Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.

Read on, oh faithful ones...

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Chapter Four

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When Stiles woke up, it was to find Derek's head resting next to his ribs, their arms entangled under his sourwolf's head. He smiled softly at the sight, and contemplated closing his eyes to go to sleep again. A slight cough from the doorway made him realise that they weren't the only two in the room, and Stiles looked up to see his father standing in the doorway, still dressed in his Sheriff's uniform. His uniform was clean, but his dad kinda looked like shit, Stiles realised, frowning slightly.

"You 'kay, Dad?" he asked, still a little tired from the drugs he'd been given.

"I... Uh, I just..."

Stiles winced because his father's voice was wavering, his shoulders starting to shake, and then he was actually crying. Fuck, he hated it when his dad cried, and just like he was six years old all over again, Stiles had no idea what to do. There wasn't much he could do from this distance, and temporarily stuck in the bed thanks to the werewolf's weight beside him, but that didn't stop him from trying to get off the bed anyway.

Derek jolted awake sharply, and Stiles would normally laugh at his expression but he couldn't because his dad was crying, he didn't know why, and he didn't know how to make it better. Derek seemed to take in the situation at a glance, saw how distressed the Sheriff was and Stiles' look of anguish in a mere second before he stood up and guided the Sheriff over to the spare armchair, slowly leaching his pain as he sat down. Stiles sighed in relief when he saw that his Dad's shoulders had stopped shaking. The Sheriff wiped at his tears quickly, coughing again, but didn't move Derek's hand from his forearm, though the black lines were stark and easily seen in the bright glare of the lights overhead.

"Sorry, I... it's been a long 24 hours," the Sheriff muttered. "In fact, it's been a long three months. I didn't... I could've lost... Shit."

"Dad!" Stiles said, eyes wide because his father hardly ever swore.

"I'm a grown man, Stiles, I'm allowed to say what I want," John said, looking weary. "I'm fine now, Derek, thank you," he added.

Derek let the last lines of the Sheriff's pain draw up his arm before he let go and moved back to the chair on the other side of Stiles' bed. It didn't escape Stiles' attention that Derek still had his claws out, ready to attack or defend as needed.

"What's wrong, Pops?" Stiles asked, sitting up awkwardly and trying not to agitate his broken arm.

"I'm sorry for the way I've acted, the way I've treated you - ignored you. I didn't want to, but I still did it, and I'm so sorry."

"If you didn't want to, then why did you?" Derek asked, voice a low growl with his arms crossed over his chest.

The Sheriff sighed again, sounding weary and exhausted, and Stiles didn't know how he wanted to react. He was kind of pissed at his father for acting the way he had, but he looked so tired and upset that Stiles kind of wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and give him his hospital bed.

"Deaton and Scott believed it would be for the best. They didn't know if you were dangerous, if you were a danger to me, and after the warehouse, they convinced me it would be best to stay away. But if it means losing you, then screw that. You almost died, and I couldn't, I can't... I can't lose you too," the Sheriff said, voice broken. "I'm not going anywhere, son. Unless you want me to," he added hastily, looking at Stiles as if trying to determine his response from his expression alone.

Derek gave a slight nod, and Stiles knew that his dad was telling the truth at least. He looked down at his lap, the small device on his finger monitoring his heartbeat, and he could hear it was beating a little faster than normal.

"I need to think about it. I don't ... I don't want to lose you either, but the last three months have been kind of shitty, and I need some time, okay?"

John nodded reluctantly, standing slowly, like he was 150 years old instead of a spry almost-50 year old. "I understand. You, uh, call me, or text - whichever you want - whenever you've had enough time. I'll wait."

"I'll walk you out," Derek offered suddenly, hands dropping to his sides as he stood up, his claws finally retracted.

"Thanks, Derek," he replied quietly.

"No bacon or burgers!" Stiles called as they left.

He thought he heard a somewhat incredulous laugh from his father in response, and it brought a small smile to his face.

...

