Archive of Our Own

Snarls and yips echoed through the old slaughterhouse. The creatures sounded like hounds on the hunt, their bloodlust guided them toward any living thing, and he happened to be the prey.

This was it. This was how he was going to die.

In an abandoned slaughterhouse, alone, cowering in a closet. It'd be a miracle if his body was found before it became a pile of bones. They'd never be able to identify who he was. Probably would assume he was some poor homeless man who got eaten by a wild animal. Because that's what was going to happen if he got caught, he reminded himself. The creatures were literally going to eat him. 

With a sudden awareness of a fear he didn't realize he had—dying alone without a single person knowing what happened to him—he prepared himself for the coming attack. The creature had made a mess of his shoulder but he still had one usable hand full of claws and his fangs. At least he wouldn't go down without a fight.

Outside the closet, the creatures fell silent. He pushed his hearing to its maximum capacity and couldn't hear their heartbeats. Just like that, they were gone.

Somewhere else in the warehouse, there was a loud bang, followed by shuffling of noises. He tensed up. What now?

A heartbeat drew closer. It was familiar almost. The pain in his shoulder made his mind fuzzy, his senses blurred together, he couldn't think straight anymore. Couldn't pinpoint where he recognized the heartbeat from. Must've been one of the creatures coming back to finish him off.

He listened as whatever it was moved around on the first floor. Opening doors, the scuffling of its feet, heavy breaths as the clang of the metal stairs rung out. It was getting closer. A door down the hall opened with a bang. And then the door beside the closet he was in, he knew his door was next. 

The door flew open. A beam of light hit his face. All his fight or flight instincts disappeared. 

“I should’ve known,” Stiles said, lowering a pistol and flashlight. “But even for you this is a rough spot to squat.”

Derek went limp with the lack of threat. “Aren’t you supposed to be at college?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in New York?” Stiles snapped back. The flashlight focused on Derek’s shoulder. “You can’t stay here. We’ve had multiple complaints about noises coming from this building, people think it’s haunted.”

“Yes Stiles, I chose this closet that smells like shit to live in," Derek said, and then he tacked on, "I tracked a creature here.”

"Creature?" Stiles was an outline, barely visible in the dark, but he held out his hand and Derek realized he was wearing a deputy's jacket.

Derek took Stiles’ hand with his good one and let himself be pulled up. "I think they're responsible for the bodies being left in the preserve."

"There's more than one? What are they?" Stiles held his hand even once he was standing.

"Not sure, never seen anything like it."

Stiles looked down at their hands and let go as if he just remembered they were clasped together. "Can you walk on your own?"

"My legs aren't broken," Derek said.

Without another word, Stiles turned around and walked away from the closet while radioing in to the station with an all clear. Derek followed him, not wanting to be in that place for another moment longer.

“What happened to college?” Derek asked. A twinge of pain in his shoulder made his arm twitch, he lifted his hand up to the fresh wound. It was slick with blood and some other clear sticky substance.

“I graduated about a year and a half ago now.” Stiles raised an eyebrow as he looked back at Derek. Had it really been that long already? "Where did these things go?"

"I don't know, they took off after I hid in the closet." 

Every step down the stairs to the first floor pulled at the nerve endings in his shoulder. Beads of sweat ran down his face. The clear substance must have come from their claws, and Derek was reminded of the Kanima's venom.

"Must've just missed them," Stiles grumbled. He yanked open the metal door.

Derek sucked in the fresh autumn air with gasping breaths. The slaughterhouse smelled of human waste, old rotten flesh, and the indescribable bitter stench that rolled off the creatures in thick waves. Outside was sweet relief to his nose. 

The cruiser was parked next to the building and Stiles pulled open the driver's door. Pausing, he looked over at Derek. “Are you healing?”

“I don’t know.” Derek pulled open the passenger door.

“Well, aren't you a wealth of knowledge.” Stiles sighed and slid in the car. “What abandoned building are you staying at this time?” he asked as Derek got in the car.

“Nothing abandoned, Beacon Motel, it's off the highway.”

“Dude, do you know how many people we arrest there weekly?”

Derek jerked as a flare of pain ran through his shoulder. “It’s good for a quick sleep.”

“Aren’t you insanely rich? I think Beacon County has to have one nice hotel,” Stiles said.

“This is lower profile. Where’s Scott?” Derek was too outnumbered when it came to the creatures. He needed backup, preferably backup with super strength and healing. Not of the human variety.

“His specialization program. He won’t be back until Thanksgiving weekend.” Stiles looked down at Derek’s shoulder, and his face twisted into a grimace. “Maybe I should take you to Deaton.”

“I’m fine.” Derek winced as a sharp pain ran through his muscles. “It’ll heal.”

Stiles turned on the car. “Why aren’t you already healed?”

Derek let out a grunt that meant I don’t know.

“Put on your seatbelt.” Stiles pulled out of the parking lot and drove them south toward the motel.

Pulling the belt across his body, Derek clenched his teeth together to stop the gasp of pain. No wound had ever felt like this, there was something wrong. By his approximation, it’d been at least thirty minutes since the creature had sunk its claws into him, he should’ve been healed at this point. Or at the very least, starting to heal.

Stiles kept looking over at him, flashing worried expressions that said he thought the same thing.

The radio crackled with a code. Stiles turned it down. His badge sat in the center console, Beacon County Sheriff's Department . Apparently, Derek had missed a lot over the past few months. 

“You’re back in Beacon Hills for good?” Derek asked.

“Yup.”

“What happened to the FBI?”

“You can’t just get a job as an agent without law enforcement experience. Gotta pay my dues.” Stiles tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “So, what are you doing back in Beacon Hills?”

“I don’t know."

Stiles shot him a side-eye glance. "You don't know as in there's no reason for it? Or the Nemeton drew you here?"

Derek watched the passing trees. Shit, his car was at the preserve. "I was shifted for a while, months, and at some point, I started running and didn't stop. Ended up back here, almost like I was on autopilot.”

