when the moon found the sun / when the sun found the moon

[triskeles]

x

Comments

IT BEGINS.

[hypercompetent]

[ Stiles Stilinski of house Tully had been told that his mother had been part wildling by one of the cooks when he was six years old and sneaking down to steal lemon cakes from the kitchen. He didn't really care, because his mother was amazing, but the fact stuck with him that he had the blood of the wildlings in him.

And Stiles acted like it. He had always been a little too rowdy, a little too hyperactive. And apparently his father had taken notice, because a matchup had been arranged (without Stiles' permission, but what else was new), and the young prince of house Tully was bundled up in every piece of warm clothing and sent off to the North to meet up with the lead of a rogue group of men--supposedly, wargs--and to stay with them and become the "second" of their group; a supposedly advantageous position.

Stiles thought this was supposedly an excuse to send him off so he didn't embarrass the house at another Stark family dinner but you know what. Whatever.

So he's standing outside in the ice cold snow, shivering like a leaf, wrapped in only his cloak fastened with a silver trout. Derek Hale. Even the name sounded kind of terrifying.

Needless to say half the quaking was from cold; the other half was probably from nerves, anxiety and fright. Seven hells. He was supposed to basically get married to a bunch of people who were literally raised by wolves.]

WELCOME TO THE NORTH.

[triskeles]

[ Though there are many men and women alike in the North that are worthy matches for Derek, he's not interested in any of them. The only reasons, really, that he agreed to take on the boy from Riverrun are encouragement and a good standing with House Tully. It means allies in a distant place, should they ever find themselves in need of one. He can't really argue with that, despite his disinterest in actually having a lupa.

Hopefully this potential one is at least quick to learn.

Growing up in the North the way he has, he's used to the feeling of the chill against his skin. They all are, like true wolves in the tundra.

With one look at the southerner, Derek immediately wonders why no one thought to actually prepare him for the northern 'spring.' He might be bundled up as best as he can be, in their terms, but it just isn't enough, especially not for someone unaccustomed to their weather. Nevermind that even members of his pack are cold simply looking at him, as he moves about without a shirt on underneath his wolf-skin cloak.

Tipping the head of the cloak back, he approaches, followed by a few betas that regard Stiles with varying levels of interest and welcome. ]

[hypercompetent]

[ Oh god. There are like four of them. Wolves are pack animals, his brain reminds him sweetly, and he tries to shove his hands in his pockets, to look a little more prepared. He hadn't come with an escort--simply a horse, who he'd been told to send off once he got close to the point of rendevouz. This entire plan felt. Well to be totally honest to Stiles it kind of felt like a death trap. He was pretty sure one of said four wildlings was literally going to eat him--as he went from beta, to beta, his eyes finally caught on the one that must have been the leader. ]

Holy god, it's a giant.

[....was what his traitorous mouth decided to spit out. He turned pink at the ears, even despite the chill, and stared at the giant man. Great, insulting the ""alpha"" from day one. His blood is about to make a lovely compliment to all this goddamn snow.

Derek Hale himself, aside from being giant and intimidating and apparently immune to the cold (what in seven hells), is actually decently attractive for Northern standards; dark hair, square jaw covered in stubble, ridiculous muscles. But what caught Stiles almost immediately were his eyes, ridiculously piercing and practically multicolored.

Needless to say, despite his less than wonderful insult, his mouth's still hanging open. ]

[triskeles]

[ Slowly raising an eyebrow in response to the comment, Derek reaches his hand up to untie the chord keeping the cloak around his shoulders. Bringing it around with a faint, disdainful chuff, he comes closer to Stiles. Rather than give him retribution for what is, essentially, an insult, he pulls the cloak around his shoulders and ties it securely at his throat. He even goes so far as to bring the headed hood up, lined in rabbit fur, so that now-flushed ears are covered and hidden from the cold.

