AN: I do not own Teen Wolf or the Bourne movies.

Anyone who catches the Supernatural reference in this chapter gets a cookie.

WARNING! The end of this chapter contains a few graphic descriptions of violence.

"Stiles, for the love of God, knock it off."

Derek was driving their fourth car, a sporty Chevy Cobalt, and Stiles was in the passenger seat. He was fiddling with the GPS, trying to convince Derek that taking the toll roads would be faster. Derek stoically kept refusing. He had noticed the security cameras in the gas station in West Virginia, and although he had told Stiles to cover his face as much as possible, it was no guarantee they hadn't been seen. Derek knew better than anyone just how far-reaching the arm of the government they were running from could stretch.

"Derek, come on. This is our second full day on the road and we're barely past Chicago." Stiles gestured out the window. Snow was falling lightly outside and the road was nearly deserted, even at noon. "Don't you want to get there, like, this century?"

Derek shot him a dirty look. "I don't care how long it takes to get there, as long as we get there safely." He swerved gracefully out of the way as an eighteen-wheeler rumbled onto the highway and restarted the cruise control.

"Come on!" Stiles threw his hands up into the air in frustration. "If they had really seen us in West Virginia, don't you think they'd have found us by now? Or turned their funky satellites onto us? Jeez." He fell back into the bucket seat with a huff. Privately he hoped they could keep this car for a while. It was the most comfortable one yet, and he was grudgingly including his worn out Jeep.

Rolling his eyes – seriously, it was exhausting how much he was rolling his eyes lately – Derek didn't reply. He saw the value in Stiles' argument: they hadn't encountered anyone in the least suspicious since they'd left Virginia. Maybe he was being overly cautious.

Stiles put the GPS back into the holster and had his hands around the book he'd picked up at the last gas station. It was a book of crosswords. "Want to play again?" He smiled broadly in Derek's direction, a pen already in his hand. He'd try Derek again about the tolls later, but for now they needed a distraction. Their tastes in music clashed horribly and Derek had nearly crashed yesterday after Stiles turned the volume way up on a catchy Top 40 song. Therefore, the radio stayed off.

"When's the next exit?"

Stiles checked the GPS. "We're supposed to stay on this road for another... eighty miles I think."

Derek grunted. "Okay. What's the theme?"

"It's called, 'The Damage is Done.' One across is three letters. 'A good name for a female plumber.'"

"Flo." A grin started to spread over Derek's face.

They finished the crossword in just under an hour. By the time the sun set, they'd finished another four.

The sun had been set for well over an hour by the time Derek deemed it appropriate to stop to get a bite to eat and catch some sleep. They were somewhere along the border of Minnesota by then.

"At this rate we're never going to make it to the west coast," Stiles grumbled. He was driving now and more than a little irritable from hunger. Another of Derek's rules was to avoid fast food chains and franchises. The divier a place looked, the better. Again, to avoid any sort of camera. Stiles was jonesing for some curly fries. "We barely moved any closer and we still drove over 500 miles."

"I'm not arguing with you about this again, Stiles," Derek barked. "Anyone who'll be following us will expect us to take the toll roads, or barring that, take the standard highway routes. Getting off and backtracking over our route and starting over protects us.

"Plus!" In a rare move, Derek indicated the car's interior with his hands. "We are driving a fucking stolen car. Staying off the highway is a good way to not be arrested for grand theft auto. I thought your dad was a cop. Seriously."

Stiles mumbled under his breath, "He's a sheriff."

"I think you like to hear yourself talk so much, even complaining sounds good." Derek crossed his arms and looked superior, even though another small smile was tugging on his lips. In the short time he'd been together, silence had started to grate on his ears. Stiles' ever-moving mouth had become a necessity.

"Fuck you, dude." Stiles took a hand off the wheel to slap playfully at Derek's face. He wasn't trying to make contact, but Derek took his hand anyway and pushed it gently away. Their fingers laced for just a moment and Stiles blushed.

