Derek disembarked the plane and made his way to the arrivals gate in a state of shock. As he wove through the masses of people, he avoided the TVs flashing with newsreels. His heart squeezed when he saw Stiles waiting for him, his wide smile lighting the monochrome airport lobby.
When Derek dropped his suitcase, Stiles pulled him in close for a long kiss, then hugged him with all the strength his lanky body could give. Derek clung black, running his hands over Stiles' shoulders and the soft material of his hoodie, and breathing in the scent of home. "I'm so sorry," Stiles whispered in Derek's ear, and the warm feeling of safety disappeared into the cold, vast depths of his worry and anger.
"It's not your fault."
"I just wish it wasn't so...final. I thought for sure the bill would have been blocked somewhere, by someone who had half a brain."
"I know. But they got a lot of support." Derek palmed the back of Stiles's head, curling his fingers in tickling brush of his short hair. "Enlightened people like you and me underestimate the fear of werewolves people still have. At least it's only at the state level. We'll have time to fight to have it repealed before they take it federal."
"Look at you, being all positive," Stiles teased, his lips curling in a sad smile.
"I have to be. Or I have to start imagining a future where my children will be branded as less than human for the rest of their lives."
Stiles lurched forward for another long embrace, and Derek could smell the sadness and impotent anger pouring off him. Derek held him without comment, filtering out the sounds of the busy airport around them. After a few minutes, Stiles pulled away, his face dry and resolutely cheerful.
"Let's go home," Stiles said, "They missed you."
It was like déjà vu. The car pulled up to the front of their house, and the massive SUVs of the Sterling Freedom Party were parked haphazardly, taking up as much space as they could of the wide driveway. Derek couldn't hold back a growl, but Stiles' hand on his shoulder kept him from jumping out of the moving car in beta form.
"They have to know I won't ally with them now," he growled. "What could they possibly want?"
"Nothing good."
As soon as the car was in park, Derek shoved open his door and headed for the drawing room in the house, Stiles at his side. He didn't need Stiles' grounding squeeze of his hand, but he appreciated it anyway.
"Argent," he bit off as he came through the door, "unless you're here to tell me you've changed your mind about the registration laws, I want you out of my house." Derek directed this at the three bulky bodyguards who crowded his parlour, as well as the two Argents.
"No such luck, Hale," Gerard said, standing up from the couch, smooth as slick oil. "We are firm in our convictions."
"Then get off my property," he growled, knowing, as he said it, that Stiles would be impersonating Clint Eastwood at him later.
"Let's not be so hasty, Derek," Gerard oozed, the casual use of his first name making Derek's jaw twitch. "We have a business proposition for you."
"I don't do business with people like you."
Gerard continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "As you know, the registration rules went into effect three days ago. We are prepared for the large majority of werewolves in the state to register within the three week grace period, but we expect there may be some stragglers."
Derek stayed silent, not trusting his voice, since he could guess where Gerard was going with it.
"Derek, I'm sure you know you're the strongest alpha in the region. Your pack may be small," Gerard's lips curved in a smile that could be mistaken as grandfatherly, if Derek didn't know the truth, "but your claim on this territory is powerful and old. Almost as old as the Argents'."
Chris Argent shifted his feet on the other side of the couch, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as his father asked the unthinkable of Derek.
"We have a job we'd like you to perform," Gerard continued. "We would look the other way when your brood all fail to register, if you would help us to sniff out anyone we suspect to be dragging their feet. We're going to give them until the night of the full moon."
Of course they will, Derek thought, bitterly. They'd wait until any dissenting werewolves were on edge from the moon's pull, when they were most likely to lash out if cornered.
"I am not your bloodhound," Derek said, angry beyond the point of shouting.
When Derek said no more, Argent chuckled softly and wandered over to the fireplace, inspecting the mantel, which was crowded with photos, old and new. "Your children are beautiful," he said, as softly as Derek had been. Derek stiffened, and felt Stiles do the same beside him. "It's amazing how similar the development of a werewolf child is to a human one. Until puberty, even the most powerful adolescent would only be a strong as a very weak adult." Gerard tapped his finger on a picture of a shyly smiling Isaac. "I know quite a few exceptionally strong adults, Hale."
Derek felt his nail beds tighten with the urge to lash out, to finish this conversation by showing Gerard just how monstrous he could be. Instead, he opened his mouth to him to wear a meat suit into an alligator pit, but Stiles cut him off.
