Chapter Text
There’s blood everywhere, running through his fingers, getting on his clothes, spilling onto the ground.
Stiles presses his hands over the growing red patch on Danny’s shirt and he’s yelling, but he’s not sure what he’s saying. He doesn’t have his gun on him, Derek’s going to kill him. If he gets through this alive, if he gets Danny through this alive. Oh god, there’s just so much blood.
He can see what must be the Hunter who made the shot, of course it was a Hunter, it had to be a Hunter, but Stiles can only focus on Danny. Danny, who’s making aborted little gasps, his body convulsing under Stiles’ hand.
Stiles takes off his shirt and presses it helplessly against the wound, words falling from his mouth in an unstoppable torrent. “Danny, stay with me, man. Just keep breathing, OK? The others will be here soon, they’re not that bad at tracking.”
He takes his eyes off of Danny for a moment to look around him, and he can’t see any of his Pack, just two men with guns trained on him, moving closer.
“I’m human!” he yells desperately, hoping that it will matter to them. “We’re both humans!” They’re far enough away that he can’t make out their faces, but their guns are still trained on him and Danny makes a weak little noise beneath his hand.
“Hang in there, Danny.” He presses his shirt closer onto the wound and Danny groans in response. “Come on, talk to me here!” He’s supposed to keep him talking, right? Keep him conscious? That’s a thing, he’s pretty sure.
He looks back to the Hunters and they’re still moving closer and where the hell are the others, they had to have heard the gunshot. They don’t look like they’re going to shoot Stiles though, and he isn’t equipped to fight them, so he just turns back to Danny. If they want to kill him, he won’t be able to stop them so all he can do is try to keep Danny alive.
“If you die, Jackson will kill us both, OK? Please don’t leave me alone with that maniac,” he says.
“He’s not. . .that bad,” Danny pants, face as pale as wax paper.
“Oh, thank god,” Stiles says. “I mean, you’re talking crazy talk here, but you’re talking. You should keep doing that.”
“It hurts,” Danny says weakly and Stiles feels like he’s going to cry for the first time in a very long time.
“I know. It’s OK. Don’t be a stupid tough guy like Derek. You’re going to be fine. Tell me more about how Jackson isn’t actually an asshole,”
“I didn’t. . .say. . .that,” Danny forces out and Stiles chokes on a laugh.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You don’t have to tell me. Guy’s a lunatic.”
Which is about the time that Jackson bursts out of the trees to their left and takes down the Hunter in the lead like a special on Animal Planet.
“Holy hell!” Stiles exclaims, almost falling backwards in surprise. Jackson is in full on wolf-mode, tearing into the Hunter like he’s Sunday dinner and the other Hunter is recovering from his own surprise and levelling his gun at Jackson. Stiles calls out a warning but then Scott is there, already on top of the second Hunter and oh god, there’s so much blood.
He turns his attention back to Danny, who’s gotten even paler and Stiles hadn’t even known that was possible.
Lydia skids out of the forest and stops at Stiles’ side. “There are more coming,”
“That’s fucking great, Lydia, but we’re not moving,” Stiles snarls. He’s scared, so scared and he doesn’t think that Danny’s going to make it, but he definitely won’t if they move him.
Then Derek is there, looking ready to join the fight with the Hunters, but Stiles has an idea.
“Bite him!” he yells at Derek, who rounds on him with fangs bared and eyes a blood red.
“What?”
“You heard me,” Stiles says, softer, desperate because Danny’s blood is hot on his hands and cooling on his face, and he knows enough about wounds to know that he’s lost so much blood already. “Give him the bite.”
Derek hesitates, like this is actually something he has to think about.
“This isn’t up for debate!” Stiles shouts. “He’s dying, you asshole, give him the fucking bite!”
Derek’s fingers curl like he’s going to protest the way Stiles is talking to him, but then his eyes flick down to Danny, pale and bleeding and already breathing less than he was before.
“Move out of the way,” Derek says.
“Like hell,” Stiles snaps.
“There’s more coming, Derek,” Lydia warns.
Stiles can feel two others behind him and knows that it must be Jackson and Scott which means, oh god, it must mean the Hunters are dead.
“I didn’t want this,” Derek says, crouching down at Danny’s side, fangs looking viciously sharp and Stiles can’t figure out how something like that could go through human skin and leave a person alive.
“I don’t care,” Jackson growls. “If he dies, it’s your fault.”
Derek flinches and Stiles would protest because Derek already has too many death’s put on his shoulders, but right now Danny is all that matters.
Stiles carefully lifts up enough of his shirt, soaked through with blood and heavy, to bare some of his hip and stomach.
“Come on, Danny, you’re gonna be fine. You can’t die, you never even told me how hot you find me,’ Stiles says.
Danny makes a jerking, choking motion that could almost be a laugh, and Stiles keeps staring into his eyes when Derek’s teeth break through his skin.
--
They get back to the Hale house somehow, Jackson carrying Danny so carefully and growling at anyone who comes too close.
