Chapter Text
Danny spit the last of the vomit from his mouth in disgust. “Uh,” he groaned. “Fuck. That’s just--”
“Wrong.” Jackson agreed, pale and a little green around the edges.
They were looking at what was left of the cabin where Stiles had been held captive. It was mostly in ruins, like some beast had torn it apart in its search for quarry. That wasn’t what had disturbed the search party, no. That would be the . . . the mass of torn up bedding covered in . . .
Gagging again, Danny turned his back on the sight in an attempt to recover his wits. “How does something undead even produce come?” He whined in betrayal, “It doesn’t make any sense!”
Even though agreeing wholeheartedly, Jackson had to break it to his newly indoctrinated friend, “Supernatural. Danny. Nothing makes any sense.” His human friend had it easy. His nose burned with the acrid scent of spoiled semen and the faintest remaining hint of Stiles on the blankets. It made his wolf uneasy. It was abundantly clear that they had a newly risen Rougarou on their hands. One that was fixated on the pregnant Spark.
Because of course it was always about Stilinski, Jackson thought a little bitterly. But when he looked around at the destroyed cabin and took in the globs of zombie jizz, he sighed inwardly. Not even a spastic nerd with tragic fashion sense deserved something like this.
Jackson could even sympathize with how Derek had gone completely berserk at the scene and rushed off in a furious churn of vegetation. It was stupid as hell but he could sympathize. He just hoped the Alpha hadn’t gone completely feral. Jackson decided the fact that Stiles was waiting for Derek back in town would draw the man back eventually.
What would they do in the mean time? Jackson looked around calculatingly. “Could we set this on fire without taking the swamp with us?” he asked.
Danny looked around to scope the area for himself. “It won’t cause a forest fire,” he confirmed, “Do we have anything to start it with?”
“There’s gas on the boat,” Jackson said with a satisfied flash of fang. “Let’s lite it up.”
Derek hadn't let his fury fuel him like this since he'd been an Alpha the first disastrous time but the sickening scent cloying his nose was a challenge he couldn’t ignore. It pushed him past the boundaries of rational thought and right into primal rage.
Everything in his being screamed to protect what was left of his family. This beast, this horror, had nearly done something so irrevocable to his mate and child . . . Derek couldn’t let it survive to try again.
He chased the revolting scent trail through the swamp without finesse. His quarry knew he was coming by the sound of him ploughing through rotted trees. He didn’t bother taking the time to find a safer path through the swamp.
His instincts were livid that the werewolf he had bisected had not remained dead. It was an insult to the natural order of things, an abomination. His very flesh crawled at the memory of what he had discovered when they first jumped off the boat back at the landing.
Where once stood a cabin now was rubble, a nightmare den of the things that still held Stiles’ scent. Things like a mattress, towels, and other unidentifiable things had been collected and marked. Derek had been unable to ignore the clear and undeniable threat left for Stiles. This dead creature, a creature reanimated from a vicious, dark curse, had endured with his sick fixation on Derek’s mate intact.
Derek roared out another challenge. The cypress trees shook wildly at the soundwaves produced by his Alpha call. Wildlife scrambled to take cover as he tore past. Like before, there was no answer. The Rougarou either didn’t find him a threat or was ignoring the enraged werewolf heading its way.
The trail it left was clumsy and freshly turned. Indicating to Derek that it was maintaining a fixed lope in the direction of the city.
Derek couldn’t let that happen.
Logically, if logic was a thing that still worked behind all the crazed instincts, Derek knew Lake Ponchartrain was between them and New Orleans. Even if the zombie formerly known as Callum was heading in that direction, the lake would slow him down long enough for anyone to get to safety. However all Derek could envision was the threat to his mate and unborn daughter.
He had no idea how much time passed before he caught the first glimpse of the lurching black shape through the mossy tree trunks. He took in and dismissed the rotting scent, the shadowy aura that almost sucked in the surrounding sunlight. He cared nothing but destroying the monster heading for Stiles.
Derek’s powerful hindquarters bunched as he launched himself even faster towards his target.
The Rougarou came to a stop and half-turned just as Derek burst through the shrubs, his jaw open wide with teeth sharp with intent to rend and tear.
Even as Derek hurled forward in his full-shift part of his brain was accepting the minute details of the horror he was attacking:
The dark skinned creature stood mostly upright and had all the features of a beta-shift werewolf but at the same time it was nothing like he had ever seen. Everything was wrong. It was certainly bigger than he remembered the Beta being. The head was very wolf-like in shape; its skull long and tapered with a crooked maw full of sharp teeth. Its body was covered in bristle like black hairs and strange leather-ish skin. The creature was both more like a wolf and less at the same time. Anathema.
