The Nine Lives of Stiles Stilinski Part Six: "Nothing to Lose"
Series: The Nine Lives of Stiles Stilinski
Chapter Title: Nothing to Lose
Part: 6/9
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairings: eventual Derek/Stiles; some Jackson/Stiles; Scott McCall; Lydia Martin; Mystery Man; Misc Hunters.
Rating: Hard R/NC-17.
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: His hammering heart slowed somewhat and he weaved on his feet, leaning back into Derek somewhat gratefully.
Notes: snagged the idea for this from teenwolfkink.
Warnings: un-betaed. This series takes place after season one. Character death in this part, everyone!
Previous
Instinctively he dropped down into a crouch, the scent of gunpowder scorching the back of his throat and making his claws shink out into place. He clambered across to the door, awkward on hands and feet. He didn't dare stand up, though, in case it gave someone a target. He had the door slammed behind him and backed up, his back hitting a solid, warm mass. Derek was there, alert and trying to shuffle him back, away from the door. He dipped his head and spoke in a low, rumbling voice.
“They have us surrounded.” The thought of this terrified Stiles. His mind tried to quantify possible escape routes, but to no avail. It was either surrender or fight to the death. Wryly, he thought “at least I have eight more”. Derek grabbed around his bicep and spoke again, “Stop that, it's not helping.”
Stiles gulped down a couple of breaths, still smelling of human flesh and guns. His hammering heart slowed somewhat and he weaved on his feet, leaning back into Derek somewhat gratefully. He didn't bother to look away from the door as he spoke, softly like a whisper. “What about the underground tunnel?”
As much as he hated to bring it up since Derek's torture, it seemed like the only plausible way to get out of this horrible situation. Derek's hand slid down to twine their fingers together. It didn't feel bad, in fact it felt better than just being dragged everywhere, so when Derek squeezed his hand gently, he squeezed back. He turned his head and looked at Derek now, eyes searching to make sure that it was okay that he'd said anything about it. Derek was looking resolutely ahead and tugged on his hand as he stepped back, walking quietly through the house. He led Stiles to the hatch door that squeaked on it's hinges and headed down the short ladder. Once Stiles was down and wiping his dusty hands off on his pants, he took up Stiles' hand again, intent on leading them through the maze of tunnels and rooms that splayed out underground. The lights that had been strung up by the Argents were long since taken out and Stiles had to wonder if Derek felt any fear at all, being down here. A chill swept through him, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other.
They were part way through a tunnel when Derek glanced back, putting a finger to his lips in the widely used shushing motion, Stiles slowed and clung to Derek's hand with both of his own. He could see just like he was outside in the sunlight down here, but that didn't mean he liked the tunnels at all. He felt weird-like he didn't belong. Like he was being oppressed. He shifted uncomfortably and glanced around, carefully scenting the air. It smelled like burnt flesh. He coughed and hacked while Derek gestured at him to be quiet. He ended up having to put the flat of his palm against Stiles' mouth to muffle the sound, because Stiles couldn't stop. Derek had his other hand wrapped around Stiles' shaking shoulders, dragging him forward again, but glancing worriedly between the path they were taking and his pack mate.
When Stiles had finally calmed his breathing again, Derek removed his hand and pulled up again. The air didn't smell so bad anymore, but that didn't mean that it wasn't still hard to breathe. He decided he didn't want to die down here, so he glanced at his Alpha reluctantly, gesturing forward. “They're here, aren't they?”
Derek shushed him again and gripped the back of his shirt, hauling him forward. They walked in silence, carefully picking their way through the debris strewn throughout the tunnels. There was a bang behind them of someone running into something. It was far enough back in the tunnels that it echoed off the walls, but it still made Stiles jump in place, instantly alert. Derek paused, hesitating for a moment, but continued forward. They made it to the prison bar like door to the outside. The hinges were thankfully quiet this time, but the rustling of grass as the metal pushed it aside made Stiles tense. Derek sent him out first. He was two steps outside when a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He flailed and spun around to face the grabber, Scott already holding his finger to his lips. Stiles let out a ragged sigh despite himself, Derek ducking out of the tunnel and fastening the door behind him.
Jackson lingered next to a tree trunk, looking out into the yard. Twilight had set and the sunset was orangey-peach over the tree tops, but Stiles didn't take the time to look at it. He turned to Derek and grabbed for him as another inexplicable chill went through him. He played it off as though he had something to say instead of merely wanting to cling to him like the terrified kitten he was feeling like. “We should get out of here.”
A gun cocked behind them and the quartet whipped around to face it.
