Title from 'Cringe' by Matt Maeson. Enjoy, and please do tell me what you think!
_
It had been years since Derek had last been in Beacon Hills. He was just a kid when he was growing up in the small town, doing kid things: riding his bike down the empty streets, chasing his siblings through the preserve, practicing sparring with his uncle in the front yard.
A lot had changed since then.
With the coming of diseases too intricate and devastating to be contained, horrified scientists had begged for just a few more months of looking for a cure as the scared government made secret and hasty decisions that had cost the country thousands of millions of lives and left them with a few livable cities and even fewer reasons to keep living.
His bike riding had turned into racing down the road, town to town, trying to find supplies. Tag in the woods turned into hide-and-seek from the sick. Roughhousing turned into brawls and ambushes with both the living and the dead.
Yes, a lot had changed.
But Beacon Hills looked relatively untouched. There were a few Roamers here and there, but not the hordes that could be found in most other towns, and certainly not the seas of them found inhabiting the big cities.
Houses were all empty, windows were broken, cars were abandoned, and Derek felt any hope of his family still being there blow away.
No one was there anymore.
But Derek continued to his house, anyway. He was alone, having convinced Boyd, Erica, and Isaac to stay back at the sanctuary down in southern California. He couldn't risk them, too.
He wasn't surprised to find the house empty, but he was crippled with relief when he saw that their house wasn't looted. It wasn't empty, or smashed into, but there was a lot missing- things in places no one else would find, like in the hidden bunker and under the floorboards.
His family had made it out. They had left, and even if he didn't know where they were now, he knew that they might still be alive. They had a chance.
So Derek collected what he could and left, because staying in the house was filling his head with sad, dark thoughts. He couldn't afford to be distracted, not while away from the sanctuary. He'd just have to figure out how to find them when he got back.
Before driving his SUV back out of town, Derek decided to look around some, just in case. He was low on water, and maybe he had a chance of finding some before he left.
The stores he searched were unsurprisingly barren, but he found a bottle of sprite in the mini fridge hidden in the corner of a break room at an auto shop, and that got him thinking. He should try less obvious buildings; people always searched and looted stores and houses, but what about offices and schools?
So he tried it, and while most of the offices were disappointing to say the least, the high school was a fucking gold mine.
There was still a decent amount of non perishable food left in the cafeteria, and Derek found an entire fridge full of bottles of water and gatorade and tea. He stuffed as much as he could fit into his bag, and then more in his pockets and carried a few in his hands as well.
He was considering just making more than one trip from the school to his car when a low groan sounded from somewhere close.
It wasn't a human groan. Or, well, a healthy human groan. That was the sound of a Roamer, and where there was one, there were many. Derek definitely did not want to somehow find himself surrounded.
So he took what he had and snuck back out of the school, deposited his findings in the backseat, and was ready to get the hell out of Beacon Hills.
But then he saw the sign on the side of the road. The one that said "Beacon Hills Public Library", and he felt the urge to stop.
'What could the library have that I would need?' he thought. It was a stupid, useless idea, but as he kept driving until the building was in his rearview mirror, it persisted.
Derek huffed, scoffed at himself, but stopped the car.
'What does it hurt to look?' he mused.
'My chance of getting out of here as safely as possible, for one' the rational part of him argued.
But despite his desire to leave as quickly as he could, the library seemed to be calling to him. Maybe something useful was in there. Why something useful would be in the library, Derek didn't know, but he would regret not checking, even if just because it would continue to bug him.
Derek threw the car in reverse and went back to the entrance of the parking lot, but he kept the car on the side of the road. He wanted to be able to make a fast getaway if things turned south.
Now that he was this close to the building, he saw that it looked different than the others of the town. While the houses and offices and shops were all dirty and a bit smashed up, the library looked perfectly kept up, as if the apocalypse had decided to spare it from its destruction.
As he approached the doors, Derek noticed obvious signs of clean-up. Piles of rubble and trash sitting tucked away in trash bags that would never be picked up, and it made him hesitate.
What if there was someone still there?
But again, why would anybody choose to hole up in the library of all places?
His curiosity won out, and he just hoped it wouldn't lead to his death.
The doors were locked, but it was a matter of minutes before he had picked the lock. They squeaked slightly as he pushed them open, but swung inward with more ease than he had expected, like they were opened fairly regularly.
Derek found himself once again stopping in his tracks. Someone had to have been coming here, and recently. There was no way this place was abandoned, not like the others.
