wannabebatman | for meanttobeabeta: late September 2013

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for meanttobeabeta: late September 2013

He's gotten used to seeing Derek every day, or at least hearing from him. A call, a text, a now-familiar set of shoulders shoving its way through his window or curled up on the floor of his room cross-legged. They make plans and cross-sections of town for search grids, discuss whatever Derek's managed to pull from Peter, argue about Stiles' latest harebrained scheme for drawing out the alpha pack. He very carefully doesn't think about how much time all those nights add up to, just like he doesn't think about the little touches and comforts and that growing sense of familiarity he feels with the taciturn older man. He carefully, deliberately doesn't mention Scott. Neither of them does.

Of course, that still doesn't mean he's expecting to see Derek leaning against his Jeep that late September afternoon as he heads out of the school and towards the parking lot. And he sure as hell isn't ready for Derek's incredibly good James Dean impersonation, swallowing heavily at the sight of tight jeans, white shirt, leather jacket and frantically stuffing every last hormone back into that overflowing box of NO in the back of his mind. The outfit just makes him more aware of his worn Avengers shirt, the slightly holey flannel, the stain on his grey hoodie from lunch. Stupid sexy Derek.

"Dude, what are you doing here? Thought you didn't want Scott knowing about all this Alpha pack stuff. You start meeting me at school, he'll have questions." Not that the lack of Stiles in his life had seemed to register so far, he thought sourly.

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Derek stops no more than a couple steps from the jeep and... doesn't quite wince, though for someone who's familiar with his range of facial expression he definitely looks uncomfortable. "Maybe you should go in on your own and ask around and I'll... check out here some more." Not that he hasn't been over every last inch of this entire block, not to mention every building in about a six block radius. But for some reason he obviously doesn't want to go into the shop.

Okay, that look's a new one. Is that embarrassed? Awkward? Stiles can't help but stop, turning back towards Derek and raising his eyebrows. "Oookay. I guess, but I'd have figured you'd wanna be in there, scoping the place out. Not that I'm arguing or anything. You're the one with the radar." What could make Derek look that weird about a coffeeshop? Was it being seen with Stiles? But he'd thought Derek was irritated about Stiles not wanting to be seen with him. This just kept getting more confusing, and he had absolutely zero time to deal with one more weirdness. Still, Stiles is nine-tenths curiosity. He can't just let it slide, can he?

Derek huffs quietly, not quite a growl, and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I already went in and tried asking," he grumbles after a moment, obviously not pleased about sharing. "I'm banned." So maybe he hadn't actually asked per se. And maybe he'd been just a bit crazy... and there had been some mention of calling the police if he didn't leave immediately. Details aren't important, Stiles just needs to know he can't actually go back in.

If Stiles'eyebrows were already at maximum loft before Derek starts speaking, by the time he's done they've crawled their way right off Stiles' face, bought jetpacks, and flown to the moon. He asked. And was banned. Yeah, he can imagine just how Derek 'asked.' The guy's powers of persuasion could be pretty impressive. Downright spooky, even; even now Stiles remembered that smile from that night at the police station. But ask him to remember that charm, to try that before intimidation? Might as well ask the Earth to spin counterclockwise.

Shaking his head, and resisting the urge to sigh or roll his eyes, Stiles just nods and heads inside. There's a minute or two where he leans on the counter, talking to the girl behind it, smiling, and maybe surprisingly, she smiles back. After another moment, he scribbles something on a receipt and hands it to her, and she nods, waving as Stiles walks out. His trip back to Derek is short, and he shoves his hands back into his pockets.

"No dice. She didn't see Erica or Boyd, but there were some new people in this morning. Doesn't remember them, otherwise, other than one of them having killer biceps, which is totally helpful in a lineup, I'm sure. But I don't know, something just...feels weird. About all of this. You wanna hit up the rest of the usual spots? I just, I dunno. There's something weird." He falls back on repeating, shaking his head and fishing for his keys. Something is rotten in the state of California. So to speak.