"So...Nemeton," Stiles said. “You were shifted for months?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, full wolf?"

" Yes. "

"Were you unable to shift back?”

“No. Just didn’t see a reason to.” It wasn’t like Derek had a job or anybody who cared. Living as a wolf was easier.

“Oh.” Stiles pulled into a drugstore parking lot. “Stay here.”

He got out of the car and nodded at the people standing outside the building smoking. The way he carried himself was a lot calmer and more confident than the last time Derek had seen him. Though it was hard to tell underneath the jacket, he appeared to have filled out more too.

When was the last time they saw each other? Stiles' second year? No, after that, after Monroe... just before Stiles was going to graduate. The years had all blurred together.

Derek hadn’t expected to run into Stiles of all people while tracking the creature, but he should’ve known. Somehow, they always seemed to find a way back to each other. Whether they wanted to or not.

The new moon left the skies dark as the last bit of daylight faded away. Derek’s stomach growled with hunger, and he tried to think of the last time he ate, coming up blank. He should probably do that.

Stiles came back to the car with a full bag. "All the necessities of treating an open wound. But I still think you should see Deaton."

Derek slumped against the car door. At this point he just wanted to sleep for a full day.

The cruiser hit a pothole in the motel parking lot and jolted Derek out of his sleepy doze. The ‘ Bea ’ and ‘M’ were burnt out on the motel's neon pink sign, leaving the sign to say ‘ con otel’ . Maybe Stiles was right, he should stay at a nicer place. One that didn’t leave him breathing through his mouth so he didn’t have to smell the old sheets and carpets. 

People scattered from the balcony into the rooms at the sight of a deputy’s cruiser. Stiles shut off the car and pulled out the keys.

“Don’t you have to get back to work?” Derek asked.

“I called my dad while I was in the store, and he said to take the rest of the night off. Perks of being the sheriff’s son.” Stiles grabbed the drugstore bag from the floor at Derek's feet.

“I don’t need help.”

“You look like you’ve been through a meat grinder. How exactly do you plan on cleaning the wound on your back?”

Derek didn’t have an answer. Usually by now he was healed. Normally, he didn’t have to think about things like wound care.

“Right.” Stiles opened the car door. “Plus, I need to hear all the details about these things, they’ve been leaving dead bodies all over the preserve.”

The bubblegum pink door of Derek’s room peeled with age and weather, revealing the untreated wood underneath. The lights of the balcony covering buzzed and flickered. With one hand, Derek searched his pockets for the key.

"Don't tell me you lost the key at the slaughterhouse," Stiles said.

"No." Derek leaned back against the wall and sucked in a breath. Fuck. He really needed to sit down. "It's in my car at the preserve."

"Wait here." Stiles disappeared down the pink painted stairs to the first level.

Derek closed his eyes and focused on not falling over. His shoulder prickled with a numb sensation. He couldn't move it but it wasn't quite numb enough to get rid of the pain. It was stuck in a weird limbo.

"Dude said you have to bring back both keys otherwise they'll charge you for them," Stiles said. Derek forced his eyes open. "You don't look good.”

"I'm fine."

The door swung open, Derek pushed inside. He collapsed down onto the end of the bed right as his knees threatened to give out. His body burned, consistent sweat droplets rolled down his skin.

He pulled at his shirt. If he had any strength left he would've ripped it off instead of trying to get it off his useless arm.

Stiles inspected the room with a dissatisfied scrunch in his nose. “This place violates every health code in the book.”

“Since when were you a by the book kind of guy?”

Turning around, Stiles watched Derek’s continued struggle with his shirt. “I’m not. But you’re really living here?” Stiles asked.

“Kind of.”

“Let me help.” Stiles walked across the room and towered over Derek, as he pulled up the ruined shirt, his fingers grazed against Derek’s stomach and a shiver ran up Derek's back at the touch. Shit. How could his body think about being aroused at a time like this? And Stiles? Of all people?

Stiles’ eyes darted up. The look of surprise on his face probably mirrored Derek’s. “I guess not everything’s the same after all,” Stiles said quietly. He pulled the shirt off Derek's good arm, distracting from his comment, before he helped Derek maneuver his torn-up arm through the hole. “You’re a mess.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I don’t think it’s a good sign when you can compare the times you’ve been torn apart.” Stiles threw the shirt in the trash and rustled through the drugstore bag. "Seriously, I don't know how you managed being human without getting yourself killed. It was a miracle, really."

"Technically, I did get myself killed," Derek reminded him.

Stiles walked over with a bottle of some kind of cleaning alcohol and disposable cloths. "I remember," he said. "Vividly." Stiles poured the clear liquid on a cloth. "So, this is probably going to hurt like hell."

With every swipe of the cloth, a stinging sensation ran deep in Derek's skin. He clenched his fists together and sucked in uneven breaths. Slowly and carefully, Stiles cleaned the wound and the surrounding skin. His face within inches of Derek's, the smell of his minty shampoo flooded Derek's nose.

The wound itself ran from somewhere at the base of Derek’s shoulder blade over top of his shoulder and down to almost his ribs. There were two claw marks, with one being deeper and wider. If he was human, he probably would've bled out within a few minutes. At least his body seemed to be doing something for him.

"What did these creatures look like?" Stiles asked. He poured more alcohol on the cloth and went back to cleaning the wound.

Derek winced as the stinging turned more into a burning, twisting its way into his muscles and nerves. "Tall, stood on two feet, they were fast...long claws...sharp teeth...it was hard to see them in the dark so they must be pretty dark themselves," he said. "I doubt they're any kind of shapeshifter, usually even when someone's shifted there's still some human scent to them, but these things, there's nothing human about them."

Stiles stood up and looked down at the wound. "You probably need stitches."

"I'll be healed in the time it takes to stitch it all up."

