Blood on the Moon


Summary: With a new pack in town, Stiles is put in danger and Derek has to find a way to protect him without pushing him away completely. Slow!burn Sterek. Tropes galore.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone for reading, and also for the comments! Posting this before I go to work today because I don't finish until late :S

Rating may change, but currently this is suitable for teens and up...

Warning: Slash!

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, I'm just playing around with them.


Chapter 7

It was nearing midnight when Sheriff Stilinski arrived at the hospital. There was something so distinct about the scent of a father worrying about his son that Derek could tell as soon as the Sheriff entered the building, even with the door to Stiles' room closed. He waited patiently with Scott and could tell he wasn't the only one listening as the Sheriff approached. There was a momentary pause at the nurses' station, and a few words exchanged between Sheriff Stilinski and Ms McCall, but then he was moving again.

When the door to Stiles' room opened, Derek jumped straight to his feet.

"Sheriff Stilinski," Scott called, moving to his feet also and having enough respect to incline his head a little as he shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, throat moving as he visibly swallowed. His gaze shifted from the Sheriff to Stiles, and then back again.

"Scott," Stilinski answered, voice terse and posture tense. He moved into the room, eyes flitting over Derek briefly, but not so brief that Derek missed the message there – small and clear, meant just for him: 'I'll deal with your presence in a minute'.

But for now, with Scott there, he was going to ignore Derek and Derek was happy to be ignored. Except Scott seemed to pick up on this and rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, glancing between the two.

"I'll er... I'll go get the Doctor," the young Beta continued, which meant that Derek's minute was just about up.

And yes, as soon as Scott was out the room, door closed firmly behind him, Sheriff Stilinski was there – right in Derek's space.

"Why is that, as soon as you arrive back in town, that's when I start finding out that not only is my son lying to me and getting himself into all kinds of trouble, but he's getting beaten up too? And now this?" He pointed to Derek, eyes locked on him and refusing to back down. You could always rely on a Stilinski to be as stubborn as Hell itself.

"Mr Stilinski," Derek started, gaze falling away, unable to take the accusation written in the man's eyes.

"Sheriff Stilinski," he reminded, the meaning clear. He had the law on his side, and he had access to weapons and handcuffs and prison cells, and there was always bound to be something he could lock Derek up for.

Derek nodded and opened his mouth to continue, but any explanation fell away because there was no explaining it. It certainly wasn't time for the talk about werewolves, or the Sheriff would be sure to shoot him right there on the spot, not to mention that it wouldn't be fair on Scott to rat him out as well.

"What the hell happened to my son, Hale?" Stilinski demanded, taking a step forward.

Derek took an instinctive step back, finding himself up against the wall of the room in the progress. The man before him was only human, but the power he held was so much more than the brute strength of a werewolf. He was a father in pain, a father protecting his only son and possibly last remaining family member. Derek understood how that felt, or at least he understood how it felt to fail and consequently lose everything and everyone.

Still, he said nothing, turning the question over in his head. The truth was, he wasn't entirely sure what had happened. All he knew was that wolfsbane and Peter were involved, and neither was good news.

"Fine," Stilinski continued, jaw tight as he lowered his hands to his hips and shifted from one foot to the other, keeping himself in check, "then let's start with something simple: what exactly is your relationship with my son?"

Derek found himself looking up at that, eyes widening at the question – another one he wasn't sure how to answer. After all, he didn't really know. What was his relationship with Stiles? Sure, they both knew Scott and that was what linked them. Then there was the continued saving of each other's lives, like a cycle that kept repeating over and over. And there was all the stuff in between too, but then, it was more than that. It had been more than that for awhile, even if Derek had refused to acknowledge it.

"I barely know him," he finally forced himself to answer, barely able to keep Stilinski's gaze.

"Then why are you still here?" There was anger in the undertone, and Derek knew that the question was more of a hint – a warning for him to leave.

But leaving wasn't an option. He couldn't, just like he couldn't answer with an 'I don't know'. Because he did know. He knew exactly why he was there. He was there because he couldn't leave and because he had to be there when Stiles woke up.

The Sheriff must have seen the look in his eyes, visibly calming in the silence the question had left behind and taking a step back. He took a breath and ran a hand up and through his hair, as if processing what that silence meant.

"He's my son," he said eventually, and it sounded so broken, so tired and worn, like it was what he was clinging onto – the one thing to keep him going, to get him through the day and night. An anchor, not for an internal wolf, but for something else altogether.

Derek could see the sadness in the sheriff's eyes. He recognised it well, because it was the same sadness he saw in Stiles'. "I know," he answered, soft as he tried not to swallow around the words.

"I'm not blind, Hale," the sheriff continued on. "I know there's something going on in this town, and I know you're involved somehow. Stiles... He... Whatever it is that's happening..."

"Stiles will be safe. I promise," Derek interrupted before Stilinski could say anything further.

"He's too curious for his own good and he just can't leave things alone. So I swear to you, if anything happens to him – you're the one I'll come looking for."

