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“Well, this fucking sucks.”
Derek shoots a disgruntled look at Stiles, which clearly means, ‘No shit, idiot.’ Rude. At least Stiles is acknowledging the obvious out loud.
Because they’re both still transparent. As in, Stiles can see trees and the full moon through his own body. And Derek’s. Which is totally not normal. He doesn’t know how long they have, and maybe—
“Shut up,” Derek’s voice breaks through Stiles’ racing thoughts.
“I didn’t even say anything!” Stiles whines.
“Yes, you did. You think too loud.”
“Dude, I don’t like this any more than you do.”
“We need to find the witch’s cabin.”
“And how are we supposed to do that, genius? That bitch banished us to who the hell knows where.”
Stiles frowns as he watches Derek cock his head to the side. Derek’s nostrils flare as he inhales deeply. Then, he smirks. Slow and sure.
Oh geez. Stiles knows that damned smirk. It’s one that means Derek is about to do something either really amazing or super stupid. That does absolutely nada to calm Stiles’ jittery nerves.
“Okay, what is it?”
“We might be ghosts now, but I’m also a werewolf.”
Stiles’ eyes grow wide as Derek’s words sink in. “Holy shit. You’re still alive.”
Derek nods, then raises his eyebrows. Like he’s waiting for Stiles to continue.
“So, I must be too. Which means we’ve gotta be somewhere. Can you track her down? What about the rest of the Pack?”
“Their trails are strong enough. If we head out now…”
“What if we get there too late?”
“We won’t.”
“You seem pretty confident about that.”
Stiles feels his breath catch in his throat as Derek moves in and slides a very tangible arm around his shoulders.
“I have a reliable source who hasn’t failed me before,” Derek murmurs. He gives Stiles’ shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Yeah, I guess you do,” Stiles agrees softly, pulling Derek close. Enough where his palm rests against Derek’s solid back. “Let’s go save ourselves, big guy.”