Okay, so, this is a sequel to my story "Lullaby". That one does not have to be read for this one to make sense, but it does come first in the series. So, check it out. Let's do this.
There was an echoing silence in the Hale house. Stiles just stared at Derek in complete confusion. "So, that's it. You just want me to go?" the teen asked incredulously, laughing bitterly when Derek just nodded in response.
"Go home, Stiles. Get your things. Leave town. Now," Derek's voice was clipped, strained as he clenched his teeth. Everything in him told him to stop, to apologize to Stiles and to pull the teen to him; but, he couldn't and he didn't.
Stiles stared at him for another few moments before saying, "Fine."
Derek stood there, flinching internally as the front door slammed shut, though he did not move. Nobody in the house moved until after they heard the sound of Stiles' jeep speeding off. Derek let out a breath that he had not realized he was holding. Issac came into the room first with that kicked puppy expression. He hated to see Stiles leave just as much as Derek did. It was for the best, though. These hunters, they were not like anything they had experienced before, and they would kill Stiles without hesitation if they thought it would upset Derek. They provoked werewolf attacks, if only to follow their code.
Issac whined and Scott tried to say something encouraging, but they all stopped when they heard the sounds of the jeep parking outside again. Derek growled softly and turned to leave the house, meeting Stiles on the porch. The teen hit him on the shoulder hard (which hurt Stiles' hand more than it hurt Derek). "You asshole!" Stiles exclaimed, a look of hurt, desperation, and fondness mixing on his features. "You don't want me to go."
Derek grit his teeth but nodded a little. "No," the alpha answered honestly. "I need you to. Stiles, s'too dangerous right now. These aren't the hunters from before. They'll kill you. I can't... I need you to be okay, Stiles."
"You can't just make me leave every time there's a new threat in town, Derek." Stiles frowned, though he let Derek pull him close and he hid his face in the side of the alpha's neck, letting out a shaky breath. The entire time they had been fighting, Stiles had thought the entire time that something just did not add up with the entire thing. It took him to get to the highway before he realized that Derek had been trying to get him to leave.
"I know. I don't, haven't before. This is different. Even Lydia and Allison are going," Derek said softly, closing his eyes as he held Stiles close. His fingers slipped underneath Stiles' clothing to press against the small of his back, brushing against the skin in a way he had learned Stiles found soothing and comforting all at the same time. "Please."
Stiles sighed, pulling Derek a little closer. "Promise me you'll call the moment I can come back," he mumbled, really not wanting to go. He could stay and help; he wanted to stay and help. Derek had done so much for him, though, and he could not really ignore the desperation in Derek's voice.
"I promise. I'll come for you, Stiles," replied Derek with a nod.
The teen smiled softly, pulling away just enough to kiss Derek firmly on the mouth. "I'm holding you to that," Stiles breathed against his lips before pulling away.
"Yeah, Lyd, 'm almost ready," Stiles sighed into his phone, shoving some clothes into his duffel-bag while pinning his phone to his ear. He hated running. He wanted to stay, to be there with Derek. The only reason he was going was because he had seen how upset Derek was. He knew that Derek wanted him there, but if the alpha was that worried, it would be better for everyone if he did go. It would give them something to not have to worry about. "Yeah, see you in a few."
Stiles ended the call and tossed it onto the bed before going into the bathroom to grab the things he would need to take. He stilled when he heard the sound of the creaky step on the stairs. Lydia and Allison would not be there yet; Derek would use the window. It was Scott. Right? It had to be Scott. Still, Stiles grabbed the crosse leaning against his bedroom wall and slowly looked out into the hallway. There was no one there. "Scott?" he questioned, slowly making his way downstairs. There were no more sounds of anyone else being in the house, but the hairs on the back of Stiles' neck stood on end, and he had a sinking feeling he was being watched. "Scott. This isn't funny, man."
He heard a sound to his right and turned to look only to see a fist as it came directly for his face. The hit knocked him out cold and he fell to the ground.
Not even ten minutes later there was the sound of a car horn outside followed by Lydia shouting, "Stiles Stilinski, get your scrawny, pale ass out here!"
Lydia and Allison exchanged worried glances when a few moments went by and there was no movement inside the house. Allison quickly grabbed her handgun out of the glove box before saying, "C'mon."
"Allison!" Lydia hisses as they make their way inside. "Something's not right."
Allison shoots her a look that states simply, I know. She knows, and god, Derek's going to kill them. She stays in front of Lydia, her senses on high alert as they search every room in the house. Allison keeps praying that they're going to bump into Stiles in one of the rooms as he's lost in thought, like normal, and they're all going to scream and then dissolve into a fit of laughter. That is what she hopes is going to happen. It's not what happened.
Stiles' room was searched last, and he was not there. His phone was not there, either. His bag was sitting on his bed, opened and not quite finished. His toothbrush is laying on his bedroom floor. Allison closes her eyes and softly says, "Shit."
