2.
The gift shop is tiny, tucked in between a Dentists' office, which had been charred to a black husk by a fire before they even arrived in Town for the first time, and a mostly empty office space, where a faded FOR LEASE sign still hung crookedly in the window.
Derek breaks the padlock on the back door, and heads inside first while Stiles watches his exit. He whistles when it's clear, and Stiles slides inside, closing the door behind him. He loops a bit of rope around the door handle and ties it to a file cabinet nearby. Instant lock.
Stiles reaches the front of the store and finds Derek frowning at the front windows, arms crossed over his chest. The smallest pane on the far left has been broken out.
"Someone has been here," it isn't a question but Derek nods anyway. "How long ago?" Stiles asks. He looks around, the place has been pretty well looted. The snack section has been emptied of everything but BBQ pork rinds, and reduced fat Lays potato chips.
"Couple of days. Take anything we might need now. We shouldn't come back here again." Derek turns away from the window. He grabs up a canvas bag from next to the cash register. He takes what is left of the snack section, and frowning, ducks down behind the register. He feels along the underside of the counter until his hand finds the gun that's taped there. He yanks it free and holds it up in triumph.
"Now, how did you know that was there?" Stiles asks, already turning away. He ignores the look Derek gives his back, even though he can feel it burning into the back of his head. It's glare number 4, the one that says: "Don't be an idiot! Why do you always have to ask?" Stiles circles around to the far side of the store, past broken knickknacks and upended fake flowers arrangements. He finds a display of travel games. Grabs up travel Yahtzee! And a couple packs of cards. There's a rack of crossword puzzle books nearby, and he plucks one out for Melissa. She loves the things.
In the center of the store, he snags a lavender tank top. It's Kira's favorite color, and she'd ripped the one she'd brought with them the week before while sparring on the front lawn with Derek. He stuffs it into the bag and then makes his way toward the display of candy in the corner. It's pretty picked over too, but he finds a bag of Werther's caramels his dad loves wedged between the side of the display and the wall. There's one lone pack of Reeses' peanut butter cups too, for Derek, that he finds half squished under a knocked over vase. He ignores the way Derek is watching him until he's done picking over the display. No gum for Scott. Maybe next time.
"Why do you do that?" Derek asks. Stiles turns to look at him, frowning.
"Do what?" he asks.
"You always bring back stuff for everyone else. You never bring back anything back for yourself. Why?" Derek asks. He's hops up on to the checkout desk, long legs swinging as he studies Stiles.
"I'm fine. I don't need anything," Stiles replies. He turns away, ignoring Derek as he hops down off the counter and stalks with purpose to the right back corner of the store, where a small selection of toiletries spans one section of wall. Stiles instead turns to the book display, magically untouched by whoever had come before. He finds a crime novel for Scott, and an autobiography for Lydia. He startles when a hand reaches around him, and a stick of right guard is set down on the top shelf. He relaxes when he recognizes the hand, but twists his face into a glare before turning around.
"You might think you don't need anything. But some of us disagree. A gift from me to you," Derek offers with a smirk. Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek and snatches it off the shelf. He fights the urge to sneer as he pushes past Derek bumping him out of the way with one bony shoulder. He ignores the way his face has heated in mortification.
"Deodorant was not exactly a top priority when we were packing up to flee home," he says over his shoulder. Derek very nearly, practically, ok definitely rolls his eyes.
"Oh please. You remembered to bring it. You even remembered to use it. But you ran out like 6 days ago. Do us all a favor and don't let it happen again."
Stiles rolls his eyes, doing one more check of the store shelves, before making his way back toward the door they'd come in through. Derek follows a few steps behind. He waits for Stiles to untie the door rope, before taking point and moving outside first. It's only when they step out into the bright midday sun that Stiles looks down at the deodorant in his hand. It's the exact same brand and scent he's used for the last year. He finds himself almost asking the question, but manages to stop himself just in time.
