The leaves crunched and dissintegrated under my feet. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot... My only focus right now is running. Until my lungs give out. Until my body collapses underneath me and my flesh melts into the ground. Until I am nothing left but rot and soil, bled into the earth and out of existence.
This is hard. So. Fucking. Hard. And I'm tired. Running is the only thing I've ever done and I'm absolutely exhausted.
I ran from the pain of losing Laura. I tried so hard to keep her safe, always at my side, but it was for nothing. Finding her body was the end. It broke me. First, the love of my youth, and then my fucking family, and then, the only person I really had left. The only person who was still worth protecting and loving and... needing.
And I ran from the need to have a pack. I needed to be alpha. Its who I am. I'm the leader. I'm Derek Hale. But no matter how hard I tried, who I bit, what I did, it fell apart. They died, or left, or became alphas of their own packs, and once again, I was left to find more. Repeating the process until my mind splintered and there was no will left to bare. No point to attempt.
I ran from home, letting the hunters and the cops finally drive me from my own stomping grounds. Beacon Hills was mine. Was. And now, they have a win. The mass murdering werewolf is dead, or soon to be dead, on the run with a lanky, immature...
Stiles. Who, now, I am also running from. As fast as I fucking can.
Every night here we have slept in that shitty bed, feet to head, barely touching. Except I haven't slept, not really. I just lay there and listen to him breathe. Watch his chest rise and fall, making sure that it doesn't stop. God fucking forbid it stops. Heaven and earth would collapse and burn to the ground.
His smell and my smell are becoming its own mingled perfume. Its the closest to a drug I could ever be. He doesn't notice it because his nose isn't acutely aware of every difference in odor, but I do. It makes my head spin, my chest tighten, my eyes blur. Its our smell. Musky and rich and earthy. His is sweet, like magnolias and cedar. A summer night, even in the dank, dusty cabin that only exists to hide things. It brightens the room. Makes it feel like life exists there. I could find him from a mile away, if only following his scent on a lazy breeze.
Mine is... rustic. Sour, almost. Rain and tobacco and dirt. I guess if I had to describe it with words other than "sweat" and "spite", that would be it.
But together, its a cologne I could wear every day. Soak it into my bed sheets, my shirts, the furniture and... my home. I would live in it, surrounded by it, constantly breathing it in as deep as I could and holding it in my lungs.
God I fucking hate him.
And I fucking hate this.
...
"Hey sourwolf, how was your little joggy jog? See any more deer? I didn't hear a scream so probably not."
Stiles stood across the island from me, grinning ear to ear and wagging his eyebrows up and down. The wildlife incident had gone over like pushing a boulder up a hill. He thought it was absolutely hilarious, but I swear to God, something was there. Something was following me.
"Shut up, or I'll make you shut up."
As soon as the words left my mouth, regret hit my chest like a sucker punch. Shit.
Stiles sputtered, tripping over words just as well as he trips over flat surfaces. Maybe I was seeing things, but there was a new color in his face. He was pink. He was... blushing?
"I- Uh- I- So... Did you wanna like... go to town or something...? I could go get some more chicken or-"
"I'm not going to town. Not yet. And you aren't either. We still have plenty of food left over from your toddler shopping spree."
I looked at him hard. Stern. We were not going to be leaving this cabin for at least another week, maybe two, under any circumstances. It was dangerous, and if I was caught, no one would be there to protect Stiles. He would be trapped, or killed, or tortured. He would never be seen again.
"Well then... what are we gonna do? Sit and wait? Kick our feet up and read cute stories? What are we doing here, Derek?"
He had a point. I still didn't have a plan. Winter was well on the way, but we were sitting here, waiting for the snow to fall and roads to be closed. We would have no way to leave, no escape. If someone caught wind of us being here, it would be the end.
"I don't know yet. What I do know is that the property is safe for now. Your job is to make sure it stays that way. By sitting down and listening to what I tell you, okay?"
Stiles rolled his eyes, putting his hands firmly on his hips, like he was going to scorn me for being mean or something. He knows this is dumb. We're sitting ducks in a pond full of fucking alligators right now. But its the best option we have until I can find somewhere else to go. Somewhere safer.
"Alright. I'll be your errand boy then. At your service, Mr. Hale."
He really shouldn't say shit like that.
"Good. There's some wood off to the side of the property that needs to be brought back to the cabin to dry. I don't really need your help, but if you want to come, you can. Just... be quiet. Don't be a smartass or I'll send you back."
His eyes shot up at me, excitement nearly pouring out of him. Other than the grocery trip, he'd had almost no freedom since we got here. Not until I could make sure the area was secure, and we weren't in any danger.
"Okay, yeah, definitely. I'll protect you from any bunnies or mosquitos along the way too."
This was a mistake.
...
The walk around the property was nice. The trees have turned deep shades of red, orange, and yellow. The wind blows them around slightly, creating little whirlpools of earth and color. Shockingly, Stiles has been quiet for most of the time, save for a few mutters here and there about being cold. He's bundled up in his jacket and my jacket, and... I like that. So I've made even more of a point to not look at him.
