AN: The Firefly/Teen Wolf AU you didn't know you wanted and maybe still don't want. ^^ All characters are based from the ones in 'Teen Wolf', but I used the world of 'Firefly' to make it come alive. Why? Just seemed like a damn good time to me. I aged everyone up but Derek; he is 24 while everyone else is ranging between 20 and 22. The time base is set after the movie 'Serenity' and so everyone knows about the Alliance's dirty laundry. In other words, there will be spoilers for that movie and though I've changed some things about the characters, there may be spoilers for 'Teen Wolf', too. I'm ignoring a lot of the stuff for the 'Firefly' comics that take place after the Miranda incident because I mostly felt it didn't have anything to do with my characters.
I've done the appropriate research for this story, but if you feel I have anything wrong I welcome guidance. That does not mean blasting me or rubbing your knowledge in my face, please and thank you. I plan to make this very long (we'll see how long that idea lasts) so if you decide to read this, thank you for giving it a chance. Reviews are very much appreciated, as well for I am like a child and require feedback and knowledge that I don't suck.
'Teen Wolf' is my favorite show-next to 'Sherlock' and 'Supernatural'- and I adore anything to do with 'Firefly', so this just seemed like something fun to work on.
Plus the thought of Derek Hale talking like Malcom Reynolds is very appealing.
Selene: Mythological Greek goddess, one of the female lunar deities.
The Sturge: Ship named after 'The Battle of Sturges' which was fought over a hoard of money - it also took place entirely in space and was one of the bloodiest battles of the Unification War.
All other translations and notes are at the bottom. Please note that my grammar errors-most of it, anyways-is on purpose and meant to be written that way. I did my best to write how people in the show talk. If you have any questions on what a word means, or anything else, feel free to ask.
=3
Chapter 1
"We have done the impossible, and that makes us mighty."
Firefly, Serenity (pilot)
Year 2519
Most planets no longer supported the Alliance since the discovered derivation of Reavers a year before, the utmost devote members leaving to seek out places to live on one of the Central Alliance planets closest to the White Sun. Federals were scarcer and fewer in between and while it made it easier to get his job done, the increase on addicts selling drops and doxy's selling themselves was growing alarming. Even on the trading planets, Persephone for instance since it was the rock he was currently working a job on, had prostitutes and dealers blatantly negotiating business. So far, he had been asked to buy what he'd been told was A-grade tonics and narcotics, and he'd had a doxy as ugly as a Feh Feh Pi Goh ask him for a ruttin' and the good lord knows he ain't aiming to get an unsightly rash in his nethers.
The Captain strode beside him, face hitched up in a snarl as they passed by gamblers to suss out their Lao Bahn before the goods went south, which in their case, was often. Often enough anyhow, seemed like all the Verse had gotten a bit more bold since Alliance had backed off, content to watch the rest of them burn out from the safety of their foxholes on their cozy, fancy rocks. May their Purple-bellies sunburn and blister from all their fancy medicines and beauty products, the Hwen Dans. The Captain was just Captain, thank you, though at some point there had cropped up a rumor of his name being Benjamin, but the good ole' Captain had laid waste to those who gossiped. A dreadful man he was, maybe once handsome, though that had been weathered away by the onslaught of the Unification War. Captain had been a participant in the Battle of Sturges, one of the many independents whose life was fouled up by Alliance, spit out of the war dirty and damn right near crazy. The ship he'd only been a passenger on had taken on significant damage and barely made it to dock on a nearby planet. The Captain at the time hadn't been so lucky and according to now-present Captain, the man had died in the crash, though most don't believe it. More than likely Captain had seen his chance and stabbed the poor fool in the back, but however it might've come about, Captain had taken possession of the ship and renamed it The Sturge after the battle it'd witnessed.
He himself had witnessed the Battle of Du-Khang and while it was nowhere near as gory and devastating, it'd left him scarred and trigger sensitive when it came to high-rise situations. It had also left him with a limp, the shrapnel from an explosion cutting deep into his left knee and catching in the bone to leave it with just a dull ache on his good days. It was one hell of a scar, too, though he hadn't asked for anyone's opinion but his own. After the war, he'd not found a home, but The Sturge, a Knorr Class Freighter with a hardened crew he still couldn't sleep with two eyes closed around.
They were the definition of convicts, constantly on the edge and before the Miranda incident, Alliance had been searching the Skyplex and beyond for their vessel. Before the war, before the happenings on New Melbourne, his home planet, where he had been but a simple son of a fisherman working to keep his family fed and warm and would never have taken up with such an uncouth crowd to scour the Verse for jobs, illegal or otherwise. Ching Soh, the lot of them. Yet, here he was, having been hired on as a mechanic not a year after the last battle had ended and the Independents had scuttled back into the woodwork.
Now that they weren't being hunted to the Rim anymore, he'd figure Captain would take on more jobs from moons and planets that'd reformed from Alliance influence, but the man was ornery and refused to budge on the subject. He wanted nothing to do with any of the planets close to the core or any in between that once supported Lien Mohn. Usually, he wouldn't blame the Captain, it was unsettling to see the rapid change brought about by the Miranda footage that'd leaked all over the Cortex, but they were running low on money and food alike and he wasn't looking forwards to finding out what happened when his crew got hungry.
"Gorram, where the hell is that idiot?" Captain growled out beside him, angry eyes wandering around the bar they'd stolen in to meet up with their business partner, a low-life just like the rest of them, this one was. Though the man liked to think himself a fancible and make them wait, which Captain always seemed to forget. "Hale, you sure this was the pick-up?"
