His first instinct was to run, seeing as it was his usual response to danger. Stiles knew such an idea was futile, even as he flexed his legs to propel himself away from the three terrifying wolves bearing down on him. You don't out run an alpha, let alone three of them.

His second instinct was to shout for Scott or, hell, even Derek. On second thought, definitely Derek. But in the fraction of a second it took to simultaneously turn to run and attempt to yell for help, a heavy blow hit the back of his head. As Stiles slipped in to darkness, crumpling to the ground, it dawned on him: there had been a fourth wolf.

In his unconsciousness, Stiles dreamt. His dreams were feverish, a collage of snippets of his past, of voices and whispers in the dark, and as he seemed to fall through each moment of thought, all vision turned to Derek. They were back in the pool, Stiles holding Derek afloat, only now Stiles was also the Kanima, watching himself from the swimming pool edge. He saw a gleam in his own eyes as his pool-bound self tread water to save a man he thought he hated, their faces, their lips, not quite so far apart. And then the scene changed again, and again, twisting images tumbling Stiles through wave after wave of Derek-riddled memories, each one more fleeting than the last, each one proving that perhaps there was more to how Stiles felt about Derek than just hate.

The first thing Stiles heard as he slowly gained back his consciousness was the soft drip of water on damp stone. He fluttered his eyes open, though he could only see faint shapes in the darkness. Stiles could feel his wrists and ankles pulling his body taught, bound in cuffs attached to chains that rattled against the grate he was strung up on. He felt utterly weak and exhausted. His body twitched suddenly as pain hit him like a sack of bricks. Stiles let out a feeble groan.

"Hello?" Stiles managed to whisper, finding his throat dry and rough as sandpaper. His hushed voice echoed vaguely against the walls. There was no response. He tried again, a little louder this time even though his throat burned from the strain. Again, there was nothing. The pain too distracting, he gave up calling for anyone. His brain pounded inside his skull, begging to be freed, his eyes stung even as his skin felt raw. If it was even still Friday night, this was really the worst way to spend it.

Though he felt confident that his father would be out looking for him if he'd been missing for at least a day, he held no confidence that his captors had anything pleasant planned for him. He just couldn't understand what a bunch of alphas would want with him. He wasn't even a threat, especially not to one of them.

Unless...unless he was bait. Perhaps they thought Derek would come to the rescue with his newly-formed pack the moment he realized what had happened. But then that left the question of what they wanted with Derek at all. Or were they after Peter? So many questions and each one only intensified the dull thumping in his head.

Stiles attempted to push the pain out of his mind and instead focus on his bonds. He tested the cuffs around his wrists but they were too tightly locked to allow for any maneuverability. That left his ankles but with no option of getting his hands free, there was little hope of moving his legs. The 'x' shape his body was currently forced in to was not helping ease any of his discomfort.

He was on the verge of tears when he heard it, the low, heavy, howl of a really pissed off werewolf echoing through the room. Stiles struggled to swallow the dry lump in his throat, unsure if he should feel relieved or terrified. He went with terrified, though apparently his nether regions hadn't come to the same conclusion – his cock was starting to get hard. Stiles blushed in the darkness, cursing his body for responding like this every time he heard 'Were howls. Thank god he'd been sitting down behind a desk the first time Scott had howled...

Just as Stiles' cock reached its full hardness, pressing against his jeans, the room exploded with light and sound as the door burst open. He couldn't see from the sudden brightness but he could hear gunshots mixed with the loud crashes of heavy violence somewhere above him.

"Stiles, can you hear me?"

Dazed, Stiles turned his face toward the voice and smiled a little, nodding. Derek's face, etched with concern, was just inches away from Stiles'.

"We don't have much time," Derek said, bending down to rip apart the shackles on Stiles' ankles. As the first one clattered to the floor, Stiles was suddenly very aware of how close Derek's face was to his erection. Flustered, he watched Derek remove his second shackle. If Derek had noticed his hard-on, he wasn't acknowledging it, though Stiles still turned red with embarrassment.

With both shackles removed, Derek rose and wrapped one arm around Stiles to support him as the cuffs dangling Stiles by the wrists were each ripped easily apart by his free hand. Stiles' limp body collapsed on to Derek, who deftly repositioned Stiles until he was cradled in Derek's arms.

After a quick scan of the room, Derek bolted through the door. Stiles curled himself up as small as he could, resting his head against Derek's broad chest, listening to his heart beat steadily as he ran. They moved quickly through a long, concrete hallway, up some cracked steps, and burst in to the crumbling house that had once been home to the Hale family.

Stiles was only vaguely aware of his surroundings, still too out of it notice much. He caught only glimpses of the battle – fur, bullets, people, blood, all sailing by as Derek ran to the front door. Stiles couldn't tell who was winning.

"Let's go!" Derek roared behind him, jumping through the front door, over the porch entirely, and landing heavily in the leaf-covered yard, Stiles still cradled in his arms. Derek paused and turned to watch as Peter came bounding out of the house, followed quickly by Scott, Isaac, Boyd, and, much to Stiles' surprise, Chris Argent and a group of his men. It was then that Dr. Deaton rounded a corner of the house, his face serious with concentration, trailing black powder behind him.

"Ashwood," Stiles croaked. Derek nodded as they watched the vet connect the ends of a circle that must have surrounded the whole house. Not too soon, either, as the alphas came plummeting through the door after them, only to be thrown backward by the force of the invisible barrier that now trapped them. The alphas quickly sprang back to their feet, growling and pacing the porch.

"Now we burn it," Chris said, appearing beside Derek and Stiles. Derek's face clenched.

"It's the only way to beat them," Peter said, calmer than he should have been considering his past experiences with fire and this house.

