Archive of Our Own

"Heyyyyy," Stiles said, drawing the word out awkwardly.

Derek sighed into his phone. "What now, Stiles?"

"Is that a way to greet your boyfriend? Lover? Partner? Love of your life?"

Derek sighed again, deeper this time. "Why are you calling me at three thirty in the morning? You're not drunk, are you?"

"Nope," Stiles said. He sounded a little out of breath.

"Don't tell me you want to try the phone sex thing again, Stiles. I thought we'd decided we sucked at it," Derek said. He sat up in bed and ran a hand over his face. "I swear, if you called me just so I could listen to you jerk off--"

Stiles barked out a laugh and Derek frowned. That wasn't Stiles happy 'glad to be annoying you' laugh. That wasn't any kind of happy laugh at all.

"Stiles?"

"No jerking off, I promise." There was some rustling over the line and more panting.

Derek stood up and wedged his phone between his shoulder and his cheek. "What's going on?" he asked, sliding on his jeans and fishing for the shirt he'd tossed on the floor earlier.

"I might be having a slight problem."

"With this really very nice pack that offered you dinner and recommended a really very nice inn to stay at?" Derek asked, only half-mocking.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, nice job throwing my own words back in my face. What do you want me to say? You were right, okay? Whatever. Can you save the 'I told you so' for after the rescue?"

Derek shoved his feet into his boots and laced them up quickly and with enough force that he had to slow down and loosen his grip or risk snapping the laces. "You still in the same place?"

"Yeah," Stiles said. "Well, I'm out in the woods right now."

"I'll be there in an hour and a half. Can you hold on that long?"

"I'm gonna have to, won't I?" Stiles said lightly, his tone belying the seriousness of the situation.

"Stiles--"

"I know," Stiles interrupted.

Derek didn't know what to say in reply, so he kept quiet. He grabbed his keys and his jacket and headed out of his loft. "Anything else?"

"Bring the pack," Stiles said. "And maybe my dad. And Chris. Or at least some of their guns," he said. "The five werewolves who introduced themselves? Just the tip of the iceberg."

"Just hold on until we get there," Derek said. If Stiles was willing to involve his dad if necessary, it had to be serious. "And be careful. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"I know," Stiles said. After a pause, he added. "Hey, Derek?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't be such a Sourwolf."

Derek's lips twitched upwards. "Funny," he said.

"Aren't I always?" Stiles said. "I'm gonna put my phone on mute and switch on GPS tracking. I'll try and evade them for as long as I can, but there are at least eighteen of them that I could count."

"Understood. We'll come and find you."

"You always do," Stiles said quietly. "Gotta go. Check the GPS for the general location; I'll try and mask my scent so they don't find me. Love you."

Stiles hung up before Derek could say anything else and he hated himself for being a little glad about that. He loved Stiles. Nobody even questioned it, not even Stiles. But he still hadn't managed to say the words. Stiles assured him it wasn't necessary. He went out of his way to create situations where Derek couldn't say it until after the moment had passed. Hanging up the phone right after. Kissing him without giving him a chance to speak. Whispering it across the room where his only reply could have been another whisper, but one that Stiles' human ears couldn't have picked up anyway.

Derek sighed and turned the SUV downtown. He'd stop by Argent's place, make a plan on how to divide the pack and what weapons to take. He sent a quick text to Scott, asking him to meet up at Argent's apartment. He sent a second one saying it was about Stiles. He didn't doubt that Scott would come if he asked even with Stiles clear across the country and out of harm's way. That was what Scott did. He knew Derek wouldn't call in the middle of the night without reason. But better safe than sorry.

Stiles thanked the gods - but mostly Deaton - for knowing which wild growing herbs he had to crush and rub over his pulse points to mask his scent. Deaton deserved a fruit basket or something when he got back. Not only did Stiles know which herbs were the most effective scent blockers, but he could actually identify them. And all that despite Deaton's vague and sporadic lessons.

