a/n: chapter two, here you go. have fun. musical accompaniment for this chapter is leaving on red hill, by yoko kanno

CHAPTER TWO

Derek woke early. It was quiet, and he didn't open his eyes at first. He clung to the unreality of unconsciousness, the fog-like dream state that let him be ignorant of his immediate surroundings. For a beat he could almost imagine he was still in one of the dingy apartments in Mexico he and Laura had made their home for brief periods while on the run. Mexico had been safer than the states, but there had always been people after them. They could never settle down, they could never stay in one place for too long. The second they had thought they'd been safe was when Laura had gotten herself captured.

The moment passed and Derek could no longer pretend he was on a moldy sofa in Veracruz. The smell of northern California was too strong, the weather too mild to let him pretend for a moment longer. Still he didn't open his eyes, instead he lay on the floor of the concrete house a little while longer, drank in as much of the smell of his surroundings for just a moment more. It was achingly familiar. In the two years since he had seen it last it hadn't changed much, no one else had inhabited it. The house stood exactly as he and the rest of his family had left it.

Derek had been left in the sanctuary unconscious the day previous. After his capture the hunters had stowed him into a reinforced transport van where he woke up and spent five hours bumping around in the back of trying not to bleed out on the grating. His wounds had been bandaged minimally and the hunters didn't seem to care jack about the capture and deliver alive mandate they were employed under.

After arriving at the Beacon Hills sanctuary, the doors had been opened, Derek had been immediately sedated and what followed after he only fuzzily remembered. He'd been processed, his wounds had been tended to by someone with much kinder hands, and then he'd been left in the clearing at the middle of the sanctuary he'd spent most of his life in. So a bright side in the otherwise shit situation - at least they hadn't carted him off to somewhere completely unfamiliar.

After he'd regained consciousness, he'd set out immediately for the old Hale house. It was a larger place than the rows of barrack-like square living quarters near the recreation hall. There were two stories an enough small bedrooms for his family, and while it had still been cramped and drab it had been theirs. Derek had grown up in that house.

Cutting off that train of thought, he sat up. He'd spent the night on the first level in the former dining room, avoiding the second floor where his mother's room had been. Barely any of their meager belongings remained, and briefly Derek wondered why they'd bothered removing the old furniture. He guessed some of the other inhabitants had liberated the unused items. Derek didn't care enough to run around the sanctuary hunting down every last thing that had belonged to his family. He only cared about finding his sister.

Laura had been captured nearly two months ago now, and as she'd fallen into the trap the only thing she'd screamed at Derek was to run, get away, and stay free. But Derek couldn't leave her; there was nothing in him that could resist returning for her. He had to at least try. That's why he'd spent weeks making his way back into the states, up the west coast, and into California. Hunters had been on him the second he'd crossed the border, but he couldn't let them catch him until he was closer to Beacon Hills. He hadn't been sure they'd send him back here. It all would have been for nothing if they hadn't. Derek only half regretted his decision to come after Laura, but they were family, and they were all each other had left.

Derek had come straight to the house thinking she'd be here, but he didn't smell her scent anywhere near what was left of their home. After sniffing around the buildings near the middle of the sanctuary, he'd returned tired and angry. He'd stayed there hoping that maybe she'd find him there waiting, but still there was no scent of Laura in or around the woods that surrounded him. He'd search again in earnest today, but it would be slow going. The facility had done a decent job patching up his leg from the Argent's trap, but even with his werewolf genes speeding up his healing, the wounds were deep and bandaged in a way that stiffened his leg and prevented him from moving too much. It would be at least another few days until he was running around on all fours, and for the millionth time he cursed Kate Argent to the seventh circle of Hell. All hunters, for that matter. But Kate Argent?

Fuck Kate Argent.

Derek decided to leave his home all together, accepting the fact that Laura wasn't going to be coming back there. One night there had been enough for him, he'd find another place to sleep. Too many memories clung to the place, and he couldn't let himself be distracted by them. He left, but stopped short on the front steps.

"Uh, hi." There was a kid standing some yards off away from the house. Derek must have been out of practice, he should have smelled the kid coming. He was a teenage and gangly. His chin was a little crooked and he had a mess of curly hair. He looked harmless enough. Derek eyed him, said nothing. The kid scratched at his neck, withering under Derek's gaze.

"I uh, just came to say hi. You know, welcome. Welcome back I guess - but sorry, that's probably not something you wanted to be reminded of." He shifted nervously from one foot to the next, and Derek crossed his arms over his chest.

