Stilinski HQ

Thriller

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 02:35:59 -0400

Derek rolled his eyes. “Calm down, Stiles. I’m not going to eat you. Today.”

Just then he heard raucous laughter and a shuddering clunk - the sound of someone letting another person fall on one end of a seesaw - followed by spirited swearing. There was shuffling, shoving, the sounds of a tussle, and then more laughter, fading away a little. Derek gracelessly dropped Stiles down on the ground again. “Alright, go on back inside, quick. I’ll get these.” He jerked his chin at the flats of drinks.

Stiles was once again about to say something, but even he heard the sound of the see-saw. And while he was about to look and see what was going on, Derek immediately released him. Stiles weight fell away, and he slid to the ground with a thump, and a grunt. Derek’s words were hissed, and Stiles obeyed, scrambling to his feet, and pulling his hoodie over his head. He plunged back into the trees to reach the back door of the school.

He pulled the door closed, ducked into the closest classroom, and peered out the back window towards his Jeep, where he saw flashes of Derek’s dark jacket through the trees.

Thriller

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 01:41:34 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Derek glared at him a little, but without much heat. “Yes,” he said, and slid his hands down to lock around Stiles’ waist, iron-like, hitch him up a little - not too much, not enough to be seen - and pin him there, against the side panel of the Jeep. “Better?” he asked mockingly, canting his head at Stiles, just daring him to disagree.

Stiles clenched his teeth when Derek grabbed him around the middle, pulled him up a little, pinning him, more sturdy, against the Jeep. He swallowed because Derek scared him, and then he nodded quickly.

“Uh…” he muttered, feeling his face heat up for no good reason as his hands pressed flat against the side of the Jeep, to help hold him up, even though Derek was doing a fine enough job of it on his own. “I-I-I-I’m fine,” he said, squishing up against the side of car as if he were going to crawl up the side of it out of Derek’s grasp.

Thriller

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 00:56:10 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Derek gave Stiles a look. “Not like having his son reporting dead bodies buried next to old burnt-out houses was at all awkward, I’m sure,” he said drily, cocking his eyebrow a little at Stiles. He had a half an ear on the men on the playground equipment; they gave no indication yet of leaving, but Derek was willing to be patient. He thought that they might’ve been able to sneak away if the guys would even just move to the other side of the playground; the corner of the building might hide them from view.

Stiles opened his mouth, and then closed it, because the wolf had a very sharp point. He shook his head, and then squeezed his eyes closed because his back, and his thighs were beginning to burn in the half-sitting, half-standing position he was in. He sucked air into his nose, and the groaned under his breath because it ached terribly. He reached up, hooked his hands over one of Derek’s forearms to hoist himself up, just a little, trying, and failing, to make himself more comfortable.

“They still over there?” he hissed. “Because my legs are killing me.”

Thriller

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 05:28:47 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Stiles’ slowing heartbeat ratcheted Derek’s down with it, counter-intuitively, and as he calmed down, the long dark lashes on his closed eyelids flickering against his pale cheeks, Stiles’ scent changed, subtly. The fear hormones drained out for the most part, leaving Stiles smelling less like prey and more like…more like pack. Like one of Derek’s. It was immensely gratifying, in a way that alarmed Derek greatly; he’d never smelled that off of Stiles, before - but then, he couldn’t immediately think of any time that he had been around Stiles close enough to smell him this directly when Stiles was not scared shitless. It was an odd and somehow discomfiting realization.

The bristle of Stiles’ buzzed hair caught against the underside of Derek’s jaw and made him flinch a little. He growled softly and pressed his chin against Stiles’ head, shoving him back down again. But the kid was right. They couldn’t stay like this forever. Derek growled again, but this time his irritation was not for Stiles. “We’ll give them a few minutes, maybe they’ll wander around the building to shoot up and won’t be able to see us.” He wrinkled his nose a little in distaste. “How did you get away with doing drugs without the Sheriff finding out?”

Stiles muttered out an ‘ouch!’ when Derek pushed him back down, and he looked up at him, reaching up to rub his head. He heard the growls in Derek’s throat, and it put Stiles slightly on edge again. Just a little, because he found that, strangely, in some weird pit of his stomach, or in the back of his brain, his body told him to react in kind to Derek’s cues. If he was aggressive, Stiles knew to be frightened, if he was stressed, Stiles found himself a little stressed out too.

Swallowing, and gritting his teeth, Stiles shifted his position just a little to get slightly more comfortable, although he wasn’t sure that was possible.

Derek’s question caught Stiles slightly off-guard, and he opened his mouth and then closed it again, thinking.

“Oh,” he muttered. “Well…I mean, my dad doesn’t exactly shadow my every step. He isn’t home that much anyway, he works. A lot. So I liked to sneak out and do shit the older guys were doing, and we had a senior guy who bought us weed…” he paused to wet his lips, glad for something to talk about because it distracted him. “Anyway, I think he did know, he just chose to let me…you know, figure it out on my own so he didn’t have to arrest me…that would’ve been awkward.”