{break}
Lydia had a hard time getting over what had happened at the formal last year. Don't get it wrong, she was a strong girl (maybe not as adaptable as Allison, but still strong). Just going to school was difficult, and she certainly never went anywhere near the lacrosse field. Not that anyone pushed her to, except herself. She was glad when Jackson had offered to come over to study with her, although she was sure that meant actual studying and not sex. They hadn't done anything, even kiss, since her 'accident'. She wasn't sure if it was her or if it was him anymore, not that it really mattered. But regardless of whether or not they were having sex, she still cared about him more than she usually cared to admit.
His abandoning her to sit next to Stiles at lunch had been a hard pill to swallow (it was normal for him to force other people out of the way in order to sit next to her and she loved it), but she knew something changed over the summer. Perhaps this was just part of that. She had watched as he had gotten all buddy-buddy with the kid who had always had a crush on her. It was obvious that Stiles wasn't all that interested in the attention, to the point where Scott (who had always been lower than Jackson on the totem pole until recently) had dragged Jackson off for a talk. She'd been further put out when she was the second one that Jackson turned to for companionship-she'd always been the first, so she wasn't sure if this was because of her lack of motivation to go outside the house or not.
In spite of herself, she was more than happy to forget all of that and just be glad to be spending time with him. It seemed, though, that he was completely distracted. Conversation was halt and go, Jackson's eyes kept pulling to look out the window more and more. She knew something was up when he started fidgeting. Finally, when it seemed like he was going to come out to just say it (the afternoon sun was waning and she didn't have all night, you know), he just said that he had to go for family dinner. She knew that was bullshit, but let him go anyway. He was just getting into his car when the idea to follow him and see what was up struck her.
{break}
“Going somewhere?” The voice was heavy and foreboding, Stiles' fingers dug into Derek's arm. Derek glared down the barrel of the gun, defiant and dominant as always. Not that it made much of a difference, there was still a gun pointed at them. Derek growled, a guttural sound that Stiles almost didn't recognize as words at first.
“Scatter.” The one word had Scott and Jackson taking off on all fours in different directions. Stiles jumped into action, sprinting off at a randomly selected direction just a split second after the other two. Derek had chosen a separate path, all four of them running away from each other. Stiles wasn't certain this was the best tactical advantage, but he decided that running probably was the best method of survival. That alone kept him going.
He was sucking as much air into his lungs as possible and his legs were straining, tree branches tearing at his clothes and skin. A flash of strawberry blonde hair to his right-Lydia? A gunshot to his left. He took off again, he didn't have enough time to think about that right now. He kept going, feet pounding and throat torn up. He really wasn't good at this whole being shot at thing. A shot from his right and he kept running, hoping that he literally dodged the bullet. Then he was nearly bowling over a young woman with auburn hair pulled back into a tight bun on the back of her head. She whipped around and he narrowly avoided the knife she flung at him. He saw Scott out of the corner of his eye avoiding a spray of bullets from a shotgun as he ran in close to knock out the hunter carrying the weapon.
He turned on his his heel, a far quicker turn than most would have been able to accomplish without their feet sliding out from under them. Derek came from behind the woman Stiles had almost run into and struck her on the back of the head. Another knife was loosed before she dropped like a stone and it whistled by Stiles' ear, thunking into a low hanging branch. Derek growled at Stiles, his eyes blood red, but the intent seeming different than 'I'm going to rip your throat out'. It was more like 'get yourself together', and surprisingly he listened.
A gunshot rang out behind them and Stiles saw the tail end of the brown coat whip past the door frame of the old Hale house. The hunter who had originally been after him. In a split second he had decided, his body flinging forward in the way it had only done once before and his clothes crumpling to the ground as he took off toward the house. His paws made hardly a noise on the porch, his momentum coming to a sudden screeching halt right before he would have run into the door. His tail flicked and he sniffed as his paws led him, at a walk, down the porch to a smashed in window. He maneuvered himself through it easily and landed with a slight woosh of air.
He trotted behind a wall, knowing that the hunter would likely come at the sound with his gun at the ready. He sat, his tail curling around his paws. His whiskers twitched, he heard boots hit in the room across the entryway-the kitchen. Stiles moved toward the back of his room as the footsteps went to the front of the room across the way. His paws were much quieter than the boots, though the man probably couldn't hear either. He heard the click of the gun as the man pointed it around the corner. Outside there were thumps and yells and occasional gunshots. On the plus side they didn't seem so trigger happy anymore, so Stiles had to wonder if someone had gotten shot. He sincerely hoped not. The man angled himself out into the entryway and Stiles inhaled. He smelled of Germany, though there was a bit of Beacon Hills and airplane on him too.