Stiles didn't look convinced. He ripped open sterilized gauze bandages and did his best to cover Derek's wound as he taped the gauze to the skin. "So you think these are the things that are leaving half-eaten human bodies in the preserve?"

"Definitely."

"Any idea of how to kill them?"

"No."

Stiles pursed his lips as he looked over his bandaging job. "I think this is good enough." He picked up all the garbage and threw it out, moving into the bathroom to wash his hands.

Derek moved to sit against the headboard. The pressure on his back hurt, and he adjusted the pillow to provide some relief.

"I'm starving, want to order some food?" Stiles asked, coming out of the bathroom.

"Sure." Derek undid his pants and wiggled out of them. Dropping them to the floor, he pulled the covers over his legs. Whatever the creature had done to him made him colder than normal. A chill ran through him even as he sweated.

"Pizza?" Stiles sat on the edge of the other bed. He looked good in the khaki-colored uniform. Grown up. His thighs pressed tight against the material, making lewd thoughts cross Derek's mind. "Yo, Derek?"

Shit, he had to get it together. "Pizza's fine."

"What do you like on yours?" Stiles asked as he pulled out his phone.

"Whatever.”

Pacing around the room, Stiles ordered a large pizza and two cokes. After hanging up, he pulled off his jacket and unbuttoned his uniform shirt, throwing them on the small table near the window. Thick muscles had replaced gangly teenage limbs, the white undershirt stretched tight across Stiles’ chest.

Derek quickly turned on the TV. He tried to focus on the talk show interview of some celebrity he didn’t even know instead of thinking about all the things he wanted to do to Stiles. Which was a lot.

“How’d you get on their trails?” Stiles asked, he placed the gun in its holster and badge on the table.

“I was in the preserve and caught its scent, I followed it to the slaughterhouse. I thought there was just one,” Derek said. “I was wrong.”

“How many were there?” Stiles' arm muscles bulged as he pulled off his belt. 

Apparently, his body was using its last bit of energy for his imagination to go wild, instead of concentrating on healing. Thoughts wouldn't leave his mind of Stiles’ arms stretched above him, muscles pulling taut against restraints as Derek took him apart with just his mouth. Derek blamed his problem on living as a wolf for the past several months, and the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in the past year.

“Derek, dude? You all right?” Stiles had moved in front of the TV. “How many of these things did you see?”

“Three, but I think there’s more.”

“Any way we can trigger the healing process without breaking bones?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t think so.”

Stiles sat back on the other bed, leaning against the headboard, he looked over at Derek. “Let’s not break bones. If you’re really not healing then you’ll have a broken arm and a torn-up shoulder.”

“I’ll be fine by morning,” Derek said and tried to believe his own words. But the more he said it, the less he believed it.

They ate pizza in bed, Derek only managed to get one slice down before a wave of nausea hit him so strongly he thought he was going to throw up.

Listening to the sounds of Stiles moving around the room, Derek laid down. The first time in a long time he wasn’t completely alone, and it was more comforting than he expected it to be.

The last thing he heard was Stiles climbing into the other bed, he wasn’t even surprised that Stiles was staying the night.

Derek rolled over and groaned as all the muscles in his shoulder pulled tight. A buzzing warmth pulsed through the edges of his wound. It was the familiar feeling of his body trying to heal itself that hadn't been there yesterday. At least it was trying now, even if the pain was worse than the night before.

Towel drying his hair, Stiles came out of the bathroom already dressed in his uniform. "How's the shoulder?"

"Healing," Derek said. According to the alarm clock it was only six a.m. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and rubbed his face with his good hand.

"I have to be at work soon, but I'll drop by later...unless you need me to stay?" Stiles' voice rose at the end with a bit of hopeful inquiry.

"I'll be okay," Derek said. He tried to move his arm, but like yesterday, his muscles were too numb. Almost like it was paralyzed.

Stiles hung up the towel in the bathroom and grabbed his phone from the dresser. "I wrote my number down next to the motel phone, if you need to call me." He moved closer to Derek. "Can I see the wound? Just to make sure it's not infected or anything."

"I don't get infections," Derek said. He lifted his other hand up to peel away the bandages.

Stiles scrunched up his nose. "Well, it doesn't look terrible, but there's definitely some weird discharge that wasn't there yesterday."

Bitter acidic puss oozed out of the wound. It smelled like the creatures. That wasn't good. 

"I don't think I should go into work."

"Stiles, all I'm going to do is sleep." Derek stuck the bandage back to his skin.

"Don't do that! The bandages need to be changed." He grabbed the medical supplies from the day before. "You really know nothing about wound care 101 do you?"

"I've never had to." Derek rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stared at the picture on the wall. It was of the motel back when it was a popular tourist spot for families. The pink bubblegum doors were freshly painted, and there was a little girl eating ice cream. Idyllic in a way. Far from the kind of guests the motel housed now.

Stiles cleaned the wound and Derek hissed, moving his shoulder away. 

"It's worse today, the pain," Stiles stated.

Derek didn't reply.

"You need to call the second things get bad, promise? That's the only way I'll leave you here alone," Stiles said.

"Why do you care so much?" Derek asked.

"Because!" Stiles exclaimed. "I—I care about you."

"You do?" Derek raised his eyebrows. "We're not even friends."

A quick look of hurt flashed across Stiles’ face. He stayed hyper-focused on bandaging Derek's wound. "I thought we were. Friends, that is. Even if we don't see each other often." He ran his thumb over Derek's collarbone. "I think about you a lot, wonder what you're up to, when you're coming back. If you're okay...if you're even alive."

Derek looked away from Stiles. So it wasn't just him lying in a bed across the country thinking about Stiles. 

"I'll call you if I get bad," he said.

"That's all I ask." Stiles finished bandaging the wound and stood up straight, smiling down at Derek. "All right, I'll see you in a bit. Drink some water, I left a cup for you on the nightstand." He grabbed the gun and badge from the table, leaving the room with a quick glance back.

