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: Once again, the best laid plans of mice and men and all that... Posting this chapter a few hours later than I meant to. I keep going over it and re-editing it over and over again, changing bits, adding bits, taking bits out... and I think I'm finally happy with it? I'm behind when it comes to writing, but I have a pretty clear idea of how the next couple of chapters are going to go so hopefully I can get focused and get them written. So fingers crossed I'll have an update ready for Monday, and if not Monday - then definitely not much later than that.

Thank you to everyone for reading and for the comments I've received. Seriously, you guys are awesome!

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 10

Peter got off lightly. Far too lightly for Derek's liking. But Derek had more pressing matters at hand and beating his uncle to within an inch of his life would just have to wait. As for the way Peter's words dripped from his tongue, like a sickening venom that stung on contact and then buried its way deeper and deeper until finally you could take no more, well – it drove Derek to the point of reconsidering his priorities.

"It's not your choice, Derek," Peter had called after him as Derek was heading back out once again, leaving Isaac to keep an eye on his uncle. "It's his."

Derek knew that. He knew that in the end, what mattered was what Stiles chose to do. Still, it didn't mean Derek had to like it and it certainly didn't mean he had to make it easy for the youth to try and get himself killed.

He arrived at the Stilinski house not long after Scott but opted for standing watch across the road rather than intruding for two main reasons. The first being that Sheriff Stilinski was still home and Derek very much doubted the sheriff would be welcoming if he caught Derek in his son's room after the events at the hospital. The second reason, that was more to do with the pair of red eyes some way down the street.

The Alpha. She was mostly hidden by the overgrown bushes from one of the yards down the way, but her eyes were clear enough for Derek to see and focus on. She was staring right back at him, a challenge that Derek refused to back down from.

He would not be the first to look away, so he watched her, even as she finally turned her gaze toward the Stilinski home. He watched as he listened to Scott and Stiles moving about in the house, and heard the faint whispers from Sheriff Stilinski as he seemed to talk to a person who wasn't there, asking for advice that never came. No doubt a conversation he had had many a time with the memory of his wife. The sadness in the man's voice had Derek attempting to tune out the words, not wishing to pry into a private conversation he had no right to hear – even if it was one sided.

So he mostly listened to Scott and Stiles instead, the memory of Peter's words still haunting him.

"Hey, kiddo," Sheriff Stilinski called to Stiles some time after, catching Derek's attention. It was late afternoon to early evening and already the sky was turning grey with the oncoming darkness, a chill settling in the air. "I have to head into work for a bit."

Derek's gaze fell as he listened closely to the hesitation in the sheriff's voice.

"You know what, forget it," the man dismissed, light and unsure, "I'll just call in and tell them I can't make it."

"I'm fine, Dad," Stiles answered, and Derek even made out the sound of the computer chair squeaking as Stiles no doubt spun around to face his father. "Scott's here."

There was a brief silence before Stiles added, "Go. I swear, I'm fine."

Derek imagined the sheriff to be stalling, imagined the hesitation written on his features. He envied it somewhat, how protective the Stilinskis were of each other.

"You know we have to talk about what happened eventually, son," the sheriff added.

Stiles huffed out, the noise clear even with the distance between him and Derek. "Seriously, Dad? You too? Nothing happened. I'm fine. Everything is fine, so you can go to work now without worrying about your teenage son."

It was a lie, one that Derek doubted Sheriff Stilinski would accept just like that, but also, it seemed it was one he wasn't prepared to dig further into at that moment in time as it seemed he was leaving. Derek watched the front door, waiting until the sheriff emerged and was in his car before making any attempt to move from his spot across the street. It wasn't until the sheriff was well on his way and Derek had reached the front yard of the Stilinski home that he remembered the Alpha.

He glanced back toward the place she had been briefly, but she was gone and Derek wasn't happy one bit about losing sight of her. With a gruff huff, he allowed his eyes to wander the area for any sign of her, or any of the others from her pack. When he saw nothing, he turned his attention back toward the Stilinski house.

