"Allison, I'd told you to stop following us ten minutes ago!"
"What did you expect me to do dad, just sit around and do nothing? Stiles just called me sounding scared out of his mind and you took off like the wind with a freaking gun in your hand!"
Allison's father squinted at her.
"How did you even see that? Are you spying on me?"
"Hell yes I'm spying on you! And it looks like I've got a good reason to be doing that, too!"
He grunted because that was all he could do. He wanted to protest but he knew she was right. So he just grunted.
"Look, Allison, I can't explain all of this right now because Stiles is in danger. Get in your car and wait for me," he commanded. As he spun around and darted off into the mysterious depths the wolfsbane smoke held, he heard his daughter shriek and stomp and demand explanations that he simply could not afford to be giving at the moment.
Stiles, an eighteen-year-old boy had just run straight into a smoking, underground chamber with two werewolves who were hopefully dead. Chris only hoped that they were dead because the alternative –the two wolves still very much alive and kicking, after having lost all sense of direction and restraint, ready to pounce at anything which crossed their paths right before they finally lose their consciousness and finally drop – was just a little bit too terrifying.
"Stiles!" he yelled. "Stiles, where are you?" He knew he was probably driving the monsters toward him by being so loud, but he couldn't let a young civilian die at the hands of a wolf. Besides, the further they moved away from Stiles' vulnerable body and towards Chris' experienced, weapon-wielding arms, the better.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath as he finally descended the final step and stumbled off the staircase. He kept his right hand on the wall as he went on – not because he was still dizzy, and he was losing his balance, even though the smoke was getting to him, but because he could see nothing.
Stiles went on sheepishly, not really knowing what to expect. His heart beat quickly, and yet he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was the thought of randomly stumbling into Derek's dead body, or Andrew's very exposed fangs. Either one was enough to get his adrenaline going.
He took small steps and kept his eyes closed. His nose was running and his throat burned with each inhalation. He had to keep going though, if he wanted to help Derek get out of here. It was his duty, after everything they had gone through together this night. From the moment Andrew had shoved Derek into the cell next to Stiles', until his throat was almost ripped out, Derek had done nothing but try and help everyone else escape before himself. At least, he would have if his hands hadn't been bound by the handcuffs.
After a long trek in the darkness behind his closed eyelids, Stiles knocked his foot into something metallic, making a loud clang.
His heart jumped up into his throat and he instinctively opened his eyes. It was a bad idea, but having his vision, however impaired by the smoke and the tears it caused was imperative at this point. He squinted all around himself, just to be sure that he hadn't alerted anyone that he didn't want to alert – namely, Andrew. He saw that he, in fact, had.
Two icy blue specks of shimmering light stumbled and wobbled towards Stiles' general direction. He knew it was Andrew, and he knew that the wolfsbane was probably getting to his already maddened mind. Walking almost as unsteadily, Stiles kept going forward along the wall with long strides, so as to move quickly and not attract too much attention to himself.
He had almost succeeded losing Andrew when the wolf decided to jump. Stiles heard the sudden rush of movement and ducked. He rapidly ran away from the spot where Andrew had hit the wall and collapsed, realizing that he had finally been knocked out. For a second, he hesitated. Maybe Andrew deserved to be saved. Maybe he should drag the wolf out now, while he could. There was no telling how long it would be before he could find Derek. Both the wolves could be dead by then, and Stiles would have probably lost his senses due to the vapors.
But, he thought of Derek, somewhere, wheezing out his last breath and begging for help. He thought of the tall, muscle wall of a man rendered helpless by a simply pair of handcuffs. He thought of what Andrew had done to him, when he had touched Stiles just to get to Derek and when he held him by the throat with his claws. Maybe he deserved a second chance, but wasting time helping Andrew would mean Derek's certain death. Right or wrong, Stiles didn't care. He passed Andrew's body without anymore hesitation.
"Derek!" he openly called now that he didn't have anything else he wanted to hide from besides time. "Derek, where are you?"
Stiles picked up the pace, and his striding turned into a jog. He didn't dare let go of the wall, because the smoke was so thick, there was no way he would be able to find his way back to the stairs otherwise.
Suddenly, the wall ended.
He thrust his hand towards where he hoped to find concrete, but there was nothing save air. He thrust again, and his fingers painfully collided with something cold and thin. Stiles hissed, but wrapped his hand around it. It was a cold, damp bar. Probably made of metal.
He was in the room with the cells.
"Derek!" he screamed. "Are you here?"
He waited a few seconds, staring into the distance, and rubbed his eyes for the millionth time. The tears would not stop coming, but he was hoping beyond hope that he would be able to see Derek's crimson eyes just like he had seen Andrew's. He was only wishing that Derek wasn't going rampant, too.
Wishes, apparently, don't always come true.