A few minutes later, Derek cleared his throat and pointed in the distance. Stiles couldn't make out the sign from the road with only human eyes, but eventually they rolled past an advertisement for a bar and diner just off the main road. Stiles nodded and made the turn, arriving at the rustic bar just a minute later. There were several cars already parked outside, and a few motorcycles. Stiles remembered then it was a Friday night and normal people across the country were going out, having fun, getting drunk. He felt a pang remembering the celebratory dinner he'd had with Scott and Allison right before he left for Virginia. They'd told him they were going to have a baby. He'd cried nearly as much as Allison.

Derek exited the car before he did and cracked his neck with a sharp sound in the cold air. It was frigid outside, and Stiles, born and raised in northern California, found it unbearable almost immediately. His teeth chattered as he nodded to the door with his head. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and fired a glare Derek's way. The werewolf seemed totally at ease in the cold, even as the snow started falling faster and a dusting of it settled in his dark hair. Stiles wondered if he ran hot.

He blushed again and opened the door.

The bar was crowded and noisy, but a pretty blonde waitress sat them at a small wooden booth with a smile. Derek made a face that might have been a smile and began looking through the beer menu.

"Haven't seen you boys here before." An older woman approached them wearing an apron and a neutral expression. Stiles recognized it immediately, having seen it on his father's face a thousand times. It was an evaluative sort of face, worn before interrogations or when encountering something very new. Her nametag said Susan.

"We're just passing through," Stiles replied, running his hand through his short hair. "Can I get a glass of water?"

Susan nodded, scratching it onto her pad. She turned her body to Derek, face still neutral.

"So, we'll both have the McGoldens, then." Stiles' mouth dropped as a perfect Minnesota accent escaped Derek's mouth. "And a burger for me and my friend, for sure. You got Jucy Lucys?"

"For sure!" The waitress's mouth had upticked into a smile. "You two come up from the Bear Lake? Do some ice fishin an' stuff, eh?"

"You betcha. Takin' a trip with my brother." Derek kicked him under the table much harder than was necessary and Stiles turned his grimace of pain into what he hoped was a passable smile.

"Oh, for wonderful!" Susan finished writing down their order. "Well, I'll be right back with you boys' things."

Stiles waited until she was out of earshot before kicking Derek back in the shins. Even though Derek growled at him, he hissed, "What the hell was that about?" He didn't even know what a Jucy Lucy was.

Derek's eyes flashed in the smoky darkness. "I'm trying to make us as inconspicuous as possible," he hissed back. "She's going to remember two guys traveling together, especially in a rural bar where everyone knows each other. We can't stand out, to anyone, at all." With a grunt Derek kicked back at Stiles' shins, making his eyes water.

Susan returned then with their two beers and a glass of water for Stiles.

"How do you know how to talk in a Minnesota accent?" Stiles asked after a few minutes of silence nursing his own beer.

Derek shrugged and took a swig of his beer. When he saw Stiles was still looking at him expectantly, he said over the top, "I don't know. I've traveled a lot, been a lot of places for... You pick things up." He suddenly leaned forward, startling Stiles backwards. "How come you've never asked me about it?"

"About what? Your accent faking ability? Never noticed it before." Stiles was genuinely confused. He took another drink.

"About what I did. What I've done. Doesn't that upset your sense of morality? We've been traveling together for three days and you've never asked about my past -" Their burgers arrived suddenly. Susan set them down with another smile and Stiles dug in. A hunk of cheddar cheese was buried within the burger patty and he nearly swooned with joy. As he ate, he surreptitiously watched Derek and thought about his desperate question.

He sounded desperate, at least. That pleading look, his hand too hesitant to reach forward. He wanted absolution, maybe. If nothing else, he wanted someone to tell him he wasn't a monster.

Stiles chewed, pensive. Feeling braver than usual, he reached forward and gently touched Derek's arm. Derek stopped moving, his burger halfway to his mouth and his eyes on Stiles' hand.

"I know you're not a monster," Stiles vocalized around the mass of meat in his mouth. He swallowed and said, "You might have done stuff in the past, but hey, so have I. Everyone's got one. A past, I mean."

"Did you ever kill an entire family? Or stalk a man for days in the woods, and finally rip his throat out? Did you enjoy it?" Derek seethed the last sentence and spat his food out into a napkin. He had an ugly look on his face, full of self-loathing, and made to rise, though where he was going to go, Stiles had no idea.

