Stiles woke up in a dim room, a curtain around his narrow bed. He sat up slowly and for the longest moment he didn't remember a thing. Then he tried to stand and the ache brought all the memories rushing to the surface. Getting kidnapped. Werewolves. Taylor. The wolf. His cheeks heated even as he forced himself to his feet and pulled the curtain back slowly. It reminded him of the nurse's office at school. There were a few more beds, three with curtains drawn. Stiles took a breath before stepping outside the bounds of his own curtain. No one stopped him and he was surprised but still made his way towards the door. A soft groan, followed by a
"Shhh, you're alright," stopped him. He moved to the closed curtain diagonal from his bed. It took him a few moments to peek around the curtain, when he saw the mop of golden curls he yanked it back.
"Taylor?" he demanded, voice shooting up several octaves. Taylor jumped before groaning and looking to him slowly. Stiles rushed forward, barely noticing a red headed girl glaring at him from the other side of the bed. "What happened? Jesus! Are you okay?" He chuckled shallowly but the sound did nothing to relieve Stiles.
"I fell out of a tree," he said, "and then I got fucked by a werewolf."
"Why were you in a tree?" Stiles demanded, eyeing the scrapes on his face and the cast on his arm again.
"Seemed like a good idea while I was panicking." Stiles winced. "I didn't really make the connection that wolves can't climb trees…werewolves can."
"It's alright," the girl insisted, "none of us knew what to think."
"It was a dumbass move," Taylor sighed, "you can say so Aubrey." She shifted hair over her shoulder before crossing her arms.
"You can't take blame for things that happen to you," she said simply.
"Who's gonna take the blame then?" Taylor questioned. "The guy already feels bad enough."
"You met him?" Stiles cut in. Taylor cleared his throat and looked away.
"Yeah," he said eventually, "I met him."

Silence fell for a few moments until Taylor spoke again. "Aubrey met hers too." Aubrey flushed at the mention, chin ducking.
"Can we not talk about that right now?" she questioned softly.
"I don't want to talk about me either," Taylor muttered, lying back against the pillows again.
"So what's gonna happen now?"
"I get to stay in the infirmary for a while."
"I guess I'm leaving soon," Aubrey offered. Stiles didn't ask his next question aloud. So what about me?
"Okay so…seen any good movies lately?" Stiles asked lamely. Aubrey chuckled and Taylor managed a smile.
"Good morning Mr. Stilinski," Ross called, entering the curtain and smiling broadly.
"Let's get you checked out by the doctor shall we?"
"Uh…okay," Stiles agreed hesitantly. The doctor was nice. He had a smile that instantly relaxed Stiles, especially the way it reached all the way up to his blue eyes.
"I think you're going to be just fine Stiles," he said, tucking his pen behind his ear and smiling again. "Minor strained ankle, a contusion on the left shoulder, a fully healed mark. You're one of my best patients."
"Yay," Stiles managed dryly.
"Trust me you got off lucky. Kind of surprising actually," his smile fell off and he looked away for a moment before pasting on an even brighter smile. "In any case," he added, "I'm going to release you."
"That's good right?" The doctor just smiled before patting Stiles' knee and pushing off his stool. It did little to comfort Stiles.

Of course, Ross was waiting for him. Stiles didn't know if he expected something else.
"You ready to meet your mate?" Stiles swallowed, even though his throat was incredibly dry.
"Sure," he said slowly, a thin sense of dread swamping him. Why hadn't he met him yet? Why had Stiles been asleep so long when he wasn't seriously injured? They left what Stiles guessed was the infirmary wing and turned to the left before going into the second door on the right. A man was pacing back and forth in the small room, stopping as the door opened, back to them.
"I told you Ramsey, send him home."
"And I told you Mr. Hale," Ross responded pleasantly, "it's too late for that." Stiles wondered if Ross called anyone by their first name.
"I don't want him," he spat, turning to them suddenly. His face was tight with what looked a lot like rage and Stiles couldn't recognize the man from before at all. This was…he was something completely different. He was the most surprised to see that his eyes weren't blue. "Send him home."
"You agreed to our rules Mr. Hale. We welcomed you in and you agreed." He went absolutely rigid at that and Stiles took a step back unintentionally. "Stop scaring your mate," Ross snapped. For just a second there was a flicker of something softer, but that was cleared away too. Ross looked back to Stiles. "Stiles this is Derek. Derek this is Stiles."
"Does this normally happen?" Stiles questioned as Derek eyed him up and down before scoffing and turning away.
"Each case is different," Ross said, watching Derek with a slight frown.
"Yeah that sounds like bullshit."
"Derek will come around."
"Why can't I just go home? My dad is freaking out; he doesn't want me, why do I need to stay?"
"You cannot separate. You will get sick separated from your mate." That made Stiles pause.
"What?"
"It's not an option Mr. Stilinski."
"So I'm just stuck here for the rest of my life?" Stiles yelled, "What about my dad? I'm supposed to let him think I'm dead?"
"If you still want to leave in three months, no one will stop you."
"Three months?" He was yelling again. Someone pulled on his arm, there was a pinch, then nothing.