He leaped from the shadows to land with the flat of his paws on the man's shoulders, knocking him off balance, and then turned tail and disappeared into the gloomy back part of the dilapidated house again. There were some curse words hissed, one boot stomp and back to what was pretty much silence. Stiles moved through the back room and waited, but his hunter was swinging his gun around and pointing it toward the shadows. If he was quiet, he might be able to sneak around. The tip of his tail twitched.
He didn't even see it coming. This hunter was quick and smart, so as Stiles was mid-air and on the verge of taunting him once more, he swung his weapon around and shot. Sure, it wasn't like it was a kill shot, but it might have been worse (assuming that he had the mythical nine lives, of course). The bullets hit him in the side-it took a second for the pain to register and the blood to spray, but when it did Stiles dropped like a stone.
{break}
Lydia watched as Jackson met up with Scott McCall (sans Allison) and stood out in the dark woods seemingly waiting for someone. She made sure to stay out of sight, just barely peeking through some lower branches of a tree as she waited with them. Then Stiles Stilinski was there, stumbling out of a tunnel Lydia hadn't noticed was there. A moment later Derek Hale was coming out of the same tunnel and there was a hushed sentence from Stiles. A shadow caught her eye and she watched a man walking toward them. They didn't seem to notice, too worried about one another and Jackson was looking in her direction at the time, sniffing like he was some sort of animal. It made Lydia tense that Jackson didn't see; she almost cried out to protect him when the gun was pointed at them and cocked. She slapped her hand over her mouth and stifled a whimper.
When they all ran off, Stiles sprinted faster than she'd ever seen him move-it was beautiful, graceful-but then he was looking her way and she ducked around the trunk, hand still clasped around her mouth in order to not let a sound escape. All hell broke loose and she laid on the ground, not daring to move as gunshots rang out through the woods at twilight. Twigs were sticking into her clothes and her hair was wrecked, but for once she didn't care what state she was in. Tears ran down her face unbidden, her makeup smearing.
{break}
Before he hit the ground, or maybe when he did, he was human again. His hands were pressed to the wound, his whole body shaking and seizing as the blood poured over his fingers. He wasn't sure if he could stop the bleeding, not with just his hands. Oh god, he was going to die here. He was going to die naked, on the grimy floor of the burnt out old Hale house. Somewhere in him instinct kicked up and he was trying his best to crawl back away from the gun that was still pointed at him. The man-Stiles could see him in the light now and his mouse brown hair had flecks of gray that ran from his temples and vanished into the thick of his trimmed but full beard, dark eyes that could have been brown or black or even dark green but he couldn't tell because it was shadowed by a brown hat that was reminiscent of an old cowboy hat-was reloading his weapon slowly, purposefully, as if he knew that Stiles had no chance in getting away.
He babbled, like he was good at doing. He wasn't even sure what he was saying, although he was pretty certain that he wasn't goading him on, but he just kept talking. It wasn't phasing the man at all, he just proceeded with readying his weapon for the next shot. The scent of blood was overwhelming and he was sure that his pack would be able to smell it where ever they were. He had to drag his left leg because it wasn't working at all through the pain, his hands covering the torn flesh of his wound. He was almost sure he was crying a bit too, but who could blame him-it wasn't like he could heal up a second after like it was nothing. He was almost through the doorway he'd previously come from when the gun was loaded. The front door was right behind the man and it banged open, but the shot was already leaving the barrel. It was all Stiles could do to move his eyes from the bullets speeding toward him to meet Derek's eyes as they struck him in the chest from close range.
{break}
It was no question to him-once he saw the impossible amount of blood spatter across Stiles' chest and face, his torso fall back so he was lying, dead on the floor of his family's old house-he snapped. The wolf took over and a howl of rage echoed through the air, cutting through the fighting outside between the few hunters that were left conscious and the two beta wolves. Derek didn't even care anymore, his body changed shape and his clothing was left in tatters in the doorway. His teeth gleamed, sharp and itching to sink into the flesh of the man who was already taking off through the house. His paws took him in pursuit, his red eyes searching for the quickest path to the destruction of his mate's murderer.
His ears flicked as similar howls of rage echoed around the rooms, making him certain that Scott and Jackson had found Stiles' body. He didn't pay attention to them afterward. He chased the man, catching up as quickly as he could. The scent on him was foreign, yet the same as the other hunters' that were scattered in the yard and woods. They were all unconscious, so nothing stopped Derek as he launched himself in the air after the man. It turns out one of the hunters was conscious and managed to sink a bullet into his side. It wasn't enough to put him down (he wished it could have been, if only he didn't have to live without his mate), but it was enough to let the murderer get away. Derek limped as fast as he could after him, but he was speeding away in a rental car before Derek could get there. Derek watched the tail lights disappear into the distance, vowing to get revenge on him as he turned back and limped his way back to the house.
