The Nine Lives of Stiles Stilinski Part Five: "Lucky, Lucky--You're So Lucky"
Series: The Nine Lives of Stiles Stilinski
Chapter Title: Lucky, Lucky-You're So Lucky
Part: 5/9
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairings: eventual Derek/Stiles; some Jackson/Stiles; Mystery Man; Sheriff Stilinski; Scott McCall; Allison Argent; Lydia Martin; Danny.
Rating: soft R.
Disclaimer: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
Summary: He was scared enough that his claws hadn't retracted and he was hauling himself along by grabbing the trunks of trees and pulling and pushing himself, propelling himself forward.
Notes: I'm really sorry that this part is so late in coming. Suffice to say, real life ate me for a little bit.
Warnings: un-betaed. This series takes place after season one.
Previous
When the first shot rang out they sprung apart. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck were standing up on end and his eyes were open wide. Two more cracks, gunshots. Jackson didn't even bother to grab for his shirt, but Stiles did. As he ran he wriggled into it, his legs feeling bare and vulnerable. He was scared enough that his claws hadn't retracted and he was hauling himself along by grabbing the trunks of trees and pulling and pushing himself, propelling himself forward. Bullets sprayed around them, but they weaved through the trees and quickly outran them. Stiles' heart was pumping hard, his heart-rate spiked with the adrenaline. Jackson didn't bother to stay with him, they peeled away from one another-Stiles trying to figure out which direction the Jeep was with his blood thundering in his ears. Half-naked and scared out of his mind, Stiles sprinted through the forest. The crashing sounds coming from far behind him meant that whoever (the man in the gun metal gray car) had been shooting was coming after him. He had to make it, he had to run faster.
He nearly tripped over his clothing, gracefully he snatched it up and ran with it, not wanting to take the time to try to put anything on. His erection had long since gone away, the cold air and fear being largely contributing factors. The trees were thinning, but he was farther away from his Jeep than he'd hoped. He paused and listened. A car passed on the road, but the light was still dim in the early morning and he was shrouded in the shadows of the forest, so they didn't see him. The man was still pursuing him. Stiles scented the air and took off in the direction towards the old Hale house, knowing that it was closer than his Jeep at this point. He sprinted off again, even though his muscles resisted starting up the momentum initially. He made it to the clearing and glanced behind him. Somehow he'd known.
Another gun shot cracked out in the early morning air. The bullet hit the tree trunk in the yard by the house, splintering the wood and causing Stiles to duck. He held the loose clothes over his groin, though he knew that wouldn't be much help against the bullets. Within the span of a second after the bullet hit the tree, Derek had torn open the door and placed himself in between Stiles and the man. Stiles was stumbling backwards, scrambling to make it into the burnt shell of a house. Not that he thought it would stop bullets or keep the man away, but it felt safe. He fell over the steps to the porch as the man growled out in what sounded like a different language at first, “Get out of the way.”
Derek didn't move, just raised his head higher, trying to prove his dominance just by confidence. It didn't seem to faze his stalker (now shooter) much if at all, unlike how Stiles normally reacted (which was to make embarrassing nearly-whimpering noises and be scared for his life). Stiles picked himself up and wrenched the door open, shying away when another shot went off and the bullet hit close to the door frame. There was a scuffle, but Stiles didn't look back, he just bolted into the house and into one of the back rooms. He had his back pressed against the wall, breathing hard and trying to listen to what was happening outside, his bare butt numb against the scorched wallpaper. He yanked on his boxers after fishing them out of his jeans.
He didn't hear much, the walls cushioning a lot of the sounds from the front of the house. He didn't hear anymore gunshots, which had to be a good thing-unless Derek had killed the guy and was burying the body. On second thought, maybe he should go check...
The front door opened and closed, Stiles had his pants half-way up his legs. He froze, sniffing but not being able to smell anything beyond the old coal smell and the frigid morning air. He held his breath, pressing back against the wall. The material on his lower half felt scratchy and coarse against his numb skin. Derek turned the corner and grabbed the shoulder of his-Jackson's-t-shirt. Stiles simultaneously wanted to yelp and sigh with relief (it wasn't a gun-toting maniac, but he was still scary). He made a strangled sort of sound instead and tripped over his pants that still weren't pulled up all the way. Derek had him pinned against the opposite wall within seconds, his breath warm with vanilla and peppermint on Stiles' face.
“What the hell were you thinking?!” Derek's voice was loud and demanding, sending Stiles into a frenzy of pathetic sounding whimpers. He tried to look as small as possible against the wall and knew it wasn't working when Derek kept on, his eyes their normal green but still unnerving as they stared into his brown ones. “You almost got killed, doesn't that mean anything to you?”
Then Stiles realized it-he sounded concerned.
{break}
He suspected something was up when that Derek Hale character with two other young men who had been around the cat earlier on entered the house through the upstairs window. When a single light came on and the one he'd been following (until he'd led to Derek Hale) started peering out the window at him his curiosity increased two-fold. He was tailing the Sheriff's son, wouldn't you think he would call the Sheriff if he realized he was being followed? But instead it seemed as though he'd called these three. Either he had terrible judgment or there were a lot of secrets between father and son. Still, he munched on a club sandwich he'd gotten from the Arby's in town while he watched. He couldn't see much, due to the curtain coverage, but he did see enough to pique his interest. They migrated from downstairs up to the cat's bedroom before he left. They didn't seem to be doing much, so he let it slide.
