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Calling Derek had been a good decision.
The other guy was dependable and as big of a do-gooder as Scotty. He also didn’t press Stiles for information when he didn’t want to dwell on things.
“Thanks for dinner. I really needed that.” Stiles patted his flat but stuffed feeling stomach. He meant both the food and the pleasant conversation.
“Next time dinner is on you. What are you doing Friday night?” Derek kept his focus on his key fob but he was jingling it in his hands with a nervousness Stiles recognized.
Wait just a minute.
“Are you asking me on a date? Because that question definitely sounded like it. Although if I’m paying, technically I should do the asking.” This needed clarification. Stiles’s rambling might have obscured the true question though.
Fortunately Derek was fluent in Stiles’s speak. “Yes, that was me asking you out on a date. I was kidding, I’ll pay.”
Stiles’s world tilted on its axis.
It’s not that he hadn’t given thought to the idea, but Derek was way out of his league. He was not only hotter than the sun, he was sweet and thoughtful and up to his bushy eyebrows in protecting Beacon Hills. Stiles had been sure the damage wrought by Kate and Jennifer had put him off of relationships for life.
Then again, maybe it was just females.
“That sounds really good. The date part. We’ll figure out whose paying later.” Stiles smiled for what felt like the first time that day.
Of course that’s when things went to hell in a handcart.
Stiles heard a pop and Derek staggered, going down on one knee.
Dropping down to a crouch, Stiles pulled Derek against the car for some protection. “Hunters?”
Derek clutched a hand over his shoulder. “It came from behind the building.”
Stiles, using the Camaro as cover, poked his eyes over the hood to get a fix on the enemy.
“Hold it right there, Stilinski.”
Stiles recognized the voice; it was one of Tamora Monroe’s lieutenants.
“Derek, are you okay?” Stiles held his hands up and kept his focus on the guy stepping into the light but he needed to assess their options.
Derek sucked in a breath. “Wolfsbane bullet.”
Shit. Okay, Stiles could work with this. He didn’t know how exactly, but he would make this work.
Two other hunters flanked the main flunky. Stiles never had learned his name but he recognized him on sight. The guy in charge pointed at Stiles. “If you’re going to run with wolves, expect to be treated like one.”
“What does that even mean?” Stiles needed one of these hunters to come close enough so he could get his hands on a weapon. His baseball bat was locked in the Jeep, which was sitting wherever the Red Oak PD had towed it.
“It means we’re going to beat the crap out of you, chain you up and use you as bait for McCall.” Stiles didn’t know if this guy had delusions of grandeur or if he really thought Scott would fall for something so trite.
Derek snarled and Stiles chanced a glance downward; his friend wasn’t shifted and he was losing a lot of blood.
Stiles’s eyes snapped upward. Now was not the time to stare at the blood. That hadn’t worked out so well earlier although it was the needle sticking out of his arm, not producing…nope. He couldn’t think about that right now. Bigger fish to fry.
Stepping away from the limited protection of the Camaro, Stiles kept his hands up but moved toward the trio.
Where were all of the In-N-Out Burger diners? Couldn’t someone see there was something shady going on in this corner of the parking lot?
Apparently not. Stiles was going to have to go with Plan B. Never mind he didn’t have a Plan A other than beating people up with his bat that was not in his hands.
Stiles’s eyesight was still a little wonky. He shaded his eyes against the light overhead and staggered to the side a bit when his foot caught on a pebble or something on the blacktop.
“Looks like Monroe was right, the human is the weak link. This is like shooting fish in a barrel.” The leader had the audacity to roll his eyes.
Stiles internally shrugged; he’d heard worse. Sure, he’d never be as strong or fast as the shifters but he still had a brain.
It was time to put it to use.
Using his momentum, Stiles shambled forward more, feet tripping on non-existent detritus.
The hunters snickered…right up until Stiles bowled into the guy on the right.
The guy went down hard and Stiles grabbed his rifle. He rammed it into the guy’s face, cringing at the squishy noise the stock made upon impact.
Gross.
Sidekick Number Two gaped and that was the chance Stiles had needed. He crouched down and swept his leg low, colliding with the guy’s thigh. Like a felled tree, the hunter wobbled and then lost his fight with gravity, slamming into the ground.
That left Monroe’s lieutenant. The bad guy gritted his teeth before leveling his own shotgun at Stiles.
Stiles didn’t want to shoot but he also didn’t want to die. He also needed to take care of Derek’s wolfsbane issue before he bled out or succumbed to the effects of the poison.
“Looks like a standoff.” Stiles aimed the rifle in his possession at the taller man.
He didn’t want to but Stiles noticed little things, like the scruffy beard that spoke less of artful design and more of rushed hygiene, the torn flannel shirt and the hair badly in need of a trim.
Apparently a life spent waging war wasn’t easy but more than that, Stiles really didn’t want to kill this douche.
It was time to put this farce to an end. Stiles let his focus slide to the right of the guy’s shoulder. “It’s about time you got here.”
“How stupid do you think I am? No one is behind me.” The douche argued.
