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“There’s been another animal attack out in the Preserve,” the Sheriff says in lieu of a greeting to his son over the phone.
“Another?” Stiles sighs, “That’s, what, the fifth one in two weeks?”
“Looks like it. Same level of mutilation as the others, too.”
“I’ll get the pack together. We need to end whatever is doing this right now.” Stiles declares to his father, shaking his head. “Thanks for the update, and I’ll talk to you later when you get off your shift. Love you and be careful old man.”
“I should be telling you the same thing. Love you too, son.”
Stiles hangs up the phone and runs his hand through the wild mess of his hair. These animals attacks have been setting the whole town of Beacon Hills on edge for the past couple of weeks, and the resident werewolf pack are still as confused as they were in the beginning. At first, the believed it to be another pack infringing on their territory. They had called surrounding packs to see if any packs had passed through recently, but they got jack squat information on that trail. Also, when the wolves would go out on their routes at night, there weren’t any new scents or tracks that indicated another pack. Stiles has been researching his ass off, but to no reward and he is getting tired of it. Dialing the Alpha’s number, Stiles paces his bedroom floor.
“Scotty, we’ve got another one,” frustration clear in Stiles’ voice that a simple human could pick up.
“I’ll call a pack meeting again. Meet at the loft in 20.” Scott doesn’t stay on the line long and hangs up.
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About 30 minutes later, Stiles is jogging his way into the loft where the pack is already waiting.
“Sorry for the delay, poor Roscoe didn’t want to get going today,” Stiles explained when sliding the loft door open.
“It’s fine Stiles, just sit down so we can get started,” Scott says as Stiles quickly finds an open spot between an annoyed Jackson and a fingernail filing Erica. “Alright pack, there’s been another attack, so I am upping our area to cover in each of our rounds. Also, you will be in partners so just in case something happens. Since this has gone on long enough, everyone will be involved in finding whatever this thing is.”
“Whoa there, do you mean us, the weak humans, when you say everyone?” Stiles interjects with surprise.
“You should be happy Stilinski, you finally get to contribute something. Well, unless you get killed,” Jackson states. He gets a slap on the arm from Lydia for his words.
“Yes Stiles, I’m calling in everyone so we have a larger number of us out there. The pairs will be Erica and Boyd, Jackson and Isaac with Lydia, Derek and Stiles, and Allison and me.” Stiles dares to look over at his newfound partner in crime only to see him with his resting bitchface looking in his direction. Oh this is going to be so much fun.
Scott continues on with his plan, “We will begin the rotation with the first two groups going out in the preserve at dusk until one in the morning, where Stiles’ and my group will take over until dawn. Alright, go get some rest now.”
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Back in his own room, Stiles decides he needs to prepare. He crouches down and searches for his very own Supernatural Survival Kit he had Deaton help him make after the incident with the very angry vampires a few months back. It has mountain ash, mistletoe, iron, silver, salt, wolfsbane, and different herbs Deaton says help with the healing of various injuries. Stiles also grabs his aluminum bat that Deaton carved runes for strength and accuracy so it packs much more of a punch. After grabbing some granola bars, he curls up in his bed to get at least some rest before his shift with Derek.
After what seems like minutes, Stiles startles awake with the sound of a certain broody werewolf climbing through his window. He groans out his disapproval of being awoken.
“Come on Broody McBroodsalot, just a few more minutes,” Stiles voices from his warm cocoon of blankets and bed sheets. Derek huffs and pushes Stiles out of bed with just one hand. Stiles flails his way down to the ground in a giant mess. Once he gets his bearings, he stands up with a much less than pleased face and pointing his finger at Derek.
“Not cool, dude,” Stiles bites out. He takes his pointing hand and brings it up to rub the back of his head that was rudely introduced to his bedroom floor. “Why did you feel the need to do that exactly?”