Stiles strained his ears, but he couldn't hear anything besides the regular forest noises. The full moon overhead shone enough light down on the forest that he could navigate the terrain without having to worry about falling into any ravines, but it wasn't enough to keep him from stumbling through the semi-darkness. He'd already taken a header into a thorny bush and rammed his shoulder into a nearby tree after tripping over a root. Thankfully he didn't have any wounds beyond a few scratches. The scent of blood was far harder to mask, especially from a pack of rabid werewolves.

Sighing, Stiles stuffed a few more crushed herbs into his pockets and into his underwear. It was itchy and uncomfortable, but better than the alternative. He waited for a few beats, then headed East - or at least he hoped it was East - taking a circular route back to the village.

Hiding in the forest was a stopgap measure. A temporary solution. He couldn't outrun a wolf pack. He definitely couldn't outfight them. He could, maybe, string them along until his own pack got here, or he could try and outfox them.

Grinning at his own mental pun, Stiles backtracked a little and then took another trail. If he could stall his pursuers long enough to get back to the village and his car, maybe he could escape and meet up with his pack at the halfway mark.

A branch snapped behind him and Stiles froze. Of course, there was the possibility that Clea's pack was just toying with him, just like they had been for the entire evening. Guest of honor, my ass, Stiles thought.

Some days it was all too easy to see how some hunters lost sight of the code and the idea that werewolves, like humans, were innocent until proven guilty. Clea's pack was a good example of the kind of pack that gave werewolves a bad name. The fact that they were still running around without a care though meant that they were smart and careful and kept below the radar.

Probably killed everyone who found out, Stiles decided. Everyone who found out, and a few out-of-towners who were unlucky enough to stop in town for whatever reason.

The night was quiet again and Stiles started moving. All of his weapons were in his Jeep. He'd stumbled over a thick branch earlier and briefly contemplated taking it with him as a makeshift weapon, but it had been heavy and too long to be practical. The wood had been dry and brittle, too. Good for one hard swing at the most, but probably not even that. Instead of letting himself be weighted down by a useless weapon, Stiles had left the branch behind. Now he almost wished he'd taken it with him. He felt naked without his bat.

Time to find himself a better weapon than a crumbling stick.

They took two cars, his SVU and Chris'. Derek insisted on driving. Scott got into the passenger seat without saying a word. The girls exchanged looks, then Lydia and Kira climbed into the backseat and Malia ambled over to Chris and Isaac. When they pulled out of the parking lot, Derek could see Malia in the passenger seat of Chris' SUV. His lips twitched into a quick smile. Malia fit in well with them, finding her place in the group. It hadn't been without difficulties, but Scott and especially Stiles had helped her a lot in the beginning.

They'd been on the road for fifty minutes when Scott's phone rang.

"It's Chris," he said, pressing a few buttons. "Go ahead; you're on speaker."

"I've made a few calls in the last hour, asked around a little. Nobody knows anything about that pack - they've been flying completely under the radar. Even if they were harmless, a pack that size would at least be monitored. Which makes me think they've been playing this game for a long time."

"It's not a game," Derek said tersely.

"To them it is," Chris said. "And I have a feeling Stiles is going to break all the rules."

"He's good at that," Scott said, sounding oddly proud. "He always cheats."

Derek smirked. "Good thing he has us for backup then. We don't generally play by the rules either."

"The roads are pretty empty," Chris said. "Let's push at a few more rules," he added before hanging up the phone.

Derek scanned the road behind him, watching the other SUV's headlights come closer. He pushed down on the gas.

"What's the GPS say?"

Lydia, who'd been staring at her phone, blinked up at him, their eyes meeting in the rear view mirror. "He's circling back to the town."

"But he's still moving?"

Lydia nodded. "Yeah, he's still moving."

Derek gave a curt nod and focused back on the road. Stiles was good. He was fit, he was smart, he was experienced. If he'd made it this far, he'd make it until they got there.

The moonlight wasn't bright enough to let Stiles read his watch, but it had to have been at least an hour before he got anywhere close to the town. He could see the lights through the trees. He could even, if he squinted and pretended it was a whole lot brighter than it was, make out his Jeep, the last car in the diner's parking lot.

