AN: I do not own Teen Wolf or the Bourne movies. Warning! This chapter contains possible triggering anti-gay sentiments.

"Fuck, dude, I'm starving." Stiles winced as he moved his shoulder too hard to grip his stomach in melodramatic hunger pangs.

"You are making my eyes hurt from rolling them so much," Derek said. Even still, he rolled his eyes, genially exasperated. They were somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming. Night had fallen already and the mountains on either side of the highway felt confining and strange.

"There has to be a diner or something nearby," Stiles whined, but he was smiling. Derek knew he was just being childish for the sake of earning a laugh. "I'm recuperating from a gunshot wound! I need fuel!" He gripped his shoulder and sighed dramatically, earning the barest snort from Derek.

"Shut up, Stiles. I thought we covered that that was your own fault." But Stiles was right; they needed something to eat. A sign indicated on the right hand side there was some kind of bar coming up soon. Derek took the exit and drove down the road. Behind barbed wire fences, horses in thick padded blankets grazed sedately. Their breath fogged in the night like chimney smoke. Stiles looked out the window and saw a few white shapes laying on the ground with the horses.

"Derek, I think there are sheep in with the horses." He gestured at the shaggy creatures.

"So?"

"So it's interesting." Stiles' hands flew up in a dramatic shrug.

Derek slowed down imperceptibly and took a look. He turned away, immediately disinterested, and pointed his eyes back to the road. "They're dogs, not sheep. Probably protecting their flock."

"Horses aren't a flock," Stiles pointed out. "They're a herd."

"It doesn't matter." They reached an intersection and stopped. As Derek turned left, he looked at Stiles and said, "They've been taught the horses are part of their pack, flock, herd, whatever. They'll do anything for them, protect them from anything. Even stay up late in the night to watch them."

After a few moments Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly. "You, uh, know a lot about stuff like that."

There were bright lights on the left side of the road. It was the bar.

"I know what it's like," Derek said quietly. "I've been the wolf for a long time. Kind of nice to be the guard dog instead. At least you can come inside, come home."

Derek parked. Even with his inferior senses Stiles could hear laughter and music. He was looking at Derek though, mouth open slightly. Derek wouldn't look at him but stared at his hands on the steering wheel. The silence was thick with sudden tension.

"You know," Stiles swallowed thickly, needing to say it before he chickened out, "I'd take you home even if you were a wolf." He opened his door and hopped out before he could say something else equally stupid and ridiculous.

Derek followed him silently. They opened the door and were assaulted by heat, noise, and the smell of cheap beer. They settled themselves at the bar, sitting close together with their legs pressed thigh to knee.

The bartender was a grizzled older man with a lined faced permanently etched in a frown. He took one look at Stiles and grunted, "ID."

Stiles groaned and fished out his wallet, muttering to himself the entire time. He withdrew his driver's license and flashed it at the bartender. "See? I'm twenty-three."

The bartender was quick though, and had it out of Stiles' hand before he could blink. His eyebrows crinkled. "What kind of name is Jar - Jarognew? Yarognef? Where you from, boy?"

Derek glanced at Stiles. He was fire engine red and his eyes were narrowed in anger. "Since you can't read," he hissed, taking his license back with a jerk, "it says Virginia. Not that it's any of your fucking business."

The bartender made an ugly face and turned to Derek. "He with you?" He thumbed over to Stiles, who could only sputter in rage. Derek nodded, no trance of emotion on his face.

"We're just passing through," Derek said quietly. "Can we get a couple of beers and burgers?" The bartender shook his head and turned to the kitchen, shouting their order to the cook in the back. He returned and slammed two beers on the counter without a word.

Stiles was almost vibrating in anger. He untwisted the top off his beer and gulped down a third of it before Derek had even opened his.

"I like it," Derek said mildly over the top of his own beer. Stiles eyed him suspiciously. "Your name, I mean." He didn't say it again, wasn't sure if he was allowed to.

Stiles burped and looked around. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "It was my grandfather's name," he murmured. "My mom's dad. I never met him, but Mom said... I was a lot like him."

"Why don't you use it?"

"Because it hurts." Stiles leaned back, a pained look on his face, and took another drink in the silence.

The bartender sauntered back down their way and looked at them appraisingly.

"You two queer?"

Stiles spit his mouthful of beer all over the glossy counter. A nearby couple, dressed in cowboy attire too worn to be cheesy and fake, looked at him in disgust and moved a few seats down. "Are you fucking kidding me, man?" Stiles wiped his mouth again and stood, clearly prepared to fight. The bartender settled one hand underneath the bar, gripping something hard. Several other people were looking around at the commotion.

