Chapter Fourteen
...
"He escaped. The asshole used a flash bomb on me," Teresa snapped angrily, her third eyelids blinking rapidly as she tried to recover from the sudden flare of light.
"Three people ran down here a minute ago; I think they broke down a door to get outside," Mia reported.
"It's all right, they're with us. They'll get him," Stiles said, continuing past so he could sit Derek on a bench outside. "Feeling better?"
"A little. Too much of everything in there," Derek muttered, breathing in the fresh air and blinking the soot from his eyes.
Stiles was silent for a long moment, looking over Derek to ensure that he was really okay. "I thought you were going to die on me again," he admitted, his voice low.
Derek shook his head and reached up to grab Stiles' hand, squeezing firmly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Stiles felt the tension and adrenaline leak out of his body all at once and he practically collapsed on the bench beside Derek, shock wearing off and leaving him trembling slightly. "Glad to hear it."
Derek stroked Stiles' hand gently, soothing and calming him. Even when Stiles knew that his heartbeat had returned to its normal pace, Derek still didn't let go or stop stroking his hand.
Stiles glanced at Derek, who was still covered in dried blood and soot, but looking surprisingly calm. "You okay?"
Derek nodded. "Yeah; you?"
"A little surprised you're not going after that hunter now that we're outside. You can smell him, right?" he asked, watching Derek's face - and his eyebrows - carefully.
Derek's eyebrow rose slightly and he glanced down to their hands. "Yes. But you're more important," he said with a shrug, as if that explained everything.
They were both silent for a moment, looking over to where the emergency services vehicles were arriving with a blare of sirens, smoke still pouring out of the building.
Stiles looked back to Derek and frowned, his eyes narrowing. "What's your anchor? It can't be anger anymore; you don't even look angry," he said.
"Is now really the time, Stiles?" Derek asked with a sigh, rubbing his face with his free hand, smearing soot and dried blood. He frowned at his dirty hand before looking at Stiles. Realising that he wasn't going to get away with not giving Stiles an answer, Derek sighed again. "You're my anchor."
"What?"
Derek shrugged, his ears turning pink. "I trust you, and... You're important to me."
"Important as a friend, as a pack mate, or...?" Stiles trailed off, wondering just how long he'd been Derek's anchor and why he hadn't told him before.
"Or," Derek replied, grinning slightly.
His response confused Stiles for a moment before his brain caught up. "Wait, what? You like me? Since when?! Why didn't you tell me sooner?!"
Derek didn't have a chance to reply, as the three werewolves returned, hauling Steve between them. They weren't wolfed out, but their clothes were in disarray and it was obvious they hadn't caught the man without a fight. Steve was gagged with Caleb's shirt, his shouts muffled behind the fabric. As they made their way through the crowd, people stopped and stared. Tasha, Okami, and Caleb ignored the stares and dragged Steve over to where Stiles and Derek were sitting. Derek sat up straighter at their appearance, frowning as he sniffed.
"What do you want us to do with him?" Okami asked Stiles, her grip on Steve tightening as he tried to yell out again from behind Caleb's shirt.
"Uh, right... If McCall is up to questioning him, we can find out if he already alerted the Calaveras before attacking," Stiles suggested.
Okami nodded and the three werewolves hauled Steve away through the crowd again.
Derek looked from the werewolves to Stiles, still frowning. "You picked up three strays?"
"What?"
"Whatever you did or said while I was unconscious has them deferring to you as pack leader."
"But I'm not an Alpha? Hell, I'm not even a werewolf."
Derek shrugged. "That doesn't matter to omegas. It doesn't matter to most werewolves, in fact. The Alpha is the one in control, the one who will protect and lead them. An Alpha could be a human in the right circumstances."
"But... what about Scott?"
"He's an Alpha in Beacon Hills, not here."
Stiles frowned as he thought it over. He looked around the waiting area, seeing his peers keeping everyone together and under control. Marcie and Grant were working with Teresa and Mia now that Steve had been caught. Jorge and Yelena were checking with the leaders for each FBI division to ensure that everyone was out and safe, and finding those who were missing. Li and Kuhle were talking with security and the emergency services about people who had been injured or trapped by debris. Tomika had left the building when Steve was brought in, the others in Rafe's office either healed or being carried out.
He was going to have the weirdest pack on Earth.
"Don't think you've distracted me from this, by the way," Stiles said, indicating between them, trying not to grin too much when Derek blushed.
Stiles leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Derek's mouth. It was just a brush of lips, so short that Derek might have missed it had he not been the recipient. Derek's ears went pink when he heard a few of Stiles' peers snickering to themselves.
Stiles ignored them, then stood up and brushed off his clothes, straightening out his FBI vest. "I'd better go help. Can't be a good pack leader if I sit on my butt all day," he said with a grin, offering Derek his hand.