He couldn't see or hear anything suspicious. In fact, he couldn't hear anything at all. No wildlife. No birds. No rodents. None of the usual nighttime forest sounds. That pretty much guaranteed that at least one, but probably more, of Clea's pack were nearby. Probably watching him. Playing with him.

Stiles didn't kid himself. No matter how many runs he went on with Scott, no matter how many training scenarios Derek and Scott and Chris cooked up and made them run through - he was still human. He could hold off the wolves for a while, confuse them and trick them, but ultimately they'd find him.

By the looks of it, they'd found him a while ago. Now the question was: how long would they draw out the game? And would Stiles' pack get there in time to help him?

Stiles blinked and focused back on the Jeep he could see through the trees. Of course the pack would get there in time. They always did. He just had to hold on.

Behind him, a twig snapped.

Stiles' heartbeat picked up.

Someone to his left laughed.

"Playtime's over," Stiles muttered, mostly to himself, his hand tightening around the sharp, pointy stone he'd picked up a while ago.

"You got that right," a dark voice said from his right. It sounded like one of Clea's sons, but in the dark Stiles couldn't be sure.

Stiles glanced up, using the beta's electric blue eyes to pinpoint his location. He probably thought it wouldn't hurt him to give his position away - there was a fifty/fifty chance it wouldn't. But that also meant there was a fifty/fifty chance it would.

Stiles smirked and drew his arm back. Years on the lacrosse team meant he had pretty good aim. He threw the heavy stone slightly to the side, hoping that if the beta instinctively tried to side-step the projectile, he'd step right into the line of fire.

The beta yelped, his eyes going dark.

Behind Stiles, several voices rose up in alarm.

Stiles took that as his cue to run.

"Stop the car, Derek."

Derek glanced into the rear view mirror. Lydia briefly turned her phone around, allowing Derek to catch a glimpse of the GPS tracker app installed on it. The blinking red dot showed that Stiles was still 1.2 miles ahead of them, at the edge of the only village within a twenty mile radius.

"Stop the car," Scott repeated, sitting forward in the passenger seat, his head cocked to the side. He unfastened his seat belt and shot Derek a look, his eyes edged in red. "Now."

Derek hit the brakes, pulling up at the side of the road. He was out of the car and at Scott's side before Lydia had even opened her door.

Chris pulled up behind them. "What's going on?"

"We're out of time," Scott said. "You three go ahead with the plan. Kira, Derek and I are going to run the last bit - it'll be faster. Lydia, take the car and meet us there."

Chris pulled back onto the road and Lydia nodded, taking the keys from Derek.

Scott threw his head back and roared, making every hair on Derek's body stand on end. It was as much a warning to the other pack as it was reassurance for Stiles that his pack was close-by.

Kira strapped her katana to her back and they set off at a fast run, heading for Stiles' last known location.

Derek didn't have an alpha's range of hearing any more, but he thought he could almost hear Stiles' heartbeat, fast but steady. He just had to hold on for another minute.

Instead of running in a straight line, Stiles darted around the injured beta and made a sharp left before ducking down.

The guy right behind him stumbled and overshot his mark now that the intended target wasn't where it should be. He crashed into a tree.

Stiles didn't hang around to gloat. He turned back, heading straight for his Jeep. That was his best bet. He had a sack of mountain ash under the backseat. If he could reach that, he could hold them off until the pack got here - or until Clea's pack grew a brain and realized they could still injure or kill him by throwing a knife - or even a goddamn rock - at him.

Stiles was thirty feet from the Jeep when he realized he wouldn't make it. Not only was Clea standing right next to the Jeep's rear hatch, a nasty smile on her face, but there was a set of claws at his neck, not even an inch away from two of his major arteries.

Well, fuck.

It was Scott that saved his life - again. Scott's roar, to be precise. It sounded close - a lot closer than Stiles had dared to hope - and it made the werewolf with his claws at Stiles' neck rear back.

"What the hell was that?" he asked.