Stiles isn’t sure what’s happening, what’s going on and he feels like he’s in a weird haze. Shock, he thinks.
“We can’t stay here,” Allison is saying, her voice sounds distant and echoey. Someone touches Stiles’ arm and he jerks away.
“It’s just me,” Scott says carefully, moving closer into his field of vision. He has a wet towel in his hands and Stiles realizes that he’s covered in blood. In Danny’s blood.
Lydia and Derek are arguing about where they can go and Danny is still bleeding on the floor and Stiles is covered in his blood.
“We can’t go to my house,” Lydia is saying. “My mom works from home.”
Stiles shakes his head to clear it, distantly aware that Scott is wiping his hands clean of blood.
“My house is-” Allison starts to say, but Derek cuts her off.
“No. Absolutely not.”
Scott looks up from Stiles’ side. “We might be able to fit into my house,” he says tentatively. Stiles knows before he’s done saying it that it won’t work. The McCall house is too small and Scott still isn’t ready to tell his mom.
“No,” Stiles says before he can rethink this. “We have to go to a hospital.” A hospital is risky, a hospital will ask questions. But Danny will need blood and stitches and even if the Bite takes, he might die without proper medical assistance. “And then we go to my house.”
Scott puts a hand on his shoulder. “Stiles. Are you sure?”
Stiles gives a laugh that sounds hollow even to his own ears. “No. No, I’m really not. But what choice do we have? Every Hunter knows where this place is--they’ll have us surrounded if we don’t leave soon.”
“I have a hide-out,” Derek offers
“Is it somewhere we can take someone who’s bleeding out, without them getting infected?” Lydia asks disdainfully. Derek doesn’t reply, which is answer enough.
“Come on. We need to leave now.” Stiles stands and almost falls when his knees won’t support him. Scott catches him, slinging one of Stiles’ arms around his shoulder.
“Stiles, you take Danny in your Jeep. The rest of us will follow.”
“You’re not going without me,” Jackson says, standing like he’s readying for a fight.
Derek looks him over and nods. “Go. Now.”
--
The universe unequivocally hates Stiles, because Mrs. McCall is on desk duty when they get there.
“Stiles!” she says, practically shouting. “What the hell?”
“Danny,” he says. “It’s Danny.”
Jackson is still carrying him, and there’s no mistaking the blood on either of their shirts, or the waxy paleness of Danny’s skin.
Stiles loses track of what happens around him. Mrs. McCall is calling orders and Danny is being wheeled away. Someone takes Stiles and Jackson and leads them to some chairs. Someone is saying something about shock and Stiles can feel a blanket being dropped on his shoulders.
“Will he be alright?” Jackson asks after a couple of minutes.
“Lydia was.” Because saying that he doesn’t know is too much to handle.
They fall into silence, neither of them speaking until a commotion by the door catches their attention.
Which is about the same time that the Sheriff catches sight of them.
He’s at Stiles’ side in an instant, eyes flashing and mouth open. Stiles braces himself for a lecture, for a yelling match, for something.
Instead, his dad puts shaking hands on Stiles’ shoulders.
“Stiles.” His voice is shaking too, and Stiles hasn’t heard him sound this undone in years. In two years and five months, and Stiles hates that he’s the one who brought it back. “Stiles, what happened?”
Stiles opens and closes his mouth, then just shakes his head. His dad pulls him into a hug, gripping him almost too tight. “Tell me this isn’t yours,” he says desperately, and when he pulls back there are smears of blood on his uniform.
“It’s not, Dad, it’s not. I’m OK, I’m fine,” Stiles hastens to reassure him. His dad cups a hand over Stiles’ short cropped hair and raises the other to his eyes.
“What happened? I got a call about a gunshot wound. Stiles, what is going on?” He cups Stiles’ face between his hands, meeting his gaze steadily. Stiles looks away, eyes flicking sideways. “Stiles, look at me,” his dad says firmly.
“I can’t,” Stiles says weakly, “I can’t tell you.” He hesitates. “Not here.”
“What are you involved in, son?”
Stiles sighs and lets his head fall against his dad’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you. Just, just wait, OK? Please?”
His dad exhales slowly. “Yeah, OK.”
Stiles takes a moment to soak in his dad’s presence, then pushes himself off. “You should go check on Danny.”
His dad sighs, scrubs his hand over the top of Stiles’ head again, then stands. He moves slowly, ten years older than he actually is, and Stiles feels a pang of guilt for everything he’s put his dad through.
Jackson waits until his dad is out of sight before he turns to Stiles. “You’re going to tell him?”
Stiles drops forward, his head in his hands. “I think I have to. People are dying. He’s the Sheriff--he needs to know.”
“Derek won’t like it.”
“Derek might not have much of a choice.”
“Choice about what?” Derek asks directly into Stiles’ ear.
Stiles jumps almost a foot in the air. “Holy god!” Jackson snickers and Stiles glowers at him. “You knew he was there, didn’t you?”
Jackson just gives Stiles his douchiest smirk.
