Stiles swore. He glanced down at his speedometer and then back to the mirror, hoping the police car behind them would change lanes, signaling that it was after someone else. Unfortunately, it remained purposefully glued to his bumper, lights flashing meaningfully.
He felt Derek tense up beside him and there was a moment when he entertained the notion of trying to run. It was stupid, though. There was no way his beat up old jeep was going to get the best of the souped-up police cruiser and running from the cops never ended well. It would only turn what might be a routine traffic stop into something infinitely messier.
Stiles was agitated and he had been unintentionally speeding a little. No more than maybe 10-12 miles over the limit, just like everyone else on the highway was doing, but he knew that if he had been unfortunate enough to draw the losing ticket for a speed trap, it was enough. Cursing his luck, he put on his blinker and pulled over to the shoulder. He heard quick scuffling and clicking sounds from the back seat that told him Allison and Scott were rapidly finding and applying seatbelts. He was already wearing his and shot Derek a look. "Seatbelt!" he hissed as he put the car in park. Derek complied.
"We're just gonna play it cool, okay?" Stiles said, speaking to himself as much as his passengers. "Cool," he repeated, swallowing and rubbing his palms on his jeans before rolling down the window and fixing the officer with a bright smile. "Hey, what seems to be the problem, officer?"
The unsmiling patrolman asked him if he was aware of what speed he'd been going. Stiles claimed he wasn't, that he was just keeping pace with the cars around him, and politely handed over his license and registration when it was requested. The officer went back to his cruiser with the documents and Stiles drummed his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel.
"Stiles, the plates," Derek said quietly.
"I know!" Stiles cut him off. "I know. I'm working on it." He was already sweating bullets over the fact that his currently stolen licenses plates were not going to match the information on his registration papers. That was pretty much guaranteed to cause them problems.
Sure enough, after a few minutes the officer returned and asked Stiles to step out of the vehicle. That was never a good sign. Trying to hang onto his mask of normality and not look as guilty or nervous as he felt, Stiles complied with the request, which he knew was in fact an order. He got out of the jeep, keeping his hands where the officer could see them. He could practically feel Derek's eyes following him and hoped the other man wouldn't do anything rash.
"Please place your hands on the vehicle, sir," the patrolman instructed, his eyes unreadable behind his large, reflecting sunglasses.
Stiles assumed the position, hands on the roof of his jeep, neck craning around so he could keep the policeman in view. He knew this was probably just routine procedure, done for the officer's safety. Normally, cop voice wouldn't have had much effect on him, but he was already anxious and this wasn't helping. He felt perspiration trickle down his neck.
"Hey, I hope nothing's wrong? Pretty sure the insurance is all paid up," Stiles said lightly, trying to prod the officer into telling him the problem so that he could give him the story he'd come up with, without it being a totally obvious lie. He had decided to act like he had no idea about the plates, make it seem like somebody else must have switched them on him and he'd not noticed until now. It wasn't a terribly great defense, but it would at least be difficult to disprove. The problem was that the Stiles knew the officer had a right to take him in and impound the car until the matter was sorted out, unless he could manage to talk him out of it, somehow. If he were very lucky and convincing, maybe he could get away with a summons to appear instead. It was a thin hope, but he had to go for it. Being held up here could prove fatal.
The officer didn't answer; instead he turned his attention to the other passengers. "I need everyone to get exit the vehicle. Please step out slowly and place your hands on the car."
Scott and Allison complied after a moment's hesitation. Derek hesitated longer, but eventually stepped out and did as instructed. What choice did they have, that wouldn't make things worse?
Stiles glanced around at them as they all stood about the car with hands on the roof, exchanging worried looks. Planted by the doors they'd exited, Scott was beside Stiles, their backs to the road, while Derek and Allison were on the opposite side of the car, across from them. Stiles felt nauseatingly exposed and vulnerable standing here like this on the side of the highway, where anyone could see them.
He wanted to bang his head against the heated metal and canvas for getting hung up on something so stupid. They probably were going to take him in, and impound the car, and the only good thing about that scenario was that the driver usually assumed full responsibility in these kinds of situations, so with any luck his passengers could go free and get the hell out of there. One glance at Derek's face, though, told him that that probably wasn't going to happen. Well, fuck.