Derek bristled and rolled his eyes at the accusation, taking the liberty to park his fanny on a barstool and avoid the eyes of the bartender. The man was obviously sly and he had better things to do than to play-up the man just for a few free drinks. "Chiu Se, old man, I know what I heard. Man just loves making a spectacle, is all."
Captain bared his teeth at him, one of his favorite pass times. "Watch your tone, Ben Tian Sheng De Yi Dui Rou. Or I'll cut your tongue out of your smart mouth."
Lovely man, he was, the Captain, and much better at insults than Derek was. If he were on any other ship he would be comforted by the notion that if he were to be killed, they would need to find a replacement mechanic and they would hopefully think twice before discarding him to try to avoid the inconvenience. Unfortunately, while Derek was a good mechanic, really good he might would say, Knorr Class Freighters were easy as hell to fix and finding a replacement to run the engine for him would not be hard. He was doomed to die in either a shootout or a knife in the back; his Ma would've gutted him like a sturgeon for being such an idiot, if she were alive today.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, boys, I got held up in some very important business." A voice said behind them and it wasn't hard to guess it was their associate by the flare in his tone. Jerimiah Strand was an unusually dramatic trader, fairly new to the business of who obviously didn't work in underworld territory often judging by his lethargic use of time. In Derek's opinion, being late to a business deal by more than five minutes was a dangerous thing. Five minutes in and you can use this time to discover whether or not you're being lead into a bushwhack but anything beyond that was asking for the Feds to happen upon your exchange.
"Important business?" Captain growled low, his tone suspicious, as it well should be. Last time their associate had been late and blamed it on 'important business', they'd been ambushed by a gang and had been forced to leave the merchandise behind. "When we have important business, you should be awful pressed to be on time to it." Jeremiah's face shifted into something between surprise and fear, his eyes going wide as his gaze drifted down to Captain's belt and Derek knew without looking that his fearless leader was fingering the army colt revolver strapped there.
Regularly, this would be the point where Derek would step in and try to diffuse the situation. They couldn't afford scaring off any more traders, especially if Captain didn't want to extend their work and frankly, they were running out of people to work with that wouldn't pull a knife out on them. But this flamboyant Buhn Dahn had kept them waiting for over half an hour and he knew people who killed for a hell of a lot less. Besides, Captain wouldn't really go through with the threat, probably; at least not in a public bar.
"Of course, Captain. I apologize and it won't be happening again." The man replied slowly and though it took some effort, he was finally able to draw his eyes away from the other man's weapon. "I believe you had some scratch for me?"
This, of course, was when it all began to go downhill. Well, more downhill, the Captain and Jeremiah were too involved with each other to notice the shady group of people come striding into the bar. Derek did notice, however, because he had been watching for it. There were seven of them, all of them dirty and looking in need of a good wash-down, wearing long dusters. You could hide a lot of things in those coats and the fact that most of the party was wearing bandanas around their necks was not very promising.
The lead man, a dark-skinned man with a crooked nose locked eyes with Derek, lip hooking up in a snarl and he knew it was time to get gone before things got messy.
"Captain, we got company and they don't look to be friendly. Let's hoof it." He said casually to the gruff man beside him. The Captain gave him an irritated look for interrupting him before glancing around Jeremiah, taking in the crowd of unsightly individuals.
"You wouldn't have gone sold out on us, now would you, a high business man like yourself?" Captain said to their trader, face blank and an edge of violence in his voice. Jeremiah looked confused and fearful again, turning his head to look over his shoulder as the party started making it over to them through the sparsely populated room. The man started shaking his head in a panic, eyes wide and Derek knew by the man's face that he hadn't sold them out, hadn't been in this line of business long enough to get sneaky and harsh. The Captain, though, was not a forgiving man and didn't have enough smarts to fill up a bar glass.
With a flick of his wrist, before Derek could say otherwise, the Captain had removed his revolver and shot the man dead in the neck. According to Captain, this was a traitor's death-slow, painful while you choked on your blood and tried to breath.
The man went down fast, hands grasping for his neck as it gushed and Derek gave a cry, falling to the ground next to him as gunfire broke out around him. The gang had pulled their own weapons the second his Captain had shot the poor fool in the neck and proceeded to shoot up the place, people screaming and falling to the floor-whether it was out of fear or because they'd been hit, he couldn't tell.
He had his own Dessert Eagle in his hand, the other hand going to cover the hole in Jeremiah's neck, though he knew it was in vain and it would only take longer for the man to bleed dead. He couldn't help it. Jeremiah was a lot younger than he looked when he wasn't talking and prancing about fancily; he'd reckon the man only a year or two older than himself. His pale face was flecked with blood and his eyes were glassy with pain and panic as he starred at Derek, begging wordlessly for his help. And that hate he felt for this lifestyle-for his scallywag crew who killed as they pleased and didn't care how many mothers grieved because of it, came rolling through him and he felt sick, stomach rebelling as he watched Jeremiah Strand bleed out beneath his fingertips.
It seemed to take hours as the man tried to draw in ragged breaths, blood spurting as his throat clicked. Finally, those eyes turned cold and vacant to stare lifelessly at the ceiling, and a gun battle raged on over his head.
Every time he watched someone die, it never got easier and Derek knew he had to part ways with The Sturge -with the murders of children, of husbands and wives before he lost anymore of himself. He would rather be killed here than to travel the Verse with these men and knowing the men on the ship, they would kill him before letting him leave.