Derek places a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and leans in close enough that Stiles can feel his breath on his ear. “What do I not have a choice in?”
Right, because that’s not the least bit distracting. “I’m telling my dad,” Stiles replies. “Tonight.”
Derek moves to take a seat on Stiles’ other side, not taking his hand off of Stiles’ shoulder. “Oh, you’ve decided this have you?”
Stiles shrugs Derek’s hand off. “People are dying, Derek. There are dead bodies in the woods. Danny could have died tonight. He could still die. This isn’t optional anymore.”
Derek stares at him for a long minute. “You’re right,” he says finally.
Stiles stares at him. “Wait, what?”
“I said, you’re right. We need law enforcement on our side, not going after the wrong people and putting innocents in the line of fire. Besides, I know how much you’ve hated lying to your dad.”
Stiles almost sags with relief. “Thank you,” he says, deeply sincere.
Derek wraps a hand around the back of his neck. “You’re Pack, Stiles. You don’t always have to be there for us. Sometimes we can be there for you, too.”
“Thank you,” Stiles says again, softly. Derek gives him a light little shake and settles back. Jackson moves close enough that Stiles can feel his warm presence at his side.
Together, they settle in to wait.
--
Loathe though he is to leave Danny or the others who had shuffled in after, presumably, washing the blood off and changing clothes, Stiles lets his dad drive him home.
“Did they say anything?” Stiles asks as soon as the car starts. “Will he be alright?”
His dad sighs, throwing the car into drive and pulling out of the parking lot. “They said it’s a miracle he survived. Even if the shot hadn’t killed him, the blood loss should have. Stiles, what were you doing that you were being shot at?”
“Can we just wait until we get home? I’ll explain it there, I promise.”
“Who was the one who found Danny?” his dad presses. At Stiles’ look, he says, “I’m asking for the police report. Nothing to do with your explanation.”
“Oh, you have no idea, Dad.”
“Just tell me who found him? It must have been pretty fast, that they got him to the hospital so quickly.”
“No one found him, Dad. I was there when it happened.” Stiles has to grab for the handle above the door when the car swerves violently. “Eyes on the road, eyes on the road!” he shouts desperately.
“Were you messing around with fire arms?” his dad asks once he’s gotten the car back under control. His voice is tight and laced with tension. Stiles doesn’t know what his dad would do if that were the case, if his dad had to arrest his son or one of his son’s best friends for shooting someone.
“No. Dad, please.”
“Someone shot at you?” his dad asks, fingers clenching white on the steering wheel.
“Dad! I swear to god, I will tell you everything, just please get us home alive!”
His dad readjusts his white-knuckled grip on the wheel and clenches his jaw, but doesn’t reply. The drive home passses in tense silence.
His dad practically manhandles him through the door and into the living room.
“Alright, talk,” his dad says firmly.
“Can I get you a beer? Some whiskey?” Stiles asks desperately.
His dad glowers at him. “Sit. Talk,” he commands.
“Woof,” Stiles says grumpily, dropping down onto the couch. He looks up at his dad. “You might want to sit as well.”
With obvious reluctance, his dad takes a seat beside him on the couch. Stiles links and unlinks his fingers. “I don’t know where to start,” he says nervously.
A muscle in his dad’s jaw twitches. “How about you start with the fact that one of your friends almost died tonight?”
Stiles gives a hollow laugh. “I wish that were the best place to start.” He takes a deep breath. “Alright, do you remember the animal attacks a few months ago?”
--
It occurs to him later, sitting on the bed and shaking under the weight of all the truths he shared, to wonder why he never saw Scott at the hospital. Then he feels himself go pale as he remembers why Danny was the only one who was shot.
He hates to sneak out so soon after reconciling with his dad, but he does it anyway. To make matters worse, he has to take the squad car because the truck is still in the shop.
Stiles is no werewolf, but he ends up sneaking through Scott’s window like one anyway. When he lands in a pile on the floor, Scott is watching him carefully, eyes red and body curled up on the floor near the end of his bed.
It looks like Stiles was right. Great. He wins best friend bingo. And he would rather be wrong five times over than see that look in Scott’s eyes.
Stiles immediately takes a seat next him, pressing closer than he would have a year ago.
“It’s going to be OK,” he says softly and hopes that Scott is too distracted to hear the lie.
Scott curls into him and it has to be a werewolf thing, because Scott was never this physical before. “I killed someone,” he whispers, like the words are too heavy to say aloud.
Stiles wraps an arm around Scott’s shoulders and pulls him a little closer, letting Scott hide his face against Stiles’ shoulder. “You saved my life,” he replies carefully.
“I can still feel the blood.”
Stiles shudders all over, because even though he’s showered he can still feel Danny’s blood, slipping hot and fast over his fingers.
“I know,” he says. “But it was self-defence.”
“It was terrible,” Scott whispers, and Stiles can feel him shaking. Stiles squeezes his shoulder tightly and doesn’t reply. There’s nothing he can say to that.
