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The chessboard comes to Derek’s mind then, in the middle of the woods, as he’s facing the three hunters and their swords. It’s unsurprisingly accurate, since to them, he’s the piece that they decided to be worth targeting, the one who should be the key piece to the defeat of the pack.
But Derek knows that he is not, regardless of Stiles’ little post-it on the chessboard’s king. He wasn’t then and he most certainly isn’t now, but telling that to the rookies in front of him isn’t going to help. They don’t seem the kind to listen to anyone besides themselves, most certainly not to a werewolf whom they’ve chased across the Preserve. Derek watches them, eyes darting from the blonde on the left holding her sword like she’s afraid she’ll cut herself, to the barely legal boy on the right whose arms are shaking under the weight of the metal in his hands.
“Checkmate,” the oldest of the trio, the guy in the middle, says with a smirk on his face. “Gotcha, big bad.”
Before Derek gets a chance to respond there’s a chuckle from the trees behind the hunters, and all three of them startle. Derek does too, but he has a better handle on himself and his surprise doesn’t show -- he hopes, at least -- when the bushes behind the hunters part and a figure appears.
“Cute,” a familiar voice says when the chuckling stops, and Derek braces himself.
Stiles steps out fully from the cover of the forest and eyes the hunters with amusement. Derek watches as the three tense, unsure what to do next because a human wasn’t anywhere in their plans. Of course he wasn’t, Derek thinks, recalling the chessboard and the fact that Stiles’ name wasn’t anywhere on it.
“So, I’m guessing that you guys have slightly outdated intel,” Stiles starts talking, and he steps closer.
Derek doesn’t miss the flinch from the blonde hunter, but while he’d normally take advantage of the distraction, the boy is still focused on him. He knows he wouldn’t be taken out, but -- not that he’d admit this out loud -- he wants to see Stiles’ plan play out.
“Let me recap what I think you’re going on,” Stiles lifts a hand, his fingers raising one by one as he begins listing things. “One, Beacon Hills has a Hale Alpha,” the index finger goes up. “Two, the local pack is small and fragile,” the middle finger follows. “Three, there is no active emissary in the area,” Stiles’ thumb holds down his pinkie as the ring fingers raises. “Have I missed anything?”
The leader of the hunters -- at least Derek assumes so, since he was the one announcing their “win” -- shakes his head seemingly against his own will. Derek’s not the only one who notices, if Stiles’ gleeful look is anything to go by. He watches as as Stiles turns his hand, palm facing the hunters, and a flash of light later, their swords disintegrate right in their hands. Barely a few seconds later, the rest of the pack -- Scott, Isaac, Jackson, Allison, closely followed by Chris, John, and Jordan -- surround them, with claws, fangs, and the humans’ weapons pointed at the hunters.
It’s sort of anticlimactic how easily the hunters are disposed off, handcuffed and led towards the police cars waiting on the edge of the Preserve. Derek walks towards Stiles while it’s happening, and he narrows his eyes at the way Stiles is visibly gloating.
“They had the old chessboard,” Stiles explains without waiting for Derek’s questions. “Or at least a photo of it, probably out of Chris’ old laptop, the one that got stolen last year. I knew we should have followed up on that, but it doesn’t matter now. It was in their motel room, and Danny is looking over all their stuff to see if the info got spread around. He thinks it didn’t, so far.”
“I’m almost sorry that it went like this,” Derek says, and smirks. “The ‘checkmate’ comment was impressive.”
“Well, he was sort of right with that,” Stiles says, leaning into Derek’s side. “He did kind of check the king, and you are my mate, so…”
“You’re an idiot,” Derek sighs as he wraps his arms around Stiles, now blissfully magic-free -- Derek hates the residue energy after Stiles works a spell like the one earlier.
“Your idiot, though,” Stiles leans in for a short kiss. “I’m no queen though.”
“Only on Friday nights at the Jungle,” Derek says with a wink, and they end up kissing until Scott walks over to let them know it’s time to go home.