Stiles risked a glance out of the corner of his eye. Another one of Clea's sons. From what he could tell, five or six of the male pack members were Clea's sons. The two youngest - that he had seen - were teenage boys who looked like they could be her grandsons. The family business: hunting people, eating them, Stiles thought to himself, barely managing to contain his semi-amused snort. After six years of running for his life, he'd finally gotten the hang of gallows humor. More often than not, though, he didn't really have an appreciative audience for his efforts.

"Who cares?" Clea said. "Some joker who's late to the party. We'll take care of him after."

This time, Stiles couldn't help the snort that escaped him. Scott wasn't what a lot of people would consider threatening. Between his youth, his soft dark eyes and the crooked jaw with its wide smile, a lot of people underestimated Scott, even after half a decade of growing into his role as an alpha.

"What are you laughing about?" Clea snarled at him, closing the distance between them in the flash of an eye. She grabbed his neck, her clawed thumb digging uncomfortably into the soft flesh under his chin. "After I kill you and feast on your insides, my children will devour the rest of you. That stray dog howling in the woods won't come to your aid - and if he does, we'll kill him, too."

"Small problem with that," Stiles said, pushing away the pain when the movement of his jaw caused Clea's claw to slice open his skin. "It's not a stray. And he's not alone."

Clea's eyes narrowed, scanning the forest on the other side of the diner. The village was right in the middle of the forest. The forest itself was split in half by a single road that also led straight through the village. The diner was on the Southern edge of it, the police station on the Northern edge. In between were houses and a few shops for the roughly 200 inhabitants.

"Boys! Spread out. Find our little stray and bring him here," Clea said.

"I'm right here."

Stiles almost sagged with relief. Scott and Derek emerged out of the forest, side by side. Kira was right behind them, her eyes scanning the area.

Clea took one look at them and laughed. "What's this supposed to be?"

"That's my pack," Stiles said.

"Your pack? This rag tag bunch of nobodies?"

Scott and Derek stepped out of the shadows and slowly crossed the road, Kira following after them. They came to a stop on the other side of the Jeep. Stiles wanted to rush over to them, but Clea still had him in an iron grip, the tip of her thumb claw piercing his skin, drawing blood. In this particular instance, he decided, he could stand not to draw attention to himself.

One of Clea's sons made a step towards them, but Clea shook her head. "That's adorable. Our little snack brought some of his little friends. Guess we're going to have ourselves a real party after all."

"Oh, you will," Scott said, his eyes gleaming a dull red. "But I'm not so sure you'll like the way it ends."

"That's not the way things work around here, kid. You see, this is my town and these are my people." Clea barked out a laugh and gave Stiles a rough shake. "Things always turn out the way I want them to."

Stiles caught Derek's eye and gave him a sheepish smile. Derek had warned him about talking to strange werewolves, but in true Stiles Stilinski fashion, he'd ignored the warning and Derek asking him to come straight home. In his defense though, Clea and her sons - one of whom ran the diner they were now standing behind - had seemed really nice and not at all crazy in a cannibalistic sort of way... until halfway through dinner anyway.

Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles wasn't fooled. Derek's eyebrows always gave away how worried he was, and judging from the steep slopes they formed right now? He was very worried. And very pissed off.

Derek's eyes flared blue as they traveled down Stiles' face and landed on Clea's hand at his throat.

Stiles was about to do something stupid - namely, clear his throat and ask a stupid question like "so I hear a Mexican standoff only really works when all parties have a gun on someone else but I'm sadly unarmed - what are you gonna do about that?" - when Clea's werewolves perked up like they'd heard something. Derek, Scott and Kira stayed motionless. Whatever it was had to be part of the plan, then.

When Derek's SUV came barreling down the street way too fast, most of Clea's pack blended into the background, fading into the woods and out of sight. Clea retracted her claws and instead swung her arm around his neck. From a passing car, it would look like an awkward - possibly drunk - embrace but not like a hostage situation. Of course, Clea didn't know it was Derek's car and that the flash of red hair Stiles could see behind the wheel was Lydia.

The car was almost at the diner when Lydia jerked the steering wheel around and cut across the strip of grass between the road and the diner's parking lot, heading straight for Stiles.