He woke up back in the infirmary. He simply laid in bed for a long time. He couldn't find the will to get out of bed. Eventually he went in search of a bathroom, stopping at Taylor's bed on the way back. "Hey," he offered softly. Taylor shifted slowly, one eyebrow raised.
"Hey," he echoed, "what's up?"
"I might have lost it a bit," Stiles admitted. He drifted in and took the empty chair. "Where's…Aubrey?"
"She left with her mate. He's pretty hot." Stiles managed a smile.
"Yeah? What about yours?" Taylor looked down again, picking at his cast.
"Looks like he fell off an Abercrombie & Fitch bag."
"So that's…good?" Taylor lifted one shoulder.
"Maybe." Taylor looked back over to him slowly. "What about yours?" Stiles frowned.
"He said he didn't want me." That wasn't what Taylor had asked. Stiles knew that. He couldn't help the words tumbling out.
"What?" Taylor demanded. Stiles shrugged before having to look away. "If he didn't want you then why the hell would he claim you? That makes no sense."
"Maybe he's insane."
"He must be," Taylor said firmly. Stiles looked to him in shock, nearly smiling.
"Thanks," he exhaled.
"Hi," another voice called from the side. Stiles looked over to see a man with short dark hair and even darker eyes. He lingered in the gap of the curtain, eyes sliding back to Taylor after only a cursory glance to Stiles. "You're talking," he added softly. The mole above his top lip shifted down as he frowned. Stiles looked back to Taylor in time to see him cross his arms carefully.
"I don't think he's talking to me Taylor," Stiles muttered, stifling a laugh. Taylor glared at him. Stiles tried not to laugh but he couldn't help it. "He's not." Taylor still remained silent so Stiles looked back to his mate. "I'm Stiles," he murmured.
"Brennan," he returned, crossing the room and offering his hand. Stiles shook it.
"Nice to meet you. Nice of you to come visit," he poked Taylor's leg, "right Taylor?" Taylor didn't verbally respond he simply shifted his leg over, glare intensifying.

Brennan turned back to Taylor, shoving one hand in his pocket.
"The doctor said maybe they can release you today." Taylor didn't respond to that either.
"So the silent treatment?" Stiles questioned no one in particular.
"I don't blame him," Brennan said and Stiles guessed he was speaking to him and not Taylor.
"It's not like you hurt him on purpose, right?"
"Of course not, but he still got hurt," Brennan said softly, frowning. Taylor looked unhappy at this, the thumb peeking out from his cast twitching back and forth. The silence lingered for a few moments. "Do you want me to go Taylor?" Taylor's thumb paused and his frown deepened.
"No," Stiles answered for him, not receiving a glare and figuring he'd made the right choice. He pushed out of the chair. "I'm going to hunt down some food. See you two later." He paused as he passed Brennan, debating quickly before leaning in. "I think he's more embarrassed he fell out of the tree," he whispered before exiting the curtain. Stiles was guessing again but there hadn't been any animosity in his voice when Taylor talked about Brennan. Adding that Brennan seemed pretty nice and Taylor was normally quiet…Stiles didn't think he was far off. He wandered into the empty hallway before a closing door had him pressing flat against the wall. He felt pretty ridiculous until he heard Derek's angry voice.
"It's not going to work," his mate growled. Stiles rolled his eyes. Of course not because you are a bipolar werewolf.
"Mr. Hale," Ross began, still pleasant, "I am aware that you do not care for yourself. But you will care for this boy who has never done you any wrong. You will do your utmost to make this work or when he leaves you do too." Stiles' breath caught in his chest. Somewhere in that sentence Ross had turned into The Godfather.
"I don't have anywhere to go," Derek returned, voice quiet and tense.
"Something for you to consider," Ross allowed.
"He can hear us right now," Derek said then and Stiles couldn't help a small gasp.
"I am aware," Ross murmured simply. "Mr. Stilinski if you would join us please." His voice was back to normal and it only made goose bumps pop up on Stiles' arms. Stiles rounded the corner and walked half the length of the hallway to them. "I want him to know that I expect you to be trying," Ross continued, turning back to Derek. "I want him to know any discretions are to be reported to me."

