Im using the right word there.) With your style of writing, having the right combo of drama, comedy, heartache, happy; it makes me want more!

Favorite part here has to be where Derek uses the shirt that smells like them to keep himself in check. Talk about a kick to the chest. seizing my heart, the works. Cant emphasize how much I loved that part. And the part following after with Stiles being right there, up close. I personally wish that was in fic a lot more, but I really like how it fits in here.

[the-deep-magic.livejournal.com]

Aww, thanks! I never expected to be writing Teen Wolf fic, let alone 50K+ words worth of it.

(And I'm glad somebody else still prefers commenting LJ... though posting long fics is kind of a bitch.)