“Figured it was the only way to get you up,” Derek shrugs with a mischievous smirk on his lips. Those beautiful, moist-looking lips. Whoa. Where the hell did that come from? Shake that one off Stilinksi. And crap, Derek has been talking to him.
“What?” Whoops, the werewolf does not look happy for his lack of attention. Oh well.
“I said, we need to get going because it is almost our time to be take over for the other groups.”
“Alrighty then, to the battlefield!” Stiles grabs his gear and begins to walk down to the front door out to his Jeep. “We can take the Jeep since it looks like you ran here.” Derek grunts his affirmative. Such a man with many words.
It takes about ten minutes of Stiles lip syncing and attempting to dance, without swerving the Jeep which is a very hard thing to do, to the songs on the radio and Derek sitting in unamused silence to get to the preserve. Stiles puts his belongings into a little backpack and picks up his bat to carry around. They soon begin walking in a somewhat comfortable silence deep into the preserve.
“So do you have any idea what it could be that is the cause for the killings?” Stiles questions after the long bought of silence. He’s never been one for silence.
“I have my suspicions,” Derek responds. There’s a few beats of silence making Stiles realizes that’s all he is going to say.
“And…?” Stiles tries to urge Derek to give more.
“And one of the ancient lore stories my mom used to tell us when we were all younger sticks out,” Derek sighs, clearly upset with having to think about his happy childhood memories. “There was one that was our favorite about a young Native American boy calling out to the lord of strength. An Amarok appeared shook the bones that prevented his growth, taught him, and the boy gained enough strength to gain the respect of his village.” Stiles had not heard Derek talk his much. He will never admit it to himself, but he found the voice very soothing.
Breaking out of his stupor, Stiles asks, “What’s an Ama-something?”
“Amarok,” huffs Derek, glancing at Stiles and narrowing his eyes. “In simpler terms for you to understand,” Stiles rolls his eyes “it is a gigantic wolf.”
“Aw great, a gigantic, unhappy, and mutilating wolf,” Stiles groans rubbing his hand, that is not using his bat as a walking stick, over his face. “How can we kill it?”
“It isn’t immortal, but it will be extremely difficult to kill it. Its skin is extremely tough and almost impermeable, but it can be done.”
“Alright, I’m just gonna focus on the fact that you said it is not immortal and hope for the best,” Stiles says. Because he was trying to not to focus on the fact it will be damn near impossible to kill this enormous wolf, he didn’t see the root in front of him. Stiles’ foot catches on it and tries to brace himself for the painful impact. Instead, in the next moment, he is pressed up against a warm, firm body.
“Uhhh… Thanks,” Stiles murmurs into the chest his face is pressed into. He hides his face a little bit more to hide his embarrassment. However, he realizes that he is now nuzzling Derek and flings himself backwards with a sort of squawk. Trying not to fall backwards all the way, he sees Derek’s face. There seems to be a hurt expression, but that can’t be right. He must’ve seen it wrong. After a moment of Stiles righting himself, he coughs and rubs the back of his neck.
“Okay so… let’s carry on with the search?” Stiles says a bit out of breath. Derek gazes at Stiles for a moment, bushy eyebrows furrowing, before he grunts his response and turns to begin walking. Stiles looks up skyward and shakes his head hoping whatever or whoever is up in the sky can give him the strength to not be such a clumsy idiot. He jogs the distance to catch up to Derek.
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They have been searching for any signs of the thing that has been attacking Beacon Hills for a few hours when they finally come across something. Derek stops suddenly in his tracks with Stiles bumping into him.
“Hey!” Stiles exclaims indignantly. “Wait why are we stopping?”
“I smell blood,” Derek speaks cautiously. “A lot of it.” Stiles curses under his breath. He was really hoping they wouldn’t be the ones to find something. The two walk silently, or near silently in Stiles’ case, among the trees until they get to a small clearing. The smell of decay and blood hits them both full force. They both cough and cover their noses and mouths trying to escape the foul smell. In the clearing is a whole hoard of dead deer and other small animals.