One thing could certainly be confirmed; its humanity was nowhere to be seen.
Derek tried to get a purchase on its flesh but found the leathery skin resisted being punctured by his teeth and claws. He growled angrily and shifted to his beta-shift in order to engage in combat.
It looked like the creature had reformed recently. There was a red seeping gash that split its torso. Derek tried to get purchase on the still healing wound to re-tear the Rougarou in half. “You should have stayed dead!” Derek snarled in the creatures face.
Far from getting angry, the Rougarou looked more like it was inconvenienced when Derek’s claws dug into the pulpy flesh still seeping below his ribs. He placed one of his abnormally long paws on Derek’s chest and shoved him back with a gravelly huff.
As Derek crashed into a tree, the creature brought one of its hands back up with a questioning flare of its nostrils. It brought its deadened stare to where the Alpha was shaking out his ringing head.
“Mrrrrgghhttt,” The Rougarou struggled to say around its misshapen jaw. It plodded a heavy step closer and pinned Derek to the loamy ground with the other heavy arm.
Derek snarled up at the beast. His eyes were crimson. “He’s my mate!”
It was like the Rougarou didn’t hear him. It bent its large skull closer and wuffed a few questioning breaths, likely scenting Stiles on Derek’s skin. The opacity of its white eyes passed over him unseeing but aware in a way that made the hair on Derek’s neck stand up.
“Stay away from him!” Derek roared as the Rougarou released him. He scrambled to his feet to follow as the beast turned away.
Before he had a chance to get fully upright, the Rougarou had swung back around and with an ease that was chilling, sunk its claws into Derek’s stomach and idly ripped them back out.
Derek made a strangled sound as he dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach so his guts wouldn’t spill to the forest floor. He blinked his eyes rapidly to clear the darkness sweeping in at the edges.
The Rougarou was now just a retreating shadow.
“Stiles--” Derek’s throat worked out the name. No--! I promised!
It was both an apology and a prayer.
“Nope!” Ransom chimed out over the groans of dismay. She slapped down her card, “Godzilla delivers a nice tall glass of nope!” She read out to the room.
“Ugh!” Stiles groaned, “It’s almost like you don’t want me to die!” He tossed the Exploding Kitten card in the discard pile. He leaned back into the comfy green couch and his burrow of blankets and stared morosely at his remaining cards. This had to be the longest most annoying game of Exploding Kittens ™ ever. He would be a lot more whiny and bitchy if it wasn’t for the fact that his friends were using the card game as an attempt to get his mind off of his horrible and scarring encounter with his dad and his ex-best friend.
He stared heavily at his hand and then over at his ridiculous friends with a slowly blooming smile. He couldn’t have pictured himself here, a year ago. In a strange place, making new friends, being fucking pregnant. But. He wouldn’t trade it now. He knew he had something to treasure.
“I’d like to die.” Lydia announced convincingly to her glass of wine, “I can’t believe you convinced me to play this horrible game!!” She looked at her card in distaste since it was her turn. “I’m deploying the thousand year-old back hair,” she said in thinly veiled repugnance. “Bastien, take two.”
“Sounds like a card Stiles can appreciate,” Ransom snickered. Bastien kicked her not so subtly under the coffee table.
“Hey!” Stiles biffed her with a discarded Reese’s’ wrapper. “I’ll have you know that I wouldn’t know anything about back hair. Like, at all.” Great. Now he was unsuccessfully not thinking of Derek’s smooth muscular back and the triskele tattoo that marked it.
“I happen to like your little soul patch,” Ransom smirked, seeing his distraction.
Stiles blinked at her warily. He reached self-consciously for his chin. “What soul--” Had he missed a spot shaving--?
She cackled, “The one on your chest!” She reached over and pushed at his shoulder teasingly.
Stiles could feel his face prickling with heat. That little--!!
Bastien leaned forward and placed a pair of Overweight Bikini Cats on the table. Of the group, Bas was the card hoarder. “I’m using my skip card,” he explained, placing it down.
“Read it!” chimed the group.
“Don a portable cheetah butt,” Bastien read in a hilariously deadpan voice, “and skip your turn.”
Lydia’s head was sideways as she regarded the blond. Miraculously her wine remained perfectly balanced. “I’d like to see a demond—desmon—demonstration.” She said primly.