It took less than ten seconds for him to scale the side of the house and manoeuvre toward Stiles' window. He was pushing it open and climbing through when Stiles turned around to face him mid-rant to Scott about some movie or game that Derek had never heard of.

"Dude! Seriously! What the hell?!" Stiles threw his hands up in the air dramatically before using them to motion to Derek, frustration evident. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack? 'Cause you know, I think you almost had me that time. This close..." He held his forefinger and thumb apart barely an inch to prove his point as to just how close it had been. "I swear, you were this close this time."

"Your window was unlocked," Derek answered, simple as he took in the room with a sweeping glance before allowing his gaze to wander back to Stiles.

"So you thought you'd just climb on through?"

But Derek was too distracted to answer, his gaze wandering over Stiles as his brow burrowed and an uncomfortable frown tugged at his lips. He didn't think it was possible for the youth to get any paler than he usually was, but somehow he had managed it. He was even paler than he had been when Derek had left him several hours earlier. The treatment against the wolfsbane from the hospital had no doubt helped him, but now the drugs were no longer fighting against the poisoning, it was having an effect.

"How bad is it?" Derek questioned, concern dripping into his voice despite his effort to maintain a blank mask and level tone.

Stiles gaped at him before glancing to Scott briefly and then back again. There was a lie already forming on his tongue, for Scott and Derek's benefit. Derek could tell, he could hear it in the skitter of Stiles' heartbeat.

"Stiles," he warned, low and drawn out.

"It's not that bad," Stiles answered, shifting uncomfortably and then going on to add an imploring, "Really."

Derek remained unconvinced, taking a step forward. "I need to know if it gets worse..."

"Fine, yes... I'll let you know the moment I start spewing up black inky stuff, but until then... I'm fine," Stiles answered, cutting over Derek's words before he could go any further. He wavered slightly though but caught himself before the swaying could knock him off balance. It was barely even noticeable if Derek hadn't been watching so intently.

Derek wasn't the only one who noticed. Scott was on his feet immediately, moving forward, ready to steady Stiles in case it happened again. "Stiles, I think you should lie down."

The argument that Derek expected to hear never came. Instead, Stiles just scrubbed at his face with his hands and let out a breath. He gave a gentle nod and was already making his way toward his bed when he spoke. Each footstep was heavy, and Derek could tell that whatever adrenaline had been pushing Stiles on was quickly ebbing from his system now.

"Just wake me up if my dad calls..."

"Yeah, no problem," Scott answered, soft and gentle.

"I mean it, Scott," Stiles mumbled, lying face down on the bed and wrapping his arms around his pillow. "If he..." A yawn broke into his words, and Derek knew the youth must have been attempting to fight off the need for sleep for at least a good hour now. "If he calls, you wake me."

But Scott just smiled and looked down at his friend. "Stiles, go to sleep."

There were some more murmurings, incoherent and smothered by the fabric of the pillow. Derek didn't even notice he was still watching Stiles, drinking in every inch of him from the curves of his body to the sound of his heart and his breathing as each evened the deeper Stiles fell into sleep. He was too focused on Stiles to focus on himself, until Scott shuffled awkwardly beside him, breaking him from his trance.

"What?" Derek asked, sharp and impatient at the look on Scott's face.

"Nothing," Scott answered, looking away again, back toward Stiles.

Silence stretched on for a lengthy breath before Derek huffed out and turned to face Scott, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"I heard what you said to Stiles earlier," he prodded when Scott said nothing, knowing Stiles was far enough gone now for it to be safe to bring the subject up.

Scott shifted again before raising his head and chin, almost defensive as he looked to Derek with his brow burrowed. "So?"

"My personal life is my personal life. Stay out of it, Scott – it's none of your business." He turned away, moving back toward the window to stare out at what was there – to keep his attention away from the now sleeping form of Stiles.

"It is if it involves my best friend!" Scott answered, voice an angry whisper. He moved to stand directly behind Derek, chest no doubt puffed out in challenge.