"Did you want something?" Derek ventured. Derek had planned on avoiding the other wolves in the sanctuary as much as possible, not for any particular reason other than bitten wolves were generally the sorry sort and liked born wolves as much as humans did. Which is to say, not at all. Born wolves were the monsters, bitten ones were the victims.

"No, not really. I was going to come out here as part of your welcoming party, but Erica and Boyd didn't want to come near this place. They told me I shouldn't either, but I figure we're all in the same boat here, so that doesn't make much sense we should all avoid each other. I mean it's not all that big a place, so that'd be kind of…hard. I guess," the kid lost steam somewhere around the middle there and petered off. Derek could smell his apprehension, and how he only believed about half of what he was saying. There was another reason the kid was here. Derek focused on him, took in as much as he could. There was something that didn't smell quite right about him. Something that seemed out of place, but it was a moment before Derek figured out what that something was.

The kid had the smell of a human on him. It was faint, not recent, but lingering. Before he could dwell he dismissed it. He'd probably been in for a checkup recently and Derek was smelling the human lab assistants. Derek nodded his thanks, not sure what other pleasantries he wanted to exchange with the kid.

"I'm Scott by the way-," he interjected before Derek was about to turn heel and leave. Derek glanced back at him.

"Derek," he said. Then he left. Only after Derek was gone did he realize what had set him off about the human smell clinging to the kid, Scott. He'd smelled it the day before when he'd seen the human boy in the woods.

Finstock wasn't happy, which isn't the biggest surprise. By the time Stiles had returned from his visit in the sanctuary the day before, Finstock had forgotten about Stiles and Stiles had assumed he was off the hook and had went straight to the janitor's closet by the bathrooms for a siesta. The next day, Finstock's memory had miraculously recovered by the time Stiles walked into the employee break room to clock in. Red faced, Finstock had called him into his office, yelled at him the usual mantra of the customer always being right, yadda yadda, etcetera etcetera, and how Stiles was a literally thorn in his side, a pain in his ass, and if he could have he would have fired Stiles on attitude alone. But they were short staffed as is and Finstock needed someone to do the jobs no one else wanted to do.

"Unfortunately we can't accrue any more customer complaints this month without getting upper management involved, otherwise I'd put you on tour guide double shifts every day for the next week, don't think I wouldn't Stilinski. But I don't want Harris down here - you think I'm bad, just wait - no, I don't want him out here. Do me a favor, just one favor Stilinski, and keep out of trouble for a week? Can you manage that?" Finstock eyeballed him.

"Does this mean I'm off tour guide?" Stiles asked cautiously. Finstock rolled his eyes.

"Gift shop. And not a peep from you, got it?" Stiles' fists pumped the air.

"Yes, thank you boss man, you're the best," Stiles hopped up from his chair as Finstock waved him away.

"But you're on inventory tonight to make up for it," Finstock called after him. Stiles groaned theatrically, really selling it on how miserable he was, when the opposite was true. But couldn't let Finstock think he wasn't suffering at least a little. Inventory wasn't terrible, it just meant a late night and staying after closing, and gift shop duty was boring and dull in the best way possible. Stiles had to talk to basically no one and only worry about counting exact change.

So Stiles' day passed in a relatively boring manner, but no amount of boredom behind the cash register was worse than giving tours. Stiles hated the job, which is why he gave Finstock so much grief when he was assigned it. Which is why Finstock punished him with it so often.

It was a vicious cycle.

Stiles sold moderately priced souvenirs, drastically overpriced candy and ugly t shirts printed with the sanctuary logo for hours until the monotony was finally broken up by his lunch. Normally he staged his visits to Scott only once every few days, just to lessen the chance of getting caught, but he wanted to make sure his friend was doing okay in light of the newest addition to the family. When his break started he picked out a couple food items, bought them and went to the break room. He had his key card out and was just about to swipe it when the elevator dinged, and he froze in place. The doors slid open faster than he could hide his card and for a second Stiles thought the jig was up, his ass was grass, all his careful planning and sneaking around over with, and his life was over. But the doors opened to reveal Melissa McCall, hair in a loose messy ponytail and nurse scrubs well worn. She jumped at seeing a face staring at her in a panicked fright.

"Stiles! Jesus," she exclaimed. Stiles made a frantic movement to hide the card, but she noticed and he froze. She looked at the card, looked at Stiles, and he could feel the waves of disapproval building.

"Stiles-," she started, and, quick on his toes Stiles threw his hands up.

"Hey, it's totally not what it looks like-," he began, thinking fast. Melissa moved out of the elevator and it shut behind her.