"Derek," he said, gently. "We don't have to be enemies. I think we should listen to what they're saying. Weren't you just saying that you'd do anything to avoid this?" Even if Derek couldn't hear and smell the deception, he would have heard the icy falseness in Stiles' voice. "I'm Stiles, nice to meet you."
"Likewise." Gerard leaned forward to take Stiles' offered hand, smiling patronizingly. "Are you one of the children I've heard so much about?"
Stiles looked young, Derek knew, especially in his college kid uniform of a loose graphic tee and skinny-ish jeans. Hell, he was young, just 22 to Derek's nearly 30. But Gerard was a smart man, and would have gathered as much information as he possibly could about Derek's family, including the who'd been on his payroll for the last few months.
"Nah, I'm a Stilinski, through and through." Derek saw the pillars of hired muscle shift, and could smell their anxiety spike. They were obviously local enough that they'd heard the name. "We'd love to help you, gentlemen," Stiles continued, "but, the thing is, we're busy this full moon."
"Washing your hair?" Quipped Chris.
"Heh, no. Really. We have an event. We'd push it forward, but it has to be this full moon. It's the 8th of the 8th year since the last Sickle Claw moon. It's very important to us. The whole family's gonna be doing a ritual in the preserve," Stiles laced his fingers through Derek's and squeezed tight enough that Derek could feel the dampness of his sweating palms. "Workaholic over here's taking the day off and everything."
"Sickle Claw? I'm not familiar with that ritual." It was well-known that Chris knew enough about werewolves to hold his own in any debate. Derek had often wondered how he could be so opposed to werewolves when he knew so much about them.
"You wouldn't be," Stiles said, shaking his head and smiling indulgently at Chris. "It's a Hale pack thing, not a species-wide observance. It has to do with the birth of the first born wolf of the Hale generation." Derek was amazed at Stiles' bullshit, how he waved his hand dismissively with the just the right amount of relaxed vagueness. He sounded completely confident, though his heartbeat was going crazy.
"Huh," Chris looked like he wanted to argue, to call Stiles on his lie, and his taciturn face pulled into an even deeper frown when he tried, and failed to find any sign of Stiles' dishonesty.
"We'll help you just as soon as the full moon is over," Stiles said, managing to sound apologetic, yet firm, brooking no argument. "Until then, we'll be exercising our right to cultural diversity, which, as you've said, you have no intention to infringe upon, since to do so would be un-American."
It was a direct quote, taken from a comment Argent made to one of the newspapers who opposed him, and called him out for his blatant anti-werewolf beliefs.
"Very well, then," Argent replied, fastening his jacket and motioning to the hired muscle. "We'll see you the night after the full moon." He was out of the room and heading toward the exit before either of them could respond, but that was fine with Derek. He couldn't have said a civil goodbye anyway.
The bodyguards had been on Gerard's heels, but Chris took one last, long look at the photos on the mantel, then followed his father out the door, not meeting Derek's eyes.
Stiles waited until he heard the car doors slam to take Derek by the wrist and hurry them both to the basement, to the panic room Stiles had known about, but never had a reason to use. When the door thumped shut, and he was 100% certain they were away from prying ears, Stiles turned to Derek.
"We're in trouble, Der," he said.
"I know." Derek paced the small room, dragging his fingers through his hair. "We've got to get out. It isn't safe for any of us here."
"We can't just get on a plane and go. You know that, right?" Derek whipped around to face him, impotent fury tensing his jaw. "The Argents have so many supporters here, and we can't guarantee we'll even make it to the interstate safely. And say what you will about the Argents, they're smart. If they hurt one of kids somehow, they'll be clever enough to not leave any evidence, and any accusation we make will just come off as a desperate bid to discredit them.
"They want us to try to run, Derek." Stiles took him by the shoulders and looked him firmly in the eyes. "They want us to make a break for it, so that we get caught while they have eyes on us."
"What do you suppose we do then? Sit here and wait? Let him use me to hunt down werewolves like stray dogs?"
"No. We can't go now, but, if we wait, we can take them by surprise. " Derek went completely still, hanging on every word of Stiles' plan. "They'll still be waiting us to escape on the full moon night, but we'll have the advantage. They'll be expecting us to go into the preserve and not come out for some time. You and the kids know that forest like back of your hands, and I grew up playing out there instead of with other kids. We could slip away. My Dad would help us. If we could just make it as far as Oregon, we'd be in the clear. Maybe all the way to Seattle, if we can keep the kids from going crazy."