Derek looked over at the nightstand, sure enough a cup of water sat next to the pad of paper, Stiles' number scrawled messily across the page with a smiley face underneath it. He laid back down and pulled the covers up as he started to shiver. 

Heal now. Contemplate his apparent feelings for the annoying human later.

Over the morning, Derek managed to drink half the water in the glass. As the hours passed, the wound ached more and more. A feeling Derek had only felt once before washed over him. His skin prickled with tenderness, a cold sweat broke out on his face, he shivered even though his body burned. It was like the time he'd got shot by a wolfsbane bullet. A fever. Being a born wolf he'd never experienced a fever with an illness the way humans did. It made him feel stupidly weak. 

Times like this, when he experienced just a moment of humanness, left him questioning how people did it. To be so defenseless and frankly, to be in so much pain. He thought of all the times Stiles had charged into danger beside Scott and Derek without flinching. How many times he'd been injured. Now, even with the gun and training, he was still vulnerable. 

Derek heard the heartbeat as soon as the car pulled up. When had he come to recognize Stiles’ heartbeat? At what point did it become familiar? At what point did Stiles become familiar?

There was a sharp rap on the door and he struggled to get out of the bed.

Stiles’ eyes swept over him as he opened the door. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Derek turned away and sat on the end of the bed. “I thought you were at work?”

“Lunch break. I brought food, and the bestiary,” Stiles said, walking into the room. He held out a tablet. “Are you feeling worse?”

Derek gave a non-committal shrug and took the tablet. “Did you look through it?”

“I haven’t had a chance.” Stiles sat down at the small table and pulled out a plastic container. “I also didn't get a chance to see the things, figured you’d have a better idea. But you said they moved fast?” He bit into his sandwich, his eyes watching Derek.

“Yeah. That’s how I ended up like this.” Derek motioned to his shoulder.

“There’s soup in here,” Stiles said through a mouthful of food, gesturing at the plastic bag. “And another sandwich.”

Derek unlocked the tablet and started to flip through the pages. “This might take a while.”

“Yeah figured. That’s why I brought it over now.” Stiles finished off his sandwich as Derek searched the bestiary for any indication of what the creature could be. “I’ve got to get back to work, but let me check your shoulder before I go.”

“I’m fine,” Derek grunted. The pain was constant. It didn’t let up as his body tried to push out whatever toxin had entered his bloodstream from the claws. His wounded animal state made him want to barricade himself away from anyone else until he was healed and invulnerable again.

“You’re not fine.” Stiles stood up and moved over to the bathroom. “You’re not covering up your pain as well as you think you are.” He washed his hands. Grabbing the bag of bandages and cleaning alcohol from the dresser, he walked over to the bed. “Just let me check it, make sure it’s not infected.”

“I don’t get—”

“Infections, yeah so you said, but usually you heal in seconds flat and that’s not happening either.” Stiles peeled back the bandages from his shoulder and gagged. “Oh my God.”

Even through the bandage, the wound stunk. Without the bandage, the smell was so strong it made Derek’s eyes water and bile rise up in his throat. 

“It’s the venom. Or whatever it was," Derek said.

“This is not good,” Stiles said. He gagged again. “Maybe we should take you to see Deaton.”

“I’m healing,” Derek said, turning his attention back to the tablet. “Just slowly.”

“More like glacially. Plus, this—” Stiles gestured to the wound— “this smells like... death.”

“Will you hurry up?” 

The air stung the open wound. Edges of his torn flesh were starting to turn a purple-black, it oozed green and yellow puss. He didn’t need to be told how bad it was, he felt it.

“Dude...”

“Stiles, I’m fine.”

Stiles made a displeased noise, but didn’t say anything. He looked over Derek’s shoulder more closely. “I don’t even know if there’s a point in cleaning this...” He walked over to the bathroom. “Maybe just a wet cloth, clean away some of the puss that’s coming out?”

Derek focused on the bestiary. The Argents had collected a lot more information than Derek had ever been told about. Things he didn’t even realize existed were closely detailed and described. Things he hoped he never came face to face with. So far though, nothing about creatures with toxic claws that seemed to live in packs. Feeding off any human or animal they could get a hold of.

“This might sting,” Stiles said as he came back over with the wet cloth.

Derek flinched. The pain was so strong it almost made him throw up. He clenched his teeth together and closed his eyes.

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered. He swiped the cloth over the wound. Each time the pain got worse. It made Derek dizzy and weak.

“Stop.” Derek’s fangs tried to lengthen, his body tried to protect itself against the assault of pain.

Stiles pulled his hand away, looking at the cloth. “Are you sure you’re healing?”

“Yes.” Derek felt his skin trying to stitch itself back together. Felt the burning in his veins of his body trying to wash away the toxins. But it didn’t mean it was doing it fast enough, Derek knew there was a chance he was dying, and his body wouldn’t heal before that happened. 

“Because it smells like you’re dying. It looks like you’re dying. Are you dying?" Stiles started to sound panicked. "Tell me the truth, no more of these partial lies. Are you actually healing, or are you dying?”

“I... I don’t know,” Derek admitted. “My body's trying to heal, I just don’t know if it’s fast enough.”

“All right. Here’s what we’re going to do, you’re going to eat something and drink some water. Can’t have you getting dehydrated. I’m going to call Deaton, he’s going to come here and have a look.” Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket. Derek opened his mouth to tell him not to call anybody, but Stiles held up his hand. “No protesting otherwise I’ll arrest you, and then legally we have to give you medical attention.”

Derek smiled at that. “What would you arrest me for?”

“I’d come up with something. Public indecency?”

“We’re not in public. And I’m not indecent.”

“You’re shirtless, that’s more indecent than most people fully naked,” Stiles said. He turned around. “Hey Deaton? We’ve got an issue, I need you to meet me at the motel off the highway.”