Gruff and obviously annoyed as he is, he's not about to let this idiot Southerner freeze to death. ]

You won't find giants so far this south.

[ It's a dry comment, as he assesses this... Stiles Stilinski. There's familiarity in some features of his face, traits from his wildling mother that Derek barely knew. A perked nose, full mouth, and the smattering of spots along his face. But his attention is drawn almost immediately by the wide, brown eyes, a strange warmth in the North.

He cocks his head slightly, ignoring the betas behind him as they murmur amongst one another in response to Stiles-- in general, and his outburst. ]

let's sow some motherfucking seeds of actual like

[hypercompetent]

[ It was cold.

It had been almost a month of spending time with the pack in the North now, and Stiles had slowly started to get his bearings among the pack. He'd made friends--Scott, especially, and then Erica, then Isaac, then Danny, Boyd, Allison--and spent most of his time running around with the kids, pretending to be the "rabbit". All in all, he'd started to slowly try to find his place in the pack as a supposed Lupa, but things just weren't clicking--at least as far as he thought.

But as the days went by, the cold was starting to affect the Southron man. He was getting weaker and weaker, the shakes getting more and more violent, until one day he fell face first in the snow during a game of Rabbit and didn't get back up again.

Needless to say, he was sick. Very sick indeed.]

cracks knuckles

[triskeles]

[ It was interesting, watching Stiles run around with the faolan. And it endeared the younger man to Derek, just a little. Because regardless of what his position was to be in pack-- Lupa, Beta, whatever-- the fact he was growing so close to the younger members of pack meant a lot, and was a good step in the right direction. It had the parents relaxing around him, the older siblings opening up a little more... it really was a good progression to where he needed to be.

But running around like that, when he wasn't used to the North's spring yet, meant that he was going to fall hard, and fall fast.

The Faoladh just hadn't expected it to be so dramatic, when it happened.

Melissa, of course, had immediately been on top of helping the Southron prince that her son had befriended, but Derek took over after the initial care had begun. He wasn't a nurse, like her, but he knew if he needed guidance he would have it. As it was, he sat at the edge of their furs, his wolfskin over the top of the blanket of them that covered Stiles. His eyes flicked between the book in his lap to Stiles' face every now and then, keeping close watch over him. ]

[hypercompetent]

[ Stiles would be obnoxiously horrified if they'd told him this was spring. Spring in Riverrun was warm and bright, and all the trees started to come into bloom, and Moat Cailin was just starting to get warm enough to swim in-- here, this was hell. Ice cold, frozen hell. And no matter how many comments he'd made about dying here, he didn't think it would actually happen.

He's also a little bit of a drama queen. He's been in and out of consciousness for three days now, and on the fourth day, the burning fever had let up enough for his eyes to slide open, bleary staring up at Derek.

..wait. ]

...Derek? [ In his fever dreams, the touch had been his mother's.]

[triskeles]

[ Unfortunately for Stiles, the North knows only two seasons, truly. Winter, and spring. Spring is a little warmer, a little brighter, but it doesn't last for long. It's a good thing that Stiles came when he did, because Derek's pretty sure that if he hadn't? He wouldn't have survived. At least this gives him a chance to adapt in easier weather.

Eyes lifting again as he hears his name, he shifts to set aside the book so he can lean over his Lupa. He scans his face with a colorless gaze calmly, before he brings up a hand to brush his knuckles across his brow, following the line of it then turning his wrist to feel his forehead with the back of his hand.

Still hot, but not as bad. When you feel warm in comparison to the wolf, there's a problem. ]

Looks like the worst of it has passed.

KILLIN THINGS

[hypercompetent]

[ The thing about becoming lupa was that it came with a lot of responsibilities, not to mention, a need to actually become part of the pack. As an interloper up until this point, Stiles had stumbled his way through his position, barely finding his footing; the turning point came when an errant beta attacked an innocent man of the Night's Watch, and Stiles had been the one to not only stop him, but to admonish him for it.