He took a break and went off to relieve himself and rest. He was just coming back to watch again when the cat left in his car. He followed, of course, and was led to the forest. It was little surprise when the cat took off, sprinting with super-human speed into the forest. He tracked him, but was quite surprised to see tracks of a different variety-something he couldn't distinguish past the scuff of what looked like shoes. It was curious. He followed them deep into The Preserve, toting his gun easily. It took him some time to catch up (he had to keep checking for where they had gone and had to be quiet), but when he did they were fighting-or embracing, he couldn't tell much from his angle. The moonlight caught the claws on the cat's hands, though, and he fired a warning shot. When the two sprang apart, it seemed he'd been wrong, they had been intimate. He wasn't sure which was worse.
He saw the other male-the one he'd tailed for a short while-drop to hands and feet and take off. He couldn't fathom what that was about, but he moved so fast that he was gone in seconds. He made a choice and decided to go after the cat. He was the entire reason he was here after all. He was behind the cat for a long while, but was able to see the silhouette of him as he stood in the treeline, dim headlights sweeping over him. He was certain the cat was going to head back to his car (in which case he'd have to give up the chase), but instead the cat veered and went the opposite direction. It took him a moment to think of where he could possibly be headed, but it connected and he started off in the shortest possible route to his destination. He was right behind the cat when he got there.
He shot once, hitting the tree near to the beast and scaring it. He wasn't sure when, but Derek Hale was there (like he'd just appeared out of thin air), and stood between him and the cat, as if he was protecting the monster from him. The cat was trying to enter the shell of a house, he shot once more and hit close to him, but the hand on his gun had prevented him from taking him down. Derek Hale was there-right in front of him-and wrenching the gun from his hand with superior strength. He struggled and the gun ended up flung away. He swept a leg out, trying to get the leather jacket wearing man off his feet. They fought, throwing punches and kicks for a moment before he figured out that he wasn't going to win this time. Abandoning his gun and his objective, at least for the moment, he took off back into the forest.
{break}
Stiles unfurled himself a little bit: lazy-warm and sleepy. He stretched out, all cat-like and yawned. His Dad tapped his knuckles on the arm of the couch. It had been a week since he'd been shot at and while he'd been skirting around his Dad's service piece with a little extra care, he'd settled back into his routine quite easily. Besides, if it was anything to go by, he didn't think he'd be seeing his stalker (shooter) anywhere nearby for at least a few more days (Derek had been quite pissed off at him and Derek was scary when he wasn't pissed off). School was starting today and though Stiles was looking forward to classes (he was a nerd, so sue him), he wasn't looking forward to seeing Jackson. Or Lydia... oh, Lydia...
He hadn't seen her all summer (he chose to keep an extra wide berth considering that she was probably pissed off at him for just leaving her in the field). She'd woken up while he was in Germany, but apparently hadn't even gone out of her parent's house in order to go clothes shopping. Stiles felt unbelievably guilty after he thought of it-how could she have even skipped his mind? He was roused from his thoughts as his Dad (who had been chewing on a bite of bagel with cream cheese) spoke.
“You ready for school?”
“Yeah, Dad.” He let his head fall back on the back pillow of the couch and rubbed his eyes with his hand before he sat up and gave him a thumbs up. His Dad nodded and gave a sort of smile as he jangled his own keys, pulling them out of his pocket.
“Don't be late.” Half a warning, half a joke. Stiles nodded and gave a tired smile in response. Then his Dad was gone, out the door and headed to work. Stiles had ten more minutes before he had to be out the door.
{break}
The day actually wasn't so bad... at first. He'd been in the presence of Allison and Scott, so he'd been able to skate by without anyone really noticing. When Lydia entered any room, the whole class went silent and it got mega uncomfortable, but on the plus side, she hadn't directed any sort of attention to Stiles. Well, he wasn't sure if that was a negative or a positive... he almost wanted to go talk to her, but kept chickening out.
Scott seemed to be intentionally shielding him the more the day went on-making sure he was away from windows and glancing at him all the time whenever they were in class. It was at lunch that things came to a head. Jackson had sat down in the chair next to Stiles, Scott on the other side, and quite a few of the other lacrosse players had followed after the two. Jackson kept leaning uncomfortably close and Stiles, in turn, kept leaning further into Scott. He was trying to ignore that he'd practically made out with the jock twice over the summer and blamed the incidents on his rollercoaster-like emotions that he'd been dragged through. He was more used to it now (he thought) and decided that it was something that wouldn't be happening again. Apparently Jackson hadn't gotten the memo.
Jackson had leaned closer yet again and Stiles leaned hard, knocking his shoulder into Scott's. Scott fumbled the kiss he'd been about to land on Allison's cheek and ended up kissing her eye, causing him to growl and toss a glare over at Stiles. Stiles wasn't paying attention because he was dodging Jackson yet again, so Scott turned his glare on him. “Lay off, dude.”
His voice sounded perfectly normal, but his eyes told a different story. Jackson met them and Stiles wished he could disappear. If there was going to be a dog fight, he most definitely didn't want to be in the middle of it. Danny was watching everything from across the table and Lydia was glancing curiously down at them from Allison's other side. Jackson seemed to acquiesce for the moment, but he started up again by leaning in and talking quietly into Stiles' ear. “You should come by mine tonight, we can finish what we started.”
