This basically wrote itself...

Starts directly after the FBI scene 06x11

Stiles' leg bounced nervously under the table for the rest of the class, barely paying attention to what the tutor was saying, his hand itching for his phone.

He was getting weird looks from his class mates, and his tutor; but after whole spit take performance earlier; he didn't care. He wasn't going to be making any cool friends anytime soon.

The class was been dismissed and Stiles was already out the door, shoving his stuff in his back hastily.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a solid minute, watching as his new classmates started to head towards the canteen for lunch and a part of Stiles wanted to join them. Instead, he all but sprinted across the campus, barely stopping to apologise to the woman who he hit into and papers went flying.

For the first time in his life, he mentally thanked coach for making him run all of those suicide runs and for the fact that running away from supernatural hell-beasts built up pretty good stamina. He took the stairs of his dorm block two at a time, unlocking the door with shaking hands; he stumbled inside, dropping down on his bed unceremoniously.

Taking a minute, he let himself catch his breath before rolling over. His eyes automatically scanned the dorm and as he pulled his phone out of his pocket he decided that not having a roommate wasn't so bad after all. It meant that you could make phone calls to an accused serial killer without getting judgmental looks… or arrested.

Stiles dialed Derek's number, his heart pounding in his chest as the line clicked.

"This person's phone has been disconnected. This person's phone has been disconnected. This person's phone has been—"

Stiles hung up, scrolling through his contact list to Braeden's number.

"This person's phone has been disconnected—"

"Fuck!"

Stiles took a deep breath, resisting the urge to throw his phone across the room.

Who else would have his number? Who else would be able to contact him?

Stiles bit his lip and sighed, scrolling down to Cora's number.

Either she would know what was happening, or Stiles' was about to thoroughly freak her out and or piss her off.

With a heavy sigh, he hit the dial button, knowing full well that Derek barely went a week without speaking to Cora now.

She answered on the second ring with a tired sigh. "Stiles?" she said in lieu of a greeting.

"Cora, I uh—not to sound alarming or anything but have you heard from your brother recently?" he asked.

Cora sighed again. "You've heard?"

"Yeah," Stiles replied flatly. "I've heard."

"Does Scott know?" she asked.

"No." Stiles shook his head. "I'm not in Beacon Hills, I'm at college."

"Right, yeah, Lydia mentioned that," she said, her voice soft and tired. "Congrats on the FBI and that."

"Cora, what's going on?"

He could feel it stirring, he'd felt it for days. That sinking feeling of dread that left a terrible taste in your mouth. He thought it was just anxiety, homesickness starting to kick in. But now… now he knew it was something else.

"I—you—" Cora faltered and Stiles couldn't help the pang of betrayal that shot through his chest.

"Cora, I don't care what college I go to. I'm not going to turn Derek in, I did that before; I was wrong. I know he didn't do this," Stiles said. "You don't even have to tell me where he is. I just—I need to know that he's okay."

"Right, of course. I know. It's just that—" Cora huffed and Stiles could picture her eyebrows furrowing. "I'm sorry."

Stiles' lips twitched slightly, and shook his head; then remembered that she couldn't actually see him.

"It's okay, I get it. He's your big brother. He's on the run and I'm kind of working for the feds now," he said.

"Still," she muttered. "I know better."

"Do you know if he's still with Braeden? At least if they're together, one of them can get them out of this shit," Stiles said, rubbing his free hand through his hair.

"I don't know, I think she went back to Beacon Hills to help out Malia with something. They both ditched their cells a while back. Hold on I have a number for him somewhere," she said, and there was a slight muffling sound as she put her phone on loud speaker, tapping at the screen to find the number. She read out the phone number, and he scribbled it down on the notepad that was on his nightstand. "It's a burner, so they can't find him with it."

Stiles nodded, tapping his pen over the phone number. "Smart," he said.

"Yeah," Cora replied. "This isn't the first time that Derek's been on the run."