Since then, he'd been a little more receptive to feeling like part of the pack. After getting almost deathly ill his first month out in the wild, he started to make friends, play with the kids, and started actively trying to be a good lupa, with all that that entailed. He'd gone from barely tolerating Derek to...still arguing with him, but curling up in the furs with him late at night instead of hiding across the room. His determination had planted a seed in his mind, and within a few weeks of the incident with the beta--three months since his arrival--he'd gone out to do the ultimate initiation rite.

While Stiles had some training from the Master at Arms from Riverrun, it was with a sword that had mostly been too heavy for him. He'd never been the best hand at hunting, either, but he stood here in the forest with a dirk in his hands and tried to remember everything Scott and Derek had taught him about hunting. Ultimately, it came down to his own intelligence; dropping the crumbles of a piece of bread and waiting behind a tree until a buck leapt through the forest. He'd jumped on it, as instructed, and it all went from there.

Except for the fact that he'd never killed anything besides a fish, and as he stumbles back away from the body of the buck, his nose is so filled with the smell of fresh blood that it makes him dizzy, and as he grasps at a tree trunk behind him, he curls over and tries not to retch. ]

YER A MAN NOW STILES

[triskeles]

[ Though Stiles had been wandering in the dark to find his way in pack, Derek was following along to make sure that he hadn't gotten too lost. Even when they were butting heads more than they were getting along, he wasn't about to let the Southorn get himself killed because of a misunderstanding, or an attempt to find where he fit in while residing in the wolf's den.

The errant beta that broke their moral code-- they were protectors, and the man of the Night's Watch had elicited no reason for attack-- could've been a breaking point rather than a turning, but Stiles had handled it like a lupa should. Much more gracefully than the faoladh would have, even, though he was keeping a close watch on the beta after that incident.

Which lead to him not being out on the hunt with them, though Derek had only picked a few of the betas that Stiles got along with best-- Scott, Erica, Isaac-- to join them. They weren't to get involved unless necessary, beyond making sure that the buck didn't get too far from Stiles, though it'd turned out unnecessary. Stiles had this figured out, in an unconventional way.

As the scent of fresh blood hits the air, he slows, reaching to push up his wolfskin's head, red in his eyes dimming. That was it, Stiles had done it.

Stalking through the trees, Derek holds up his hand to stop Scott from rushing towards his friend and closes the space between them on silent feet. Wordlessly, he slides his hand up the back of Stiles' neck, fingers carding through his hair until he can settle his palm against the base of his skull at an easy angle. It lets him smooth his thumb against his scalp, a gentle pressure. ]

A REAL MANLY MAN

[hypercompetent]

[ It says a lot for Stiles' impressive hyperfocus that he didn't even see the other three pack members as he went to work. He'd put himself in such a frenzy that the only real goal he had was to take that buck out, so much that he'd put himself into a state of total zen up until he was on the thing. And then, well, then it all hit him like a ton of bricks.

By the time Derek gets to him, he does in fact throw up, and his hand curls against the tree bark as he starts to try and stand up, wiping off his mouth and coughing. That just proceeds in getting blood smeared on his mouth, and he croaks out a--] Oh my god. [ Before trying to stand fully, wiping his hands on his tunic and staring at the blood splatters on the ground in front of him. He did that, with his own hands. His dad'd be proud. (Or horrified. One or the other. He's not really sure anymore.) He leans backwards a little into Derek's hand, wheezing. ]

For the record? [ And he coughs again, trying to get the disgusting taste of blood and vomit out of his mouth. ] This tattoo better be frickin awesome.

MANLY MEN ALL PUKE AFTER THEIR KILLS SURE.

[triskeles]

[ As Stiles straightens, Derek gestures with his free hand for them to take the deer away-- partially so Stiles doesn't have to look at it anymore, partially to get it back home to take care of it-- and then all focus turns in on him. Everything closes to just the two of them, and he shifts around to stand in front of him even as his hand stays on the back of his neck. It's fairly easy to avoid stepping in anything that isn't snow and dirt when he's got his wits about him and isn't nauseous, but he doubts the same could be said of Stiles right now.

