Chapter Fifteen
...
The FBI building was determined to be safe and people were allowed inside again. Stiles found Derek helping Okami, Tasha, and Caleb clear the debris, and jogged over to them. "We can go inside now. Do I want to know where Steve was taken?" he asked.
Tasha shook her head. "Nowhere you'll be allowed for another five years at least, honey."
"Is it underground?" Stiles asked as they headed for the entrance, Derek taking his hand beside him.
Caleb snorted. "Where else would it be?"
Stiles thought of going inside his mind with the Nogitsune and then with the Nemeton; he thought of the Ghost Riders' train station and the world that was similar to their own, but not at all. Eventually, he shrugged. The FBI probably didn't even know about those sorts of places, let alone have access to them.
Tasha nudged Caleb sharply. "You've got the sensitivity of a pile of bricks, honey."
Caleb started bickering with Tasha, Okami rolling her eyes beside them.
"There's the bathroom," Stiles muttered gratefully, seeing the sign up ahead. He wanted to clean up sooner rather than later.
Tasha and Okami pulled Caleb ahead with them, leaving Stiles and Derek alone. Tasha winked at Stiles over her shoulder. He totally did not blush.
Others had the same idea to clean up and the bathroom was far too crowded and noisy. Stiles waited impatiently for people to leave, standing back against a wall with Derek still beside him. Stiles tapped rhythmic patterns on the tiles behind his back, ignoring glances from the other FBI employees as they looked from Derek to Stiles on their way out. A couple of people nodded in thanks, recognising both of them from the help they'd provided, but most were focused on returning to their jobs.
Eventually they were alone, and Stiles locked the door behind the last person to make sure they wouldn't be disturbed. The last thing anyone needed was Derek 'wolfed out if he had to shift to repair any internal damage. He tugged Derek over to one of the basins, wetting a mix of paper towels and toilet paper so he could clean Derek's face properly.
"I can do this myself, Stiles," Derek muttered when Stiles threw out one lump of bloodied and sooty paper.
Stiles scoffed and muttered something unintelligible under his breath. They'd spent too many times patching each other up at Beacon Hills for him to stop just because they were on the other side of the country.
Derek didn't protest again when Stiles returned with another ball of damp paper, and Stiles looked over Derek's face, his eyebrows furrowed as he inspected every expanse of skin to ensure he was all right, clean, and uninjured.
"Your turn," Derek said when Stiles seemed satisfied.
"What?"
"You're just as bad as I was," Derek said, turning them around so Stiles was pressed up against the basin instead.
"I'll just splash some water on my face. I've got to get to class," Stiles said, looking over his shoulder to his reflection in the mirror. He winced at the sight of the soot, blood and sweat that covered his face.
Okay, maybe he was a little grimy.
Stiles sighed heavily as Derek wet his own ball of paper, but turned his face upwards when he returned. Derek was gentler than Stiles probably had been, his fingers lingering on Stiles' jaw and chin, stroking across his moles and freckles, and Stiles watched Derek with dark eyes, exhaling shakily when he saw the intense expression on his face. Stiles licked his lips, a little nervous for no real reason, and saw Derek's gaze fall to his mouth.
Making out with Derek in an FBI bathroom wasn't something Stiles had ever anticipated - nor considered romantic, it was a bathroom for fuck's sakes - but that didn't stop him from surging up against Derek, cupping his face in his hands, and kissing him firmly. Derek made a soft noise in response, the sound muffled between their mouths, and Stiles clung onto his shoulders that little bit tighter.
Derek had made that noise because of him; he'd done that to him.
Derek cupped the back of Stiles' head, his palm warm and firm. He tilted Stiles' head back slightly to deepen their kiss, licking at his mouth. Stiles responded eagerly, his fingers curling in Derek's hair. Considering everything they'd gone through in the last two hours, Stiles felt that Derek's hair was unfairly soft, but he wasn't about to complain.
There was a solid knock at the door and they pulled apart quickly, eyes wide and dark, and their chests heaving breathlessly. Stiles realised that he was still in the FBI building, still wearing his FBI vest, and probably late for whatever was happening now with Sean and his peers. He ran a hand through his hair, tugged off his vest, and took Derek's hand.
Striding over to the door, Stiles unlocked it and continued straight through the doorway, not allowing the person inside, nor allowing them to gawk at him and Derek.
Further down the hallway, Tomika was waiting, smirking at them and their kiss-swollen lips. "About time, Stilinski; I was about to go in there for you myself. McCall's giving a debriefing and he wants everyone there. You're included in that, Hale," she said, turning and leading them to the recruits' usual room.
Rafe glanced at Stiles and Derek when they entered the room after Tomika. He raised his eyebrow at them, but didn't say anything. "The Calaveras have been alerted and are heading to Beacon Hills. It's a mass assault against every creature living in the town, and there have been reports of hunters and cartels heading to California as well. None of them are friendly," he added, looking at the group around the room seriously.
The recruits were there - emotions ranging from scared and worried to anticipatory and eager to prove themselves - as were the people from Rafe's own division.
"Pack your bags; we're heading to Beacon Hills tonight."
...
Stiles unsuccessfully tried to rest on the flight from Virginia to California. He was nervous and it showed in his jittering leg as well as his heartbeat and scent. Derek was sitting next to him, their fingers entwined, but even that didn't help. They hadn't exactly talked about their kiss or hand holding, but neither of them wanted to make grand declarations before a fight they might not survive. The thought made Stiles squeeze Derek's hand a little tighter.