A second police car pulled over onto the shoulder behind the first and another patrolman got out. Stiles did not like that the first man felt he had to call for backup, although since he seemed to be riding alone and he had four people to contend with, it wasn't unreasonable.
Stiles wondered a little that the man didn't have a partner. The newly arrived officer didn't either, but these were local cops, judging by their uniforms and cruisers, and he wasn't familiar enough with the way the force worked here to know whether it was weird or normal for them to be traveling alone.
The newly arrived officer patted Stiles and Scott down briefly while the first one took Derek and Allison. The new guy had a such a prominent mustache that Stiles started calling them 'Stashe and Glasses in his head.
'Stashe guided Stiles away from the car after he'd been frisked. Stiles baulked when the officer tried to get him into the backseat of his cruiser.
"Okay, wait. Am I under arrest?" he protested, pushing back against the hand on the back of his neck and catching hold of the door frame. He wasn't cuffed, but he knew that as soon as he was shut up in that back seat he would be trapped in there. The doors only opened one way.
"Sir, I need you to get in the car," the officer repeated, but Stiles wasn't having any of it this time.
"Which I will if you tell me why," Stiles protested. "If I'm not under arrest, then I am not getting in the car, and if I am under arrest, I have a right to know why you're arresting me," he insisted, keeping his tone firm but non-confrontational.
To his surprise, rather than respond, the officer shoved him forward roughly, banging his head on the edge of the door frame and forcing him into the back of the cruiser. Stiles yelped in pain as he fell onto the seat.
"Hey!" Scott stepped away from the Jeep in alarm. Derek let his arms drop and took several steps towards them. Both cops drew their weapons instantly and started yelling for them to freeze.
Stiles struggled up to sit, head spinning. He could only barely make out what was happening through the windshield, around the body of the other squad car that was parked in front of this one. He could see Scott, but Allison and Derek were mostly obscured.
"I'm okay! I'm okay!" he called urgently, heart in his throat, terrified that his friends were about to get themselves shot. "We haven't done anything! Don't give them a reason!"
There were only two cops and four of them, but the officers were armed and they were at a disadvantage. What were they going to do, go running off on foot? There wasn't anywhere to take cover. If the officers thought they were being threatened and opened fire, it was almost guaranteed that someone was going to take a bullet. It was pointless to get killed or hospitalized over what could just be some asshole cops and a stupid misunderstanding.
What the hell had he done? Managed to steal tags belonging to a wanted murder or pedophile or something? That would be just his luck, wouldn't it? He hoped that was all this was. Please God, let that be all this was.
Scott froze when the officer drew down on him, arms instinctively going up and out as he regarded the weapon with surprise. Stiles crawled across the seat to look out the passenger side window, trying to see Derek. When he did, he knew by the look on the other man's face that if Derek had been closer to him, things would have gotten really hairy, really fast. He obviously wanted to rush the officers, badly, but he was on the wrong side of the car and too far away from Stiles for it to do any good. He'd never make it. He appeared to realize he'd only succeed in getting himself killed, and reluctantly stood down.
"Look, we're cooperating all right?" Stiles called out, fixing 'Stashe with an angry look as the man took hold of Scott. "But I want it on record you have not read us our rights, or told us what this is about, and I want an attorney." Detaining them without explanation like this was frankly illegal and Stiles knew it, but your average Joe may not have. It was possible these guys were a little too used to having their own way. Stiles had a great respect for the police force for obvious reasons, but he was well aware that not everyone who served was like his dad. There were dick cops just like there were dicks in every other profession and a little power could be a really bad influence on some people.
This was wrong, though. He felt it in his gut, something about this was wrong. He was filled with the anxious sensation that he should do something, but he had no idea what.
Scott was pushed down into the seat beside him and the door slammed shut, locking them in. Through the windows, they saw Glasses loading Derek and Allison into the backseat of his cruiser, parked in front of theirs. Both Glasses and 'Stashe remained outside the vehicles.
