Chapter Text
Contrary to popular belief, Derek hadn't thought that much about how he would die. He had always known that it would happen eventually, as seemed to be the proper procedure, but he had never delved deeper into the actual scenarios or mechanics. There had certainly been situations where he had been close — which he had faced with a bland kind of acceptance — but he always survived in the end.
Perhaps he had grown used to that. Perhaps he wasn't as careful as he should have been because, hey — he always pulled through somehow.
It turned out that when he finally did die, it wasn't at all like he had pictured — all because of one tiny yet fundamental detail. He wasn't alone. He had always assumed that no matter how he finally went down and for whatever reason he did so, he would be alone. He'd take his final breath surrounded by silence, stillness, and nothing but his own misery.
He had always thought that he would die alone.
A part of him wished that he had, if only to save Stiles the agony of watching Derek slowly choke on his own blood, helpless to save him.
Yeah, Derek would definitely have changed that if he could.
But they were always fighting.
While Derek tried to delude himself that he hated being near Stiles, a part of him had stopped doing so long ago. It was thrilling to interact with Stiles. No one treated Derek the way Stiles did, with his sharp words and biting wit. He was one of the few who dared to touch Derek and definitely the only one who could provoke him so effortlessly with nothing but a look. Stiles always came back for more, always stood his ground, and always challenged Derek to react and respond.
Secretly, Derek loved it — longed for it even, in his weaker moments.
No one had given Derek that kind of attention since his family died, since Laura died. Stiles wasn't fearless, but he was brave — and maybe just a tiny bit stupid.
Stiles had baffled Derek at first since he didn't follow any of the rules Derek usually abided by, but he had learned soon enough that part of the beauty with Stiles was his unpredictable nature. How he could snap and demand obedience one moment and seek reassurance the next. How his entire being seemed to vibrate with excitement and energy, even when he was supposed to be at ease. Stiles smelled like life and his voice was loud and intrusive, but there was just something about him — something that Derek reluctantly found himself liking.
Something he felt drawn to, even if he denied it most of the time.
But, without any immediate threat to Beacon Hills and its residents, they didn't exactly talk much. They had no reason to. Scott was still determined to remain an omega and without him as the common denominator Derek had no reason to meet with Stiles and therefore didn't. A part of him wanted to, when he grew bored and restless, pacing his newly acquired loft, but he was too proud. Not to mention that Stiles probably wouldn't be pleased about it; they were supposed to hate each other.
That was how things were and seemed to remain, until the day Allison warned Scott that hunters were coming to town. Ruthless ones, who had heard rumors about all the frequent deaths in Beacon Hills, and no assurances her father gave them about the situation being handled seemed to appease them.
That was when everything changed.
It was a month and a half after the new school year had begun — not that something like that influenced Derek to any major degree — and several months after Gerard had been beaten and Jackson had survived the transition from kanima to werewolf.
Scott was considerate enough to forward the warning about the hunters, but Derek didn't really know what he was meant to do with the information. He spread it to his betas, of course, but Isaac had probably heard from Scott already and Erica and Boyd, well — they weren't exactly on casually speaking terms.
But Derek warned them, urging them to keep a low profile, and then went back to his own business. He didn't know what else was expected of him. He wasn't going to go off and pick a fight — not when he could just as easily wait the hunters out. He told his betas to do the same and if he felt a twinge of failure when he saw the slowly fading trust in Isaac's eyes, well, Derek had earned it.
He was a terrible alpha.
People kept pointing that out to him as if he didn't know it already, but he was probably the first to have noticed that he would disappoint them all. He had never been intended for that position even if he — during a brief moment, just as he slashed Peter's throat and took the power for himself — had hoped that he could somehow grow into it. He had tried, of course, but being an alpha didn't come naturally to him. He could make his betas obey and protect them, but he couldn't shelter and lead.
There was a subtle difference between leading and just demanding obedience. Derek always seemed to manage the latter, never the former.
A part of him had given up. After Erica and Boyd's betrayal and Scott's insistence not to join their pack, Derek had started wondering why he even tried in the first place. He might be stubborn but he wasn't stupid — this wasn't working. He would never be a good alpha unless he made some drastic changes, but he had no idea what those changes would be.
This was who he was.
Even if he would be willing to change — which he was, to a certain degree — he had no idea in which direction to go. No one had ever told him about that; his upbringing hadn't prepared him for this. He had no idea how to be an alpha and he could tell that his betas and everyone around him knew it too.