He skirted around the conscious hunters in the yard and slipped through the back door of the house, his body changing back slowly. The bullet plunked out over the floor boards and his wound started closing up as he crossed the floorboards. Jackson and Scott were huddled there, whimpering and growling and crying, but moved when he rumbled a growl and dropped to his knees beside his mate's corpse. He reached out, his hand entirely human, a wave of grief washing over him as he touched his shoulder. A half howl, half sob choked out of him and he yanked Stiles' body close to him, his arms encircling his upper torso. It was where most of the bullets were and the blood was, but Derek didn't care. He cared more about looking into the glassy eyes that were open and staring blankly, caught in his expression of utter terror and pain. He didn't notice anything else, he couldn't.
{break}
Lydia made sure there wasn't anyone around with a gun by the time she was scrambling across the yard, eyes open impossibly wide as she tried to find Jackson. She was terrified and hated the idea that she'd hidden from the fight-but what was she supposed to do? She hated the idea that Jackson had been hurt because she hadn't been there to help him. She kept tripping over everything: the ground, her own feet, anything that was nearby. She just barely managed to climb the steps and took in the pile of clothes in the door, but she stepped around them. Her hair was sticking to her face, but she didn't care. As soon as she saw Jackson, she flung herself at him. He held her close and petted her hair, cupping her face. He kept asking her something, but by then she'd seen what was behind him. Stiles Stilinski was dead. Stiles, the nerdy kid who was goofy and admittedly very funny and had always been vying for her attention, was dead. He'd been shot. She wasn't able to respond to anything. Jackson was buzzing about, still asking her something and trying to get her hair out of her face, but she didn't hear him. She looked at him with some confusion and they sunk down to sit on the floor of this old run-down house. There was just so much blood.
{break}
It felt like so much time had passed. He was stuck in this state where he was sure he was dead, but there was no pain and there was nothing around. It was all a dark gray, a place where nothing seemed solid-nothing was real. He had no body, so he couldn't go walking about to find out if this was supposed to be heaven or hell or whatever, find out if there were others like him here. But it felt like time had passed and that he was going to waste his life here. Yes, his life. He needed to get back to that, didn't he? He couldn't go back just yet though, he was sure of it. There was some reason... something he couldn't think of right now.
After some time of just being in this state, not a notion in his head about much of anything, he was thrust back into life. The pain was incredible, but not as much as it had been when he was shot that first time. His lungs sucked in a harsh, ragged first breath as his eyes pulled everything back into focus. Skin, slightly tan but smooth skin. An arm muscle that bulged near his face. His heart was pumping hard, but maybe that was just in contrast to the nothing he'd been feeling earlier. Then Derek's face was there, just above his, eyes wide and hot tears coursing down to splash on Stiles' cheek. Was Derek... was he crying?
Stiles was trying to push himself up. He was saying something unintelligible, maybe about sitting up maybe about Derek crying on him, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that Scott was there, lingering next to him and hesitantly reaching to help Derek to help him sit up. He'd been crying too. Derek growled and Scott kept his hands to himself. Stiles was sore and he slumped into the nearest solid object-Derek. Jackson was clenched tightly to Lydia's hand. Oh, when had she gotten here? Derek's hipbone dug into his side, where his wound used to be and Stiles wrenched himself around trying to take in every inch of what used to be torn skin. It was smooth and not scarred. Stiles blinked and realized that Derek just might be naked. It strangely didn't bother him much. Not like being in the nude in front of Lydia. He requested a blanket and Scott was off to get one. Not that Stiles was sure he would find one in this ramshackle house.
Stiles' hand grasped the muscle that had been in front of his face when he'd come back to life, feeling it tense only slightly as Derek shifted positions. He sat himself behind Stiles and propped him up, the warm actually soothing his sore body. He made no move to get away, although he thought maybe he should. Lydia crawled forward a bit, it seemed to be the only movement she was capable of. She whispered, afraid maybe if she spoke louder that Derek's wrath would fall on her or something.
“Are you okay?”
He guessed what she really meant was 'what are you?', 'how are you alive?', 'what happened here?'. Because as far as he knew, she didn't know anything about the wolves and Jackson and hunters and him. He still found it odd that he was a part of all of this now. He nodded awkwardly as a blanket was draped over his legs. Derek's arms were around him again and his sharp gaze landed on Lydia, forcing her back to Jackson's side. Stiles was quiet then, just watching as the others contemplated everything and tried to inch closer. Derek kept growling at them to keep them back. Stiles wasn't sure if he should be grateful or worried that Derek would never let anyone touch him again. He decided to deal with it later, after he'd slept. He sagged in Derek's grip and let his eyes fall shut.