Thriller

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 05:12:38 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Derek cocked his head a quarter-inch to the right. There were many interesting bits of that comment to tease out - that Stiles had done drugs, that he no longer did, that he was eager to exonerate himself of any possible blame, not without reason, because bringing the pack here to a place he knew people frequented would have been uncharacteristically cruel or uncharacteristically stupid of him, one of the two.

“I know you didn’t, I’d know if you were lying,” he said, reassuring, but less out of a desire to reassure and more out of a desire to get Stiles to stop freaking out like he was going to bolt any second. “Now chill out. They’ll be gone in a minute, but you’re distracting me.”

“Distracting…?” Stiles echoed, but he decided to forget it because he didn’t know exactly how werewolf stuff worked, so he just tried to obey. He took deep breaths, and thought of something that he liked to do, something that wasn’t stressful. Drawing! He liked to draw, and it always seemed to calm him down when he was annoyed. It was one of the only quiet activities that held his attention for any length of time. So he focused on that, on the feeling of the pencil gliding across the paper, of the lines, of the satisfaction of finishing a drawing he had started ages ago.

It seemed to help, because as he focused on something else his heartbeat seemed to become less, and then less, and then it was even again, and so was his breathing, and he was looking back up at Derek, and then he was moving to poke his head back over Derek’s arm, his forehead scratching against the werewolf’s five o’clock shadow slightly as he tried to peer through the bushes.

He couldn’t see the group anymore, but he could hear laughter, and the squealing of the old see-saws being played on. They were shouting incoherently.

“If they’re playing on the equipment, and they came to get high, they’re going to be here awhile,” Stiles hissed, ducking back down beneath Derek’s jacket and arm. He peered up at him, brown eyes squinting lightly in the gray light that came down on him. “There is nothing more awesome than a see-saw when you’re getting high…” he paused. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t wanna be stuck this way until they leave, which could be a freaking midnight.”

Thriller

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 04:48:46 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

“Quiet,” Derek hissed again as his eyes shifted colors, speaking more quietly but more forcefully, willing Stiles to shut up and calm down with every cell in his body; he exuded animal calm, animal stillness at him, envisioning it folding around Stiles like an envelope and sealing away his panic behind a wall of perfect quiet. “If you stay still and don’t move, they might not, through the bushes. They’re…cutting across in front of the school. Toward the playground.” His nostrils twitched as he took in the distinct human scents, the acridness of old sweat and older clothes, unwashed hair, and something sickly, something chemical… “Junkies,” he said softly, finally categorizing the smell of the drugs on them, in them, stashed in their pockets and their pores.

“What, really?” Stiles hissed back, poking his head above Derek’s arm, just enough to see the moving figures through the brush. He ducked back down immediately when he saw them, using Derek’s legs to help support his weight, because he was leaned and crouched very uncomfortably.

Stiles was breathing heavily from adrenaline, and his heart pounding, and when he looked up at Derek, he noticed his eyes flashed red, for just a moment. Stiles clenched his jaw, and leaned his head back against the Jeep, taking in deep breaths to calm himself down. He wasn’t certain what exactly was causing his heart to race this way. He might have said fear, except once he figured out what the hell was going on, he had no real reason to fear a few junkies. They’d be too interested in their next hit to care about a kid in a Jeep.

It could have been Derek, then. That he was frightened Stiles was no secret, though his actions in the past, and now, hadn’t ever really been more than protective, or at the least, he’d always seemed more interested in keeping Stiles alive than ripping his throat out.

For a moment, he stressed about how much he disliked not knowing why his heart was beating so hard. He tilted his head back a little, leaning it against the Jeep, willing his heart to calm itself down.

“We used to get stoned here sometimes in freshman year,” Stiles muttered, his breath coming out in labored gasps. “But I didn’t know anyone still used the place as a drug dive, I swear.” He was saying it because he didn’t want Derek to think he had somehow manipulated them into a place where they might get found out.

Thriller

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 04:20:52 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Derek mostly hadn’t been listening, more interested in the sounds and smells of their environment than in Stiles’ never-ending prattle about flavors of sports drinks. He hefted the other two packages with ease, holding them with one hand and then reaching out and snagging one of the flats away from Stiles, who was struggling a little with the weight. Derek watched him spit his keys out on the package still balanced in his hands, reached out to shove the back of the Jeep closed—

And instantaneously dropped all three of the flats he was carrying to the ground with a groan of plastic bottles squealing against each other and their skin of shrink wrap. In the same movement, Derek yanked the Gatorade out of Stiles hands and threw it to the ground, too, boxing in Stiles’ body against the Jeep with his own, arms bracketing him, jacket flaring out and fully blocking the sight of him.

“Keep your head down,” he hissed. “There’re people coming. Don’t let them see you.”

Stiles had been opening his mouth to say something else when his eyes followed the drinks falling from Derek’s hands, and then the stacks were torn from his hands. He almost protested, but he was then, suddenly aware of Derek’s proximity, the fact that he was now pushed up against his Jeep, and there was roughly two hundred and twenty pounds of werewolf, thrust close to him, arms boxing Stiles completely in.