Derek's nostrils flared and his eyes shone brighter for a second as his fists clenched.
"Noted," Derek growled. Stiles barely managed to stop from shuddering.
"Stop scaring him," Ross said, lifting a hand and slapping the back of Derek's head. "Your wolf doesn't like it," he explained as Derek more or less fell out of his threatening posture, wide eyes falling on the man between them.
"I am perfectly aware of my wolf," Derek snapped a painful moment later.
"Yes well then you should stop trying to fight it to the death." Ross turned to Stiles, all smiles once again. "Mr. Stilinski, how do you feel about leaving the infirmary today?" Stiles forced himself not to look at Derek. He didn't need to be eviscerated by eyes as he tried to answer.
"I guess normal clothes would be good," he mumbled, feeling his arm twitch and hating himself for it.
"Marvelous. Take him shopping Derek." Both Stiles' eyebrows shot up at that and his mouth fell open slightly. Had Derek just been demoted to first name status? Stiles had to fight a chuckle. Derek was staring at Ross, evidently wondering the same thing. "Go on. You do so love to take your car. Take him to Walla Walla." Stiles blanched.
"Walla Walla, Washington? We're in Washington?"
"No we're in Oregon," Ross responded, clapping his hands together.
"We're close to Washington?" Stiles corrected shrilly.
"It's a two hour drive," Derek snapped, "let's go."
"It's a three hour drive if you speed," Ross said, catching Derek's arm. "Don't you put this boy's life in danger." There was an edge to the threat that even Stiles could read. Derek growled, actually growled, before shaking Ross' arm off and stalking away. Stiles said a silent prayer before following after him.

Derek had longer legs than him and he had no trouble using that advantage. Stiles was rushing, make that stumbling, to catch up and when someone stopped him to offer his shoes he huffed out an irritated breath. There must have been a very good camera system in the building. Stiles shoved his shoes on over the slipper socks that looked like they had actually come from a hospital and ran out the door. There really wasn't much point in rushing because the town settlement thing wasn't very big and Derek stuck out against the prim little houses in his black leather jacket. Still Stiles thought that pissing off a werewolf he was about to be trapped in a car with wasn't the best idea. Yeah he had Ross' protection but what good was that going to do him as soon as they left? A bubble of anxiety worked its way into his throat. They were leaving. Leaving wherever they even were. Going into society. Back to people. And cell phones. He patted his thigh on reflex, groaning when his hand was met with thin cotton and not denim conforming to the shape of his cell phone. Damn. He'd lost his phone. Actually, it probably died in the stream. He'd forgotten all about it. That was okay. He would just need a payphone or anyone who had a tiny sliver of a heart who would let him borrow theirs. All he had to do was get away from Derek. The werewolf was still about ten feet ahead of him, walking away quickly. Didn't seem like that would be much of a problem. Maybe a long car ride was a good thing, Stiles needed plenty of time to plan. Getting in contact with his dad wasn't even half the battle. He was still hours away, a lot of hours away. He huffed out a sigh as he put on an extra burst of speed to try and catch up.