Bringing his free hand around, this time towards Stiles, he chuffs softly and wipes the blood away from his mouth carefully. If he's bothered by it or any possible residue from him throwing up, he doesn't indicate as much. ]

You're not just getting the tattoo, Stiles. [ With a shift of his shoulders, he nudges the wolfskin away from his arm enough to show him his. ] But hopefully this is worth it?

RIVERRUN HELL YES

[hypercompetent]

[ The journey down to Riverrun more or less went off without a hitch. All things considered--moving an entire pack of wildlings, literally, across the Wall wasn't what one would call an easy feat, but Stiles' convincing case for himself as a Southroner who didn't choose this life, not to mention a conversation with Commander Snow where he dropped the phrases "Tully" and "Starks" and "family allies", along with "wolves in packs" about a million times each, and he and the children and women were able to slip through safely.

From there, it was a long journey through the lands of Westeros, nearly three weeks of travel time, but the forests were full of game and they found little trouble along the way when Stiles flew the banner he'd brought from home so long ago. (Granted, it was part of a blanket--his mother's old wedding cloak, sewn into a quilt--but no one had to know that besides Stiles and Derek, now did they. )

Upon arrival, he'd hugged his father so tight he almost knocked the wind out of him, and the two of them shared a touching reunion, in which Riverrun officially welcomed the Hale pack as old friends of the Tully family, and offered them a host, complete with proper guest rituals.

By the time they'd settled in, the weather was getting ridiculously hot, and it was Stiles' idea to pick up a fussy faolan, scamper over to the river, and drop her in the shallow bank. Within minutes he was surrounded by children, and that's where he is now, currently having a splash fight--currently having the time of his life--in his childhood home. ]

AW YISS

[triskeles]

[ While Stiles negotiated with the Night Watch, Derek had lead the hunting party through the Wall with very little trouble. It was only a matter of waiting for them to come out on the other side, surveying the territory beyond and catching game as they passed the time until their lupa brought the rest of the pack with him. It was one thing to pass the Wall as mortal men, another to simply slip through the cracks as wild beast.

Keeping everyone from asking "are we there yet?" was the faoladh's biggest challenge, and even then he'd thrown Isaac into a snowbank at least once for asking it one too many times. It had lead to a snow fight, in the end, that had helped ease everyone's travel nerves, but it was still starting to bury under his nerves like an itch he couldn't scratch.

(Stiles helped in keeping him from strangling someone more than once, seven hells. If anyone was to be thanked for getting the pack to Riverrun in one piece, it was the Tully born.)

The further south the pack got, however, the more clothes they seemed to slowly shed. Derek had a sneaking suspicion it was going to happen at some point, but at least they weren't complaining overly much until they were actually in Riverrun, past whatever troubles could have ailed them if they hadn't been careful or had the banner (blanket) on hand. By the time they got to the introductions and reunions, most of his pack was dressed more like Dothraki than they were wildlings, those with wolfskins still wearing them and keeping them close.

Funny, that they were comparable to the horses of the plains. It'd be an insult to the wolves of the north, if it weren't for the fact even he was sympathizing with them. Many hadn't seen weather like this before.

Which leads to where Derek is. He sits, crouched, at the edge of the river, arms resting on his knees and an amused look on his face as he observes the members of his pack in the water. ]

[hypercompetent]

[ Stiles has been very proud of his ingenuity throughout this trip, be it for banners or alliances or throwing overly hot kids over his shoulders and diving into the river with them. All in all, he was proving himself to be more and more competent as the day went on, and he was starting to find his rhythm in the pack, just as much as he used to walking the halls of Riverrun as a kid.