"Fine," Derek said firmly, looking down at Stiles, "I'm getting Stiles out of here." Stiles thought he heard a slight quiver in his voice. Derek turned away, not looking back to watch the Argents torch the house, the howls of the alphas being burned alive filling the surrounding forest. Stiles would never forget that sound.

Derek was silent as he drove Stiles away from his old home that was once again aflame. Stiles watched him out of the corner of his eye as he drank heavily from the water bottle Derek had given him, for the first time unsure of what to say to the man. Instinctively, he put his hand on Derek's shoulder, ignoring the slight flinch he'd prompted.

"Thank you," Stiles said wearily, looking directly at Derek, "I know none of this could have been easy." Derek glanced over at his passenger and nodded.

"As much as you hate me, Stiles, I know you would do the same for me," Derek said, "you're a good person. I've lost too many good people." He turned his gaze back to the road. Stiles followed suit, though he left his hand on Derek's shoulder. And for the first time since Stiles had met him, Derek didn't tell him to remove his hand.

They remained quiet for the rest of the trip, even though Stiles was bursting with questions. He had too little stamina to really focus on anything anyway. They would have to wait. It didn't take them long to arrive back in to town. When the car finally came to a stop, however, it was not in front of Stiles' house.

"Isaac's? But my dad..." Stiles mumbled as Derek helped him out of the car.

"It's okay, Scott told your father you both were going camping over the weekend. He has no idea what happened," Derek said. Stiles sighed; he hated lying to his father, which is all he ever seemed to be doing these days.

Too weak to protest, Stiles was pulled in to Derek's arms once more as he was carried in to Isaac's house. Stiles was almost starting to enjoy being carried around; he'd forgotten how much he'd missed being cared for.

Inside, without turning a light on, Derek gently laid Stiles down on his back on a bed that he could only guess had been Isaac's. Stiles tried to push himself up on his elbows to say something but Derek shushed him and placed a hand on his shoulder, helping him lay back down.

"Just relax, there will be time for questions later. You need to feel better first. I'm going to help ease the pain a little, okay?" Derek said, pulling Stiles' bloodied shirt up over his head. His soft, pale chest moved gently with each breath, his nipples strikingly pink against his skin. Derek ran his fingers over Stiles' torso softly, lingering over the dark bruises that clustered on his ribs, pulling as much pain as he could from his body with every caress.

Stiles was beginning to feel better, the sharper pains subsiding in to dull aches. His eyelids began to droop, Derek's ministrations so comforting and gentle that he wasn't sure how much longer he could remain awake. As sleep took him, he smiled, wondering where Derek had learned to touch like this. Though Stiles could not see it, Derek smiled right back at him.


Stiles awoke with a start, disoriented by the sunlight streaming in to the unfamiliar room. He quickly looked around the room but saw no one. He glanced at the sheets next to him where they were crumpled and still warm. Had Derek slept next to him all night? Stiles blushed at the thought.

"Awake, I see," Derek said, walking in to the room holding a steaming mug, "how do you feel?"

"Better, thank you. Really disgusting, but better," Stiles said, running his fingers over his buzzed hair.

"Good," Derek said, handing Stiles the mug, "here, drink this. It should help, too." Stiles took the mug and gulped it down, thirstier than he'd thought he was. It tasted of honey and lemon, and something else that he wasn't quite sure of. Derek was right, it did help.

"Okay, I really think I need a shower. I can smell me and when I can smell myself I know it's bad," Stiles said, handing Derek the empty mug. He threw the sheets off himself only to let out a yelp and scramble to pull the sheets back up.

"I am naked! Why am I naked?!" Stiles yelled, his voice cracking.

"I had to make sure you weren't hurt anywhere else. Plus, your clothes were bloody. You fell asleep and I thought you wouldn't mind," Derek said, not looking away as Stiles glared at him.

"Well, I do mind! Oh god, you've seen me naked, bare, in the nude. I think you even slept in the same bed as me!"

"I couldn't leave you alone...I was worried about you." Derek's voice went tender, then, as he stepped closer to Stiles, who had the sheets pulled up to his chin.

"Oh," Stiles said, his look softening a little, "thanks. Um, I still really want to shower. I'm really okay now. Do you mind?"

"If you're sure. I'll be in the next room, just shout if you need anything," Derek said and left the room, leaving the door open a crack.

Stiles, sluggishly pulled himself from the bed, still feeling rather sore all over. He made his way to the connecting bathroom and started the shower. As he waited for the water the heat up, he inspected himself in the mirror, wincing at the bruising around his eyes and nose. He'd been roughed up a little more than he'd thought. Thankfully, he didn't remember a thing. Still, he wasn't about to impress anyone with his face beat up like this. Then again, he never did anyway.

Once he was under the hot spray of the shower, Stiles let out of a sigh of relief. He tilted his face up under the stream of warm water. It seemed to wash away any thought of worry, sending him in to an almost trance-like state. Before he knew what was happening, his head dizzy from the heat, Stiles fell toward the tiled floor of the shower.

"Oh, god," Stiles mumbled. But then Derek was there, catching Stiles' head just before it hit the floor.

"I can't keep my eyes off you for one second, can I?" Derek said. He picked Stiles up and carefully leaned him against the shower wall, protectively hunching over him. The water pouring over Derek caused his clothes to cling to all the right places.

"S'okay, I can't stop staring eith-" Stiles breath caught in his throat as Derek cut him off, pressing a kiss against Stiles' quivering lips.


Ugh, I feel like this is shit. Some feedback would be great! I hope this wasn't too boring or anything. Since this is more of a writing exercise for me, I'm only posting first drafts and not really doing anything to revise.

Anyway, yay flirts! And sexy times ahead, woohoo.