Bastien pursed his lips as though he was entertaining the idea.
“Ah, no.” Stiles scooched awkwardly forward, reaching for Lydia’s drink. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“Hey!” Lydia protested, jerking her arm back out of Stiles’ reach. A slosh of drink went over the rim and was promptly licked up by a vigilant Gansey. “S’helping my headache.”
Lydia’s words gave a woosh of precognitive goosebumps to the sensitive in the room.
“You have a headache?” Ransom looked at the red-head sharply.
“Mmm,” was Lydia’s answer, “It’s loud in here.”
Stiles’ skin was prickling in warning. He shared a look with Ransom. “What do you hear, Lyds?”
“Howling--” Lydia said distantly just as her cell phone rang. The sudden noise made the rest of the room jump.
Stiles snatched it from her fingers, “Derek?” He answered breathlessly.
“—uh, hey Stiles. It’s Danny. We’re almost back to the house—”
“Can I speak to Derek?” Stiles interrupted impatiently. He didn’t have the patience to explain his urgency. His spark was surging in response to Lydia’s powers and it was freaking him out. “Danny—put Derek on the phone.”
It sounded like there was an awkward shuffle for the phone just then, and someone else’s voice came on. “Sorry Stilinski, Derek’s busy right now,” Jackson said curtly. “I need to speak to Peter or Lydia. Are they there?”
Stiles took a breath to tell Jackass off but found Bastien carefully enfolding him in his arms and handing the phone over to Lydia. Stiles gave a loud protest at the manhandling but immediately began to panic when Lydia rose to her feet to leave the room, her green eyes wide at whatever Jackson was telling her.
“Lydia?” Stiles called out to his friend, “Its Derek isn’t it?” His breathing shortened, and he rasped, “It’s De—” The rapid loss of oxygen made him sag in Bastien’s arms. His knees gave out. It was suddenly hard draw a breath. “No.” I just got him back.
He couldn’t hear Bastien and Ransom trying to calm him down.
He said it was just supposed to be clean up-- Stiles looked around the room, disoriented. He made apology bacon . . .
It was like there were enormous wing beats in his ears. Stiles reached for his spark, and for the light that represented his unborn child in a last instinctive attempt at preservation.
Then.
Nothing.
Stiles scrunched his face against the light flickering against his eyelids and twisted his head away from the source with an incoherent mumble.
He was comfy and warm. The heavy weight of blankets over top of his body only made him want to sink further into the soft mattress. It was the equivalent of a hug. He snuffled his face into the darker side of his pillow and his nose happened to bump up against a warm, bare shoulder. Without needing to open his eyes, Stiles knew the arm and who it was attached to.
Mmmft. Perfect.
He huffed a sigh in contentment.
Sleep slowly began to drag him back under . . .
Wait.
Stiles eyes shot open.
Derek?!
Memories from the night before began to flood his mind. Before Stiles could panic and shoot up in bed to check what was going on, a low rough voice began to hush him.
“It’s alright. Calm down, Stiles,” a gravelly version of Derek’s voice said from nearby. Like, lying next to him nearby.
Stiles resisted the temptation to shoot upright and start machine-gunning questions. Instead he cautiously blinked his still sleep dark eyes open. “Derek? Why does your voice sound like wolf-you except you’re still person-you?”
“Possibly because wolf-him nearly ate his own spleen,” Bastien said moodily from his peaceful lotus position next to the futon. He didn’t look up from his book, a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
An indignant huff of breath nudged Stiles’ attention back to Derek who was lying next to him in the bed, looking worse for wear with a sizeable bandage wrapped around his torso.
“The Alligators were supposed to get Jackson, not you!” Stiles blurted out, aghast. He pressed a palm against the flutter kick his little bean gave him for his rapid jolt in pulse. “Wait--tell me it was an alligator--!”
Derek went from looking as calm as a wolf could get, wounded but safe in bed with his mate, to blinking at Stiles in complete bewilderment. “Alliga---Stiles, what?”
Stiles jabbed a bicep, “You said you were just checking things out! This!!! This is not checking things out!” He gestured wildly at Derek’s torso.
“Hey!” Bastien said sharply, “While I’m all for tearing him a new asshole, you need to keep your blood pressure down.”
Stiles was shocked to hear the growl that came from his lips, but Bastien only flashed his stubborn golden eyes in response. “I’m not above sedating you,” his mid-wolf threatened.
Scrunching up his face in a mixture of frustration and bewilderment, Stiles kicked his blankets off, “Tell me what’s going on!”