Derek let go of a breath and closed his eyes. "It's not... Stiles isn't..." But he cut himself off, aggravated. How was he supposed to explain to Scott just what it was if he was still trying to figure it out himself?

"You're not exactly doing a very good job at denying it, are you?"

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Derek found himself focusing on the reflection of the room in the window – taking in the imperfect image of Scott and the edge of Stiles' bed. "Do you have any idea how much danger that could put him in? He can't know. No one can."

There were others, besides the new pack, that would use Stiles to hurt Derek. As for Stiles himself knowing, Derek wasn't sure he wanted to know how Stiles would react. Rejection, mocking... whatever it was, Derek was pretty sure he didn't want to hear it. After Kate, he had never planned on opening his heart up again. Not for anyone. To have it shattered once was enough.

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed," Scott continued, "but you're not being all that subtle about it. I mean, if I've noticed... then who else has?"

Apparently almost anyone with eyes had noticed. His uncle refused to stop bringing the subject up, and then there was Sheriff Stilinski. There had been a look of understanding in the man's eyes that Derek was sure neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

Scott understood the lack of an answer perfectly. "Peter..." he breathed out.

Derek said nothing, his gaze falling down.

"Does Peter know?" Scott pushed, determined for an answer. "Is that why he did this? He's using Stiles? To get to you?"

"He did this because it's our best chance of finding this new pack," Derek answered, anger tainting his voice – at Peter, at the whole situation, at himself.

Scott grabbed his shoulder, forcing Derek to spin away from the window and face him. "And what? Now you're all onboard with the idea? It's Stiles, Derek. If they hurt him, he won't heal like we do."

"Don't you think I know that?" Derek asked, voice rising a little before he forced himself to lower it again, glancing briefly to the sleeping Stiles. "You really think I want to let him walk himself into danger? You're his best friend, Scott – you know him better than anyone. So do you really think he's going to listen to a single word I have to say?"

Stiles shifted on the bed, the springs of the mattress squeaking as he curled in on himself, bringing the pillow down to hold against his chest. The words he muttered and gurgled were nonsense, whatever dream he was in having taken hold. It silenced both Scott and Derek, not that the answer to Derek's question needed voicing. They both knew it. For whatever reason, Stiles had gotten it into his head that he needed to prove himself, and this thing with the new pack in town – that was the way he had chosen to do it.

Derek breathed out, enjoying the silence for a moment longer before deciding to break it. "Go home, Scott. Get some rest."

"I'm not leaving him, Derek," the Beta argued, eyes locking with Derek's, unwavering and determined.

"I'm not asking you to abandon him at the side of the road. You need your strength for the full moon, or when it comes – you'll be no use to him. Understand?"

It looked like Scott was about to argue further, but he swallowed whatever it was and nodded reluctantly. "Promise you won't leave him alone?"

"I swear."

Stiles woke comfortably warm, to the familiar feel and smell of his own covers. He burrowed down further inside them and snuggled against his pillow for another moment as the last few remnants of sleep left him and he tried to remember when exactly he had crawled under his sheets. Even though he felt much more rested than he had upon waking in hospital, he was still reluctant to move from the warmth and comfort his bed offered.

"You're awake." Derek's voice was soft and gentle, and with his eyes still closed, Stiles could imagine the guy was just some regular person instead an incredibly surly werewolf with severe problems expressing any positive emotions.

Stiles said nothing but instead found himself wondering what a genuine Derek Hale smile would look like. He also wondered if Derek had always been this way, if it was just the way he was programmed, or if he had been made that way by the fire.

"I can tell you're awake," Derek continued, a light challenge to his tone. "Your breathing changed."

"Nu-uh," Stiles murmured, a yawn taking hold around the words that were more like sounds anyway. "M'sleeping."

"Really?" There was humour amongst the scepticism in Derek's voice, and Stiles found himself opening his eyes a little to see if the facial expression matched the tone.

