Warning for future boyxboy. If that isn't your cup of tea, well...you've been warned.

Angels wept as Stiles tightened the hold on his knife and cleanly sunk it into the ex-human's skull, twisting expertly back and forth before kicking it in the stomach. With a wrangled, inhuman scream that still haunted Stiles's nightmares, it was pushed off the cliff and into the misty jungle of a forest below. It was the only zombie that he encountered tonight and hopefully the last, but with his uncanny luck, nothing would go like planned.

Not that anyone had plans these days. That was just silly.

He cleaned his blade on the edge of his red hoody before sliding it back into the makeshift-holster on his jeans and resumed walking back to where their tent was.

The stars still came out each night, and with winter calmly approaching as each day drew to a close, they twinkled even brighter in the cool air.

The tent was in view when he realized that he lost his flashlight along the way and cursed, catching the attention of werewolf hearing ear's all around, and the flap to the tent opened where Derek stared at him.

"I'm fine," he grumbled and Derek's head disappeared, only to reappear a minute later when Stiles approached the tent and Derek was getting out of it.

He took one prolonged look at Stiles before bypassing him. "Where's your flashlight?" Was the first thing he asked. Stiles wasn't even offended that he didn't ask if he was (quote on quote) 'ok'. Because if he was alive then he was ok, never mind the blood drying on his sleeves.

"Lost it. Some stupid zombie attacked out of the blue. Barely got away with my dignity." Derek rolled his eyes.

"Going out now. Man the fort. Scream if you need me." And oh, Stiles's heart would've been racing If he'd heard those words less than a year ago from the alpha werewolf, but then again. Half a year ago all of his friends were alive.

"Got it. Now scram," he grumbled as he shucked his hoody off. After cleaning himself off with some water and a dish towel he found a week ago, he fell into the pile of blankets they dubbed a bed and was out like a light in seconds.

When he woke up something was standing above him and his heartbeat stuttered, hands itching toward the blade he kept under his pillow. Then a flashlight was cruelly turned on and he gasped, eyes adjusting, when Derek snorted.

"Oh, fuck you," he cursed and tried to smush himself into the pillow but it was pointless because he was awake now. He turned in his sheets and lay on his back instead.

"So, find any creepy crawlers?"

"Nope." Derek was sitting on the ground and pulling off his pants. "But there's a new tent a mile down. Not anyone I've seen before."

"Bee scheme," was Stiles's reply, and Derek grunted. Bee scheme was something he made up on his own. If you don't touch the bees, the bees won't touch you.

Derek flopped down on the sheets next to Stiles and they laid in silence as crickets chirped.

"How's your arm?" Derek suddenly asks, and Stiles wishes Scott was here. Because last night Derek forgot (or simply didn't care enough) to ask about Stiles's healing arm, and Scott would totally have been a better bro than that. He would have asked every night. And morning. And then he might've even tried to help dress the wound, because Stiles was pretty sure half chewed plants that Derek claimed had healing properties and saliva were not cutting it.

"Its great. I bent it today and it hurt like a bitch," Stiles replies.

"No pain no gain," Derek said off-handedly.

Stiles scowled at the aversion. "It only hurt twice today," he tried for casual but probably missed by at least ten astronomical units. Subtlety was not in his dictionary.

"Ok," Derek said and punched his mini pillow to fluff it.

"Only twice..." Stiles repeats sorrowfully.

"Jesus, Stiles, we're gonna be at the next town soon. Maybe a day or two. They'll have antibiotics there," Derek says as he maneuvers himself so his back was to Stiles.

Minutes pass. It's silent save for Derek's breathing. Stiles never would have guessed that Derek - who could sneak up on panthers if he wanted to, breathed so loudly in his sleep.

Stiles finds himself staring at the tent's ceiling and blanches.

"I'm cold."

"So grab a damn blanket."