“Hey--”
Stiles startled at the tap of Derek’s fingers hovering at the back of his neck. When he didn’t pull away from the Alpha’s touch, Derek took it as permission and let his hand drop into a comforting grip that steered the younger man back to his side.
“I didn’t tell you because you were already dealing with enough stress,” Derek began apologetically, “I didn’t want to give you more to worry about.”
Stiles cursed how his body just automatically sank into Derek’s touch. His eyes went half-mast as he concentrated on the words being spoken. “Always worried,” he huffed involuntarily.
“I know,” Derek said heavily.
Stiles could practically hear Derek’s eyebrows converging in guilt. “Stop’at,” he mumbled crankily, pretty sure he was drooling into the crook of Derek’s arm. He made a herculean effort to rouse himself from whatever dosey pheromones the wolf was putting out to turn him into human pudding. “I normally wouldn’t let you get away w’ leaving me out. But you’re right. This time I didn’t want to know what you were doing.” Callum’s smug rose from the depths of his memory and Stiles couldn’t help his shudder. Derek’s comforting rumble was broken but it made Stiles feel warm from the inside. Sheltered.
“It isn’t worth it, if it means your dumb Alpha ass gets hurt!” Stiles insisted, rousing himself. “I can’t afford to be a wimp over this.”
“Stiles!” Bastien protested.
“You’re not a wimp,” Derek growled. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
Stiles wanted to duck his head to hide the obvious flush in his cheeks. “No you are!” He deflected playfully. “Well, besides Lydia. She scares me. Speaking of--?” He looked up questioningly.
“Lydia and Danny caught their flight back to Massachusetts early this morning. You were sleeping and they didn’t want to disturb you.” Bastien said.
Stiles couldn’t help sagging in Derek’s arms in disappointment. He didn’t get to say goodbye to his friends. He had no idea when or if he would see them again. He tried not to let his hurt feelings overwhelm him.
“Lydia wanted to stay,” Derek said quietly, “She was thinking about deferring so she could stay with you until the baby—”
“She can’t do that!” Stiles said indignantly, hurt forgotten, “She has a field’s metal to win! I’ll kick her ass!”
Derek’s left eyebrow raised in challenge.
Stiles dipped his chin to the side and pursed his lips grudgingly, “Or I’d more likely stare at her in a disproving manner!” When Derek’s eyebrow leveled, Stiles mocked the Alpha under his breath, “You’re the strongest person I know, Stiles!”
He wasn’t expecting Derek’s fingers to zone in on his ticklish side, right under his elbow. Stiles gave an undignified yelp and flailed wildly with a peal of unattractive braying laughter. “Whaa—nonono!! Bfff—stop!! Derek! Kyaahahaha!!”
Until Stiles’ uncoordinated flailing earned Derek a sharp elbow to his healing ribs. The Alpha let out a pained groan and Stiles froze, still panting for breath. “Derek?”
“I’m okay. I deserved that,” Derek eased his heavy form back into the pillows with a wince. His eyes were still dancing though. “It was worth it to hear you laugh.”
“Yeah?” Stiles grinned in relief. He rubbed a hand along his protruding belly as a series of what could no longer be called flutters rained against his stomach. “Ugh. You totally riled her up. Bean is jumping around in there like I’m a bouncy castle.”
Derek reverently placed a palm on the mound of Stiles’ firm rounded stomach and after a second the baby kicked or rolled or whatever the hell that weird feeling was, right under Derek’s hand.
Stiles was biting his lips to pieces. This was such a weird moment but like hell he would trade it for anything. That look, the look of utter terrified joy on Derek’s face? Yeah. All the doubt and self-hatred for his body he had before? He couldn’t say it was gone completely, but. This right here. This is what he held on for.
Like the utter kill-joy she was, Ransom chose that moment to appear with breakfast.
“Hey ya’ll are up! Sausages, biscuits and gravy for the weak and infirm.” She delivered the tray.
Peter had followed her like a grim shadow. “I would like to offer her a place in my pack, simply based on those biscuits,” he smarmed.
Stiles had a mouthful by now and hunched over it protectively, “Mine,” he suddenly grizzled through sharper than normal teeth. He shoved another forkful of tasty sausage in his cheeks in case they were taken away.
It seemed Peter was no longer taken off guard by Stiles’ random transformations. “Interesting,” he mused.
“Stop teasing him, Peter,” growled Derek.
“It seems our little Stiles is still taking on aspects of his transformation,” the elder Hale said.