His stomach turned with the cup of water Stiles had all but forced down his throat. He pushed the container of soup away. “I can’t eat this.”

Staring at him from across the table, Stiles crossed his arms. “Dude, you gotta eat something."

“Unless you want to be cleaning vomit from the motel carpet, I’d suggest you let it go.”

Stiles huffed. “You’re so dramatic.” He took away the soup anyway. “Deaton should be here soon.” 

Derek watched Stiles as he put the lid back on the container and refilled the cup in the bathroom sink. 

“At least drink some more water, you’re running a fever.”

“I can’t get dehydrated.”

Placing the cup down on the table, Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Right now, I think you’re as human as human comes.”

Not entirely true, Derek's senses were still above average, and the only reason he wasn't dead was because he wasn't human. But there was no point arguing that when his body shook with the chills. A fresh cold sweat broke out across his skin. 

“Isn’t your lunch over?”

"I'm not going back to work with you in this state," Stiles said. He sat back down at the table. "And it's a mind-numbingly slow day at work. Usually is, to be honest."

"Think you'll apply to the FBI once you can?"

Stiles shrugged. "The closest field office is Sacramento so I wouldn't be able to live in Beacon Hills. I still have a while to think about it though."

There was a knock on the door, Stiles sprung up and welcomed Deaton in.

Deaton didn't look surprised to see Derek sitting in the room even though Stiles hadn't told him who needed help. "Derek, what did you get yourself into this time?" he asked as he set his bag down on the table.

"Not sure," Derek said. 

"Let's have a look." Deaton had him move the chair into the middle of the room and sit down. He pulled off the bandages and leaned in close. "That doesn't look good."

"That's what I keep telling him," Stiles said.

Deaton pulled out a vial and needle from his bag.

“What’s that?” Stiles asked.

“Just a freezing agent,” Deaton said, filling the needle with the clear liquid. A spurt of medicine flew out of the end as he cleared the air. “That way we can have a closer look.” Through the haze of the fever, Derek could barely feel the prick of the needle. “What were these creatures like?” Deaton asked, piercing his skin in a different location, freezing more of the flesh.

“Fast... big... not human... sharp claws,” Derek managed to get out. “I saw three, but I think there’s five.”

“Lots of dead bodies are piling up,” Stiles said. “Not just humans... doesn't seem to matter what living thing they come across.”

The pain eased up as the freezing worked its way through his shoulder. There was a bit of relief for the first time since he got attacked.

“Can you feel this?” Deaton asked, poking at the angry red skin around the wound. Derek shook his head. “How long has it been like this?” 

“I found him last night around seven?” Stiles said. “It obviously didn’t look like this, and when I left this morning it wasn’t this bad.”

“It’s infected,” Deaton said. “Hence the fever, the discharge, the bright red skin around the wound... but your abilities should be able to fight off any infection. You’re sure you’re healing?”

“He said he is,” Stiles was quick to interject. “But he also said he couldn’t get infections and that he was feeling fine.”

“ He is right here,” Derek said. “I am fine.” 

He flinched with the sudden pressure as Deaton squeezed the wound. Apparently the freezing wasn’t entirely effective.

“I’m wondering if you have something stuck in the wound,” Deaton said. He grabbed a pair of gloves from his bag. “I’m afraid this next part won’t be so pleasant.”

Derek took a breath and dug his claws into his palms as Deaton dug his fingers into the wound. No amount of freezing provided relief for his wound being poked and prodded at like this. He growled, fighting the urge to shift.

“Hold him,” Deaton said.

Stiles moved behind Derek. His hands pressed down on Derek’s shoulders.

Derek shouted, the pain clouded out any sense. Trying to get away, he pushed at Stiles’ arms. Stiles’ hand grabbed his hand, holding it still, his other hand moved to the back of Derek’s neck.

“Take a breath,” Stiles said.

Derek tried to listen, tried to breathe in, but Deaton’s finger was still moving around.

“Derek, listen to me, just listen to my voice,” Stiles said. His thumb ran over Derek’s neck. It was more soothing than a simple touch should be. “Take a breath.”

Derek sucked in a gasping breath.

“Good. Now exhale,” Stiles said. His thumb was still moving in small circles.

Derek let out the breath.

"Inhale again," Stiles said. 

Derek followed the direction.

“I think I found the culprit of the infection,” Deaton said. He glanced up past Derek. “Got him?”

“Yeah,” Stiles squeezed Derek’s neck, “got him.”

Derek tried not to break Stiles’ hand as Deaton forced more fingers into the wound and pulled the object out. Just as he couldn’t take anymore, Deaton’s hand pulled away from his shoulder. Blood and pus covered the glove.

Stiles shook his own hand out as he hissed in pain. But he kept his other hand on the back of Derek’s neck, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“Well?” Stiles asked.

Deaton held up half a claw, about two inches worth had broken off in Derek’s body. “I think you’ll find the healing process to be a bit quicker,” he said, looking closer at the claw.

When Stiles finally let go of his neck, Derek missed the familiar touch. Pain rushed back. It didn’t make sense. Stiles couldn’t take pain the way werewolves could. There was no reason for Derek to not feel as much pain when Stiles touched him.

“Do you recognize it?” Stiles asked.

“No. I’d definitely be interested in seeing the creature this came off of though.”

“Well, if we can get our hands on a body, we’ll drop it off at the clinic,” Stiles said. “What about Derek?”

“I think he’ll be fine with some rest. His fever should break soon, and then healing should be almost back to normal.” Deaton dropped the claw in an empty glass jar. “Call me if he's not better by the morning.”

“Okay, thanks.” Stiles walked Deaton to the door. "We'll talk later," he said as he closed the door. Turning around, Stiles looked Derek over. “Let’s get that wound bandaged and you back into bed.”

“I’m—”

“If you say fine one more time I’m going to hit you upside the head,” Stiles said.

Derek didn't say anything else. No point in lying anymore, all his cards were on the fucking table.

