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Things were moving, somewhere far, far away. Bodies were thrown away, breaking, reforming. Roars were breaking through the quiet of the night, angry and revengeful, sometimes, they were so sad, they sounded more like howls at the unforgiving moon, that moved across the sky, taking all the light and guidance with it, leaving them in a kind of darkness, that never really went away.
He was pushed away, flung, like he was weightless, hollowed out. He hit the ground, and almost didn't make a sound. But then, there was a heaviness that went past the one set on his lungs, making him slightly breathless, almost, all the time. There was a warmth in the air, brushing against his skin, a beating against his chest, that was too steady, to be his own, too comforting, to be unkind.
He opened his eyes, and there were arms around his face, almost burying him into a chest. There was a head, laying on top of his, grounding him, without leaving all its weight, in fear of crushing him. There were legs around his own, and a body blanketing him, surrounding him, in an odd sense of familiarity, of home, that he'd never found outside of his father, until now.
" Derek," He breathed, suddenly aware of the gunshots sounding around them, frequent and heavy and determined, like they wouldn't stop, till everything about the rest of them did. Till the town was blanketed in death and loss and grief, till there was no one left, nothing left but them.
Wrinkles smoothed away, breath steadied, as eyelids pulled away from one another, revealing eyes so green and hazel and grey and never just one thing or the other. Derek's body was slightly convulsing, rising every time an ordinary bullet went through it, crashing before Stiles could ever feel the emptiness where it once laid. His heartbeat remained calm and steady, feeling all the holes healing, before they were ever really there.
Then, something hitched by Derek's lips, the breath prolonged, sounding like it could be the last. His heartbeat tripped, halted, then sped up, like it was being chased away from his chest. His eyes closed, head lolled, till it fell on Stiles' shoulder. Stiles' fingers were shaking, moving over Derek's back, trying to shield him, or move him, or pour something into him, but when Stiles put them in the air, they glistened with a layer of something red and overwhelming, that never should have been there.
" Derek, come on," Stiles was pulling at Derek's shirt, trying to pull him away, push his motionless weight, to get him the hell away from there, and fix whatever his healing couldn’t. But Derek was heavy, stubborn and desperate in the way he wanted to cover Stiles, to keep him safe and protect him, even after a poisoned bullet of wolfsbane had hit his back, burned through his skin, and tore through his organs.
" Fucking hell, Derek, move, we need to move." Stiles groaned, tugging and kicking, till Derek's upper body, fell away from his own. He pulled away, till he was no longer under Derek. He put his hands out, when a particularly close bullet sounded, before he scrambled to his feet, putting Derek's arms over his shoulder, and lifting so fiercely, he swore he could hear things breaking, giving out.
" Stiles, what are you doing? Get down." Scott yelled, dodging a bullet, roaring, before hitting someone's head into a nearby tree, knocking them out.
" Derek is hurt. I need to get him out of here." Stiles turned away, like Scott wasn't still yelling things out, and bullets weren't still flying so close, he could almost hear them, whooshing by. But there was a trail of blackened blood where Derek's legs crawled against the ground, and black veins were invading the skin of the arms that Stiles had around his shoulder, and Derek was breathing so loudly, it was almost deafening, and Stiles didn't care. He just had to get him out, keep him safe, surround him, for once in his goddamn life, and take it all for him.
Then, Derek's body arched forward, his back angled away from what they'd left behind, Stiles waited to hear it break. But his leg buckled, and Stiles held on, pushing into the merciless ground, he was certain there would be holes the size of a grave, left in his wake. Derek's leg looked like it was broken in unequal parts, somewhere above his knee. He groaned, and it almost sounded like a howl, an animal's cry of pain. Stiles pulled him closer, feeling his clawed hands, almost piercing through his own skin, wanting to tear through something, anything, that wouldn't feel like his own organs, rotting away.
" Okay, that's it." Cora jumped, fell onto a man's shoulders, and twisted, till she heard a crack, and felt a collapse beneath her, before she ran to where Stiles was dragging her brother's weight, hovering behind them, to shield them. So brave and giving. Stiles thought it must run in the family. Then he thought, they were the only two left of that family, because Peter didn't count. They were the only ones left.