Stiles and Scott exchanged worried glances. The air was hot inside the closed up cars, but that wasn't the only reason why Stiles felt sweat trickling down his neck and beading on his brow.
"Stiles, what's going on?" Scott asked quietly. "What do they want?"
Stiles shook his head. He was getting a sick, sick feeling in his stomach. "I don't know. I thought this was about having the wrong tags on the car, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe they think we stole the car or..." he worried his lip between his teeth. "Or maybe they're not really cops," he whispered his true fear. "This is wrong, Scott. They didn't mirandize us, they didn't even handcuff us, they didn't even ask any of you who you were..." he shook his head. "If they are cops, they don't care about procedure or breaking the law. Maybe they're just dicks, or maybe they're on the Argents' payroll." He swallowed, hard, fixing Scott with a wide, fearful look. "Which... Scott, trust me, that would be bad. So bad."
Stiles craned his neck, scooting around anxiously in his seat so he could see Derek better. The other cruiser wasn't far away and they had a pretty good view of the back of Derek and Allison's heads. "Maybe we should have run."
"Right, 'cause your Jeep from the 80s would totally outrun this," Scott nodded his chin sarcastically at the modified Crown Victoria cruiser in which they sat. "Kinda think we'd have ended up here anyway, man."
There was a crunch of gravel ahead of them as another vehicle pulled off the road onto the shoulder, in front of where the now empty Jeep sat.
Stiles went stiff, his face suddenly draining of color as a dark haired man and a blonde woman got out of the large, black SUV. Glasses and 'Stashe went to speak with them, and the rapid, panicky sound of Stiles' breathing seemed loud in the quiet confines of the car.
"Oh fuck, Scott," Stiles whispered, his voice hoarse with a horror Scott had never before heard from his generally fearless friend. "We're fucked."
In the other cruiser, an uncomfortable, almost oppressive silence reined, tension hanging thick in the still, hot air.
Allison decided this definitely had to rate somewhere amongst the five most awkward situations of her life. She cast wary, sidelong glances at Derek. He was a strong, well-built man. Handsome, for sure, but also kind of intimidating. It was a little unnerving suddenly being alone with him without Scott or Stiles present. She stayed as close to the window as she could and wondered if she was entirely safe right now, given the history they apparently had, which, honestly, she couldn't really wrap her mind around just yet. It all seemed like madness.
She wondered if it were at all possible that this was some very weird, very vivid dream. She knew it wasn't, really, but a lot of things had happened very quickly and none of it truly felt real. She was supposed to be at school right now. She was supposed to be finishing out her classes and packing and looking forward to going home and the plans they'd made for the summer. So how exactly had she ended up here, locked in the back of a police cruiser outside a town she'd never heard of with a man she didn't know who had some kind of Inigo Montoya complex against her family?
The answer, naturally, was Stiles. Her friend had a unique ability to randomly introduce chaos into the lives of those around him. He didn't do it on purpose; he simply had no concept of what it was to leave well enough alone. If he did, he would probably still be at school with them ... and Matt Daehler would still be stalking her. Maybe he'd have tried to rape her by now. Maybe he'd have tried to hurt Scott for being in the way. Stiles was reckless and sometimes odd, but his hunches were usually surprisingly accurate and his heart was pure gold.
Stiles hadn't deserved any of what had happened to him this year. It still burned her that Matt had come into their lives because of her. She'd been the target of his obsession, but Stiles was the one whose life had been wrecked. Matt had used Stiles, he'd pretended to care about him and then hurt him, and she had to wonder if this new guy Stiles had fallen in with on the rebound was any better. Was it possible he had manipulated Stiles' vulnerability? How could she know whether any of what he'd told Stiles was true? She'd totally missed all the warning signs with Matt; she'd failed Stiles and was determined to be a better friend this time around.
She studied Derek quietly, running his name through her mind as if seeking any kind of answering chime of familiarity. It did no good. She'd never heard of him, or the Hales, or any of the things Stiles had talked about. That didn't mean it wasn't true, though. Those awful marks on Stiles' body said that something terrible had happened, and what explanation was there but the one he had given? Yet, she still found herself struggling with the idea all the same. It was hard to believe these kinds of things about people you knew.