"I know, but last time it was a very understaffed, underpaid Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department. This time it's the frigging FBI," Stiles said, nervous energy vibrating through him. "Even then, the only reason he got out of it that time was because I got Scott to fix things."

"He had you on his side then, and he has you on his side now," she said, a note of sure certainty in her voice. "We all know that no matter what we say or do, it'll be you who fixes this Stiles. It's always you."

Neither of them said anything for several moments, Stiles just let her words sink in.

"I should let you go and call him," she said.

"Wait, Cora—" Stiles faltered. "Are you safe?"

"I'm still in Mexico," she said, sounding slightly annoyed by the fact. "Derek's gonna come and get me when this is over. He refuses to let me help." Stiles' lips twitched at hearing that Derek was still, after everything, pulling the big brother card. Cora laughed slightly. "Go and call him Stiles. We both know I'm not the Hale you want to be talking to."

"Thanks, Cora," Stiles said, his voice soft.

Cora chuckled again before she cut the call. Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes at the youngest Hale before looking down at the notepad.

He stared at the number for a minute, clicking his pen in agitation.

Deciding that hearing Derek's side of whatever was happening was more important than the anxiety felt at the thought of hearing the werewolf's voice.

He dialed the number with shaking fingers, raising the phone to his ear. He forced himself to take a steadying breath as it started to ring.

The line connected but whoever was on the other end said nothing. Stiles knew they were there, he could just about make out somebodies soft breaths.

"Derek?" Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat as whoever it was gasped. "Derek, is that you? It's Stiles."

"Stiles?" Derek said, shock clear in his voice. "Stiles, what—how did you—how did you get this number?"

"Cora," Stiles said, rubbing a hand across his face to try and clear his head. "I called Cora. Both yours and Braeden's phones were disconnected. Dude, you don't get to be put on the FBI's most wanted list for mass murder and then go off the grid without letting me know. It's not cool!"

"Without… letting you know?" Derek huffed out a laugh.

Stiles felt the heat rise to his cheeks and he tried to ignore the light feeling in his stomach at the sound of his laughter.

"You know what I mean," Stiles said nonchalantly. "My first class at the FBI and I see you running shirtless through the woods on the screen. Really not cool!"

"What happened?" Derek asked, amusement seeping into his voice.

Stiles spluttered slightly, "What makes you think anything happened?"

"You're a lot of things, Stiles," Derek said. "Subtle isn't one of them."

Stiles huffed indignantly but didn't comment further on the matter.

"What happened?" he asked softly instead.

"I don't know," Derek said, a resigned sadness in his voice that Stiles hadn't heard there in years. "I heard them coming. I was in North Carolina, helping one of my mother's old friends, an Alpha, with something totally unrelated and one of the pups… one of the pups heard them coming. He ran back to the house and warned me, saying they had a warrant for my arrest. Something about multiple murders. I only just got away. I don't know—I don't understand—I didn't do this Stiles!" Derek's voice broke with desperation and Stiles' heart ached for him.

After everything that Derek had been through, after everything that he had lost. He had left his hometown, looking for some semblance of peace and instead; instead he got this.

"I know, Derek. I know, I believe you. I know this wasn't you," Stiles said, trying to keep his voice steady. He needed Derek to know; know that he didn't doubt him in the slightest.

On the other end of the line, Derek gave a shuddering breath that was almost a sob.

"This is bad, Stiles. This–this is really bad, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Stiles breathed. "It is. But I'm gonna—we're gonna fix it, I promise."

"I know," Derek said, that same certainty in his voice that Cora had had.

"Where are you? Are you safe at least?"

Derek faltered. "About that…"

"Derek," Stiles said, a hint of worry in his voice. "Where are you?"

"What dorm are you in?" Derek asked instead of answering.

Stiles felt the dread set into his stomach again and he cursed.

"What window?"

Stiles shot across the room, looking out of his window as if he would see Derek standing on the flat roof below, like old times.

"Derek please tell me you're not on base," Stiles whispered as if somebody in his empty room would over hear him.