"This is being nice to me?" Damn he was already breathless.
"Shut up."
"That's being nice to me?" Stiles demanded. Derek stopped so suddenly Stiles ended up about three steps ahead of him when he stopped.
"Shut the fuck up," Derek exhaled, glaring still, "please." He started walking and Stiles debated whether or not that was progress before catching up yet again.
"Oh shit," he exhaled when Derek climbed into a black Camaro with no warning whatsoever. He stared at the sleek lines, fighting the urge to reach out and touch. A pang for his patched up Jeep was the thing that got him moving again and by the time he got in Derek was glaring out the windshield. "Nice car," he offered, smiling.
"Buckle up," Derek snapped in response, "wouldn't want you to go flying through the windshield now would we?"
"Well that's morbid," Stiles returned, reaching for the seatbelt and flying into the dash, the strip of fabric streaking out uselessly in his grip, as Derek slammed on the gas and reversed onto the thin road they'd just been walking on. He was thrown back into the seat before he'd managed to buckle in, sending Derek a glare of his own. It was admittedly less impressive but at the moment Stiles didn't care. "That could have set off the airbag you know," he snipped, crossing his arms over his seatbelt.
"I think it's going to take more than a prepubescent boy hitting it at six miles an hour."
"Hey!" he scoffed before pausing to lower his voice. "Hey okay not okay. Not cool man. So not cool."
"Okay not okay? What are you trying to get across there?" Derek glanced to him, a smirk that could have been devastating sitting on his mouth.
"I go to high school, I have to limit my vocabulary," Stiles snapped, relieved when Derek looked back to the road. They were already in the woods and Stiles didn't really want to look at the speedometer. At the rate the trees were blurring by they were going dangerously fast and he would only get more nervous if he knew the number.
"Don't remind me," Derek returned, groaning and lifting one hand off the steering wheel to cover his eyes. Stiles gritted his teeth.
"I didn't exactly sign up for this."

If Stiles had a choice, he'd be in school right now. At least, he thinks he'd be in school. "What day is it?" Silence stretched so long Stiles wondered if Derek was even going to answer him.
"Saturday," he finally said.
"Saturday!" Stiles yelped, seatbelt catching him as he launched forward, arms coming uncrossed and slicing through the air. "I was asleep for two days?" he demanded when he'd landed half back on the seat.
"Yes," Derek answered tightly. "And if you're going to do that," he waved one hand vaguely, "warn me next time."
"Yeah okay do you even realize I've been missing since Tuesday and it's now Saturday and my father probably has half the state of California looking for me?"
"Well then it's a good thing we're not in California," Derek said, smirking again.
"Great he'll call the FBI," Stiles moaned, tossing his head into his hands.
"They'll never find us." There was a confidence in Derek's voice that had a shudder running over Stiles. He didn't doubt the statement in the least.
"Yeah but I mean okay we're going out in public right now. Okay is that even a good idea?" He clapped a hand over his mouth the second the words were out but it was too late.
"You use the word okay way too much." Stiles rolled his eyes and dropped his hand.
"Okay well then you're clearly way too old." Derek snorted quietly, glancing to Stiles and away. "Oh god," Stiles exhaled, "we've broken laws haven't we? I mean you have, clearly, but now I have too haven't I?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"How old are you?" Derek's eyes swiveled to him for just a second.
"I'm twenty three." Stiles tossed himself back in the seat, covering his face with both hands.
"You're ancient," he complained. "And illegal. Oh my god you're like the werewolf Daddy Warbucks and I'm Orphan Annie. I don't want to be Orphan Annie and you're not even rich oh my god." He dragged his hands off his face slowly. "I am not scrubbing any floors. Or singing."
"Are you supposed to be taking pills?" Derek asked bluntly. Stiles groaned again.
"Yes I am and thanks for reminding me now I'm going to-" his neck gave a huge spasm just then and he paused to breathe, "be doing that all day."

He covered his face again and slumped, letting his leg jerk up and down. "I hate everything," he groaned, letting the sentence drag out until he ran out of air and had to inhale. The seatbelt was cutting into his neck so eventually he sat back up, huffing out another sigh. "Why did you have to say that?" he moaned.
"What is wrong with you?" Derek demanded hands tight on the steering wheel.
"You mean asides from being kidnapped and held hostage by a douche bag who obviously hates me?" Derek didn't react to the words.
"Obviously."
"I'll be fine," Stiles snapped, not wanting to go through the laundry list of things shrinks thought were wrong with him.
"You're normally on medication but you'll be fine," Derek repeated dryly.
"It's not like you care is it?" Stiles demanded, tensing his leg in an effort to get it to go still. Silence fell again. "That's what I thought," he couldn't help the words, crossing his arms again as he looked out the window.