“Likely part of the trauma,” Bastian offered cautiously. “We don’t know how much was latent ability and how much was part of his instinct to escape.”
Derek gave Stiles the biggest portion of his sausage and was surprised when the younger man flashed golden eyes at him in gratitude. Derek instinctively flickered red back enthralled with the beautiful wild man and how much he had come to mean to him.
“Is he a kitsune?” the Alpha asked carefully. He didn’t want to trigger bad memories for Stiles, but it seemed he was focused on protecting his food for the moment. He was probably overwhelmed by new instincts and too many people in the den.
“I don’t know,” Bastian admitted.
“We do however have a Kitsune on hand to ask,” Peter informed them smugly.
“What?” Derek frowned deeply.
“What?” Echoed Ransom, “Didn’t she go back with Stiles’ dad?”
“Kira parted ways with True Alpha McCall and the good Sheriff and is still in town.” Peter said with a clear manner of sarcasm. “She has been staying with the McLeod Pack on her parent’s blessing. In fact, I’m pretty sure the Yukimura’s insisted she stay and learn a few things in return for running away without their consent.”
Derek cut off their conversation with an impatient growl, “Does somebody want to tell me when Scott and Sheriff Stilinski were here?”
Ransom waved an arm in his general direction, “They showed up about the same time you were probably getting gored by a Rougarou. Tried to get Stiles to go back with them. Stiles said no--,”
“Fuck no,” Stiles snapped, “Assholes,” his eyes flickered between whiskey and supernaturally charged honey,
“—and then Alpha Juliette shot the mooshon Alpha with a bad tattoo with wolfsbane and told them to get off her lawn,” Ransom finished with relish, “basically.”
Derek’s angry growling was cut off by Stiles sudden choked laughter. He coughed out a half-chewed mouthful of gravy covered biscuit and snorted, “I know right!!! I told him it was the worst tattoo ever!” He and Ransom fist-bumped while the rest of the room watched the two in weary amazement (and not a little grossed out).
Watching Stiles continue to clear off the rest of his plate with single minded focus, Derek wore a fond yet exasperated look. Then he turned to the rest of the room. “See if Kira will visit us. We have a limited amount of time with which we have to come up with a plan.” He rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger, wishing he could go back to sleep and finish healing.
“Plan?” Stiles head came up sharply and at the movement Derek had to wonder if he was Kitsune, or Meerkat. “What plan. Why plan?”
“There’s a Rougarou heading our way,” a new voice spoke up. It was Jackson, leaning on the door jamb. “Psycho emissary spelled it in revenge. If Derek wasn’t Alpha he’d be dead.”
“Jackson!”
“Jackson!”
Two wolves called out the man’s name in in rebuke.
Stiles switched his frown between Peter and Derek. Then returned his glare to Jackson. “Wait, Rougarou. . .?” His brain was electric; flicking through the pages of his mental bestiary. “That’s a cursed werew—"
They saw his eyes blank when he realized what the little trip out to the swamp must have been for. Whatever color was in his pale skin, leached rapidly from his face. Ransom dove forward,
“Don’t you dare throw up that breakfast!” She said forcefully, cupping Stiles’ face in her hands. She waited until his eyes focused on her, “Your baby needs the nutrients and as much as you wish Reeces’ do not count!!”
“Callum,” Stiles said anemically, “he’s coming for m—”
Derek’s growl was getting stronger, “No. Never.”
Though the sounds he was making were vicious the touches he placed on Stiles’ back and arms were reassuring, grounding. “We won’t let anything happen to you.” At the we, Stiles let himself be drawn into Derek’s piercing gaze. The Alpha’s voice gentled but didn’t lose any of its emphasis, “Everyone here. We will keep you safe.”
Stiles blinked slowly. Derek was including Ransom and Bastien. Even, Peter and Jackass--! No one was disproving his words. A warm feeling began to curl outward from his stomach. It had been such a long time since he’d felt included like this.
“Thanks,” he managed to rasp out self-consciously.
Ransom smiled warmly. “Of course, sugar.”
Peter locked eyes with Stiles, his almost imperceptible head nod was surprising, but Stiles was more astounded to find himself believing zombie-wolf’s gesture was genuine. Jackson on the other hand avoided his gaze, picking at imaginary dirt under his nails, but he didn’t say anything to the contrary. Which again. What even?
Stiles cleared the awkward from his throat, “So. What’s the plan?”
He was slightly vindicated when from the glances being shared around the room that they hadn’t gotten far, if at all, in organizing a plan. Amateurs.