He was the piece that didn't fit — not with his betas, or Scott, or Stiles, or with anyone else he knew. Even Peter was just there to annoy him and remind him of how utterly pathetic he was. It had reached the point where Derek started avoiding his uncle as best he could. Considering that Peter was his only living relative, that said quite a lot about Derek's state of mind.
He was so tired of it all.
As a result, he neglected his betas. He still tried with Isaac from time to time, but it was obvious that he had started to rely more on Scott than Derek by then.
Derek was obsolete.
Not that Scott would be a good alpha either — he was far too naïve. Not to mention Scott's repeated failures to understand that distractions were a hindrance. In order to survive, you either needed to limit them or learn how to handle them — Scott never really seemed to grasp that part.
But that was none of Derek's business. Scott wasn't his beta and Derek had honestly started wondering if trying to recruit him was even worth the effort.
The thought of giving up grieved him because Derek knew that Scott was a valuable ally — loyal and kind — and he made Derek feel less fractured and harsh. Scott and Stiles both did that, so Derek wouldn't even mind if Stiles tagged along. He just wanted a larger pack.
He missed having a larger pack.
But perhaps this was the universe's way of telling him that he wasn't worth it; he had gotten his family killed and now he didn't deserve the comfort of a pack. He would only cause them harm and fail at everything he attempted — even when he tried to do good.
Derek had never outright tried to be the villain — his mother had raised him better than that — but it was obvious that he had different standards than most others. To him it wasn't odd to kill a threat. If you didn't kill your opponent you only gave them the opportunity to attack you again.
Scott didn't agree with that philosophy and sometimes that made Derek the villain in Scott's eyes — Stiles' too. Both of them seemed convinced that as soon as something bad was happening, Derek had to be involved. He was pretty certain that he was always at the top of their list of suspects when they needed someone to blame. He didn't know what he had done to deserve that, but perhaps that was part of his punishment too, so he let them.
It wasn't like it mattered in the end.
He was sick of it, though. He was sick of so many things. He was sick of trying when all he got was contempt and rudeness in return. He was sick of knowing that a part of that was his own fault — for being unapproachable and harsh. He was sick of feeling like he should have died instead of Laura — surely things would have worked out better that way. He was sick of his family being dead and the guilt that was always burning within him, alongside the anger and hate — all of it directed at himself. He was sick of never once catching a break.
But he still kept going. There wasn't much else to do; giving up wasn't an option.
At least he could count on the newly arrived hunters to provide a much needed distraction. He knew they were a threat, but he dismissed it as manageable as long as they all kept their heads down. That shouldn't have been too hard considering that everyone had learned to control their wolves by then, even on full moons.
Apparently, Derek was far too careless, but it was always easier to be wiser in hindsight. Derek wanted to blame what happened at least partially on Stiles, since he was so distracting, but that would have been mean.
Stiles was one of those who suffered the most.
So, in the end, Derek did what he always did — he blamed himself.
Scott wanted to know what was to be done about the hunters, while Derek was of the opinion that just letting them be might actually be their wisest plan of action — especially since he knew that Scott would be against killing them. Saying so didn't seem to penetrate Scott's thick skull, however, and he kept asking Derek for answers he had already given, all while Stiles watched in amusement.
It didn't take long before Stiles was dragged into the conversation, and that was the starting point for a new chapter in their relationship.
At first, Derek couldn't pinpoint what was different — Stiles was still annoying, infuriating, and far too insightful — but something was definitely not like it used to be. Something seemed to burn under the surface whenever they spoke with their harsh words and thinly veiled insults. That something kept hovering in the air between them, creating a tension Derek hadn't experienced before.
He could almost smell it.
Stiles kept looking at him, his brown eyes full of the same condescension and defiance as always, but it couldn't quite hide that other thing — the one Derek couldn't name. Stiles seemed to be waiting for something. His eyes kept saying things Derek didn't understand and, judging by Stiles' poorly faked nonchalance, he was growing more and more impatient.
But Derek still didn't know what Stiles was trying to tell him. He just knew that the more he thought about it — days after he had first noticed the tension — the more Derek wanted it.
Stiles had always been a bit of a puzzle, full of contradictions and surprises, and whatever this was, it seemed to be exclusively meant for Derek. That was something Derek hadn't experienced in a long time and he craved the attention more than he was willing to admit. He shouldn't care — Stiles was nothing to him.
But Derek did care, and Stiles wasn't nothing.
Stiles was loud and exciting, always so loyal and fierce. Derek was greedy enough to want a piece of that, however small it might be.