“What the hell?” Stiles gets out through his hands covering half of his face. He looks to the werewolf beside him for an answer. He hears Derek murmur a curse under his breath.
“I was right.”
“You were right in the sense it’s an Amarok thingy?” Stiles questions, hoping he is wrong. He isn’t so lucky because Derek nods his head.
“Damn it!” Stiles shouts his frustration. Why couldn’t it have been something easy like a rogue omega? Stiles drops his hands off his face, hangs his head dejectedly, and groans. Soon there is a large hand that his not his own covering his mouth. He tries to speak through the hand to ask just what Derek thinks he is doing, but the werewolf just pushes the hand harder on his mouth and shushes him. What is going on?
“It’s here,” Derek quietly whispers in his ear. Stiles understands and his heartbeat suddenly increases in speed. He looks to Derek with wide, frightened eyes. “We have to fight it Stiles.” Stiles shakes his head hard in disagreement. He does not feel like dying tonight. “Yes, if we don’t and try to run, it will just come after us anyways. I will howl for the pack. Since Scott and Allison are in the preserve as well it shouldn’t take them too long to get to us. The rest of the pack should hear it, too.” Stiles realizes they just need to keep it from killing them until Scott gets there. Can they do it though? Derek seems to understand the silent question and nods his head as reassuringly as he possibly can. He isn’t very good at this comforting stuff. Well here goes nothing. Derek releases his hold on the human and howls loud, voicing his need for the pack’s help.
This of course also gains the attention of the Amarok and it is soon charging through the trees right in the pair’s direction. The wolf is taller than nine feet and is freaking huge! Stiles is frozen to the spot, but Derek charges ahead to meet the wolf in the middle. He slides low to strike underneath the animal, but it seems to do little damage. However, its attention is now on Derek. It spins around, claws Derek across his whole torso. Derek roars out in pain. This seems to shake Stiles out of his frozen state. When he sees the state the fight is in, in the wolf’s favor, Stiles feels an uncontrollable anger swell up inside of him. It starts in his stomach and radiates heat outwards. He runs over to the enormous wolf and lets his body take over.
He grabs the tail of the wolf and uses it to fling himself up onto the wolf. This diverts its attention from Derek to the human now climbing on top of its back. Snarling wildly, the wolf attempts to shake off Stiles. The human grabs on tight and makes its way up to the head of the beast. Once he is at the head, he realizes he doesn’t have anything to attack it with. Crap. Way to think Stilinksi. He just has to hold on until someone from the pack gets there. As long as he keeps the attention off of Derek, who now seems to be gaining awareness down below.
Stiles’ already dangerously fast beating heart starts to beat even harder because his grip is beginning to slip. He squeezes his eyes shut in anticipation of his soon-to-be hearty fall. A voice breaks through his panic.
“Stiles! Hold on!” Stiles turns to see Scott, with Allison on his back, burst through the trees. However, since his attention is broken off from making sure his grip doesn’t slip, when the beast spins to face the new threat Stiles is thrown off like a rag doll. Stiles feels weightless for a few fleeting moments before he is brought to a sudden dead stop when he hits a tree. He can feel and hear the cracking of his bones before he hits the preserve’s ground. His vision begins to tunnel until the blackness is all he sees. He believes he faintly hears a roar. Whoever it was, they sounded angry.
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Sound is the first sense he regains. A steady beeping, the creaks of a plastic chair, and soft murmurs are what the human hears first. He tries to swallow, but his mouth is drier than the Sahara Desert, but it has a coppery after taste that makes him wonder what happened. He must make some noise of frustration because the murmur stops and soon a hand is cupping his face gently. Stiles cracks his eyes open and waits for his vision to clear to see whose face is connected to the hand.
“Hey,” Stiles realizes his father is the one gently stroking his cheek with his thumb. “You gave us quiet the scare there, kiddo.”