Stiles was a little jumpy when he was discharged from the hospital. It had nothing to do with his father not being there, and more to do with the fact that he was certain the monster would be in the parking lot waiting for him, come to finish off what it had started. Derek assured him that it wasn't, even going so far as to help Stiles outside himself. (He'd refused a wheelchair for something as small as a broken arm, though Derek had looked as though he'd wanted to argue with Stiles on his decision.)

Stiles' Jeep was at the mechanics, one of the many vehicles that had been damaged by the monster, so Derek drove him back to the loft in the Camaro instead. Stiles didn't bother asking why they weren't going to his home; both his father and Derek were taking his need for space and time seriously.

They made it inside the loft without incident, and when the large metal door slid shut behind him, Stiles let out a small sigh of relief. He felt much safer now that he was inside Derek's loft, and had a feeling that he wouldn't have felt quite as safe if he'd gone home instead.

"We don't have to train until your arm's healed," Derek said, heading upstairs with Stiles' bag slung over his shoulder.

"Why not?" Stiles called after him, confused. He headed over to the bottom of the winding staircase, looking up and waiting for Derek to reply or come back down.

"Because your arm's broken," Derek replied, sounding a little incredulous at Stiles' response.

"Yeah, so? Monsters aren't going to wait for my arm to heal, y'know. Might as well keep training."

Derek came back downstairs holding a shirt and pair of sweatpants. He handed them to Stiles, and frowned slightly. "You really don't want to stay in Beacon Hills, do you?"

"Not if I can help it," Stiles replied, tugging his pants off and pulling on the sweatpants awkwardly with one hand.

"Hands up," Derek said.

"Huh?"

"Put your hands up. I'm not taking you back to the hospital after you break your arm again because you were trying to put a shirt on," Derek deadpanned.

Stiles made a face, but put his hands up anyway. Derek scrunched up his shirt and pulled it off carefully, taking extra care not to hit Stiles' arm. He used the same care when putting the fresh shirt back on him, straightening it out with a broad palm. Stiles bit his lip so he wouldn't moan at the feeling of Derek touching him like this. They'd been closer when training, actually ended up straddling each other at one point or another, but this felt different. It felt like intent, like want. Stiles wasn't sure how to deal with either of those feelings, not when they were directed at him.

Derek's hands slipped down his chest to hold him at his waist, and Stiles was going to ask him what he was doing, if he was reading this whole thing right, but then Derek's hands moved to the middle of his pants, fingers splayed for a moment. Stiles felt a little light-headed, and this time he really was going to make the proper talking sounds with his mouth, then Derek pulled on the sweatpants' strings tight and tied them firmly around his waist.

"Whu?" Stiles murmured as Derek stepped back.

"We'll train tomorrow, okay? You can rest for one more night," Derek said, and Stiles might have been seeing things but he was almost positive that Derek's cheeks were red. "Chinese for dinner?" he asked, heading to the lounge room. "You can pick a movie," Derek added over his shoulder.

Stiles held onto the bannister to steady himself before he followed after Derek. The sooner he got out of Beacon Hills, the better.

By the time he'd finished eating his chow mein and egg rolls, and watched all of Captain America: Winter Soldier, Stiles was exhausted. He'd done nothing but sleep and rest for the last two days in hospital, but it was different at the loft, and not just because he didn't have drugs. Derek had started to leach his pain halfway through the movie, which made Stiles even drowsier still. He barely managed to see Bucky and Steve's fight on the air carrier - which was one of his favourite parts of the movie - before he rested his head on Derek's shoulder to sleep.

Stiles was aware that he was being moved, that he was being carried upstairs, and he clung to Derek's shirt with his good arm, not letting go even when he fell back to sleep seconds later. He must have been dreaming when he felt a soft press of lips at his temple, or the firm arm that wrapped around his middle, or felt the warm breath that ghosted along his neck.

...