They were maybe fifteen minutes into the ride when Stiles remembered he was supposed to be planning and not arguing with a bipolar werewolf. "Where are we anyways?" he demanded. That could be useful information. In fact that was information he needed. Another long silence. Stiles started to wonder what Derek had against answering his questions.
"Near Umatilla National Forest." Stiles was vaguely sure he'd heard the name before, maybe something about the Blue Mountains too.
"A whole group of werewolves just chilling out in a national forest. Of course."
"It's over a million acres," Derek added. Stiles was surprised that he was actually offering information and had to snap his jaw closed. "For all you know we might not be the only ones." He offered another smirk and Stiles tried not to shiver. Not offering information then. Terrorizing. Stiles huffed out a breath. Trying to terrorize. He was not going to be afraid. He wasn't.
"What about campers? Park rangers? I don't know bears?"
"The settlement has been here almost two hundred years." Apparently Derek thought that was explanation enough.
"The fence isn't a dead giveaway that something is going on?" Stiles continued incredulously.
"You're in a national forest, see a fence, and immediately think secret organization of werewolves?"
"Well now I will."

Either Derek smiled for a half second or Stiles was hallucinating. Given Derek's normal expression, either was possible. "Okay so if Walla Walla is so far away why are we going there?"
"We're not allowed to go shopping within fifty miles."
"Why?" To Stiles it was a natural progression of conversation, Derek stared at him as if he was mentally challenged.
"Werewolves," he replied, looking back to the road and shaking his head.
"Okay fine so why did Ross have you take me shopping?" Derek opened his mouth and apparently changed his mind, teeth snapping together just before a growl slid out.
"Obviously he is trying to annoy me to death," he gritted eventually.
"Shouldn't you be less susceptible to death by annoyance?" Derek glared at him silence and Stiles felt the need to elaborate. "You know, since you're a werewolf?" Derek's eyes closed and he growled again, the car around them accelerating. Stiles felt his heart give an extra kick as it picked up and he swallowed roughly. "Shouldn't you be watching the road?" he squeaked, hands gripping the leather seat tightly. The car accelerated again, the engine giving a slight whine in protest and Derek turned to him slowly, eyes finally opening.
"The fact has not escaped me," he said slowly, smirking at Stiles' obvious discomfort.
"Okay I get it you're badass just watch the fucking road please!" Surprise registered on Derek's face and he turned back to the road, shooting a quick glance at Stiles before frowning again. Stiles' hands were shaking and he pulled his knees up before wrapping his arms around them and burying his face. He was not going to have a panic attack. He was not going to have a panic attack. He didn't even have his inhaler; a panic attack was not an option.
"Are you okay?" Derek asked, voice strained. Stiles lifted his head slightly to let it fall back to his knees and tried to breathe.
"Just shut up please," Stiles exhaled, breathless. Derek did and he worked on breathing. In and out. Everything was fine. His lungs were inflating. They were deflating. Just as they should. His heart was still beating. He was fine. He was fine. Fine, fine, fine became his mantra and eventually he'd managed to calm himself down.

He still didn't move for the longest time.
"I'm sorry," Derek said his voice so urgent Stiles finally pulled up and looked to him. "Really." Stiles found himself nodding.
"It's fine. I just have panic attacks sometimes."
"I won't do it again." Stiles nodded again, breathing a bit easier at the promise.
"How much longer?" he asked warily.
"Almost two and a half hours." Stiles moved his legs back to the floor slowly, shifting his arms slightly to get the blood flowing again. He leaned his head against the window, ignoring it when a small sound slipped from Derek, almost a whine. He wasn't going to get all worked up again. He was just going to sit in the car until they got there. Stiles should probably have seen it coming but it wasn't long before he cracked.
"Oh my god," he exhaled, "a gas station. Pull in, pull in."
"What? No."
"But I need to pee," Stiles whined, dragging out the final word.
"Why didn't you go before we left?"
"Like I had the chance," Stiles rolled his eyes and reached towards the steering wheel, flinching when Derek growled at him. His father certainly never reacted that way. He shook it off as Derek pulled in, rolling to a stop just in front of the pathetic excuse for a building.
"I'll be listening," Derek said before he cut the engine. Stiles froze, hand on the door handle.
"Wait like…while I'm in the bathroom?" Derek grimaced.
"No! What is wrong with you?" Stiles opened his mouth and Derek growled again. "Hypothetical. I meant I'll be listening if you try to get help. Jesus Christ just hurry up." Stiles mock saluted before throwing open the door and rushing out.