A heavy boot hit the ground close to his face and he rolled over, wildly shooting up at the gunman who was too close to him for comfort. Hands soaked with drying blood, he watched the man fall with a bullet lodged in his gut and couldn't help but wince. Gut shots were worse than choking wetly around a hole in the neck and Derek did the wailing man a favor by ending it more neatly with a shot to the brainpan, right between the man's crossed eyes.
"There ya' are, thought you done skimped out on the action, boy." The Captain snarled from his place behind a table, leaning out to fire at the attackers. "Help me clear them outta here, we need to get gone."
I already said that. Derek thought angrily starring at the back of Captain's head. I already said a lot of things and you never listen. A man was dead and so were a lot of others in this damned bar and Derek was about to help this man corpsify more of them. He was done helping this man kill and steal and lie- he would help them get out of this and then, then-
Get off this rock, first. Get off this rock and get lost on the next one they land you on.
The men in dusters were good shooters; he had to admit, considering no one was in a hurry to come out from behind their cover and had to shoot around the overturned tables. The Captain was cussing up a storm and firing like he had unlimited rounds, frustrated they were getting nowhere fast with this shootout. Anyone not injured had crawled their way out of the line of fire and they had the floor all to themselves, the lot of them praying with fervor that if there were any Federals out there they wouldn't come take a gander at what was transpiring and take them all away.
A lone man finally got brave, stepping out from behind his table and shooting bullet after bullet as he walked closer to Derek's own cover. Derek recognized him as the leader with the crooked nose just as a shot found its mark in his right shoulder and he gave a surprised grunt of pain. He forced himself to ignore it, knowing this man would kill him if he didn't, and raised his own gun, firing off several shots until the rest of his clip was empty and all it did was click hollowly in his bloody hand. The man fell, three shots to the chest and hip and another took his place.
How many were left? How long could they keep going at this before they had no more bullets to fire and their enemies overpowered them? He wandered as he quickly replaced his empty clip.
"Drop your weapons, civilians, and put your hands up." The Feds had arrived. They stood high and mighty from the entryway, their A-grade weapons trained on them and Derek felt fear, not disgust or anger, pure fear for the first time in that bar. "All of you are hereby under arrest by the Alliance. Weapons down or we will be forced to engage!"
Nothing scared him, not dying, not death or creatures or nightmares. Alliance didn't scare him directly, but what they took away did. The Alliance had taken everything good in his life at one time and that left a fowl, ugly taste imprinted in his brain, on the back of his tongue.
The Captain and himself shared a look and the gruff man tossed his head towards the exit, silently telling him they would make a run for it. It was suicide with this many guns in the room, ready to point in their direction at a moment's notice, but Derek wouldn't argue. Not with Feds this close to him, the chance was worth it to put some distance between them.
The Captain moved first, Derek jumping up right after him as they made for the exit where they could hopeful get back to where they'd docked and fire up the engines. Bullets pelleted in their wake, slapping the floor behind their feet and catching in the furniture at their sides, and Derek's arm ached and burned hot from where he'd already been hit.
It was something to be had only in the fairytales his Ma used to tell him when they burst out of the bar and they hadn't been brought down by any bullets. There were shouts behind them, telling them to halt-to put their weapons down and give up. A plague upon their houses, Pi Gu's. They kept running, fast, feet pounding down the concrete walk as they dodged people, Derek hoping like hell that the Feds would be held up by the left over gang-that they would make it back to their damned rig in time. His injured leg was cramping painfully but he ignored it.
Mostly the people they weaved around just complained, but one reached out and grabbed Derek's arm. It was his good arm, the one free of a bullet wound but the panic of being caught made him cringe back hard and he was free again though the limp was slowing him down more and more.
"There's the Sturge!" Derek called out in relief, the Captain now several feet ahead of him, and there it was indeed. Docked and oddly beautiful, considering its faded rust coloring, sat the Knorr Class Freighter and-oh he both loved and hated that ship right now. The few crewmen the ship had were all hanging around outside, leaning against the hull and chatting up the docking manager, gambling at Chinese checkers with some of the others docked at port.
"Start it up, you damn buhn dahns! We got Feds! Get your asses onboard!" Captain hollered as they raced forwards, breathing fast and hard in between each word.
The second the crewmen heard Federals were on them, they were scurrying back into the Sturge's cargo bay door. There was screaming and the sound of things being knocked over from behind them on the street and he figured that meant the Feds were giving chase. Shots rained around them and he dodged low, Derek's leg near to giving out just as he reached the metal bridge to the docks-Captain racing inside the ship already and he didn't know the man could move so fast.
Then, the boarding ramp began to rise.
That no good, wang bad dan-! He really shouldn't be surprised by anything these men did anymore but he couldn't help but give an alarmed cry of confusion. Figuring the pain would be worth it in the end; he forced himself into a dead sprint, ignoring everything but that lifting, metal door. The Alliance was just emerging from the crowds of people just as he reached the ship. Ignoring their calls for surrender, he leaped up, hands scrambling out to latch onto the ramp and he struggled-arm twinging as he lifted himself up and into the ship. The cargo ramp slipped closed and he felt the Sturge take off just as he hit the metal gated flooring with a curse.
"You made it." Captain said, surprise coloring his tone and his face blank from where he stood by the cargo control pad-fingers still on the button that had closed that large door and almost left Derek to face the Alliance. "Good, hurry and get to that engine room-I'm sure those idiots need help making sure this tin-can stays topside."