That was why he allowed Scott to continue to drop by during the week that followed. Derek didn't care about the hunters — they were just patrolling the woods, searching for werewolves that weren't there — but if Scott came, then so did Stiles. Derek wanted to see Stiles.
He wanted to figure out what that thing that he suddenly felt between them was.
So he let Stiles linger a little closer than usual whenever he and Scott came by the loft. Derek kept observing him, calmly and quietly, trying to work out what was different now, as opposed to every other time they had seen each other. Stiles usually returned the scrutiny with an amused look that might have seemed confident, but Derek could hear on Stiles' heartbeat — which was more uneven than usual — that he was nervous.
It was quite intriguing.
Eventually, Stiles couldn't handle the silences, though, which came as no surprise. Derek actually welcomed it when Stiles started to initiate conversations with him. Partly because they usually weren't about the hunters — which was the only thing Scott seemed able to talk about — and partly because Stiles was actually quite interesting once you got to know him. Frustrating, yes, but interesting.
Their most memorable conversation took place when Scott had come over to report that the hunters were looking for clues around town — as if that was somehow vital information. As long as the hunters didn't come knocking on his or one of his betas' doors, Derek wasn't particularly worried. Stiles also seemed to have lost interest in Scott's paranoia, clearly more interested in gravitating towards Derek.
During this specific evening, Scott had to step outside halfway through his usual rant about needing to protect the town when he got a phone call from his mom.
Stiles stayed with Derek.
"You really don't think the hunters are dangerous?" Stiles asked, probably only to have a reason to start a conversation. Derek found that he was much more patient with Stiles than he ever was with Scott. That was a strange change too — it was usually the opposite.
"No, I know they're dangerous," Derek replied. "I just think that we can avoid confrontation."
Stiles tilted his head to the side, perched on the armrest of Derek's couch like a gangly, wide-eyed bird. It was almost cute.
"That's very unlike you," Stiles pointed out.
Derek looked up from the book he was trying to read — first interrupted by Scott, then Stiles — and raised an eyebrow. "I don't always want to kill things, Stiles."
Stiles grinned and poked Derek's thigh with his toe. He was doing that more and more often lately — just small, almost unnoticeable, touches. Derek was acutely aware of them all; they were a part of the puzzle, he was sure.
"But you do seem to think that violence is the best solution to everything."
"Not right now I don't," Derek countered.
Stiles smiled.
"I'm just saying — it's nice to see you react in other ways than murderous rage." Stiles slid down from the armrest to sit on the couch next to Derek. Even if there was quite a distance between them Derek felt himself tense, just a little.
There was that feeling again. It seemed to crackle in the air, and when he looked at Stiles he could have sworn that he saw a challenging glint in those brown eyes of his.
Derek was never one to ignore a challenge.
"Scott is the unreasonable one this time." Derek still had his book open in his hand but he wasn't the least bit interested in reading it.
"Ugh. Tell me about it." Stiles rolled his eyes. "He seems certain that the hunters will cause trouble somehow, but I might actually be on your side this time." A mischievous grin spread on Stiles' lips. "Shocking, I know. It seems that we might actually be able to agree on something after all. Who would have thought?"
Derek felt something swell inside his chest and it took him a second to realize that it was pride. He liked the idea of Stiles being on his side.
"A historical moment," Derek deadpanned, his own lips twitching towards a smile when Stiles laughed.
"I just think that Scott worries too much, you know?" Stiles continued, staring into the middle distance. "I get that hunters is bad news, but it doesn't have to result in bloodshed, right? Sometimes I think that... maybe, becoming a werewolf made him a little too heroic." Stiles sank lower on the couch and gave Derek a thoughtful look. "Does that make sense?"
Derek shrugged softly. He didn't want to say yes or no, but could admit that Stiles seemed to be on to something. They both knew that Scott wanted what was best for everyone, but he often saw trouble and conflict where there was none.
"Hyper vigilance," Derek said after a brief pause.
Stiles scoffed. "Yeah, I'm familiar with the term."
Stiles sounded frustrated but Derek chose not to ask why. He wasn't used to having normal conversations with people — even less so when it involved listening to their troubles.
A silence settled between them and Derek was surprised by his own reluctance to see it continue. He just couldn't figure out what to say to break it.
Stiles had no such problems, it seemed.
"I kinda miss how things were before," Stiles mumbled, almost as if talking to himself.
Derek felt a twinge. He could only guess that Stiles meant before Scott got bitten — before they got dragged into this mess and Derek along with it.
Before Stiles knew Derek.