Next
Chapter Title: Nothing to Lose
Part: 6/9
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairings: eventual Derek/Stiles; some Jackson/Stiles; Scott McCall; Lydia Martin; Mystery Man; Misc Hunters.
Rating: Hard R/NC-17.
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: His hammering heart slowed somewhat and he weaved on his feet, leaning back into Derek somewhat gratefully.
Notes: snagged the idea for this from teenwolfkink.
Warnings: un-betaed. This series takes place after season one. Character death in this part, everyone!
Previous
Instinctively he dropped down into a crouch, the scent of gunpowder scorching the back of his throat and making his claws shink out into place. He clambered across to the door, awkward on hands and feet. He didn't dare stand up, though, in case it gave someone a target. He had the door slammed behind him and backed up, his back hitting a solid, warm mass. Derek was there, alert and trying to shuffle him back, away from the door. He dipped his head and spoke in a low, rumbling voice.
“They have us surrounded.” The thought of this terrified Stiles. His mind tried to quantify possible escape routes, but to no avail. It was either surrender or fight to the death. Wryly, he thought “at least I have eight more”. Derek grabbed around his bicep and spoke again, “Stop that, it's not helping.”
Stiles gulped down a couple of breaths, still smelling of human flesh and guns. His hammering heart slowed somewhat and he weaved on his feet, leaning back into Derek somewhat gratefully. He didn't bother to look away from the door as he spoke, softly like a whisper. “What about the underground tunnel?”
As much as he hated to bring it up since Derek's torture, it seemed like the only plausible way to get out of this horrible situation. Derek's hand slid down to twine their fingers together. It didn't feel bad, in fact it felt better than just being dragged everywhere, so when Derek squeezed his hand gently, he squeezed back. He turned his head and looked at Derek now, eyes searching to make sure that it was okay that he'd said anything about it. Derek was looking resolutely ahead and tugged on his hand as he stepped back, walking quietly through the house. He led Stiles to the hatch door that squeaked on it's hinges and headed down the short ladder. Once Stiles was down and wiping his dusty hands off on his pants, he took up Stiles' hand again, intent on leading them through the maze of tunnels and rooms that splayed out underground. The lights that had been strung up by the Argents were long since taken out and Stiles had to wonder if Derek felt any fear at all, being down here. A chill swept through him, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other.
They were part way through a tunnel when Derek glanced back, putting a finger to his lips in the widely used shushing motion, Stiles slowed and clung to Derek's hand with both of his own. He could see just like he was outside in the sunlight down here, but that didn't mean he liked the tunnels at all. He felt weird-like he didn't belong. Like he was being oppressed. He shifted uncomfortably and glanced around, carefully scenting the air. It smelled like burnt flesh. He coughed and hacked while Derek gestured at him to be quiet. He ended up having to put the flat of his palm against Stiles' mouth to muffle the sound, because Stiles couldn't stop. Derek had his other hand wrapped around Stiles' shaking shoulders, dragging him forward again, but glancing worriedly between the path they were taking and his pack mate.
When Stiles had finally calmed his breathing again, Derek removed his hand and pulled up again. The air didn't smell so bad anymore, but that didn't mean that it wasn't still hard to breathe. He decided he didn't want to die down here, so he glanced at his Alpha reluctantly, gesturing forward. “They're here, aren't they?”
Derek shushed him again and gripped the back of his shirt, hauling him forward. They walked in silence, carefully picking their way through the debris strewn throughout the tunnels. There was a bang behind them of someone running into something. It was far enough back in the tunnels that it echoed off the walls, but it still made Stiles jump in place, instantly alert. Derek paused, hesitating for a moment, but continued forward. They made it to the prison bar like door to the outside. The hinges were thankfully quiet this time, but the rustling of grass as the metal pushed it aside made Stiles tense. Derek sent him out first. He was two steps outside when a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He flailed and spun around to face the grabber, Scott already holding his finger to his lips. Stiles let out a ragged sigh despite himself, Derek ducking out of the tunnel and fastening the door behind him.
Jackson lingered next to a tree trunk, looking out into the yard. Twilight had set and the sunset was orangey-peach over the tree tops, but Stiles didn't take the time to look at it. He turned to Derek and grabbed for him as another inexplicable chill went through him. He played it off as though he had something to say instead of merely wanting to cling to him like the terrified kitten he was feeling like. “We should get out of here.”
A gun cocked behind them and the quartet whipped around to face it.