What? Derek lifted his head from the floor, his face twisted in disbelief. "You tried to leave me. Only the good Lord knows what would have happened if those bastards had caught me and you tried to leave me. Now you want me to go run your ship for you?" He blurted out, the ungodly nerve of this man.
"I do." And then Captain wasn't just flashing him a warning glance of his sidearm. With an ugly grin he had it out and in his hand, muzzle pointed straight at the younger man's chest and he wandered faintly in passing how many bullets the man had left.
As much as Derek wanted to say he stood up to the man and told him to run his own damned ship, and that he was done with the killing and everything else, this is not what he did. Instead, he calmly stood up, wincing slightly through his glare and reluctantly allowed his Captain to lead him to the engine room. The cold edge of the gun was a silent reminder at the base of his spine.
They had already hit the Black by the time the two of them had made their way down to the room, finding that when they reached there, Johnny was cursing up a fit and banging around. Johnny-one of the nicer crewman besides Derek, himself-was the cook. A short and twig-thin man with the odd combination of a bald head and handle bar mustache the color of rust, his eyes beady and so dark they were almost black. Where his body wasn't decorated in tattoos, it was covered by colonies of freckles. His wrinkled face was olive toned and always set into a good-natured scowl.
No one quite knew what had happened to his family-they all just knew he'd used to have one: three beautiful, dark-skinned girls and a matching wife, their pictures forever smiling from their places hung on the wreck room wall. One of the crewmen had made the mistake of making a crude joke about the oldest daughter in the photos and Derek had never truthfully been afraid of baking whisk before that day.
"How ya' doin', Johnny?" Derek asked carefully, still fully aware of the gun aimed at his back. "You mess up my engine?"
"Pah!" The man kicked out at the large, turning engine working from its place taking up half of the space in the room. "This piece of shit? Ain't worked right since the day you joined, boy." He teased back and Derek smiled a little despite himself.
"Move out of the way, Johnny. Let the damn, boy do his job." Captain cut in, shoving Derek all the way into the room.
Johnny's beady eyes went as wide as they could when they caught sight of the Captain's weapon. "What's going on here, boys? Captain, why do you have the gun out on the Hale kid?
"Everything's all good, Johnny! You know the Captain, the Feds were on our asses and he just forgot he still had it out." Derek said, trying to cover, anything to get Johnny to git before he got hurt or dead. "I'll take over here, you should get dinner started. Lord knows everyone will be good and hungry after this Alliance scare."
Johnny seemed extremely unsure, his eyes staring into Derek as if he were looking straight through to his insides. Finally, just when he thought the man wouldn't concede and get himself shot up, he gave a nod and left quietly without looking back. Part of him was grateful while the other part wanted to call out, call back the only man on the ship that would give a damn that he was being threatened. But he was alone in this.
"Well? Git to it, then! Can I trust you to keep this back berth a-floatin', or am I gonna have to keep down here for insurance?"
"I'll keep it floatin'."
And he would. Until he found his way to the shuttles.
"I'm feeling older this winter, And my eyes are growing dark
And everybody wants the singing, I left that song long ago
(I can't have him, I can't have him)"
"Great. Just great." Derek grumbled to himself from under his breath, the shuttle he'd stolen away gliding through the Skyplex even as its console flashed in warning. He'd meant to head for Pelorum; it was the closest place to land from Persephone. Instead, his damned shuttle with limited life support was heading for Santo because someone had tampered with the wiring and the navigation was set no matter what he did, go se.
He would make it, but it would be incredibly close. He could see Santo coming into view now at least, its blue-gray surface sticking out in all the surrounding black and he pushed his transport to go as fast as it could.
"Oxygen supply nearly depleted." His console informed tonelessly. "Oxygen levels down to seven percent."
"Shut up, shut up, I know." He growled, slapping buttons and switches to get the stupid thing to stop blaring at him. He was going to make it.
If any more ships shot past him or tried to contact him just to yell at him angrily, he was going to ram them. Its space, go around, for goodness sakes.
His monitor flashed, showing an incoming ship coming up fast from behind him. Guessing by its size and speed it was probably a 'Firefly' bird, though he couldn't tell which model. He'd worked on a few before, back on his home planet when he hadn't been busy fishing for sturgeon or helping his mother and sisters in the market.
Another light flashed-he was being hailed. With an angry snarl, he flipped on his communications, ready to argue-
"Hi!" A cheery voice rang out through the small compartment and Derek flinched in surprise. "You seem to be leaving a trail of smoke coming out the back of your shuttle!" Well, that would explain a few things about the navigation and how slow he was traveling, as well the obnoxious lights. He probably should've checked the engine before he'd launched but he'd been pressed for time. "If you'd like, we can take you aboard and drop you off at the port? As long as you don't try to rape and pillage my ship that is!"
Derek blinked slowly, trying to process- who was this person? "No, no I'm okay. I'm gonna make it." He replied back, hesitantly. Well, he was pretty sure he was going to make it, though entry would be painful. "And you should know better than to allow strangers to board your ship, but thanks anyways." Everyone knew better, especially now since Miranda and here was this young guy over his intercom offering to take him onboard without even bothering to buzz him first.
"Uhhhh are you sure? And it's not like I pick up everyone, not that it's any of your business! Look, just let me give you a ride, your smoking like a Reaver ship and you look like you're about go dead in the water any minute."
"You seem awful hard-pressed to get me on your ship."
"What? No! It's-what are you suggesting? I'm just being nice!"