They sit in silence for a minute. Scott isn’t crying, but his breathing is ragged and Stiles remembers having to run and get Scott’s inhaler when he left it in his locker one day, of helping him count breaths and puffs until he could breathe again. He doesn’t know what to do this time.
“It wasn’t even hard,” Scott says finally. “It was easy. They hurt Danny. They would have killed you. I wanted to hurt them.”
“That’s not your fault,” Stiles murmurs. “If I was, you know, physically capable of doing so, I would have wanted to hurt them too.”
“I killed someone,” he says again.
“For the Pack,” Stiles says into his hair. “To protect the Pack.”
They stay that was for a long time.
--
Danny is waxy pale and unmoving when Stiles goes to visit him the next day. There are tubes running into his arms and his chest is barely moving, even though the machines show a steady heart-rate. Stiles wishes he could hear the heart-beat itself, proof that this immobile body is still alive.
“You came to visit me, didn’t you?” a voice to his left asks out of nowhere. Stiles jumps almost a foot and turns to see Lydia delicately taking a seat beside him.
“A lot of people did,” he says evasively.
“But you were here everyday,” Lydia replies. “I could smell you.” Her lips quirk. “And hear you. I could always hear you.”
“It was my fault you were hurt,” Stiles says, shame at the memory rising again and clogging his throat.
Lydia moves to grab his hand. “Never say that again.” She squeezes almost too tight. “Never. I will know, and I will hurt you.”
Stiles swallows, because he believes her and she kind of scares him. “And I thought you needed company.”
Lydia gives him a small smile. “I did. Even when your endless talking got on my nerves, I was glad you were there.”
Stiles manages a tired grin and shrugs at her. “It’s a gift. And a curse.”
She cuffs him lightly over the head. “And now you’re here for Danny.”
“I was with him when it happened. Maybe it should have been me.” Lydia growls low in her throat and gets out her chair. Stiles immediately raises his hands in defence. “I’m sorry!” he says quickly.
Instead of doing something terrible, like he’d half expected, Lydia shoves him over in the narrow hospital chair and squirms in next to him, more than half on his lap. Then she wraps her arms around his head and pulls him so that his head rests on her shoulder.
“Stiles, not everything is your responsibility. It’s not even all Derek’s responsibility. This was no one’s fault but the Hunters. And we got them for it.” Even with his head against her shoulder, Stiles can hear the feral grin in her voice.
“There are more coming,” he replies.
“Then we’ll deal with them too,” she says, matter-of-factly. “We can take care of ourselves, Stiles.”
“And me?”
Lydia pulls back enough that she can look into his face. “And you can take care of us, too.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you’ll do anyway,” she replies calmly. “And when you’re tired, we’ll take care of you. Because that’s what packs are for.”
--
Stiles ends up staying even after Lydia has to leave. He watches the machines beep and chitter, and waits for Danny to wake up.
After long minutes of silence, he pulls his chair closer so that he’s right next to the bedside.
“I am sorry,” he says softly. “We were both there. I don’t know why the Hunters went after you instead. I’m the one who’s been doing this for months, you’re new. It should be me.”
“Don’t be so stupid, Stiles.”
“Jesus Christ!” Stiles jumps about a foot into the air, turning to see Derek glaring at him. “Stop doing that!!”
Derek’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Why would I?”
“You’re a jerk,” Stiles mutters.
“Did you talk to your dad?” Derek takes the other chair, pulling it up to Danny’s bedside next to Stiles.
“You mean you weren’t listening at the window?”
“Do you think he’ll tell anyone?” Which is most definitely not a denial.
Stiles runs his hands over his scalp, skin prickling over his short hair. “I think he’ll need a bit more time to fully understand everything. I’m still not sure if he even believes me. I’ve lied to him so much already.”
Derek puts out a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. “You didn’t have a choice.”
“I always have a choice,” Stiles replies. “I just keep making the wrong ones.”
“Come on.” Derek grabs Stiles by the shoulder and pulls him up.
“Wait, what?”
“We’re getting out of here. Come on.”
“What about Danny?” Stiles looks back at Danny’s still, so still, body.
“You’ve been here for almost two hours and I don’t think your guilt trip is helping either of you. Besides, Jackson wants a minute.” Derek jerks his head at the door, and Stiles is surprised to see Jackson there, apparently waiting for them to leave.
Stiles sighes. “Yeah, OK.” He claps Jackson on the shoulder as they pass him, and Jackson gives him a small, tired smile. Progress.
The possible downside of this idea occurs to Stiles just before they leave the hospital, and he puts an arm out to stop Derek. “What about the Hunters?”
“I told you, I have a place. The others should be there now.”
“It better be cool,” Stiles replies with mock cheer.
--
It’s not cool.
“This is your hideout?” he exclaims when he sees it. “Could you have possibly found a creepier hideout, maybe one even more likely to give me hepatitis?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, should I have gone with the sunny, open-windows model of underground bunker? Maybe one in Hawaii. It’s a bit of a commute, but if it makes you happy.”