{break}
Lydia had a hard time getting over what had happened at the formal last year. Don't get it wrong, she was a strong girl (maybe not as adaptable as Allison, but still strong). Just going to school was difficult, and she certainly never went anywhere near the lacrosse field. Not that anyone pushed her to, except herself. She was glad when Jackson had offered to come over to study with her, although she was sure that meant actual studying and not sex. They hadn't done anything, even kiss, since her 'accident'. She wasn't sure if it was her or if it was him anymore, not that it really mattered. But regardless of whether or not they were having sex, she still cared about him more than she usually cared to admit.
His abandoning her to sit next to Stiles at lunch had been a hard pill to swallow (it was normal for him to force other people out of the way in order to sit next to her and she loved it), but she knew something changed over the summer. Perhaps this was just part of that. She had watched as he had gotten all buddy-buddy with the kid who had always had a crush on her. It was obvious that Stiles wasn't all that interested in the attention, to the point where Scott (who had always been lower than Jackson on the totem pole until recently) had dragged Jackson off for a talk. She'd been further put out when she was the second one that Jackson turned to for companionship-she'd always been the first, so she wasn't sure if this was because of her lack of motivation to go outside the house or not.
In spite of herself, she was more than happy to forget all of that and just be glad to be spending time with him. It seemed, though, that he was completely distracted. Conversation was halt and go, Jackson's eyes kept pulling to look out the window more and more. She knew something was up when he started fidgeting. Finally, when it seemed like he was going to come out to just say it (the afternoon sun was waning and she didn't have all night, you know), he just said that he had to go for family dinner. She knew that was bullshit, but let him go anyway. He was just getting into his car when the idea to follow him and see what was up struck her.
{break}
“Going somewhere?” The voice was heavy and foreboding, Stiles' fingers dug into Derek's arm. Derek glared down the barrel of the gun, defiant and dominant as always. Not that it made much of a difference, there was still a gun pointed at them. Derek growled, a guttural sound that Stiles almost didn't recognize as words at first.
“Scatter.” The one word had Scott and Jackson taking off on all fours in different directions. Stiles jumped into action, sprinting off at a randomly selected direction just a split second after the other two. Derek had chosen a separate path, all four of them running away from each other. Stiles wasn't certain this was the best tactical advantage, but he decided that running probably was the best method of survival. That alone kept him going.
He was sucking as much air into his lungs as possible and his legs were straining, tree branches tearing at his clothes and skin. A flash of strawberry blonde hair to his right-Lydia? A gunshot to his left. He took off again, he didn't have enough time to think about that right now. He kept going, feet pounding and throat torn up. He really wasn't good at this whole being shot at thing. A shot from his right and he kept running, hoping that he literally dodged the bullet. Then he was nearly bowling over a young woman with auburn hair pulled back into a tight bun on the back of her head. She whipped around and he narrowly avoided the knife she flung at him. He saw Scott out of the corner of his eye avoiding a spray of bullets from a shotgun as he ran in close to knock out the hunter carrying the weapon.
He turned on his his heel, a far quicker turn than most would have been able to accomplish without their feet sliding out from under them. Derek came from behind the woman Stiles had almost run into and struck her on the back of the head. Another knife was loosed before she dropped like a stone and it whistled by Stiles' ear, thunking into a low hanging branch. Derek growled at Stiles, his eyes blood red, but the intent seeming different than 'I'm going to rip your throat out'. It was more like 'get yourself together', and surprisingly he listened.
A gunshot rang out behind them and Stiles saw the tail end of the brown coat whip past the door frame of the old Hale house. The hunter who had originally been after him. In a split second he had decided, his body flinging forward in the way it had only done once before and his clothes crumpling to the ground as he took off toward the house. His paws made hardly a noise on the porch, his momentum coming to a sudden screeching halt right before he would have run into the door. His tail flicked and he sniffed as his paws led him, at a walk, down the porch to a smashed in window. He maneuvered himself through it easily and landed with a slight woosh of air.
He trotted behind a wall, knowing that the hunter would likely come at the sound with his gun at the ready. He sat, his tail curling around his paws. His whiskers twitched, he heard boots hit in the room across the entryway-the kitchen. Stiles moved toward the back of his room as the footsteps went to the front of the room across the way. His paws were much quieter than the boots, though the man probably couldn't hear either. He heard the click of the gun as the man pointed it around the corner. Outside there were thumps and yells and occasional gunshots. On the plus side they didn't seem so trigger happy anymore, so Stiles had to wonder if someone had gotten shot. He sincerely hoped not. The man angled himself out into the entryway and Stiles inhaled. He smelled of Germany, though there was a bit of Beacon Hills and airplane on him too.