"Well?" The bartender's face was hard and even uglier than before.

Stiles growled respectably for a human. "It's none of your business, asshole."

The man's grip tightened on whatever he had beneath the bar. "I got a right not to serve anyone I want, and I got one rule in this bar – no queers. So you and your pretty boyfriend can get on out of here right now." He sniffed and narrowed his eyes at Stiles, who only leaned forward. Derek smelled a stink like burning in the air – anger.

"Order up!" The cook, oblivious to the standoff in the bar, set two juicy looking burgers in the window.

Stiles growled again. "Just give us our food and we'll leave."

The man nodded towards the door. "I think you'd best be leaving now." When they didn't move, Derek heard the near silent click of a gun's hammer being cocked. He stood then and tried to pull Stiles behind him. The younger man wouldn't move an inch.

"We are just passing through." Derek gripped Stiles' jacket and forced him back down onto the stool with a squawk, nearly ripping the jacket in the process. He gazed icily at the older man. "We're not bothering anyone. We just want our food, and then we'll leave." Derek's eyes started taking on a surreal blue tinge and a growl began to build in his chest before the bartender snorted and walked away to serve other customers.

"You shouldn't have stopped me." Stiles pushed his burger away with an angry shove without taking a bite. It nearly clattered off the counter before Derek could reach out and stop it. "And of course he listens to you, fucking mountain man that you are. I'm bisexual, you asswipe!" He yelled down to the end of the bar. Now almost everyone was looking at them. The bartender almost came back, but one look at Derek's predatory face backed him off.

"Stiles." Derek leaned toward him then, unsure of how to comfort him. If he should.

"So what if I like guys?" Stiles hissed venomously. He winced again as he moved his shoulder but continued. "It's not like it matters. I'm just trying to survive with you. Who the hell cares? You don't, right?" Derek had never seen him so worried – not even when he'd been bleeding in the Jeep just a few days before.

"Of course I don't, Stiles," Derek hurriedly soothed him.

Stiles grunted and began attacking his burger.

They were still in the bar a half hour later, finishing up their stupidly delicious, grassfed beef burgers. Even Stiles, still smelling like burnt toast in his anger, finished the entire thing. The bartender kept eyeing them from the other end of the counter. Around nine, a small area in the back by the pool table was cleared away to reveal a stage with a microphone. An older man, not the bartender, approached the mic. It screeched out some feedback and the chatter in the bar died down.

"Hey y'all, so you know how we do on weekend nights. Anyone who wants to come up and perform is more than welcome to."

Immediately a young man and his girlfriend hurried up to the stage. They eagerly seated themselves around the microphone, the man's hands already set on the guitar. Their bubbly version of some recent country song put Derek's teeth on edge.

Stiles was still nursing his beer and seething.

Of course Derek didn't care if Stiles liked men. He only cared if Stiles liked men who weren't him.

He wasn't stupid. He remembered Stiles referencing a college boyfriend. He felt the way Stiles looked at him, thinking he was being covert. And he smelled the twang of arousal in the morning when they woke up together. It was delicious, and if he had less restraint he might have already shown Stiles just how much he wanted him. But they had more important things to thing about. Like Stiles' friends and family in danger.

Even still, in the midst of everything, was it so wrong for Derek to want to take Stiles into his arms and kiss every worry away, to get lost in each other for just a few hours until reality came back? Derek knew his chances of surviving until the end of next week were slim to none. Was it wrong to want to spend what little time he had left kissing the boy he loved?

He nearly dropped his bottle of beer. Stiles chortled as Derek cleaned up the mess with a few spare napkins. "Nice one, Derek. Good to know even with you... skillset, you can still be as clumsy as the rest of us."

Derek gave him a dirty look, but inside he was screaming. Love. Love, already? It couldn't be. Impossible.

Stiles wiped some barbecue sauce off his lips with his thumb and sucked on the digit. Derek let out a muffled grunt. There was definitely some lust in there too.

They sat through two more awful country covers before Derek felt like he was going to turn into his wolf and destroy the entire bar. He stood suddenly and Stiles followed him, thinking they were leaving.

"I'm going up there." He gestured with his head towards the stage just as "Before He Cheats" was finishing.

"O-okay." Stiles was shocked when Derek actually went up to the stage next and held the old guitar in an easy, familiar grip.