After a moment of debating, he decided to just take a peak. If there was any sign of movement, his car was right outside, ready for escape.
Keeping his feet light and near silent against the marble floor, Derek walked past the front desk, eyes peeled for anything out of place. There was a group of tables in the middle of the room, surrounded by shelves of books varying from topics of science and philosophy to classic and contemporary literature, erotica to cooking to picture books. Not one book appeared to be unkept, each one without dust or major tears.
Someone had been taking care of them.
Only one of the tables had books on it, and when Derek approached to peer down at the titles, he felt a chill freeze his spine.
'The Gun Operation Handbook'
'Guide to Homemade Traps and Snares'
'Defending Against Physical Assault'
Whoever was still there had clearly been doing their research.
Okay, he had looked, his curiosity was satisfied, and he was ready to leave. Now.
Click.
Everything froze- Derek's heart, his breathing, his feet where they had begun to carry him back to the doors.
Then, he forced a breath into his lungs and held up his hands in surrender. Whoever was here had a clear advantage, and he would bet anything that they were currently pointing a gun at his head.
"Turn around," a deep, rough voice sounded from behind him. "Slowly, and keep your hands up."
Cursing inwardly at his own dumbass urges, Derek slowly pivoted until he came face to face with a man younger than him, eyes narrowed at Derek, mouth set in a scowl, and brown hair sticking up every way, like he'd been running his hand through it. Speaking of his hands, his were currently gripping tight a black handgun, which was aimed right at Derek's face.
He gulped and resisted the urge to either run or whip out his own weapon. He knew he wouldn't be fast enough.
It looked like he would have to talk his way out of this one. Erica would be cackling at the thought: Derek- talking his way out of something. Not really his thing.
"I'm not here to do anything. I just wanted to look around." Okay, not a bad start.
The eyes narrowed further. "Why would you want to look in a library?"
That was a good question, considering Derek didn't even know himself.
"I just… felt like it?"
And, yeah, he deserved the incredulous look the man shot at him, a look that said 'I'm not that stupid, but obviously you are.'
It was the truth, though. He didn't phrase it the best way, but that was essentially what it boiled down to: He saw the building and felt like checking it out.
"Look, I'm not lying. I was looking around town and saw this place. It looked kept up, so I decided to see if there was anything here. I can leave, be on my way, and you won't have to worry about me." The man's look lightened from hostile to reasonably suspicious, and Derek thought that maybe he was better at talking than he thought he was.
"Why are you in Beacon Hills in the first place?" he asked next.
"I wanted to see if my family was still here. They're not."
The man's eyes narrowed again, and Derek wondered what he'd said wrong. But then he saw that his look wasn't suspicious anymore, it was searching.
He looked hard at Derek for a long time before a look of recognition came across his face, and Derek was left confused.
"What's your last name?" the man asked.
He hesitated. There really was no reason to not tell him. What could he possibly do with a last name? But Derek was still suspicious, as always, and his suspicion had saved his life more times than he cared to remember.
But he felt like there was nothing else he could do besides give it up. So, reluctantly, he told the man.
"Hale."
Then, inexplicably, the gun was being lowered. Derek's eyes followed the movement, waiting for a shot to come at his leg or foot, but it never came. Instead, the gun made its way back to the man's side, and then into his waistband.
"You're Derek."
Now Derek was the one staring the other man down with narrowed eyes. How the hell did this guy know his name?
The man noticed his cautious confusion and he rolled his eyes. "Calm down, big guy. I know your family; they told me to keep an eye out for you, that you might come back."
"You know my family? Are they okay, are they alive? Where are they?" Derek's heart leapt in his chest and he surged forward, coming only a foot away from the man.
A hand pressed against his chest, keeping him from getting any closer.
"As far as I know, they're travelling down south. Apparently, there's some sort of sanctuary. I think it's bullshit, but they insisted on leaving. They thought you might be there."
Derek breathed out, long and slow.
His family was okay, and they were going to the sanctuary.
Where they were expecting him to be.
Great.
"So, were they right? Is there a sanctuary?" He tried to look uncaring and nonchalant, but Derek could see the question burning in his eyes.
"There is."
The man in front of him sort of sagged. His expression was one of mixed emotions, joyous one second, and horribly sad the next. He stepped away from Derek, rubbing his face with a heavy hand and taking a shaky breath.
"Okay," he said, finally. Then he stuck out his hand. "I'm Stiles, by the way."