He spots Derek out of the corner of his eye, when he's walking through the mud with a kid attached to either of his arms, and pauses, looking at him. Then he gets a grin on his face, and shakes off the two faolan attached to him only to sink lowly into the water and gather up a ball of mud, making a silent "shh" gesture at the kids, who covered their mouths to stifle their giggles. Ultimately it didn't matter--there were enough kids frolicking around that surely no one would notice Stiles winding his arm back.

And then flinging the mud ball with surprisingly dead on accuracy, right at Derek's face. ]

[triskeles]

[ So distracted in watching over the currently hyped up children of the pack as he is, Derek completely misses Stiles' throw.

Until it's smacking him and covering his hair, forehead, and the left side of his face with mud. He jolts, but doesn't fall over as he braces a hand on the ground, and screws up his face for a brief moment. One eye closed, he looks for the likely culprit-- he knows exactly who it was-- and, once he does, he shakes himself off very much like a dog to get as much of the mud cleaned away as is possible. It's a surprising amount, but his hair sticks up in a rather hilarious way (intentional) and in the light of the summer sun, any unaware onlookers could very well say that crisp, clear eyes shone red for a moment.

Stiles has found his place in the pack, it's to be sure. He's lighthearted where necessary, taking care of faolan, peer, and elder alike, though he tends to downplay it and himself. He's smart, and ingenuity is fairly accurate when it comes to his plans, though Derek has had to butt in on more than one until some sort of agreement was reached. (Whether Derek or Stiles were wrong or they simply needed to adjust was not a feat, simply that they could actually compromise was impressive on its own.)

That does not mean that he's safe from retribution.

So he makes his way down from the edge of the river, stepping into the water and making a slow, steady approach towards his second. ]

and then they got wolfmarried

[hypercompetent]

[ It's been months since the Riverrun visit, and the actual ability to leave it--to thread his fingers through Derek's and wave at his dad for what might be the last time, and walk forward with the pack behind him--was kind of what sealed the deal for this whole sort-of-weird-wildling-married thing for Stiles. He'd already caught himself saying the word mate outside and nearly rolled his eyes into the back of his head for it, but Stiles was becoming well enough integrated with the pack that it was kind of natural.

So, the whole getting tatted thing, again, wasn't fun. Stiles did pass out, again, this time face first into the furs instead of into Derek, but it at least completed the sigil; a triskele, similar to Derek's if a little smaller, and bright red. He was officially marked as a member of the pack--had that for a while--and now, was marked as a second, too. The actual ceremony was mostly just the two of them and then the tattooing, half of which Stiles actually remembers. But he survived, he ate probably his weight in feasting food and joked around with his friends, people that he'd been freaked out by on his first day, and kept throwing glances at Derek that were a little softer than he'd really like to have admitted. But now, it was down to just the two of them, Stiles, Derek, and the bed they shared, and he ducks inside the tent flap and flops down face first onto the furs, spreadeagled, and makes a pleased noise. Pure food coma bliss. ]

aooooo

[triskeles]

[ There had been a hot second where Derek was sure that Stiles would decide to stay behind in Riverrun, stay with his father and the people that he had known for the better part of his life. And there's an enormous part of him that would have let him, would have peaceably called everything off if it meant Stiles would be happy. (An even bigger part of him would have broken, worse than with Paige, worse than with Kate, but he had only known pain since he was sixteen.)

So he's happy, to be in the wilds of the North again. A quiet knowledge sits with him, more plans for their return to his lupa's birth home in the future-- for Stiles, for the faolan, for everyone to benefit from-- but at that moment, he basks in contentment. It's the happiest he's been in years, truth be told, and it's because of Stiles.

Funny, considering where they were at the start.

He grips Stiles' hand throughout the entire inking process, which seems to amuse Deaton to a certain degree. (Largely because the faoladh isn't even aware that he's easing the pain in ways he doesn't know, but the guide and emissary isn't about to tell them now when they can figure it out on their own.) He laughs, when they're all together around the fires of their encampment, chases squealing and yipping faolan, talks to his betas in quiet voices that rise into loud laughter (and mock-indignation, at least once, from Scott). But he always knows where Stiles is, always looks up to find him and meet his gaze.