" We're almost there, and once you're all better, we have got to have a serious talk about your body mass. I can't keep hauling your ass out of near-death experiences when you're this heavy." There was a tremble in his voice. A tremble all over. Stiles sank his fingers in Derek's skin, and hoped it would still. Hoped things would stop feeling like they were hazy and foggy and all wrong.
Stiles opened the back door to his Jeep, Cora helping him carry the weight he couldn't, which was almost all of it, since his strength was faded, his composure wearing thin, as he took in the veins covering Derek's features, stripping them away from all their familiarity and glory and firmness, leaving them dark and lanky and withered, like wilted flowers, kept alive long after their time had come. And Derek's time, couldn't have come. Not yet.
" Cora, we need the bullet that hit him, to find out the type of wolfsbane. I'm going to take him to Deaton, can you get that for me?" Stiles had a hand on Derek's forehead, pushing hair away, wiping what he was sweating out, that was the color of moldy water, and Stiles tried not to think of Derek's tainted insides, and how they were drowning in shades of black.
" I'm on it. Go on, we'll catch up with you." Cora patted Stiles' back like he was the one almost losing the only family member he had left. It kind of felt like he was. Cora could probably smell it on him, hear it in his heartbeat.
Stiles started the car, and drove away, hating how he couldn't go as fast as he wanted to, because his legs were jerking away, every time he pressed down too hard. His hands were shaking too, having to move the stick around, before finding where they wanted it to go. His eyes fell on Derek, after a particularly loud whine had made it past his lips. They were left agape, their insides colored in black, his features twisted in something like agony, and Stiles wanted to cry.
Stiles stopped the car at Deaton's clinic, his hands tugging at Derek, pulling him in, and not away. Derek's eyes squeezed shut, before they opened. They were the only thing about him, that weren't touched by the poison. Were the same as they always had been. Stiles put his arms beneath Derek's armpits, lifting him up, but he scattered and fell, barely out of the car door, somewhere by the tires, and Stiles fell with him, but not nearly as aggressively.
" Shit, Derek," Stiles' voice cracked, his hands hanging in the air around Derek, that smelled of death, of decay, kind of like his mother's hospital room, or the morgue in the hospital, or the graveyards, that he stopped visiting, when it got a bit too much.
" Did you, get hurt? Are you okay?" Derek's eyes were blinking, like they were trying to open. His lungs sounded like they were overflowing, his voice gargling in his throat, trying to form real words, that wouldn't sound like they were breaking through the surface, like they were choking inside him, and he was choking on them.
" You can't be asking me this, right now." Stiles shook his head, because, no. Derek couldn't still be thinking of his wellbeing, when he was barely being at all.
" Stiles," Derek whined, sounding like he could cry, if things weren't pouring inside him, storming and flooding, and he wondered how he could sink within himself, how pathetic it would be, to suffocate on his own bodily fluids. His back slid down the surface of the car, his head almost colliding with the ground, but Stiles held a hand there, his other somewhere on Derek's chest, trying to find a heartbeat, through all the crashing waves.
" I'm going to be okay when this is all over. Now, please, help me get you inside so that Deaton can fix you up." Stiles put his arms around Derek, his head falling against his shoulders, his arms twitching beside him, but he tried to push against the ground's tug, tried to dig his feet and lift what he could, so that Stiles wouldn't have to. He was so close, Stiles didn't know if it was Derek's heart that was struggling to find a healthy rhythm to follow, or if it was his own. Stiles could barely remember how Derek had always smelled like, beneath all that was dying away.
" Okay, okay, I got you." Stiles whispered, when Derek's weight almost took them down again, taking away his barely present sense of balance. He breathed, seeing black spots by the corners of his vision, wondering if something of Derek's had layered around his eyes. He pushed through the closed clinic's door, feet hitting blindly, trying to break the line of mountain ash.
" Deaton, I need your help. Derek is hurt. Where the hell are you?" Stiles yelled, frustrated and terrified and so fucking tired. Deaton approached, eyes wide, before he guided Stiles to where he had to put Derek down. Stiles almost didn't want to let go.
" What happened here?" Deaton cut through Derek's shirt, with steadiness, professionalism, that Stiles slightly envied.