Stiles’ breaths were the only sound other than his heartbeat as he gently cleaned all the pus out of the wound. The freezing was enough to make the touch barely there. 

"You're doing surprisingly well with this," Derek said. "I thought you had a weak stomach?"

"You wanted me to cut off your arm. That's completely different." Stiles taped a new bandage to Derek’s chest. "I've also had first aid training and a bit of experience with this while on the job when EMS doesn't get to a scene fast enough."

"Do you like it? Being a deputy?"

"It sucks a lot of the time, watching people suffer," Stiles admitted quietly. "Most of the time it feels more like we're the clean-up crew for dead bodies. But sometimes we save someone and it makes it all worth it."

Derek accepted the hand around his elbow to help him stand up. The world spun around him, and Stiles held him still.

He laid down on the bed. His eyes slipped shut. The past hour taking more out of him than running for hours usually did.

“I’ll be right back,” Stiles said.

Derek winced as a cold wet cloth pressed against his forehead. A fresh wave of chills ran up his spine. "That better not be the same cloth you used to clean my wound."

Stiles laughed under his breath. "It's a clean cloth... well as clean as you're going to get in this motel," he said. There was silence for a few moments before he spoke again. “Why’d you go alone to the warehouse? You should’ve called someone.”

“I didn’t realize there was more than one.”

“You didn’t know what you were walking into,” Stiles said. “Like usual, no self-preservation.”

“Deaton says I’ll be fine.”

“Deaton thinks you’ll be fine, and that’s not the point.” Stiles patted the cloth over Derek’s face. “You don’t always have to be alone.”

“It’s easier if I am.” Suddenly they weren’t talking about Derek’s lack of self-preservation or tendency to charge into deadly situations by himself.

Stiles’ eyes softened. He laid the cloth on Derek’s forehead and ran his knuckles across Derek’s cheek. “Not with the right person,” Stiles said quietly. “The right person can make things easier.”

Derek swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and tacky.

Stiles cleared his throat. Snapping out of his gaze, he stood up. “You need more water. And then sleep.”

The rest of the day progressed in the same manner. Stiles would demand he drank a cup of water, he’d choke it down, sweat it out. Derek laid in the bed and sleep escaped him. The cloth was rinsed out, Stiles would attentively run it along his hot skin. The freezing dissipated with time. The wound burned and burned and burned.

Stiles sat on the other bed and read through the bestiary, once in a while he’d flash Derek a picture of a creature with long claws. Derek would shake his head. Nothing looked like the creatures he encountered.

Food was ordered. Derek almost threw up from the smell. Stiles forced more water into him.

The sun set with the TV playing a shitty show while Stiles laughed in the other bed. Slipping in and out of a half-sleep state, Derek’s reality melded with dreams. Stiles’ hands lingered as he checked on Derek’s fever or held the cold cloth to his face. At least, Derek thinks they did. Maybe he dreamt that too.

Pulling the curtains closed, Stiles stripped out of his clothes and laid in the other bed. “Hopefully tomorrow morning you’re fully healed,” he said as he shut off the light.

Derek listened as Stiles' heartbeat evened out and his breaths became deep and slow with sleep. He watched the red numbers on the alarm clock tick by. Ten p.m. Eleven. Twelve. Soon it was almost three a.m., and he hadn’t properly slept in twenty-one hours. Exhaustion made him weak. The fever had finally broken but his shoulder ached to the point it was the thing keeping him awake.

The bedsprings creaked as he shifted and tried to find a more comfortable position.

Stiles was visible in the stream of a dull orange streetlight that managed to sneak in through the crack of the curtains. He laid on his side facing Derek with his hand tucked under his cheek. 

“Watching me sleep is a new level of creepy for you,” Stiles whispered. His lips twitching with a smile as he opened one eye.

Derek rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling instead.

“How’s the shoulder?” 

“It hurts,” Derek said.

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever heard you admit something hurts.”

“This is the first time I’ve felt safe enough to admit it,” Derek said quietly.

The other bed rustled, and then Stiles was standing over him. He pressed the back of his hand against Derek’s forehead. “Feels like your fever broke.”

“Around one a.m.”

“That’s good.” Stiles switched on the lamp, and Derek snapped his eyes shut as they tried to adjust to the sudden brightness. “Sorry, I just want to check your wound. Can you sit up?”

Derek sat on the edge of the bed as Stiles took off the bandages.

“Okay, well, I don’t want to puke from the smell anymore,” Stiles said, “so that’s an improvement.”

Derek smiled.

“The skin isn’t so dark, there's no pus, the redness is gone." Stiles poked at the wound, and Derek sucked in a sharp breath. “I think it’s just time now.”

“Thank you,” Derek said, staring at his hands in his lap. “For helping me.”

“You’re welcome.” Stiles squeezed his wrist for a split second before the touch was gone. For the fourth time, he covered the wound with new bandages and threw out the old ones.

With a flick of the lamp, the room was dark again, and Derek settled back into the bed. It was going to be a long night. He waited for the rustle of the other bed but it never came.

Stiles stood at the side of Derek’s bed, staring down at him.

“Now you’re watching me sleep?” Derek asked.

“That’d only be possible if you actually slept,” Stiles said. He moved forward, toward Derek, and paused. Apparently making a decision in his head, Stiles climbed into the bed, sliding under the covers.

“What—”

Nuzzling against Derek's neck, Stiles’ head rested in the dip of his good shoulder. His hand laid flat across Derek’s bare stomach, his thumb stroking the skin in gentle movements. “This okay?” Stiles whispered.

“Yeah,” Derek said, letting his body sink into the bed, letting go of any tension. He was safe, he reminded himself. He was safe with Stiles. Consciousness didn’t hold on long after that.

The first thing he realized when he woke up was that he was comfortable. Really comfortable. It took a moment to register why. The pain was gone. The nausea was gone. His shoulder felt normal again, his whole body felt normal. Except for the hunger that gnawed at his insides.