But when it's just the two of them again, he shuts and secures the tent and simply... looks at him for a moment, something warm building in the pit of his stomach before he comes closer. He braces his hands on either side of Stiles' ribs, leaning down to brush what starts as an open-mouthed kiss and turns into a gentle press of teeth against the back of his neck, a soft rumble responding to the pleased noise. ]

[hypercompetent]

[ ...yeah, okay, Stiles might be integrated into the pack? But he is not used to Derek's lurking. Lost in his food coma bliss, he doesn't notice his presence until there's a mouth pressed to his neck, and Stiles makes a noise that's a cross between a yelp and a squeak (it's very manly), and jerks his head back to look at him. It's not like he doesn't know it's going to be Derek, and it's dumb of him to be surprised anyway, but Stiles lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding anyway and lets his forehead drop into the furs again. ] Jesus--okay, I'm like ninety percent sure there's a "don't sneak up on recent spouses" kind of line to that contract in the fine print or something.

[ He pushes himself up on his elbows a little though and glances back at him, mouth quirked in a small smile. All things considered, he's pretty damn pleased with his life as of late; the pack has become his home, whether it travels or not, and he'd grown to admire, love Derek for everything about him. He was simply Derek, a centrifugal force in Stiles' life, heroism and bad jokes and a quiet smile that was reserved for Stiles and Stiles alone, and he wouldn't trade him for anything, even if he was kind of a dick.

It occurs to Stiles about two seconds after, when everything sort of registers, that he's about to like sleep with Derek for the first time ever, consummate a marriage, and his soft smile drops as his mouth opens and he shuts it like he's contemplating, then stares at him, drawling out and trying to hide his red ears. ] So is this the part where I'm going to get caveman thrown over your shoulder so you can have your way with me?

[hypercompetent]

[ Being the lupa of a pack came with a lot of responsibilities. It involved getting thrown into situations unlike anything he'd really experienced back home in the South, and while Stiles was the kind of guy who barreled into things headfirst like he wanted to crack his brains open, it tended to get him into trouble more times than not. In this case, it was with an errant hunter--the alpha was gone, working with some of the younger wolves in a forest miles away from their usual home to get food, leaving Stiles to take care of things for the time that he was gone.

The woman had appeared on the edge of the pack, and it was Stiles who saw that she was armed. Stiles, who kept the women and children as far away from her as possible, who stepped up to her and demanded her reasons for approaching. When she'd sneered, called him as human as she was and lifted her sword, Stiles had lost his temper, and he stared down at the sword pointed to his chest, then back up at her with the kind of fire in his eyes that was hard to describe in words. I am the lupa of this pack, and if I tell you to leave, you're leaving. I'll show you exactly how human I am.

Whether it was false bravado or not, he more or less acted as a human shield for the women and children left behind, and when the woman ("argent", he had heard) swung at him, Stiles was up with his dagger as fast as he could to keep her at bay. Every fighting trick he'd ever been taught by Derek and Scott, by the arms master back in Riverrun, came like it was born in his blood, and where she was obviously skilled and fast, Stiles was faster, and smarter, and when he came away with a painful slice across his ribs and that was starting to bleed through his furs, she went down on the ground with her throat sliced across. Standing there, covered in blood and panting a little, Stiles stares down at the woman, honey blonde haired and bleeding to death on the snow, and holds his side, panting as the adrenaline starts to run down.

His initial thought--oh my gods. There weren't any words to describe it, and he shakes the edge of panic from his vision when he hears what could only be thundering footsteps in the distance and clutches his side a little tighter. His second thought?