As if to punctuate what he truly meant, his hand snuck below the table and squeezed Stiles' thigh. Stiles jumped in his seat, causing Danny to give them a very suspecting look. Stiles tried to duck his head and focus on his food, ignoring that his face was colored an unusually bright shade of pink and Jackson's, uhm, offer. Luckily enough, Scott had heard it and stood abruptly, Allison following his movements with questioning eyes. Stiles whipped his head back up as Scott's hand gripped the back of Jackson's shirt and moved to drag him forcefully out of the cafeteria. As Scott took in the glances of everyone at the table he fumbled an explanation. “Come on, Jackson, we need to talk about some lacrosse formations.”
Stiles wasn't sure whether he should be relieved that Scott was actually taking an interest in how messed up his life was getting or if he should be worried that a dog fight was about to break out in the school. He stood suddenly, jostling his tray and giving a stumbled dismissal of himself, practically running out of the cafeteria.
By the time he figured out where they'd gone (he temporarily forgot that he could smell around for them), they were walking back in from outside. They smelled like the mowed lawn from the lacrosse field, so he figured that Scott had dragged Jackson out there. Scott approached him easily and thumped his hand down on his shoulder. Okay, so Scott was okay but where was-Jackson lingered slightly behind, his eyes a little downcast, but he kept peeking up through his eyelashes at Stiles. Stiles looked back at Scott, who had turned him back around and slung his arm around his shoulder.
“Should I be worried?” The words tumbled out, unbidden. The fact that Scott was all buddy-buddy with him (and rubbing his wet-dog smell everywhere) and completely unconcerned about Jackson, well, it raised red flags. Stiles glanced back at Jackson. He was physically fine, he was even back to staring at Stiles (which was quite uncomfortable), so he turned back to Scott with a raised eyebrow. Scott patted his shoulder and shrugged. Allison, Lydia and Danny were coming out of the cafeteria doors, walking toward them. Scott waved at Allison with a smile, slipping his arm from around Stiles' shoulders and glanced at him.
“Good luck.” Scott looked like he was going to say more, but Allison was within earshot and had latched herself onto Scott. Scott latched back and Stiles had the urge to sigh exasperatedly. Jackson appeared at his shoulder and looked directly at him.
“Maybe a movie instead?” He sounded admonished, but all Stiles could do was throw his hands up and shake his head, retreating to grab his backpack and hurry off to his next class.
{break}
Stiles managed to make it through his last three classes of the day (the urge to just sleep through them wasn't almost insurmountable) and was tiredly trudging out to his Jeep, rubbing his face with his empty hand. He yawned and was quite glad that there wasn't any lacrosse practice today so he could catch a cat nap on the couch when he got home. He had tossed his bag through the window to his Jeep and reached for the handle of the driver's side door. A hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around, shoving him into the side of his car. Instantly alert, his lips parted and he went to say something most probably sarcastic and likely to end in his extreme pain but his words were silenced by the look in Derek's eyes. He let himself be dragged off through the parking lot, the pace making him trip over himself in order to keep up. It wasn't until they were in the forest that Derek's grip loosened a bit. Stiles didn't struggle, though, he just kept following as he tried to pick his way through the forest without falling over anything.
He wasn't sure how long they had been walking, but it was in silence. The rustling of the leaves under their step was the only sound as Derek led the way. His hand was still wrapped around Stiles' forearm, but he knew better than to complain or try to get out of his grip. Derek kept scenting and looking around-it made Stiles squeamish, always expecting something scary to pop out at them (not to mention the last time he'd been out here was when he was shot at). Stiles only started to recognize his surroundings for the last couple of minutes. He knew that Derek was bringing him to his family's old house, but he wasn't sure why exactly (unless it was either more humping, and he seriously hoped not, or he was going to be killed). On that thought he suddenly stopped. Derek walked two more steps before he came to the end of the line and Stiles' arm tugged in his grasp. Derek glanced back. Stiles swallowed thickly. Derek sighed and did that thing when you know he's about to yell.
“You know, I don't really want to be led like a lamb to slaughter,” He yanked his arm out of Derek's hold and crossed his arms over his chest, getting a bit defensive. “So I think you should probably tell me just why we're out here in the middle of the woods.”
Derek rolled his eyes and growled under his breath, but it was more human than wolf so Stiles guessed that he was okay for now. He fisted his hands and shoved them in his jacket's pockets. He looked back at Stiles in a way that made him feel like he was under a microscope. He shifted uncomfortably and tried not to look away. He dropped his eyes anyway and immediately cussed himself out inside his head, looking back into Derek's eyes again. Derek shook his head and reached out, grabbing Stiles' shirt at the shoulder and hauling him forward again. He started talking again, so Stiles quit fighting the movement and tried to listen. “You've practically got a target on your back and you act like it's just another day in Beacon Hills.”
Stiles shrugged, “Well I don't really expect him to come back. I mean, you scared him pretty good-right?”
Derek looked at him like he was crazy and strode forward at the same staggering pace as before, dragging him out of the trees and into the yard around the old Hale house. Stiles glanced at the house for a second, but ended up looking back at Derek as he didn't say anything. His voice was a bit higher when he spoke this time. “You did, didn't you? Please tell me you scared him off. Threatened his family, his balls... something?”
Derek carefully chose to skirt around the issue that Stiles was currently close to panicking over, instead he threw open the back door and let Stiles go, talking in a raised voice but only because Stiles was currently tripping over a loose board and sending it clattering across the floor. “All I know is he's still around. He's in a motel at the edge of town and he has a small arsenal with him.”