It was damp. And dark. Well, that could have been because his eyes were closed; but, it was definitely damp. What was it with these people and damp, dark places? He was stiff, and he hurt in more than one place. His wrists were bound behind his back, arms around... something. A pole, maybe. He was sitting, though, so a chair back was more likely. His head felt like it was going to explode, but he would blame that on the fact that his nose felt broken. He was only vaguely aware of the voices around him as he slowly regained consciousness. "The contacts were transferred and his phone destroyed," Stiles heard somewhere to his right.
Smart. Get his friends' contact information and get rid of his phone so they could not be traced. Damn.
"I have no idea who is who, though," sighed another voice, that one in front of him and to the left. "They're all names like "Bitchface" and "Appleblossom"."
Lydia and Jackson, the later being "Appleblossom" due to his typical sour nature and the fact that Stiles knew he really could care, honestly, if he tried. Stiles smirked a little to himself at the nicknames he had chosen for his friends. He was smarter (and was the bait so damn often it was just logical to make it harder for the bad guys to figure out who was who in his contacts.
"Sourwolf, Pup, Wolfboy, PapaSmurf, Gaston, Catwoman, Buffy..."
Derek, Issac, Scott, Dr. Deaton, Boyd, Erica, Allison... Okay, the last one was obvious and made Stiles laugh softly as he lifted his head to actually look around him at his captors. The bright lights in the room made it difficult to actually see anything, however. Despite the fact he was in a case of extreme danger, if these people were who he thought they were (and, let's face it, Stiles' luck had it against him), the only thing he could think about was Allison's nickname. Did that mean he should change Scott's to "Xander"? Did that make him Willow? Then who was Derek? Oz. Probably. He should change that. Y'know, if he ever got around to getting out of that mess. "Good, you're awake," Stiles heard someone say before the lights dimmed a bit and he saw some red-headed guy abandon his phone on a nearby table. "Comfortable?"
Stiles laughed softly, the sound scratchy and bitter in his throat. "Yeah, sure. I just love the feeling of my arm practically popping out of its socket," Stiles replied. He really needed a shut up filter, and he knew it, but hey, if he could keep them distracted, maybe he could be saved and none of his friends would end up hurt.
As expected, Stiles' sarcasm was not appreciated. "Who is your alpha?" a dark and tall man with an intimidating tone asked. He frowned a lot and reminded Stiles of that grumpy cat online. "Answer me!"
"He's going to kill you," Stiles said, unable to keep from smirking a little. It was probably a bit sad how he was rather immune to the thought of certain people dying (see: deranged people wielding guns and being threats to civilized society). Stiles could not stop from laughing at the thought of werewolves being civilized society. God, his life was messed up. "You did the one thing to make sure that he would, without hesitation."
The hunter's brow lifted in silent question and Stiles took a few moments to study the man's face. He was worn from years of hunting the supernatural (a look Stiles knew too well), but he could not have been much older than twenty-eight. It was a little sad. "You hurt me," Stiles finally stated.
He received a swift backhand for his lack of real answer, and he was pretty sure that he was going to get that a lot. He never did know when to shut his mouth.
"We'll find him, Derek," Allison said, in what was meant to be a soothing manner. She just received a growl in response.
The others were out searching for any sign. Derek was resigned to stay home. He had too much of a risk of hurting someone innocent that had a faint smell of Stiles on them. Stiles was such a people person, always giving out hugs and just invading peoples' space. It would not be a good thing, and would give the Argents a reason to take out the pack. No, Derek would stay home until the others found something. "If they hurt him..." the alpha growled out, tensing a little at the thought alone. He needed to keep it together. He would be no good to anyone if he lost control. Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on Stiles. He could still smell the young man on his clothes, all over the house. Stiles would want him to be calm.
"We'll find him, and he'll be back home before you know it."
Derek focused on Allison's reassuring words. He tried to find a truth in them. Her heart did not falter once. She fully believed her words, so he had to, too. He had to, because otherwise, he really would lose it. He needed Stiles. That was every bit as true as it was the first time he admitted it to the nineteen year old, and even before. He needed Stiles; Stiles needed him. They needed each other, and that was just how things were.
Stiles screamed as the large man who reminded him of that damned cat broke another of his fingers (that made his right pinkie, right ring finger, and right middle finger). His right shoulder was out of it's socket; his face was bloody with his split lip and bruised skin; his torso was littered with bruises and cuts and burns. Derek was going to kill them, whenever he found them. Stiles was subjected to mental abuse as well.
His fault. The pack was in danger if he said anything. Like his dad. His fault. He was just a scrawny, breakable teenager. There was a reason the pack was not there. It had been days. He was useless, forgotten, ignored.
No, a voice in his head, that sounded suspiciously like Derek, said. Pack. Important. Special. Stiles.