" Hunters. There were too many of them, and they were shooting at us, left and right. He got in the way, got shot in the back, I think. Then another one in the leg." Stiles put his hands through his hair, feeling it stick with Derek's blood. He wanted to rip it all out.
" What kind of wolfsbane was used for the bullets?" Deaton turned Derek to his side, poisoned blood fell past his lips, sliding against the metal surface of his examination table, pooling on the ground. Stiles had to look away, to stop himself from heaving, from throwing up the bitter taste of blood and things that had gone off, that were no longer viable.
" I don't know. They're supposed to be finding that out." Deaton sighed, looking away from Derek, to Stiles.
" You're bleeding. Are you hurt? Do you need help?" Stiles shook his head, ignoring the whine that bubbled in Derek's throat, died before it ever made it out.
" I'm fine. A few scratches. Just help him." Deaton nodded, never one to push things, when it wasn't his place to. Stiles was overwhelmingly thankful for that. He didn't think he would have been able to deal with it, if he was.
" We're running out of time. It doesn't look good. They need to hurry with that bullet." Deaton frowned, easing Derek back onto his back. He was so still, so unmoving, Stiles thought he'd stopped breathing.
" Stop talking like that. You've got to do something. Help him, until they get here."
" There's not much for me to do without knowing the type of poison used."
" Then why the fuck did I bring him to you, if you can't help him, Deaton? Cut it out with the wise-man act of yours, and get moving. Don't just stand there and tell me how bad it is. Fix it. Fix him." Stiles inched closer in a threat, coated with blind desperation. Deaton was mostly unfazed, understanding in a way that almost infuriated Stiles more, because he couldn't possibly understand how that felt like.
" Woah, Stiles, we're here. No need to go all ballistic on the guy." Erica's voice came from somewhere by the door, and Stiles physically sagged, turning away from Derek, running trembling hands across his face. When his eyes peeled open, Scott was staring at him, features dirty and tired, eyes filled with something like horror.
" It's not my blood. I'm fine." Stiles' words faded into Scott's shoulders, as he crashed against his friend's chest. He thought his words would have done little to reassure him anyway, they probably would have cracked or faltered or shivered the way his hands still were, even after he'd clung to the back of Scott's shirt, and pulled so desperately, he thought the fabric would tear. It didn't. It felt like he did though.
" Is everyone else okay? Did anyone get hurt?" Stiles sniffled, pulled away, but left a hand on Scott's shoulder, needing to wrap his fingers around things that were firm and steady and not oozing with blood, or shattering around his grip.
" Isaac took a bullet in his arm, but it was late into the fight, so he's still responsive and all. Boyd was pretty much impaled, so we sent him home to heal. He should be fine, I think. Chris and Allison stayed behind to deal with those assholes, or the ones left of them at least." Scott grimaced, and Stiles wondered if he could taste death at the back of his throat too.
" Malia?"
" Malia kind of lost control out there, I had to pull her back myself, so I told her to go with Boyd, and think of what she did tonight, and how to stop it from happening again next time. Dude, she almost tore through Chris. He was this close, to flipping sides, and just shooting at us instead." Stiles tried to smile, despite how heavy his features felt. How heavy everything was, even after he'd put down Derek's weight.
" So you sent her to the naughty corner? She'll probably take it out on poor Boyd." Scott's eyes widened, before they wrinkled with a lazy smile.
" I had to do something. Plus, Erica will head over there once this is all done, and if something is off, they're going to have one hell of a cat fight." Erica grumbled somewhere behind them, and Stiles snorted, because knowing Malia and Erica, it would be a lot more than just a cat fight. A lot more gruesome and vicious and animalistic. Also, probably, more badass, in a not-so-adorable kind of way.
" Scott, we're going to need to restrain him, to burn the poison out of him. It's going to hurt, and he's going to fight. But we need to be quick and precise." Scott moved away at Deaton's words, taking one of Derek's arms, that reeked of Stiles and something vile. He didn't appreciate the combination. Stiles breathed, moved around Derek, and took his other arm, disregarding how weary Deaton was, as he looked between him and Scott, in a silent warning. Scott nodded, shrugged his shoulders, because he knew he'd never be able to get Stiles to step back and let go. Stiles had always had trouble letting things go, even those that hurt him. Cora stood beside Stiles, taking the palm of the arm he clung to, breathing so close to the back of his neck, he wanted to close his eyes, and think of it as Derek's breathing, still warm and present. Erica took both of his legs, nodding once she was situated too.
