Chapter Text
You’d think that after being kidnapped so many times, Stiles would be better at it. Certainly, he’d mastered the art of spitting in the face of a hunter while they tried to beat him into submission, but his body still hadn’t adapted to being beaten. He’d been hoping that he’d eventually develop a resistance to blunt force trauma, but no dice. Instead, his stupid human genes refused even the simplest request, he wasn’t asking them to make him super strong or bulletproof, just slightly more durable.
His most recent kidnappers were very middle of the road, definitely not his best, but nowhere near the worst. His favorite hunters to date had captured him and accidentally let him escape all within 4 hours, very efficient and only a minor concussion, five stars.
Calmly Stiles waited in his cell, after they realized that he wouldn’t be giving up any information, they decided he would make nice bait to lure out the Alpha. It was almost comical how predictable they were, it made him feel very safe. Derek and the rest of the pack would bust in and rescue the damsel in distress in just a few hours. They’d mock him about it for a few weeks trying to cover up how they anxiously hovered around him, and then they’d move on to the next big threat—nothing to worry about.
Stiles was beginning to worry. The hunters had a witch working with them. The witch had a grudge against the Hale Pack from the conversations he'd overheard. He estimated that more than thirty-six hours had passed since they’d nabbed him on his way to a meeting with Derek. Funnily enough, the Alpha had wanted to talk with Stiles about working with Deaton to cast tracking spells on everyone in the pack.
It wouldn’t have taken Derek long to realize something was wrong, especially since the weak human in his pack being kidnapped every few months was obviously hurting his pride. Derek began insisting on driving Stiles everywhere, and Stiles was pretty sure he’d seen the man’s hulking form looming in the woods outside of school. Stiles had wisely chosen not to comment on the Werewolf’s behavior. Privately, he could admit that he liked the thought of Derek watching over him, but he’d never admit that aloud.
He heard footsteps, and Stiles sat up in his cell with a groan. Even though he’d been blindfolded, he had a pretty good idea of the layout of the building. Just past the door was a hallway that led to a set of stairs, atop the stairs was a locked door with a four-digit pin code. The exit on the next floor was across the room and slightly to the right, with a few chairs and tables in the way of the path. Once Derek tore through the doors like butter, Stiles would not be allowed to contribute to the fight, the wolves were usually far too agitated by their need to protect the injured human to fight properly. Instead, Stiles was expected to wait outside with Boyd or Isaac.
A few minutes later, the door slammed open, and Stiles mentally sighed when he saw the blond hunter. He ignored the way the man leered at him, probably admiring his handiwork in the bruises littering Stiles’ body. Stiles resisted the urge to bare his teeth at the man, they’d taken to calling him a dog lover and a traitor to his kind, but for whatever reason, they hadn’t taken kindly to any wolf-ish behaviors from him.
“So what exactly is the plan here?” he drawled, “Kidnap the human, lure the pack into a trap, and kill them? Isn’t that inefficient? If you know where we live and you think you’re strong enough to beat us, why don’t you fight us out in the open?”
The blond hunter who Stiles was calling Lawrence only smiled creepily at him. He’d been expecting to be hit or yelled at based on past interaction, so this was particularly concerning. He was used to overly cocky hunters, but Lawrence looked more like he had something to be proud of. Without a word, he threw a water bottle and a loaf of bread on the ground and then left.
Stiles wondered how the witch was helping the hunter, perhaps she’d covered up his scent so that pack couldn’t find him. Even then, Deaton or Lydia should have been able to figure something out. He was more concerned that she’d given them something that could hurt or kill the wolves. While thinking, he took a swig of the water and ate a few slices of bread.
A few hours later, Stiles woke up from what was supposed to be a power nap to loud thumps and growling from upstairs. Knowing that his rescue team had finally arrived, he stood and leaned against the wall away from the door anticipating that Derek would soon be kicking it off its hinges. After several minutes and no red-eyed rescuer busting down the door, he began to worry. He listened carefully, and much of the noise had died down, but he could still hear the hunters loudly talking. Slowly he sat down where he was; no reason to waste energy.