It wasn't long before two dots of red appeared before Stiles, and he breathed out Derek's name in relief. It was also not long before Stiles started backing away in fear as he picked up on a low, constant rumbling. Derek approached to reveal that he had fully transformed into his wolf form, but it wasn't the friendly wolf Stiles found so immensely endearing. It was a rabid animal, baring its teeth and salivating vigorously; it was about to hunt.
"Derek," Stiles whimpered. He tripped over his own feet and fell backwards. He landed on his backside, and the shock was enough to get him to back away faster. Derek approached faster too.
"Derek, it's me," he cried again. It was impossible to get through to him, but begging was all Stiles had left at this stage.
The wolf let out a bark of warning and they both stopped. After it had looked Stiles up and down a few times, and estimated how many bites it would take to chow him down, it moved again until Stiles was forced completely flat against the cold ground and the wolf was standing right on top of him, staring dead into his eyes.
Tears streamed down Stiles' face as he looked into the eyes of his death.
"Please, don't hurt me, Derek," he sobbed. "Derek, please."
The growling grew louder and it was about to attack before Chris Argent's voice boomed from somewhere behind. Stiles didn't dare turn his head.
"Stop it Derek!"
The animal looked up at Chris, but its expression didn't change. The eyes of a predator were still relentlessly examining and flaring red.
Stiles heard a gun safety click.
"If you don't leave him alone right now, I'm going to shoot."
He remained petrified, and stared at the underside of the giant wolf. Under different circumstances, he would have been amazed at the strength its sinewy muscles radiated, but right now he was too busy being under their overwhelming threatening effect.
Nobody moved. Everything was still for far too long. Even the smoke in the air was starting to thin. Derek, however rabid, was surprisingly still standing strong. Stiles was getting too scared that Chris was going to take the shot. He had to do something to make sure that wouldn't happen.
Without thinking about it –and maybe that was a good thing, considering how things turned out in the end- in one swift motion, Stiles dragged the back of his hand across his face to wipe most of his tears away, and planted it deep into the wolf's hair, on the side of its neck.
The wolf made a sharp, shocked noise and looked back down into Stiles' eyes. The crimson irises were not those of a killer, but they weren't a friend's either.
"Derek, it's me, Stiles. Don't do this," he whimpered commandingly.
"Stiles," Chris warned.
Immediately, the wolf opened its jaws and went for Stiles' throat. They closed around the neck of his t-shirt and, while lifting one of its legs, the wolf whipped Stiles up and around its body so that he landed on top of it. The human threw out his hands, frantically looking for something to hold on to as he was violently being flipped about. He only found thick tufts of fur, and tightly held on for his life as the animal started sprinting.
Stiles bounced up and down as he rode the big wolf and shut his eyes tight. Not because the air and the smoke were getting in his eyes, but because he was too focused on holding on to keep himself from falling and being trampled to death. Instinctively, he wrapped his legs around the animal, though they didn't seem to disturb its wild running. Stiles heard a gunshot somewhere off in the distance, but it obviously missed its mark.
After a point, his chin was jabbing hard into the back of the neck of the wolf, and Stiles opened his eyes ever so slightly. He saw that they were ascending the staircase. They quickly broke out of the smoke and into the starlit forest. There were shouts and a few more gunshots, but the everlasting speed with which they rode, if not increasing, remained constant. Derek had not been shot once.
They still went on and on, and there were cars on their tail for a minute or maybe less, but they soon gave up. There was no way to reach Derek and Stiles, especially not while trying to maneuver big trucks in the dark, dense forest.
Stiles felt the cold air splash against his burning face and he remembered thinking it felt good. His heart still pumped like crazy, but he forced himself to pry his eyes open as far as he could without having to blink every two seconds.
The trees were speeding crazily past. Up above, the night sky was very obviously bright. It was probably a full moon. Stiles looked ahead, and saw nothing but trees, rushing to meet them. Derek weaved them both between them like it was nothing and kept sprinting forward. It was as if he was running for his life, or running to save one.
Stiles almost tried yelling out Derek's name, trying to figure out where they were going, or what he was trying to do. He knew Derek wouldn't hurt him. He had plenty of chances to do that before Chris showed up. However, the billowing wind stopped him. He couldn't form words loud enough to be heard over it, or with enough force to counteract the air forcing its way into his lungs every time he opened his mouth. So, he kept quiet.
For a moment, he felt at peace. He felt a sense of calm inside him, now that he was completely alone out in nature, and felt a rush of adrenaline go through him. Not the bad kind, the one that was caused by fear or anxiety; just a rush of excitement and thrill that Stiles hadn't felt in years. He thought he understood why people rode motorcycles.
And Derek. Even though he had almost killed Stiles before, now that the harmful wolfsbane was out of his system, and the fresh forest air filled his lungs again, he was his true self. And Stiles knew, wolf or not, Derek would never really hurt Stiles. He didn't know if it was because he saw a sense of understanding in its eyes back at the shelter, when Derek was stuck in his wolf form, or because Andrew had made Derek's emotions very obvious.
Either way, the only thing that poisoned Stiles' calmness was what Derek would want to do or say when they were going to stop running.