Words hissed at him were barely heard over the rush of blood in his ears, and the adrenaline, fear, that was causing his heart to hammer against his ribs. Stiles was many things, but eager to die was not one of them, so he obeyed immediately, ducking his head down beneath Derek’s jacket. He bent his knees a little, bumping Derek’s as he did so, and he inhabited his own little cave between the flaps of Derek’s jacket.

He heard the sound of people, and from where he stood, he tilted his head back to look up at the bottom of Derek’s chin.

“What’re they doing?” he whispered, his breath condensing in the cool air and rolling back at him after bouncing off of Derek’s chest. “You know,” he hissed, “they might notice you have four legs!”

Thriller

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 03:59:34 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Derek nodded once, again, and cocked his head to tell the betas to go help unload the car. But even as he opened his mouth, Erica was tossing herself into the pile of boy-limbs, snickering wildly, claws out to get in on the game. Jesus, they were all too old to be doing this; bittens were so strange, their instincts all a wild mix of new-wolf urges and human hormones and very little impulse control. Derek honestly had no idea what to do with them, more than half the time.

So he rolled his eyes, set down the rest of his food and got up to follow Stiles out of the building. It was chilly out, overcast now though the morning had been fair, and Derek’s eyes flicked warily around the landscape, nostrils flaring as he took in the scents of this new place, hyper-aware for danger, unwilling to be outside in broad daylight.

Stiles skirted the lump of wolves as they left, and glanced over at Derek, who was smelling the air carefully. Stiles was glad he had pulled the Jeep down next to the creek, into the woods more deeply to avoid the main road. He was certain Derek wouldn’t want to be wandering around where passing cars could see him.

Stopping by his car, Stiles stuck the key in the lock of the back, and unlocked it, pulling it open, and peering inside. There were several packages of Vitamin water, and Gatorade stacked against the side, kept there by his backpack, and his Lacrosse bag.

“Didn’t know about flavors,” he commented, mostly to himself as he pulled two of the packs out. “But I think there’s like…orange, and…snozzberry, or something disgusting…” Stiles leaned down to grab his keys out of the lock with his teeth, and he jerked his head in the direction of the other packages to indicate Derek could grab them.

Thriller

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 03:27:15 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Derek watched Stiles restlessly reapportion his fries, stuff his trash away, stand and dust himself off, barely stopping for breath between his words. He was so…nervous, all the time, like a prey animal. It made Derek jumpy, his instincts to pin Stiles to the ground or to forcibly calm him down warring in him, that constant thrum of Stiles’ too-quick heartbeat, spiking whenever Derek got his back up, like a white-noise chatter to set his teeth on edge. It was a natural human response to something fearsome, but it was wearying to Derek, who had to struggle not to snap constantly at Stiles to just calm the hell down.

He nodded, a single dip of his head, as he finished chewing that bite of food and watched Stiles from the floor. Not an angle he was accustomed to. It made him feel a bit cornered, and he fought the urge. “Don’t come here without letting me know,” he said quietly. “We’re…not always safe to be around, especially the betas. They don’t have control yet. And I don’t want some peabrained deputy of your father’s catching you sneaking out all the time and following you here.”

Stiles stilled slightly at Derek’s warning. Not always safe to be around. What? Did they make a habit of attacking unsuspecting visitors? Stiles didn’t know, but when he glanced back at Isaac and Boyd who were now wrestling around Erica, and rubbing their faces weirdly against one another, Stiles could hardly see them as dangerous predators.

Then again, he’d never thought of his best friend that way either, and Scott had already nearly killed him several times.

“Right. Well…” Stiles said, turning again to look at Derek, he crouched to pull the grocery bags towards him, searching through for his keys. “Like I said, have Isaac text me, and I won’t be coming unannounced, and you can…you know, not kill me, that’d be great.” Stiles snatched out his keys, and then stood again.

Licking his lips nervously, he said, “I’ve got those Vitamin waters and shit in my Jeep. You…want ‘em, or…?”

Thriller

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 03:09:26 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Derek grunted around his jawful of hamburger as he separated the bite from the whole. Once he’d chewed it down to a bit more manageable of a mass, he narrowed his eyes a little at Stiles, mostly just baffled by the things that continued to proceed from the bottomless pit of his mouth.

“No, we are not feral,” he said, but even as he did, he wasn’t sure it was fully true. He directed his eyes to a scratch in the linoleum floor in front of him. “They aren’t, anyway. I’m just. Hungry.”

Stiles chewed thoughtfully, because what Derek said made Stiles think for a moment. His eyes went between Derek and the other three werewolves. Boyd and Isaac were sitting across from each other in the hall, desperately tossing fries at one another, trying to catch them in their mouths. Erica was sitting on the sidelines, dipping fries into her shake, and eating daintily, and gracefully.

“Look at them,” Stiles said, a note of awe in his voice. “It’s like they’ve never seen a potato…”

He stopped here before taking a breath, and then returning his gaze back to Derek.