The name sounded familiar, Derek thought as he reached out to shake his hand. Stiles' palm was warm and his fingers were rough and tight around his own hand. Their eyes locked, and Derek felt captured by the golden brightness of Stiles'. Stiles seemed just as captivated by Derek's, and they stood there with their hands and eyes connected for some time. When they let go, Derek's breath felt short and thick, and Stiles' eyelids were fluttering.
He hadn't felt this affected by another person in years.
"Why are you still here?" he asked Stiles.
"I didn't want to leave the books," he answered with a shrug.
Derek nodded, still staring at Stiles.
He felt so drawn to him. Maybe that was why he felt like he had to look in the library; something in him knew Stiles was there.
The man cleared his throat, drawing Derek from his daze. "So, do you want something to eat? Or a drink?" he asked.
Derek shook his head and said, "No, I've got stuff in my car. But, thank you."
"Oh, um, right," Stiles muttered. "Well, uh, you could spend the night here, if you wanted? It's gonna get dark soon…"
Stiles looked nervous, like he really cared what Derek would say.
And of course Derek knew what was going on here. They both felt it, and whether it was because they were both lonely or they really liked each other, it didn't matter.
And maybe Derek knew which one it was, but it was too soon and the situation was too precarious.
He knew the answer to Stiles' question either way.
Derek and Stiles slept together that night. Took their time, giving and taking, making it last.
It felt better than anything Derek had ever experienced, and he knew the reason went beyond the prolonged dry period. He knew it was because it was Stiles, he could feel it. He didn't know why; they had just met, he didn't know anything about the man.
But they made the most of it, reached the peak of pleasure, and then fell to sleep in each other's arms on the ratty mattress Stiles had pushed in a corner of the room.
When Derek woke up, the spot next to him was cold and empty. He stood from the bed, cringing at the dried remnants of the previous night pulled at his skin, but smiled at the memory.
It had been an incredible night. But what happened now?
He pulled on his discarded clothes and made his way out from behind the shelves in search of Stiles. He found the man knelt in front of a shelf with a box beside him, stacking books to the brim of it.
He must've heard Derek approaching, because, without even glancing behind him, he said, "I want to come with you. To the sanctuary."
An intense relief washed over Derek, and he hadn't realized how much he'd been dreading leaving Stiles behind.
Instead of saying anything, Derek just knelt down next to Stiles and started helping him pack the books into the box. He felt more than saw Stiles look over at him, but Derek just kept grabbing books.
When Stiles finally went back to the task at hand, he started talking, too.
"At the start of this whole thing, after the town went to chaos, my dad wanted to take me to the sanctuary. He'd heard rumors, but nothing for certain. I wanted to stay, just a little longer. If we'd just gone when he wanted to…" Stiles paused in his words and his movements, and Derek finally looked at him. His eyes were shiny and far away, lost in memories. "But he stayed because I wanted to. A few days later, he was killed at the gas station because he found the last bag of chips hidden under a shelf. We didn't even hear the guy come in. He just turned the corner and shot me in the side, Dad in the chest. Then he left. Grabbed the back of chips and just fucking left," he spat, eyes now glistening with tears and cheeks flushed an angry red. But he blinked it back, took a deep breath, and continued the story. "Dad bled out in a few minutes. I burned his body; the ashes are hidden in an office in the back. If we'd just went to the fucking sanctuary…"
Derek wanted to reach out and comfort him so badly, but he didn't know how. He had noticed the gunshot wound on Stiles last night, but hadn't thought much of it- they all had scars. It was a given in this violent new world.
"He wanted me to go to the sanctuary, so that's what I'm going to do," Stiles finished with a determined finality.
Derek finally let himself reach out and grasp Stiles' hand where it was sitting on a book on the shelf in front of him. Stiles smiled gratefully at him and squeezed his hand once before letting go, looking back to the books.
It took a few hours for them to pack as many books into Derek's SUV and Stiles' stolen trailer attachment that they hooked to the back, with promises made for them to come back for the rest. Stiles packed his own stock of food and drinks, and his own few personal items, which consisted of a backpack of clothes, a duffel bag of guns and knives, his father's urn, and a sheriff's badge, into his blue jeep that had been hidden behind the building.
Soon enough, Derek was back behind the wheel of his car, pulling back out onto the road. He looked back at the library through the rearview mirror, but his eyes fell on Stiles' car instead, and he didn't feel the need to stop this time. Not when he knew Stiles was following him.