Derek waits as Stiles goes in, senses extended to catch as much of the conversation as possible. He does find out more than Derek had in his earlier, enraged invasion of the coffee house, but it's still not much. Not enough, and he's pacing on the sidewalk when Stiles returns, passersby giving him a wide and nervous berth as he bites back on a frustrated growl.

"Of course it's weird. Their scent's no place but the door handle. Not inside, not down the street, not like they came and left in a car, like... like someone just rubbed their scent on the door and walked away," he rumbles, turning and bouncing a fist off the hood of the jeep. "They're taunting me." He stops, head bowed and breathing shallow as he tries to get himself back under control--it's definitely not hard to see why he was banned from the shop earlier. "Yes. Let's... anywhere they went regularly. Anywhere they... they like." Not liked. Not past tense, because they're not dead.

Stiles can't help a wince as Derek hits the hood of the Jeep. It's his baby, his only mode of transportation, and he's seen Derek put his fist through solid walls. "Of course they're trying to get to you. Obviously they're trying to get you angry and off-balance, and it's working. So chill, okay? Going around punching my ride isn't gonna help find them, and I'm gonna have a hell of a time explaining a fist-shaped dent in the hood to my dad."

Still, he's moving without argument, sliding into the driver's seat and turning the key. He's already got a sneaking suspicion what they're going to find everywhere they go: Boyd's house, Erica's, the ice rink, school, the comic shop...all scented. On purpose. And he still knows next to nothing about the alpha pack. With that and Derek's natural inclination for running headlong into danger, he was feeling really optimistic about their odds. Really.

Pulling out, he looks over at Derek again. "You hear anything useful from Peter?"

'Chill' is really not an option right now, and the look Derek gives Stiles makes it fairly clear it's not even in his vocabulary at the moment. Still, he does glance down at the car and scowl at the (only slight, he'd been holding back) dent in the hood.

"What if it helps to keep me from punching you?" Derek snarls, but it's half-hearted at best and he's pulling open the passenger side door as he speaks. "When has Peter ever said anything useful?" he asks, not meeting Stiles' eyes. To someone who knows him and pays attention it's fairly obvious he's being evasive.

Stiles waits for his body to react to that snarl, waits to feel scared or intimidated or at the very least irritated, but...yeah, he's got nothing, and that's probably the biggest indicator he has of just how much things have changed between them. He doesn't think Derek will hurt him. That doesn't mean he thinks Derek won't smack him upside the head, especially if he deserves it, but...he's put too much effort into keeping Stiles safe. The threats are just his way of covering.

So he just gives Derek a sideways look, not even dignifying the threat with an answer. Besides, Derek himself is more interesting right now. Shoulders hunched, eyes turned down, voice almost defensive--

"When it'll hurt someone, when it's totally useless, when it's annoying, when it'll make him giggle. Take your pick. He's more bigass cat than werewolf, a pain just because he can be. What did he tell you?" Because he may not be a were-anything, but he can smell a secret, Derek, and you should know his persistence by now.

Derek would have been surprised, and maybe even a little guilty, if Stiles had actually been frightened by his threat. As it is, though, he's too focused on the kid's last question to even process the non-reaction. And then too focused on Stiles enumeration of the many and varied ways in which Peter might--and has--screw him over. He has an almost knee-jerk desire to tell Stiles that Peter's getting better, except he's pretty sure it's just wishful thinking feeding on his loneliness, frustration, and desperation.

"He said they're here because they want me to join them." He'd been assuming they wanted to kill him. Challenge him for his territory--not for his pack, obviously, it's not really even big enough to qualify. But if they want him to join up.... He squeezes his eyes shut. There's no trusting Peter. None.

Stiles frowns, thinking. "But if you join them, what happens to--your betas?" He'd almost said us. That would be crazy. If he was anyone's beta, he'd be Scott's. Right? But he wasn't, so...the question still stands. "It doesn't make sense. You can't join a pack if you already have one."