His lips twitched as he fought off the urge to smile. Whoever he was, the stranger seemed genuine as well as overly spastic and the fast way he spoke made Derek's head hurt. His body was stiff and sore from earlier, his arm caked in dry blood and he knew he looked like a criminal. No, it was best if he made it to land by himself, whether he crashed topside or not.
"I don't need your help, just move on. Look, we're about to enter ozone anyways, I might as well make it the rest of the way on my own." His ship jolted hazardously and shot forward a couple hundred feet before returning to its slower speed, chugging along as his breathing got heavier. He reckoned he had roughly fifteen minutes until he breached the planet's atmosphere and a little over that until his emergency oxygen supply ran dry. It would be close, alright.
"That didn't look good, dude. Your shuttle's seriously wrecked." 'Dude'? That word hadn't been proper slang in over a decade. "You need a mechanic."
A chuckle slipped out of him at the pure irony of that statement. "I am a mechanic. I'll see to it when I land." Like hell he would, as soon as he hit dirt he was abandoning the last link to the Sturge faster than he would a plague. Maybe he could find work in one of the small towns. He could live there a while until he was sure Captain wouldn't come seeking out revenge.
"How much oxygen do you have left? And really, why are you flying that thing? If you're a mechanic, shouldn't you have checked your ship before take-off? Where are you coming from, it can't have been far."
"Why are you bugging me?" Derek finally asked, starring at his monitor-according to the blinking lights on his screen, this guy's ship was just following slowly behind his shuttle and he wasn't sure whether the guy was just being nice and making sure he reached land okay or if he was waiting to take his shuttle aboard his own for scraps. He tried to keep from feeling offended about his questions, he knew he should've checked his shuttle-normally he would've before take-off. He knew better to startup a ship that hadn't been in use for over a year without checking to make sure all the parts were in good condition, but when he'd been racing from the engine room towards the shuttles, the whole time he could still feel that muzzle-the ghost touch of a gun pressing into his back, hurrying him along, telling him to rabbit out of there. "Just go, kid, I can handle it. Leave me alone."
"Kid? Wait-who-I'll have you know I'm twenty one! And you don't sound that much older than me!"
"Hey, why the hell are you driving so slow? We need to get to the drop-off sometime today." Another voice came over the com, a woman who sounded both annoyed and amused.
"I'm busy being heroic, Lydia! I'm rescuing a damsel in distress, the drop-off can wait!"
Derek scrunched his face up incredulously. He was a damsel, huh? With a huff, he began repeatedly working the hyperspace button-hoping it would spontaneously start working again and he could get himself out of here, the kid was obviously unstable and he was not equipped to handle this.
"Approaching planet's atmosphere in approximately five minutes." His cockpit intoned and the shuttle rocked a little as they came closer to the Santo's surface. "Oxygen down to two percent."
Dear lord, well at least he'd gotten the thing to shut up about his failing engine. Knowing he was coughing smoke up out of his tail end was distressing enough, he still had to try and land this thing without blowing up and even on his best days-he was no pilot. Fixing the birds was his thing; mandating the cockpit scared the Almighty out of him.
"Get on my ship, asshole! I'm trying to help you! Even if you make it, your landing is going to hurt like a bitch!"
"Nope." He was grinning now, something he hadn't done in a long time and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. So, he flipped his com off- muting the cockpit and cutting off the teen, who'd begun cursing. It was for the best, he needed to focus on the landing.
The kid's ship actually circled him two times, giving him a glance at the name on the side (Selene, in a dark gold and a gray moon painted behind it) before it zoomed off. And though he couldn't see, he could almost feel the frustration as Selene broke the atmo, then the cloud linings before disappearing. Damn, he'd forgotten how fast 'Firefly' models could be-and that had definitely been a Series 4.
There was a count down and then he hit ether.
"Then I howled at the moon, 'Till the sun burned out both of my eyes.
So I checked my pulse, Standing there white as a ghost.
I lacked in complexion, And stabbed my reflection twelve times.
So I held my breath, 'Till my soul left my body for dead.
I ripped through the clouds, To talk with the man in the sky.
I'm coming home-Don't you cry."
He blinked awake, and God he hurt, his head spinning as he tried to see. A dry trail of tacky blood went down the side of his head, starting from a gash in his forehead, making the side of his face stiff. But he was alive, despite the major damage done to his shuttle-and he did mean major. He was pretty sure his shuttle used to have a back end, but he was alive.
Derek stood slowly, swaying slightly as he made his way towards the gaping hole in the back, using the metal walls as support. He had to jump to reach the ground, groaning when his leg tried to buckle beneath him. If he was lucky, whatever back-water town he'd crashed near would have a doctor stationed and he could get someone to bandage his arm and head. Santo was known as an unsophisticated rock, out of time and hopefully for him, Alliance free.
Stepping outside was confusing. It wasn't cold, but the sun was hidden behind thick clouds, the area he'd landed in surrounded on all sides by bare, rocky mountains. No trees or people were in sight. This was going to make seeking medical help hard.
"Go se." He was going to have to walk and probably climb to get out of this canyon.
Grumping with every uneven step, he began walking.
"And there was a time when I stood in line for love, for love, for love
But I let you go, oh, I let you go and he fell apart
With this broken heart and this blood, this blood, this blood
Oh, it drains from my skin and dust"
He was breathing hard, sweating, and limping heavily by the time he finally reached a town. The sun was going down, the planet's surface was growing colder and he almost couldn't believe how lucky he was to reach people before night had fallen completely. Amazingly enough, the town he'd stepped into was small enough he could just see the end of it from where he stood. On the other side, directly across from where he'd entered, parked by a large tree-the only tree he'd seen since crashing on this rock-was a Firefly bird, sitting pretty with its cargo ramp down. What he was pretty sure was the whole town was gathered around it, engrossed with whatever or whoever had emerged from it and he could hear their excited chatter from here.
