Chapter Text
“Ugh....” Stiles let out a groan. He thought he had his eyes open but he couldn't see a thing. His head felt about three times the size it normally was. Where was he? After stepping outside of the coffee shop the rest of his day was a blur. He hoped that not seeing anything meant that it was night time but then that meant it must have been at least ten hours since his last memory. He tried to turn his head and a wave of nausea gripped him. From his vision swimming he managed to pinpoint a spot of light that hadn't been there before and when everything focussed again he could tell he was looking up at the glow from some kind of electric light. Street light? Car? He couldn't tell. He could see one thing though. He was at the bottom of a very deep grave-like hole. Panic cleared his head a little. He was in the ground. Someone had knocked him out and dug his grave. Not a good sign.
He felt something move beside him and let out a little shriek. It was then that he noticed Derek lying beside him in the hole. Once he noticed him he wasn't sure why he hadn't before. The two of them were sharing a grave-for-one and it was pretty cramped in there. He put it down to the concussion and the fear of being buried alive. He tried to reach out to shake Derek when he realised his wrists were tied together. Great.
“Derek,” he whispered. No response. Never wake a sleeping Alpha usually seemed like good advice but in this situation... He rocked up against him, dropping his shoulder into Derek's chest, “Derek!”
Derek grunted and his eyes opened slowly. At the sight of Stiles lying beside him his mouth opened with surprise.
“Hi,” Stiles said weakly.
“What are you doing here?” Derek growled, accusing, like Stiles very presence was offensive to him.
“Uh...being held captive?” said Stiles, a little offended, “Believe me, it's not my first choice of nights out either,”
Derek looked around, quickly taking in the whole situation, “Who did this?”
“Probably someone from your long list of fans, how I got dragged into it--”
“Shut up,” Derek said, clearly feeling he'd been filled in enough. He squirmed where he was lying and couldn't seem to free his hands, “Chains with Wolfsbane coating” he said by way of explanation and then, “You're bleeding,”
He was looking up at Stiles' eyebrow like it offended him. Or maybe it just made him hungry.
“Sorry?” Stiles offered, not quite sure why Derek was bothered by such a small thing, “I think the real problem is our impending deaths though.”
“Are your legs free?”
“Yes.” Stiles said, wiggling them to make sure. Weak, but free.
“I'm going to climb on top of you and you need to try and boost me up with your legs.”
“Uh what? Can't you just jump up?”
“Not while I'm wearing these,” he said, already shuffling himself around. Stiles barely had enough time to prepare himself before Derek was lying on top of him. And look, fit and well muscled he might be, but he was also incredibly heavy as a dead weight. He looked up into Derek's face but found just the usual unreadable expression.
“Now?” Stiles asked through gritted teeth as he struggled to keep his lungs working. Then Derek did something strange. He pressed his face into Stiles' neck. And took a really big sniff. Stiles would have made a comment about personal space but clearly Derek didn't like what he smelled because he recoiled, somehow managing to sit up so he was now just straddling Stiles' legs as if he was trying to get as far away from the smell as possible. Erica was right!
“What did you do today Stiles?” his tone was accusatory.
“What did I do? Well, I didn't tie myself up and throw myself into a hole with a Werewolf if that's what you're asking. I met a girl in the coffee shop--”
Derek let out and exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes.
“What?”
“She was--”
“Hey boys, having fun down there?”
Staring down at them, given a halo by the light behind her, was Jess, the girl from the coffee shop. Stiles was suddenly very conscious that Derek was still straddling him.
“Jessica,” Derek growled and Stiles felt his whole body tense up.
“Oh crap,” she was a Werewolf, of course she was. And now he was going to die because he was seventeen and horny. Like so many before him. But there was still some hope, “Hey... Jess.. Derek's the Alpha around here, I don't think you know--”
“The current Alpha, Stiles, current.”
Oh great. As usual he'd been caught in the middle of some supernatural bullshit. Jessica disappeared from view and he couldn't resist muttering, “Told you this was probably your fault,”
“My fault? Who got himself caught in the first place?”
“Wait... did you come to rescue me?”
Whatever the answer was Stiles never heard it over a deep rumble in the earth to his right. It sounded like something big was moving towards them. Big and heavy. And he knew what it was because of course all graves have to be filled in. Derek realised too but it was too late to do anything about it as a tidal wave of earth dropped into the hole. Derek was forced down flat on top of Stiles again and this time they were both struggling to breathe.
“Uh, werewolf strength might be good now..” Stiles gasped.
“Wolfsbane..” Derek gasped, “in the earth...”
And it finally hit Stiles how screwed he was because it seemed that in their current conditions he was actually the stronger of the two of them.