Derek took it and let Stiles haul him up to his feet. He squeezed Stiles' hand once more and they headed towards the crowd of FBI employees to help out where they could.
...
"Breaking news: the FBI building in Quantico, Virginia, has been attacked. Smoke is pouring out of the building and witnesses have reported hearing two loud explosions. It is currently unclear who is responsible for this attack or if there are any casualties."
The Sheriff dropped his coffee mug, ignoring the smash of ceramic and the hot coffee that splashed on his pants. He forced himself not to run to his phone, but it was a near thing. His hand was trembling as he rang Stiles' number. No answer. He tried Derek's number. No answer. Flicking through his rolodex of contacts, the Sheriff found Rafe's work number and called, his heart pounding.
An automated voice pleasantly told him that the phone was not currently in service, and then the Sheriff was listening to a dial tone.
"Sheriff? Lydia said that Stiles is okay; she'd know if he wasn't," Parrish added, knocking on his door.
"Lydia can only tell if he's dead, not if he's alive and hurting," the Sheriff snapped.
Parrish nodded, seeming chastised, but the Sheriff couldn't focus on him, not yet. He didn't let himself focus on his trembling hand as he dialled Rafe's mobile number, the number written on the back of his business card and one that the Sheriff had decided for emergency use only when he'd seen it written there.
"McCall."
"Is Stiles okay?" the Sheriff asked urgently, his fingers clenched in a tight fist, his knuckles white as he tried to prepare himself for an answer he didn't know he'd survive.
"He's fine. So is Hale," Rafe added.
The Sheriff all but collapsed onto his chair, trying to breathe and return his heart rate to normal. "What happened?" he demanded.
"It was a hunter; one of the Calaveras' people. I think the only reason he's still alive is because Hale survived," Rafe said, somewhere between amused and worried. He sighed and shook his head. "So, I hear there's a hellhound in Beacon Hills?"
The Sheriff blinked. "You know?"
"I worked some things out since my visit there, and your son filled me in on the rest. We're heading to Beacon Hills tonight. I've talked with the hunter and he alerted the Calaveras before setting off the explosions, so expect company of the unpleasant variety as well."
Sitting up straighter, the Sheriff nodded. "Thanks for the heads up. Is Stiles there?" he asked, still a little anxious to make sure that his son was all right, despite Rafe's reassurances.
"I'll get him for you," Rafe said.
There was a moment of silence, some awkward shuffling and the phone changing hands, and then the Sheriff heard Stiles' voice and he let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding.
"Pops? Everything okay?"
"The attack was on the news; I tried ringing you, but your phone's off. I almost had a heart attack, son."
"Shit! I'm sorry, Pops. I didn't have a chance to turn it on after the explosions; I was busy helping out. Derek and I are both all right, and the guy who did it is in custody," Stiles added, hoping he sounded reassuring and his father wasn't really going to have a heart attack. "Also, I kind of might have adopted three grown adult werewolves and become the Alpha for the weirdest pack on Earth."
"What?"
"I didn't mean to, it just... happened."
The Sheriff shook his head and focused on breathing in and out for a few seconds. Only his son would go to the FBI and come out with more pack members than he started with. "Rafe says you're coming here tonight? What happened to Friday?"
"Yeah, he's organising last-minute plane tickets for all of us, claiming it as a training exercise for us recruits. It's better to be going to Beacon Hills sooner rather than later, especially after everything that happened today. Two Druids were badly hurt in the explosion and have to go to the hospital for internal bleeding, and one kitsune is down to her last tail so she's staying behind, but there's about twenty of us in all," Stiles said. "How's everything going there?"
The Sheriff sighed as he thought of the hellhound's revelation. He briefly considered not telling Stiles, preferring to tell him in person rather than on the phone, but he knew that his son would find out eventually, and decided that now was better than later. Perhaps it'd give Stiles time to come to terms with it and hopefully give him time to think about what they could do. "The hellhound thinks that whatever came out with you guys... well, it might be in you."
"It can't be."
The certainty in Stiles' voice surprised the Sheriff. "How do you know?"
"Because after everything went down with the Nogitsune, I found a spell to protect myself from possession so it wouldn't happen again. The spell covers any sorts of things trying to ride around in my skull or body, so it literally can't be inside of me. I mean, the hellhound can do a check if he wants. The thing he did with Scott sounds fairly painless, at least. But I swear it's not me. Not this time, at least," Stiles added wryly.
While the Sheriff could appreciate Stiles trying to lighten up the conversation with his usual brand of humour, it just didn't make any sense. "But Scott's already been checked, Malia, Liam and Mason are fine, and Lydia's immune. Apart from the hellhound and Mr. Forrester's chickens being eaten by foxes, nothing's happened in Beacon Hills since the Wild Hunt."
"So what came out with us?" Stiles asked, a cold shudder running up his spine.
...
End of the fourteenth chapter.
Author's note: dun, dun, duuuuuun.