Clea jumped to the side to get out of the path of the car. Stiles, still caught up in her choke hold, felt himself be dragged along to safety. The guy standing on his other side wasn't fast enough.

The sound of breaking bones and a cut off scream made Stiles almost glad that his face was pressed into Clea's shoulder.

Then all hell broke loose.

Lydia hit the high beams on the SUV, filling the parking lot with some much needed bright light. It also had the benefit of momentarily blinding any werewolves who'd been looking straight at the car.

A shot rang out and suddenly Stiles was free. He stumbled back.

Clea was sprawled down on the ground, a bloom of fresh blood spreading out from her right shoulder.

Stiles grinned. "Thank you, Isaac," he muttered. After Allison's death, Isaac and Chris had left Beacon Hills for a while. Isaac had come back with his very own rifle and a determined look in his eyes. Both hunters and werewolves gave him shit for it and while Stiles didn't really appreciate Isaac's smart-ass comments when they were directed at him, he definitely enjoyed it when Isaac put some uppity hunter in his place with a few sassy remarks. (It also helped that Isaac was a surprisingly good shot.)

Scott and Kira brushed past him, giving him identical smiles. He smiled back, turning his head to see the flash of steel as Kira brought her katana down across the chest of the first werewolf she encountered. Scott headed straight for Clea but was derailed by one of her sons.

Stiles stumbled backwards, shaking his head to clear it. Turns out being put in a choke hold by a werewolf - even a half-assed hold without too much strength behind it - was enough to make even a guy who could get out a two-minute monologue on one single breath slightly dizzy.

Stiles hit something hard and whirled around, bringing his arms up to -- at this point? Flail dramatically, probably, and wait for someone to rescue him. Again.

But it was Derek's hazel eyes he saw when he turned around.

Stiles sighed in relief and dropped his hands, letting himself fall forward into Derek's arms.

"You okay?" Derek asked, automatically wrapping his arms around Stiles' back to keep him upright.

Stiles nodded against Derek's shoulder. "I'm fine. A little dizzy but fine." He patted Derek's back and then pulled away. "I'm gonna grab my bat and my bag of tricks from the Jeep. Go beat up some bad guys, honeybuns."

"Stop with the cute names, Stiles," Derek said. "Or I will call you something horrible in front of your dad."

"You would never," Stiles said. "You love my dad too much to scar him like that."

Derek huffed. "Don't get killed."

"Right back atcha," Stiles said.

Derek ran a hand over the back of Stiles' neck, squeezing slightly, and Stiles shivered at the comforting - and possessive - gesture. They needed to take care of this pack, stat. Stiles hadn't seen Derek in over a week. He needed to drag Derek off for some much-needed quality time together - and by that he meant make-out time - and he couldn't do that with Clea and her cannibalistic offspring running around.

Derek took a few moments to make sure Stiles was all right and then threw himself into the fray. Scott was working his way towards the alpha, but one of her betas always got in the way whenever Scott defeated the last one.

These people had lured Stiles in and then tried to kill him. Worse even - they'd hunted him down and tried to eat him. Derek curled his hand into fist and punched the first stranger he came across, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone under his knuckles. He followed it up with a broken arm and a dislocated shoulder, making sure the guy would stay down for a few minutes at least.

Over the sound of his SUV's motor and the snarls coming from Scott and his opponent, he could hear gunshots and growls from the woods as Chris and Malia worked their way around from behind the enemy pack. Isaac was somewhere behind them and across the street, using his rifle to pick off the ones that got too close to Lydia or Stiles. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Stiles beating one of the rival betas over the head with his bat before dumping a handful of mountain ash on him.

Grinning, Derek joined Kira in making a path for Scott. He punched and clawed his way through two male and three female betas before he had another chance to look around and take stock of the situation.

Kira's blade was smeared with blood and she had a hand-shaped smudge on her right shoulder, like she'd been clawed by one of her opponents. But the wound was already closed, leaving only dried blood in its wake. Kira caught his eye and grinned, her eyes glowing a bright, warm amber.