A second wave of earth dropped on them, pressing them tighter together. Stiles wriggled his arms behind his back. He was only tied up with rope, not chains. That was something. His fingers searched around for something sharp, something to cut away at them with. Then he kicked himself. Or he would have if he hadn't been pinned down by a two-hundred-pound werewolf and half a graveful of dirt. Because he was the Sheriff's son. He fumbled about for a second then pulled the swiss army knife out of his back pocket. With some difficulty he flicked open the knife and promptly stabbed himself in the wrist. Ignoring the pain and the sticky sensation he assumed was blood he repositioned the knife and started sawing. Another wave of dirt fell down but this time didn't seem to add any additional weight. Or at least that was how it appeared until he looked up into Derek's face and saw how pale and sweaty it was. He had braced his knees against the ground and was trying to hold the dirt up, giving them both space to breathe for a little longer. The only thanks that Stiles could give was to cut through the ropes at his back. With some difficulty he brought his arms around. Not only were they stiff but the earth around them was getting tighter packed by the second. He didn't have time to think about claustrophobia though, Derek looked about ready to croak. He slid his hands around his back to the silver chains. They weren't locked, just twisted in a way that meant someone sensitive to Wolfsbane wouldn't be able to get them off. He wondered how Jess had put them on. Gloves? Derek's arms were free but the earth filled with Wolfsbane was clearly too much for him to handle and his attempts to keep it off Stiles were just sapping his energy more.
“Ok, when I say move, you drop” Stiles gasped.
“What?”
“I have to get out from under you if I'm going to dig us out.”
“Dig?”
Derek's ability to express himself in monosyllables was usually quite admirable but right now it was irritating.
“Just trust me.”
Whether Derek did or not was beside the point as the weight was clearly getting to much for him and when Stiles said 'now' he let it drop with relief. Scooting out of the way at the last moment Stiles saw Derek disappear under a mound of earth before the rest of it hit him. He threw up his arms to protect his head and let it come, buffeting him on all sides. When the flood had stopped he started digging. It was as ridiculously slow as you'd imagine but the earth was loose and dry and aside from its weight it was fairly easy to shift. He tried not to think of Derek getting crushed to death below him as he inched upwards out of the hole in the ground. His head hit air but he didn't stop to fill his lungs until he was pulling himself up out of the half-filled grave, then he lay on his back, coughing up the earth he'd swallowed and trying to suck in oxygen at the same time. Too late he remembered Jessica.
A heeled boot smashed into his ribs, sending him flying and knocking all that hard-fought-for oxygen out of his lungs. But hey, at least he landed next to a shovel. When he heard her approaching he swung it around and clocked her on the side of the head, surprise his only real weapon. The blow only made her laugh though. But it was enough. Behind Jessica the pack gathered, amber pin-pricks of light shining out of the darkness. She turned around too late and Scott had her on the ground in a millisecond.
“Derek--” Stiles gasped, pointing to the dip in the ground that used to be a hole. Erica, Boyd and Isaac quickly crouched to dig but it was slow going by their standards with every mound burning their hands. Stiles dragged himself over to the hole and handed over the shovel. With Erica digging in earnest and Stiles using his hands they soon reached the limp form of Derek in the ground. The wolves pulled him out and Stiles dusted off as much of the earth as he could. A splash of cold water was his first warning that someone had found a bucket and a tap but the cold brought a little colour back to Derek's face, even if that colour was slightly lighter blue. Stiles pressed his fingers to Derek's neck and felt the faint pulse still pounding, “He's alive,” he coughed, his throat feeling like he'd swallowed half the dirt himself, the cough only caused his ribs to ache and he vaguely remembered being kicked across the ground at some point, “Hospital?”
“We'll take care of him,” Erica said, helping Isaac to lift Derek, “back at the house. Scott can take you to the hospital.”
“Oh, I'm fine..” Stile said, trying and failing to stand up. He blinked down at his bleeding hands and tried to remember what had just happened. Scott was at his side and lifting him before he could say anything else or ask questions as to what had happened to Jessica. He just had time to admire the night sky before he blacked out again.
***
“Stiles!” the voice was urgent, desperate, but sounded far away and muffled in the blackness.
He opened his eyes and his hospital room was empty. The sounds of the beeping machines his only friends. He lifted his arm gingerly and saw an IV hooked up just above an impressive looking bandage that stretched from his hand all the way to his elbow. A tight feeling in his chest told him his ribs were also bandaged but he didn't have enough time to assess any more of the damage or to see if he was in one of those assless gowns because that's when his dad walked in.
“Stiles,”
He looked tired. No, exhausted. He leant over and kissed Stiles on the forehead before giving his shoulder a squeeze that was just a little too hard.
“How are you feeling?”
“You've not been eating from the vending machines have you?” Stiles asked, eyeing a stain on his dad's shirt. The fact that his dad could give him an irritated look still told him that at least he wasn't dying.