Even as he said it, Stiles imagined trying to keep Jackson buckled into his seat for 15 hours of driving, and the thought made him smile, even locked in a panic room discussing a flight for their lives.
"We'd be out of their reach. We could go to New York. We'll make a public statement to the press about how you wanted the kids closer to your work, and that it doesn't have anything to do with the registration. If Argent makes a move, it would be completely unprovoked. He couldn't risk it, not without his support network from the West Coast."
Derek put his back against the concrete wall of the cell, and slid all the way to the floor, resting his head in his hands. Stiles sat down next to him, expecting Derek to disagree at any moment, say it was too dangerous, and that they'd have to think of something else. (There was nothing else.)
Derek took a sudden deep breath in, then noisily exhaled. "Okay," he said.
"Yeah?" Derek nodded and pulled him closer, guiding Stiles' head into his chest. Stiles went freely, grabbing right back. "Okay, then. I'll make some calls. Plan out the specifics."
"I trust you," Derek said, and pressed a kiss to Stiles' temple. "We'll do whatever it takes."
After a few more minutes of talking over the preparations that they'd be making over the next few weeks, they realized the kids would probably be wondering where they were, and they headed for the door of the panic room. Before Stiles could enter in the code that unlocked it from the inside, Derek stopped him.
"Stiles, your police training," he said. "It's supposed to start soon. You could stay here, go back to your father's house. You're human, which means you're only a target as long as you associate with us."
Stiles grinned, and punched Derek's shoulder, to little effect. "Idiot. I'm pack now, you said it yourself. Can't get rid of me that easy."
Derek grabbed Stiles hand and squeezed, then they both started up the stairs toward the sound of small feet starting a search party.
It took a tremendous amount of effort to continue on as normal. While both Stiles and Derek itched to board up the windows and keep the kids confined, it would only look suspicious. So Stiles kept taking them to the diner to meet his dad, and Derek took them for walks in the park, or, in broad daylight, the preserve. Both of them were constantly on edge, flinching at shadows and looking over their shoulders. It didn't take long for the kids to notice something was up, and they were each given an explanation, somewhat simplified for the younger kids, and in painful detail for the older ones.
Once informed, the kids were eager to assist. In the weeks coming up to the full moon, they helped carry their supplies to a location in the preserve where Deaton had hidden the largest of the Hale vehicles, the 10 seater van. It would be a tight fit, with all their luggage included, but they'd manage. They disguised the clothes, toiletries and passports in boxes of apples and bundles of firewood, and other innocuous things that looked like they would be used in their mysterious ritual.
On their trips back and forth, Stiles can see nothing in the trees, but even the kids said, when they were back in the house, that they could feel eyes on them. The Argents were waiting.
On the day of the full moon, when Isaac and Erica go down for their nap, the rest do too, after much complaining, from everyone except Scott, who'd been quiet and vaguely sad all week. Derek and Stiles go to bed too, holding each other in the light of the fading afternoon. They went over the plan again and again, phoned Stiles' father at the station and Peter in New York before forcing themselves to get some sleep too. It would be a long night.
Stiles made them all wear a sweater, though September in California wasn't known for its chilliness, and he encouraged their excited chatter as they took a well-trod path toward the place they'd set up for their fake ritual.
It took them over fifteen minutes to walk deep into the preserve, where cars wouldn't fit. When they reached the firepit they'd dug days ago, Derek set about lighting it, while Stiles set white candles in a circle around it.
"It's burning too quickly." Derek said, at length.
"Did you try the damp rag?" Stiles replied, following their script.
"Yes, it didn't work." Derek stood and brushed his hands off. "We'll have to go somewhere else, somewhere it isn't so dry."
This time, when they picked up and went deeper into the preserve, they didn't giggle and chat. They walked quicker as the trees grew denser, and at Derek's nod, Scott and Stiles made a wide berth at the edges of their group, obstructing their path. They met up at the edge of the ravine that ran through the preserve, a shallow part of it that had dried up in the summer heat.
Stiles tried to quiet his harsh breathing from the quick trip through the forest as Derek lifted his head to scent the air and listen for the sound of cocked guns or charged tasers. What they heard instead was an echoing howl that pierced the preserve's buzzing, wild silence. Right on schedule.
Derek's estimation was that they had about 5 minutes to get to the car before the Argent's men figured out the trick and were back on their trail. Before the recording of Derek's howl was finished, they were helping the kids climb down into the dry bed of the creek, and hurrying along the winding path. The steep walls on either side of them worked like a wartime trench, keeping them hidden from Argent's men on foot, though they had little protection from above.