“It’s an abandoned subway station! Does Beacon Hills even have a subway? How is this even here?”
Allison comes up beside him and takes his arm. “It’s OK, Stiles. It’s not so bad when you get used to it.”
“That’s what people with Stockholm Syndrome say,” Stiles mutters. “Shouldn’t you be at home?”
Allison clenches her jaw. “You need me more,”
Stiles searches her face. “What happened?”
She looks away. “My parents say they won’t help us. They say that biting Danny violates the contract.”
Stiles’ jaw falls open. “Are you kidding me? Did you mention he was dying?”
“Of course I did! It’s the only reason they aren’t out hunting us themselves.”
“Us?” Derek asks softly.
Allison whips around to glare at him, eyes bright. “I’m with you guys, aren’t I? I’m Pack.” She hesitates, suddenly looking nervous. “Aren’t I?”
Derek steps forward, deep into her personal space, and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Of course.” He leans forward to rest his forehead against hers, sharing a quiet moment, before he pulls back.
“We need to decide what to do,” he announces.
“Why can’t we just stay here?” Scott offers.
Lydia gives him a withering look. “I’m not living in a cave the rest of my life. Besides, school starts in a few weeks. I’d love to not be dodging bullets while going to classes.”
“Do we even know how many of them there are?” Stiles asks.
“I smelled almost twenty when I went scouting last night,” Derek reports.
“You went scouting?” Stiles demands. “What the hell, man! You could have gotten hurt!”
Derek bares his teeth at Stiles. “I’m the Alpha. It’s my job to protect my Pack.”
“Not if you get killed in the process!”
“Mom! Dad! Please stop fighting,” Lydia interrupts coolly.
Stiles splutters at her. “Excuse me?”
“Fighting over who’s in danger isn’t going to help anyone. We need to come up with a plan. We can’t go on the attack by ourselves, and we can’t hide out here forever. What’s left?”
“We shouldn’t leave Danny alone either,” Scott interjects. “The Hunters may be looking for him.” Then, when they all turn to look at him: “What! I have ideas.”
“Yeah, but they’re usually terrible. Sorry, man,” Stiles says. Scott punches him lightly on the arm and they grin at each other.
“Scott’s right,” Derek says seriously. “None of us should be alone right now. From now on, we travel in pairs. Stiles, I swear to god, if you don’t keep your gun on you-”
“I have it!” Stiles says quickly. “It’s right here!” He brandishes the gun carefully, then puts it back into the holster at his ankle. Everytime he walks, he’s afraid he’s going to shoot his foot off, but he’s already been shot at twice, so he’ll take the risk.
“Good,” Derek says brusquely. “Allison, you have your bow?”
Allison holds up a small case wordlessly and Derek gives her an approving nod.
“Yes, yes, we’re all well armed and able to defend ourselves. But we still need a plan,” Lydia says carefully.
They all stare at each other wordlessly. None of them has a response.
--
Derek ends up driving Stiles home after the meeting. Stiles thinks that he would probably stay and like, watch him sleep or something, but Stiles reminds Derek that he’s not really going to get any more protected than at the Sheriff’s house.
His dad isn’t home when Stiles gets in, but Stiles knows that his dad had the early shift this morning. Which means he’s probably avoiding Stiles. Maybe even at a bar.
Stiles puts his head in his hands and wonders when his life got so out of control.
Then he makes a veggie burger with a side of thick, sweet-potato wedges that are almost like fries and leaves it on the table.
--
Jackson is the one with Danny when he wakes up, and he texts the rest of them. Scott ends up picking Stiles up.
“We have to get him out of here,” Jackson says. He looks like he’s fraying around the edges, concern and nerves unraveling his usually perfect appearance.
“Yeah, let’s add kidnap to our list of crimes,” Stiles says scathingly.
“The Hunters might come back for him!” Jackson argues.
“I can hear you,” Danny says, and they all turn to look at him. They’ve gotten used to him as a silent, non-contributing landmark in a beeping room of machines. “And I’ll just tell my parents I’d rather recover at home.”
“Will that really work?” Scott asks.
Danny shrugs. “My dad hates hospitals. He’ll understand.”
“How are you doing?” Allison asks. “Can you leave the hospital?”
Danny makes a face. “It hurts like hell, but if doesn’t feel like I got shot two days ago.”
Lydia, whose definition of barriers is apparently somewhat looser than Stiles’, leans over to pull on the neck of Danny’s hospital gown to reveal where the bullet had gone in.
The skin is raw and pink, but it looks like it happened months ago, instead of days. Then, ignoring Danny’s disgruntled noises, Lydia yanks down the blanket and pulls up the hem of the gown to reveal his hip. The bite mark is completely gone.
“Yeah, that’s going to be hard to explain.”
Derek makes a face. “Scott, I think it’s time you tell your mom. And then make sure she’s his primary nurse.”
“What, like, right now?” Scott asks, startled.
“Sometime today would be best,” Derek replies.