Stiles had been sitting in Deaton's examination office for almost twenty minutes. Derek had spent every one of those minutes glowering at Deaton so hard the other man might actually have died if looks really could kill. Deaton, for all of his calm and cool-headedness, looked wary of Derek. Stiles wanted to laugh when he realised that Deaton took the long way around the examination table just to avoid where Derek was sitting. Instead, he raised an eyebrow at Derek as if to say 'look what you've done now', and Derek's mouth quirked slightly in response.

"You're certain you were using the soap I gave you?" Deaton asked.

"You mean the soap that removed his scent and was supposed to keep him safe?" Derek growled, features tight with anger once more.

"Uh, yeah, I was using it," Stiles added.

"I never said safe, I simply stated that the monster should not be able to find you by your scent. Since it did find you, then we must assume it is tracking you by something else. Had your clothes been washed recently, your car?"

"Washed my clothes on the weekend, like always," Stiles replied.

"But not your car?"

"No; washing the Jeep wasn't on my to do list for last weekend. That list was pretty much taken up by 'not dying'," Stiles muttered, not even trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"Wash your car, wash your clothes, and use the soap this time. It won't be able to find you next time," Deaton promised.

"There won't be a next time," Derek snarled, taking Stiles' arm and leading him out of Deaton's examination room, to both Deaton and Stiles' surprise.

Stiles stayed quiet until they were in the Camaro, Derek pulling out of the parking lot a few moments later. "You came close to clawing Deaton's face off in there, didn't you?" he asked.

Derek glanced over at him briefly, then turned his attention back to the road. His eyes were blue and fingers were clawed, knuckles white as he clenched the wheel tighter.

"He didn't protect you, and he and Scott convinced your father to avoid you like the plague. I'm not forgiving him any time soon."

Stiles wondered if Derek had felt the same wolf-invoking anger with the Druid after his family had died. Derek glanced at him as Stiles reminisced on how angry Derek had been that he'd been hurt, the recent lingering touches and looks, how he would have fought the Sheriff to keep him safe, his answer every morning when Stiles asked whether they'd leave. Everything seemed to slot into place, and Stiles looked at Derek, realising something important that he should have realised months ago.

"Hey, turn up here. On the left," Stiles said, grinning broadly.

Derek didn't even question him, flicking the indicator on and turning down the road. They passed the 'Thank you for visiting Beacon Hills' sign in relative silence, the only noise from Stiles' leg jittering against the floor. The road out of Beacon Hills had been carved out through the forest, the preserve still stretching on either side, and large conifers leaning towards each other overhead. Under the canopy of green, it almost felt like they were in a large ocean instead of a forest, and Stiles grinned at Derek's expression in the filtered light. He had calmed enough that his eyes were hazel and his claws had slipped away.

"Right up ahead."

"Where? There's nothing but trees, Stiles."

"There's a road there, promise," he replied. "See the marker on the road, right after that."

Derek nodded, and turned right at the marker. The gap between the trees was slim, barely wide enough for a car to fit through, and Derek thought that most people would drive straight past it, especially if they were on their way out of Beacon Hills. He certainly had never noticed it before.

He drove at a slower pace, wary of fallen trees, but the further he drove, Derek realised that the path was widening somewhat. It was gradual, but eventually, the path stopped and both the driver and passenger side doors could open without a scratch. Stiles clambered out of the car with all of his usual grace, closing the door behind him and looking down to where Derek was still seated.

"C'mon, sourwolf. We've only got so much daylight left, and I want to be home before that monster tracks me down again."

Derek felt a swelling of something flow through him at the word 'home'; he didn't know how to describe it, but it felt right. Then the rest of Stiles' sentence filtered through, and he let out a small growl and was out of the car within seconds. Before Stiles could say or do anything, Derek pulled him close, sitting on the hood of his Camaro with Stiles fitted between his legs. He wrapped his arms around him, buried his face into the crook of his neck, and made sure that his scent was all over Stiles. The soap might remove Stiles' scent, but that hadn't stopped the damn monster last time. Derek refused to let Stiles get hurt by that creature again.

"All right, I think I'm scented enough now, Der. Even I can smell that I smell like you," Stiles added, patting him on the back.