"You remember that time you tried to make me saw your arm off?" Stiles grinned towards Derek, his hands moving as he spoke. "That was awesome! Or, well, not awesome, of course, because blood and dismemberment really isn't my thing, but I kind of miss that."
"You miss almost sawing my arm off?" Derek couldn't help sounding amused.
"No, you idiot." Stiles gave Derek a highly ineffective push that was probably meant to show his indignation. He was still grinning, though. "I miss the time when it was that simple — us against a clear enemy."
Derek's breath caught. He didn't know that Stiles counted Derek as one of them. Usually, both Stiles and Scott seemed to go out of their way to exclude Derek and work against him. It felt nice to know that things might have changed.
"I'm still not sorry for slamming your head against the steering wheel," Derek said instead, to cover up the fact that he was beginning to feel a little flustered.
"I figured you wouldn't be," Stiles replied. "And I might have deserved it... a little."
Derek raised an eyebrow. "Only a little?"
"I was being resourceful!" Stiles defended. "It helped, didn't it? Danny gave us what we needed!"
"Just don't do it again," Derek warned.
"Oh please. You whip your shirt off all the time. I just thought of a way to use it productively."
Derek thumped his book against Stiles' forehead as punishment. Stiles flailed in surprise and Derek held the book out of Stiles' reach to keep him from snatching it away. For a second it seemed like Stiles might lunge for it anyway, but eventually chose not to. Instead he settled back against the cushions with a huff, his arms crossed petulantly over his chest.
It was, quite frankly, adorable.
Luckily, Stiles didn't sulk for long. After a soft sigh he tilted his head back and gazed up at the ceiling. Derek found that he might be staring a tad bit excessively at Stiles' throat. He couldn't help it when it was right there — pale, completely bared, and with those small moles dotting the skin.
Derek wondered what kissing Stiles' moles would taste like.
"We've been through some pretty freaky stuff, haven't we?"
Derek almost flinched at Stiles' calmly spoken question — had he been any less collected he might have fumbled with the book in his hands. This time he merely swallowed and tried to meet Stiles' gaze without feeling like a complete creep.
"I guess," he answered vaguely.
"Come on. Murderous alpha, murderous Argents, murderous kanima, murderous Argents take two. That's some track record." Stiles didn't seem as bothered by the list of threats as normal people would be, though. "I've pretty much lost count of how many times I've almost died. Peter made a couple of attempts — even Scott got pretty close there at the beginning — and then there was the kanima, of course, with the pool and all that, and Gerard and— yeah..."
Stiles trailed off, his expression showing that perhaps he was pretty bothered after all.
Derek cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said, softer than he had intended.
Stiles blinked once before his head snapped up, looking at Derek in surprise.
"What was that?" Stiles looked like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"For what you did at the pool," Derek clarified, but he might have been staring at Stiles' hands rather than his face.
Stiles remained in shocked silence for a moment before he smiled and patted Derek's forearm.
"No worries, big guy. You technically saved me first — or tried to, at least — when you got paralyzed. I couldn't exactly leave you there at the bottom of the pool."
But Stiles could have — Stiles had had no reason to dive in after Derek and keep him afloat for two hours. He still had. Derek hadn't said thank you at the time, but Stiles deserved to know how grateful Derek was.
Derek didn't know how to reply, especially not when he noticed that Stiles hadn't moved his hand. It was still resting against Derek's arm and neither of them gave any indication that they thought it would be wise to remove it. Derek felt warmth stir in his chest and when he met Stiles' gaze he could feel it again — that annoying, frustrating, wonderful tension.
Derek could almost taste it.
A part of Derek wanted to ask Stiles what it all meant, but he never got the chance to — not when he could hear Scott heading back up the stairs. So instead Derek averted his gaze and opened his book again, ignoring the confused look on Stiles' face. His expression changed to understanding the moment Scott came barging into the loft, and just like that the spell was broken.
Stiles pulled his hand back and they acted as if nothing had happened. Derek knew that something had, though, even if he couldn't say what.
What he did know was that he wasn't going to let this go — he was going to find out what all of this was about.
Stiles' hair was longer. Derek hadn't registered that at first since he had no reason to care about how Stiles kept his hair — or pay attention to any changes made to it — but now he noticed. Stiles' hair was longer and looked incredibly soft, if a little unruly.
Derek liked it.
Stiles looked older, too. Perhaps it was the stress of almost dying all the time or perhaps he was just growing up. Either way, he seemed less boyish than before, his features a little firmer — more mature. Derek admittedly liked that too, but never allowed the thought to fully form.
