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The camaro growled to a stop in front of the Hale house as the sky began to show the first signs of a new dawn. Derek sat in his car, listening to the engine tick as it cooled.
This had been one of the longest nights of his life. One that was equal parts disaster and victory. Scott’s plan had worked, for once, and Gerard was denied his ultimate goal. Whether or not the bastard was still alive was up in the air, but at least his personal brand of crazy was absent for the time being.
By some miracle, they’d managed to save Jackson. Derek had just gotten back from dropping off the teen at his parent’s house. The explanation for his seeming return from the dead was weak, but his parents had been so glad to see him that they’d ignored the holes in the story that were large enough to throw a truck through. Lydia had helped, of course. She acted like nothing was wrong and they were forced to accept it. Derek figured that Lydia and Jackson were a package deal and that was something he had yet to decide was a good thing. Lord knows Lydia was a force of nature, capable of bending mere mortals to her will, which of course meant that they were destined to butt heads. Not to mention the fact that her apparent immunity was a complete and utter unknown.
Erica and Boyd were gone. Disappeared. Argent claimed to have let them go but no one had seen them since. He had no idea where to even begin looking for them. Peter seemed to think they would turn up soon, come crawling back to him and the pack. Even if they did, he wasn’t sure he wanted them. They’d bailed at the first real sign of trouble.
Sighing, he pulled himself out of the car and headed towards the front steps. He’d left Isaac with his foster parents and Peter disappeared after the fight with Gerard. Scott and Stiles left together. He assumed that Stiles was with his dad and Scott was off licking his wounds and sulking after Allison gave him the cold shoulder. He had tried to tell the idiot that no good would come of dating an Argent, but he was stubborn.
Derek had one foot on the bottom step when the sound of an engine in the distance caught his attention. He stopped, listening. It was Stiles. He could hear the rumble of the old Jeep and the faint heartbeat of its driver as they pulled off the track to the house.
After the game, Stiles was simply gone. Derek hadn’t had time to look for him but his absence stung. Then he’d shown up in his damn Jeep, timing awkwardly perfect, as always. Bringing Lydia had been a stroke of genius. Not that he would ever tell Stiles that. Hell no. The goofball already got himself into too much trouble trying to save everyone.
He listened as the Jeep traveled off road and realized Stiles was headed to the lake in back of the property. It would be so much easier to just head upstairs and let Stiles have his moment. Easier to ignore the pull of the teen’s heartbeat and go to sleep.
Sighing, Derek headed behind the house and dropped to all fours, heading for the lake. He followed Stiles’ progress in parallel and pulled up at the edge of the forest, watching as the younger man turned off the engine and climbed out of the Jeep. Stiles clambered onto the hood and scooted back to lean against the windshield.
Derek could smell the sadness and pain surrounding the boy and remembered the sharp wave of regret and sorrow that rolled off Stiles when Lydia stepped up to the kanima and pulled Jackson back from the edge. Lydia Martin was an idiot as far as Derek was concerned. She was no doubt the smartest person at the school, but he couldn’t understand how she couldn’t see past Stiles’ twitchy, often awkward and prickly exterior and seriously prefer Jackson.
As he watched Stiles from his cover in the trees, he caught the scent of fresh tears. Seeing him in pain was too much for Derek, and he stepped out into the clearing, making sure to be as noisy as possible.
“Stiles. What are you doing here?”
Stiles startled and looked around a bit frantically. Catching sight of Derek, he turned away and sniffled softly, wiping at his eyes with the hem of his jacket sleeve.
“Hey, Derek.”
The werewolf stepped up to the side of the Jeep and caught his first close look at Stiles all night. He looked like crap. He had a scrape on one cheekbone and a split lip. Derek reached out to grab Stiles chin when he tried to look away and growled when the boy jerked his head.
“Stiles.” Derek’s eyes flashed red and his growl got a bit deeper. “What happened?”
“Gerard happened.”