He leaped from the shadows to land with the flat of his paws on the man's shoulders, knocking him off balance, and then turned tail and disappeared into the gloomy back part of the dilapidated house again. There were some curse words hissed, one boot stomp and back to what was pretty much silence. Stiles moved through the back room and waited, but his hunter was swinging his gun around and pointing it toward the shadows. If he was quiet, he might be able to sneak around. The tip of his tail twitched.
He didn't even see it coming. This hunter was quick and smart, so as Stiles was mid-air and on the verge of taunting him once more, he swung his weapon around and shot. Sure, it wasn't like it was a kill shot, but it might have been worse (assuming that he had the mythical nine lives, of course). The bullets hit him in the side-it took a second for the pain to register and the blood to spray, but when it did Stiles dropped like a stone.
{break}
Lydia watched as Jackson met up with Scott McCall (sans Allison) and stood out in the dark woods seemingly waiting for someone. She made sure to stay out of sight, just barely peeking through some lower branches of a tree as she waited with them. Then Stiles Stilinski was there, stumbling out of a tunnel Lydia hadn't noticed was there. A moment later Derek Hale was coming out of the same tunnel and there was a hushed sentence from Stiles. A shadow caught her eye and she watched a man walking toward them. They didn't seem to notice, too worried about one another and Jackson was looking in her direction at the time, sniffing like he was some sort of animal. It made Lydia tense that Jackson didn't see; she almost cried out to protect him when the gun was pointed at them and cocked. She slapped her hand over her mouth and stifled a whimper.
When they all ran off, Stiles sprinted faster than she'd ever seen him move-it was beautiful, graceful-but then he was looking her way and she ducked around the trunk, hand still clasped around her mouth in order to not let a sound escape. All hell broke loose and she laid on the ground, not daring to move as gunshots rang out through the woods at twilight. Twigs were sticking into her clothes and her hair was wrecked, but for once she didn't care what state she was in. Tears ran down her face unbidden, her makeup smearing.
{break}
Before he hit the ground, or maybe when he did, he was human again. His hands were pressed to the wound, his whole body shaking and seizing as the blood poured over his fingers. He wasn't sure if he could stop the bleeding, not with just his hands. Oh god, he was going to die here. He was going to die naked, on the grimy floor of the burnt out old Hale house. Somewhere in him instinct kicked up and he was trying his best to crawl back away from the gun that was still pointed at him. The man-Stiles could see him in the light now and his mouse brown hair had flecks of gray that ran from his temples and vanished into the thick of his trimmed but full beard, dark eyes that could have been brown or black or even dark green but he couldn't tell because it was shadowed by a brown hat that was reminiscent of an old cowboy hat-was reloading his weapon slowly, purposefully, as if he knew that Stiles had no chance in getting away.
He babbled, like he was good at doing. He wasn't even sure what he was saying, although he was pretty certain that he wasn't goading him on, but he just kept talking. It wasn't phasing the man at all, he just proceeded with readying his weapon for the next shot. The scent of blood was overwhelming and he was sure that his pack would be able to smell it where ever they were. He had to drag his left leg because it wasn't working at all through the pain, his hands covering the torn flesh of his wound. He was almost sure he was crying a bit too, but who could blame him-it wasn't like he could heal up a second after like it was nothing. He was almost through the doorway he'd previously come from when the gun was loaded. The front door was right behind the man and it banged open, but the shot was already leaving the barrel. It was all Stiles could do to move his eyes from the bullets speeding toward him to meet Derek's eyes as they struck him in the chest from close range.
{break}
It was no question to him-once he saw the impossible amount of blood spatter across Stiles' chest and face, his torso fall back so he was lying, dead on the floor of his family's old house-he snapped. The wolf took over and a howl of rage echoed through the air, cutting through the fighting outside between the few hunters that were left conscious and the two beta wolves. Derek didn't even care anymore, his body changed shape and his clothing was left in tatters in the doorway. His teeth gleamed, sharp and itching to sink into the flesh of the man who was already taking off through the house. His paws took him in pursuit, his red eyes searching for the quickest path to the destruction of his mate's murderer.
His ears flicked as similar howls of rage echoed around the rooms, making him certain that Scott and Jackson had found Stiles' body. He didn't pay attention to them afterward. He chased the man, catching up as quickly as he could. The scent on him was foreign, yet the same as the other hunters' that were scattered in the yard and woods. They were all unconscious, so nothing stopped Derek as he launched himself in the air after the man. It turns out one of the hunters was conscious and managed to sink a bullet into his side. It wasn't enough to put him down (he wished it could have been, if only he didn't have to live without his mate), but it was enough to let the murderer get away. Derek limped as fast as he could after him, but he was speeding away in a rental car before Derek could get there. Derek watched the tail lights disappear into the distance, vowing to get revenge on him as he turned back and limped his way back to the house.