It made him a little uneasy to think about it.
Stiles' body language had grown a little calmer as well, more secure and confident — at least during brief moments. There were still the flails and waving hands, but it became increasingly clear that Stiles was slowly but surely growing into his own skin. The change was unsettling to watch, because Derek knew that what had begun to stir in his gut wasn't despise or exasperation — it was attraction. He was attracted to Stiles.
That was what this was all about.
The revelation threw Derek for a loop for several days.
He just couldn't wrap his head around it — how he could go from hating the spastic teenager to being attracted to him. The issue wasn't even that Stiles was a guy — even if that came as a slight surprise and something Derek hadn't really considered before — it was that Stiles was, well, Stiles.
Derek couldn't understand why he had to go for Stiles of all people.
But, when he started thinking about it, Derek realized that the reasons were pretty obvious. Stiles was the only one who registered as more than a small blip on Derek's radar — even Scott paled in comparison sometimes, simply because Stiles shone so brightly.
It had to be Stiles.
It made perfect sense. Stiles was the one who challenged him, pushed him, annoyed him, intrigued him, and made sure that Derek was never unaffected. It was impossible to ignore or forget Stiles, so of course it had to be him.
And, just like that, Derek realized that what was burning between them was mutual attraction.
The looks, the conversations, and the wonderful, distracting touches were all a part of it. Stiles was trying to nudge Derek into responding somehow, testing the limits. And he was obviously fully aware of the fact that he was doing it, too. Stiles had caught on before Derek had, but that didn't come as any major surprise — Stiles had always been the more attentive one.
As soon as Derek understood what was growing between him and Stiles, the tension increased tenfold.
Suddenly, Derek knew what those looks meant. Stiles was waiting — watching — and his gazes were heavy enough to send shivers down Derek's spine. And having Stiles close, brushing against the outer edges of his personal space, made Derek feel tense and all too aware of the distance between them. More than anything, he wanted to erase it.
Luckily, Stiles kept moving closer. His words grew bolder, until Derek couldn't help but reply in kind, and as Stiles slowly wormed his way under Derek's skin, he made no attempt to stop him. Derek didn't want to; he enjoyed it far too much.
Even so, they never spoke openly about what was going on between them. They just kept toeing the line, daring the other to act first.
Derek knew that he was being reckless — foolish, even. Stiles was a human teenager, the sheriff's son, no less, and a liability in that his loyalty always lay with Scott first. Derek couldn't trust him. But that didn't mean that he couldn't also want him.
He most certainly wanted Stiles.
What had only been brief flashes of attraction at first had now morphed into rather overwhelming desire.
Stiles' insistence to keep pushing made Derek take notice, and when he took notice he saw very little else. Stiles was, in lack of a better word, brilliant. Derek couldn't look away — he didn't want to look away. All the new nuances, the maturity and confidence Stiles suddenly held, was more appealing than Derek had thought they would be.
And those eyes. God, those eyes.
In them Derek could see everything he was feeling reflected back at him; hesitation, yearning, frustration, need, and — shining brightest of all — silent, unyielding hope. All those emotions were bound to boil over soon and Derek found himself bracing for it, but not out of fear or caution. No, he wanted it to happen. He couldn't wait for the tension between him and Stiles to finally reach its conclusion.
Derek was so wrapped up in this new development with Stiles that he didn't see anything else — not until it was already too late. It was just so thrilling for him to find something that he could hold on to like this — something that was only his, unsullied by his past and repeated failures. Stiles didn't know all of Derek's secrets but he knew enough that it should have sent him running in the other direction, but it didn't. Stiles stayed.
Stiles always stayed.
Derek didn't allow himself to wallow too much. He knew that he would start to question everything if he did. He didn't deserve whatever Stiles was offering, but he didn't want to be reminded of that. Derek wanted to live in blissful ignorance, if only for a little while, and pretend that he could have things like these. Normal things.
He should have known better.
Apparently, Scott and Stiles had been shadowing the hunters, trying to figure out what they were up to, and had fled into the woods when they had been discovered. Now they needed someone to pick them up and Derek had the fastest car.
Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed his jacket, already heading for the door. His lack of objections might be considered a weakness of his, but he didn't have it in him to deny a blatant plea for help. Call it misguided pack instinct, stupidity, or whatever else might seem suitable — he still went to help.