When he got his balance back (and he did rather quickly) he tried to straighten out his shirt and cleared his throat. He was trying not to have a panic attack at the mention of an arsenal while Derek looked at him oddly. He reached forward and tugged Stiles closer to him, his hand firm on Stiles' arm. Stiles pulled up short of crashing into him, caught somewhat off-guard from the sudden movement and snapped at him. “What the fuck?”
Derek ignored him and sniffed, and then let him go again. “Lunch must have really sucked.”
Stiles gaped at him, asking a million questions in his head-like was Derek spying on him? Did he smell how his day had gone? How did he know that lunch sucked? That was, until he realized that the stink of greasy food clung to his shirt, even after the trek through the forest. He closed his mouth and looked away, setting his jaw and trying to focus because dammit there were bigger problems than the school's lunch program. Derek walked further into the house, wandering up the stairs. Stiles walked after him without consciously deciding to do so (which probably fed the alpha wolf's ego). Finally, after Derek leaned against one of the walls, Stiles roused from his thoughts and spoke.
“Do the Argents know about him? Because if they don't, maybe they'll run him out of town. I mean, they don't know about me so it'll just look like he attacked an innocent kid. That could work, right?” He had his right hand's index finger pressed against the side of his mouth like he was keeping a secret. Derek's gaze flicked to it before he met his eyes again.
“Sure, if you want to run to the Hunters.” It almost seemed as if he was put out over the idea. He turned his head to look down the hallway. Stiles wanted to give yet another exasperated sigh. He shifted his weight and shrugged.
“Why shouldn't I? They can help, I don't feel bad about using them-it's a win-win situation.”
Now it seemed as though Derek was actually pouting, which was a preposterous idea. “You think that you can't trust us, is that it?”
Stiles was speechless, but he did manage to shake his head. He let the air out of his lungs, sounding like a punctured tire in the process and licked his lips, hands on hips. “That's not what I said. It's just that I'd rather leave it to someone else to deal with. You know, avoid the problem.”
Something had come over Derek, and he wasn't sure what it was. But Derek pushed himself back off the wall and looked directly at him. “I can deal with it.”
He took a step toward Stiles, “Let me deal with it.”
Was he begging?
Stiles' eyebrows knit together as confusion washed over his face. Derek's hand curled into the hem of his shirt, tangling the fabric with his fingers. When did his hand get there? Stiles tilted his head to the side and stepped back. Derek stepped with him, his grip never faltering. Stiles knew exactly where this was headed and quickly wanted to stop it. “Derek-Derek, stop.”
Belatedly, Stiles realized that his earlier panic had probably set it off. His pheromones or whatever it was that made this happen had clouded up in the spot where he had been standing and then Derek had strolled through it, inhaling and then getting all weird. Stiles put the flat of his hand against Derek's chest, but that didn't help when normally green eyes flashed red at him. Stiles could practically feel his tail poofing up, he did feel his claws come out. Derek was maneuvering him while Stiles was trying to find a way out of this situation. It was bad enough that he'd made out, naked with Jackson. He really didn't need another misunderstanding in his life. His back hit the wall and he tried to press himself back into it even though it was creaking like it might collapse at any moment. He turned his head away as Derek pressed closely into him.
He felt the drag of the tip of Derek's nose against his neck. He shivered and cringed, attempting to turn his head even further away. Blunt teeth sunk into his flesh and he yelped as they clamped down, lips warm and soft against his skin. The bastard was biting him! He smacked at Derek, but to no avail, he just stepped right up close and rolled his hips into him. He humped his leg a few times before Stiles managed to give a mighty shove. For a moment Stiles thought he might be able to slip out of the way and start the long walk back to the school parking lot and his Jeep, but Derek just shoved him back. Loose plaster sprinkled down and the wall creaked, but at least he wasn't biting him anymore-and the humping had stopped too. Unfortunately, Derek didn't come to his senses. He growled, more wolf than human, into Stiles' skin.
“You're mine, you understand. He won't touch you. He won't get anywhere close.” He inhaled against Stiles' neck and laved his tongue over his skin. Stiles made a face and squirmed, trying to kick out at the older man. He didn't succeed. Derek kept growling away, sometimes just rumbles and other times speaking. “Jackson can't protect you like I can. He ran like the pup he is; I stood and fought for you.”
This time he just snapped. Bloody slash marks dripped down Derek's face-from cheekbone down to the corner of his lips-as Stiles stood frozen, eyes wide and uncertain about whether he should be running for his life or groveling at Derek's feet. Both seemed like a good idea. Derek just gave a feral grin, his skin already healed, but he'd let go of Stiles. As Derek brought a hand up to presumably wipe the blood off of his face, Stiles took off.
{break}
To be honest, he thought about just sprinting home (forget the Jeep) or possibly running back to get his Jeep, but he only got as far as the Camaro parked in back of the Hale house. He was fuming, of course, and he paced the ground next to the car for a minute before he settled down into a sort of brooding, arms crossed, simmering anger. He leaned back against the car and faced the door to the house, waiting for Derek to come out and yell at him. He supposed he deserved it, but Derek also deserved to get scratched, whether he liked to think so or not. Minutes of silence stretched out in front of him and he was no longer breathing hard, but looking for any sign of life in the windows. Where had he gone? Surely he hadn't left. Stiles scented the air, but all he smelled was strange human scents, the tang of metal and gunpowder.