Great. Of course Selene had to land in this town of all towns. (Though by the look of this place, they might not have had many other options) He needed a doctor, but not badly enough to risk seeing the stranger and getting an 'I told you so'. Something told him that stranger would definitely get a kick out of telling him he was an idiot.
Derek heaved a tired sigh and headed in the direction of what looked like a hotel/bar. This whole place was like something out of a western and he wandered if all of Santo was like that. It was a bit of a cultural shock for him-even as a child when he hadn't been working on a ship; he and his family had lived in a smaller village with low-tech. He remembered all the times when Laura, his older sister had complained of being cut-off from society-not being able to contact her friends. He'd never understood, being more socially awkward-the kids at school had made fun of him for smelling like fish, which hadn't made since to him, either. He thought everyone on New Melbourne smelled like fish. And everyone did, except for the sophisticates that lived in the nicer buildings and cities, taking the hard earned money his family made. Still, this place was something entirely different-he hadn't even seen a sign saying what the name of the town was.
He pushed open the door-the hanging sign above it read Trifles and Cares in peeling letters-and found the place empty besides two people. The first person, who he assumed to be the owner of the establishment, or at least an employee, was an older woman with long, graying hair in a braided bun wrapped around her small skull. The rest of her was equally small-from her short stature down to the tiny, calloused hands pouring the only other person in the bar a beer on-tap.
The guy she was pouring for barely looked old enough to drink. He was lanky, but not too thin, his muscles prominent even through his layered clothing. His pale skin, what was visible, was littered in moles, hair short but long enough that it stuck out in mantic spikes-almost as if ran his hands through it or pulled on it a lot.
He turned his bright, whiskey brown eyes on Derek the moment the door slipped closed behind him, signaling his arrival.
"Hi, dude! You look like you picked a fight with some wild life!" He called out to Derek and-good Lord, no, he knew that voice. He'd had it ringing in his ears since he'd switched it off in his cockpit. The kid seemed to recognize him too, even though he hadn't spoken a word, yet, and his eyes narrowed in on the dry blood on Derek's forehead. "Or you crash landed here on a smoking shuttle-that sound about right?"
Dammit! He shook his head wildly and fought off the urge to run back out the door and on until he found another town.
"You need a doctor." The kid continued as he stood up from his barstool. "You wouldn't, of course, if you'd just let me help you, you stubborn ass. I mean really, you act like there's no more nice people left in the Verse anymore! I'll have you know-me and my crew? We are the nicest people ever and you missed out on some good quality entertainment, buddy! Hey, is that a bullet wound? Oh my God, you're a hardened criminal, I should've known by all the grunting!"
And now, Derek was dizzy. He hadn't known anyone could talk like that- fast, but well enunciated, and blunt-almost like his mouth could hardly keep up with his brain as it switched from one topic to the next.
"The nearest doctor isn't for hundreds of miles, boys." The old woman said, shrugging as her eyes gave a critical glance over Derek once before setting the beer in front of the kid and turning her back to them. "Got free food though, with the purchase of room and board. Stew's on the menu tonight."
"That's fine." Derek said, clearing his throat. He would sell every item he owned right now for some food and something to drink-he about swallowed half the planet on his journey here.
The kid's face did this funny cross between excitement and annoyance as he launched himself halfway across the room to stand in front of Derek. "It is you! I knew it!" He cried, pointing a long finger in his face. "You are in big trouble, mister! And, look, I knew you weren't that much older than me!"
Derek rolled his eyes, knocking the kid's hand aside while he took a step back. "I'm no damsel, I didn't need you. See? Got here all on my own like a big boy."
A belt of laughter sprang from the kid-he even looked like he'd surprised himself with it. "You're all banged up! I knew it just by the sound of your voice! You're an idiot!" And there it was-the whole reason why he'd completely avoided the crowd of people. It had been one hell of a day and the sound of his own thoughts ringing back at him made him bristle as he scowled angrily at the kid. "Don't give me that look!" The finger was back in his face. "Now, you're going to come back with me to my ship and I'll have Scott look at you! He's the ship's medic, you know? Best around guaranteed!"
"What?"
"Your heard me! Now, git your ass in gear. And quit calling me 'kid' in your head, I know you are!"
How could he possibly know that? "What?"
"Real articulate, aren't you?"
"What the hell else do I call you? Pain in my ass?"
"That's kind of long. Why not just Stiles?"
"What in all the Verse is a 'Stiles'?"
"It's my name-and no, my parents love me just fine-don't give me that look." The teen-Stiles-threw some money down on the bar, downing his beer before coming at Derek with a determined face. "What's your name? Or am I just going to have to keep calling you 'damsel' in my head?" Without pause, he put his hand on the sputtering man's back, pushing him back out the bar and into the dirt road. "I could start guessing, if you'd like? You kind of look like a 'Frank'."
No, he did not. "It's Derek. And I don't need to see a medic for just a couple a scratches."
"You got a head wound. Them can end up in a nasty end if you don't get them seen to. And you wanna tell me about the bullet wound?" They were nearing the crowd of people, now. The sun was out, leaving the only light to be the torches hung up around the open cargo bay-Jesus, torches?