"Then what exactly is it? You have five seconds to explain before I radio your father," she said, hand on her hips and eyebrows furrowed.

"I - uh, he actually gave me this, it's his key. I asked for it and he totally gave it to me, I swear. I was going to use it to, um, well," he faltered, then an idea struck him. He brought the sandwich he'd bought at the gift shop out of his pocket. "This, I was coming bring you this. Lunch, you know. Figured you hadn't eaten, if you were still on duty. Yeah. That's what I was doing," he finished lamely. She didn't look like she'd bought it, and Stiles swallowed thickly. Then to his surprise she smiled knowingly.

"Oh really? And this wouldn't have anything to do with, I don't know, Scott's checkup that's scheduled for later this week?" She arched an eyebrow. Stiles' mind backtracked. Reeled. Grasped at the opportunity. He shrugged meekly.

"You caught me," he confessed. Melissa looked displeased for a second longer, but rolled her eyes and took the sandwich.

"I can't promise anything," she said in a hushed tone, "But I'll see what I can do." Stiles took whatever lost dignity he felt at that exchange for the tradeoff of not being caught. He figured it'd be too risky trying to go down again at that moment, so after Scott's mom left him to his own devices, he dragged his feet away from the elevator and upstairs to the café to eat his lunch in brooding silence. That is, until someone plunked a tray across the table from him.

"I thought we had an agreement," Lydia said as she sat down. Startled, Stiles nearly toppled off his seat.

"Sweet Jesus woman, don't sneak up on a guy like that."

"Not my fault you were staring stupidly off into the distance. Back to my point, Stiles. You owe me." In a snap it came back to him.

"Oh, damn, sorry. Totally slipped my mind, I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't taste like sweet sugary almond goodness. I'm holding you to that," she said with a stern look. She'd bought a salad from the café, and Stiles knew that despite her soft spot for that particular pastry she had a distaste for sweet things in general. Stiles didn't question the quirk, it gave him a bargaining chip when dealing with Lydia.

"So, anything new on the Hales? Will they be keeping Derek here permanently?" Lydia raised an accusatory eyebrow at him.

"Payment first."

"Oh come on, I'll bring you one tomorrow," Stiles pleaded. Lydia said nothing, merely took another dainty bite of her food. Stiles slumped to the table in defeat. Lydia was a stone wall when it came to a begging. Stiles was an expert in this; he had eighteen years of experience being rejected romantically by her to back it up. Not that he'd begged, necessarily. Well, maybe there had been a little begging. Stiles figured somewhere in that unreachable heart of hers she'd enjoyed watching him do it.

"So stingy," he said giving up. He stood, stretched, and collected his trash. Lydia only shrugged, didn't bother denying it.

The day dragged on, but despite the dull work it was better than tour-guiding. Stiles had a deep seated hatred for any and all customers that came to their sanctuary, so it didn't sit well with him having to usher them around and describe in detail the place he so despised. In a chipper and friendly manner, no less. Stiles made no efforts to hide his distaste of the sanctuary and all it stood for, and the only reason he stayed on was to stay close to Scott and have a reason to be near him. That was also the only reason he'd gotten the job some year and a half ago.

That, and he desperately needed income of his own once he'd turned seventeen and gotten his jeep. His dad had paid for it, but gas and maintenance was on him. His father was head of security at the sanctuary, and after a little begging he'd pulled a few strings and helped Stiles land the job he currently held. Despite how much he loathed the place, Stiles could hang up his moral reservations easily if it meant being close to Scott and a steady (if somewhat meagre) income. Stiles had the feeling Melissa McCall stayed on for a similar reason.

When closing time finally rolled around Stiles caught his dad on the way out of his shift to tell him he'd been put on inventory duty.

"Again? What'd you do this time?" his father asked.

"Nothing, I swear I'm innocent. Finstock just has it out for me," Stiles said, pleading as much innocence he could muster. His father just stared back at him skeptically, even when Stiles added on the sad puppy-dog stare. It was a trick he'd learned from Scott.

"Right." His father scratched his head. "Well, be safe driving back. I'll leave some food in the microwave out for you. Lasagna tonight." Oh joy. Stiles waved his father out the door. He couldn't find it in his heart to tell the man that was not the way lasagna should look when properly cooked.

Stiles locked up the gift shop and made a show of sequestering himself in the inventory room after doing so, just in case Finstock came to check up on him. He did, but couldn't fault Stiles as he presented the perfect picture of a busy little worker bee. Finstock eyed him, looked like he wanted to complain about something, but eventually left Stiles to his own devices on pain of death should he not finish the job. Stiles made a face at the back of his head as he left.