"Hey, sit down," Stiles pleaded. He gripped his jacket tighter, and Derek resisted for a moment before sitting. He wouldn't meet Stiles' eyes, but grabbed his beer and drank the rest in one long swallow.

"Okay, so I've never done anything quite like that," Stiles conceded. Derek's mouth tightened further. "Hey! But that doesn't mean I've never done anything awful. I was addicted to Adderal through most of high school and college. I did some pretty nasty shit, and I can't remember all of it. Once, I-I starting freaking out, seeing and hearing things that weren't there, and I ended up attacking this guy I was seeing. Scott had to take him to the hospital and I had to be admitted for something called amphetamine psychosis – it happens to people sometimes when they take amphetamines or-or cocaine," he clarified for Derek. "I was in the hospital for ten days detoxing. Then I was arrested for assault. The charges were dropped, but. Well."

Derek looked skeptical.

"Sure, I never murdered anyone." Stiles took another bite of his burger and crammed a french fry into his mouth. "But that doesn't mean I don't know what it's like to hurt someone in the worst way possible. Ryan loved me, and I put him in the hospital. That's pretty awful, all things considered."

More silence. Stiles finished his burger and starting attacking his fries.

"Are you afraid of me?"

Derek's question surprised him.

"Dude," Stiles said, exasperated. "If I were I wouldn't be traveling across the country with you. Come on."

"I can turn into a werewolf and tear people limb from limb," Derek hissed over his plate. "That doesn't scare you?"

"I think I got over that the second I decided to put you in my Jeep and drive you to a motel to give you a bath." Stiles stabbed a fry into his puddle of ketchup. He was starting to get angry with Derek, though he couldn't have said why. "And you're protecting me. You're my wolf in shining armor. I want to be here – well, I don't want to be running for my life, obviously, but I want to be with you, not just because you saved my life. You're my friend. I like you, Derek. Isn't that enough for you?"

For a second Derek could only stare at him. He said slowly, "If you and I had met under normal circumstances, and I still worked for the government, and we weren't in danger... you'd still want to be friends with me?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Stiles scolded him with a shake of his head. "You said it yourself two days ago. I'm part of your pack now, right? Or something? Why would that change if we weren't in danger? It's not like random wolves team up to fight off predators and go their separate ways. Once you're pack, you're pack." And Stiles nodded affirmatively, with a supreme air of "My logic is undeniable; now shut up and eat your food."

Silence stretched between them, but for the first time, it wasn't awkward. Derek didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure what he had wanted to hear or what he had expected Stiles to say to him. Part of him, the more animalistic part, wanted reassurance from a pack member. It craved physical touch and kind words of care and safety. Another part, a part filled with self-hatred, wanted to push Stiles away so he would be safer. A more rational part knew this arrangement was best: he could protect Stiles from any threat.

He would protect him from anything.

Derek was afraid of just how much Stiles had wormed his way into him. He could almost feel him running through the cracks in him, soothing like water running through a parched, cracked desert. Three days, he reminded himself. I've known this kid for three days.

Werewolves wanted pack. Derek grew up in a huge family of born werewolves and for sixteen years had been surrounded, cuddled, piled on, and loved by dozens of people at every hour of every day. Then, after a moment of weakness, he'd had nothing, and he could feel himself slip slowly out of his natural beta state into the loneliness of an omega. It wasn't natural. After a decade of denying himself human contact, both as penance for his part in the death of his pack and as a necessity of his work, he couldn't deny it any longer.

Stiles was his pack. No matter what circumstances had thrown them together, no matter what was to come, he belonged in the space he'd already carved out inside Derek.

"Hey!" Stiles was trying to get his attention. Derek pulled himself out of his thoughts and blinked a couple time. "I'm going to the bathroom. Did you see it?"

Derek nodded roughly over his shoulder. He hadn't seen it, but he could smell it from where they were sitting. As he left, Stiles patted his shoulder. Derek unconsciously leaned into the touch.

He finished his burger and most of his fries waiting for Stiles to come back. After a few minutes though, he started to get worried. He twisted his head towards the bathroom and concentrated hard. Heartbeats thundered in his ears, but he was looking for one in particular: a young, fast, wild one. Derek concentrated harder, but he couldn't separate Stiles' heartbeat from anyone else's in the crowded bar. Growling, he stood from the table, threw down a few bills, and rushed into the bathroom.