Derek grinned back, letting his own eyes flash blue for a second. His own injuries were minimal. A low-grade drum of pain surged through his body, not localized in any of his body parts but spread out, a collection of the various pains and aches from the bruises and scrapes he'd collected over the last ten minutes. It would fade as soon as his body had a chance to catch up on the healing without having new injuries added to the old ones. One of the female betas had managed to claw at his face and he could feel the dried blood on his temple and at the corner of his eye. He'd actually punched one of the guys so hard that he'd broken the guy's jaw and a few of his own fingers.

Isaac had abandoned his rifle and joined the fight. He had his hands wrapped around his opponent's throat, growling slightly as he pulled back far enough to punch the man.

On the other side of the parking lot, Chris and Malia emerged from the trees. Chris swung his modified baton and caught one of the betas in the neck. The low hum of the electricity was all the warning the man got before he seized up and fell to the ground, twitching. Malia was at Chris' side, a vicious smirk on her face. Drops of blood flew from her claws every time she swung around to claw at someone else.

Derek saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned, catching the approaching beta in the face with his elbow. Before he could do anything else, Stiles was there, swinging his bat. He hit the beta's arm hard enough to break it. Derek kicked him and he stumbled, falling to his ass a few feet away and clutching at his injured arm.

"How are we doing?" Stiles asked, looking around. He pulled a face when he caught sight of Kira slicing through the leg of her latest opponent, cutting through the flesh and down to the bone. "Scratch that, I can see it's going pretty well for us. Where's Scott?"

Derek looked up just in time to see Scott pounce on the rival alpha. She was older - in her sixties at least - and if her shoulder hadn't been injured already, Scott would have had a harder time taking her down. The way she managed to dance out of Scott's reach and land a few painful blows of her own spoke to her experience and strength. But Scott was young and strong. He wasn't hindered by a serious injury and his pack was still standing and mostly unhurt, lending him the strength he needed to pin the alpha to the ground, one arm across her throat. The claws of his free hand hovered over her side, ready to strike and hold her there if she tried to break free.

One of the rival alpha's betas rushed forward in a desperate attempt to attack Scott while he was distracted. Scott raised his head, his eyes a deep crimson, and roared right in the beta's face, his lips pulled back in a snarl. Derek felt the roar more than he heard it. It settled in his bones and demanded submission. He dipped his head down, seeing Stiles and Kira do the same out of the corner of his eyes.

The enemy betas all fell back, unsure. The one who had made the attempt to attack actually cowered down, neck bared. The rival alpha threw Scott a heated glare, but eventually turned her head the slightest bit.

"Stiles," Scott said.

Stiles handed his bat off to Derek and walked over to the two alphas, circling them while shaking small amounts of mountain ash onto the ground. When only a small gap remained, Scott sat up, letting go of the female alpha. He stepped back, waiting to see if she would make a move. She snarled at him and sat up, awkwardly holding her still bleeding shoulder, but didn't attempt to attack. Scott nodded at Stiles and Stiles closed the mountain ash circle, trapping the alpha.

"This is the last time you accept anyone's invitation for dinner," Derek said. He shot a glare at the defeated pack. They were all lined up, sitting against the back wall of the diner, hands bound with ropes soaked in wolfsbane solution. "What made you think it was a good idea to go with these people? One looks crazier than the next."

"I already said I was sorry, didn't I?" Stiles said, suppressing a yawn. Isaac had his rifle across his lap, sitting guard. He was idly playing with a silver bullet, smirking whenever one of the subdued wolves glanced his way and then quickly found something else to look at. Behind him, Malia was pacing up and down the parking lot. She looked happy and full of energy. Malia had an unhealthy taste for violence and mayhem and it was wrongwrongwrong that he still found it kind of hot. He caught Malia's eye and she winked, bouncing on her heels a little. Stiles sighed. At least he had a very understanding boyfriend who wasn't above flashing a little fang whenever Stiles felt he needed a little danger in his life.

"I'm having weird thoughts," Stiles said. "And I haven't slept in thirty-six hours. Can we go home now?"

"In a minute," Derek said.