“Well, eat,” he said flatly, taking another bite of his burger, and then eating some fries with it because that combination of cow, and fried potato was God’s gift to mankind. He swallowed. “They’re stationing cars around the old train platform, so I guess you geeks are stuck here for awhile.” Stiles finished off his burger, and took several long gulps of soda. He glanced down at the remainder of his fries, and then leaned over, dumping what was left into the cardboard holder of Derek’s fries, indicating without words that he was giving over the food for his consumption. Stiles binned the garbage into one of the empty fast food bags, and pushed himself to his feet.

“I don’t know how much you guys get out, but, um…I think Isaac has my number from Lacrosse,” he told Derek. “If you need anything, more food or…whatever, just have him send me a text.”

Scott would hate it if he found out Stiles was helping Derek. But Stiles felt weird about them living like hobos in an old middle school while he and Scott got to sleep in comfortable beds, and eat as much food as they wanted.

Thriller

Sun, 24 Jun 2012 03:56:44 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Derek just gave him a look right back, glaring him down for a moment before bending and snagging up an unmarked drink cup from the cardboard container. When he stood, he took a long sip of cola, narrowing his eyes at Stiles as he drank, his stomach only growling again, even louder. He swallowed, licked his lips, then blinked again.

“Good. Pepsi tastes like deer piss,” he grumbled, folding back the wrapper around his burger and taking a sharp-toothed bite, habit kicking in and lengthening his fangs slightly. He hadn’t had a meal that wasn’t on the hoof or otherwise still half-living in…a long time.

Stiles watched Derek with a semi-disgusted look as he saw the fangs sink into burger. He watched him closely with his jaw slack, before he shook his head, and sighed, taking another bite of his burger, and sliding along the wall to sit because he figured he wouldn’t leave until he finished eating anyway.

“You would know,” he said, laughing around a bite of food, because he thought he was rather clever. He took a drink of his soda, and motioned to Isaac, Boyd, and Derek. “You know, I’ve never seen Scott do the whole vampire thing with his teeth when he eats…are you guys like…feral, or…?”

From anyone else, the question might have been offensive. But Stiles was so honestly genuine and curious, that it was difficult for his brown eyes and questioning expression to be construed as rude.

Thriller

Sun, 24 Jun 2012 03:30:07 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Derek blinked, confused, at his betas stuffing their faces, at Erica’s flat expression melting into one of surprise and then genuine happiness as she grabbed for the insulated milkshake cup and wrapped her un-colored lips around the straw taking a long, blissful sip, eyelashes fluttering. She was rummaging in her fast food bag with her other hand, popping curly fries into her mouth right after the milkshake - salty-and-sweet, an indulgence she hadn’t let herself have in…a very, very long time. Until the bite, she’d been on a strict celery-and-broiled-fish diet, in order to counteract the weight gain that was a side-effect of her meds. Now she had neither side-effects, nor meds, and her metabolism was perfect; she could eat nothing but fries for a week and not gain an ounce. She hummed blissfully and absconded with her food to plop down against the wall between Isaac and Boyd, wedging herself into the non-space.

When Stiles held out the food to him, Derek blinked again, slower, considering, before he reached out and took it, narrowing his eyes at Stiles, still a little dumbfounded. He glanced around at the groceries spilled out around their feet, bottles and cans and bags of things both good for bodies and bad. He was stricken dumb for several long seconds. Then he looked up at Stiles warily. “Does the sheriff know you’ve spent all this money? Won’t he be suspicious.”

Stiles grinned, nodded, satisfied when Derek took the food, and he bent down to extract the last burger from the bag that Isaac and Boyd had gotten into. He leaned against one of the walls, and unwrapped it, taking a bite of the cheeseburger with extra mayo, and no vegetables (never veggies, he hated rabbit food on his cow).

He glanced up at Derek as he chewed, swallowing hard as he furrowed his brow, and shook his head, sucking down a drink of soda.

“My dad?” he asked, incredulous. “I worked like a dog all summer for my cash, and I still pick up shifts on Sundays and Fridays to have spending money…” he paused here, taking another drink of soda. He gave a shrug. “Anyway, I really doubt his first thought would be, ‘oh, my son is buying burgers for a pack of werewolves living at the old middle school.’”

Stiles gave Derek a ‘seriously’ look, before he pointed to the tray by Isaac.

“Soda,” he instructed. “Hope you drink Coke, I’ve been petitioning for them to switch to Pepsi, but no cigar.”

Thriller

Sun, 24 Jun 2012 03:00:00 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

For a moment there was total ringing silence, while his voice echoed away down the musty hallways blurred by dust and cobwebs. Then, suddenly, with a thunder of footsteps utterly unbecoming the sneaky-mysterious werewolf persona, Boyd and Isaac came ripping around the corner at the far end of the hall and charging down on Stiles, falling upon the bags of hamburgers in his hands like ravening…well. Wolves.

“I. Have not had a hamburger. In a month and a half.” Boyd’s eyes were actually yellow with hungry fervor as he dug two sandwiches out of the bag. Isaac snapped one of them away from him and the two of them were immediately peeling back the crinkling wrappers and scarfing down.

“Oh mah gah,” Isaac said, starry-eyed with a mouthful of cow, peering into the bag again. “Curry frah!”

