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: Okay, so I'm going to just apologise now for mini cliffhanger that waits at the end of this chapter. But if it helps, I can promise that the next update will definitely be on Monday (unless the internet shuts down and the zombie apocalypse happens...). THANK YOU to everyone for reading, and thank you hugely for the comments I've received - they're really encouraging and I'm glad you're enjoying reading this as much as I've been enjoying writing it.

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 8

If Stiles thought attempting to get dressed with Scott and Derek in the room was a challenge, then trying to convince Derek to let him go home without an escort was like attempting to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, or trying to shove fifty or so marshmallows into your mouth at once. Derek was stubborn, but his stubbornness was nothing compared to Stiles'.

"I need my Jeep," Stiles argued when they were out of the hospital, thanks to lots of sneaking about and the lack of people about due to how early it still was. "I refuse to leave my Jeep at your creepy house for you werewolves to use as a fire hydrant."

Derek rolled his jaw and pulled his keys from his pocket. "Then I'll drop it off for you, as soon as you and Scott are at your place."

"Noooo," Stiles drew out, coming to a stop and refusing to take another step.

Scott and Derek paused too, several steps ahead, both looking back at him – Derek with his eyebrow raised and Scott with his brow burrowed.

"I've seen how you drive," Stiles went on, because Derek owned a freaking Camaro and Stiles' Jeep was most definitely not a Camaro. They were in two completely different leagues, and there was no way Stiles was handing over the keys just for his Jeep to be abused in such a manner. "Either I drive, or Scott does."

"You want Scott to drive your Jeep?" Derek questioned, and his eyebrow rose even further. "Scott drives like an old lady."

"Hey!" Scott protested, but it was totally true.

"Exactly!" Stiles answered. "Which is why I know I'll get my Jeep back in one piece."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Scott complained, his shoulders slumping a little.

But Stiles brushed the question off and continued on while he had a chance. "Look, my dad will be home and I'm pretty sure he's more than capable of protecting me – not that I even need protecting – so just drop me off, and then you and Scott can go and get my Jeep, and maybe even take a shower, because I hate to say it... but you both kinda reek."

Neither Scott nor Derek looked too impressed with that remark, though admittedly out of the two of them, Scott didn't look like he wanted to rip Stiles' throat out for stating fact. He even went so far as to sniff himself a little and wrinkle his nose up at the smell, because it was true. They needed to shower, Stiles needed to shower, and there was no way he was letting them use up all his hot water, not when he wanted a nice lengthy hot shower himself.

"Okay?" he asked, though the question was rhetorical and he didn't wait for either of them to answer before clapping his hands in front of him, giving them a quick rub and moving forward. "Awesome. Let's go."

Derek was still being grumpy about the whole thing when he parked up outside of Stiles' house, but he didn't argue. He just clenched his jaw and looked to Stiles with both eyebrows raised in a warning that tainted his voice also. "We'll be back in two hours, and if you're not here when we get back, I will hunt you down and kill you myself."

"Really? I'm not out of the hospital for five minutes and you're already making threats. What about my health, mister? Injured party here."

"If you were that bothered about your health, you would have stayed in the hospital." There was an underlying threat there too, that Stiles heard clear as day. It went something like 'if you don't stop talking, I'll even be so kind as to take you back there and tuck you into the nice hospital bed'.

"Oh my God! Fine, okay... I'm sorry. Just, seriously... I'm getting out now, and I'm not going to randomly get attacked by some werewolf whilst you're gone. Not gonna happen. So please, feel free to take your time in getting back." He held his hands out in front of him, clasped within one another, pleading to Derek, but Derek was remorseless, so Stiles' hands fell back down with a thump and he rolled his neck like a sharp tick in defeat. "Or not. You know, whatever suits you."

"Two hours," Derek repeated.

"Sounds good to me," Scott agreed from the back, earning himself a death glare from Stiles, because really, who's side was he on anyway?

Stiles grumbled under his breath and tugged the door open, dragging himself from the car in a sulk. He trudged up the path to his house, shoulders slumped like the sulking teenager he was, and only turned around to face the car again once he was at the door. It was only when he was inside, the door closed and latched behind him, that Derek pulled away. And it was only when Stiles knew that Scott and Derek could no longer see him that he slumped even further for a whole different world of reasons.

He closed his eyes and fell back against the door, letting go of a deep sigh. Whether it was from everything that had happened, or from the wolfsbane still in his system, he wasn't sure, but he knew that his head was spinning and his mind was having trouble trying to catch up. A little rest, without Scott and Derek looking over him as if they were just waiting on him to pass out so they could force feed him medicine and lock him back up in the hospital, that was all he needed.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

But judging by his father's angry voice, he wasn't going to get it just yet.

He opened his eyes and looked to the figure of his dad, offering up a sheepish smile. "Hi, Dad!"

"You... you're supposed to be in hospital!" His father moved forward until he was right in front of Stiles, looking to him with eyes that were just as judging as Derek's and Scott's had been. "And don't you dare lie to me, Stiles. They didn't let you out, so why are you here?"