Derek squeezed his hand in return, stroking the back of Stiles' hand with his thumb. When he had Stiles' attention, Derek closed the space between them and kissed Stiles gently.
Apparently, that was a thing they were doing now.
Stiles grinned and kissed Derek back, ignoring the gagging noises coming from Tomika, Teresa, and Li in the seats behind them. They stopped kissing when the plane took off, both of them too busy concentrating on not concentrating on the sudden rise of the plane. Stiles kept his eyes closed as tightly as possible and without Derek's distracting kisses, his anxiety and nerves soon returned two-fold.
Eventually, one of Rafe's team left his seat further down the plane to sit on the aisle seat next to Stiles. Stiles remembered the man as a werecoyote, but couldn't recall his name.
The man smiled at him, looking amused. "You are very nervous for a human who has been a part of this world for so long. Many your age do not survive," he said.
Thinking of Allison, Erica, and Boyd, Stiles could only nod in response, his throat suddenly feeling too tight for a verbal response. Beside him, Derek tensed, his hand clenching Stiles' tighter.
The man frowned at the tendril of hurt and pain he scented. "Forgive me, I did not mean to upset you. I am Mohammed," he introduced, smiling.
"But you're a werecoyote?" Stiles said, feeling stupid the moment the words left his mouth.
"Yes, I am," Mohammed replied with a smile. He recognised the curiosity in Stiles' expression and continued to tell his story, mostly to help distract the young man from his nerves. "I was scratched when I was a young boy; my grandparents knew tales of were-creatures and they looked after me when my parents could not. It was a... difficult time and I was a difficult child because of it. I would not have survived past my teenage years without them, so I am still very grateful to them," he admitted fondly.
Stiles was suddenly burning with a million questions, his own worries and fears put to the side. "Why did you decide to join the FBI?"
Mohammed seemed pleased at Stiles' interest. "My grandmother was a very strong woman and had an even stronger sense of right and wrong. She instilled the same into me and once I progressed through my difficulties, I found that I wanted to help people as she and my grandfather had helped me. I wanted people to know that I would give my life to protect and help them. I wanted people to understand and believe that I am not a monster, despite my religion or the fact that I can shift into an animal. I wanted to look at myself and know the same thing," he added almost to himself, lost in his memories and thoughts.
Stiles nodded. "Not all monsters do monstrous things," he said, his voice quiet.
His words brought Mohammed out of his memories, and he laughed. "That is very true," he replied, not looking so troubled now. "You have lived in Beacon Hills all your life?" he asked curiously.
"Yep, born and raised," Stiles quipped, grinning. "Didn't know about all of this until about five years ago, though. Considering the amount of stuff that's happened in the past five years alone, I'm surprised I didn't work it out sooner."
"It is difficult for humans to accept things they do not want to accept," Mohammed said.
"Yeah, but sometimes it feels like Beacon Hills is Sunnydale and we're on a Hellmouth or something. I mean, we've had an Alpha pack, a Darach, a werewolf abomination, a kanima, a Nogitsune, Dread Doctors, the Wild Hunt, and a bunch of assassins including, but not limited to, a guy without a mouth," Stiles said, ticking off on his fingers. "No one's been able to tell me how that guy survived without eating, by the way."
"That is a lot for one town," Mohammed agreed, surprised. "You have someone in place for protection?"
"Uh, kinda? There's a Druid, but he's mostly good at being cryptic; my best friend's there at the moment. We've been... protecting everyone for a few years."
"Not the people," Mohammed clarified, shaking his head. "Your town is called Beacon Hills? You have someone to protect the beacon?"
"The town was named that way because the government built a beacon there in the 1600s. Wasn't it?" Stiles added when Mohammed frowned at his response.
"Perhaps that is the reason given to the human townsfolk, but there would be another beacon for the supernatural folk. They are not driven to a place for no reason; neither are humans, for that matter," Mohammed added pointedly.
Stiles thought about it for less than a second before he came to the obvious conclusion. "The Nemeton; it's one of the oldest trees in the forest. Deaton says it's been fully charged since... uh, my friends and I did things that charged it up. But it's only a stump."
"Someone destroyed the beacon?"
Stiles was surprised at the shocked expression clear on Mohammed's face. "I guess?"
"This is bad. The beacon is lit, but no one is watching the flames," Mohammed murmured, his eyes wide. He was out of his seat before Stiles could reply, heading straight to Rafe and talking in low, urgent whispers.
Stiles looked at Derek. "What just happened?"
Derek kept his gaze on Mohammed and Rafe for a long moment, and Stiles knew that he was listening to their conversation. Finally, Derek looked away and returned his attention to Stiles. "It seems that the beacon's power is no longer contained nor protecting the townsfolk as it should be. It explains the increase in supernatural activity at Beacon Hills."
"So... cutting down the Nemeton basically put a neon sign above our town saying 'look at us, we're unprotected, come and kill us!'?"
Derek nodded. "It seems that way. Shouldn't recharging the Nemeton effectively turn off the neon sign?" he added with a slight frown.
Stiles' fingers itched for his phone, his computer, something with Internet access. Going for his carry-on luggage instead, Stiles pulled out his copy of the Bestiary and three pens, flicking through the pages until he found the entry for the Nemeton. He had three and a half hours before they landed in Beacon Hills and Stiles wanted to know everything so that, for once, they wouldn't be heading into a fight blind.
...
End of the fifteenth chapter.
Author's note: Tomika, Teresa, and Mia totally placed bets on when Stiles & Derek would succumb to the sexual tension. Tomika won.