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” came Derek’s weary rumble from the end of the hall. Erica was striding up toward them ahead of him, barefoot and dressed down in sweatpants and a beater, for all the world as if she’d just been lounging around her house on a Saturday afternoon, not haunting an abandoned school building with three other werewolves. She wasn’t running at the food like the boys had, but she looked like she was only restraining herself because she was still in arms’ reach of Derek and feared being jerked back like the proverbial dog at the end of a chain.

Derek wasn’t angry, only annoyed; Stiles had interrupted training. The smell of food was getting even to him, though, and he realized with a start that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, even as a wolf. His stomach growled more fiercely than he ever had, and he instinctively zipped up his jacket like that would block out the sound. By the coy smile Erica shot him over her shoulder, it hadn’t worked.

Stiles opened his mouth, and might have run if he’d had time. But Isaac and Boyd bounded to him so quickly that all he had time to do was fall down and sit heavily against the floor as the grocery bags slid off his arms, and the food was confiscated from him. He began to laugh when Isaac announced he hadn’t had a burger a month, and Stiles pulled drinks out of the holder, and slid them over.

He scrambled to his feet, glancing up to Derek and Erica as they approached. He smiled meekly, shrugging at Derek’s words before he grabbed the second and third bags, and offered one to Erica.

“Uh, soda’s there,” he said, motioning to the tray by Isaac. Smiling, somewhat anxiously, he offered her the cup he held. “Chocolate raspberry shake.”

Stiles looked over at Derek, and then closed the space between them. He offered the last fast food bag, as if it were some kind of peace offering, and he gave another shrug.

“Figured since you idiots managed to get your little den found out, you’d need some sustenance,” he said, chewing his bottom lip lightly. He glanced over at Erica, and then to Isaac and Boyd who seemed not to even notice that Stiles was talking. He looked back to Derek. “Didn’t know what everyone ate, so I just got everybody everything—uh…” Stiles paused here and motioned to the forgotten grocery bags, and popped on his toes like he’d just remembered something.

“Yeah, brought some bottled water, Gatorade, stuff we use on the field to replace electrolytes and…shit…” his words trailed off because he didn’t even think anyone was listening. He figured they would discover the high sugar candies, non-perishable canned foods, and chips later. He gave a quick shrug, and rustled the burger bag at Derek, an urge for him to take it because he wasn’t going to force it down his throat.

Thriller

Sat, 23 Jun 2012 04:58:17 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Stiles reeked of panic, and Derek felt his betas feeding back the ambient stress among them. He backed off of Stiles, letting him go, taking and releasing a deep breath and generally just trying to calm the fuck down, so that everyone else might calm the fuck down, too. Pressing his lips together, he nodded once.

“No. We’re not. The school will be alright for now, at least until we can get back to the station, maybe.” He motioned to the others; they all started hauling things out of the cars, creeping all but silently through the undergrowth toward the hulk of the abandoned brick building a quarter-mile through the trees. The dim, uncertain moonlight cast the woods and the old, rusted playground equipment in eerie silhouette, like skeletons rising up, frozen, from the ground, black and spindly around them. It was, objectively, cold out, and Derek noticed Stiles shivering, rubbing at his arms; wolves’ body temperatures were naturally higher, so Derek felt comfortable, but Stiles’ wan face was turning bone-white in the moonlight from the chill.

“Go home, Stiles,” he said, jerking his chin at him equably. “And…thank you. For the heads up.” He turned and marched back to the Camaro before he was made to own the gratitude; he justified it as more reflexive than sincere, even though he knew that wasn’t true. If not for Stiles…well. He’d been there. That was all that mattered right now. They’d dodged the fire, again.

Stiles leaned against the tree, shivering, from adrenaline, yes, but from the cold, too. His fingers were numb, and he slid them into his jean pockets as he pushed away from the tree, and went back to his Jeep. He opened the door, and pulled out a zip-up hoodie with Old Navy written across the front. He pulled it on over his torn t-shirt, and zipped it up, pulling the hood over his ears and head.

He paused by his Jeep to peer back over at Derek.

“Psst,” he hissed again in the man’s direction. “Look, go in the back double doors, they’re the only ones that aren’t chained. Try not to break windows, its only going to make noise that you don’t need.”

Stiles blinked, and then got into his Jeep. He started it, glanced once back at Derek, and then pulled out of the drive.

___

Stiles didn’t even bother going to the party. He returned home, ate leftovers, played video games, and then crashed out at two AM. It didn’t really bother him that he had missed the party. He got a text around four saying that he had missed one hell of a night, but he sort of guessed he would hear about all the puking, and the sex, and the general antics Monday morning.

His dad woke him on his way into work at ten, and Stiles roused himself enough to shower, shave, and dress much more warmly than he had been the night before. He called Scott to be certain he hadn’t gotten murdered by the Argents, and was greeted only with a sleepy grunt. It was enough to give him the concept of his being asleep, and not dead.

It only really occurred to Stiles that Derek, Boyd, Erica, and Isaac didn’t have any food as he was heading down to the local burger joint on his road for lunch. He decided to turn around and stop at the bank, withdrawing extra cash so that he could stop at the grocery store.