“We can’t stay here,” Derek spoke up reluctantly. All eyes turned to him. “We can’t have a creature like that tearing through downtown. I don’t think subtlety was part of its curse.”
Ransom looked extremely put out. She looked like she would have enjoyed a showdown with the creature and the impressive wards on her house. Not to mention all the supernatural backup she could call in, in an emergency.
Bastien was slowly rearranging his suture supplies. “It won’t stop until it has what it was created to do.” His face was grim. His hands clenched into fists. “You have to run.”
“What! No! Fuck you, I’m not running!” Stiles exclaimed in disbelief.
“Until we know how to kill it,” Peter said calmly, “keeping distance from the creature is the only guaranteed way to keep you and the pup safe.”
Derek’s fingers spasmed on Stiles’ hips at the comment. It was enough to make it clear to Stiles that it wasn’t just his own life he was gambling with. He lowered his head. “I—o-okay,” he surrendered.
“So, where are we running?” Ransom asked the room. Stiles’ head shot up in disbelief. “What? You didn’t think I was letting you leave me behind, did you?” she scoffed. “As if, Spark.”
Ah dammit. His eyes were getting hot. Stiles ducked his face into his arm to scrub away the evidence. If Bastien’s grin was any indication, he failed.
“I don’t think we’ll all fit in your car,” he pointed out, like the asshole he was.
Ransom blew her lips at him. “Details.”
“Actually,” Peter stepped in, with a shared look with Jackson, “We have a ridiculously expensive travel trailer you could borrow.”
Jackson made a rude noise, “Borrow? No. I’m driving. I don’t trust them to bring it back in one piece. Have you seen Stilinski’s piece of junk?”
Stiles tried to scramble up from the futon in response to the insult but found he was pinned down by extremely sexy Alpha arms. “I’ll give you---!!” He huffed angrily against the steel bands keeping him in the bed. He tried slapping them off. No luck. He kicked his legs towards Jackass in vain, “You drove a porche! You wanna talk about Reptile Dysfunction?”
The chest behind him shook, Stiles looked over his shoulder in alarm, only to find Derek trying not to laugh. The sight brought a reflexive smile to his face. He made Sourwolf laugh!
The little coughs that passed as laughter for Derek looked like they were still painful, the way he clutched his stomach. Stiles felt both elated and a little bit guilty. But mostly elated. Seriously, this was a momentous occasion!
Making sure Derek didn’t rip any of Bastien’s stitches, Stiles forgot all about Jackson’s pouting. By the time he was done checking on Derek’s disturbing reminder of mortality, the rest of the room seemed to have worked out some logistics.
“Roadtrip!” Ransom cheered with alarming enthusiasm.
“Uh,” Stiles was taken aback.
“I think you should head back to Beacon Hills,” Peter suggested to Derek and Stiles. “I think you will be stronger in your own territory, not to mention the power of the Nemeton to back you up. It should give you enough time for us to find a weakness.”
“You’re not coming?” Jackson said, sounding uncertain.
Peter placed a reassuring hand on the back of Jackson’s neck, “Not right away. I’m going to take advantage of Juliette’s library. The bestiary here is more likely to have the information we need.”
Stiles looked at Derek with wide panicked eyes. “I can’t. Derek. I can’t--!”
“What, Stiles?” Derek rumbled reassuringly at the sudden outburst.
“I’m not ready to go back to Beacon Hills!” Stiles looked ill. “My dad--!”
Derek scowled at the misery wreathing his mate. “Okay, shh. It’s okay.” He carefully pulled Stiles into his arms. “The Hales have a property in Tahoe,” He met Peter’s eyes over Stiles’ head and saw the elder Hale nod in agreement, “we can head there instead. Until you’re ready. Does that sound okay?”
Stiles wanted to bury his head in Derek’s arm and never come out. The thought of seeing the disappointed face of his dad again . . . or seeing Scott ignore him and pretend they never spent whole summers—whole lifetimes—with each other practically joined at the hip . . . made his throat close in panic.
“Cold mountain water,” Ransom began to sing in a sweet voice, “Don’t ever swim there. Just stand on the edge and look in there. And you might see a woman down---matffhhht!” A pillow suddenly put an end to her impromptu cover of the Kate Bush song.
She pulled Stiles’ pillow out of her face with a shit-eating grin.
“Are you trying to jinx us?!!” Stiles flailed wildly.
“Oh my god,” Jackson muttered under his breath. “What the hell am I thinking?!”