He was okay. Mostly. He was going to be fine. Stiles wasn't sure how he just was. At least there was an end date in sight. It wasn't like this was forever. And clearly Derek could hardly stand him so it wasn't like there was even any danger of it being forever. By the time three months were up he would have a kick ass story to tell his dad, he'd even have time to work all the holes out of it so it was air tight. So for these three months he just had to be sure Derek didn't kill him. And that he didn't die of boredom. A slight frown claimed his face as his hand fell on the door handle. No school. No internet. Not even any Scott. Adapting would be…a challenge. He wondered if his best friend was even worried about him. Possible. Stiles just didn't believe it. He shook the thoughts off. The gas station attendant didn't even bother looking up from her magazine.
"Excuse me, do you have a bathroom?" She cracked her gum before pointing to the left towards a dark doorway. "Thanks," Stiles said brightly. Zero response. He paused on the way, staring longingly at the bags of potato chips. His stomach rumbled painfully. When was the last time he'd eaten? He didn't even know. God he was hungry. He reminded himself he didn't have his wallet before forcing himself to move. In the bathroom he debated how Derek would respond if he asked for food. He was supposed to take care of him right? That included food. That had to include food, Stiles was a teenage boy after all. His stomach grumbled again and Stiles winced as he went to the sink. "Shut up stomach," he mumbled. He wiped his hands on his pants before pulling open the door, jumping when he saw Derek inches from the doorway. "Jesus do you have to…loom like that?" Instead of responding Derek looked around him, into the bathroom. "What?" Stiles snapped, "I was gonna leave an SOS on the floor with toilet paper?" He squeezed past Derek, heading for the small section of food. "Good now you're in here you can buy me lunch." He didn't bother raising his voice, Derek would hear. He grabbed at random, whatever looked good or was in an exceedingly bright package. Derek's face was cast in a grimace by the time he finished, arms crossed as he waited by the register.
"That's all going in you?" he demanded.
"Yes. Ooh drinks," Stiles added, dropping all the items on the counter before moving for the cooler in the back. He grabbed four Mountain Dews and a bag of Cheetos. "There's the ride back too," Stiles explained, impressed that Derek was grimacing even more than before.

When Derek was angry he had three expressions. There was his default, a slight frown, code name Tapioca. There was when he was pissed, when the food total had come to $56.11, code name Flan. Then there was when he was utterly furious, when Stiles got Cheeto crumbs on the floor of his car, code name Baked Alaska. Stiles had to promise to vacuum it four times before Derek stopped growling. Stiles figured he'd better start cataloguing these things so he knew when to toe the line. Derek was still in his default frown when they arrived in Walla Walla. His eyebrows went up when Stiles headed for a thrift store rather than the Old Navy but the frown remained. As Stiles started picking out clothes he shifted to Flan so Stiles ignored him and went about shopping as if he was on his own. He was in the fitting room trying on jeans when he suddenly remembered his tiny conch shell. His hand went to the left pocket of the thrift store jeans, already mostly knowing it was empty. It wasn't sitting on his dresser either. One hand clapped over his face as he exhaled harshly. He'd had a chemistry quiz on Tuesday and he'd wanted it for good luck. Now he'd lost it. Stiles knew it wasn't his fault, not really, but he still couldn't help the thick sledge of dread that built up in his stomach. He stripped the jeans back off and put on the thin cotton pants mechanically. It was stupid to react like this. His mother was already gone. It wasn't possible to lose her again. But he should have been more careful with it. He should have- He forced his mind to a halt. He couldn't get upset now. He needed to stop getting upset. If only it were that easy. Suddenly Stiles wanted to hear his father's voice more than anything in the world. The need curled tight in his stomach, mixing and melding with the dread until it was one immobile mess that he couldn't seem to breathe around. He grabbed all the clothes, blinking rapidly and struggling with the lock on the door. Derek was just outside the door, face getting dangerously close to Baked Alaska. Stiles struggled to swallow.
"Let's go," he mumbled. Derek caught his elbow and hauled him back.
"What's wrong?" Stiles shook his head.
"Get off me."
"Tell me what's wrong," Derek gritted in response, hand tightening as his face officially went to Baked Alaska.
"I swear to God I'll scream," Stiles warned. Derek's hand finally fell away and Stiles shoved the bundle of clothes at him before bolting for the door.