The second thing he realized were the loud snores right in his ear. The line of heat pressed up against his side from Stiles’ body, Stiles’ arm draped across his chest.

He tried to ignore the reason he managed to heal in only a few hours, after struggling for more than a day. But the reason was currently drooling on his chest, lips smushed against Derek’s skin.

Sliding out from under Stiles, Derek went into the bathroom and peeled off the bandages. It was as if he’d never been injured in the first place. He ran his hand over the skin, smooth and untouched. His shoulder was a bit tight as he rolled it, probably from the lack of use over the last day. 

“Derek?” Stiles mumbled, his voice thick with sleepy confusion.

“I’m right here.” Derek threw out the bandages and moved back into the main room.

“Oh wow.” Stiles rubbed his eyes. “You’re healed.”

“Appears like it.”

“No residual side effects?”

“I don’t think so.”

Stiles stretched. Lifting his arms above his head and tilting his head back. Dark hair dusted his chest. The exposed skin made Derek want to bite dark bruises across it. He busied himself with figuring out the coffee machine instead.

“I should get to work,” Stiles said. “Even I can only get away with absences for so long.” He slid out of the bed and grabbed his uniform from the ground. “But we’ll meet after my shift? Figure out what we’re going to do about these things?”

“Sure.” But he had no plans of waiting, the last thing he wanted was Stiles to get a claw across the chest. “I’ll be here.”

“There’s still a few entries in the bestiary we haven’t looked at,” Stiles said, buttoning up his shirt. “I’ll check in with Deaton, see if he managed to get anywhere with the claw.”

Derek nodded.

“Hey.” Stiles walked over to Derek and ran his hand over the healed skin of his shoulder and chest before flicking his eyes up to Derek’s face. Worry tugged his brows together, his mouth pulled down on one side. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I never do anything stupid.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, right, you?” He grabbed his phone from the dresser. “And get some breakfast or something, you haven’t eaten in a while.”

Derek didn't do anything that Stiles told him to. Instead, he showered the last two days off of him and ran to the preserve.

He had to find the creatures and kill them before Stiles was off work. It wasn't his most brilliant plan but it was too much of a risk to bring Stiles along. One wrong move and he'd be torn to pieces. The thought of Stiles dying made his chest hurt more than he’d like.

He knew the forests of Beacon Hills like the back of his hand, easily finding a shortcut from the back of the motel that headed toward the preserve. Getting away from civilization allowed him to run at a faster-than-human speed, and it only took an hour for him to get to where his rental car was still parked.

A bitter smell hung in the air. It was fresh, which meant the creatures were probably around at some point within the last hour. He followed the scent deeper into the woods.

Fallen leaves covered the ground. Another reminder of the passage of time Derek appeared to have missed. Not that he expected to make it out alive, but if he did, he considered the possibility of staying in Beacon Hills.

A couple years ago he would’ve never entertained the idea. Even a few months ago it wouldn’t have been something he thought of doing. Returning to Stiles felt better than he could’ve imagined, and the life he’d been living was lonely.

Over the next cliff, laid a half-eaten deer. Its carcass was a mess of bloody flesh and bones. Another dead deer just a few feet away. At least it wasn’t humans this time.

Their scent was strongest there and moved toward the west, like it did the other day when he’d followed it to the slaughterhouse.

Maybe they were creatures of habit. They hunted within the same square mile of the preserve. It was possible they were returning to the same building and Derek had just scared them off temporarily last time. 

He turned back toward his car.

When Derek pulled up to the warehouse, a deputy cruiser already sat in the abandoned parking lot. Stiles leaned against the hood with his arms crossed.

Shit. There was no fighting Stiles so he parked his car and got out. 

Giving Derek a smug look, Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I’d let you handle this on your own, did you?”

“I didn’t think you’d know.”

“What part of 'don’t do anything stupid' do you not understand?” Stiles said. 

“The part where you endanger yourself,” Derek said. 

“I have a gun... besides, you were the one that’s been in bed recovering for the past day.”

“Yeah and if it was you that got torn up? You’d probably be lying in a casket right now.”

Stiles huffed out a frustrated breath. “Speaking of which, Deaton informed me that the venom is similar to a Kanima’s venom. It’s used for paralyzing the creature’s prey so they’re easier to eat, you know, Komodo dragon style,” Stiles said. “He thinks the reason you didn’t get affected is because you’re a werewolf and your body was able to fight it off.”

“All the more reason for you not to come with me.”

Stiles pushed himself off the car and dropped his arms. “It’s happening whether you like it or not.”

“If they catch you, they’ll eat you alive.”

“Then I won’t let them catch me.” Stiles shot him a nervous smile despite the cocky tone of his voice. “I’ve never backed down before, I’m certainly not going to now.”

It was a lost battle the moment Derek showed up. “Stay behind me,” Derek said. “And don’t go playing a hero.”

“Yes sir.” Stiles mocked a salute before he pulled out his pistol from the holster.

This was a terrible fucking idea.

“Stiles, I—” Derek stopped talking. He didn’t know what he was trying to say.

“This is no more dangerous than anything we’ve done before,” Stiles said. “Let’s go, we have dinner plans.”

“We do?” Derek started toward the warehouse.

Stiles fell in step with him. “Yeah, booked us a reservation even.”

“That’s presumptuous.”

“I took care of your grumpy ass for a whole day and now because of it, I'm stuck on nightshift for two weeks... the least you can do is buy me dinner,” Stiles said with a wink.

Derek’s hand hesitated on the door handle. “Dinner it is.”

“Unless we become dinner,” Stiles added under his breath.

Derek ignored the comment and pulled open the door. The smell twisted his stomach into knots. There were several heartbeats, he tried to distinguish between them all. He counted five other than Stiles’ and his own.

“Don’t hesitate to shoot,” he said quietly as they stepped into the darkness of the building. The stale air choked his lungs. Dust clouded the streams of light coming from the few shattered windows.