Seeing Aunt Kate earlier had been a shock... but maybe it hadn't really been her. She'd only seen the blond woman earlier for a few seconds, and at a bad angle, after all. Could it have just been the power of suggestion? Allison hadn't seen Kate in person in at least four or five years, and she hadn't seen her all that often even before they moved.
She had plenty of pleasant memories from when she was a child, but as she approached her teens the relationships in her extended family had started becoming tense. Or maybe they always had been and she had simply become old enough to notice.
She hadn't thought much of it at the time, but she rarely recalled ever being with her grandfather or aunt when her parents were not present, even though she knew Grandpa had offered to take her to the beach house with him numerous times. She remembered once, when she was thirteen, Aunt Kate had picked her up from school and taken her to the mall. They'd spent all evening there and somehow her phone had gotten turned off without her realizing it. Her Aunt had let her buy all the grown up kind of clothing she wanted and even paid for it. Allison had had a great time, but her father had been very upset about the whole thing afterwards. She'd thought it was because of the shortness of the skirts and tightness of the shirts, or because Kate had encouraged her to get her navel pierced, and maybe part of it had been about those things... but looking back, she realized her father had also seemed almost ... scared. Scared that she hadn't come home when expected and he couldn't get hold of her? Or scared that she'd been alone with Kate all that time? Suddenly, she wondered.
Allison felt like she should say something to break the growing tension in the car, but she had no idea what, and for his part, Derek seemed content to ignore her completely. His attention was focused out the window at the two cops or back towards where Stiles and Scott were locked in the other cruiser.
Her attention was drawn away as a car pulled off the highway just ahead of them, parking on the far side of Stiles' jeep. There were three people in the car. Two got out and the driver remained in the car. This time, there could be no doubt in Allison's mind that it was, indeed, her aunt who got out of the SUV. Perhaps four years was really not such a long time after all, because Kate looked exactly as she remembered her. Her hairstyle was different, but that was about all.
Allison stared at Kate as she strode over to talk with the police officers, transfixed and vaguely horrified because she just couldn't quite comprehend what this all meant.
She glanced over at Derek, and the change that had come over him was radical. He went from stony, brooding agitation to an all-out fight or flight reaction in about five seconds. His face had paled, hardening with a mixture of hatred and fear. He started tugging urgently on the door handle even though he seemed to know it was no good. His strong, tanned fingers ran over the seams of the car door, prodding and prying at it viciously as if searching for weaknesses.
Allison realized with a start that his hands were actually shaking, be it from fear or rage or some combination of the two, she didn't know. There was something so sharp and real, so visceral about Derek's palpable horror over being trapped in here that it made her afraid, too.
Derek gave up on the door as a lost cause, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he turned to cast an agonized gaze out the back window towards the other cruiser less than a yard behind them, so close, and yet so impossibly far out of reach.
"Oh God," Derek whispered, as if he'd forgotten Allison were even there. "I've killed him. I've killed him too." His voice was broken and raw with the realization, the emotion in it far too deep and ragged for any kind of lie or pretense to exist. His fingers dug into the seat like he wanted to rip it apart with his bare hands and burrow his way out through the back of the car. The way Derek looked at Stiles tugged at Allison's gut. There was such an agony of longing and regret in his eyes. He truly believed they were both about to die; that this was goodbye.
Allison looked out the rear windshield and felt her blood ice over in her veins, because Derek was looking at Stiles, but she was looking at Scott, and suddenly this whole surreal nightmare felt much too real, and she was afraid, truly, truly afraid in a way she had never felt before.
Allison looked back out the front. The two police officers were still speaking with her aunt and the man with her. She didn't know enough about this situation to fully understand what must be happening. She struggled to remember what Stiles had just told her, but it didn't really help to make sense of their current situation.