Derek. ]

[triskeles]

[ With Scott and Isaac on perimeter, surveying the outer reaches of their current territory-- there was someone in the pack expecting, they didn't want to move far from what seemed like a fruitful area for prey, for herbs and gentler weather-- Derek figured it was safe enough to take some of their younger members out for scouting, tracking, hunting. Stiles would keep the pack safe, and there were some packmates that would have his back at a moment's notice. But the idea of something happening while he was away was so far gone from his mind, because for once things had been in his favor; for months, even.

All good things must come to an end in the faoladh's life, though.

Their return back to camp is leisurely, at first. With a doe slung around his shoulders, neck wrapped to keep blood from getting all over him, Derek leads his little group of growing faolan along, making sure their roughhousing is kept to a minimum so that they can actually make some amount of progress. But he stops abruptly, which makes them all go still, alert to their alpha and suddenly wary as his head snaps up, eyes dilating with the smell of fresh blood-- fresh human blood.

The deer is dropped without a thought, a flash of red in his eyes as he goes running with only an order of hide! being issued to the younger wolves, causing them to go right back to the trees while he storms ahead. No one is outside in the camp, though he can hear and smell them even if everything is dulled under the hammering of his heart in his ears, the smell and taste of blood in his senses. All that runs through his head is Stiles Stiles Stiles, because he knows better than to believe he would just stand idly by should a threat come to their encampment.

Before he sees the body, registers that honey sweet and sharp steel scent, he sees Stiles. Smells Stiles' blood. And his heart clenches in his chest, worry and fear sparking something there as he goes straight to him. ]

Stiles, Stiles--

[hypercompetent]

[ Derek's voice startles him, and Stiles jerks from where he was staring down at the body to follow it. Something in his chest loosens at the sight, that he's okay--that this hadn't been a trap, just an ill timed attempt, and it flickers across his face as clear as anything. He's okay, the faolan are okay, and that's all that really matters. One hand still on his dagger, the other on his side, Stiles drops the weapon and takes a couple of steps forward to meet him halfway, leaving the woman's body behind.

The first question out of his mouth is worry, and he looks behind him for just a second to see if the faolan are hiding and calls out, the loudness of his voice startling him. ] It's okay, it's safe to come out, I--

[ But then Derek is there, in his space, and he looks up at the scant distance between them, adrenaline making his heart thud wildly, blood still dripping between his fingertips. He's not dizzy, at least not yet, and he kind of wants to retch because he definitely just killed someone, but Stiles was so damn worried about the pack, about doing his job and protecting the people, protecting the mother who was just days from popping that he'd just checked out of reality. And it's Derek coming close that starts to bring him back down. ] I'm fine, everything's fine.

i was gonna do something completely different with this oops

[hypercompetent]

[ Being kidnapped is not really on Stiles' list of favorite things to do.

With the way the Argents were lurking around every open corner, looking for breaks in their defenses, Stiles should have been expecting it. But he'd heard one of the children in the pack crying and gotten up in the middle of the night, and sure enough, fell hook line and sinker for a child's crocodile tears and into Kate Argent's hands.

He'd been told he wasn't going to be hurt, and he wasn't, for the most part--at least not immediately. But when Stiles wouldn't give them answers, wouldn't talk about his position in the pack or Derek or any of their plans for moving or relocating or anything things started to get a little worse. By the third day missing, he's sporting an impressive black eye and a cut across his lip--he hasn't been allowed to eat anything but a tiny scrap of food since he's arrived here, once a day, and kept awake for ridiculous hours upon hours of questioning.

The one saving grace was a little girl with honey blonde hair, who snuck in to see him the first night. She brought him water and broke into the area of the woods they were holding him in easily, impressively so for a six year old, actually, and sat with him, asking his name and to tell her stories. So Stiles did, kept himself as calm as possible and tried to entertain her.

Her name was Selena, and she had eyes like green sea glass, and a part of Stiles' stomach lurched every time he looked at her, because there was a familiarity that he tried to ignore, because Derek's life--it had been terrible, but it can't have been that bad.

