Characters: Derek, Stiles, Scott, Isaac

Genres: Drama, Action

Warning: Swearing!

Notes: Dollyriot prompted me: "Stiles is allergic to beestings and gets stung just as the alpha pack is attacking Derek's house. BOOM."

And originally, I intended to post this all today, but I'm going to post the second half tomorrow. Because it is 3 am and I am going to bed now. (There will still be another prompt tomorrow, but there will also be the second half of this!)

Bee Sting

It's a friday night in the middle of the summer and Stiles, instead of doing something fun, doing something normal, is spreading a circle of mountain ash around Derek Hale's house because somehow - he still doesn't know how, even if he replays the whole night in his head and he's done that about four times now - he, Derek, Scott and Isaac are trapped at the Hale House and waiting for the Alphas to arrive and attack. So Stiles is doing the only thing he actually can do. Spread a circle of mountain ash and believe in it strongly enough that the Alpha pack won't be able to get past it.

And suddenly, there's a quick, light pinch on the back of Stiles neck. It's so quick and so light he almost doesn't feel it. He almost doesn't think about it except for that when he smacks his hand at the back of his neck he feels something thick go squish. He closes his eyes, brings his hand to his face and peeks at his hand.

There's a dead bee in his hand.

The only thing he can think is: Fuck.

He throws the bee as far as he can and shudders all over. Then he looks down at his other hand, the one still holding the last bit of the mountain ash. The mountain ash he hasn't finished spreading around, the mountain ash that might very well be their only defense against the Alpha pack.

So he curses some more and he does the only thing he can think of. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and continues on. He figures he's got a while before it affects him, a few minutes at least, and then... well, he doesn't know what then. But either he goes down and hopefully Scott remembers the epi pen in the Jeep, or they all go down, and they all go down bloody.

So he picks the lesser of two evils and keeps going, speeding up his pace, focusing all of his energy on the mountain ash, on keeping the Alphas out and protecting the people he cares about; and he does not pay any attention to the way his skin feels like it's about to burn off because that's the level of itchy it is, it feels like it's burning, or the thick, heavy feeling in his throat.

It takes a few minutes, and it takes longer than it otherwise would have, but he finishes the circle and then, having completed his task, he lets himself pass out. Because no way does he want to be conscious for any of this if he can avoid it, and staying awake is taking too much damn effort anyway.

Five seconds after Stiles passes out, Derek runs outside to see what's taking the kid so long. That's when he sees Stiles lying sprawled out on the ground, his face still and red and swollen and his eyes closed. Derek stands still as a stone for a second before running over and grabbing Stiles awkwardly before lifting him up and dragging him into the house.

"Scott!" Derek shouts as he lays Stiles down on the half-destroyed couch in the living room.

A second later Scott walks in, looks at Stiles and frowns. Isaac follows Scott in a second later.

"What's wrong with him?" Derek barks. He looks over at Stiles and fights back a nervous whine.

"He's allergic to bee stings." Scott tries to smile, to lighten the mood or something, but it only succeeds in making Derek more annoyed. This is not the time for smiling. This is not the time for making light of things. "But he's got an epi pen in the Jeep. I'll go get it," Scott says and without waiting for a response, he takes off for the Jeep and Isaac follows, leaving Derek alone with Stiles.

And Derek just stands there. He just stands there and stares at Stiles. He stares and he watches and he worries. And he can't say anything or do anything because he doesn't even know why it is he's so concerned. And he doesn't want to admit out loud that he's concerned. For Stiles.

Either way, he doesn't get a lot of time to think about it because a few seconds later Scott is running back in and he looks a lot more panicked then he looked before. Without any sort of explanation as to why, he says, "We can't get out."

"What?" Derek barks.

"We can't get past the mountain ash," says Scott.

Isaac looks over at Stiles and shakes his head disapprovingly. "Stiles... he must have been focusing on what he was doing so hard that he put more power into it than he intended to. So it worked. The Alphas can't get in. But we can't get out, either."

At that moment, Derek wants to hit himself. The Alphas. He almost forgot. Somehow, he almost forgot that there was a pack of Alpha werewolves coming to kill him, Isaac, his only loyal beta, Scott McCall, the kid who insists they're not packmates and yet keeps showing up anyway, and Stiles and whatever the hell he is.

Fuck.

He opens his mouth and closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. He's really not cut out for this. He might act like he has a clue, like he knows what he's doing, but the truth is he hasn't got a god damned clue. And he's not cut out for it. He's not cut out to be the one in charge, the one making decisions. Not when every decision he's ever made has lead him (and others) not just from good to bad, but from bad to worse.

He can hear it as Stiles' breath hitches in his throat. The kid doesn't have long like this. If they could get at the epi pen it'd be a relatively easy fix, but they can't get at the epi pen because the Jeep is parked just outside the line of mountain ash and they can't get across the line of mountain ash since the only person who can break it right now is the person who set it up and the person who set it up is currently unconscious and probably dying.

So they are, in a word, fucked.

"Fuck," he curses out loud hoping that saying it will help. It doesn't.

Stiles starts wheezing, gasping for breath and in that instant Derek panics.

So he does the only thing he can think of. He knows it's probably the wrong move but the only other one he's got available to him right now is to let Stiles die - because that's what's happening here, Stiles is dying, he'll asphyxiate if they leave him like this - and for whatever inexplicable reason the idea of Stiles dying makes him actually, physically sick to his stomach.

So he bolts across the room before Scott can say or do anything to stop him, drops his fangs and sinks them into Stiles' neck.