"Perfect idea, Derek. Why didn't I think of that? I can really see the masters degree. It's-" and without a warning he snatches Derek's blanket in one go and cant help laughing manically when Derek swears colorfully and sends him a death glare that could make Mussolini cry.

"Fuck-Stiles!"

"But you said to grab some more blanket," he murmurs innocently against the cotton, bundling it around him like a burrito. He was a blanket burrito.

But he wasn't any warmer. He was still cold. It wasn't even that cold outside, so it was odd he was trembling from his very bones.

"Why the fuck are you shivering?" Derek asked. He wasn't even trying to get his blanket back. He had laid down on the ground with only a pillow as comfort and Stiles was trying to ignore the stupid guilt gathering in his gut.

He turned on his side to face Derek's back.

"It's not cold in here? I'm freezing. Like, tomorrow, you're gonna wake up and I'll be an ice-cicle. A Stiles-cicle," he snorts at his lame joke. "Get it?"

Derek only sighed and Stiles did not feel bad about annoying him. He really didn't.

He opens his mouth to continue talking when Derek turns to face Stiles and in one smooth motion, lifts a hand to his forehead to check his temperature. When that doesn't work, he furrows his eyebrows and opts to press his lips to Stiles's forehead, who effectively freezes, eyes fluttering in surprise.

Derek stays there for five seconds. Stiles counted.

"You don't have a fever," he said when he retracted from Stiles, who was still looking at him with wide, wide eyes.

"Where's Derek?" He whispered in mock shock. "What did you do with my Derek? Give him back!"

"'Your Derek?'" The alpha werewolf raised a single eyebrow (which was pretty—cool, actually. Stiles couldn't do that. He'd tried to in front of a mirror for an hour when he was 13 and only succeeded in being walked in by his father who had stared before closing the door and muttering something about better that then catching him jerking off).

Aww fuck, he hadn't meant to say that. "Uh- yes. Mine, because we're traveling together. And he's my friend. So." He glanced a look at Derek's face and promptly shut his mouth. "Shutting up now." He mimed zipping his lips shut and proceeded to crawl deep into his blanket burrito, hiding his head.

"Maybe you are getting sick, but I can't smell anything that would tip me off that you are. And you're body temperature is normal," Derek said and Stiles wondered wether he imagined the look on Derek's face, you know, like he actually cared what happened to Stiles in his frail human body.

"Maybe your nose is broken," he retorted, but they both knew it had no venom in it.

"My nose is not broken," Derek says as if this is the worst possible insult a person can receive. "Maybe we shouldn't travel tomorrow." He looks thoughtful at the idea and Stiles nearly rolls onto Derek with the way he starts flailing.

"No! Nonononono. No and, did I mention: no?" he whined. Nothing was worst than the thought of waiting even longer for his precious pain meds. And he felt fine. After sleeping, he'd probably be even better.

After bickering for longer than appropriate, they agree on traveling tomorrow. But if Stiles starts feeling tired, which Derek would be able to smell, they'd stop right away.

"I'm not a baby…" Stiles mumbles just as he skirts on the brink of consciousness. "I can take care of myself…"

"Stiles."

"I'm not listening. Lalalala. I have no clue what you're talking about!" Stiles walks faster. Derek easily matches his pace.

He tries to ignore the hitch in his breath when the world darkens around the edges and his saliva feels like it's being mass-produced in his mouth. He feels like shit -yes- but due to his obvious stubbornness issues, he won't let Derek slow their pace. They'd already cleared over seven miles since morning, and if Stiles was completely honest, he isn't sure he can feel the soles of his feet. But he needs that medication, and stopping won't help him.

"Stiles, can you fucking stop acting like a child and listen?!" Derek bites out, glaring at Stiles's profile.

"Who's a child? I'm not a child. Maybe you're having an identity crisis?" Stiles spats back at him.