Snarling snorts came from the backroom of the building. Stiles flicked on a flashlight and held it above his raised pistol. They stuck close together as they walked toward the noises.

Derek had seen a lot in his fairly short life. But these creatures struck true fear in his heart. Their human-less faces, the blank stares as they tore into whatever warm flesh they could find. The smell, their warning growls.

They stopped outside an old breakroom, Derek pushed open the door. If they were busy feeding it was easy to sneak up on them.

Two creatures with towering black bodies were hunched over something indistinguishable on the ground. They tore into its flesh with an insatiable rabid hunger. The flashlight shone on one’s face and it looked over with black eyes and sharp teeth dripping with the blood of their fresh kill.

"Oh my God, what the hell is that?" Stiles said.

At the sound of his voice, both creatures snarled and turned toward them. At their full height, they were at least a couple feet taller than him and Stiles.

“Holy shit.” Stiles’ grip tightened on his gun, with no hesitation, four shots were fired.

Two bullets hit each creature in the head. They dropped to the ground in a withering mess. This side of Stiles was new, one that was confident and skilled with a gun, Derek was impressed with his ability to aim.

“Huh,” Stiles said as he slowly lowered the gun. “That was surprisingly effective and a little anticlimactic.”

Derek nodded toward the stairs. “There’s more.”

“Maybe we should get you a gun,” Stiles said quietly as they stalked toward the stairs of the building.

“I don’t like guns.”

“You think I do?” Stiles whispered. “But they get the job done.”

Each step rang out on the metal stairs giving away their position. A creature appeared from the shadows and reached for Stiles, who'd dumbly chosen to go first.

Rushing forward before he could even shift, Derek took a long drag of a claw across his chest. He stumbled backwards, missing the top stair, and fell back to the first floor.

Stiles' shouts for Derek blurred into the rushing air and clangs of the stairs. He groaned. The burning sensation of the toxin was back, it ran along the wound on his chest. His back ached as his body healed the broken ribs and wrist from falling.

A shot rang out. Followed closely by a second. Stiles’ shouts were cut off by a choking noise.

Derek pushed himself up and took the stairs two at a time.

The dead body of one of the creatures laid across the floor. Another had Stiles pressed up against the wall by a grip around his neck. His feet dangled and his lips turned purple as he grabbed at the creature’s long fingers.

With a low, menacing growl, the last creature stood in the shadows to their right. Barely visible even with Derek’s shifted vision. It advanced on them as Stiles started to lose consciousness.

Derek punctured the creature's back that held Stiles. His claws sunk through putrid flesh and muscle, they hit the bones of the creatures’ ribs, and it let out a nerve-piercing squeal before throwing Stiles down the hall.

It moved fast. Spinning around and going for Derek, the claws just missed his stomach and he slashed at its throat. Black blood ran down his arms. The creature moved forward even as Derek ripped out what appeared to be its throat.

There was a pained shout from Stiles in the background. Derek faltered with the noise. The other creature had Stiles on the ground. With the distraction, the creature threw Derek back against the wall. He fell to the ground, something in his back was broken from the impact.

Three shots went off. A creature wailed.

Lying in a heap, Derek looked up just in time to see a mouth opening with a sharp-tooth bite, going right for his stomach.

A loud bang made him flinch. The creature above him fell to the ground. Stiles stood off to the side with his gun out. A bruise already forming on his neck, and his shoulder bleeding with a bite.

Derek fell back against the wall, his broken back already healed. The venom in him burned. Pain flowed through his body as it tried to heal the toxins again. 

Stiles sat down next to him and called someone, he gave the address and hung up. And then he laughed— laughed. His body sagged back against the wall as the dust seemed to settle in the warehouse. The bodies stunk like rotten flesh but Derek was too tired to move.

“That wasn’t so bad.”

“You got bit,” Derek said, tugging at the hole in Stiles’ shirt.

"I don't think their teeth have venom, I feel fine... well other than the obvious bite wound," Stiles said. He looked over at Derek while smiling tiredly through the dirt and black blood on his face. His gaze fell to Derek’s mouth. “We make a pretty good team.”

“When you man—” Stiles’ lips cut him off.

Everything in Derek wanted to push him away because the feeling of being completely safe and home was overwhelming. Even in the abandoned slaughterhouse with the dead bodies of the creatures littered around them he felt safer than he had since the fire.

All because Stiles was flooding his senses. The scent of the motel’s lavender shampoo cut through the rotting flesh. The sounds of Stiles' manic heartbeat and sharp inhale through his nose covered up the hollow wind as it rushed through the building. There was the taste of blood, dirt, dust, something bitter that Derek assumed was the creatures’ bodily fluids, but then underneath it all, was the sharp bite of peppermint. The touch of his soft lips sliding against Derek’s asked for permission without saying a word. Stiles’ hand held his elbow steady and took away his pain. Stiles consumed his senses, and Derek didn’t pull away, he couldn’t pull away, because the feeling he had was a feeling he didn't even know he had been missing.

Derek’s hand came up to Stiles’ neck, to pull him in closer and tilt their heads because he needed more.

They didn’t pull away from each other, even as Derek’s body ached with the injuries, even as his neck cramped up from the angle, he kept kissing Stiles. Because now that they started, he didn’t want to ever stop.

A door flew open downstairs, the sound echoed through the slaughterhouse. At least two sets of footsteps tramped through the building.

“Stiles?” Sheriff Stilinski yelled from the first floor.

Stiles groaned as they finally separated from each other. “Nothing kills the mood like hearing your dad’s voice.” But he smiled like an idiot anyways, looking absurd with his face covered in dirt and black blood. “To be continued?” he asked, his eyes darted hopefully over Derek’s face. His thumb still rubbed soothing circles on Derek’s neck.

“Yeah.” Derek leaned back against the wall. “To be continued.”