Stiles shrugged. “Whatever you say.” It was a calculated risk but Stiles lowered the shotgun so it was no longer pointed at the hunter.
That was enough to get the hunter’s attention and he flinched, wheeling around to confront the new enemy…and finding no one.
Grabbing the barrel of the rifle like it was a bat, Stiles pulled back and slugged the guy in the backs of his knees. Didn’t they teach basic defensive moves on the playground anymore? Jackson used to try that maneuver all of the time and Stiles had quickly learned to bend his knees to avoid the takedown. Of course Jackson’s weapon of choice hadn’t been a rifle but beggars and choosers and all that.
Fortunately this hunter hadn’t learned that lesson. He crashed face first into the pavement but before he could roll over, someone else interceded.
Officer Morales.
The officer was in jeans and a polo shirt and he stood with his foot on the back of the hunters’ neck, his sidearm drawn. “Back up is on the way. Is your friend okay?”
“He will be.” Stiles needed the same wolfsbane used on Derek for the antidote so he put the safety on the rifle, aimed the gun at the pavement and pushed inward on the shell stop to release the shell into the loading bay. He did this one by one until the mag tube was empty and then he opened the action to clear the chamber. “Gotcha.”
Stiles hurried back to Derek’s side to find him pale in the dim overhead light and listing to his side.
He helped himself to the knife in Derek’s pocket and cracked the case of the shell open. His hands were shaking with adrenaline but he was able to parse out some of the powder surrounding the silver pellets comprising the shot. Stiles might prefer his bat to guns but thanks to his father, he still knew his way around firearms.
Now he needed to put the powder somewhere to keep it safe. He ended up digging a partially used Kleenex he’d tucked into his pocket at the police station. Ugh.
Derek was unconscious which was a blessing as Stiles hated hurting his friend. He grabbed the lighter out of Derek’s other pocket and made a mental note to start carrying one of his own. Peeling the t-shirt away from Derek’s left shoulder, Stiles felt a kick of nausea at the blackish blood oozing from the wound.
First the bullet needed to come out. Stiles’s eyes just about rolled into the back of his head as he dug the knife around in the wound, hearing the clink of metal on metal. He was panting as he dug the bullet out and his vision was swimming.
It took a few times but he finally got the lighter lit and torched the powder. He singed his fingers as he packed the heated substance—tissue and all—into the ragged hole.
The smell of blood overwhelmed him and he lost his balance, tilting over until he sprawled over Derek’s lap.
He closed his eyes for a moment to catch his breath.
“Is he okay?” Stiles struggled to identify the voice. Morales from the Red Oak Police Station.
Stiles scrambled upward, missing the hand that had been scratching through his hair.
“Derek, are you okay?” Stiles hadn’t meant to zone out.
“The wound is just about mended, thanks to you.” Derek flashed a shy smile at Stiles and Stiles melted.
Then he remembered the hunters and looked up at Morales. “What happened?”
“After you went badass on those three guys and subdued them, I called for back-up and they’re being arrested as we speak. I was too far away to help but you really didn’t need me. That was really quite a self defense clinic you put on.” Stiles thought Morales was making fun of him but he looked at the guy’s face and he seemed sincere.
Derek threw his uninjured arm around Stiles and tugged him against his side. It felt good to be held. “Eric told me how you took out those three guys.” Derek whispered in his ear, “You’ve got yourself a new fan.”
Stiles wrinkled nose up. “What are you talking about?”
Morales—Eric—cleared his throat. “Stiles, do you think you could introduce me to your father? I’d really like to see about that open position, especially if I get to work with you and this insect problem of yours. I think you could teach me a lot.”
Stiles shrugged. “Dude, I’m the weak link of the operation, at least according to Hunter Douche. But if you’re crazy enough to join the cause, we’re happy to have you.”
Derek snorted next to him. “You subdued three hunters and saved me from wolfsbane poisoning. How does that make you the weak link?”
Huh. Stiles hadn’t thought about that. He’d just been committed to getting Derek out of this safely.
With seemingly little effort, Derek rose to his feet and brought Stiles upright with him. Stiles’s vision darkened at the edges and a kick of dizziness swirled through him.
Derek manhandled him into the Camaro, waving off Eric’s offer to call the paramedics. He was tucked into the passenger seat and Derek even put the seatbelt on him. Derek and Eric—ha, that rhymed—exchanged contact information and then Derek slid into the driver’s seat.
Stiles picked him head up from where it had been leaning against the window. Derek leaned over and brushed his lips against Stiles’s cheek. “My hero.”
Snorting quietly, Stiles smiled. “Your hero is dizzy and would like to lay down for a while.”
“Close your eyes and I’ll wake you up when we get into Beacon Hills.” Derek set Stiles back against the passenger window and for once Stiles listened to him.
It had been a busier day than usual. Stiles wished he could’ve pursued a career in law enforcement, like Eric Morales, but if he had followed through then he wouldn’t be able to work with Scott and the pack.
And Derek.
Derek, who was taking him on a date.
Stiles fell asleep to the hum of the Camaro’s tires on the highway, secure next to Derek’s side, with thoughts of tomorrow.
Happy thoughts.
Finis