The bar quieted, not knowing what to expect from the newcomer. Derek flushed under the smoky lights, and Stiles groaned inwardly, downing the rest of his second beer in secondhand embarrassment. He buried his face in his hands, completely unable to watch. What Derek was thinking, he had no idea.

The first few chords floated gently from the guitar. A few people nodded appreciatively, although Stiles didn't recognize the song yet.

I... keep a close watch on this heart of mine...

Derek's voice was gravelly and soft, almost impossible to hear over the hubbub of the bar and the strumming of the guitar.

I keep my eyes open all the time

I keep my ends out for the tie that binds

Because you're mine, I walk the line

Stiles raised his beer to his lips, even though it was empty. His eyes had widened in surprise at the werewolf assassin, sitting in a hole-in-the-wall bar in Wyoming.

Singing.

It was one of the most beautiful things Stiles had ever seen, and he couldn't have said why. Well, he could. But he could never say it to Derek. Like it or not, Stiles was down the rabbit hole, totally out of commission, completely head over heels for the guy. It was stupid, it was irrational, but it was nonetheless.

Yes, I'll admit I'm a fool for you

Because you're mine, I walk the line

Derek felt extremely self conscious in front of the microphone. He hadn't been planning on playing, had wanted to leave as soon as they were done eating, but for some reason he just needed to play one song.

He thought Stiles would appreciate it. Maybe he'd hear what Derek wanted to whisper to him in the middle of the night, but couldn't say.

As his hand curled around the neck it came rushing back to him: the lessons, the serenading him mother while she laughed and made dinner, bothering Laura while she was studying.

Stiles would like it.

He sat gingerly on the stool and perched the guitar under his arms, quickly cataloging the songs still in his memory. The first chords came out unconsciously, and someone whistled their appreciation.

Because you're mine, I walk the line

You've got a way to keep me on your side

You give me cause for love that I can't hide

Stiles leaned forward, his mouth stuck open in surprise and... affection? Arousal? There was definitely that. He shifted awkwardly on the stool.

The bartender stood on the other side of the bar, wiping a few glasses. "Your boyfriend's good," he grunted.

"Yeah," Stiles gasped. "Yeah, he definitely is."

Derek finished with a throb of guitar strings. There were cheers and hoots throughout the bar. He wordlessly set the guitar back in its stand, only to have it snatched up by another young man, who, taking his cue from Derek, starting butchering "A Boy Named Sue."

"Come on," he gestured to Stiles. They left before "A Boy Named Sue" was on the second verse.

Derek was nervous as they drove back onto the highway to find a hotel. Stiles was being quiet and pensive. "Did you like it?" He ended up blurting out tactlessly.

Stiles' face split into a grin. "Yeah. I did."

They checked into a motel and unloaded their bags. Stiles grabbed Derek's and raided the inside for toothpaste. "Hey," he looked up at Derek, "what happened to your deodorant?"

Derek's deodorant was back in Nebraska in the trash. He'd gotten angry after putting it on and being unable to smell Stiles on his skin.

He shrugged.

Stiles looked at him oddly, grabbed the toothpaste, and went into the bathroom. Almost immediately, he reopened the door with a fiery look on his face.

"Did you sing that for me?" Stiles stood a foot away from Derek.

Derek took a step back, raising his hands defensively. "I just wanted to sing, I – I guess I thought -" But he couldn't finished. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

"And I know what happened to your deodorant," Stiles continued, stepping forward. "You threw it away in Nebraska. I remember; you put it on after we woke up, then you had this awful expression and walked around the motel for ten minutes all awkward, and then right before we left you went to the bathroom again and I'm positive you weren't wearing it anymore. You took it off because it didn't smell right, didn't you?"

Too perceptive for his own damn good. Derek dropped his hands to his sides.

"I like it too, you know," Stiles said quietly. He motioned at his own clothes, and the leather jacket he was wearing that was just a bit too broad for him – Derek had lent it to him as an apology for his red sweatshirt. "I like waking up and going to sleep with you. And I like wearing your clothes and sitting for hours in a car with you and being pressed up against a wall – I feel like fucking Keanu Reeves right now but I don't care."

"What?" Derek narrowed his eyes. Out of all the things he expected to come out of Stiles' mouth, that wasn't one of them.

Stiles ran his hand through his slowly lengthening hair. "The movie Speed? Remember? He and Sandra Bullock totally want to bone each other but they keep saying, 'Relationships borne out of extreme circumstances never work?' But I bet it would have if Jason Patric hadn't gotten in the way in the second movie." He smiled briefly. "Luckily for us, there's no Jason Patric."