Derek wasn't going to lie — had it only been Scott in need he might have refused. Derek wasn't a chauffeur to be called on when needed. But then Scott had mentioned Stiles, and while Scott might survive an encounter with a group of hunters, Stiles could easily get caught in the crossfire. Stiles was painfully human and Derek's heart clenched at the thought of what could happen if he left them out there.
Besides, it wasn't like he had anything better to do that evening.
So he drove to the location Scott had given — some old factory building at the edge of the woods — and looked out through the windshield. Scott should have heard the Camaro approach, but Derek didn't see any signs of either of the two teenage boys. Derek sighed and climbed out of the car, allowing the surrounding scents to wash over him. Scott and Stiles hadn't arrived yet judging by what he smelled, but his ears could pick up on movement amongst the trees — and shouts. Considering the number of voices, Stiles and Scott were most likely being chased by the hunters.
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, calming breath. Just perfect.
He took off towards the woods without really considering what other options he had — if any at all — his senses focused on pinpointing where Scott and Stiles were. It didn't take long. Stiles was making enough noise for three people as he stumbled his way through the undergrowth, tossing curses and sarcastic snarls in Scott's direction. Derek couldn't quite make out the words, but he could guess that the nightly spying had been Scott's brilliant idea, just from hearing the contempt in Stiles' voice.
Derek fought a smile; it was always a lot more fun when Stiles' annoyance was directed at someone else.
Derek counted four hunters — maybe five — but it was difficult to tell on their footsteps alone. He wasn't going to get close enough to confirm it, though. Hunters usually had guns and that never boded well, not with Stiles in the mix, who couldn't heal from a bullet wound as easily as Scott and Derek did. He was just going to find Scott and Stiles and lead them back to the car.
He couldn't have been running for much more than two minutes, guided by both hearing and smell, when he eventually caught sight of them. Derek tried to deny that the anxious knot in his chest eased when he noticed that both Scott and Stiles looked unharmed. Derek slowed to a halt, waiting for them to reach him instead.
"Derek!" Scott shouted, relief evident in his voice.
"Not so loud!" Stiles hissed, throwing an urgent look over his shoulder. With right — the hunters were so close that Derek could smell the gun oil and metal from their rifles.
"I'm so sorry I had to call—" Scott began, but Derek interrupted without a hint of remorse.
"Talk later. Come on."
Derek barely even realized that he placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder — as if it was normal for him to do so — or that it soon slid down to the middle of Stiles' back, urging him to keep moving. He did notice how Stiles stumbled, though, and that his already uneven heartbeat made a strange little skip that Derek had never heard before. Scott looked worried but Stiles waved it off after a quick glance in Derek's direction.
The glance said that Stiles' stumble hadn't been caused by the uneven ground.
Derek shoved that knowledge and whatever reactions it caused to the side. Now was not the time to start exploring that particular aspect of his and Stiles' relationship. He gave Stiles another push — too soft to really be called a push, in all honesty — and they started moving again. Scott was already a couple of steps ahead. And if Derek happened to be reveling in how he could still feel Stiles' warmth against his palm, well, he certainly didn't tell anyone.
Derek didn't bother looking back — he could hear the hunters closing in — but it was dark amongst the trees and they weren't far from his car. They should be able to make it.
The old factory soon came within view and Derek felt a small jolt of relief. The Camaro was parked where Derek had left it — unfortunately out in the open without obstructing buildings. Scott was already halfway there.
That was when the first bullet whistled past them.
Stiles cursed and turned as if to look over his shoulder but Derek forced him to keep going instead, the relief turning into worry. Stiles' curiosity was going to be the death of him one day.
"Get to the car," Derek barked without giving Stiles enough time to protest.
To his immense surprise, Stiles obeyed, but that might have been because two more shots rang out and put some urgency into their steps. Derek was glad that he hadn't thought to lock the car since Scott was already diving into the backseat, saving them precious seconds. Derek wasn't sure how close the hunters were, but even one stray bullet could turn fatal if they didn't watch out.
A second later he was proven far too right.
He didn't even realize that he had been hit until the force of the bullet made him stumble, knocking the breath out of him as is buried into his back. Derek caught himself on the open passenger side door, bumping into Stiles, who was just about to climb into the car.
"Stop pushing!" Stiles snapped, clearly not aware of why Derek had tripped.
That was probably for the best.
Derek gritted his teeth against the pain, refusing to move. If another shot came, Stiles could get hit. So he remained where he was, waiting for Stiles to scramble into the passenger seat under muttered curses.
Derek faltered when he tried to breathe, choking from the effort — the bullet must have hit one of his lungs. He swallowed harshly and slammed the car door shut once he was certain that Stiles had gotten inside.