Derek frowned and let Stiles pull his chin out his grasp. Frowning, he boosted himself onto the hood and joined the younger man. He felt a slight tremor from Stiles and realized his tracksuit was probably inadequate to keep him warm in the cool dawn air. Stiles pulled up his legs and wrapped his arms around his knees. Derek scooted close to the teen, trying to share his body heat unobtrusively, and waited. Sooner or later, Stiles would start talking. The teen couldn’t help himself. Silence seemed to be his personal enemy. Sure enough, after a couple of minutes Stiles rested his head on his knees facing Derek and heaved a sigh.
“You know how I always tell you I’m not made of glass? Well, it seems that I might have been a bit overzealous in my reasoning. I couldn’t help Boyd and Erica and I couldn’t stop an old man from knocking the crap out of me. I’m tired, Derek,” Stiles whispered, his voice stuttering.
“Go home then. Get some sleep.”
“I can’t. Every time I close my eyes I see that crazy old bastard’s fist headed for my face.”
Derek was silent as Stiles took a deep shuddering breath and tried to keep from crying. He waited as the teen wrestled with his emotions, watching and listening. He could hear Stiles heartbeat trip as he remembered Gerard’s attack, could smell the shame and grief emanating from his skin. Finally, Stiles spoke.
“My only addition to the fight tonight was to bring Lydia.” Stiles chuckled softly. “She saved him. Without her, you and Peter would have had to kill him.”
Derek waited to see if Stiles had more to say and when the teen stayed silent, something that Derek had often wished for but found himself suddenly hating, he placed one hand on the back of Stiles head.
“Don’t underestimate yourself.”
The two of them sat there in silence. Derek watched the sunrise over the lake as Stiles turned his head to prop his chin on his knees. The hand that had been on the back of Stiles head slipped to his neck and Derek absently rubbed his thumb in circles.
Stiles lifted his head from his knees and took a deep breath before speaking.
“Derek, am I pack?”
“Don’t be stupid, Stiles.”
The teen closed his eyes. “Yeah. Of course. Sorry, man.”
“Stiles. Don’t. Be. Stupid.”
“Yeah, I got that. Thanks. Full stops not necessary,” he grumbled, looking away.
Derek sighed and pushed his hand up Stiles neck and into his hair. “I thought Scott was the idiot in the Stiles’n’Scott show. Not you. You are pack. With or without your wonder twin.”
Stiles whipped his head back around, a look of amazement on his face. Derek decided it looked good on him, bruises and all.
“Really?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Stiles rested his head on his knees again and knocked Derek’s side with his shoulder. “Good to know. And Scott, he’ll come around. He’s just a stubborn little shit. Always has been.” Stiles yawned and his eyes drifted shut.
Derek’s gave the tense muscles underneath his hand a brief squeeze.
“My Dad called me a hero tonight,” Stiles mumbled, eyes still closed. “What was I supposed to say to that? I mean, really, how is getting the shit knocked out you by your geriatric principal and delivering up the girl of your dreams to her newly minted werewolf boyfriend make me a hero.”
“There are all kinds of heroes, Stiles.”
“Don’t mock my pain, man.”
“Life is pain, Stiles. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”
Stiles cracked open one eye and peered up at Derek. “Did you just quote Princess Bride?”
Derek closed his eyes and rested his head on the windshield. This was not the most uncomfortable place he’d ever tried to sleep, but it ranked pretty high on the list. Still, if it helped Stiles get some rest, then he could make the sacrifice. He steadfastly ignored Stiles comment and the chuckle that shook his hand. He squeezed his hand a bit tighter and was rewarded with a soft groan.
“Go to sleep, Stiles.”
“M’kay. Night, Derek.”
Derek listened to Stiles heartbeat as it slowed and he slipped into sleep. The perpetual motion and sound machine that was Stiles relaxed into stillness. It didn’t seem right, somehow, to Derek. He opened his eyes and looked at the abnormally still teen. Stiles looked so young, curled up against the cold, his head resting on his knees. When he shivered, Derek pulled him closer with the hand still resting on Stiles’ neck. The younger man came easily, winding his wiry body around Derek’s larger one.
He’d let Stiles nap for a bit before waking him up and taking him home. He told himself it was just to help the distressed boy get a bit of proper rest and not because his wolf felt protective. Stiles was a pain in his ass, human kid and a pack member in need. Nothing more.
He couldn’t be.