“Boy am I not the one in trouble here,”
“Is Scott here?” The idea that he might have to try and explain his injuries suddenly popped up in his mind and he didn't want to contradict whatever the others had said.
“Yes, he's outside, all your little friends are,”
“All?” Stiles blinked at him perplexed. Allison maybe?
“Yes, but I want to hear from you first what happened.”
Stiles searched his mind, “Well...I'm really not feeling...”
“Stiles,” his dad's tone was warning.
“Okay--” but whatever super-awesome story he was about to tell was stopped by a loud disorientating bang. Derek stood in his doorway looking wide-eyed and more than a little peaky. And it felt like he'd brought the wind with him from outside because Stiles had to hold down his gown. Yep, assless. Derek took in Stiles and his dad's shocked expressions and tried to make himself look more presentable. Unfortunately straightening out his hair only caused a shower of soil to fall on the clean-looking hospital floor. Stiles' dad stood up from the bed slowly, putting himself between Derek and his son.
“Mr Hale,” he acknowledged, tersely, knowingly or not his hand was straying towards his holster.
“Sheriff,” Derek nodded cautiously.
“And what do you have to do with all of this?”
Stiles peered around his father and tried to express in gesture form that he'd not told his father anything yet. He stopped when he gestured a little too violently and tugged on his IV line, wincing at the pain. Derek's expression darkened and Stiles guessed that he didn't like charades.
“Well... Stiles and the others were helping me renovate my house--”
“--Stiles was helping you what?!” his dad couldn't have sounded more surprised if Derek had said that Stiles had been helping Derek build a rocket ship so he could return to his home planet.
“-- And Stiles fell into this pit we'd dug.”
Great, the guy couldn't come up with some story that didn't make him look like a giant klutz. Last time he saved his life that's for sure.
“He fell. Into a pit?” The fact that the Sheriff was buying this probably should have mortally offended Stiles but at least he could overcome the anxiety he'd been feeling over coming up with a cover story. Falling into a pit had a beautiful simplicity. “What were you digging a pit for exactly?”
The pause is all that Stiles needs to chip in helpfully, “The rats”. The two men look at him. “Well... there were loads of rats, Derek's not the tidiest of people... so we were going to bury them... in a pit,” he thought for a moment then perfected his story, “Dead.”
“And you thought you'd use a bunch of teenagers as cheap labor?” Stiles' dad said, not indicating whether he believed the rat story or not, his anger fully focussed on Derek.
“We were just helping out dad because we're,” Stiles swallowed, “friends.”
He wondered if Derek would challenge this view but knew that he couldn't if he wanted to keep his cover.
“Stiles, me and Mr Hale are going to talk about this down at the station. I'll send Scott in.” He ushered Derek from the room but not before the Alpha could give Stiles another trademark scowl. What did a guy have to do to get a break?
Seconds later Scott walked in followed by Erica, Isaac, Boyd, Allison, Lydia and even Jackson. They all look super moody.
“Hi guys,” Stiles waves weakly.
“Hey Stiles, how're you feeling?” Scott asked.
“Yeah fine. Well, not fine but pretty glad I'm not trying to fight my way out of an early grave anymore. How're you guys? I mean... I didn't know you all cared.” No-one answered him. “Did something else happen? With Jessica?”
“The Argents took care of her.” Isaac said, avoiding Allison's eye. Stiles tried to feel bad about it, but the memory of gasping for air and burrowing through earth was too fresh in his mind.
“Good,” he said after a considered moment. No-one questioned his response but the mood in the room lightened a little. “So what's my prognosis? Am I gonna make it?”
“Broken ribs, stitches in your hand and face--”
“MY FACE” Stiles lifted his free hand to touch tentatively at the dressing over his right eyebrow, “but it's a sexy scar right?”
“Yeah, you look real glamorous,” Jackson said, rolling his eyes.
“Mom says it won't scar,” Scott added.
“And uh, Mr Bad-and-Moody? I mean he looked fine--”
“He came here as soon as he woke up,” Boyd frowned.
“He's recovering.” Scott added again, the only person who seemed to be trying to be comforting.
“How did Jessica know?” Isaac asked, fixing Stiles with a glare.
“Know what?”
“Well, obviously she smelled him.” Erica butted in. Stiles felt he was going to start getting a complex.
“What, just by chance?”
“Where did you meet her?” Erica asked.
“In the coffee shop. She seemed nice... from what I can remember of our conversation until she knocked me out and decided to bury me alive. So, you're saying she smelt the pack on me and that's why she went after me?”
“Not the p--” Isaac was stopped short by Erica elbowing him in the ribs.
“Yes,” she answered. He shot the two of them a suspicious look but neither face gave anything away.