At the center of the towns people were what he assumed to be Stiles' crew-but everyone knew what they say about assuming.
"Stiles!" One of them yelled as he shot up from his spot on a crate. He was tan, his face stretched out into a wide grin even though he had to be suspicious of the bloody man his captain had brought back with him. He was young-between twenty and twenty-two-and he had dark hair, brown eyes, and dimples. He was dressed a lot like Stiles and himself was: dirty pants with a weapon holstered to his belt and laced up boots, button up shirt and a waist-high, brown coat. Derek, though, had on a longer duster, came about to his calves-his sister had gotten for him and besides his Eagle, it was his most prized possession. "What's going on?"
The other crew members stood up as Stiles and he passed through the mob and there were seven in all, including Scott-Stiles would make eight, which was still small considering their vessel.
"Guys, I'd like you to meet Derek! He's that asshole who was flying that hunk-a-junk shuttle we passed on the way in! Derek, this is my awesome crew you missed out on meeting the first time!"
Derek just rolled his eyes, knocking Stiles in the ribs lightly as he stepped out of range of his hand and put his hand out to the kid with dimples first. "I'm Scott!" He said enthusiastically, shaking his hand. "I'm the doctor onboard-glad you made it! Your engine looked about ready to blow up."
"Not even close." Totally close, so close-he should be dead. "But thanks. Glad I made it, too."
A pretty girl with short, dark curls stepped forwards next-and wow, did the whole crew have dimples? She put out a delicate, pale hand, still smiling. "Allison, I handle anything that requires a weapon, mostly long distance." They shook and her handshake was firm, fingers calloused and not so delicate looking anymore. She stepped back, smile fading as another girl took her place.
"Hi, I'm Kira!" Kira said, and Derek couldn't help but to smile with her. She was cute and bubbly, of Asian descent with long, black hair and bright clothes. "I'm on weapons detail with Ally! I only work with blades though. I also help Sties co-pilot Selene."
Next up was a redhead, her eyes narrowed and not quite as open as the others. Her clothes were nice, classy, and her jewelry indicated someone with a higher upbringing. "Lydia. I handle the business transactions." Was all she said, and she didn't come forwards to shake his hand though her eyes roved over him as if she suddenly knew of all the misdeeds he'd ever committed.
The last three were pleasant enough and Derek took an instant liking to them just like he had with the rest of the crew, which was not common for him. Erica was a spitfire, strong and confident. She had wild, blonde curls that ran mid-back and red lipstick. She didn't shake his hand, but she gave a simple wave and said she handled maintenance with Isaac. Isaac was quiet, his eyes glancing up at Derek once while they shook hands before dropping back down. He wore higher class clothes like Lydia, his slacks pressed and his waist coat buttoned nicely over his collared shirt, his curls tamed somewhat back from his face though they kept falling forward into his bright eyes. The last crew member was a large, dark-skinned male with a closely shaved head. His muscles and shoulders bulged but he gave a small smile when he shook his hand and claimed to be the ship's cook.
Derek was understandably shocked and forced himself not to ask if he helped Allison and Kira with weapons detail.
"Awesome!" Stiles clapped his hands together, grinning widely. "Now, Scott, could you do your doctor thing on Derek here? And maybe, could someone clear this crowd out of here-some of them are lookin' mighty sketchy and I don't want any sticky fingers. It spells back business if some of the scratch is stolen before our buyers get here."
The kid's hand was on his back again, leading him up the ramp and onto the ship and he wandered how the hell he let Stiles talk him into this. Not that he left much room for arguing. His hand was twitching slightly for his Eagle and he had to refrain from twisting around and watching the crew who'd followed them in. Scott was walking in front of them, leading towards what he was sure would be the medical room, but Allison, Lydia, and Isaac had followed behind, leaving the rest of the crew to handle the people outside.
He liked the crew of Selene, really he did-but he hadn't trusted anyone at his back since Laura and he had a damn fine reason for it. If Stiles noticed him tense for a fight, he didn't mention it, his hand a steady presence on his back directing him on. "So, how old are you?" Stiles asked just as they reached the white, medical bay room.
Derek turned in surprise, giving him a weird look. "Why do you care?" He asked, unable to hide his confusion.
Scott patted the padded chair covered in sterile plastic and he hesitated before convincing himself they wouldn't go through all of this trouble just to cut out his organs and sell them. He sat down and scooted back into it, wincing as his leg ached in protest-the muscles in it screaming that he'd pushed his injury to far, this time.
Stiles hadn't answered him, yet. He glanced back up, catching the kid with an odd look on his face as he starred at him. Derek raised an eyebrow. "I don't know." Stile said finally, rolling his eyes and coming closer. "I just do, now how old?"
Thinking quietly for a minute while Scott got his supplies ready, he watched Stiles intently before determining it couldn't hurt. "I'm twenty-four."
"And you called me a kid! You're only three years older than me!"
"Yeah, but you look and sound like you're sixteen."
"Objection!"
What?
"I'm going to deal with your arm first, you seem to be talking fine so I'll do your head wound after I stitch you up. Could you take off your coat and shirt?" Scott was standing beside him, ready with a tray of medical supplies. His face was curled into a humored grin and Derek just knew he was laughing at him and his friend. "And maybe your pants-if your legs hurting you, I'll need to check it out, too." Stiles' face went red.