Once Deaton touched against Derek's chest, his eyes opened, so wide, there were almost no eyelids left to see. They were red, angry and pained and afraid. His claws came out, and poked holes through all of them. But they held on, even after he'd kicked Erica away, and shoved Stiles with so much misguided power, it left him somewhere between unconsciousness and awake-ness, for a moment or two. Derek roared and roared, until his throat was raw, and his voice came out strangled and broken, sounding more like a dead man's cries for help, his screams to just let it all end already.
When he fell motionless, looking closer to death than anything alive ever should, Deaton started turning him onto his front, to do it a second time, for the bullet in his leg. They were all more cracked open, than they were, when this whole thing had started. Some of their holes, were closing up, blood dispersing away, but not Stiles'. He was almost dizzy, with the blood loss and the control loss and the impending loss waiting to happen, eager to take him over, once again. But he pushed himself, until he was sitting on Derek's back, his hands around his shoulder, keeping him down, long before he tried to not be. Scott moved to his legs, Erica taking one of his arms, and Cora, the other. Derek convulsed and twitched and howled, despite the cracks in his voice, and how soundless it was sometimes, like he'd lost the air needed to get it out.
Stiles leaned down, putting his head at the back of Derek's neck, circling his arms around his shoulder blades, words tumbling past his lips, probably falling on unhearing ears, but they kept falling anyway, whispered and desperate and patchy. And when Derek stilled, Stiles did too. He wondered if Derek could feel him, surround him. If Stiles even could, surround him, with all those limbs, and that heart, so big, it could love them to oblivion. They moved around him, going to help Isaac before it got as bad for him. They let Stiles just lay on top of Derek, relentlessly shaking, and the table was moving along with their movement, making sounds, that drowned out Isaac's screams, that were stronger than Derek's, yet, shorter lived. Stiles missed them all together, still struggling to silence Derek's howl echoing in his head.
Scott came in later, whispering things about Isaac getting better and Erica taking him home. And how Stiles should probably call his dad, before he sent a search party for him. He said something about Chris dealing with the bodies, both alive and dead, and how Scott was heading over there now, to check up on Allison, and probably learn more from Chris, about what their next step should be. Stiles nodded, inhaled Derek's scent, that was filtering away all things related to death and decay, before he pushed himself off Derek's back, standing on weak legs, moving only a few steps, before he was in Scott's arms again.
" You probably need to get checked up too. You've been bleeding for a while." Scott's voice was soft, caring, like it didn't want to formulate sound waves anywhere similar to the ones Derek was beating against Stiles' skull with.
" I'm fine. I'll be fine." Stiles shook his head, smiling, like Scott would ever believe it.
" Do you need me to stay with you till he's awake?" Stiles patted Scott's shoulder, because this was how it always used to be; these two, together, through it all. Stiles couldn't believe he managed to make Scott stay, for all those years.
" No, man, go check up on Allison. Rest up too. You probably need it."
" So do you." Scott frowned, chewing on his lips worriedly.
" I have to make sure he's okay first. Then I'll head home. Don't worry, I'll be fine, promise."
" Someone as accident-prone as you are, shouldn't bother with those promises." Scott chuckled, pulling Stiles back into a quick hug, before he waved goodbye, leaving him alone with Derek, and all the sounds he was no longer making, but Stiles could still hear, could still feel them, rumbling against his skin.
He went to pull Deaton's chair, and sit by Derek, when Cora appeared through the door.
" Oh, Cora, I thought everyone went home." She shook her head, letting her hand fall onto Derek's head, running her fingers through his hair, the way he did for her, every time she was hurt, or sleepless.
" He sounds better. His heartbeat and breathing are stronger now. And that god awful smell isn't so prominent." Her features twisted into something like disgust, as Stiles nodded in understanding.
" Yeah. Deaton said he just needs some rest, to give his body time to heal up. But he should be okay." Cora nodded, her eyes lingering on her brother, before they fell closed, her face crumbling, collapsing onto itself.