Stiles felt himself shrinking a little, wishing he could have bypassed this whole conversation. His father's eyes were angry, but also worried, a much deeper worry that Stiles rarely saw because nothing was ever that bad. Not really. But this worry, this fear Stiles could see... he could only imagine how he would have felt if things had been the other way around and he had seen his father hooked up to machines, lying unconscious in hospital. It was too painful an idea to think about.

"I couldn't," Stiles started, before pausing at the look on his father's face. He swallowed, which was actually quite painful considering how dry his throat and mouth were. "I couldn't stay there."

The words had a double meaning, and he knew his dad would get it. He knew his dad would understand what Derek or Scott wouldn't. Because yes, he had to get out of the hospital so he could be of some use, but also... he couldn't stay there, trapped within those itchy white sheets, listening to the machines and voices from out in the hospital corridor. He couldn't stay there, not with the memory all too clear of that time, years ago, when he had been on the other side of the hospital bed, with his mother lying there. Dying.

His father softened and nodded. He did understand. Stiles knew he would. But before Stiles could make any move to push away from the door and head toward his room, his father shuffled from foot to foot and opened his mouth, as if to say something. Stiles waited, still and silent, looking his father over. And then it came.

"Stiles, if there's something going on... anything at all, you know you can talk to me, right?"

"Yeah, I know," he answered, but his father didn't look convinced. If anything, he looked even more forlorn. "I'm fine, Dad. Everything's going to be alright."


Derek was wound tight. Every nerve in his body was threatening to snap if stretched any further. The only good thing? Scott seemed to sense this and said nothing from the back of the Camaro. He didn't even attempt to move up front and into the passenger seat. Derek suspected the young Beta would be glad to be free of the car, and of Derek, when they finally arrived back at his house.

He glanced in the rear view mirror and caught sight of Scott watching him. Almost immediately, Scott turned away and focused on something else whilst Derek grit his teeth.

The truth was, Derek didn't know how to handle this. Any of it. He wasn't supposed to care and he wasn't supposed to be feeling all of these mixed up feelings. But he was, and it made his skin itch and chest ache. Stiles made his skin itch and chest ache.

He was just a kid. A stupid kid who had no idea what he was dealing with. It would serve him right if something happened to him, but that very thought had Derek tightening his grip on the steering wheel as he tried to force the sickly feeling back down. What was it about Stiles that had Derek wanting to protect him, to keep him safe from everything?

The Bite was a gift. As his mother had told him when he was young, the wolf made you special and powerful. So there was no reason for Derek to want to keep that from Stiles, because with the Bite, Stiles would be able to protect himself. If Stiles was a wolf, the new pack in town wouldn't want to use him. And yet...

Stiles was already special. He was human, and that made him strong in his own right. And most of all, for Derek, it meant he could walk away whenever he wanted to. He could cut ties and leave at anytime, back to a life where he wouldn't be in danger. Where werewolves and hunters and all other beings didn't exist.

"Derek," Scott sounded from the back seat, clearing his throat a little.

Derek shook his head, pushing away the thoughts and turned his attention to Scott. "What?"

"You er... you missed the turning."

A quick glance around told Derek that Scott was right, and he growled at himself in frustration. Clearly he couldn't even focus on driving with Stiles so constantly scratching at the back of his mind, so how he was meant to focus on anything else was beyond him. He manoeuvred the car effortlessly, swinging it around and heading back toward the turning he needed.

It was another five or ten minutes before they were at the house, and as Derek suspected, Scott couldn't get away quick enough. He jumped from the Camaro and pulled Stiles' keys from his pocket, already headed toward the Jeep. He only paused long enough to see if Derek had anything to offer up, but Derek kept his low warnings to himself. After last night, he doubted Scott needed telling again.

Derek watched the young Beta tear away, heading back into town, and waited until the sounds of the Jeep disappeared before turning his attention to Isaac who had stumbled from the house.

"How is he?" Isaac asked immediately, concern written across his features.

"He's safe, for now," Derek answered, pocketing his keys and heading up toward the house. "I can't say the same for my uncle."

With those words hanging heavy in the air, Isaac didn't follow. He was smart enough to sense the fight in Derek and smart enough to stay out of the way. Peter on the other hand, he was cocky and possibly just a little masochistic. He greeted Derek at the door with a beaming smile and open arms. Derek's fist connected easily with his jaw, sending the man back a few steps and into the house.

"Not exactly the hello I was expecting," Peter retorted, bringing his hand up to his jaw and rolling it gently.

"He's just a kid!" Derek answered. "And you manipulated him!"

"I gave him what he wanted." The words were calm and placid, little to no defence in them because Peter was above feeling the need to defend himself and his actions.

It made Derek's hands tighten into fists at his sides as he resisted the urge to throw another punch. "And what was that exactly?"

"I gave him a way to survive," Peter threw back at him, "A way to fight back and defend himself, because he's a realist. He knows they're coming for him and he knows you can't protect him."

"They're not going to get him."

Peter scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning away from Derek, his tone patronising. "Why? Because you said so? You know, you'll only end up pushing him away with that attitude. The tighter you hold onto something, my dear nephew, the more likely you are to break it yourself."