He wasn't running. Not really. He just needed out. He was at least twelve hours from home and he had no money or a way to contact anyone. There was no way he was escaping Derek. Plus what if Ross was telling the truth? What if he actually did get sick? He saw the payphone and he didn't think, he just went for it. "Collect call," he managed as soon as the line connected. He was patched through a ridiculous amount of times but finally the line was ringing.
"Sheriff Stilinski," his father snapped, clearly in the middle of something. Stiles sagged against the wall next to the phone, breath seeping out slowly.
"Hey Dad." Stiles knew he had to keep this short. His dad was probably ordering a trace right now. He was fairly sure the operator had already told him Walla Walla but still.
"Stiles!" his dad yelled. Stiles didn't even bother pulling the phone away, simply wincing. "Goddamn it Son! Where the hell are you?" Tears burned suddenly.
"I'm sorry Dad. I'm sorry. I can't come home yet," he cut off on a sob, "I can't and I'm sorry." He lifted his free hand and pressed his thumb to his left eye, his index and middle fingers to his right. "I'm okay…I guess. So don't worry about me okay?"
"Son," his father's voice dropped, suddenly urgent, "what's happened? Where are you?" Stiles choked on another sob. Out of time. He knew he was out of time.
"I'm leaving now. Don't bother coming here Dad." He inhaled deeply and moved his hand to his chest, clutching at the fabric there. "I love you Dad. Don't forget that okay?"
"Stiles."
"Don't forget." He couldn't wait for a response. He hung up the phone, dragging in a breath as he did. He swiped at his eyes frantically. He was on the street and Derek was sure to be back any minute. Not to mention they had to get out of Walla Walla. Derek would probably be furious. Stiles just started crying harder at the thought. He really needed to pull himself together. He needed to go find Derek and they needed to go. The only trouble was that Stiles couldn't even see past all the tears blurring his vision. His breaths were caught between gasps and painful hiccups and the pain rioting in his entire torso was just too much.

A hand was pulling his wrist suddenly and all Stiles could make out was a large black blur. Derek. Stiles didn't even react, he just kept crying and let himself be pulled along. He didn't register the fact that they were no longer moving until he was already curled in Derek's lap, a hand moving up and down his spine. He stumbled over a gasp and he tried to shift, going still immediately when Derek growled softly. He peeked up carefully to see Derek's eyes a blazing blue once again. His wolf? Stiles relaxed back into his hold, sighing shakily. Derek's wolf liked him at least. He had to. Stiles buried his face in Derek's neck and clutched at his jacket. Time lulled and slowed and for a little while it seemed like the world outside Derek's car didn't really exist. Just then, Stiles liked that thought.
"Are you alright?" Derek asked, long after Stiles had finally quieted. Stiles scrambled off his lap, probably kicking him a few times. Derek simply grunted and let him go. Stiles huddled back in his seat and hugged himself. Wolf Derek was alright. Human Derek wasn't.
"We should go," he said, scrubbing at his face, "I wouldn't be surprised if my dad hasn't already called the police up here." Stiles was proud of himself when his voice barely shook over the mention of his father. Derek didn't move immediately and Stiles looked to him slowly. Of course Derek wasn't looking at him, staring out the windshield instead.
"I'm sorry." It wasn't exactly clear what Derek was apologizing for and he didn't explain, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking spot instead.

A/N: Hi. Let's play good news bad news.

Good news: Here's an update

Bad news: It's not the end

Good news: I've got tons more

Bad news: I don't know how long it will take me

Good news: Cast of oc's is here: annber(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/20215010352

Bad news: You've only met half of them

I really am sorry about this. This has just run off on me. I'm still going to try and keep it relatively short. I won't put a number of parts. It's just gonna go until it stops.

Thank you all, truly.