"We are being hunted by a couple of psychopaths," Derek reminded him with a growl.

"No, no! Those are the extreme circumstances, not the replacement actor in this situation."

Neither of them moved. Stiles was solid, barely inches away, and wouldn't look away from Derek's eyes.

"What do you want, Stiles?" Derek meant it to come out as a growl, but it ended up much higher. He felt as though all the breath had been stolen from his lungs.

"Just tell me the truth." Stiles had an eager expression on his face: neither happy nor sad, but determined. "You think about me like that. You trust me. I mean," he gestured at himself again, "this is hard not to love, I know -"

"You have no idea."

Stiles stood motionless then, his hands still waving in circles around his own body. He looked flabbergasted that Derek had verbally admitted anything at all.

"I -"

He put his hand flat on Stiles' chest. "Do you understand what you mean to me?"

Stiles couldn't look up from the hand pressed firmly against his heart. He swallowed and said, "Well, I'm pretty sure you sang the manliest love song ever to me. Seriously, my heart is still twitterpated."

Derek could feel it race underneath his fingertips. "It's not just that, Stiles," he said softly. "I'm – I'm probably going to die, going back to Beacon Hills."

Stiles started to protest but Derek continued, pushing him gently towards the wall. "They're still after you and me. And you know I'm going to do everything in my power to make them stay away from you and your family, but after that I – I just don't know."

He took a deep breath and looked into Stiles' eyes. He could see the fear there, but he suddenly didn't think it was just for himself. "You're the only good thing that's happened to me in twelve years," he said baldly. "It's selfish, but I just want to be with you. For as long as I can."

Stiles' back was totally flush against the wall. "You're not dying on Wednesday," Stiles said firmly. He lifted his hands to twist them into Derek's t-shirt. "And I'm not leaving you, no matter what."

Derek almost believed him.

"Stiles, if we both survive -"

A cool pair of hands grabbed his face and forced his eyes upwards. Derek was barely an inch away from Stiles' face. "When we both survive," he repeated slowly, making sure every word dropped deeply into Derek's mind, "I will still be with you. You have to stop doubting that I love you, man."

Derek reared his head up and pulled away. Stiles let him, amazed he'd let those words, of all words, escape his mouth. They stood a foot apart, breathing hard.

"You mean that?" He searched into Stiles' eyes, almost pleading.

Stiles laughed nervously. "I try to mean everything I say."

Derek approached him slowly. He pressed against him, crowded together from groin to chest, and Derek leaned into his neck, his nose barely touching Stiles' skin. "Did you mean what you said earlier, too?" The words vibrated into Stiles' skin.

"About what?" Stiles sounded breathless and his heart skipped under his skin.

"About... the dogs. You said you'd take me home, even if I were a wolf."

"Oh." Slowly, Stiles lifted his hands and pulled Derek's hair gently, pressing him closer. Derek placed a single opened mouthed kiss on his neck.. "I mean – I c-can't have dogs of any genus in my apartment, but -"

"Stiles." Derek's mouth rested just above Stiles' pulse.

"Yes, yeah, I meant it." Stiles lifted his head just enough to let Derek's face rest more comfortably. "I mean, I meant that no matter – no matter what happens, or what you do, or how our fucked up journey ends, I'm going to want you in my life. Wolf or guard dog or whatever. But preferably just as Derek."

Derek smiled against his neck and looked up. He brought his hand up against Stiles' cheek, just brushing it with his thumb. As he leaned in, he whispered, "I'm glad I met you, Stiles."

Their lips met delicately, the barest touch of skin on skin.

Stiles whined first, clutching desperately at Derek's shoulders. He wrapped his arms around Derek's neck and pulled the older man closer to him, dragging him to suck on his neck again. Derek smiled into Stiles' neck and pressed him harder into the wall. One of his hands crept underneath the leather jacket and pulled it roughly off. The feeling of one less barrier of clothing between them was almost magical.

Stiles' hands weren't still for long. They slid over Derek's chest, pausing to feel along one row of muscle, then the next. When he reached the bottom of his shirt, he wrenched his lips from Derek's and concentrated on removing it.

Derek chuckled and lifted his t-shirt over his head. He tossed it somewhere onto the floor and reached again for Stiles' face. His eyes were dark and intense. Stiles looked marginally disappointed when Derek paused a millimeter away.

"I just need to know..."

"What?"