"And the wolfsbane?" Derek growled out, already knowing the answer but suspecting there was more to it. There always was with Peter.

"If we're lucky, it'll keep him sane," Peter explained, turning to face Derek again, head cocked to the side. "And if we're not, then at least it'll give them a nasty burn when they bite him."

Of course, and there it was. The wolfsbane in Stiles' system, it wasn't just about defence. It was a weapon. Peter was using Stiles as a weapon against the new pack. He was practically offering Stiles up to them, just so he could take them by surprise.

"You can fight it all you want, Derek," Peter continued, "But the sooner you stop treating him like a fragile little flower that needs to be locked away, the sooner we can get on the same page and actually do what needs doing."


The shower was warm and welcome. Stiles stood under the head for the longest time, just letting the water wash over him and allowing it to remove the traces from the day before. The sweat, the mingled scents that he was sure would be there, and the blood from the wound on his arm.

Someone had wrapped it for him at the hospital but the stained bandages had since been discarded in the bin under the sink. If he felt up to it, he would probably try to wrap a fresh bandage around it, but given how heavy every part of him felt, he doubted that would happen. He doubted he would be able to do much else besides get dressed and collapse on his bed in order to sleep away the rest of the day.

He leaned forward against the wall of the shower, his arm resting beside the fixture for support as the water continued to flow, running down the curve of his back. Everything inside his head was still so messed up. Even with finally being alone, he couldn't find the energy to wade through it all and make sense of it.

Since Scott had been bitten, Stiles had been there. He had always been there, somehow. Even when he didn't want to be, even when it went against his better judgement. He was there, and it all kind of fit in a strange way. No one questioned it, and if they did, they kept the questions to themselves. But now, now Derek was all 'you're human, go sit in the corner and wait until it's over'.

And once over, Stiles would have gladly agreed.

But these were his friends. This was his town. And he could do something. He could actually make a difference, even if he wasn't a werewolf. So if he could, what gave him the right to just sit back and let everyone else take the hits? Even if it was Derek

His mind wandered to the night before and the conversation with Peter. He remembered the fear wrapping around his heart and edging its way across his mind.

"Do you want to be the lamb, or do you want to be the wolf?"

The words still circled around his head even now, the feeling that made his throat tighten as he struggled not to choke on the anxiety the words caused.

"Are you talking metaphorically here or..."

Peter's canines had lengthened at that point, his eyes glowing softly in the dark, like a will-o'-the-wisp – a gentle light in the fog at night, leading travellers astray and to their doom. Stiles had swallowed.

"Are you going to bite me?"

The question was strangled, his throat working to keep the words down as he knew he was almost too afraid to hear the answer. But the answer had not been what he had expected, because it was Peter Hale – who did threatening loom almost as well as his nephew, if not better.

"I can't. I'm not the Alpha anymore, remember? Only Derek can offer you the Bite."

Stiles closed his eyes against the water trickling down his hair and over his face. He breathed out, remembering the relief that had flooded his system at Peter's answer. There was no denying the awesomeness that came with being a werewolf, and Stiles would be a liar to say he wasn't tempted. But that was what scared him most.

He knew the darkness. He knew it well, and he knew how it could twist up the heart and mind. Even before glimpsing real darkness in the form of werewolves and misguided hunters, Stiles had had his own moments of doubt brought on by his mother's death. So he knew what the darkness was like, and he knew that to give in even an inch would mean the darkness had already won.

So no, he would not be inviting it into himself just so he could earn a few neat party tricks.

The water was beginning to cool and Stiles pushed away from the wall, knocking the shower off with his free hand. It didn't take long to towel himself dry and drag himself into the oversized shirt and sweats he had left out ready. Dragging his sorry ass to his room where he could collapse on his bed, that seemed to take an eternity.

He lay there, face planted in his pillow, and breathed in. Now he could rest. He could just lie there and relax, until Scott and Derek decided to drop in on him. But for now, he would make the most of what time he had whilst trying not to think about anything werewolf related. All werewolf related things, they could wait until the actual werewolves were there, and when the werewolves were there, then they could deal with it all whilst Stiles slept properly, in his own bed, just for a couple of hours.

The gentle knock at his door had him groaning and pushing himself up.

"Seriously, dude? You couldn't wait just like one more hour? Just one?" he questioned, before forcing himself to his feet and across the room.

"Hey, kiddo," his father answered, looking a little sheepish when Stiles opened the door. "You've got a visitor."

"If it's Scott, tell him to come back when I've had some sleep."

His father shook his head. "It's not Scott. Not unless he's morphed into a teenage girl since last night."

Stiles' eyes widened at that, some energy returning as a grin split across his face. He didn't wait for his father to finish before he started bounding down the stairs and toward the waiting visitor, one name on his mind. Lydia.

He swung around the banister at the bottom, ready to greet the girl he had been infatuated with since the third grade, only to have the smile wiped off his face as he found himself face to face not with strawberry blonde hair but dark blonde instead.

"Mae..."


New chapter Monday!