Was Kate posing as some kind of an official? Did she have some story about them being terrorists or whatnot and that was why they'd been detained? Or were these officers simply corrupt and working with her aunt? For that matter, was the entire police force on her grandfather's payroll? Who knew? Not her. She was suddenly struck by how very, terribly little she knew about anything.
She knew her grandfather was a powerful man, who could control a lot of people a lot more than he should - or so her father had said on several occasions when a dark mood was on him, or when he'd had a beer or three too many.
She'd thought he just meant because Gerard was an influential politician, but suddenly those words took on a different hue. So many of the small things that she'd never tallied up before about her life were suddenly starting to form a new and terrible kind of picture. Little things her father had said or done, his paranoia, his gun collection, the panic room he'd built into the basement and how unreasonable he was on the subject of his family, even making her return Christmas gifts from her Aunt and Grandfather. She'd always thought he was rather unfair on the subject honestly, but with one small twist of a perspective lens, it all took on a totally different cast.
What else didn't she know? How far did this abyss opening under her feet spread? How many corners of her life did it taint? What about the car crash that killed her mother or their subsequent, abrupt move halfway across the country to the sleepy little town of Beacon Hills? Was anything that had happened in her family completely as it seemed? How much of her life had been built on complete lies?
With unsteady hands, Allison pulled her cell from her pocket. She slumped down in the seat so as not to be easily seen from outside and dialed her father's cell, praying that he would answer. He did.
"Princess! To what do I owe the pleasure?" Clearly, her father had seen her name on his caller ID and for a moment the warm tones of his voice washed over her, comforting in their familiarity. Then she looked out the window again and her fear returned threefold.
Chris was still speaking. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you until-"
"Dad, I don't have a lot of time, so please just listen," she cut him off. Her throat felt tight and somehow she'd started crying without noticing, until now, when it made her voice quaver.
"Allison?" she could hear the sudden change, the new edge of concern in his tone, but she pressed on quickly, talking over him.
"I don't know what's going on anymore, Dad. I don't know who to trust or who to believe. I don't even know if I can trust you. I hope I can," she said in a quick, choking rush. "Listen, I'm just outside a city called Redstone with Scott and Stiles. I'm locked in the back of a police cruiser with Derek Hale, and Aunt Kate just pulled up." There was complete and utter silence from the other end of the line, as if her father had even stopped breathing. "Dad..." her voice cracked again, despite her best efforts. "Dad, Stiles says Aunt Kate's done terrible things, that she hurt him, and he has been hurt, bad, I saw it. I don't know what to do."
There was a sound from the other end of the line unlike anything she'd ever heard from her father before. "Oh God," it was a stunned, horrified whisper. "Oh God, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Listen to me, Allison. Listen. I'm coming, all right? I'm coming for you." Her father's voice was raw, almost foreign. It was filled with fear and regret and something inside Allison went numb, because she knew then.
It was true. It was all true.
"Allison, listen, this is important," Chris was still speaking and his voice had changed again, hardening with determination and rage, while still seasoned with that edge of fear. "I promise I will explain everything later, but right now I need to listen to me and do exactly as I say. Please, sweetheart, this is so important. You need to make sure your Aunt Kate knows who you are and that you're there. I'm sure she'll recognize you, but do not let anyone take you anywhere unless she's seen you. Scream, shout, make a scene if you have to, just be sure you get her attention, and you tell her ..." his voice choked slightly with an anger that made him almost unrecognizable. "You tell her that if anything happens to you, anything, she knows what I'll do," the words were savage, almost a growl. "Tell her that. You'll be all right. They won't hurt you. Just stay with your aunt and wait for me."
"What about Scott and Stiles? And Derek?" she added, glancing sideways at her companion, who was watching her silently.
The long pause before her father answered told her almost as much as his words. "Honey, I can't... I don't know what I can do for them from here." There was deep, genuine pain in his voice. "I'm coming, but it's going to take me some time to get to you. You need to stay put, stay with your aunt. Do what she says and you'll be safe. If ... if Scott and Stiles have a chance to run, they should take it. Tell them that, if you can, but don't get involved. You need to stay clear, sweetheart. Don't get in the way if things go badly. I... I'm so sorry; I promise I'll be there as soon as I can."