And then it clicks, and his blood runs cold, because half of Derek's pack is gone already, and guess who's responsible? He can't let this keep going. Not if he can just think fast enough to find them. His foot on the gas pushes harder, and he nearly scrapes the side of the Jeep on the curb as he pulls up to their next stop. They just have to find them. There is no other option.

Derek hears the hesitation, and it's not really a surprise. He knows Stiles doesn't consider himself his. He's just helping him because he won't leave Boyd and Erica twisting in the wind, or risk that the Alphas will hurt other people he cares about. It's still hard, though... but not as hard as listening to him go on, catching his scent when, of fucking course, he figures out the rest of what Peter said on his own.

"At least... if Peter's right, at least we know it's not just wishful thinking and they're still alive." Because it won't accomplish what the Alphas want unless he kills them himself. It's not all that reassuring.

There's a part of Stiles that does consider himself Derek's. Not in a pack sense, at least not on purpose or in so many words, but there's a bond. He thinks it's friendship, at least potentially, something born of the innate trust you have to have to consider someone important. They've saved each other's lives often enough for it to be a thing. He trusts Derek, nearly implicitly, might even like his company just for its own sake if weird and life-threatening things ever stop happening. Like that's even a remote possibility. But is that pack? He doesn't know.

What he does know is that there's something off about Derek's words, something a part of him mind latches on to like a terrier with a bone as he turns the key in the ignition. "Wait, how would that make them safer? If they have to be out of the way first, in order for you to join up, then...I dunno. What exactly did Peter say?" There's something Derek isn't saying. Something he doesn't want to say. And that means Stiles has to hear it.

To Derek it's pack, but he's a born wolf, with a wolf's sense of these things. He can't expect Stiles to understand, even if he seems to instinctively get much of what it means to be a wolf better than Scott probably ever will.

Derek should have known Stiles wouldn't just leave that statement alone, and so he should have kept his mouth shut. It's too late now, though, and he wishes he were driving, so that he had a reason not to look at Stiles, and something to occupy his attention. He doesn't, though, and he looks at Stiles sidelong for a few seconds before answering.

"Remember when Peter was the Alpha?" Maybe Stiles will make the logical leap on his own, remember how Peter had been trying to make Scott kill his own 'pack', and at least Derek won't have to say it out loud.

"How could I forget? Running, screaming, multiple murders. Good times," is his almost absent sarcastic retort, but he's thinking, and thinking hard. So much of that early time was colored by his fear, by his worry for Scott, by jealousy and loss and the terrifying thing that not knowing can be. But he thinks. When Peter was alpha. Being offered the bite, but that isn't the relevant part. Why wouldn't Erica and Boyd be dead yet? If someone else had to do the deed.

There's a look of horrified realization on his face, but it's followed swiftly by relief. "They clearly have no idea what they're doing, then," he says, opening his door to climb out. "You'd never do that to us." The us is unintentional, but he isn't thinking about that. Just about Derek, and how he'd die for his pack. Not the other way around. Never that. Derek wouldn't let it happen.

Derek grits his teeth and rolls his eyes at Stiles'... not particularly creative recounting of events. But then he waits while Stiles processes the question and actually thinks his way through it. And there it is, the light at the end of the tunnel. Which is, as usual with their lives, the headlight of an oncoming train. It's the second, swifter, response that actually takes Derek by surprise. That and the fact Stiles reflexively includes himself in that 'us'.

"No," he agrees, low and steady and with absolute conviction. Because he wouldn't. There's no way in hell that's happening. "But for now it means I've been right, and they're alive." Not safe, because there's nothing safe about this, but alive. "And we can get them back."

He already knew Derek wouldn't, but hearing him say it with that clear conviction is more reassuring than words can say. The image he has of Derek as he is is still fairly fresh, only a few months old, and apparently there's still some parts of him that need that reassuring. "Yeah," he agrees. "We can. We will."