"Do you really feel like Keanu Reeves?" Derek's voice was more than a little desperate. "You don't – I'm not using you to feel better about this situation or anything -"

"Derek." Stiles' voice was firm. "I think the words 'I love you,' which I don't really throw around lightly or anything, sort of cover that." When Derek began shaking his head and backing away, clearly not believing him, he grabbed his face and recklessly attached his lips to Derek's, biting down hard on the older man's bottom lip and crashed them back against the wall.

"If it takes me a thousand years to prove it to you," Stiles growled, "I will do it. I will get it through your thick werewolf brain one way or the other." He reached forward for another forceful kiss, teasing Derek's lips open with his tongue and plunging in. Derek whined this time, pliant and relenting under Stiles' mouth. He allowed himself to be spun around with his back against the wall and a knee between his legs, grinding firmly against him.

Derek gasped when Stiles moved away from his lips to bite along his jaw and leave bruising marks against his neck. "A thousand years, huh?" He managed to choke out.

Stiles pressed his knee even harder between Derek's legs, feeling the straining hardness there. "You'll never get rid of me," Stiles whispered wolfishly into his ear. He bit down on Derek's earlobe and quickly soothed it with his tongue.

He felt the air whoosh from his lungs as Derek pushed him away. He fell, arms cartwheeling, onto the mattress. Before he could say anything, Derek was on top of him, swallowing his squawk of indignation. "I never want to get rid of you," Derek growled against his lips. Stiles could feel the pricks of his fangs against his lips.

Somehow, even with Derek crushing him into the mattress, Stiles' t-shirt came off and disappeared somewhere in the motel room. His mouth never strayed far from Stiles'. He rubbed his face against his neck, delighted at the intermingling of their scents.

Derek sat back on his elbows, taking in the sight of the impatient man beneath him. He was surprised when a pair of ankles wrapped around his hips to pull him down. Stiles used the momentum to flip them over, surprising him again.

"Did you let me do that?" Stiles asked from his position dropping hot kisses over Derek's chest.

"Maybe," Derek smiled. A groan eerased it as Stiles took one of his nipples in his mouth and lavished it with his tongue. Stiles smirked and kissed his way back up to Derek's neck. He bit down, hard, right on Derek's pulse point. The answering jerk of Derek's hips made him smile wider.

Derek's hands migrated to Stiles' hips, pushing and pulling him into a slow, deep grind. Stiles could feel himself fast approaching orgasm and he shuddered, tugging Derek's hands off of him and pinning them above his head.

"Hi," he breathed. He kissed Derek's cheek chastely and felt him smile. He nuzzled against his beard, taking a moment to breath deeply that musky maleness that was so very Derek.

Of course, that was when the door exploded.

A hulking werewolf stood in the doorway, eyes gleaming even more brightly surrounded by his black skin and fur. Stiles yelped as Derek threw him immediately onto the floor, already morphing into his half wolf shape. The intruder shook his head and roared again, stepping farther into the motel room and making straight for Stiles.

Derek pounced, grabbing the other by the throat and slamming him onto the ground. But he only grinned and kicked into Derek's solar plexus, winding him. He landed painfully on the floor, coughing.

"Derek, look out!" Stiles shrieked from beside the bed.

Their attacker grinned as he reached his arm around Derek's throat. He twisted brutally and a sharp snap shot through the room. Derek dropped like a stone onto the other bed, his eyes wide and unseeing.

Stiles felt like he had been punched in the gut. He hardly noticed the intruder grabbing him around the waist or shoving a Chloroformed cloth into his face. All he wanted was to reach Derek's lifeless body.

"Wake up! Derek, wake the fuck up!"

He continued screaming even as he passed out and was loaded into the trunk of a car.

"Stiles!"

It was a few hours later, and the room was unbearably cold. The door had been left open. Derek looked blindly around, disoriented, though he already knew Stiles was long gone. He stumbled outside to find it had started snowing. He approached their car for another unpleasant surprise: all 4 tires had been slashed open. It was impossible to drive. A note with untidy, somewhat familiar scrawl was taped to the dashboard. Derek wrenched open the door and snatched it up.

"Dearest nephew. If you are still alive, come to Beacon Hills before tomorrow night and we won't kill your little bitch. Love, Uncle Peter."

Derek slowly crumpled the note up. Not caring if anyone could see, he shucked off his jeans and transformed into his wolf form. He started running back to the highway as quickly as he could, howling ferociously as he went.

The regular wolves in the area heard the howls, tucked tail, and ran back to their dens. They had never heard such anger and loneliness expressed in their language.