For half an hour after closing Stiles did get some work done, but by the time half past nine rolled around he was glancing at the clock on the wall every five seconds wondering when it'd be safe to sneak down. Nighttime runs into the sanctuary were about a million times easier done than during the day, as the security desk downstairs wasn't manned after hours. It was during the day to direct calls for the facility and manage the lab assistants downstairs, but most of the workforce on the lower level all had daylight shifts. There was hardly ever a need for them most nights, save for one night of the month, so other than full moon shifts there were only ever a couple technicians on hand downstairs most nights. Less lab assistants to direct, no real need for the ladies at the security desk to pull all-nighters. Which meant easy sailing for Stiles.

Finally at forty five after Stiles figured he'd gotten enough noticeable work done to keep Finstock off his back and left the inventory room, locking up after himself. Then it was almost too easy to traipse down to the lower level, past the one night guard that roamed the halls, and into his secret room. He shoved through the hatch, made sure his way back was secure, and then jogged into the waiting forest.

Alright, so it was a little harder navigating the forest at night, but the path was familiar enough that Stiles didn't get lost too many times. He couldn't risk a flashlight, it might look suspicious if any of the night guards on the observation deck level saw the light.

As Stiles walked his eyes gradually adjusted to the dark. He didn't have werewolf senses, but he could see his feet in front of him at least. The forest was nice at night, dark and quiet. Everything was bathed in moonlight, and Stiles caught a glimpse of it through the trees. It was nearly full, just a few more days until it would be. He wondered how Scott was handling full moons these days, if they'd become any easier for him. Stiles pushed the thought away as he entered the clearing by the housing units.

So he was a little off course, didn't matter, he'd still made it in one piece.

Stiles found Erica and Boyd before he found Scott. Both were eating dinner in the recreation hall and sat side by side at one of the circular tables. Sad-looking TV tray microwave meals were on the table in from of them, and Stiles could see one other figure in the cafeteria. It was one of the other adult wolves, a scruffy-looking middle aged man Stiles didn't know. Neither did Erica or Boyd, so they paid him no mind. They called him over when they saw him enter, and he sat down across from them.

"What up?" Stiles asked, drumming his fingers on the table top. Erica shrugged.

"What's ever up around here? Nothing," she replied.

"Not much a night life around here, huh?"

"Not normally, but come by on the full moon. That's always a howl," she smirked, eyes flashing gold momentarily. Next to her, Boyd chuckled.

"I'd love to, but I'd rather not die. I'd basically be a burger on legs, wouldn't I?"

"More like a chicken, I think," Boyd said. Erica laughed at that.

"Exactly. It'd make things interesting, wouldn't you think?" she asked the boy next to her. "I wish they'd release other animals in here. Deer, rabbits, I'd even take a squirrel. It'd give us something to hunt," she sighed wistfully, probably imagining the feeling of disemboweling deer or squirrel or something equally gross. Stiles cringed.

"Um, ew," he said. Erica shrugged.

"It's a wolf thing," she said.

"I'll take your word for it. So where's Scott?" Stiles asked, effectively changing the topic of conversation.

"He said he had something to take care of," Erica said simply.

"Any idea what?" She shook her head.

"No, he wasn't specific. You can stick around here until he comes back, though. Hungry?" she asked, gesturing down to her frozen dinner.

"No thanks, I'm good," Stiles politely declined.

"Suit yourself. You can hang out with Boyd and me while you wait. Scott shouldn't be too much longer," she offered, and he took her up on it. No one else he knew was around. The other young werewolf Isaac didn't seem to be around either. Not that Stiles was yearning for his particular company, the two of them didn't get along all that well.

Stiles ended up whiling away a half hour with them making small talk, and it was nice, if kind of awkward. Stiles got the feeling he'd been interrupting something between them when he'd walked in, but they didn't seem to mind.

Stiles followed them into another room across the hall from the cafeteria after they were done eating. Several metal benches and some folding chairs sat in a loose semicircle around a small television set bolted to the wall. It was an old, bulky TV that hadn't been updated in a decade. A VCR player was installed on a shelf below it, and a stack of VHSs stood on the ground. The place didn't even have a proper DVD player. Sad. Stiles had considered smuggling one in for them on multiple occasions, but still wasn't sure how to sneak it in. Still, no matter how outdated their setup, it had basic cable and a remote so it passed as a form of entertainment.