Next
Chapter Title: Lucky, Lucky-You're So Lucky
Part: 5/9
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairings: eventual Derek/Stiles; some Jackson/Stiles; Mystery Man; Sheriff Stilinski; Scott McCall; Allison Argent; Lydia Martin; Danny.
Rating: soft R.
Disclaimer: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
Summary: He was scared enough that his claws hadn't retracted and he was hauling himself along by grabbing the trunks of trees and pulling and pushing himself, propelling himself forward.
Notes: I'm really sorry that this part is so late in coming. Suffice to say, real life ate me for a little bit.
Warnings: un-betaed. This series takes place after season one.
Previous
When the first shot rang out they sprung apart. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck were standing up on end and his eyes were open wide. Two more cracks, gunshots. Jackson didn't even bother to grab for his shirt, but Stiles did. As he ran he wriggled into it, his legs feeling bare and vulnerable. He was scared enough that his claws hadn't retracted and he was hauling himself along by grabbing the trunks of trees and pulling and pushing himself, propelling himself forward. Bullets sprayed around them, but they weaved through the trees and quickly outran them. Stiles' heart was pumping hard, his heart-rate spiked with the adrenaline. Jackson didn't bother to stay with him, they peeled away from one another-Stiles trying to figure out which direction the Jeep was with his blood thundering in his ears. Half-naked and scared out of his mind, Stiles sprinted through the forest. The crashing sounds coming from far behind him meant that whoever (the man in the gun metal gray car) had been shooting was coming after him. He had to make it, he had to run faster.
He nearly tripped over his clothing, gracefully he snatched it up and ran with it, not wanting to take the time to try to put anything on. His erection had long since gone away, the cold air and fear being largely contributing factors. The trees were thinning, but he was farther away from his Jeep than he'd hoped. He paused and listened. A car passed on the road, but the light was still dim in the early morning and he was shrouded in the shadows of the forest, so they didn't see him. The man was still pursuing him. Stiles scented the air and took off in the direction towards the old Hale house, knowing that it was closer than his Jeep at this point. He sprinted off again, even though his muscles resisted starting up the momentum initially. He made it to the clearing and glanced behind him. Somehow he'd known.
Another gun shot cracked out in the early morning air. The bullet hit the tree trunk in the yard by the house, splintering the wood and causing Stiles to duck. He held the loose clothes over his groin, though he knew that wouldn't be much help against the bullets. Within the span of a second after the bullet hit the tree, Derek had torn open the door and placed himself in between Stiles and the man. Stiles was stumbling backwards, scrambling to make it into the burnt shell of a house. Not that he thought it would stop bullets or keep the man away, but it felt safe. He fell over the steps to the porch as the man growled out in what sounded like a different language at first, “Get out of the way.”
Derek didn't move, just raised his head higher, trying to prove his dominance just by confidence. It didn't seem to faze his stalker (now shooter) much if at all, unlike how Stiles normally reacted (which was to make embarrassing nearly-whimpering noises and be scared for his life). Stiles picked himself up and wrenched the door open, shying away when another shot went off and the bullet hit close to the door frame. There was a scuffle, but Stiles didn't look back, he just bolted into the house and into one of the back rooms. He had his back pressed against the wall, breathing hard and trying to listen to what was happening outside, his bare butt numb against the scorched wallpaper. He yanked on his boxers after fishing them out of his jeans.
He didn't hear much, the walls cushioning a lot of the sounds from the front of the house. He didn't hear anymore gunshots, which had to be a good thing-unless Derek had killed the guy and was burying the body. On second thought, maybe he should go check...
The front door opened and closed, Stiles had his pants half-way up his legs. He froze, sniffing but not being able to smell anything beyond the old coal smell and the frigid morning air. He held his breath, pressing back against the wall. The material on his lower half felt scratchy and coarse against his numb skin. Derek turned the corner and grabbed the shoulder of his-Jackson's-t-shirt. Stiles simultaneously wanted to yelp and sigh with relief (it wasn't a gun-toting maniac, but he was still scary). He made a strangled sort of sound instead and tripped over his pants that still weren't pulled up all the way. Derek had him pinned against the opposite wall within seconds, his breath warm with vanilla and peppermint on Stiles' face.
“What the hell were you thinking?!” Derek's voice was loud and demanding, sending Stiles into a frenzy of pathetic sounding whimpers. He tried to look as small as possible against the wall and knew it wasn't working when Derek kept on, his eyes their normal green but still unnerving as they stared into his brown ones. “You almost got killed, doesn't that mean anything to you?”
Then Stiles realized it-he sounded concerned.
{break}
He suspected something was up when that Derek Hale character with two other young men who had been around the cat earlier on entered the house through the upstairs window. When a single light came on and the one he'd been following (until he'd led to Derek Hale) started peering out the window at him his curiosity increased two-fold. He was tailing the Sheriff's son, wouldn't you think he would call the Sheriff if he realized he was being followed? But instead it seemed as though he'd called these three. Either he had terrible judgment or there were a lot of secrets between father and son. Still, he munched on a club sandwich he'd gotten from the Arby's in town while he watched. He couldn't see much, due to the curtain coverage, but he did see enough to pique his interest. They migrated from downstairs up to the cat's bedroom before he left. They didn't seem to be doing much, so he let it slide.