"Someone needs to keep their wolfy little nose out of other peoples' personal business. This is getting really out of hand," he mutters to himself. Derek makes a scoffing sound, even as he starts to head around the building toward the bar.
"You'd be surprised what all of us with wolfy little noses have to ignore on a day to day basis. Like I need to know when Melissa is menstruating, or whether or not Scott and Kira are using condoms." Stiles feels his mouth drop open.
"They don't always!?" he asks shocked. Derek shoots him a look. "I specifically brought him a box back last time we were in Town. They couldn't have used them ALL already!" he says. Derek shrugs.
"It's funny you think they're the only ones using them," Derek says. He rounds the corner of the building, heading further up the line of buildings that separate their back alley from Main Street. He slows his pace.
"Well Isaac and Ally are of course. But not anyone else," Stiles says. He waits for Derek to acknowledge him, and Derek's lack of reply has him halting in place. "What?" he demands. Derek turns around slowly, face blank. "Who else?" he demands. Derek doesn't answer, just looks away, lips turning down in a frown. "You and Lydia?" Stiles asks, and his voice goes hoarse and a little broken as he asks it. He takes a step back. Derek looks up shocked and shakes his head.
"Oh god, no! Stiles, that is not happening. Ever," he says the last word slowly, enunciating carefully and Stiles feels his shoulders relax, that is until he realizes that leaves only two other people in their ragtag group of 9.
"Not... No!" he says softly, half horrified and half skeptically amazed. Derek shrugs again.
"At least you and Scott can maybe start claiming each other as brothers in more than bond?" Stiles very badly wants to throw something at him, but the only thing nearby is a half a broken beer bottle or a brick and he's not that vindictive. Derek pauses listening and sniffing the air, clearly done talking about it. Stiles has a million questions like: How serious is it? How long has it been going on? Is it just a comfort thing or more? Stiles tables it for now.
"Anything?" Stiles asks, waiting to move until Derek has done a check. Derek shakes his head and starts toward the back of the auto body store. They'd found couple of spare car batteries and a pretty useful supply of beef jerky there on their last pass.
They continue up the narrow alley sandwiched between the old antiques store and the auto shop. Derek pauses before crossing the street to the bar they're aiming for, looking both ways and breathing deeply. He freezes in place, tension tightening his shoulders. Stiles moves closer, studying the side of Derek's face as his jaw clenches so tight Stiles fears he'll hear the crack of teeth, before the tension releases.
"The windows are broken out at the bar too," Derek says, brow furrowing. Stiles nods.
"We'll make sure it's empty before we go in," he says, tugging his half full backpack further up his shoulder. Derek shakes his head.
"There's someone in there," he says nodding to the smashed in window of the bar. Stiles squints in that direction.
"Living or not-dead?"he asks. He double checks his gun, flicking off the safety.
"Living. But injured, and…" Derek frowns impossibly harder. "Sick." He gives Stiles a significant look. "I take the lead." It's not a question. Stiles nods, making a face, and rolling his eyes in reply. He's done his best the last few weeks to let Derek take the lead in situations like this, when they're out on runs. He's faster, stronger, and can take hits that Stiles merely can't. This isn't the first time they'd run into another person. Stiles doesn't like to think about the other times. They have never ended well. The image of Derek getting shot in the shoulder and falling backward onto hard asphalt had haunted his dreams for days after the last time. He doesn't regret shooting the asshole in the knee cap. He really doesn't.
They go back the way they'd come, moving further up the row of buildings before crossing the main road, and then easing up to the bar from the protected sight line of its closest neighbor. Derek pulls out his own gun, the one he's never had to fire at a living person, preferring tooth and claw when dealing with human enemies.
"How many?" Stiles asks.
"Just the one," Derek's brow furrows. "Whoever it is, they're… familiar," Derek says. Stiles stills beside him. Derek appears to be thinking it over.
"Who?" he asks. Derek turns to look at him, eyes searching Stiles' face.
"Argent."