" I'm sorry, fuck, this is stupid. But when I- that smell. It was so much like the house and the fire and- I just. I thought I was losing him too, you know. I'm sorry." She tried to laugh, but it was humorless and shaky. She wiped at her nose, somewhere beneath her eyes too. And when she looked up, Stiles was inching closer, till he had his arms around her, and she had hers around him, and he told himself, he was doing it for her. That she was the one who needed it, needed him. And the selfishness and craving in his tightened grasp, didn't really matter.
" I should, uh, go call my dad. I'll give you some space. Are you going to be okay?" Stiles questioned, receiving a certain nod from Cora, along with a smile, that was a bit more radiant now, glistening, with more than just tears.
Stiles walked away, finding Deaton by the front desk, filling up the mountain ash line. He nodded at him, trying to convey an apology, that he wasn't nearly collected enough to word. Deaton nodded back, and that was that. Stiles fell into one of the chairs by the waiting area, dialing his father's number, his free hand massaging the flaring headache away.
" Stiles," The sheriff sounded so relieved, so hopeful, that Stiles felt tears burning behind his eyelids, felt a sudden crave for his father's arms around him, for coming home.
" Hey, dad."
" Are you okay? Where are you?"
" I'm at Deaton's clinic. We-"
" Are you hurt? Stiles, how bad is it?"
" I'm fine, dad. Just a few scratches. A killer headache though, but I don't think it's bad enough to indicate a concussion. But I'm fine. It's barely anything." His father sighed, and Stiles could almost see, the hand he ran across his face, exhausted and aged.
" Who got hurt then?"
" Derek. Isaac and Boyd too. But. Derek." He couldn't elaborate further, if he wanted. He didn't really want to though. He had a feeling, his father didn't need him to. He got it.
" How bad? Is he going to be okay?"
" It was.. a close call. Yeah. Pretty bad. But Deaton thinks he's going to be okay." Stiles' voice trembled, suffocated by the cries trying to squeeze in between his words, and finally come out. The sheriff heard the I'm just not sure I will be, that Stiles didn't want to say.
" Do you want me to come down there? Or, meet you at home?" Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, his dad's voice hurting something terrible.
" No, dad," He didn't know why he started crying then, but he did.
" Jesus, Stiles, don't cry, kiddo. You said everything is going to be okay, right? So why are you crying?"
" It's just.. I love you, dad. And I never want anything bad to happen to you. You know that, right? You know that I- I can't,"
" Hey, nothing bad is going to happen to me, Stiles. I'm alright. I'm safe. And so are you and all your friends, okay? Nothing to worry about here. Everything is fine." Stiles nodded, letting his father's voice resonate inside him, echo loud enough to overshadow everything else, to drown out the sounds of death and doom.
" Yeah," He wiped at his eyes, " You're right, dad. I'll see you later. Love you."
" I love you too, Stiles. Call me if you need anything, okay?"
" I will. Be safe, please."
" Always am, kid."
The next few hours went by with Cora, sleeping on Deaton's desk, mouth opened agape, arms crossed against her chest, like she had to remain firm and intimidating, even in her sleep. While Stiles was sitting by Derek, his fingers sliding against the skin of his arm, that was clearing away from all the black veins, regaining the color of his tanned skin, only slightly paler, due to the tiredness set between his bones. Stiles couldn't really sleep, too anxious and jumpy to even settle in that chair for too long. So he moved between Derek and Cora, putting a blanket around her, angling her head properly every time it fell away, checking for Derek's breathing, sometimes, having to hold his own, to listen in, trace the time between each of his inhales and exhales.
Stiles fingers halted by Derek's elbow, when he felt the muscles beneath his touch tensing. A long breath of air, fell past Derek's lips, before he turned his head to where Stiles sat, guided by the sound of his heartbeat, the reassurance in his scent, tugging at him, till he blinked the darkness away, staring at Stiles with an odd sense of serenity. It was all so.. effortless. Like Derek would always seek Stiles out. Would always find him. Stiles kind of wanted to cry again.