Finally, after several hours, he heard the stairs creaking. Listening closely, he knew that whoever was coming was dragging something. Cautiously he stood up. The door slammed open, and a tall, broad figure was shoved inside. Immediately Stiles shot forward to try and break Derek’s fall. Even without seeing his face, he’d recognized the Alpha.
“Have fun being torn to shreds by a feral Alpha,” mocked Lawrence.
“Yeah, right,” shot back Stiles immediately.
After the door closed, Stiles frantically began checking Derek for wounds. There were obvious tears in his clothing and bloodstains, but luckily he’d already healed, and the skin beneath was smooth.
“You scared me for a second there, big guy.”
Presuming that Derek was exhausted from the beating and subsequent healing, Stiles took off his flannel and balled it up into a pillow before shoving it under Derek’s head. Mindful of Lawrence’s words, he went and sat against the furthest wall from the Alpha. He kinda doubted that Derek would really maul him, but he figured that whatever the hunters had done to him might leave him a little violent when he woke up. After years with the pack and specifically years of antagonizing Derek, Stiles had grown confident that the wolves posed very little bodily threat to him. In fact, they were all incredibly careful with him. He was suspicious that Derek had held a How Not to Break The Human training session at some point because despite their strength, none of them had so much as bruised him, even Jackson.
Since Lawrence had mentioned something about Derek being feral, Stiles guessed that he’d be a little out of control, but he was confident that even out of his mind, Derek would recognize the weak, pale, and very human packmate as a non-threat.
“Derek, you better not tear me to shreds,” he warned the sleeping Alpha, “I don’t need the embarrassment of being wrong in front of my new friends, and you don’t need any more crippling guilt.”
He’d gotten more than enough sleep, so Stiles settled down for a long night of keeping watch. Luckily Derek didn’t make him wait long before he began to stir.
He watched Derek take a deep breath, and then a pair of glowing red eyes were staring at him.
“Hey Derek, It’s me, Stiles,” he introduced himself lamely, “Your very good friend and weak, frail human.”
The Alpha’s response was only to turn his head to the side, looking more inquisitive than murderous. In the time it took Stiles to blink, Derek was in front of him, growling low in the back of his throat. Having pissed off Derek plenty of times during the full moon, Stiles had long since learned how to appease the Alpha when he was aggressive. He bared his neck and tried not to flinch as a nose skimmed along the sensitive skin. After a few agonizing minutes of minor terror, Derek sat back, his eyes now back to their usual green.
“That’s good, no more glowy eyes,” he observed, “Hey Derek, can you understand me?”
The man jerked to attention at his name, but he did not react other than that. Sighing, Stiles slowly sat up and walked over to where he stored the bread and water. Flinching, he settled back onto the cold stone he held out some bread to Derek. The man pushed past the food and moved closer to Stiles, and began pulling at his clothes.
“Woah, there, big guy, I know you aren’t right in the head, but…”
Stiles trailed off as he watched black veins spread throughout Derek’s arm, covering his bruises. After almost three days, he’d adjusted to the constant throb, to the point where he barely noticed it until Derek took it away. He sagged forward against the Alpha, who merely maneuvered Stiles into his arms and began scarfing down the bread.
“Thanks, Derek,” sighed Stiles dreamily, “You're such a good Alpha.”
Half-delirious, he didn’t note that his tone sounded like he was talking to a dog. An unaware and therefore unoffended Derek shoved a piece of bread towards his mouth.
“I’m good,” he dismissed, “I already ate some; you’re the one who needs to keep up their strength of the two of us.”
Derek ignored him and forced Stiles to eat. After he’d gotten them both some food and water, the Alpha seemed remarkably calm, considering they were still trapped in a cage. Still, somewhat out of it, Stiles slowly began falling asleep on top of the Werewolf. While half asleep, he felt the man shift under him. Derek settled back down again, using Stiles’ flannel as a pillow, now holding Stiles on top of him off of the cold floor. Stiles fell into a dreamless sleep, comforted by the quiet rumbles emitted from under him.