Allison understood then, with chilling certainty, that her father thought Derek, Scott and Stiles would likely all be dead long before he arrived, and he didn't know how to prepare her for that. "They'll really kill them?" she said quietly. "Just ... just like that?"
Her father didn't answer, which, she knew, was the answer. The direness of their situation filled her with dread and yet, weirdly, it also seemed to center her, as if the prospect of losing everything, of losing Scott threw the world into a strangely sharp and clear kind of relief. There were some things in life that were worth any risk, any cost, and there was a strength that came from discovering what those things were to you.
It wasn't going to happen. She wasn't going to lose them. Not today. Not like this.
Allison snuck a cautious glance outside. Either Kate and the officers were coordinating something, or there was some small difficulty between them, because they were still talking and the man with the mustache looked grumpy. She didn't know what all that was about, but it looked like the conversation was wrapping up. Her father's words had started a desperate plan forming in her mind, and she needed to put it into action while there was time. She was still afraid, but she felt calm now, too. It was a strange, dangerous kind of calm that made her feel oddly powerful.
"Okay," she said quietly into the silence. "Dad? This isn't right. I'm not going to let them hurt Scott, or Stiles, or Derek." She looked over at her companion and then away. "I love you, Dad." She said it like it might mean goodbye and hung up on the worried sound of her father's voice urgently saying her name.
The conversation outside had fully disbanded now. Kate and the men with her were heading their way. Allison turned quickly to Derek, knowing they had only moments left. There was no time to ask him to trust her; no time to try to iron out the years of atrocity that hung between their families, so instead all she said was "Okay, this is the plan..."
Derek sat tensely, gazing at Kate as she filled the view through the closed window on Allison's side of the car. Her hired muscle stood close behind her. Allison smiled up at her Aunt with a very good facsimile of stunned surprise on her face.
"Aunt Kate? No way! What are you doing here?" Allison called, raising her voice to be heard through the window and managing to sound both happy and pleased. "I'm so glad to see you. Maybe you can help us out? There's like, been some kind of misunderstanding, I think." She gestured towards her current surroundings a bit sheepishly. "We weren't doing anything wrong."
Kate looked duly suspicious, but she smiled and her return greeting was friendly enough. "Hey, kiddo, long time no see. Your daddy know you're out getting arrested for carjacking?"
Allison shook her head and gave her aunt a shocked, pleading look. "What? That's ridiculous! We didn't jack anything, that's Stiles' car, I promise. He's had it forever. I mean... come on, who would steal that? Seriously? Look, this is a little... um, see I'm... I'm kind of supposed to be at school right now. But Stiles called and asked us to come down here saying it was really important and the next thing I know he's rushing us into his car and telling us he'll explain as soon as we're safe, whatever that means, and ... and he was kind of sounding a little crazy? But, I mean, he's been under a lot of stress, lately. There was some stuff that happened at school, and it's not his fault. I don't believe he would have done anything bad, okay? Whatever's going on is a mistake," she spoke quickly, the words pouring out like she was rattled and anxious and seeking help. "But... like ... I mean ... Dad doesn't have to know I'm here, does he? Maybe we can ... talk about it? I'm sure this is all just a mix up."
Derek had to give the girl credit for being able to pull off the guilty teenager don't tell dad face on command. Granted, he didn't know Allison well, but he thought the performance would have sold him.
"We'll talk about it." Kate grinned and raised her eyebrows in a wry but noncommittal manner. It was difficult to communicate through the closed door, and she'd probably only gotten a third of what Allison had said. She glanced towards one of the police officers and nodded towards the car. "Open the door, she can come with us."
Glasses moved to do as she asked, while 'Stashe walked past them towards his cruiser and got into the driver's seat. Derek heard the engine behind them turn over and felt his stomach tighten, his heart racing in determined anticipation.
The door opened and Allison struggled awkwardly out of the cruiser. She stood in the doorway, her position holding it open with her body. "Oh my God, finally! That was so scary!" she cried diving enthusiastically for her aunt like she was going to fling herself into her arms in relief.