Derek could only nod, and thankfully he was saved the trouble of saying anything further when Scott arrived back with the doctor. As soon as the doctor entered the room, Derek shifted and slipped past him out into the hallway to leave Sheriff Stilinski and the doctor alone. Scott followed and stood with him near the door, far enough away to give the doctor and Stilinski space but close enough so Derek could hear what was being said.

"How is he?" Stilinski started, the worry clear, his attention on the doctor and Stiles. Derek imagined him to have moved to the bed, no doubt sitting next to Stiles and gripping his hand, like a father should.

"Your son is strong, Mr Stilinski," the doctor answered. "He seems to be responding well to treatment, though it could be a few days before the aconite poison is fully out of his system. If I could, I would like to keep him for a couple of days to ensure he continues to respond and doesn't relapse."

"Relapse..." There was a haunted memory on that word that Derek could hear, even if he didn't know what it was. It was clear, the fear and stuttering of the sheriff's heart.

"Personally, I don't think it will happen. But in cases like this, I would prefer to be sure just in case. After all, we have no way of knowing just how high the dosage was he received, or the potency."

"So he's going to be okay?"

There was a moment of silence and Derek hoped the doctor was nodding, then he finally spoke again, confirming the action. "There is no reason for him not to make a full recovery."

After that, their talk dissolved into finer details and paperwork, so Derek turned his attention to Stiles' heartbeat instead. With Sheriff Stilinski in the room, looking over Stiles, Derek and Scott returned to the seats by the nurses' station. Time was drifting on and Derek felt himself drifting too, his eyes closing occasionally against his will before snapping open again whenever his head dropped forward.

It was the voices that dragged him from another micro nap the next time and Derek brushed a hand over his face in an attempt to wake himself up properly. He listened to the sounds of Ms McCall attempting to convince Sheriff Stilinski to go home and get some rest, uttering promises of someone calling him when Stiles woke up. It took some bargaining but eventually she won out and, whilst on a roll, declared she would drive him home once she'd clocked off because it wouldn't do having the sheriff of Beacon Hills crash due to falling asleep at the wheel.

Whether it was because he was too tired or just didn't notice, when Stilinski passed Derek and Scott by, he said nothing, leaving Ms McCall to fill the silence.

"He'll be okay," she comforted, addressing Scott and pulling her keys from her bag. "So don't tire yourself out. Get some rest."

"I'm fine, mom," Scott answered, offering up a small smile.

Ms McCall hesitated before nodding, moving off without another word to guide the sheriff to her car. When they were gone, Derek and Scott returned to Stiles' room and Derek spent the next hour attempting to keep himself awake whilst Scott used one of the spare beds to relax on. He didn't feel himself nodding off, but somewhere along the line, he knew he must have.


Stiles had woken up in hospital before, so he recognised that faint smell of disinfectant almost instantly, and the sound of the whirring machines, beeping every so often. Even the itch of the hospital sheets against his skin wasn't a new one; there had been plenty a time he had fallen asleep rested against his mom's bed, and plenty more times he had woken up to find a sheet draped over him for warmth.

Having machines hooked up to him and finding himself trapped within the sheets, a foot still in a dream that continued to grow ever distant, that was different. That was enough to make him panic. Mind muddled and vision blurred, he could feel his heart racing in his chest, ribcage tightening and throat closing up to the point that he was beginning to feel like he was suffocating on nothing but air.

He fought against the sheets and the wires and the tubes, desperately clinging to each struggled breath. The lights in the room were too bright and everything was still far too blurry, his thoughts too jumbled for him to remember why he was in hospital.

"Stiles." The voice was soothing, but demanding, the hand upon his shoulder sturdy, but not forceful. "You're safe."

But he didn't feel safe.

"Breathe, Stiles," the voice instructed. "In and out."

Another hand found his other shoulder and something was pushed into his own hands and forced up toward his mouth. "Here," a second voice ordered, "breathe into this."

He did, seeing no reason to argue. Within moments the room began to stop spinning and he began to regain enough of himself to work out what had happened and who the voices belonged to.

"Asthma?" the first voice questioned, Derek most definitely, even though the sound was still muffled by the fact that Stiles' ears seriously needed popping after feeling like he had just been submerged in a tank full of water.

"Panic attack," Scott explained, and his voice wavered in such a way that Stiles knew he was somewhat disturbed by having to witness it firsthand.

Stiles took his time to recover, still breathing into the rough paper bag Scott had handed him, though with each breath he felt steadier and surer of his thoughts. Finally, when he pulled the bag away, he allowed himself to collapse backward onto the bed. Panic attacks. Just as fun as he remembered.

Scott's and Derek's hands left him, though they both remained where they were, watching over him.

"Stiles," Scott started, low and uncertain in the silence of the room, the kind of early morning silence that tended to break sometime after seven.

"I know," Stiles answered, cutting over him and the unformed 'we have to talk about what happened' that was surely coming. "Just give me a moment."

"You were poisoned with wolfsbane, you almost didn't have a moment."

"Dude, I know, and I know it was a risk."

"A risk?" Derek jumped in. "You mean you knew what my uncle was planning and you just went along with it? You idiot – are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Hey, buddy, it's not like your plan was any better."