He made certain that his errands didn’t take long (Stiles hated shopping of all kinds), and he continued on his journey.

Five burgers with everything, five curly fries, five drinks, and one milkshake later, and Stiles was pulling his Jeep down into the trees behind the old middle school. He hid it sufficiently, and then slid all the bags from the store into his elbows. With his keys in his mouth, the drink tray in one hand and the fast food in the other, he ambled through the trees—which were much less intimidating in the daylight—and reached the old middle-school via a hole in the chainlink fence.

He used the same door at the back that he had instructed Derek to use, and he pushed inside the dilapidated old building.

It was dirty, and musty, and while he was certain the wolves knew he was there practically before he did, he also knew that the evidence of their arrival had not been cleared away yet, and footprints in the dirt by the first classroom pretty much gave away their position.

He pressed his back against the door, and pushed it open, just a little.

“Hey,” he said, loud enough that they would hear. He didn’t see anyone inside, and thought, perhaps the marks in the dirt were for the very purpose of misleading an unwanted visitor. Spitting his keys into one of the grocery bags, he looked down the old hallways.

“Hey!” he called, a little louder. “I brought food, since I really hope you guys aren’t eating rabbits and turkeys out here. I hope you guys like burgers and fries.”

Thriller

Sat, 23 Jun 2012 03:22:00 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

For a long moment there was no answer; then Derek’s big, sinewy hand clamped down on the scruff of Stiles’ neck and he dragged him further into the copse, pushing him up against a tree. “Quiet,” he rumbled. “They’re right here.” He wasn’t actually angry, just on-alert; he’d only very narrowly missed a run-in with a pair of BHPD deputies that drove by on the way over, and Isaac was currently working hard on a panic attack. Add to that the fact they were all more or less clustered together right out in the open, and his hackles were up in a bad way. “Was there a reason in particular you had us meet here?” he asked.

In the darkness, Stiles couldn’t see any of Derek’s face. There were no more working lights around the old playground, and most of it was all grown up. From the road, in the stand of trees, they would barely be visible, but the pressure of Derek’s weight thrown behind him, pinning him against the scratchy bark of the tree frightened Stiles. His breath condensed against Derek’s face in white steam as he breathed out.

“It-it was the first place that came to mind!” he defended himself quietly. “The only place I know the cops don’t go, everybody moved out of here ten, fifteen years ago…” he paused because he saw Erica and Boyd over Derek’s shoulder, their eyes glinting golden in the darkness. It seemed the Alpha’s discomfort was influencing them too.

Stiles shook his head and said, “Look, a quick walk through the woods’ll get you back to abandoned middle school. You can crouch down there, place has been empty forever…” Stiles paused here. “You can even take your car down the old service road through-through the trees here—” He pointed back down the drive that disappeared into the thick stand of trees that lined the playground. “Pull it in next to the creek, and, um, then hide out in the middle school until…whenever…”

Stiles’ eyes darted triangles over Derek’s face, which was just a dark shape in front of him. He was aware his heart had picked up speed again, pounding against his ribs. Stiles swallowed.

“Look, at least you aren’t getting shot!” he reminded him, his voice tight.

Thriller

Sat, 23 Jun 2012 01:40:24 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Derek’s eyes tracked between Stiles and his betas, Isaac nervously readjusting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder, Boyd stuffing a few last odds and ends into the big duffel in Erica’s hands. His nostrils flared as he wondered, not for the first time - hell, not for the tenth time - why Stiles was being so accommodating, when it was nothing but an inconvenience for him, possibly a source of real trouble, were he to get caught by his father (or, for that matter, anyone else). It made Derek twitchy, wondering constantly when the kid was going to seek reciprocation, call in the favors he kept mounting up. Made him feel like he was leaving himself vulnerable, and Derek loathed feeling vulnerable.

Still, it wasn’t as though he actually had a choice. From far off, halfway across town, still, he could hear police radios crackling with static, voices chattering about the train station. He huffed a sigh through his nose, wondering how in fuck’s name he kept getting in these situations where he found himself at Stiles’ mercy. If he’d been more prone to it, he would have sworn; he heard Laura doing it, in his head.

“Fine,” he said begrudgingly. He put his finger in Stiles’ face. “But don’t get caught. Come on, Isaac, come with me.”

“Wait, we’re really going with Stilinski?” Boyd asked sharply, looking displeased (more so than usual); Erica rolled her eyes like she was hoping to win a medal for it. Derek bared his teeth at them both.

“You can go with him or stay and be questioned by the police. Up to you.”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice, so he glanced towards Boyd and Erica, and then followed his way out of the old station. He motioned to Boyd and Erica to follow him, and they jogged across the two streets to the old Jeep. Erica made several comments about the cleanliness of the Jeep, until Stiles reminded her that she was sleeping in a stinking old train car, and she huffed into the front passenger’s seat next to Stiles.

Boyd seemed content with sitting in back, and when Stiles saw the flash of the black Camaro speeding along the opposite road, he peeled out out his parking space, and sped down the road again.