Derek heard Stiles' humming and nervous tapping before he opened the door, but he went in anyway. He found him inside the single stall, not quite finished.

"Stiles. Hurry up." Derek grinned as Stiles swore under his breath.

"Don't do that Derek! Fuck." Stiles fumbled with his jeans and swore again.

Suddenly Derek caught snippets of a conversation just outside the door. As Stiles exited the stall, still doing his belt, Derek caught him and pushed him back in, closing the door just as two uniformed cops came into the bathroom. Derek pushed his body into Stiles', pressing him against the wall. He pressed his finger to his lips and Stiles nodded, his eyes wide.

As they entered, one said to the other, "Hey buddy, didja see that Chevy outside?"

"Ya sure. What about it?"

"Not too bright, driving something like that in the snow." Laughter erupted from both the officers.

"Where were they from?"

"Looked like Ohio, I think."

"That's odd, for sure. Wonder what they're doing out this way?"

Derek felt Stiles' heart beat faster in fear. He pressed closer, his face resting again his cheek, and whispered softly, "It'll be fine. Shhh."

Stiles nodded again. His hands curled into Derek's jacket, crushed almost painfully between their bodies. A few minutes later, the officers left, still discussing their stolen car. Even though they didn't know it was stolen, they were about to if they really ran the plates like they were discussing.

As soon as the door clicked, Derek and Stiles exhaled. Derek looked into Stiles' eyes and said quietly, "Let's get out of here." Stiles could only nod. He didn't even protest when Derek took his hand and led him furtively through the bar into the winter air. The snow was falling faster and their car had a decent covering on it. The police car was parked outside; it was empty though, so the officers must still be inside.

Quickly they brushed off the snow and got into the car. It started easily in the cold, and within seconds they had peeled off into the night.

They didn't say anything after that, not even while they were ditching the Cobalt in a strip mall parking lot and finding a beat up mini van to replace it. Derek broke the silence when they checked into a small hotel with a fading neon Vacancy sign.

"King or two queens?" The gruff old man asked.

Derek glared at him. "Two queens."

The man sniffed once. "Yeah, I bet." He handed over the keys.

"What'd you say?" Derek grabbed the keys with a growl.

"Nice car." He shrugged and wandered back to his stool and nude magazine.

Derek gave him a glare but walked away, taking the bags from the car before Stiles could grab them. They walked into the shabby room and Derek deposited the bags on the floor. He immediately started stripping and said to Stiles, "I'm going to take a shower."

Stiles grunted and laid down on the bed. He stared at the ceiling, counting the whorls in the plaster, bored. He missed his friends. He missed his dad. Derek was confusing him. The erection he'd grown being pinned against the wall by Derek confused him.

"You're not supposed to want to bone someone while you're running for your life," he muttered under his breath.

He sat up suddenly, remembering something. He rushed outside and returned after only a few seconds with his GPS and charger. It was a newer model and could pick up wi-fi. Stiles turned it on and waited, muttering under his breath to hurry up. It loaded finally and Stiles pulled up the menu, scanning the area for wi-fi.

"Success!" The motel was broadcasting a weak signal, but he was able to connect to it. Excitedly he pulled up his browser and went to his email account. After weeding through the usual spam, deleting an impressive 119 emails, he had four left unread. Two were from his father and the other two were from Scott. Stiles replied to his father first, cursing his lack of a phone or TV. Of course, even across the country, his father was keeping an eye on him and had seen something about a shooting on TV. The first email was short and to the point.

"Stiles, if you don't answer this email within 24 hours I'm going to fly out to Virginia and find you."

Stiles rushed to reply that he was fine and not to fly out, but his dad had sent it over 48 hours ago. Maybe he had already left and was in Virginia right now. He clicked on the next email – which was from that day – dreading what he would read, but all there was was a file. He downloaded it curiously and clicked. It was a video.

His father, bound to a chair, gagged, and head lolling in unconsciousness, filled nearly the entire frame of the video. Stiles gasped and scrambled into a sitting position as Alpha 2 came into focus, leaning over his father to adjust the focus on the camera.