"Fine." Derek grumbled, sitting up and pulling off his coat before moving on to the buttons on his dark shirt. "You don't need to see to my leg, though. It's an old injury-I taxed it too much." He held out his clothes to the kid and Stiles came to take them from him, feet almost tripping himself as he moved.
"Old injury from what? If it hurts, you should let me look at it, just in case."
He considered for a minute and then shrugged. "Battle of Du-Khang, I was hit with shrapnel and it cut deep into the bone and got caught. They got all they could out at the time, but a medic had to reopen it. I got an infection, but I got to keep the leg. Doc said I'd never walk right again, though." Why was he telling them this?
"You were in the Unification War?" Stiles asked his voice awed as his jaw dropped. "But-you would've been like-"
"I was sixteen. I fought for two months before I got hit and then they sent me home." He'd had nothing left. When he signed up, he had hoped to die in that war-figured it would be penitence for getting his whole family slaughtered, but they'd sent him home. Dropped him off at the village his family had lived and worked hard in every day of their lives-and he'd had nothing. Nothing but a bum leg and a burned down home full of ash piles and bones-and then the Sturge had shown up searching for a mechanic.
He wasn't sure when the other three had left, but it was just Scott, Stiles, and himself left. Scott worked quietly on cleaning up his bloody arm; the bullet-unfortunately-hadn't passed through and was caught deep in the meet of his bicep.
"No." Derek snapped out when Scott went to stick a needle in him. "No drugs, I can handle it without."
Scott's eyebrow furrowed in concern and Stiles gave a loud noise of disagreement. "I'm going to have to dig into it, probably cut to get it free. Are you sure? I was just going to numb it, not knock you out, I promise."
"I'm sure." Derek, I promise, I'll be right back, okay? I just want to see what's going on. Wait here for me.
"That's bullshit! Look, after everything, you still think we're bad people?" Stiles fumed suddenly, coming over to loom above Derek in the chair, folding his arms across his chest as his nostrils flared. "Who shot you?"
Derek glared back, arm tensed as Scott went ahead to start digging out the bullet.
"Really? I've invited you on my ship! I'm letting my friend examine you, the least you can do is tell me if my crew is in any danger taking you aboard!"
"Yes!" He couldn't deal with this kid anymore-not today. He'd been shot at and almost died several times and this kid dragged him on his ship and was now interrogating him? "I didn't ask for your help! I told you to leave me alone! If you think you're in so much danger-why couldn't you just leave me alone? And you're all ignorant fools if you think a couple good deeds make you trustworthy. People have two sides-one they show you to draw you in so they can use you. They lie, hide behind masks to get you to let your guard down and then they take what they want from you. That's what happened-that's what the Verse is like, not whatever misconception you've heard that makes you believe that bringing some random stranger onboard your ship won't get you shot."
The room was quiet except for his own harsh breathing. He had to get out of here, get away from this kid. Something about him made him spill his secrets and words like he was plastered and he felt too cut open already. Vulnerable and he hated feeling vulnerable.
He finally glanced up to meet Stiles gaze. The kid didn't look angry anymore, just frustrated and a little sad. "I don't know who you've met, Derek-who taught you that was all people were capable of, but I'm sorry you had to learn it. Yes, a lot of people are like that. But that's not all there is. People can be kind to you, if you let them." And with that, Stiles turned, hand running once over Derek's messy, dark hair before leaving.
And he just sat there, stunned. At the kid, or how he affected him, he wasn't sure. Stiles was a mystery and definitely one of a kind.
"You should listen to him, you know." Scott was already stitching his arm up and Derek blinked in surprise when he looked to see the bloody bullet already setting on a plastic petri dish. He must've been mighty distracted to not even notice that being yanked out of him.
"I should, huh?"
"Stiles is different. After he got this bird, he asked me to join him, of course, because we were best friends. But after that we sailed all over, picking up people to join our crew. Stiles helped them all find a home-a family. He likes fixin' people."
"Well, I don't need fixin'." He growled low in his throat. He weren't nobody's pet project. This kid and his crew didn't just get to pop in and fix him, that wasn't how it worked.
"No?" Scott just raised an eyebrow at him and continued on without talking.
Okay, well, this was soooo much fun to write and I've already begun the next chapter. Thank you for any input you give and if there are a lot of grammatical errors, forgive me, I was up late finishing and only went through it a couple times.(Try fifteen couple times-but hey, my eyes are too tired to pick anything I've missed out.) I've decided, as you may have noticed, to keep the people who've died in 'Teen Wolf' alive and still bring in Kira. Why the hell not? It's already about as alternate universe as it can get, so what's the harm in not killing them before the story's even started? ;) We'll see about later on. Kidding, kidding, I probably won't kill anyone. Maybe.
Anyways, please review, I worked really stinking hard on this! Until next chapter-bye!
Song lyrics used in order of appearance:
Nevershoutnever-Time Travel
Niki & the Dove- Winterheart
The Lumineers- Gale Song
Chinese translations (Please be aware that I do not speak Chinese. All of these translations were off of a 'Firefly' word guide that helped me write this, thank you.):
Feh Feh Pi Goh: Baboon's ass crack
Lao Bahn: Big boss or operator of a business
Hwen Dans: Bastards or jerk
Lien Mohn: Alliance
Gorram: Damn
Ching Soh: Ruthless or savage beast of a person
Chiu se: Go to hell
Ben Tian Sheng De Yi Dui Rou: Stupid inbred stack of meat
Buhn Dahn: Idiot, moron
Pi Gu: Ass, bottom, posterior
wang bad dan: Dirty bastard sons of-
go se: Crap