"Really? And what exactly is this master plan of yours? Die by wolfsbane poisoning? Because werewolves aren't the only ones affected by it, or did my uncle neglect to tell you that part?"

Stiles didn't need Peter or anyone to tell him the effects of wolfsbane. He had done enough reading on the subject to know the stuff was potent to humans and werewolves alike, and could kill just as quick as any other deadly plant out there.

"He told me what the pack is doing... to humans," Stiles admitted instead, because Peter had said that much. He sunk a little, losing some of his fight as the words slipped out.

He wasn't the only one, some of the tension lessened around Derek's shoulders and his gaze softened. After all, he probably already knew. They had only skimmed over the subject before, Derek merely acknowledging that something was done. But Peter was more than happy to divulge on just what that was; stating how he believed it was now relevant to Stiles' survival.

Scott looked between them, and when the silence went on too long, he spoke up. "What?" he questioned. "What do they do?"

"It's a form of wolf venom," Derek answered, solemn, and yes – it seemed he knew all the gory details. "A rare mutation that sometimes happens in Betas. Their bite doesn't turn people, like an Alpha's does, but it brings on a kind of rage."

"Like rabies," Stiles supplied at the perplexed look on Scott's face. It seemed like an apt way to describe the effect, given that they were dealing with werewolves.

"So the wolfsbane...?" Scott continued in his questioning.

"Theoretically, it could help to counteract the effects of the Bite," Derek added with a nod, and then he turned on Stiles and his jaw clenched, his eyes hard and unrelenting. "Except you're not going to be bitten because you're not going anywhere near them. You're going to stay here until the wolfsbane is fully out of your system and you're recovered."

Stiles shook his head and pulled himself up. He didn't wait for the lightheaded feeling to pass before starting to pull himself free of the wires, as well as the tube that was mostly likely feeding the antibiotics into his system. He didn't even stop when he felt the hands on him attempting to push him back down into bed, both Scott and Derek manhandling him.

"Stop!" he called after another moment of struggling. "Just stop!"

And they all came to a halt, even Stiles. He took a breath and looked between them, their hands still mere inches away from him, ready to start in their manhandling again at the first sign of movement.

"Can't we just talk about this?" he asked, even though he knew he had already made up his mind. He had made his decision the moment Peter had sent him that message and he refused to turn back now.

"What you did was reckless and stupid," Derek answered. "You could have died!"

There was something in his voice there, and in the way Scott closed his eyes momentarily, that made Stiles wonder if he was missing something. He opened his mouth and choked down the curiosity because he had a damn point to make, and he wasn't going to get distracted.

"I'm not dead though," he said in return, "And if I don't get out of here, it'll all be for nothing."

This time Derek shook his head. "You're staying here and you're going to take whatever medicine they give you to get better because the one thing you are not doing is, you are not playing bait."

He turned away, his feet already moving toward the door as if to signal the end of the argument. He obviously still wasn't used to the fact that Stiles wasn't ever going to pay a blind bit of notice to him unless doing so would benefit Stiles in some way. Either that, or he figured that eventually Stiles would just give in to the big bad wolf routine.

Stiles pulled the last of the wires free and cringed when he pulled the needle from him arm, and wow... that was a lot longer than he expected.

"Tell me this," he demanded, watching Scott's head fall forward because his friend knew exactly how stubborn Stiles was, "where am I gonna be safer? Stuck in here, alone? Or out there with a pack of wolves who have my back?"

Derek paused at the door, and even though he didn't look back Stiles could tell he was listening to every word, so he continued on before either Derek or Scott could interrupt.

"'Cause I mean, I know Scott says he isn't your pack... but he kinda is, and I'm his... so by extension – you have to protect me."

There was a pause there and Derek turned slowly. Stiles barely caught the distant look in the Alpha's eyes, as if the guy was remembering something, but then it was gone and he was looking at Stiles, almost incredulously. "Are you saying you're my pack?"

"You got a problem with that?" Stiles challenged, raising an eyebrow.

There was a flicker of something there, something Stiles couldn't place, and then that tight predatory smile of Derek's slipped onto his face and he stalked forward until he was at the foot of Stiles' bed. He set both hands on the bar, spread apart so he was leaning down, his eyes level with Stiles' and head cocked just a little to the side.

Stiles swallowed at the look in those eyes, refusing to acknowledge the warmth spreading across his skin, crawling up his back to tickle at his neck and ears and cheeks.

"You want to be in my pack, you do as I say."

"Within reason," Stiles added, tongue snaking out to dampen his suddenly dry lips.

Derek considered him for a moment, the grin slowly slipping away as his usual mask fell back into place. Eventually he nodded though, and thank the lord for that, because with a stare that intense, Stiles was surprised he hadn't turned to a puddle of mushy goo within the bed sheets.

He tried to find his voice again after that, glancing between Scott and Derek and shifting uncomfortably in the bed. "So, er... is anyone going to pass me my clothes so we can get out of here?"


Thanks for reading! New chapter coming Thursday!