Chapter Text
They’re winning, so far.
The other pack had more wolves, but mom was right. Their pack’s advantages made them more than even. His pack’s barely even injured.
Until a wolf manages to catch Derek off guard and sticks their hand into Derek’s stomach.
Painful is an understatement. He wants to scream, to claw at them, but no sound is coming out of his open mouth and he can’t move. He’s only dimly aware of someone tackling the wolf to ground, faint snarls ringing in his ears. After a moment, Daniel’s face appears in front of his, blood smeared on his lips.
“Hey.” He says, drawing Derek’s attention away from the gaping wound in his stomach. “Esta bien, okay? You’ll be fine.”
“Do I look fine?” he finally manages to croak.
“No, but you will. You’re healing, I can tell. I got you. We –” Daniel cuts off, turning around with a growl and quickly swipes his claws across someone’s neck. Derek squeezes his eyes shut and breathes, trying hard to ignore both the pain of the injury and the horrible tugging/itching sensation of healing. This injury is bad enough that he’ll probably have a scar at least until tomorrow morning.
Two things happen at once.
Derek hears his alpha’s roar followed by a terrible choking sound.
A terrifying scream comes from somewhere behind him.
When he opens his eyes, he sees his mother standing over what has got to be the body of the other pack’s Alpha. All the betas still standing have given up. But that’s not his main concern. That scream – he turns around and then his heart all but stops, because that’s –
That’s Stiles.
A large, muscular wolf has Stiles pressed back against a tree, arms pinned above his head, and he smells blood.
He starts to move, but Peter gets there first. He jumps and the wolf’s back and just rips his head clean off (Derek’ll stop and marvel at that later). Stiles falls to the ground with a whimper, and Derek gets to him as fast as he can.
“He broke his hands.”
“What happened?” Mom asks. Daniel sits Stiles down at the table. He’s crying, sobbing, making horrible little whimpers, but no one can really console him. No one’s been able to get his attention.
“I don’t know.” Derek starts. “I –”
“Stiles!” Elliot comes running in from the living room.
“Do you know what happened?”
“Yeah, he ran out when he saw Derek get hurt. I tried to go with him, but he told us to stay put.” They sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Dad says. “Lee, get your keys.”
“I can take him." Derek insists. He’s still hurt, but he can walk with not much problems. Dad shakes his head at him.
“Have you seen us? We’re covered in dirt and blood. Derek, your shirt is literally drenched in blood. A lot of bl – are you okay son?”
“I’m fine dad. But – I want to go with him.”
“I’m sorry hijo, but…” Mom glances back at Stiles, where he’s still rocking back and forth, crying. “I don’t think you can help him right now.”