" Are you okay?" Stiles asked, when Derek's mouth opened, like it was going to throw a few words out. Stiles was too scared, of them sounding nothing like Derek, and everything like he was still choking. Derek moved his arms, crossing, and resting his head on them, humming in wordless confirmation, eyes almost closing again, if it wasn't for Stiles proximity, and their need to not blink him away, not lose sight of him.
" What happened?" Derek didn't sound like he was choking anymore, but his voice was barely there at all, losing all its composure, the authority slipping away from it, and from him. His voice was almost soundless, a mere whisper that anyone could have missed, but not Stiles.
" Two poisoned bullets. One through your back, all the way to your chest. One in your leg. Deaton fixed you up."
" The others?"
" Isaac took one in his arm. Boyd got impaled. Both are okay. Healing."
" You?" Derek squinted, like Stiles was burning too bright. Stiles had never felt more dimmed, more hollowed out. At least, not since the nogitsune thing, which, no, he wouldn't be thinking about it now, because then, he'd definitely start crying. Or falling apart. Or both. Probably, both.
" You scared the living shit out of me."
" You were going to get shot."
" This isn't any better. You, getting hurt, just so that I wouldn't have to. That's not okay, Derek. You can't keep doing that."
" I can heal."
" You can also die. Jesus Christ, Derek, you're not invincible. If you go too far, you won't come back either. That- I can't handle that, okay? I can't." Derek frowned, seemingly offended, or confused. Stiles wasn't clear enough to look into which one of Derek's frowns that was.
" Why are you so angry?"
" Because you were dying, Derek. Because I have your fucking blood, everywhere, and I can't breathe, because you were reeking of death. You smelled like death and your heart was doing this thing, like it was going to stop any minute and- that's not fucking okay. You can't keep doing this to me. You can't keep coming this close to going away, Derek. So yeah, I'm angry, because you think that I can't make it through a few bullets, but I can make it through your loss, and that's not fucking happening. I'm not losing you. And I'm sure as hell not going to get through it. Just. Stop almost dying. Because every time you almost die, and don't, I do. Or something inside me does. And. I can't, okay? I can't, Derek." Stiles' chest was heaving, sounding like it was cracking and folding, every time it fell with a strangled exhale. His eyes were filled with tears, drowned in them, like Derek was once drowning in his own poisoned bodily fluids. And Derek was bewildered, stunned at the raw emotion that he felt like he didn't deserve. But there was so much of it there, willing him to understand. And he kind of did. He at least tried to.
" I'm sorry I scared you." Stiles nodded then, although, he was waiting for something else. Something more.
" But I won't apologize for trying to keep you safe. I won't promise not to do it again, because it's instinct to me. And I can't fight that. I won't. Not if it helps you." Stiles groaned, tears falling, when he tried to blink away the image of Derek collapsing onto him.
" I'll try to be more careful, though. More aware of my surroundings, and how, how it all affects you. I'll be more thoughtful, Stiles. Will try not to push it too far. Okay? But I can't stand by and watch something happen to you. You can't ask that of me. I can't give you that." Derek's fingers latched onto Stiles' hand, that was swaying midair, like it didn't know if it wanted to fall onto his side and hide somewhere within him, until it stilled, or raise hell and bring downpour and drown them all in misery.
Stiles eyes were still filling up, tears against his skin, dissolving into the smudges of Derek's blood that had dried there, bringing it back to life, and washing it all away. He looked between Derek's eyes, that were no longer red, or green, or hazel. Were no longer anything, other than tired, pleading in a way that Derek had never been, could never allow himself to be. Stiles nodded, willing the motion of his head to convey the understanding that he still didn't really have a grasp on. He seemed to not have a grasp on anything.
Derek's fingers tugged, his arm straightening, Stiles crashing with its fold. Derek was barely on his side, stopped somewhere in his motion, by the heap of long, trembling, limbs, and heart, and tears, and Stiles. Derek found himself completely enveloped. Surrounded. And he wondered how he was ever expected to exist without that grounding weight around him. How Stiles was supposed to recollect all the bits of himself, and leave Derek, without him feeling a hole the size of his head and the arms he had around him. How anything else was ever going to be enough, when there was so much of Stiles, almost, too much of him. And when Stiles tightened his arms around him, buried his head further into his chest, Derek thought that yeah, maybe he didn't care. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe Stiles would just, stay.