He took a break and went off to relieve himself and rest. He was just coming back to watch again when the cat left in his car. He followed, of course, and was led to the forest. It was little surprise when the cat took off, sprinting with super-human speed into the forest. He tracked him, but was quite surprised to see tracks of a different variety-something he couldn't distinguish past the scuff of what looked like shoes. It was curious. He followed them deep into The Preserve, toting his gun easily. It took him some time to catch up (he had to keep checking for where they had gone and had to be quiet), but when he did they were fighting-or embracing, he couldn't tell much from his angle. The moonlight caught the claws on the cat's hands, though, and he fired a warning shot. When the two sprang apart, it seemed he'd been wrong, they had been intimate. He wasn't sure which was worse.
He saw the other male-the one he'd tailed for a short while-drop to hands and feet and take off. He couldn't fathom what that was about, but he moved so fast that he was gone in seconds. He made a choice and decided to go after the cat. He was the entire reason he was here after all. He was behind the cat for a long while, but was able to see the silhouette of him as he stood in the treeline, dim headlights sweeping over him. He was certain the cat was going to head back to his car (in which case he'd have to give up the chase), but instead the cat veered and went the opposite direction. It took him a moment to think of where he could possibly be headed, but it connected and he started off in the shortest possible route to his destination. He was right behind the cat when he got there.
He shot once, hitting the tree near to the beast and scaring it. He wasn't sure when, but Derek Hale was there (like he'd just appeared out of thin air), and stood between him and the cat, as if he was protecting the monster from him. The cat was trying to enter the shell of a house, he shot once more and hit close to him, but the hand on his gun had prevented him from taking him down. Derek Hale was there-right in front of him-and wrenching the gun from his hand with superior strength. He struggled and the gun ended up flung away. He swept a leg out, trying to get the leather jacket wearing man off his feet. They fought, throwing punches and kicks for a moment before he figured out that he wasn't going to win this time. Abandoning his gun and his objective, at least for the moment, he took off back into the forest.
{break}
Stiles unfurled himself a little bit: lazy-warm and sleepy. He stretched out, all cat-like and yawned. His Dad tapped his knuckles on the arm of the couch. It had been a week since he'd been shot at and while he'd been skirting around his Dad's service piece with a little extra care, he'd settled back into his routine quite easily. Besides, if it was anything to go by, he didn't think he'd be seeing his stalker (shooter) anywhere nearby for at least a few more days (Derek had been quite pissed off at him and Derek was scary when he wasn't pissed off). School was starting today and though Stiles was looking forward to classes (he was a nerd, so sue him), he wasn't looking forward to seeing Jackson. Or Lydia... oh, Lydia...
He hadn't seen her all summer (he chose to keep an extra wide berth considering that she was probably pissed off at him for just leaving her in the field). She'd woken up while he was in Germany, but apparently hadn't even gone out of her parent's house in order to go clothes shopping. Stiles felt unbelievably guilty after he thought of it-how could she have even skipped his mind? He was roused from his thoughts as his Dad (who had been chewing on a bite of bagel with cream cheese) spoke.
“You ready for school?”
“Yeah, Dad.” He let his head fall back on the back pillow of the couch and rubbed his eyes with his hand before he sat up and gave him a thumbs up. His Dad nodded and gave a sort of smile as he jangled his own keys, pulling them out of his pocket.
“Don't be late.” Half a warning, half a joke. Stiles nodded and gave a tired smile in response. Then his Dad was gone, out the door and headed to work. Stiles had ten more minutes before he had to be out the door.
{break}
The day actually wasn't so bad... at first. He'd been in the presence of Allison and Scott, so he'd been able to skate by without anyone really noticing. When Lydia entered any room, the whole class went silent and it got mega uncomfortable, but on the plus side, she hadn't directed any sort of attention to Stiles. Well, he wasn't sure if that was a negative or a positive... he almost wanted to go talk to her, but kept chickening out.
Scott seemed to be intentionally shielding him the more the day went on-making sure he was away from windows and glancing at him all the time whenever they were in class. It was at lunch that things came to a head. Jackson had sat down in the chair next to Stiles, Scott on the other side, and quite a few of the other lacrosse players had followed after the two. Jackson kept leaning uncomfortably close and Stiles, in turn, kept leaning further into Scott. He was trying to ignore that he'd practically made out with the jock twice over the summer and blamed the incidents on his rollercoaster-like emotions that he'd been dragged through. He was more used to it now (he thought) and decided that it was something that wouldn't be happening again. Apparently Jackson hadn't gotten the memo.
Jackson had leaned closer yet again and Stiles leaned hard, knocking his shoulder into Scott's. Scott fumbled the kiss he'd been about to land on Allison's cheek and ended up kissing her eye, causing him to growl and toss a glare over at Stiles. Stiles wasn't paying attention because he was dodging Jackson yet again, so Scott turned his glare on him. “Lay off, dude.”
His voice sounded perfectly normal, but his eyes told a different story. Jackson met them and Stiles wished he could disappear. If there was going to be a dog fight, he most definitely didn't want to be in the middle of it. Danny was watching everything from across the table and Lydia was glancing curiously down at them from Allison's other side. Jackson seemed to acquiesce for the moment, but he started up again by leaning in and talking quietly into Stiles' ear. “You should come by mine tonight, we can finish what we started.”