Scott breathes out a long, slow breath. Stiles knows how that feels. The others don’t get it, they haven’t had months on months of lying to the only other person in their family. Besides, Stiles doesn’t think that Lydia has been lying to her parents for a long time. He doesn’t even want to think about the mess of issues involved with Jackson’s family.
“Is it OK to tell this many people?” Jackson asks, like he wasn’t the one who had told Danny.
Derek gives him a hard stare. “Family is important.” Jackson drops his gaze first.
Which is, of course, when the entire Mahealani family, Danny’s parents and his two younger sisters, come in and stop dead when they see six strangers standing at Danny’s bedside.
“We were, uh, just leaving!” Allison says quickly. She glares at the rest of them until they reluctantly shuffle out. Danny’s father gives them all a weird look and very pointedly closes the door to Danny’s room.
“You think he’ll be able to break out?” Scott asks worriedly.
“Danny’s resourceful,” Jackson replies, but he looks just as worried as Scott does.
“We still need a plan to make sure that the Hunters don’t kill the rest of us,” Lydia points out.
Stiles bites his lips as he thinks, staring around the hospital for ideas. His dad had always told him to use his resources, to rely on what he already had.
Stiles almost jumps when the idea suddenly occurs to him.
“Guys! I have an idea!”
Use his resources. The things he’s always had. He can do that.
--
“I feel like this planning session is missing something,” Stiles remarks.
“A plan that doesn’t suck?” Jackson asks.
“I feel like we should be peering over some blueprints. Or a map, or something.”
“Well, unless you brought any of those things, you’re out of luck,” Derek says dismissively. “So can you limit yourself to comments that are actually helpful?”
“That’s really unlikely,” Scott says.
“Traitor,” Stiles mutters.
“Guys!” Lydia snaps. “Focus!”
Stiles makes a face at Scott, who makes a face back, but they fall quiet.
“Lydia and I managed to find out where the Hunters were staying,” Derek says. “They’re in the motel off of Elm St.”
Scott makes a face. “That’s a really shady place to stay.”
“Yeah, and they’re such upstanding people,” Stiles says sarcastically.
“Point taken.”
“Anyway,” Derek says pointedly. “They seem to be staying in the lower floor rooms. They’re the most defensible, so that makes sense. The last count was around fifteen of them.”
“You said twenty last time,” Scott points out.
“It was dark and I had to stay back. I figured it was best to overestimate them than to count too low. This time, Lydia and I were able to get closer and get a more accurate count. They’ve also got a large arsenal, with what smells like wolfbane bullets. Probably silver as well.”
“They’re most likely gearing up for another attack soon,” Lydia says.
“So we strike first,” Jackson adds.
“OK, now I don’t like this plan.”
“Shut up, Scott, no one asked you,” Stiles replies.
“What? We just walk up their room and knock?” Scott demands. “Seriously, the more I think about it, the stupider it sounds.”
“Don’t worry,” Stiles assures him. “I’ve got this.”
“We’re all going to die,” Jackson states firmly.
--
Stiles has always been able to rely on his ability to talk. It annoys most people, it amuses a rare few. But it has never failed Stiles.
“I just want to say that I hate this plan,” Derek says for about the tenth time.
“Noted,” Stiles says shortly. “But it’s the only one we have.”
“You have your gun?” Derek asks.
“Oh my god, Derek! Please, ask me that one more time. Yes. I have my gun. I have not taken it out of the holster for no reason in the past two minutes since you last asked me!”
“We’ve got your back,” Scott says.
“And you’ve got a bullet-proof vest on,” Lydia adds. Stiles finds her words a bit more comforting.
“Technically, it’s bullet resistant,” Stiles can’t help saying. “It depends on the type of gun and the distance and-”
“Just go!” Jackson interrupts, but he gives Stiles a comforting clap on the back.
Stiles takes a deep breath and knocks on the door to the motel where they worked out the majority of the Hunters are staying.
“I come in peace!” he announces.
He glances over his shoulder to see the others still clustered behind him. He makes a face at them and flaps his arms, telling them silently to get lost. With clear reluctance, they move to hide behind the vans and trucks filling the small parking lot.
The door creaks open slowly and Stiles finds himself eye to eye with the barrel of a gun. It occurs to him that a bullet-proof vest will do absolutely nothing if he is shot in the face.
“You’re the human freak who plays with the wolves.” Oh yeah, there’s probably someone holding the gun. Stiles swallows hard and meets the man’s eyes steadily.
“I just want.” His voice squeaks and Stiles has to pause to clear his throat. This is absolutely not the time for his voice to be dying on him. “I just want to talk to you.”
The gun moves down to his toes, then all the way back to his eye level. Stiles almost goes cross-eyed trying to keep it in view. “So talk.”
“I was, uh,” Stiles swallows again, “I was hoping that we could negotiate a truce. Wherein you don’t kill anyone, and we get to live here in peace and not kill any of you.”
The man barks a sharp laugh. “You hear that guys? This kiddo wants peace!” Stiles can hear laughter from deep inside the room and wonders if all the other Hunters are in there. The man turns back to Stiles. “If you wanted peace, boy, you shouldn’t have teamed up with the monsters.”