What was going to take Derek about twenty-five minutes at normal speed, was about to take Stiles more like forty-five minutes. He had to find his way back down past the high school, and his own house, through the Friday night traffic, and past some cop cars heading in the direction he’d come.

Stiles knew most of the town like the back of his hand. Save for the upper-class part on the other side of town, Stiles was able to pick his way past the high school, and then double back towards the old middle school.

The drive was dull, and quiet, and though Stiles flipped on the radio halfway through, Erica gladly turned it back off, plunging them into darkness, and silence for the entire nearly hour drive.

The gravel of the old playground parking lot crunched underneath the Jeep’s tires as Stiles pulled in the back way, parking his car around a stand of trees. It was less likely that his car, or any car, would be spotted there from the road. He didn’t see Derek’s Camaro, and though he tried to tell Boyd and Erica to just stay in the car until he got there, they, naturally, didn’t listen, got their things, and vacated to investigate the landscape, sniffing the air, and talking in low tones to one another.

Stiles remained in his Jeep. Despite everything, Stiles had begun to feel rather responsible for the werewolves. It was silly, sure, but he kept their secret for them, never traded it for anything, because he wouldn’t just be trading a secret. He would be condemning people to certain death, people that included his best friend. Even though Derek and his betas didn’t trust he, or Scott, Stiles still managed to feel somewhat responsible for them. One of the only humans who actually didn’t care that they were werewolves, and just wanted to be certain that they were safe.

When he couldn’t sit still any longer, Stiles pushed out of the car, and stepped out into the cold darkness, rubbing his arms, and peering around for Boyd and Erica. He didn’t see them anywhere.

“Psst,” he hissed into the darkness. “If you two get your dumbasses shot because you didn’t stay in the Jeep, I am not going to be the pound of flesh Derek consumes in payment!”

Thriller

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 04:36:07 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Derek rolled his eyes a little, but lowered Stiles back to the ground and released him, though he kept him pinned with a glare. He didn’t really think Stiles had told anyone, or that Scott would, but. The fear was still there, bubbling under his skin, making Derek itch. That they would be discovered; that he would wake in the middle of the night to the hunters crashing into the station, guns gleaming dully; that he would return from sneaking carefully around town and the woods to find his new betas slaughtered and left for him the way his house and his dead family had been left for him once before. He had to blink back that cold, gibbering terror before it mastered him, shook his head a little to clear away the memories like flies.

“That would be…helpful,” Derek allowed on a grunt. “But don’t get caught. I’ll have to keep Isaac with me, just in case; it would be better if we split up. You and Boyd and Erica would be believed as friends from school, but. If the hunters see you, any of you, with me, we’re all dead. We should meet up somewhere else. The park, maybe?” He huffed a frustrated sigh. “There are only so many places to hide in this town, and if we keep getting our cover blown like this…”

Stiles swallowed when he’d been put down, finally, and he looked down to his shirt which was now stretched, and had holes poked in it. For a moment he fretted, because, Jesus, he seemed to lose more clothes to the werewolves than anything else.

He only sort of, half-heard what Derek said because he was shaking his head, and then he was glancing up to Boyd and Erica, who were carrying bags, satchels, that seemed to have important things inside of them. Stiles guessed personal belongings, but he hardly knew what werewolves would keep as knick-knacks.

Suddenly, he pointed at Derek and snapped his fingers.

“Hey! The, uh…the old playground off Providence,” he told him. “You know where the abandoned middle school is? It’s like a mile south of that, really grown up, nobody ever goes there, Scott and I get drunk there sometimes. Cops won’t touch it, private property, but the owners live in New York or something,” he paused because he was aware everyone was staring at him, and he had begun to ramble. He squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his head.

“Look, the point is: you take this street all the way to Hyde, you turn left, over the train tracks, through the Kroger parking lot, and then right on Providence. It’s like a twenty-five minute drive. I’ll go back past the high school, there’s a party over there, if any cops stop us, they’ll know where we’re headed,” Stiles clarified quickly, because he was beginning to feel antsy, and he could swear he heard sirens, even though he didn’t. Not yet at least.

Thriller

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 02:53:25 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

“I don’t trust him, Derek—” Erica started, but he cut her off with a snapping growl, which made her flinch back a little, her hand loosening somewhat on Stiles’ shirt. But she still didn’t exactly let him go.

“Back off of him, Erica,” Derek intoned, but the tone was less “righteously angry on behalf of Stiles’ virtue” than it was “heartily but quietly annoyed that his life had to involve this five-minute span of time.” He sighed heavily. “Get down here. Stiles, you too; if we have to vacate the premises then you’re helping.” Then he glared at Isaac until the beta hunched and dropped his eyes to the ground. “And what the hell have you been doing, that you got spotted by the police? Are you trying to bring the hunters down on us? I ought to let the cops have you, for being so careless.”