"Hello, Mr. Stilinski." Peter Hale's smooth voice was distorted through the GPS's small speaker. "You never mentioned your father was the sheriff of Beacon Hills! My, my."

Stiles choked back angry tears as Peter continued. He grabbed his father's face in the video and Stiles could see his sharp claws. "I'm sure you know who I am, and what I want. This is mostly just a show of power. As of," and he looked at his watch, "noon on Friday, your father is still alive. If you and my nephew are not in Beacon Hills by noon on Wednesday, he will die."

The video ended there.

With shaking hands Stiles clicked on one of the emails from Scott. It too was empty but had a video file attached. He opened it and watched. It was twilight in the video, and Stiles recognized the background as Scott and Allison's small house on the outskirts of Beacon Hills. Peter was crouched outside one of their windows, holding a finger to his lips playfully.

"I haven't done anything to them yet, Mr. Stilinski," he whispered. "But your friend is about ready to pop, isn't she? I bet, if she were to die, her baby would survive by now outside of her."

Stiles didn't try to staunch the flow of tears down his cheeks.

"If you're not here by noon on Wednesday," Peter said with a growl, "I'm going to tear her apart. I'm going to make sure her son survives. Your friend Scott and your little nephew will bond, and he'll love that baby more than anything. Then I'm going to kill that child. I'm going to rip it from his hands while he watches and smash it to the ground."

Peter's eyes glowed red in the dimming light of the video and his smile was pure predator.

"And then, I will kill your friend Scott. And I will make you watch. Then you'll know it was all your fault."

The video ended there.

Stiles looked up to see Derek had come out of the shower. His hair was plastered down and he was holding a towel around his waist. He approached Stiles slowly, and Stiles couldn't tell if he was angry, or disappointed, or afraid.

"Look, man," he stammered, throwing the GPS onto the bed, "I'm sorry, I just wanted to check my email but he's got my dad and he's going to hurt Scott and Allison if we don't go back to my hometown right fucking now, I mean it -"

Derek was in front of him now.

"What do you mean," Derek growled, "Beacon Hills is your hometown?"

Stiles waved his arms wildly. "That is what you're concentrating on right now? Not the part where your uncle has kidnapped my dad or that he plans on torturing my best friends? It's just a town in California! Just one more crappy town in a long line of them!"

"No it isn't." Derek's eyes were turning blue. Stiles stepped back but his knees hit the bed. He fell hard on his elbows, Derek towering over him.

"It's my hometown too."

Stiles struggled to sit back up. "You're from Beacon Hills too? Is this a fucking joke?"

Derek shook his head. "I can't believe this." He surprised Stiles by sitting at the edge of the bed next to him, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Do you – do you think we've ever met before?" The question barely escaped Stiles' lips. Derek looked at him, eyes still unreadable and back to hazel grey. "You're not that much older than me. Maybe we went to school together."

"We didn't." Derek's tone brooked no argument. "But I met your dad a couple times. I should have realized!" His shout startled Stiles, whose nerves were as frayed as they had ever been. "I mean, how many Stilinskis are there?"

"There's more than you think," Stiles stammered. "So what are we going to do? We have to go back."

"I haven't been back in twelve years," Derek whispered. Now he looked afraid.

"Hey." Stiles put his hand on Derek's bare shoulder. He did run warm – almost feverish under Stiles' touch. "I'm sorry that you're scared. But this is my dad. He's – he's my whole fucking world. And what Peter said he'd do to Allison and their baby..." Stiles felt his voice crack. He rubbed the back of his hand vigorously across his face. "That is not going to happen."

Derek turned to face Stiles. He took a deep breath and said finally, "We'll go. We'll leave tomorrow morning. He said Wednesday at noon, right? That's four days to go about 2,000 miles. We can do that.

"But I have to tell you some things first."

"I'm a born werewolf. I didn't get a bite or anything; both my parents were werewolves and my older brother, older sister, and I were all born this way. My younger twin sisters weren't though. But we were happy. We all went to school, we did sports. I took guitar lessons. My mom was a nurse and my dad was a general contractor. We – we were normal people who just happened to be able to turn into huge wolves. And we never hurt anyone, ever.