Erica flipped through the small selection of channels for a solid fifteen minutes before giving up and settling on a nature documentary on the wildlife channel. It wasn't particularly riveting, but Stiles had nothing else to do until Scott came back from whatever it was Scott was doing. Erica and Boyd seemed perfectly content with the documentary, entwined as they were on the bench a few seats away from Stiles. Though he assumed it was because they were paying more attention to each other than what was playing on the TV.

The documentary had just turned to the topic of the wildlife of the Serengeti when Scott ambled in another fifteen minutes later. Stiles nearly sighed in relief. He liked Erica and Boyd and all, but modesty was apparently not their thing. Somewhere around the time the segment on blue wildebeest had begun the two had started sucking face and had been at it for the past ten minutes straight. When Scott finally showed up Stiles was more than ready to go.

"Oh thank god," Stiles gushed when Scott walked in, jumping from his seat and making a beeline to his friend.

"Hey, Stiles-," Scott began, but Stiles jerked him from the room before he could get out a full sentence.

"Erica and Boyd at it again?" Scott guessed. The pair left the TV room and the couple behind, making their way out of the recreation hall.

"Yep."

"They do that sometimes," Scott said a little sheepishly.

"I'm amazed how little they need to breathe. Is that some kind of werewolf ability?" Stiles asked.

"No, not that I know of," Scott said.

"Wanna find out?" Stiles waggled his eyebrows, unable to resist. Scott pushed him away, laughing. They sat down on the steps.

"Come on, you wanna make out just a little? See if it works?"

"I appreciate the offer, but I think I'm okay," Scott said. Stiles shrugged.

"Your loss."

"Probably not."

"So," Stiles said, choosing to ignore that, "What were you doing before you showed up?"

"Oh. I was looking for Derek, actually," Scott said.

"Derek? Derek Hale? Why?" Stiles asked.

"I spoke to him earlier today."

"Yeah? And how did that go?"

"Well, it certainly didn't go for very long. He's not much of a talker," Scott replied.

"What did you two talk about?" Scott shrugged.

"Nothing much. I was just curious about him, so I went to say hello. But he seemed distracted, and then he disappeared before I could get a decent conversation out of him. So I got Isaac to help me look for him, and we've spent all day trying to track him. No luck, the guy can move. I just wanted to see what he was up to, I think Isaac saw it as a challenge. I'm pretty sure he's still out there looking, but whatever Derek's doing, he doesn't want to be found," Scott explained.

"What made you give up the chase?" Stiles asked.

"Well I smelled you and figured you didn't want to be left alone with Erica and Boyd too long. Sorry I didn't get there sooner," Scott looked a little embarrassed saying that. His cheeks were tinged ever so slightly with pink. Apparently public make out sessions were their thing, and as such were a common occurrence. They'd never done that before when Stiles had been around, and for that he was grateful, but they were always embarrassingly couple-y whenever Stiles did see them. He felt for Scott and Isaac, who had to put up with them all the time.

He and Scott stayed on the steps talking for the remainder of Stiles' visit. Most of his visits passed this way. There wasn't much else to do, really. It was enough for the both of them just to sit and chat and goof off endlessly. Erica and Boyd never did emerge from the recreation hall, and both boys were too afraid to go find them to see what they were up to. When Stiles checked his watch and saw it was later than he thought it was, Scott jokingly asked if he wanted to sleep over. Like they were thirteen again and they'd stayed at each other's' house too long playing video games. Stiles got the feeling neither of their parents would be as lax about it in this case as they used to be in the past.

As tempting as the idea was, he couldn't actually stay the night in the sanctuary. He declined Scott's offer to walk him back and left, finding his path to the hatch. He watched the time on the way back, picking up the pace a bit. Hopefully he'd miss the night guard's round on the way out if he timed it right. He had to clock out soon; it took a while to do inventory but not that long. Best to keep suspicious behavior to a bare minimum and leave as soon as he got back upstairs.

Stiles was stepping over a mossy fallen log when he saw it. Two dots of icy blue in the dark bend ahead, and he froze. They were a pair of eyes watching him from the shadows. Stiles' interaction with werewolves might have been mostly limited to Scott, Erica, Isaac and Boyd, but he knew enough about werewolves in general to know what blue meant. Stiles knew blue meant a born wolf, the true predators, and after a second of processing the sight in front of him he knew he shouldn't have been stupid enough to refuse Scott's offer.

His foot slipped on the moss and Stiles went right to the forest floor, cussing on the way down. He looked up wildly, not bothering to right himself, but the eyes watching him were gone. His heart hammered in his chest, and the blackness all around him was suddenly threatening. A twig snapped to his left and he jerked around, going completely still when an imposing figure stepped out of the shadows.

Stiles swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

He was face to face with Derek Hale.