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Three guns pointed at him. Four at Derek. Seven hunters in total. Two ways out. Only one is going to save Derek. Stiles takes a breath. It’s a no-brainer, really. “Fancy meeting you here,” he says, nodding his head slowly, and takes a step back. Then another one. Just in case. “Love the hat. Is it vintage?”
The hunters exchange a look of confusion, and that’s really all Stiles needs. He takes off, aiming straight for Derek. All he can hope for now is that he’s not trying to catch or stop him. But Derek, just like the hunters, seems more confused than anything. So when Stiles crashes into him, Derek stumbles backward. His arms curl around Stiles almost on autopilot. Two steps. Derek knocks against the ledge with the back of his legs. Unable to hold his balance, they’re both going down.
Derek is going to be pissed, but he’s going to be alive, and that’s really what matters. He’ll take a pissed Derek over a dead one on any day.
A shot rings out. Stiles clings onto Derek as if his life depends on it, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. This is fine. This is going to be just fine. He squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a breath. It’s going to be so fucking cold.
Derek’s grip around him tightens.
A moment later, they’re hitting the water. It’s fucking cold, but it’s safe. They’re safe. Well, safer than the building for sure. Squinting inside the murky water, Stiles lets go of Derek. He’s pressing his lips together, pushing through the water as far as he’s able to put some distance between them and the hunters. Derek is right next to him underwater and helps him crawl through the bushes to get to dry land. He’s also very silent which isn’t necessarily unusual but with Derek, it’s all in the eyebrows — and those are angry enough to make up for his lack of words. It’s a miracle Derek isn’t dragging him around by the collar of his shirt to give him the silent angry alpha treatment.
“Don’t give me that look.” Stiles yanks his shirt over his head and wrings it out. It’s still gonna be wet and cold, but at least it’s not going to be drenched anymore.
Derek doesn’t seem to even be bothered by how completely and utterly drenched he is. His supernatural body heat is probably already drying his clothes as they speak. He’s clearly warm enough to huff out a breath and fold his arms over his chest as if his main priority is to show Stiles exactly how disappointed in him he is.
The audacity. Stiles cannot believe this man has the nerve to be mad at him after he just stopped him from getting shot by at least three different types of wolfsbane. “I saved your life!”
Derek quirks a brow. “You pushed me off a building.”
Stiles shakes out his shirt. “Technically, I didn’t push you. I tackled you. That’s a very important distinction.” After all, one implies that Stiles threw himself off the building with Derek. The other sounds as if he’s just a dick. He’s not. Well, at least not this time. “And it’s not like I would’ve done it if I hadn’t known there’s a river right next to it,” he reminds Derek, yanking his still wet shirt over his head again and shudders. Yup, still fucking cold. “And besides, we would not be in this situation if you told us what you were up to.” If Stiles had known Derek made the stupid decision to run into danger like the self-sacrificing idiot that he is, he would’ve been able to make a proper plan. Instead, he had to rush up the stairs like a mad person while the rest of the pack cleared out the hunters.
Peter is probably having a field day.
“I told you not to get involved.”
“Well, and I told you not to be an idiot. Yet, here we are.” Stiles accentuates the words by slapping his hands together. To be fair, his plan was not to fling Derek off the building, but he was more than a little stressed and confronted with three guns that turned in his direction. He had to improvise, and by the look on everyone’s face, nobody expected the puny human to tackle the big bad wolf. But he’s good at winging shit in stressful situations. Nobody expected him to go after a mutant alpha werewolf with a baseball bat either. Granted, that has been less successful than saving Derek today, but his point still stands.
Derek shakes his head. “I didn’t want you there because it was bound to go wrong.”
“That’s why you come with backup, and with your emissary. I’m the one who’s supposed to do the talking,” Stiles replies, throwing his hands in the air. “Derek, do I really have to explain to you how a pack works?”
“I survive being shot in the head.”
“Not if it’s wolfsbane.” Stiles closes the distance to his overly dramatic boyfriend and gently punches his chest. “We’re supposed to be a team, Big Guy. If you die, then I die too. That’s the deal.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Stiles glares up at Derek. He’s so over discussing Derek’s proclivity to play martyr in order to protect him and the pack and the rest of the world.
Sighing, Derek wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulls him close. “That’s why you suck at negotiations.”
“I’m great at negotiating,” Stiles mutters, shifting into Derek’s embrace, and hides his face against the crook of his neck. “A lot better than you. That’s why I’m the emissary.”
Derek huffs. It almost sounds like a chuckle. “I did not make you my emissary because you are a skilled negotiator.” He pulls back a little and cups Stiles’ neck, eyebrows quirked in slight amusement. At least he’s not annoyed with him anymore. That counts for something.
“I’m a great emissary.” Stiles leans up and kisses Derek. He tastes like river water, and Stiles probably smells like it too. “So next time you keep me out of the loop, I will shoot you myself.” Grinning, he pats Derek’s cheek and moves away. “Now, let’s get back to the others before Peter gets stupid ideas.”
“You brought Peter?”
“Yup.” Stiles grins.
Derek sighs, sounding as if he’s merely accepting his fate. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Smirking, Stiles intertwines their fingers. “No, you really shouldn’t be.”