We round a corner to the wood shed. Its a little further from the cabin so that when we cut logs down, we don't have to haul them very far. We leave them here for the warmer parts of the year to keep mice and snakes away, and they can hide in the piles here in peace. There's not much left that isn't rotten, so I'll need to cut some more. Joy.
"Alright, I have to find some more wood to cut. I need you to sort through these pieces and find any that aren't rotten or covered in bugs."
Stiles looks at me as if I've finally lost it. Like I just told him that time travel actually is real.
"Excuse me? I'm the pest control guy now? No, absolutely not."
"Well then, enjoy your walk back to the cabin. I'll be back in a few hours."
He looks at me, contemplating, and quite frustrated.
"Okay, fine, Jesus. I'll pick the creepy crawlies off the wood."
I smirk, letting him get to his work. He picks them up and tosses them quickly, not wanting to touch them for too long in case a killer beetle crawls across his hand.
We haven't had rain in a while now, so there should be some small trees that are dry enough for me to cut and use. The woods are quiet today. Peaceful. I don't mind this work. Getting my hands dirty and hacking things with an axe. Walking and enjoying the serenity.
The path is short and I know a couple spots where there should be plenty to pick from. All the little creatures are hunkering down for the coming winter so I need to be careful about which one I pick. I may be an asshole but I don't have a vendetta against innocent families of bunnies or nests of baby birds or whatever.
Walking along, I'm studying the area for the right pick, when I see an indentation in the trail. So slight, almost unnoticeable, but there. Coming closer to it, there's a distinct pattern to it. Its a footprint. A boot, about as big as what I wear, and its headed this direction. Looks like its been here a couple days, maybe. But its not mine, and Stiles has been in the cabin around the clock since we arrived. Which means...
Someone else is here with us.
I take a deep breath, long and steady. This isn't the time to react irrationally. It could have been a hiker, lost from his trail. We've had a couple come across the property in the past. They usually found their way out once they saw the wood shed or the cabin and realized they were on private land. We never had to remove them ourselves.
It could be a hunter, scouting a kill before winter rolls in. I've seen them around this time of year, usually the guys who live off the grid. They aren't supposed to be here, but as long as they respect the area, I have no problem with them trying to find food before there's none left.
Or it could be someone looking for something else. For me.
The footsteps are faint at this point, almost lost in the brush and decaying leaves, but they're there. They head away from the cabin, towards the thick of the tress. Away from us. Its a good sign, but I still feel... uneasy. I'll have to be on high alert until the first snow fall. After that, the likelihood of someone camping out here, waiting for me, will be a lot slimmer. They'll have to leave or come closer to the cabin, where I'll be waiting for them.
Brushing the thought to the side for the time being, there's other priorities to be dealt with right now. Firewood. Stiles is going to freeze to death, and I don't particularly love being chilly either. I can survive it for a while, but extended exposure makes me murdery. There's a good looking cedar off the side of the trail that looks good. Not too big or round, and healthy.
The axe hits it hard, throwing splinters of wood up my arms and onto my chest. It leaves behind a rich scent, like a natural cologne. It fills my nostrils and soaks into my skin.
Hack, hack, hack. Crack.
It falls to the ground, thumping hard and sending a vibration up my legs and through my body. Success.
Cutting it into smaller pieces is the hard work. It requires a lot more muscle power, constantly heaving the axe and throwing all my strength into each blow. Trying to keep the landing as precise as I can. Before long, sweat is dripping down my face, onto my chest, and down my back, completely soaking my shirt. Even in the chill, I'm burning up.
I rip the shirt off quickly and throw it to the side, letting the cold air hit my bare skin. It feels amazing, instantly gratifying me with relief. It feels like drinking a glass of iced tea, it feels... like I'm being watched...
Spinning around, I hold the axe low to the ground, ready to attack the intruder. It must be the one who left the footprints.
I lock eyes with the target, ready to unleash fire and fury upun the earth, until I realize who it is.
Stiles is standing there, eyes wide and hands twisting around awkwardly. His face is pink again, and I'm not sure if its because of the air nipping his skin, or the fact that I just caught him staring at me.
"Hey, I- I uh, got some wood ready. There's a pile now but its pretty heavy so..."
His eyes dart to my abdomen, to my arms, and then away to the ground. He's looking at anything other than me, trying his absolute best to avoid eye contact at every cost.
"Alright, I'm coming."
I walk towards him, picking up my shirt and unwrinklng it, dusting off the dirt and sticks that have become stuck to the cloth. He's completely frozen, still looking at the ground. The blush hasn't faded from his cheeks.
I let my path towards him fall just close enough that our shoulders brush. As I pass, I look over my shoulder just barely, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. He swallows, his neck twitching just a little. Adorable.
A smirk etches into my face, against all my might. Tonight should be very warm.