He cocks his shot gun and Stiles has enough time to think that this really was a bad plan when Derek grabs his arm and pulls him out of the way. By the time the gun goes off, Stiles is a good three feet away, his ears ringing as he watches the Hunter pull back for another shot.
“This was a terrible plan!” Jackson yells from where he’s running ahead of Stiles.
Stiles wants to yell back, but he’s not a werewolf, and most of his energy and all of his breath is going towards outrunning the Hunters. He can hear them following, can hear the crack-bang of gun shots, but none of them have hit him yet and he can’t waste the second it will take to look back.
“They’re all following us!” Scott calls. “All of them!”
“Stiles, if we survive this, I will kill you!” Jackson yells.
“Shut up, Jackson!” Derek commands, sounding imposing even at a full run.
The nice thing about Beacon Hills is that it’s about 70% woods once you get out of the main area. Before long, the Hunters have followed them into the trees and it’s easier to dodge the bullets that are still tearing after them.
Stiles is starting to lag behind, all the years of lacrosse practice are no match for a 20 minute sprint through the woods. He’s barely fallen even a foot behind the others, though, when Derek is beside him, grabbing his arm and pulling him ahead, almost faster than he can stand.
Somewhere to his left, Lydia cries out.
“Lydia!” Stiles shouts.
“I’m fine,” she replies, but she sounds out of breath in a way she hadn’t before.
The next spray of bullets cut dangerously close to Stiles’ head and he’s pretty sure he can’t run any further.
He can see a glow of light through the trees, bright in the increasing darkness. He takes a gulping breath and pushes himself forward.
Even so, it’s more of a stagger than a run that brings him into the clearing and it’s only Derek’s hand on his elbow that keeps him upright.
The others, fully human and unshifted, slow to a stop around him. Stiles forces himself to stand straight and turns to face the oncoming Hunters.
He can hear over thirty guns cocking behind him and it gives him the strength not to waver.
The look on the Hunter’s faces when they stumble into the clearing--lit by the headlights from over fifteen squad cars--and find themselves facing the entire force of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department will stay with Stiles forever.
“By the way,” Stiles pants out, “my dad is the Sheriff.”
His dad comes up behind him, resting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles leans back against him and takes a deep breath.
--
There is something deeply satisfying about watching the deputies who had practically raised him cuff the Hunters against the side of the squad cars and read them their rights.
One of the younger ones, who doesn’t even look like she’s old enough to drink, starts protesting loudly.
“We were doing you a favor!” she shouts. “They’re werewolves! Werewolves!”
Most of the deputies laugh and the one cuffing her rolls his eyes. “You may have a shot at the insanity plot, lady.”
“Check them! I’m telling the truth!”
Stiles has recovered his breath enough to have a sense of humor about this, so he strides over to her. “Prove it how? That’s a silver knife right?” He doesn’t wait for her answer and takes it from her boot top, pressing the flat of the blade against his wrist.
He holds it for a seconds, then pulls it back. “Hey, look! No injury. I must be human!”
“He’s the human one!” she protests. “There rest are all wolves.”
The deputies are laughing outright now, and the girl is turning an impressive shade of scarlet.
“Just shut up,” one of the other Hunters hisses to her. She clamps her lips together tightly, scowling.
The deputy rolls his eyes and pushes her into the car, slamming the door behind her.
Stiles’ dad pulls him into a hug. “I’m going to head back to the station. But then you and I are going to have a proper talk, alright?”
Stiles smiles up at him, feeling more relaxed than he has in a long time. “That sounds good, Dad.”
--
From what Stiles hears later, Scott takes advantage of twenty odd crazies being arrested for the attempted murder of six minors to tell his mom about the existence of werewolves.
Stiles doesn’t think much of his timing, but he supposes that’s why Scott’s grounded and he isn’t.
His own father had adjusted remarkably well to the whole ‘werewolves are real’ thing, but Stiles suspects that the full implications have yet to sink in. The fact that Stiles is not, himself, a werewolf probably helps.
Unfortunately, they still have to jail-break Danny out of the hospital before the staff notices that he’s healing ten times faster than usual. Luckily, Danny wasn’t kidding about how much his dad hated hospitals, and he gets approved for in-home care the next day.
Which, at the very least, makes it easier in turn for them to get Danny in time for the next full moon.
“I still can’t believe you guys dealt with the problem without me,” Danny complains the morning after.
Stiles lifts his head up and lets it thunk back onto Danny’s stomach in lieu of hitting him for bringing it up again. “You were unavailable,” he replies.
“I was the one who was shot!” Danny protests.
“Hence your unavailability,” Stiles retorts.
“Tell you what,” Jackson interrupts. “Next time we have to get chased by a group of crazed Hunters through the woods, you can be right beside us.”