He frowned though when he found himself confronted with darkness instead. Not complete darkness, or the suffocating kind, just darkness and shadows that came with night. Pulling himself up, he took in his room with a burrowed brow. There was a glimmer of white light from the moon shining through his window, but it was overpowered by the orange glow of the streetlights.

"What time is it?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

Derek shifted and Stiles noted the brief electronic glow that meant Derek must have been checking his phone for the answer. "A little after ten..."

"Ten?" Stiles' hands fell away from his face to stare straight ahead and at the shadowed figure of Derek. His eyes were adjusting fairly quickly to the dim light, but considering that Derek was nearly always smothered in dark clothing, it was harder to make him out.

Well, except for his eyes. The way the light shone in from outside, it reflected off his eyes, lighting them up, but not in the usual threatening werewolf way. No, the effect was more subtle but still entrancing. It was also distracting and made Stiles forget where he was going with his line of thought.

"Yes, ten," Derek answered, and though Stiles couldn't see properly, he imagined the guy to be raising his eyebrows in mocking. "The number that follows nine and comes before eleven."

Forcing his gaze away from those eyes, Stiles growled at himself and turned to the lamp beside his bed, flipping it on. It was only when the light flooded as much of the room as it could that Stiles looked back to Derek, the effect that illuminated Derek's eyes disappearing. He breathed out, ignoring the way his heart raced in his chest.

"You should have woken me," he went on to say, pulling himself free of his covers and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"You needed the rest."

"And Scott?" Stiles questioned, glancing around the room as he wondered where his friend had gotten too.

"I sent him home – he needed rest too."

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat and considered Derek. He fought the temptation to ask whether Derek needed rest too, but at the same time he couldn't help but notice the tiredness lining Derek's features. So Stiles said nothing, just hung his head and allowed silence to slip into the room once more. It was a few moments before Derek broke it.

"She was here," the Alpha said, matter of fact and Stiles could feel the intense and judging gaze. "You talked to her."

Wetting his lips, Stiles attempted to find his voice whilst his eyes found Derek. "Scott told you, didn't he?"

But Derek shook his head. "I can smell her on you."

Stiles took a moment to organise his thoughts before speaking. "My dad," he went on to say, voice strangled, the words dry and itchy in his throat. "If I don't... if I don't go with her, she'll come after my dad."

Derek let go of a breath and pushed up from the computer chair to stalk back and forth across the floor. He didn't answer straight away, as if fighting the temptation to call Stiles out on how much of an idiot he was. "And you've already made up your mind."

Stiles watched Derek, voice breaking as he spoke. "It's my Dad..."

Derek stopped pacing at that and turned to face Stiles fully. "Stiles, you have no idea what you'll be walking into. This isn't like dealing with Scott or someone you know on a full moon – this is going willingly into a werewolf's den, knowing they'll rip you apart. It's suicide."

"Just... answer me this," Stiles tried to reason, meeting Derek's gaze and refusing to look away. "That other night, how did you find them? Peter, right? He told you where to find that first guy, and from there you got lucky... What are the chances of that happening again? You need me to do this."

"I need you to play bait?" Derek arched his eyebrows, a sardonic scoff slipping past his lips. Then his jaw tightened and he shook his head. "I'm not gonna help you get yourself killed."

Stiles pushed up from the bed, stalking forward until he was barely more than a foot away from Derek. "You can't stop me."

"I can tell your father..."

"Tell him what? About werewolves? About you?"

Derek seemed to consider it for a moment before offering up a sharp nod. "If I have to, yes."

Mouth clamped shut, Stiles could feel the tension building in his jaw as he rolled it slightly. "Why won't you just admit that you can't do this without me? Are you that afraid I'll screw up?"

Something inside Derek seemed to snap and Stiles found himself pinned to the wall within a breath, Derek there in front of him. "You could die, Stiles. Don't you get that?"