"When I was sixteen, I met someone. She – Kate was older, she was a substitute music teacher at the high school, and she was interested in me. In me, this gangly, weird sophomore. She kissed me first, hiding in the music locker room. We'd meet in secret all over town, and my parents hated that I smelled like someone new and wouldn't tell them about her, but she was my secret. She was the one thing of my own I could keep to myself and no one could take her away from me. And I was so in love, I was almost sick with it.

"And then..."

Derek sighed and shook his head, looking like a dog shaking off flies. Stiles squeezed his shoulder in solidarity and turned his body more towards him.

"She burned my house down," he said baldly. "She came by, unannounced, wearing my – my clothing to disguise her scent and she threw Molotov cocktails inside through the windows. There were twelve people inside, including me and Peter – who, I guess, survived too.

"I got out. I crawled out on my hands and knees and ran into the forest. I spent the night in the leaves, healing. The next morning, I tried to go back, but I saw the house was totally destroyed and there were ambulances and police all over it. I got scared and ran away again. The next thing I knew, hunters had caught me.

"There are people out there who hunt werewolves; some do it for the thrill of the hunt, some for the bite, and some do it to protect people – let's face it, werewolves are dangerous if they're by themselves. These guys were doing it for sport. I was – I was chained in a basement for five days while they electrocuted me, forcing me to change. They shot me, just to watch it heal. After three days, I was begging them to kill me. I was just a sixteen year old boy.

"Then one night I heard screaming upstairs over the basement. I didn't know who or what it was, but I curled into the corner and covered my ears and just begged for it to go away. It stopped after a few hours, and then an older man came into the basement. He was wearing a suit and tie and I was naked but he sat down next to me with a bottle of water. I drank it and he helped me up.

"They put me in the back of a car and drove for hours. I slept through the whole thing. Eventually we ended up in a military base. They gave me clothes and put me in a white room. The man in the suit came back and started talking to me. Just talking. He asked me whether I liked playing the guitar and what movies I liked. Then he said he knew what I was. I wanted to run away, but he asked me if I wanted a new pack. A new family. A new... purpose. I said yes.

"Even though I was only sixteen, I was enrolled in basic training for the Army the very next day. I did... really well. I mean, I'm stronger and faster than a human and the brotherhood part... it was exactly what I needed. I graduated from basic and was sent to Africa. I served there for a few months until the man came back, still wearing that same suit. He pulled me off my watch and asked me if I liked the Army, and if I wouldn't like something new to do. It was getting a little boring so I said yes. I was put on the plane back to the States the next day, and was debriefed by the CIA. I had my first orders to kill someone that week, and... I've been doing that ever since.

"And I never went back to Beacon Hills. It holds too many memories of the awful thing that I did."

"What," Stiles interjected then, "loving someone?" He moved to kneel direct in front of Derek, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Loving her wasn't wrong, Derek. What she did was wrong. That's not your fault."

"Kate was working with the hunters," Derek murmured. "She wanted to drive us out of the house, into the hunters' trap. She wasn't supposed to kill everyone."

"Then that proves she was fucking crazy," Stiles said. He pushed gently on Derek's chest to get him to focus.

Derek cleared his throat. "Going back, and seeing the house... will make it real. Saying my family is dead is different from seeing the remains of the house and knowing they are never coming back, and that I played a part in that. My sisters and my brother are dead because of me." He looked into Stiles' eyes, anguish and pain leaking out of him. "You're going to die because of me, too."

Stiles sighed and stood, pulling Derek up with him. Even though the towel slipped from Derek's waist, Stiles still reeled him in for a bone-crushing hug. Derek uncertainly wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist, resting his face into the crook of his neck.

"Loving someone doesn't make what they do your fault or your responsibility," Stiles whispered in his ear. "She took your family. But I promise, no one's gonna take me away. They'd have to pry me out of here with the jaws of life." He rubbed his face once against Derek's stubbled cheek and held him tighter than ever.

Stiles released him after a while, a blush just tinting his cheeks.

"Now put some pants on, man. We need to make a plan of attack."

AN part two: How about that for moving the Sterek bits along? Let me know if you think it's too fast or too slow. If you're from Minnesota, and I butchered anything, I sincerely apologize. The crossword for this chapter can be found here: #/2012/10/19