“Maybe then you can be the one who gets injured,” Lydia says grumpily. She’s only been grazed by a bullet, but she hasn’t stopped whining about it in the past two weeks. Besides, Stiles was pretty sure she’d wrangled a date from the deputy who had helped her bandage the wound at the scene, so she really doesn’t have room to complain.
“I can’t believe we have to testify in court,” Scott says, completely disregarding everyone else’s conversation.
Stiles shrugs. “It’s not that exciting.”
Everyone turns to look at him in surprise. “What? My dad is a cop, my mom was a lawyer. I’ve seen a few court days in my time. It’s boring!”
“Except this time, we have a vested interested in the outcome,” Derek points out from around Stiles’ knees.
“I guess there is that,” Stiles admits.
“There’s no way they won’t get convicted,” Lydia says with her usual certainty. “They were caught red-handed.”
“Why isn’t your dad on this case?” Allison asks, nudging Jackson with her elbow. He lifts his head off of Danny’s shoulder to give her a baleful look.
“He isn’t a prosecution lawyer, for one. Not all lawyers are the same. And even if he was, it’s a conflict of interest.”
“Pshhhh, lame!” Stiles complains. “He should land their asses in jail.”
“Oh, I didn’t say he’s not involved,” Jackson says, and even without seeing his face, Stiles can hear the smirk in his voice. “He’s making sure that only the best lawyers are on our side.”
“Good,” Scott says with satisfaction.
“Can we stop talking about the stupid Hunters now?” Lydia asks. “Because I’m tired and I think we should have some quiet time now.”
They mumble their assent and fall quiet.
Scott makes a noise like he’s going to say something and Stiles reaches out with his foot to kick him lightly in the ribs. Allison, curled around Scott’s side, covers his mouth with her hand.
Stiles grins, and lets the steady breathing of the Pack lull him to sleep.
--
There’s a fight breaking out on the couch about which movie they should watch to break in their TV. Stiles will watch pretty much anything, so he slips out onto the porch to sit next to Danny.
They sit in silence for a long minute, staring out into the woods.
“What’s it like?” Stiles asks finally.
“It’s like being plugged into everything. Like I’ve been watching a crummy TV for years and suddenly I’m in IMAX 3-D.” Danny gives him a sideways look. “But you have Scott to tell you about that.”
“I meant, the Pack. You’re the only one who’s seen it from both sides.”
Danny thinks it over. “It’s like when you’re on a vacation for a long time, and even though you had fun, it’s nice to go home and sleep in your own bed and know where everything is. That’s what being with the Pack is like. But you also feel stronger, and faster. You feel like you can do anything, because they’re with you.”
Stiles makes a thoughtful noise. “I have that anyway. That’s not a werewolf thing. That’s just a Pack thing.”
Danny nudges Stiles with his shoulder. “Yeah, it is. So what are you asking?”
Stiles turns to face him fully. “For the love of god, will you please explain the cuddling thing to me? Or the smelling thing, at least explain the smelling thing.”
Danny laughs. “It’s just about belonging. You know, when you’re a kid and you have to write your name on everything and make sure that everyone knows that it’s yours. That’s all.”
“So it’s not like, some ancient werewolf voodoo?” Stiles asks, only half kidding.
“Not as far as I know,” Danny replies. “Come on, they decided on The A-Team.” He stands up smoothly and holds out a hand to help Stiles up.
Stiles takes it, and Danny pulls him up so strongly that Stiles almost stumbles when he suddenly has ground beneath him.
The others are pushing and pulling each other on the couch. Stiles is thinking about taking the floor to avoid conflict, but Danny pushes him over to the couch, close enough that Derek can grab him.
Derek tugs until Stiles settles in between him and Scott, making only the expected grumblings.
Lydia, Jackson and Scott are still fighting over the remote. Jackson pulls hard enough that Lydia, refusing to let go, falls forward across Derek’s lap.
He gives her an amused look and rolls her off of him onto the floor. She picks herself up with a huff, but in the chaos of her fall, Jackson ends up with the remote.
Stiles is laughing, watching them all fight like children, and he can tell even Derek is amused--the corners of his lips turned up slightly.
“You should smile more,” Stiles says, nudging Derek in the ribs with his elbow.
“Yeah?” Derek asks.
“Definitely,” Stiles replies. “It’s a good look for you.”
“I’ll work on that,” Derek says seriously. Stiles grins and rolls his eyes.
“So, is this all you hoped for, in a Pack?” Stiles asks, watching as Scott throws himself off the couch into the tussle taking place on the floor.
“It’s pretty great,” Derek replies, and there, at last, is a real smile. It makes Stiles’ heart do stupid things and he resolves to try and see that smile as much as possible. “I’m thinking of getting a couple new members,” Derek continues.
Stiles stares at him. “What,” he says flatly. Clearly, he needs to re-evaluate his thoughts about Derek’s smiles, because they apparently herald total insanity. “You’re kidding, right?”
Derek just smiles at him, dropping his arm over Stiles’ shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Stiles.”
“Because you’re kidding,’ Stiles says. “You are kidding, aren’t you? Derek? Please say you’re joking right now.”