As if to punctuate what he truly meant, his hand snuck below the table and squeezed Stiles' thigh. Stiles jumped in his seat, causing Danny to give them a very suspecting look. Stiles tried to duck his head and focus on his food, ignoring that his face was colored an unusually bright shade of pink and Jackson's, uhm, offer. Luckily enough, Scott had heard it and stood abruptly, Allison following his movements with questioning eyes. Stiles whipped his head back up as Scott's hand gripped the back of Jackson's shirt and moved to drag him forcefully out of the cafeteria. As Scott took in the glances of everyone at the table he fumbled an explanation. “Come on, Jackson, we need to talk about some lacrosse formations.”
Stiles wasn't sure whether he should be relieved that Scott was actually taking an interest in how messed up his life was getting or if he should be worried that a dog fight was about to break out in the school. He stood suddenly, jostling his tray and giving a stumbled dismissal of himself, practically running out of the cafeteria.
By the time he figured out where they'd gone (he temporarily forgot that he could smell around for them), they were walking back in from outside. They smelled like the mowed lawn from the lacrosse field, so he figured that Scott had dragged Jackson out there. Scott approached him easily and thumped his hand down on his shoulder. Okay, so Scott was okay but where was-Jackson lingered slightly behind, his eyes a little downcast, but he kept peeking up through his eyelashes at Stiles. Stiles looked back at Scott, who had turned him back around and slung his arm around his shoulder.
“Should I be worried?” The words tumbled out, unbidden. The fact that Scott was all buddy-buddy with him (and rubbing his wet-dog smell everywhere) and completely unconcerned about Jackson, well, it raised red flags. Stiles glanced back at Jackson. He was physically fine, he was even back to staring at Stiles (which was quite uncomfortable), so he turned back to Scott with a raised eyebrow. Scott patted his shoulder and shrugged. Allison, Lydia and Danny were coming out of the cafeteria doors, walking toward them. Scott waved at Allison with a smile, slipping his arm from around Stiles' shoulders and glanced at him.
“Good luck.” Scott looked like he was going to say more, but Allison was within earshot and had latched herself onto Scott. Scott latched back and Stiles had the urge to sigh exasperatedly. Jackson appeared at his shoulder and looked directly at him.
“Maybe a movie instead?” He sounded admonished, but all Stiles could do was throw his hands up and shake his head, retreating to grab his backpack and hurry off to his next class.
{break}
Stiles managed to make it through his last three classes of the day (the urge to just sleep through them wasn't almost insurmountable) and was tiredly trudging out to his Jeep, rubbing his face with his empty hand. He yawned and was quite glad that there wasn't any lacrosse practice today so he could catch a cat nap on the couch when he got home. He had tossed his bag through the window to his Jeep and reached for the handle of the driver's side door. A hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around, shoving him into the side of his car. Instantly alert, his lips parted and he went to say something most probably sarcastic and likely to end in his extreme pain but his words were silenced by the look in Derek's eyes. He let himself be dragged off through the parking lot, the pace making him trip over himself in order to keep up. It wasn't until they were in the forest that Derek's grip loosened a bit. Stiles didn't struggle, though, he just kept following as he tried to pick his way through the forest without falling over anything.
He wasn't sure how long they had been walking, but it was in silence. The rustling of the leaves under their step was the only sound as Derek led the way. His hand was still wrapped around Stiles' forearm, but he knew better than to complain or try to get out of his grip. Derek kept scenting and looking around-it made Stiles squeamish, always expecting something scary to pop out at them (not to mention the last time he'd been out here was when he was shot at). Stiles only started to recognize his surroundings for the last couple of minutes. He knew that Derek was bringing him to his family's old house, but he wasn't sure why exactly (unless it was either more humping, and he seriously hoped not, or he was going to be killed). On that thought he suddenly stopped. Derek walked two more steps before he came to the end of the line and Stiles' arm tugged in his grasp. Derek glanced back. Stiles swallowed thickly. Derek sighed and did that thing when you know he's about to yell.
“You know, I don't really want to be led like a lamb to slaughter,” He yanked his arm out of Derek's hold and crossed his arms over his chest, getting a bit defensive. “So I think you should probably tell me just why we're out here in the middle of the woods.”
Derek rolled his eyes and growled under his breath, but it was more human than wolf so Stiles guessed that he was okay for now. He fisted his hands and shoved them in his jacket's pockets. He looked back at Stiles in a way that made him feel like he was under a microscope. He shifted uncomfortably and tried not to look away. He dropped his eyes anyway and immediately cussed himself out inside his head, looking back into Derek's eyes again. Derek shook his head and reached out, grabbing Stiles' shirt at the shoulder and hauling him forward again. He started talking again, so Stiles quit fighting the movement and tried to listen. “You've practically got a target on your back and you act like it's just another day in Beacon Hills.”
Stiles shrugged, “Well I don't really expect him to come back. I mean, you scared him pretty good-right?”
Derek looked at him like he was crazy and strode forward at the same staggering pace as before, dragging him out of the trees and into the yard around the old Hale house. Stiles glanced at the house for a second, but ended up looking back at Derek as he didn't say anything. His voice was a bit higher when he spoke this time. “You did, didn't you? Please tell me you scared him off. Threatened his family, his balls... something?”
Derek carefully chose to skirt around the issue that Stiles was currently close to panicking over, instead he threw open the back door and let Stiles go, talking in a raised voice but only because Stiles was currently tripping over a loose board and sending it clattering across the floor. “All I know is he's still around. He's in a motel at the edge of town and he has a small arsenal with him.”