Could it?

There's been no sight of Kate today, and Selena's in the makeshift cell with him, slipping in through the teeny hole in the back of the spiny trees that Stiles doubts he could fit through--he admires Selena for her bravery--and Stiles is listless enough that he's barely able to stay awake for her. Everything hurts, and he fluffs long fingers through soft blonde hair and listens to what sounds like chaos outside. A part of him seizes with hope, and he looks down at the child sitting up against his side, turning his gaze frantically through the wall of rowan trees, lined with spikes.

When he asked Selena about escaping before, she'd said--you just have to believe really hard, and you'll get out!--which Stiles thought was probably a fairy tale, and he croaks out a name, in hopes that maybe the chaos outside is exactly who he thinks it is, and that if Derek can hear him, he won't impale himself trying to get Stiles free.

(He wouldn't put it past him, and that scares him half to death.) ]

WELP HERE GOES

[triskeles]

[ Derek has not slept in days.

It's not really that big of a deal, in the grand scheme of things. Wolves can go without food and water for extended periods at a time, are built resilient to adversity and a decline in sustenance. They wander long ranges for their territories, often for days on end. A wolf can survive where other creatures cannot.

But Derek has not slept, has not had food or water, for days. At first, things had been fine. Stiles had simply left their tent while he'd been away, in the woods surrounding their encampment because something had drawn him out. He and Scott had circled through the trees, Isaac and Boyd uneasily keeping an eye on things at the camp, but it had become eerily silent in a matter of seconds. There were foreign scents, still warm on the wind and fresh tracks in the snow, but they'd come and gone quick as anything.

And then no one could find Stiles.

So it's completely gone downhill since. The wolves he takes with him to find him, find whatever took him, have tried to get him to rest. It results in restlessness, pacing and snarling and sharp anger mixed with nauseating fear. No one can blame him, but it makes them just as uneasy to see their faoladh, the remaining alpha, at such unease. They follow a familiar trail, when they catch it, one that they've encountered a handful of times. When they return to the rest of the pack, he's going to have a long, long talk with Allison Argent. Scott doesn't even argue, just looks miserably resigned.

Eventually they come across an encampment, the trail sharp and clear, the familiar scent almost overwhelming. And it takes barely any planning before they're moving as one unit, Derek giving only one warning: if they see a woman with honey blonde hair and blue eyes cold as the north, they're to leave her to him. But after that, it is literal chaos.

Until he hears his name being called, just this quiet thing on the wind, and he moves immediately towards it. The spikes hardly register, even though when he forces his way in there's long, angry slashes in his coat. It matches well the intensity in his eyes, the blood on his maw, but there's nothing truly fierce about him-- just a staggering relief and overwhelming concern as he lurches forward. ]

8D

[hypercompetent]

[ He catches the shape of the wolf before anything else--Stiles' heart seizes in his chest and he pushes forward, gets Selena to help him by rubbing the rope holding his hands up against a sharp part of a tree from the minute they start hearing the noises, and Stiles realizes what Derek's going to do while he's still stuck there, and the words practically explode out of his mouth in panic, because no, no no no, Derek can't just-- ] Derek--stop, oh gods, Derek, you're going to, stop--

[ But it's too late, because the second he gets free, Derek is through. He rushes forward on his hands and knees, practically wheezing with the panic bottled up in his chest in hopes that he's not just killed himself, and frantic hands come up to grab at his muzzle, until he can get his hands in the familiar fur and clutch on tight. ] Oh--Mother, Derek, you can't just-- gods!

[ He can't even get the words out right. There's blood everywhere, and he holds onto his face, terrified, hands trembling near where the cloak would be able to be pushed back. He can't make it worse, not sure if the shifting would help at all, so he just thumbs at his cheeks and looks just as relieved, just as concerned, and probably ten times more terrified. ] Is Kate--is she...?