"You promised." Derek's eyes flash and Stiles flinches. There are plenty of trees Derek could throw him against. He didn't need a reminder of the alpha's super-creepy-strength powers. Even thinking about being thrust against a tree made his head spin. "You promised me," the alpha growled, "if you're started feeling like shit, we'd stop."

"And?" Stiles keeps walking.

Derek doesn't say anything, but Stiles knows better than to think he gave in.

It happens in a second.

Something whizzes by Stiles's ear and nicks it, drawing blood, and Stiles barely has time to turn his head in surprise when Derek deftly maneuvers him behind him, protecting him from fire range.

"Don't move," he says, already wolfing out. Hair grows on his neck and his voice sounds more like gravel than usual, signifying the growth of his canines, and Stiles can only stare in shock because - really? They were making such good progress.

Derek's hand tightens on Stiles's bicep, claws poking at the skin but not drawing blood. Stiles holds his breath. Derek's ear twitches to the right and he snaps his head in that direction with inhuman speed. Stiles holds a breath before Derek speaks up.

"We don't want trouble," he grinds out. "Let us through safely, and no blood will be spilt."

Stiles is pretty sure at this point the only thing keeping him standing is Derek's grip on him. His vision is dancing and his legs feel very light while his body feels super heavy. Collapsing seems very probable.

"Derek," he warns, "don't want to alarm you, but I think I'm going to faint now."

He doesn't need to look to know Derek's shooting him glare no. 7 (aka: I will literally kill you if you fuck things up).

(Too late for that)

The world blinks out of focus.

The ground underneath his head is soft. He can't move properly and it feels like he's living in a dream as he strains to listen to the noises around him.

He can make out a woman's voice talking.

"He sleeps like a cub."

There's a deep growl in reply, almost as if to protect someone, and the ground underneath him shifts. He whines and tries to move his head in retribution, and then everything goes back to normal. He breathes heavily in comfort.

"He's sleeping."

"I know. You almost woke him." The woman's voice sounds humored. "He must trust you very much to allow you to have claimed him. He knows you're a werewolf?"

Above his head, someone grunts.

"I can hear your heart, you know. You're not telling me something," she comments. "How did you hide the wolf for so long? That's actually pretty impressive."

"He knows," comes the reply.

"Oh? But does he know he's your anchor?"

"He knows what he needs to know. I don't want to muddle him."

"Muddle him?" She laughs, and Stiles is pretty sure he knows what's going on, but his brain doesn't want to come of the haze it's in. "Honey, I think it's too late for that.

Tell him before you mess things up, Hale."

Derek?

"Stiles?" His ground shifts again and Stiles must've said that out loud, because Derek's hands are pulling him to a sitting position and he really doesn't think that's a good idea.

"Gonna throw up," he barely makes out before Derek man-handles him so he's sitting, head between his knees. And it helps. The nausea passes.

No one says anything as he tries to re-learn how to breathe, focusing on Derek's hand moving in circles on his back.

"Well this has been riveting," the woman says. "Stiles, honey, good to know you heard that entire conversation. I'm off now. Call me when we're ready to move."

What?

He reaches out for Derek, and Derek meets him halfway, taking his hand. Stiles squeezes, hoping to convey his puzzlement.

"Her name's Erica," Derek says into his ear, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin there. "Her partner's name is Boyd. They thought we were zombies, so they shot without thinking. I almost didn't get them to talk, but we agreed to travel together for the time being."

He lifts his head and tilts it in question. Or maybe that's his vision tilting. He isn't too sure at the moment.

"Yes, they're also werewolves," Derek sighs, as if the world is resting on his shoulders while Stiles tries to put himself in Derek's shoes. But the only thing he can think of is Derek and the fact that he could maybe start building a pack now that he's found other wolves.

Something quick and ugly passes through his gut, twisting it. He tries to ignore the jealousy (and something else...something that feels too much like abandonment) and instead puts his efforts into trying to move his tongue.