"Keep your heads down," he growled. His words were founded in genuine concern for Scott and Stiles' safety but the pain made them sharp and angry.
Derek felt dizzy and his feet barely obeyed him as he hurried round the car, heading for the driver's side.
It shouldn't feel this bad. He shouldn't be this affected by a simple bullet.
His hands trembled when he yanked open the door and he practically fell into the driver's seat, biting back a hiss of pain. He didn't allow himself to hesitate, turning the ignition and getting the car into gear. The Camaro roared to life.
The passenger side window shattered but Stiles was for once doing as he was told, ducking low in his seat. Scott shouted something from the backseat but it sounded garbled and muted in Derek's ears. He could practically feel the bullet grate against one of his ribs, pulsing menacingly.
The shot had hit Derek harder than it should have.
That could only mean one thing — there was only one type of bullet that could cause something like this — but Derek didn't allow himself to hesitate. Not yet. He needed to focus on getting them out of there, no matter what might happen to him.
Derek tuned out everything but his driving, tires screeching against the asphalt. Stiles and Scott were talking but he didn't listen — he couldn't. Derek had to keep his eyes on the road, but it didn't take long before his sight started getting hazy.
He needed to get to Deaton's. The wolfsbane was spreading fast and if the bullet had hit close enough to his heart to puncture a lung, he didn't have long.
The pain was intense but manageable. What worried him the most was that he felt it so strongly, so soon. Then again, he wasn't shot in the arm this time. Derek could smell the metallic tang of blood in the enclosed space of the car and knew that Scott probably did as well. If Scott said anything about it, Derek didn't hear it — he had to focus on getting to the animal clinic. Deaton might be able to help.
Unless it was already too late.
Derek pushed the thought aside and tried to calm his breathing. He was pretty certain that the car was beginning to sway across the road, however, and his foot felt a little too heavy on the gas pedal.
Something landed on his arm. Derek looked to his right, realizing that it was Stiles' hand. Stiles was frowning, looking worried, and Derek could still hear the slight elevation to Stiles' heartbeat.
"—rek! What's wrong?"
Derek gritted his teeth and tried to blink away the dark spots dancing across his field of vision. His eyes had to be flashing red.
He was losing control.
"Shit! Were you hit?" Stiles seemed inches away from climbing over the gearshift, as if that would help somehow. His grip on Derek's arm tightened. "Pull over! You're going to crash the car!"
Stiles had a point.
Derek gathered enough strength to step on the breaks — perhaps a little too harshly. Stiles yelped and Scott slammed into the seats in front of him, but Derek didn't have the presence of mind to feel guilty. He could barely breathe and a chill was beginning to spread through his body. The sensation wasn't at all like having wolfsbane burning through his veins, and that worried him.
He was moving into another stage of the poisoning.
Derek fumbled with the handle, eventually managing to push open the door, and tumbled out of the car in an undignified heap. He was in no shape to drive. Someone else had to do it.
He thought he heard shouts, but it wasn't until he felt a hand on his back that he realized that Stiles and Scott had climbed out of the Camaro as well.
"Shit! You're bleeding!" Stiles hissed. "Why didn't you say anything? Where did they get you?"
Derek didn't bother to reply — the answer was obvious what with the blood staining Stiles' fingers and the hole in Derek's back. Stiles was staring at the blood with wide, frightened eyes while Scott grabbed Derek and pulled him to his feet. Derek stumbled but allowed himself to grab Scott's shoulder for support.
"It's wolfsbane. We need to go to Deaton's." Scott's voice was terse, with an edge of command when he spoke next. "Help me get him back inside the car."
Stiles instantly snapped back to attention and hurried to obey. Stiles' hands shook when he placed one of them against Derek's chest, trying to keep him upright. Derek wanted to say something but he couldn't think of what. There wasn't much to say — he couldn't find the words.
They managed three steps before Derek was unable hold back the blood rising in his throat, his coughs sending it splattering against the asphalt, black and glistening in the stark glare of the Camaro's headlights. A tremble went through him and he collapsed despite Stiles' alarmed shout and Scott's continued tries to keep him on his feet.
Once he hit the ground, Derek knew that he wasn't getting up again — never again.
The bullet had hit too close to his heart.
Derek could barely feel the cold road against his back, not with the chill that was spreading inside him. He gasped for breath, a blurry shape appearing above him.
It was Stiles, he realized a moment later.