All it takes is looking, to notice the kinds of things Stiles does. Most people just glance and let their assumptions fill in the blanks. But Stiles, he really looks at things, and the same thing that makes him so irritating to most people is actually his biggest strength. He's persistent and observant, and these few hours spent with Derek scoring the town for more traces of Erica and Boyd have given him plenty to think about. The look on Derek's face as he's gone from scent to scent, place to place. The subtle hints of someone else's hand at work, something about the locations they've found traces of scent at. Something he can't quite place yet, as he climbs back into the Jeep after the last one, head against the steering wheel for one long moment. "Well, at least we know the scent wasn't accidental. It's been everywhere. You have anything? Because right now, anything would be good." He's tired, and frustrated, and lunch seems like a thousand years ago. He could really go for tacos right now.

Derek's been on the thin edge of losing his shit for the last hour or more by the time they finally agree they've tried the last prospect, and he tips his own head back against the passenger seat head rest once he's back in the car, jaw and fists both clenched as he fights the shift. The Alphas couldn't have done a better job of taunting him if they'd tried, and it's only that knowledge that's currently letting him keep some kind of grip on himself.

"Nothing fucking useful," he growls, frustration and rage vibrating across every word. "The other wolf scents were never distinctive or clear enough to get a lock on, and they changed, but I'm not even fucking sure how many times, or how many might be in the Alpha back, other than at least three and probably less than ten." Jesus, please let it be less than ten. Less than five would be even better.

"That's something, though. It was both Erica and Boyd's scents. The first place didn't have other wolf scent, but some of the others did. You know where it smelled freshest. We have something. A lot of somethings. We just have to put the picture together. They wouldn't have left so much if they didn't mean for us to find more, unless they're just careless. And if they are, we'll find them even faster." Sure, it's the exact opposite of his earlier words of frustration, but...well, Derek's pessimist enough to steal even Stiles' crown of Captain Glass-Half-Empty.

He doesn't even realize he's reaching across the seat until there's the feel of leather under his fingertips, leather over solid, practically vibrating muscle. His fingers squeeze reflexively, as the first (and likely smartest) part of his brain tells him to stop and tries to prepare for the inevitable backlash. It's different when it's Derek touching him, or invading his personal space, or when Stiles accidentally touches Derek. This is deliberate, and he can't really figure out why he did it.

Derek's getting more and more sure that Stiles is right, that the Alpha pack does want him to find them... he's just also becoming more sure that he's not going to like it when he does. He's just about to tell Stiles that they have to find them faster than the Alpahs are expecting, that the only chance they're going to have to get Boyd and Erica (and themselves) out alive is if they manage to surprise the Alphas, when Stiles' hand settles on his forearm. There's an almost audible clack when his mouth snaps shut, and he can't keep from looking down at where Stiles is squeezing his arm reassuringly... any more than he can stop the way that, after that first moment of surprise, it eases some of the tension from his shoulders. For all the times Derek has touched Stiles, bridged that gap between them completely on instinct, because he can't think of him as anything but Pack now, Stiles has never once reciprocated, not in anything other than moments of necessity, and Derek has never expected him to.

"Yeah," he rumbles after a moment, making himself look away again. "We just have to keep looking, we'll find them." And hopefully not die with them.

There's a brief second of tense silence, as Derek looks down at Stiles' hand on his arm, and Stiles waits for whatever happens next. Imagine his surprise when instead of jerking away, or pushing Stiles off, instead he just...agrees. And maybe it's Stiles' admittedly overactive imagination, but Derek sounds a little more in control, a little less likely to be shifting in the front seat of the Jeep. Which is good, because Stiles has no idea how he'd explain that kind of damage to anyone.

His hand tightens just a little more on Derek's arm before falling away, and both of them seem a little more in control after that point of contact. He doesn't think about why. Maybe Derek just needed to be reminded that he wasn't in this alone, even if Stiles isn't that much help. He's only human, after all. Human and starving, as his stomach chooses this moment to chime in loudly, gurgling loud enough to be clearly audible in the silence. He at least has the good grace to look embarrassed. "So what's next?"

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for meanttobeabeta: late September 2013

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