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Terror floods his senses making him trip and tear through the dense trees. His lungs and throat ache with the fridgid air.
He can hear their boots behind him, crunching on leaves, they aren’t trying to be quiet. Make no pretense of stealth: want him to be afraid, to run like a frightened rabbit.
Derek’s hand is rough in his. Pulling him along with a vice like grip, half shifted, even more panicked than he is.
It feels like they’d been running for hours, and the hunters always sound like they’re just meters behind.
There is a sharp crack; a gunshot he thinks, and Derek takes a sharp turn, for a moment icy fear grips Stiles thinking that he’s been hit, but they keep running and Derek doesn’t falter.
Stiles legs give out soon afterwards though, and he falls face first onto the mouldering leaves. Derek heaves him upright by his hold on his hand and Stiles’ shoulder screams under the pressure. The wolf hoists him onto his back and continues running.
He can still hear the hunters behind them, and see the shafts of light their torches split through the trees. They seem to be everywhere.
Stiles wonders where on earth they had gone so horribly wrong, it was supposed to be easy, just a couple of looney hunters, nothing they hadn't dealt with before. Their resources and numbers so insignificant he’d been surprised Isaac hadn't rescued himself already.
That should have been the first warning sign.
Hours later, Derek collapses against a tree, slinging Stiles onto the dirt, doubling over to drag in ragged gulps of air, choking around sobs.
Something crunches in their immediate vicinity and they both startle, Stiles grabs Derek by his wrist and drags him into a small hollow between the tree roots. Clinging to him in abject terror.
“Derek” he whispers, for no particular reason other than to assure himself that the other was there, brain so choked with fear it needs to be doubly sure.
Derek doesn’t say anything, simply curls himself more tightly around Stiles.
Both their bodies shake as the adrenalin wears off, Stiles hardly notices as his shoulder gets progressively wetter with Derek’s tears.
When the glaze finally leaves his eyes and he recovers his wits he asks what is wrong.
“They’re gone” Derek replies. “I still cant feel them- Not even Scott”
“Oh” It’s all he can manage through the adrenalin and fear, his emotions clogged by cracking twigs and crunching boots.