When he got his balance back (and he did rather quickly) he tried to straighten out his shirt and cleared his throat. He was trying not to have a panic attack at the mention of an arsenal while Derek looked at him oddly. He reached forward and tugged Stiles closer to him, his hand firm on Stiles' arm. Stiles pulled up short of crashing into him, caught somewhat off-guard from the sudden movement and snapped at him. “What the fuck?”
Derek ignored him and sniffed, and then let him go again. “Lunch must have really sucked.”
Stiles gaped at him, asking a million questions in his head-like was Derek spying on him? Did he smell how his day had gone? How did he know that lunch sucked? That was, until he realized that the stink of greasy food clung to his shirt, even after the trek through the forest. He closed his mouth and looked away, setting his jaw and trying to focus because dammit there were bigger problems than the school's lunch program. Derek walked further into the house, wandering up the stairs. Stiles walked after him without consciously deciding to do so (which probably fed the alpha wolf's ego). Finally, after Derek leaned against one of the walls, Stiles roused from his thoughts and spoke.
“Do the Argents know about him? Because if they don't, maybe they'll run him out of town. I mean, they don't know about me so it'll just look like he attacked an innocent kid. That could work, right?” He had his right hand's index finger pressed against the side of his mouth like he was keeping a secret. Derek's gaze flicked to it before he met his eyes again.
“Sure, if you want to run to the Hunters.” It almost seemed as if he was put out over the idea. He turned his head to look down the hallway. Stiles wanted to give yet another exasperated sigh. He shifted his weight and shrugged.
“Why shouldn't I? They can help, I don't feel bad about using them-it's a win-win situation.”
Now it seemed as though Derek was actually pouting, which was a preposterous idea. “You think that you can't trust us, is that it?”
Stiles was speechless, but he did manage to shake his head. He let the air out of his lungs, sounding like a punctured tire in the process and licked his lips, hands on hips. “That's not what I said. It's just that I'd rather leave it to someone else to deal with. You know, avoid the problem.”
Something had come over Derek, and he wasn't sure what it was. But Derek pushed himself back off the wall and looked directly at him. “I can deal with it.”
He took a step toward Stiles, “Let me deal with it.”
Was he begging?
Stiles' eyebrows knit together as confusion washed over his face. Derek's hand curled into the hem of his shirt, tangling the fabric with his fingers. When did his hand get there? Stiles tilted his head to the side and stepped back. Derek stepped with him, his grip never faltering. Stiles knew exactly where this was headed and quickly wanted to stop it. “Derek-Derek, stop.”
Belatedly, Stiles realized that his earlier panic had probably set it off. His pheromones or whatever it was that made this happen had clouded up in the spot where he had been standing and then Derek had strolled through it, inhaling and then getting all weird. Stiles put the flat of his hand against Derek's chest, but that didn't help when normally green eyes flashed red at him. Stiles could practically feel his tail poofing up, he did feel his claws come out. Derek was maneuvering him while Stiles was trying to find a way out of this situation. It was bad enough that he'd made out, naked with Jackson. He really didn't need another misunderstanding in his life. His back hit the wall and he tried to press himself back into it even though it was creaking like it might collapse at any moment. He turned his head away as Derek pressed closely into him.
He felt the drag of the tip of Derek's nose against his neck. He shivered and cringed, attempting to turn his head even further away. Blunt teeth sunk into his flesh and he yelped as they clamped down, lips warm and soft against his skin. The bastard was biting him! He smacked at Derek, but to no avail, he just stepped right up close and rolled his hips into him. He humped his leg a few times before Stiles managed to give a mighty shove. For a moment Stiles thought he might be able to slip out of the way and start the long walk back to the school parking lot and his Jeep, but Derek just shoved him back. Loose plaster sprinkled down and the wall creaked, but at least he wasn't biting him anymore-and the humping had stopped too. Unfortunately, Derek didn't come to his senses. He growled, more wolf than human, into Stiles' skin.
“You're mine, you understand. He won't touch you. He won't get anywhere close.” He inhaled against Stiles' neck and laved his tongue over his skin. Stiles made a face and squirmed, trying to kick out at the older man. He didn't succeed. Derek kept growling away, sometimes just rumbles and other times speaking. “Jackson can't protect you like I can. He ran like the pup he is; I stood and fought for you.”
This time he just snapped. Bloody slash marks dripped down Derek's face-from cheekbone down to the corner of his lips-as Stiles stood frozen, eyes wide and uncertain about whether he should be running for his life or groveling at Derek's feet. Both seemed like a good idea. Derek just gave a feral grin, his skin already healed, but he'd let go of Stiles. As Derek brought a hand up to presumably wipe the blood off of his face, Stiles took off.
{break}
To be honest, he thought about just sprinting home (forget the Jeep) or possibly running back to get his Jeep, but he only got as far as the Camaro parked in back of the Hale house. He was fuming, of course, and he paced the ground next to the car for a minute before he settled down into a sort of brooding, arms crossed, simmering anger. He leaned back against the car and faced the door to the house, waiting for Derek to come out and yell at him. He supposed he deserved it, but Derek also deserved to get scratched, whether he liked to think so or not. Minutes of silence stretched out in front of him and he was no longer breathing hard, but looking for any sign of life in the windows. Where had he gone? Surely he hadn't left. Stiles scented the air, but all he smelled was strange human scents, the tang of metal and gunpowder.
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