"Derek! Come on, don't do this. Get up. We need to get you back inside the car." Stiles' voice was trembling as much as his hands. He pulled on Derek's collar, as if that alone would make him move. "It's not so bad. You've had worse." Stiles' breath hitched. "You'll manage."
Derek could see the fear in Stiles' eyes, but most of all there was denial. Scott hovered nearby but his expression was grimmer — no less devastated, but with an undercurrent of acceptance.
Scott knew that it was too late.
"Derek! Don't do this. Not now. Get up," Stiles ordered. "Get up! You always get up!" Stiles was tugging ineffectively at Derek's clothes and even if Derek wanted to obey, he couldn't. He could barely feel his legs. "Come on. Don't— you need to get up!"
Stiles flinched away from the hand Scott tried to place on his shoulder. "NO! Stop it! Help me get him up instead!"
"Stiles, it's too la—" Scott began, but Stiles clearly wasn't listening.
"Get up, Derek. GET UP!" Stiles placed his hands on each side of Derek's face, as if he wanted nothing more than to shake life back into him. "You can't do this, Derek. Not now. You just can't. I won't let you." Stiles' words were wavering. "You c-can't. Get up."
Derek took a slow, trembling breath and managed to raise his hand high enough to grab one of Stiles' wrists. It was a weak grip, barely there, but it was still enough to make Stiles stiffen. Their gazes met and Derek could see the moment Stiles realized that Derek truly was dying and that there was nothing they could do about it. He could see it in Stiles' eyes, how everything just shut down and his face became blank and unresponsive — as if someone had flipped a switch.
The emptiness was creepier than the panicked, helpless rambling had been.
Derek swallowed down as much of the blood as he could, but some dribbled out of the corner of his mouth all the same. Stiles was staring at his face, unseeing, while Scott was finally allowed to place a hand on Stiles' shoulder. Stiles didn't even react, and that hurt more than Derek thought it would.
Stiles was completely motionless and silent — like he wasn't there anymore. Like he couldn't handle what was happening. Derek assumed it was shock.
An ache that had nothing to do with the bullet wound spread in Derek's chest. He and Stiles had been so close — if only they'd had the time to get that one final push. But now it would never happen. Derek would never get to see what it would be like to act on their mutual attraction. How much different his life could be if he actually allowed himself to have someone — to care for someone like that again. He had never thought that he would after Kate's betrayal.
And now he would never know.
Derek's eyelids fluttered closed and it was only Stiles' choked sob that made him open them again. He couldn't keep that up forever, though. The cold was spreading — swiftly — and he knew he wouldn't be able to speak, no matter how much he might want to. This was all happening too quickly and Derek wasn't sure if he was grateful for it or upset. He barely felt any pain by then, and it was probably just a matter of seconds before he would be gone.
Stiles shook his head, his eyes filled with tears. Derek wanted to say that he was sorry — he could tell how much this hurt Stiles — but it only came out as a thick groan of pain.
"Please... please don't. Please don't die." Stiles' thumb brushed against Derek's cheekbone. The action was full of desperation but Derek still found comfort in it. "Don't do this. P-please... please don't do this. You can't die!" Stiles swallowed. "I can't do this. Not again. I can't watch someone else I lov— I can't watch you die."
Derek squeezed Stiles' wrist — or tried to, at least — offering what little reassurance he could. It wasn't much. They would lose their chance to explore what was between them. Derek could see the regret on Stiles' face — see the agony of knowing that everything was slipping through their fingers.
Derek felt numb — not even the anger was left. He was losing it all.
He was dying.
"Don't die. I don't want you to die. Please..." Stiles whispered. He didn't sound hysterical anymore, but the words were no less heartbreaking. His voice was nothing more than a cracked, desperate plea, trembling with barely contained sobs. Stiles gripped Derek as if he would be able to keep him alive just through that — through sheer willpower and the strength of his fingers. As if Derek wouldn't be able to slip through them, if Stiles just held on firmly enough.
"Derek, please..."
Derek's only reply was a choked gasp. That was all he could manage with so much blood filling his mouth.
He could feel his grip around Stiles' wrist slip, his body going lax and unresponsive. Stiles whimpered before he surged forward, pressing their lips together despite the blood covering Derek's. It wasn't a tender kiss, or a particularly nice one, but it was the only one Derek was going to get — he knew that. A kiss full of desperation, grief, and regret.
That seemed fitting, somehow.
He closed his eyes, and while he thought that he heard more muttered pleas for him not to die, the last thing he remembered — the one thing he made sure to cling to as he drew his last breath — was the feel of Stiles' lips against his own.
Then everything went black.