Isaac hunched further, paling, looking legitimately sickened with fear at the thought. Erica let out a bothered growl, and Boyd - being Boyd - smoothly interposed himself verbally between the alpha and Isaac, as he’d taken to doing lately. It was hard not to feel bad for Isaac, just in general; the way he reacted to Derek (and how that still sometimes made Derek react to him) only reinforced how very ill-equipped he was to handle this, sometimes. “It could have just been that someone saw a light in here, or got nosy and spied in on the place,” he offered soothingly. He shook his head. “What’s it matter now? Let’s just get out of here for now and come back once they see there isn’t anyone here.”

Erica had, by this time, herded Stiles down to the first floor, looming threateningly in spike-heeled boots she still had a little trouble remaining steady in. She gave the little human a half-hearted shove, miffed that he got her reprimanded. Derek narrowed his eyes at her but let it slide, and then took hold of the stretched-out front of Stiles’ shirt, himself, gave him a rough shake as the betas scattered toward the abandoned train cars, gathering up the few traces of their presence there. “Have you told anyone about us being here?” Derek growled near-subsonically at Stiles. “I’m guessing you and Scott sniffed it out.”

Stiles had been glad, very momentarily, that Erica had let him go. He tossed a glare over his shoulder at her as she and the other two went running off to the train cars. But his relief was short-lived, because then Derek was grabbing him, pulling him up close, and Stiles grunted, furrowing his brow, and then closing his eyes at Derek’s face very near to his.

“What is it with you people!” he cried. “I’m not one of your little wolf puppies—oh, my God, please put me down…” this last bit came when he realized he was hovering several inches off the floor. He wrapped his hands around Derek’s forearms.

“I didn’t—I mean…” Stiles swallowed. “He knew before I got here…I mean I sort of—look, why does it matter, its not like I’m going to sell you out. I’m not Scott, I don’t have any real ambition to be on the wrong side of a pack of werewolves…” Scott peered down at Derek, feeling his heart speeding even more under the influence of the elder man.

Despite his being human, not werewolf, Stiles couldstill practically smell Alpha on him. It wasn’t just a thing he was because he was a werewolf. Being an Alpha, Stiles thought, meant there was just something in the blood. It was something in Derek’s being.

Stiles gave a small, timid shrug, and half-heartedly muttered, “My Jeep’s a couple streets over I can take a couple of you…?”

He said it like a question, because he was waiting to get clawed in the face.

Thriller

Thu, 21 Jun 2012 23:51:31 -0400

fullmoonmigraine:

Erica slipped right off of Stiles’ back again, spine stiffening, businesslike, when he said “cops” and “Isaac” in the same sentence. Her eyes flashed gold, making Boyd’s mirror them across the yawning, cold space. “How did the police find us here, Stiles?” she said, voice edging on a snarl as she grabbed him, spun him around, getting up in his space. She braced her hand in his chest and pushed him back against the railing. “Been getting chatty with pops, have we?”

“Erica, who the fuck cares how they found out?” Boyd moaned. “Why would Stiles dime us to the cops when he helped spring the kid in the first place?”

“Trying to make it up to daddy, I’m guessing,” she deduced, curling her hand in Stiles’ shirt. “Though I guess it doesn’t make sense you’d come in here to warn us, unless you’re trying to get back in the Alpha’s good—”

“Erica,” came a sharp, guttural growl from downstairs, loud and gravelly, making the light fixtures and loose screws in the platform railing quiver. Boyd’s attention snapped to the door behind him, where Derek materialized, a little out of breath and beaded over with raindrops, with Isaac behind him, a lot out of breath and soaked through. “Stiles! What the hell are you doing down here?”

“He says the police are coming,” Boyd interjected, though he didn’t look Derek straight-on, knowing he wasn’t the one Derek had spoken to. “For Isaac.”

Stiles had his breath held as Erica pushed him uncomfortably against the railing of the walkway. He was squeezing his eyes shut while they had a little pow wow about whether he was to be trusted, because he was certain that Erica was going to claw the hell out of him. His shirt was balled into her fist, and he heard the fabric ripping under her nails. Shit. This was his favorite t-shirt.

And then, he heard the wonderful tones of an annoyed Derek, which was never a sound Stiles wanted to hear. But then he remembered that Derek was the Alpha, now, and he could call Erica off.

Stiles’ eyes popped open.

“Oh my G-God, Derek!” Stiles said, craning his neck over his shoulder while he held his arms up towards Erica, flat, palms out as if he were showing her he had no weapons. Boyd’s words jolted Stiles into action again, and he let out his breath, nodding emphatically.

“Y-yes! Yes!” he said loudly. “Call came in, someone spotted Isaac out, around the area, I don’t know if…um, if they followed one of you, or saw one of you here, but, uh, they’ve got—” he stopped here because his throat decided to swallow when he didn’t want it to. His heart hammered so hard against his chest, Stiles thought it might fly out and land on Erica.

“Er…um, they’ve got a couple of active warrants on him, and they are on their way here now,” Stiles stated firmly. He squeezed his eyes shut harder when Erica pushed him harder against the railing, leaning him over it slightly as if she planned to drop him to the floor beneath. He made a slight whimper that he didn’t mean to make.

“Jesus, please make her let me go!”

Fix You - Coldplay

Thu, 21 Jun 2012 21:45:02 -0400

Fix You - Coldplay