The kids ran as fast as they ever had in games of tag on the lawn, Isaac clutching Scott's hand, just as he'd been told. Stiles brought up the rear, following the group when they forked left, and ducked under fallen logs.
All Stiles could hear with the quick, shallow breath of the children, and the rhythmic puff of their running shoes on the parched, cracked earth. Even the rustling trees and twitching underbrush seemed to be silent, or perhaps they were just drowned out by the roaring in Stiles' ears.
After a few minutes of running, Stiles' ribs clenched, and his legs burned, but he kept up with the group. He wouldn't let his humanity be the deciding factor in this family's survival. Soon, though, they came to a rough patch, where the ravine grew shallow again. At Derek's signal, the older kids helped the smaller ones clamber to the top.
This was the part Stiles and Derek had feared the most. Though they were feet away, Cora, then Jackson, then Lydia were unprotected at the lip of the crevasse, until the rest could join them. Stiles' heart stuttered, then beat loud in his ears as he saw their silhouettes against the bright light of the full moon, far too visible.
Stiles was the last to be hefted up by his elbows, and they didn't spare a moment for anything but a quick headcount before they were off running running again. This time, dodging trees and skidding down inclines dusted with rotting leaves.
They were so close. Stiles had just glimpsed the dull shine of the van's side mirrors when from the left of their group, there came a snap of twigs and a rush of someone moving through the forest.
Derek pushed the kids behind him, toward Stiles, and faced the assassin who emerged from the thick trees to the small clearing, but before he could attack, Scott leapt between them.
They all froze, waiting for the hunter's arrow, cocked and trembling with tension, to hit it's target between Scott's eyes. Stiles couldn't breathe. Couldn't even gather the air to plead with the girl to spare them.
"Allison," Scott said, his rough whisper splintering the silent stand off. "Please."
Allison didn't react for a long time, except to shift her stance, her heavy boots scratching in the dirt. Then, she slowly lowered her bow, sheathing the arrow at her back. She reached for her pocket, and they all tensed when she pulled out her phone. Scott took a small step forward and whimpered when she tapped out a message on the screen, but then she turned the screen toward them. In small letters, barely large enough for Stiles to see, it read all clear on south west side.
Allison turned and headed for the deeper part of the forest, and Scott sagged with relief, then ran into Stiles' arms, shaking with silent sobs. Stiles watched her retreating figure over Scott's head, and his heart ached for her when she wiped her face with her black leather wrist guard.
When Derek scented the air and gave the sign, they hurried through the dark and tugged the branches off the van that had been hidden in plain sight, fake rust painted onto the side to make it look like an abandoned husk.
The kids climbed in, not arguing, for once, over who got the front seat. (Cora. She had the best eyes, they all agreed.) Stiles sat with Scott on the bench seat behind Derek, their legs cramped from the luggage crammed in on all sides. After their seatbelts were fastened with trembling hands, Scott tucked his face into Stiles' shoulder, and crumpled in his grief. Stiles gripped the back of his neck and mourned for a piece of Scott's childhood that would forever be tainted - his first love, forced to choose between killing his whole family or betraying hers.
Derek rolled down the window with the old-fashioned crank and sniffed the air, listening one final time for the sounds of their imminent capture. He heard nothing, evidently, as he nodded slightly, and put his hand on the key in the ignition. He didn't start the vehicle, however. He looked into the rearview mirror, and met Stiles' eyes, and Stiles could understand his hesitation.
The second they pulled away, they were on the run. It would be too late to go back to the Argents and claim that they'd simply gotten sidetracked performing their fictional ritual. They'd thought of everything, and Stiles was confident that they'd make it to New York, to safety, but in the back of their minds, each of them had had their moments of doubt.
Stiles gripped Scott's shoulder, and over his bowed head, he stared into Derek's alpha red eyes and nodded.
They'd be okay, Stiles thought, as Derek turned over the engine and peeled out of their tiny clearing. He was certain that they'd come back to these woods, the trees that had raised them both.
And when they did, they'd all be free. No strings attached.
_
Hi! Sorry if this seems to end suddenly/inconclusively. To wrap it up like a brown paper package with strings(hah) seemed very unlike the movie. I felt it was better ended this way, with the whole family driving off into the sunrise to face the new world of political unrest. Let me know if you feel differently(nicely, please.) Hope you enjoyed this fic as much I did! Thanks for reading!