Stiles nodded, watching Derek as he conferred with Chris and Scott about what to do with the rival pack. Derek's shoulders were tense and he kept his back straighter than straight, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes found Stiles' every few seconds, as if to make sure he was still there.

Stiles sighed. That wasn't Derek's "I need to punch someone" stance. It looked a lot like it, with the bulging arm muscles and the killer glare in his eyes, but it wasn't. This was Derek, uncomfortable and unsure what to do with his emotions. He'd looked like that after the party that had them waking up half-naked in the same bed and after Stiles told him he loved him for the first time. He'd looked like that when Stiles' dad had knocked on the loft door one random afternoon and said, "So… you're dating my son."

Stiles blinked. He felt a little fuzzy around the edges - sleep deprivation and a post-adrenaline crash weren't a combination for staying awake and alert. Stiles zombie-shuffled his way across the asphalt, closing the few feet of distance between him and Derek. Six steps until he could lean against Derek's back, wrap his arms around Derek's middle and rub his cheek against Derek's shoulder.

Derek relaxed a little, his shoulders sagging as he uncrossed his arms and put his hands over Stiles'. Stiles closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of Derek's aftershave. He could almost pretend that they were just out somewhere, walking through town. Not over an hour outside of their own territory, in a town where they ate people for dinner.

Stiles heart skipped at the thought of how close he'd come to being killed tonight. When he'd realized that something was seriously wrong with Clea and her family, he'd held out for a few more minutes to make sure they hadn't realized he was on to them. It was only his experience with werewolves that got him a small head start, sneaking out of the bathroom window while he left the tap running to cover any noise he made during the escape. He'd been so stupid, though. Leaving his Jeep at the diner instead of following Clea and her family in his own car. Accepting the invitation into their home in the first place. Never mind the werewolf business - his dad was the sheriff. He knew better than to follow a group of strangers to their home. At least he'd been smart enough to tell someone, even if he'd ignored Derek's advice to just come straight home.

But he'd been tired and Clea had looked like a nice old lady and--

"Stop thinking about it," Derek muttered, his hands squeezing Stiles'.

Stiles opened his mouth to agree, all that came out was a heartfelt yawn. "Sorry," he said, leaning a little more heavily on Derek.

"Come on, Stiles, you're asleep on your feet," Derek said. He turned around and reversed their positions, putting himself at Stiles' back. "Come on," he repeated, steering Stiles towards his SUV.

Lydia and Kira were in the backseat, leaning against each other. They appeared to be fast asleep, but Kira opened her eyes when they came closer. She smiled and put a finger over her lips. Stiles nodded sleepily and dug his heels in.

"No, Derek. My Jeep. We can't leave my baby here."

Derek sighed. "Fine, Kira can take my car."

Stiles saw Kira nod and he waved, the thought of going home giving him a little more energy. He dug his keys out of his pocket and jangled them.

Derek shot him a glance. "You're not driving."

"I don't need to," Stiles said. He dropped the keys into Derek's hand. "I have my own personal chauffeur."

Stiles walked over to the passenger side. "I should make you open my door for me."

Derek sighed. "Why do I even like you?"

"Shut up," Stiles said, "you love me."

Derek caught his eye across the Jeep's roof. "Yeah," he said. "I really do."

Stiles blinked at him, a slow smile spreading over his face.

"Stop smiling like that," Derek said. He opened the door and got into the driver's seat.

Stiles climbed into the car and reached for Derek's hand, squeezing it lightly.

Derek started the car and pulled out onto the road.

Outside, the sky was slowly brightening.

Stiles didn't feel tired anymore. He felt alive and full of energy. Maybe - just maybe - he could convince Derek to pull over at some point and help him get rid of some of that energy.

Stiles leaned back against his seat and turned his head to study Derek's face.

Derek glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "I told you to stop smiling like that. You look deranged," he said, but he reached out and tangled his fingers with Stiles', the gentle gesture belying his gruff words.

Away from the parking lot light and the SUV's headlights, it was almost too dark to make out, but Derek was definitely blushing.

Stiles smiled a little harder.