The teen squeezed his eyes shut. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted to be able to breathe and not feel like his lungs were on fire. He wanted to sleep. Sleep sounded amazing. "Where is your alpha, Stiles? Who is it?" he was questioned for the umpteenth time.
Stiles clenched his jaw shut. He did not say anything. He never said anything. Okay, that was a lie. He talked a lot. He never told who the pack was, who Derek was. God, he needed Derek. Where were they? Stiles closed his eyes when he saw the man grabbing the metal baseball bat. Things were not going to be good. He could just picture the guy taking out his knee or his ankle, or both. He'd be even less of an asset to the pack then. No, Stiles, don't think like that, he scolded himself. He heard the tap of the bat against the ground, heard the man say something about years of baseball practice, and he steeled himself for the inevitable pain that he would experience from a baseball bat being swung at his body. Did he mention it was metal?
He heard the whoosh of the bat being swung, and tensed in readiness for being hit. It never came. There was no crack of bone or feeling of immense pain. There was just silence, and a tenseness in the air he could feel with his eyes shut.
Stiles blinked his eyes open and looked up to see Derek holding on to the baseball bat, growling at the man who was in the room with them. "Don't touch him," Derek growled in warning before using the bat to shove the cat man away.
The teen let out a breath of relief as the rest of the pack dealt with the hunter and Derek turned to him. The alpha's features returned to their human form as Derek knelt down and started to undo the ropes binding the teen to the chair. "Stiles," he mumbled as the teen listened to someone (probably Scott) knocking out the man that the other hunters had left him alone with. They would deal with the hunter, later, apparently. Stiles did not ask. He did not care. The only thing that mattered was that Derek was there, carefully cradling Stiles against his chest.
Stiles had not cried once in captivity, but once he hid his injured face in Derek's chest, he could no longer hold back the tears. "We're going home," he said comfortingly to Stiles, knowing that the others could hear him as well.
Derek carried Stiles the entire way, keeping the teen close. Stiles kept his head over Derek's heart, finding the sound of it soothing as Scott drove them to the house; the Hale house, the pack house, home. Derek's fingers ran through Stiles' hair, the other running along his arm absently as he told the teen that Dr. Deaton was waiting for them at home, that Melissa McCall was there as well. Stiles could care less. He was in Derek's arms. Derek came for him. Derek was bringing him home. Even though he had known it would happen (and he was vaguely aware of the blood on Derek's shirt, that he had no doubts were a mix of the hunters' and Derek's), he had almost been unsure at the same time. He knew he meant a lot to Derek, to the pack; but, still. Being there so long, questions rose.
They had tried so hard to find him, Derek explained softly in his ear. They had searched all over town. There was no trace, no trail. There was nothing. They tried using GPS to pinpoint his phone. Then, Derek heard it. He heard Stiles. Stiles had cried out his name. Stiles did not remember it. The hunters had paid no mind to the name, it had not meant anything. He did not pin it to being his alpha's name, and it was not when they were asking, anyway.
Stiles just sighed and closed his eyes, finally actually sleeping for the first time in days as he listened to the slowing to normal rhythm of Derek's heart.
"He'll need a lot of rest, and I'll leave something for the pain he'll have. His shoulder's back in place, and his fingers are set right. Do not remove the splints for anything," Stiles heard. The voice was familiar, friendly and warm, but at the moment, he was too groggy to piece together who it was. It was not Scott, and it was most definitely not Derek. "Don't try to feed him anything heavy. Light things like broth for a few days will be best. No, curly fries, Stiles."
The last sentence being directed at him let everyone realize that he was awake again. It was Deaton that was speaking, and Stiles gave him a faint smile in thanks. He was still not fully sure the extent of the damage done, but the man was helping, so that was enough for him. Derek was still at his side, and if it were possible, Stiles would have jumped up and given the alpha a big kiss for that fact alone. Instead, he just lay there, in his and Derek's bed, as the pack listened to Deaton's instructions on how to help him over the next few days.
"Don't hesitate to call if there's any signs of..." Melissa McCall was talking about head trauma, and Stiles kind of tuned her out. Really, he did not want to think about the possible injuries he could have.
He focused on Derek, how the man smelt and how safe he felt in the alpha's arms. He did not say anything for a long while, though. It was not until the two medical personnel left and the rest of the pack filtered out (checking for themselves that Stiles would be okay), that he said anything. "You came," Stiles mumbled in a slightly scratchy voice, carefully nuzzling against Derek's shoulder as to not hurt himself more.
Derek let out a soft sound that almost sounded like a laugh as he ducked his head enough to steal a lingering and light kiss against Stiles' lips. "I'll always come for you."
Lemme know what you think. I basically just threw this together in one sitting. The idea was there. It was slightly angsty and violent, and cute all at once. I don't even know.