“I-,” Stiles begins to cough, but that just makes an unbearable pain flair in this chest making him gasp and, consequently, cough more.
“Stiles calm down. Breathe,” a much deeper voice somehow comforts and demands at the same time. A plastic cup of water is soon enclosed into his hand. Stiles, with his eyes squeezed shut from pain, slowly and shakily brings the cup up to his mouth. Another calloused hand closes over his and helps him to get the water into his mouth instead of all over his lap like it would have been.
After taking shaky, small breaths and drinking down some of the water to soothe his throat, Stiles is able to look around the room, trying to hide his grimace. His dad is on his left side observing him with concern written all over his face. He tries to give a reassuring smile, and luckily his father seems to accept it. He then notices a certain werewolf on his right side. Derek is a little harder to read, but he sees some concern hidden in the expression by the indifference his face is usually set in. Does he actually care about Stiles’ well-being? Was he transported to another universe while he was out? Did he hit his head a little too hard? What even happened? There were too many questions spinning around in his head.
“You have a pretty nasty concussion, broken ribs which punctured your lung, and some hefty bruising,” a new voice explains to Stiles, seeming to read the questioning look on his face. Scott. When did Scott get here? Man, he was out of it.
“Scott,” Stiles begins. “What happened?” Stiles looked around at all of the members of the room for a reply.
“After you were thrown into the tree, Derek went a little crazy,” Scott starts shooting a sideways glance at said werewolf. Derek scowls at the words. “He let out the angriest roar at the Amarok after you went down. I don’t know how he did it, but he just went all out on the beast and took it down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry before.”
Stiles was a bit speechless, shocking right, and just look towards Derek. The scowling werewolf seemed to find the tiled floor of the hospital room much more interesting than anything else. The Sheriff clears his throat, looking between the two with a calculating look.
“Well I’m going to get some coffee, Scott how about you can come and help me?” the Sheriff says giving Stiles a soft pat on the arm.
“But I was going to-,”
“Coffee, Scott. Come on,” the man says taking his arm and pushing the puppy-eyed werewolf towards the door. “I’ll be back soon, son,” he declares over his right shoulder. The two left, leaving the other pair of occupants in the room with an awkward silence.
“So… Uh,” Stiles tries to fill the silence. “I’m assuming the thing is dead then?”
“Yes, it won’t be killing anyone else,” Derek replies, still avoiding Stiles’ eyes.
“I guess thank you for that. How did that work anyways? I thought you said it was near impossible to give any damage?”
Derek looked like he didn’t want to answer, finding the spot on the floor again. “Well you heard what Scott said.”
Stiles’ smile grows into a much wider, shit-eating grin. “I’d say you were fighting to avenge my severely injured self. Weren’t you, Sourwolf?”
“Shut up Stilinski,” Derek shoots back without any real heat. He finally locks his gaze on to the battered human. Stiles’ smile turns more into a small one, while the corner of Derek’s lips turn up to give his own in return. “Damn you for getting under my skin.” He seems to say under his breath. Stiles licks his dry lips and shifts his gaze back and forth between Derek’s lips and kaleidoscope, hazel eyes. Derek can’t take it anymore and leans his head down closer to Stiles’. “Damn you,” he says before moving the rest of the way to touch his lips to the human’s.
This seemed to spark Stiles into action. He brought up his hand that was not connected to the hospital machinery and tangled it in the hair on the back of Derek’s head, pushing it closer. Derek deepened the kiss, flicking his tongue around Stiles’ sweet tasting mouth. After some time, they pulled apart. Smiles graced both of their faces.
“Wow,” Stiles breathed. Derek’s smile grew a bit more, and Stiles realizes it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He can’t wait to see it more in the future.
“You owe me so many explanations for your scowly behavior towards me, you don’t even know, but for right now…” Stiles pulls him back in for a passionate kiss.
THE END.