He skirted around the conscious hunters in the yard and slipped through the back door of the house, his body changing back slowly. The bullet plunked out over the floor boards and his wound started closing up as he crossed the floorboards. Jackson and Scott were huddled there, whimpering and growling and crying, but moved when he rumbled a growl and dropped to his knees beside his mate's corpse. He reached out, his hand entirely human, a wave of grief washing over him as he touched his shoulder. A half howl, half sob choked out of him and he yanked Stiles' body close to him, his arms encircling his upper torso. It was where most of the bullets were and the blood was, but Derek didn't care. He cared more about looking into the glassy eyes that were open and staring blankly, caught in his expression of utter terror and pain. He didn't notice anything else, he couldn't.
{break}
Lydia made sure there wasn't anyone around with a gun by the time she was scrambling across the yard, eyes open impossibly wide as she tried to find Jackson. She was terrified and hated the idea that she'd hidden from the fight-but what was she supposed to do? She hated the idea that Jackson had been hurt because she hadn't been there to help him. She kept tripping over everything: the ground, her own feet, anything that was nearby. She just barely managed to climb the steps and took in the pile of clothes in the door, but she stepped around them. Her hair was sticking to her face, but she didn't care. As soon as she saw Jackson, she flung herself at him. He held her close and petted her hair, cupping her face. He kept asking her something, but by then she'd seen what was behind him. Stiles Stilinski was dead. Stiles, the nerdy kid who was goofy and admittedly very funny and had always been vying for her attention, was dead. He'd been shot. She wasn't able to respond to anything. Jackson was buzzing about, still asking her something and trying to get her hair out of her face, but she didn't hear him. She looked at him with some confusion and they sunk down to sit on the floor of this old run-down house. There was just so much blood.
{break}
It felt like so much time had passed. He was stuck in this state where he was sure he was dead, but there was no pain and there was nothing around. It was all a dark gray, a place where nothing seemed solid-nothing was real. He had no body, so he couldn't go walking about to find out if this was supposed to be heaven or hell or whatever, find out if there were others like him here. But it felt like time had passed and that he was going to waste his life here. Yes, his life. He needed to get back to that, didn't he? He couldn't go back just yet though, he was sure of it. There was some reason... something he couldn't think of right now.
After some time of just being in this state, not a notion in his head about much of anything, he was thrust back into life. The pain was incredible, but not as much as it had been when he was shot that first time. His lungs sucked in a harsh, ragged first breath as his eyes pulled everything back into focus. Skin, slightly tan but smooth skin. An arm muscle that bulged near his face. His heart was pumping hard, but maybe that was just in contrast to the nothing he'd been feeling earlier. Then Derek's face was there, just above his, eyes wide and hot tears coursing down to splash on Stiles' cheek. Was Derek... was he crying?
Stiles was trying to push himself up. He was saying something unintelligible, maybe about sitting up maybe about Derek crying on him, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that Scott was there, lingering next to him and hesitantly reaching to help Derek to help him sit up. He'd been crying too. Derek growled and Scott kept his hands to himself. Stiles was sore and he slumped into the nearest solid object-Derek. Jackson was clenched tightly to Lydia's hand. Oh, when had she gotten here? Derek's hipbone dug into his side, where his wound used to be and Stiles wrenched himself around trying to take in every inch of what used to be torn skin. It was smooth and not scarred. Stiles blinked and realized that Derek just might be naked. It strangely didn't bother him much. Not like being in the nude in front of Lydia. He requested a blanket and Scott was off to get one. Not that Stiles was sure he would find one in this ramshackle house.
Stiles' hand grasped the muscle that had been in front of his face when he'd come back to life, feeling it tense only slightly as Derek shifted positions. He sat himself behind Stiles and propped him up, the warm actually soothing his sore body. He made no move to get away, although he thought maybe he should. Lydia crawled forward a bit, it seemed to be the only movement she was capable of. She whispered, afraid maybe if she spoke louder that Derek's wrath would fall on her or something.
“Are you okay?”
He guessed what she really meant was 'what are you?', 'how are you alive?', 'what happened here?'. Because as far as he knew, she didn't know anything about the wolves and Jackson and hunters and him. He still found it odd that he was a part of all of this now. He nodded awkwardly as a blanket was draped over his legs. Derek's arms were around him again and his sharp gaze landed on Lydia, forcing her back to Jackson's side. Stiles was quiet then, just watching as the others contemplated everything and tried to inch closer. Derek kept growling at them to keep them back. Stiles wasn't sure if he should be grateful or worried that Derek would never let anyone touch him again. He decided to deal with it later, after he'd slept. He sagged in Derek's grip and let his eyes fall shut.
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