Derek lingered for a moment longer, his lips brushing against the curve of Stiles' neck as he pulled away. Stiles had his eyes closed, his hands resting on Derek's waist, and Derek felt a surge of pride when he scented Stiles' arousal and saw the goosebumps that had pricked up along Stiles' skin because of him.

"So, where are we?" Derek prompted gently, keeping his hand on Stiles' shoulder, his thumb stroking his scent against Stiles' collarbone lightly.

Stiles blinked, his pupils dilated to the point where the brown colour of his irises was nothing but a thin line, and he licked his lips quickly.

"About three minutes outside of Beacon Hills. The first day I got my license and could drive on my own, I headed out of town. I'd spent so much time driving around Beacon Hills that I wanted nothing more than to get out, just be by myself for a bit. I had a panic attack within five minutes of passing the sign; the world seemed so much bigger suddenly, and I didn't know how to cope with that, so I pulled in to the side of the road and drove into the trees through the largest gap I could find. It felt safe, like I'd been wrapped up in a cocoon and everything would be all right again.

"I stayed in here for the rest of the day. It took me another month before I could even go past the sign without hyperventilating, even for lacrosse games; the others thought I was nervous about the upcoming game or something, I think," Stiles mused, shrugging. "Then I realised that just because the world is huge, it doesn't mean that I'm small. In comparison, yeah, sure, but everything on Earth is small in comparison, and just because something's small, it doesn't mean it can't leave any less of an impact than something ten times their size.

"So I started driving everywhere in Beacon County. I pulled out the map that had been under my seat since Dad gave it to me, and I drove to every street, lane, boulevard, whatever, that I could find. I found a little place that sells European meats and their kielbasa is amazing. I found that there's a clothing market in the main street of one of the smaller towns, and Lydia would probably love the one-off pieces. There's at least four occult stores within fifteen minutes of Beacon Hills, and I'm pretty sure that three of them are owned by real witches," Stiles added, stopping to think and breathefor a moment.

"Stiles? I don't understand what your point is with all this," Derek admitted a moment later when Stiles didn't continue.

Stiles looked up at the trees above them, branches reaching and entwining, and gave a small grin. "When I was going to run away, I was going to get another book of maps and find out everything I could about all of these different towns. I was going to head out on my own, and I knew that no one would be able to find me because I knew how to get lost in Beacon County, so I could lose anyone too, even those with wolfy senses," he added with a short laugh.

Derek wanted to argue, to tell Stiles he'd always be able to find him as his anchor, but he suspected that Stiles already knew.

"When you said you were going to come with me, that I was your anchor, I realised that I didn't want to leave on my own again. I wanted you to go with me, and not just because you're my anchor too," Stiles admitted, and even in the green haze, Derek could see a faint blush on Stiles' cheeks.

"Are you asking me to run away with you?" Derek asked after a moment.

"Yeah, I kinda am," Stiles said, laughing. "We'll leave tomorrow?"

"If you'd like," Derek replied as always, then tugged Stiles close to kiss him firmly.

Stiles melted against Derek's chest, fingers clutching his shoulders as they kissed for the first time. Derek's mouth was soft, but his stubble brushed against his skin, feeling as though static electricity sparked between them. Stiles licked at Derek's lips, his tongue brushing up against his as Derek parted his lips. Derek's fingers tightened on Stiles' hips, and Stiles could feel himself being tugged firm up against Derek's body. They pulled away eventually, Stiles' eyes hooded as he licked his lips to chase the taste of Derek on his mouth. Derek smiled and gave him a chaste kiss.

"Let's go home."

Stiles nodded, and they each headed to their sides of the Camaro. Derek had to concentrate on reversing out of the forest path, but he could feel Stiles watching him. When they were on the road again and heading back towards Beacon Hills, Stiles rested his hand on Derek's thigh. He let go of the steering wheel long enough to squeeze Stiles' hand gently in return, and Stiles' smiled happily the rest of the way home.

...

End of the fourth chapter.

Thanks for reading!