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Stiles is scared, so scared, he always seems too scared these days. They always seems to be running and fighting, there’s always something chasing them. But normally they’re together, they have each other to lean on, they’re a pack.
But he’s alone. The woods are dark and cold, and he’s alone. Scott’s words ringing in his ears, telling him to run…
"Just run, Stiles! GO!" There was blood dripping down his face, his eyes glowing so brightly in the dark. It wasn’t the sort of battle Stiles could fight, and he’d tried, gone in with his bat and one of his Mom’s old weapons, something that had been locked away in the attic. But his bat is broken and the gun is empty, a cold, heavy weight in his hand. He’d tucked it in his pocket and then he’d run.
He hadn’t wanted to, he hadn’t wanted to leave them all there. Stiles’s chest aches, not just because he’s still running, not because his lungs are on fire as he breathes, but because he had to leave them and his heart is dead in his chest.
But he keeps running. He doesn’t look back, he doesn’t pause to listen, he just runs. Stiles runs until he can’t anymore. He’s come so far and it’s so dark that when his feet finally slide out from under him, he has no idea where he is. He lays there in the dirt for what feels like forever and just breaths. Let’s the oxygen seep back into his lungs.
When it stops feeling like his lungs are on fire he tries to stand, but his legs won’t take the strain anymore. He’s weak, muscles cramping so he can barely drag himself to his knees. His arms give out when he tries to push himself up a second time.
This time he stays down, rolls onto his side and curls up as small as he can. Stiles closes his eyes not wanting to see anything that might be trying to creep closer. He doesn’t fall asleep, but his mind begins circling, letting him filter out everything around him.
The rustle of leaves starts him and he tries to sit up, but his body won’t move now that the adrenaline is gone and his muscles are stiff. He tries to move away from the sound, tries to push himself across the fallen leaves. He can’t move far and he’s not moving fast. It’s going to get him, it’s going to eat him. They’re gone, they’re all gone, that’s the only way anything would come after Stiles, if the rest of the pack is already gone. Stiles’s heart is like a rock in his chest, it weighs him down, what does it matter if he leaves when they’re all gone?
"Stiles?" And it knows his name, a voice filled with concern, it’s not real, it’s a lure to trap him. Trap him even more, give him hope then strip it away again.
"Hey? Breath Stiles, it’s me." That voice…
"Derek?" Stiles can see it now, Derek’s figure in the dark.
"Yea, Stiles, it’s me. It’s ok, you can stop running." Derek’s talking like Stiles is a frightened animal. Like he’s going to bolt.
"Scott?" Stiles’s voice trembles, mouth dry but he tries to swallow anyway.
"He’s fine, they’re all fine. It’s ok." Derek’s hand is warm on his leg. He’s kneeling down so he’s at Stiles’s level and Stiles can make out more of his face this way.
"Did we win?" It doesn’t feel real, maybe Stiles has died, and maybe that’s what this is. Maybe Derek is really an angel. A Derek shaped angel, Stiles can get behind that idea.
"Yes, we did." Derek moves closer and Stiles could cry, they’re alive. They won. He sniffles, he puts a hand to his face and it comes away wet.
"Oh," He didn’t think he’d actually cry. Derek is close, Stiles can feel the warmth coming off his skin and he wants to lean into as the tears keep falling from his eyes. "Can we go home now?" Derek’s arms are warm when they wrap around Stiles and haul him up. Derek doesn’t make him walk, just carries Stiles in his arms.
"Yea," He breathes as Stiles rests his head against Derek’s shoulder. "Yea Stiles, we can go home."
"Good," Stiles sighs and closes his eyes, trusting Derek to carry him out of the woods, out of the darkness, and home to safety