"Pack," he says, only managing that one word. Derek's face does this funny thing where he nose scrunches and he tweaks Stiles's ear as if to chide him for being silly.

"Go back to sleep," he shifts himself next to Stiles and lets him lean on the bigger man, drifting the moment the conversation is over.

The next time he wakes it takes him a moment to realize that he's moving.

"De'rk?" He mumbles, high on sleep, and he feels muscles shift underneath him.

"Morning, starshine," comes Derek's perpetually sardonic voice in reply (though only to him). It makes him feel better for some reason. "How's the arm?"

"Alive," Stiles replies, knowing it makes no sense and decides grammar can go fuck itself. "Am I dreaming?"

"No, but the town is in view. We're gonna get you the meds you need really soon." He pats Stiles's knee awkwardly.

Stiles yawns into a henley-clad shoulder, successfully drooling at the same time, and blinks wearily. He can feel Derek's hands hooked under his knees and his stubble rough against Stiles's forearms. There's a distinct smell of Derek coming from all around, like trees and sky, and he buries his face into the shoulder to hide from the light.

"Am I ridin' you?" He slurs out. There's a choked-out laugh from behind them before Derek replies in a deceptively blank voice, "Shut up."

Closing his eyes, he says, "K." It's probably drug induced, because he feels pretty loopy, but he feels...content. Safe, even, which he hasn't felt since the first, horrible breakout which killed Scott.

They keep walking, and Stiles hears a new voice -a mans- talking with the woman behind them. Derek doesn't lax his grip on Stiles and Stiles is more than happy to keep his sloth hold on the grumpy werewolf.

When they reach the first building he's seen in a week, the woman, who's name is apparently Erica, decides to raid it for supplies. Derek nods to her and Boyd squeezes her shoulder, giving her a smoldering look that passes unsaid words between them, because she leans on her tippy-toes to peck him on the lips. Then she's gone from sight and into the gas station.

Stiles looks at Boyd who seems oblivious to his stare and instead is focused entirely on the building, probably listening out for Erica.

"Are you a werewolf?" Stiles asks him.

Boyd doesn't even turn to face Stiles. He nods in reply.

"Is every male-werewolf this grumpy or do I just bring out the best in people?" He asks Derek's shoulder, which ignores him. They pass the time in silence until Erica comes back. She's holding a few bags in one hand, a reeses cups in the other, and Stiles lights up like a christmas tree.

"Mememememe!" He cries out, making grabby hands at the precious chocolate. Erica rips open the package with her teeth and tosses one to Stiles, which Derek snatches out of the air. Stiles nearly has an orgasm once the chocolatey-peanut-buttery goodness makes contact with his taste buds. He thinks Derek can smell the happiness radiating from him, because he's also pretty sure Derek might be smiling. He offers the other half of the reese to Derek, who declines curtly.

Which, yay. More for him.

They continue onwards. More buildings come into view amongst the trees and soon they approach a sign with the other half of it missing. Whatever the cities name was before, according to the sign it's now called, "_nut _s_ings."

They walk for a bit more, observing the complete and utter abandonment around them. Wreckage has hit a few unfortunate buildings, leaving them with broken windows and half-standing frames (which Derek angles Stiles away from), until all present werewolves come to a stop at the same exact time, moving their heads to somewhere in the distance.

"Guys?" Stiles asks. "Human here. I don't know what your super-noses sense that I don't. Or ears. Or eyes. Or whatever"

Derek's the first to talk. If Stiles didn't know him, he wouldn't have heard the surprise in his tone. But he's been traveling exclusively with the guy for over four months. Hell, he's seen his dick on one odd occasion (don't ask, it was an accident that he wishes never happened), so he sure as hell senses the incredulity coloring Derek's tone.

"There's a human camp up ahead."

Hey guys. Just wanna say there was no beta for this so I apologize for any mistakes.

More coming soon. Hope you stick around.

-thecrazyLaDiDa