"Not yet, there are too many people. There's no way I'd get through without being seen," Derek said as if it were obvious. "But later… I'll come to you, just—tell me which one your window is? Otherwise, I'll just find it myself."

"Alright," Stiles sighed, opening his window he stuck his head out. "I'm—I'm on the second floor, east side. First window." Stiles scanned the side of his building and the building opposite. "There's a security camera on the wall opposite, I don't know if it shows my wall."

"I'll handle it," Derek said gruffly. "They won't see."

Stiles rolled his eyes, pulling his head back inside before he attracted any unwanted attention. "Of course they won't," he muttered.

Scooping up his dirty washing, tossing it in the hamper. If Derek was breaking in, he might as well at least make an effort to seem well put together.

"Go get some lunch and then go to class Stiles," Derek said, a hint of exasperation in his tone like he knew exactly what Stiles was and was planning on doing. "You have to act normal, pretend I'm not around."

Stiles bit his lip, glancing worriedly at the window for a moment. Logically he knew Derek was right. But still… what was he supposed to do? Help his class, his future potential employers; the fucking FBI track down his… Derek. His Derek.

"Okay," Stiles sighed. "I'll leave my window open… Make yourself at home, I guess. It's not like this is the first time I'm harboring your fugitive ass."

Derek snorted slightly. "No," he said sadly. "It's not. But hopefully, this'll be the last time."

"Yeah," Stiles said, gathering his things together, he snatched a candy bar out of his mini fridge, knowing he wouldn't have time to go to the canteen now. "It better be."

Derek gave another, almost sad laugh before hanging up.

Stiles took a minute, dropping forwards he rested his forehead against the door.

So much for leaving Beacon Hills and the burden of the supernatural world behind him.

.

Stiles was an anxious mess throughout the rest of his afternoon. Constantly glancing at the clock every two minutes, bouncing his leg so fast that his ankle started to throb. He got weird looks from his classmates and from tutors he got those doubtful looks that teachers would give you. Looks that said they were just humouring you. That they knew you were going to end up flunking, they just weren't allowed to say anything.

The final bell rang and Stiles tried to be subtle as he hastily shoved his stuff into his back. As he made his way across campus, he had to check himself several times so he didn't end up sprinting back to his dorm.

When he finally let himself through the security door of his building, he didn't stop himself. He took the stairs two at a time to his floor, barrelling down the corridor and straight into his room. He faltered in the doorway at the sight of Derek, sitting at Stiles' desk. His head resting on top of his arms over Stiles' paperwork, his eyes closed, snoring softly.

Stiles' lips twitched slightly, reaching out to shut the door.

As it clicked shut Derek woke with a start. His eyes wide and alert. At the sight of Stiles, he sagged back against the chair in relief.

Stiles took a moment to take a look at Derek.

He looked tired. More than Stiles had ever seen him look, even when he lost his powers. His hair was greasy, dirt smudged across his cheek. His clothes were raggedy and well worn like he hadn't been able to change them in several days. They were dirty too like he'd been sleeping rough somewhere. Whether as a wolf or as a human, Stiles didn't know; he didn't care. All he cared about was how he could fix this.

"Hey," Derek said softly, trying for a small smile but it came across as more of a grimace.

"Hey," Stiles said in return.

"Nobody saw me," Derek jumped to assure him. "I called in an anonymous tip saying I was seen crossing the border from South Carolina to Georgia. I wasn't seen on campus."

Stiles nodded. "Good," he said softly.

They both stared at each other for several minutes as an awkward silence settled into the room. Neither of them knowing what to say. Neither of them knowing the protocol for this.

"What are we supposed to do?" Derek asked, looking up at Stiles, an almost anxious look on his face.

"What we did before," Stiles said simply, reaching for his laptop and his bottle of Adderall simultaneously, dropping down on his bed, gesturing for Derek to join him. "What we do every time. We fix it."

Thank you for reading.

Feedback is always appreciated!