She was putting it on a little thick, now, but it didn't matter at this point. At the last moment, Allison "tripped" and plowed forward into Kate with ramming force, knocking her backward into the man who was standing directly behind her. They didn't completely fall, but there was a momentary riot of jostling of limbs and fighting for balance.
It was the moment Derek needed. Blood pumping in his ears, he sprang out of the door directly on Allison's heels. He ducked low and ran around the back of the car while Kate and her companion were struggling to right themselves as Allison blatantly flailed against them. Officer Glasses pulled his gun, but he was on the wrong side of the door he'd just opened. The few seconds it took him to step away from the door blocking his shot and clear the jostling tangle of other people gave Derek time to dodge between the two cars. He passed behind the rear bumper of the forward cruiser and the front bumper of the one behind, acting it as if he meant to skim along the side of the second cruiser for cover while making a break for the road.
Officer 'Stashe threw the driver's side door of his cruiser open abruptly as Derek approached, meaning to slam it into him to check his forward progress. Only, Derek wasn't actually trying to make a break for the road. He anticipated the attempted interception and threw himself down in advance of the swinging door, skidding beneath its outer edge like he was sliding into base. He twisted his body, using the force of his momentum to swipe the officer's legs out from under him. Pain flared in Derek's side and his shoulder, but he ignored it.
Caught in the unbalanced moment when he was just in the process of stepping out of his car and trying to rise into a firing position, the impact of Derek's body knocked 'Stashe's off his feet and sent him sprawling. His gun went off into the air and he banged into the side of the car before hitting the ground.
Derek would never have won in a sustained fight against the officer, not in his current condition, but all he needed was to get him out of the way for a second. Rolling up, Derek half clawed, half threw himself into the driver's seat. He gunned the car into reverse, whacking 'Stashe with the still open door as the man tried to get up.
Bullets pinged into the car in an angry, biting swarm as officer Glasses opened fire on them, joined by Kate who had by now managed to extricate herself and her weapon while her companion hung onto Allison. Allison bucked in the man's arms, kicking her aunt in the back of the shins and spoiling her aim. Bullets peppered the windshield, but fortunately, the sturdy squad car was intentionally armored against such attacks. The bulletproof glass frosted into a spider-web of cracks, but did not shatter.
Derek pulled the car door shut as they picked up speed and momentum. He threw the car out of reverse and back into drive, making it lurch and slalom sideways, the tires spitting gravel. At least one of the bullets must have found their tires because he felt the car list and yaw as the traction ratio changed. Thankfully, whatever kind of special tires these cars used were made to stand up to damage and still be at least semi-operable. If you were going to get shot up trying to escape, a cop car was definitely the right vehicle for the job. Still, they needed distance and they needed it fast.
Flooring the accelerator and burning rubber, he threw the car into a screeching, hair-raising U-turn across the highway. Horns blared and several cars swerved wildly to avoid the cruiser.
Stiles was yelling something at him from the backseat, and it took Derek a moment to realize that it was instructions for how to turn on the car's lights and sirens. Derek slapped them on and they blazed away down the highway, pushing 120 miles an hour with the car's powerful engine roaring, the siren wailing, and everyone obligingly getting out of their way.
Derek was breathing hard. Floating dark patches and flashes of yellow light danced before his vision. Adrenaline was kicking him in the ribs, making his heart rabbit in his chest and his hands tremble on the wheel. His injuries burned and there was something warm and wet trickling down his side. He'd probably reopened the gash across his ribs. Stiles was going to crawl all over him about it, but there'd be time for that later.
He could hardly believe he'd made it at all. He had never felt like a particularly fortunate man, for obvious reasons, but after recent events he was almost tempted to believe that maybe providence was trying to make up for all the shitty luck in his past. Whatever, he'd take it. Now, if he could just manage to get enough oxygen to stay conscious and not black out behind the wheel while driving over a hundred miles an hour, they'd be in good shape.
"Allison!" Scott's voice from the seat behind him sounded both alarmed and desperate. The cage between the seats rattled. "Stiles, we left her! We left Allison behind! We gotta go back!"