But the words were slow to process, unfocused as they washed over Stiles, because Stiles was too busy focusing on other things in that moment. Like his heart, and how it was going fifty to the dozen within his chest, and then there was the heat that flushed across his skin, and the pull that came with a dizzying feeling of familiarity. He knew, because he had felt it before – upon seeing Derek in the forest that time, looking all mysterious.

And just... No, Stiles thought to himself. No. He had shut that feeling down back then. He had shut it down and forgotten about it, because Derek was a werewolf, not to mention the guy was bad news. And on top of all that, he hated Stiles, and Stiles could only handle one person he was attracted to hating him and as she started hating him first, Lydia Martin got priority.

"Well?" Derek demanded, tearing Stiles away from his thoughts and back to the present, where Derek was still very much in his face and refusing to look away.

Stiles opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. With Derek right there, like that, breathing the same air as Stiles, and screwing up Stiles' mind and body, how was he supposed to think? He swallowed hard, feeling his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Yeah," he finally squeaked out, unsure of what else to say and almost afraid to lock eyes with Derek.

Derek took a moment too long before stepping back from Stiles and looking him up and down. His features twisted up, the hurt clearly evident – as if that single word of Stiles' had been an assault that had caused physical pain. When he spoke, he even sounded wounded and Stiles wasn't exactly sure what to make of that.

"But you're going to do it anyway?"

"What part of 'he's my dad' don't you understand?" Stiles forced himself to look to Derek, to look deep into his eyes, his own gaze pleading. "If everyone's too busy trying to protect me, who's going to protect him?"

"You don't think we can do both?" Derek questioned, eyebrow raised and head tilted a little to the side as he looked over Stiles.

"It's not your job and it's not your responsibility..."

"Pack, remember?" Derek answered, as if talking to a small child who was easily distracted... which, yeah, was how Stiles was most of the time. "That means we share responsibility. We look after our own."

Stiles couldn't help the way his heart seemed to stutter in his chest at the genuineness to Derek's tone, or the way his ribcage seemed to tighten, making it harder to breathe – but not insanely so. "Then let me do this... please."

He wasn't sure why he was asking Derek's permission. He wasn't even sure why he had brought it up with the Alpha when he had deliberately avoided the conversation with Scott. Maybe it was just the idea of knowing someone had his back come Monday, rather than just hoping. Or maybe it was because Derek wouldn't settle for his lies.

"Stiles, you don't have anything to prove." The gentleness to Derek's features, the lost look in his eyes and the softness to his voice, it had Stiles thinking back to his earlier conversation with Scott. But there was no way Scott had been right, because it was Derek freaking Hale... and he was just Stiles.

He ran his tongue over his lips, his eyes darting down to Derek's mouth, the same mouth that had saved his life and given him air when he had needed it. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to refocus his attention back on the Alpha's eyes, which looked terribly vulnerable in that moment. "Yes, I do."

And it didn't matter what anyone else said. It didn't matter if they accepted him into the pack without question. He needed to know he had a purpose there. He needed to know he would be of use to them. He had to prove it to himself that he deserved to be there.

There was a long moment where Derek studied him, something akin to understanding in his eyes. He took a breath, as if readying himself to argue further, but let it go again without a single word. It was when he bobbed his head that Stiles knew he really did understand, and it was when he seemed to back away regretfully, moving toward the window, that Stiles began to wonder if he had gotten Derek all wrong.

"Your dad's home," Derek went on to say, glancing only briefly to Stiles before opening the window and readying himself to climb out. "I'll keep watch outside, it'll be easier to sense any changes in the air from there."

"Don't," Stiles started, but Derek was already through the window before the word made it out of his mouth, and by then it was too late, his next word almost a silent breath, "go..."

He let go of a deep sigh and moved to collapse on his bed, all the while telling himself that Scott was wrong... Because if the cars they drove represented the people they were – Derek would still drive a freaking sleek black Camaro and Stiles would still drive a beat up old Jeep that the bad guys, and not so bad guys, kept picking on despite the fact it was a harmless, beat up old Jeep that was hurting no one.

Two completely different leagues, one much higher than the other.

More soon!