That wasn't going to happen, but Derek couldn't blame the boy for freaking out. He would have felt the same if they'd left Stiles behind in that situation. He kept his eyes on the road and his foot on the gas and shoved back hard on the nagging part of his conscience which told him that if that had been Stiles, he would have gone back.
"Allison will be fine," he said tersely, the words coming out shorter and more clipped than intended because he was still having trouble breathing and the pain in his side was intense. "This was her plan. She knew she'd have to stay behind if it worked," he explained. "She talked to her father while we were in the car. He said he was coming to get her and that she'd be fine, that her aunt wouldn't hurt her." Derek could only hope he was speaking the truth. It was what Allison had told him. He didn't know if it would prove true. He hoped so, but either way, there was no going back now.
Derek heard Stiles' voice from the backseat, low and earnest as he sought to comfort and encourage his friend. "She's family to them, Scott. That's a big thing in her favor, and anyway Mr. Argent wouldn't let anything happen to her. If he told her she'd be okay, then she will be," he reasoned. There was a thread of anxious, worried strain in Stiles' voice, despite the optimism, and Derek thought maybe he was trying to assure himself as much as Scott.
Derek wondered how much Stiles would hate him if it turned out they'd just gotten Allison killed. He wondered how much he'd hate himself. He hoped he wouldn't have to find out.
"Okay," Scott murmured reluctantly, obviously still extremely worried but clinging onto the same hope that they all were, since he had no other choice. "Okay." His voice was soft, breathless. There was faint, repeated, wheezing sound. "Stiles..." the word was oddly strangled.
"Oh shit," Stiles murmured, voice worried and soothing at the same time. "Shh, shh, Scott, it's okay." There was a rustling of clothing, as if Stiles were going through his friend's pockets. "Scott, where is it? Where's your inhaler?"
"In... my jacket... in ... Allison's... car," Scott panted, the pained wheezing of his struggle for oxygen growing more apparent.
"Shit, Scott! Stop leaving it places!" Stiles remonstrated with a sharpness that was clearly born from distress. "We're not in my jeep anymore; I don't have a spare, here!"
"S'okay," Scott murmured bravely. "Don't ... need it. I'll be okay ... in a minute."
"Yeah, okay, okay," Stiles agreed, trying to be encouraging although he sounded a little dubious. "Just... lean back. Relax, try to breathe slow."
Scott made a soft choking sound that may have been an attempt at a snort. "Yeah, sure..." he panted. "Because running away ... in a stolen cop car ... full of bullet holes ... is so relaxing."
Kate slammed Allison none too gently against the side of the SUV as her companion opened the back door for them. Behind them, Allison heard tires crunching on gravel. A siren kicked on as the two police officers took off in the remaining squad car in pursuit of the fugitives.
She'd done everything she could. She desperately hoped that Scott and Stiles had enough of a lead and that they would somehow figure out a way to lose their pursuers. She'd seen those two pull some truly crazy stunts together in the past and get away with it. She only hoped they'd manage the same now.
Kate pulled her away from the car and manhandled her towards the back seat. Allison fought her and the older woman cuffed her sharply across the face, knocking Allison to the ground.
Head ringing, Allison stumbled unsteadily as she was dragged her back to her feet.
"You treacherous little bitch," Kate accused, her eyes dark and angry, like she'd already been having a really shitty day and Allison had just gotten on her very last nerve.
Allison licked her bloodied lip and grinned defiantly. "Guess that runs in the family, Auntie." She spit blood at Kate, her heart pounding with anger, adrenaline and fear.
Kate's eyes flickered darkly, but an odd, almost approving smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Well, look who grew up to have a backbone. Here I thought your milksop of a father had totally ruined you." The older woman leaned unexpectedly close, tilting Allison's chin up with her fingers. "I always thought there was a little of the devil in you. Too bad he never let me train you up proper, like we were trained."
Allison just glared at her, despite the way her stomach was clenching and unclenching in sickening waves. "Why are you doing this?" she demanded.
Kate shoved her into the back seat. "You wouldn't understand, kid. You just wouldn't understand."