[ 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?
[ 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. ]
[ 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.
[ Somewhere behind him he can register movement, whether it's the rest of the pack or the hiding wolflings though is beyond his reach. Because Derek meets Stiles and brings his hands up, hovering for a moment until Stiles is trying to reassure him that he's all right. And he's not, he can smell the way he's bleeding through his furs, hear the way his already quick heart is thumping against his ribs.
He still doesn't look towards the crumpled body beyond them, his eyes scanning across Stiles' face instead, sparked red in response to blood and panic. But it starts to ease, slowly, because his lupa-- injured though he may be-- is safe. Mate and pack are safe, instincts reassure, and he just reaches his hands forward to curl them around Stiles' jaw, cradling his face and drawing him closer to press his lips to his brow. ]
You're bleeding, you need to see Deaton. [ His fingers curl, thumbs sweeping across his cheeks as he closes his eyes tightly, tries not to think about every worse case scenario that could've happened. Could've resulted in him coming back to a destroyed pack for a second time. ]
It's a flesh wound. [ He says it a little jokingly, because it's kind of keeping him from being completely hysterical about the fact that he just killed somebody, but Stiles tilts his head down when he leans up to kiss his forehead, leaning into the warmth of his hands. Stiles isn't particularly worried about dying at the moment, it's not like his insides are hanging out, and really, he's going to try and downplay this as much as possible, so he reaches up with his other hand and covers Derek's, trying to soothe him. ]
Are you okay? Are the faolan okay? [ Which is the real concern here. He was worried she might have had friends, if she was just waiting for the weakest moment in the pack to strike. Stiles had heard stories about what happened to the pack before this one, and there was no way in hell he was gonna let it happen again.
Absently, some of the things she said--about Derek, about her, and about Stiles himself--echo in his head, and he tamps them down, pushes away any doubt she was trying to put in his head. ]
[ A faint, if strained, laugh leaves him, and he shifts the hand Stiles doesn't cover down, under his furs. Derek keeps his touch gentle, finding where he's covering his wound and carefully overlapping it with him. He can feel the wet heat, a stark contrast to the chill of the North that barely touches him, and it twists his chest into greater knots. ] It's still a wound.
[ Pulling back to look at him, but barely leaving much space, he lets himself feel a little soothed with his words and touch. If there's anyone else out there, surrounding their encampment, then they've yet to show themselves. As far as he could tell, he and the faolan were alone out there. He'll have to call back the scouting party. ] We're all fine. Nothing happened.
[ He bumps his nose into Stiles', drawing his hand away from his face slowly with the intent to start directing him towards Deaton's tent. But part of him knows that he should tend to the issue of an interloper coming to his pack with the intent to harm, even if Stiles tore the life out of them. ]
[ His face shifts into something relieved and he nods, returning the bump and trying to turn his face into a small, affectionate smile. Stiles lets his own hand drop as Derek's does, and for all that his face doesn't quite reflect it, his mind is racing. Kate had said that she'd done it once, that they kept growing like weeds--he could connect the dots about Derek and his family and the thought made his stomach churn. Whatever had happened wouldn't be happening again, but it didn't change the fact that he could practically see the cold look in her eyes, the manic glee in her smile. She would have killed everyone here without a second glance, and sure, he did the right thing, but that doesn't make it any less painful.
Or maybe that's just his ribs, because when Derek moves away a little to head to Deaton's, Stiles stumbles and the whole world goes topsy-turvy, and he grabs onto Derek's cloak to try and steady himself. ] Whoa-oohh, gods. She was trying to--get us at our weakest, I guess.
[ As Stiles grabs onto his cloak, Derek shifts and wraps his arm around his middle. His fingers curl securely at his hip, and the look on his face is unmasked concern, heart locked in his throat. Because losing his pack again is perhaps his greatest fear, to the point that there are some nights where he still wakes up with ash and smoke in his lungs, even with the comfort of Stiles curled up tight against him. ] That means we were watched. Gods only know for how long.
[ There's some bite to his tone, as he thinks on what that implies. And they were completely unaware, leaving him to wonder how long she'd been watching them, from where, had she been following them all the way up until they'd settled down in their current location. He swallows thickly, tense to the point that it seems the hackles of his pelt have bristled as if alive, as if responding to his mood. ]
I can assure you with 100% lucidity that she is as dead as a doorknob, so now we've just gotta worry about her friends. [ Joke about it, right? Stiles leans heavily into his side as it feels like his brain stops really communicating with his feet; he takes a few more steps forward and wraps his arm around Derek's, trying to keep his laser focus as tight as it needs to be. ]
D'you think we should move? [ Move territory. They've shifted around for the seasons before, following game when needed. It wouldn't be hard, but it could involve a lot of politics that Stiles--well, Stiles would be ready to argue it for them. He was at least sort of settled in this whole "lupa with power" thing--before he could challenge people, and now he could do it with authority. It was kind of awesome.
He can feel the fur shift under his hand, because Stiles feels it bristle too, and almost instinctively, his hand strokes over it a little. ]
I'll take care of her once we get you to Deaton, and call for the others to come back. If they can report, all the better. [ If they don't answer, they know without question that something has gone wrong. Derek takes Stiles' weight as he thinks about it, mind racing as he helps his lupa along. He wants to get him stitched up before he suffers too much blood loss, and before the cold can bite too much into the injury. It'd ease some of his fears, anyways.
Considering his question, he seems to settle the slightest bit with his touch again, eyes forward as he thinks. He knows there will be dissent amongst the pack if they announce plans on moving, but at the same time... If there's a risk to the pack, there's a risk to the younger wolves that can't fight, or shift, and the expecting mother who has enough fears of delivering in the midst of the North. Dealing with crossing into another pack's territory, most of which know the Hale name and sigil, sounds safer than dealing with hunters on their trail. ] I think we should consider it heavily.
[ Better to quell dissent with two alphas laying down the law than it is to risk someone getting hurt again, or worse. ]
[ Stiles nods and leans into his side a little heavier, starting to feel a little dizzy. They're almost there but it's slow going, and there's a little track of blood following them from where they came; Stiles looks down at it like he's in a dream and shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. ]
We could...your sister. [ The other part of the Hale pack, split into two to take care of the absolutely massive territory that the Hales had owned originally--Stiles had been in close contact with Laura and Cora Hale since he really took on the lupa mantle, and while some of it had been secret, he'd recently shown Derek the letters of correspondence. They were mostly with Cora, as the lupa of the pack in the north, and he was a little terrified of Laura. Derek spoke nothing but well of her (and occasionally exasperatedly), but she was still a Hale. Stiles hadn't exactly had the chance to get acquainted with the in-laws, so to speak.
He stumbles another step and grabs tighter into the wolf pelt, using it as a lifeline. ]
[ Derek's senses only know the smell of Stiles' blood, and it has him feeling absolutely wrecked because Stiles is hurt. Someone went after his mate with the intention of killing him, of killing his pack, and he would never have known until he came back from training the older faolan of the pack. He curls close, trying to ignore the trail of blood as he leads him along. ]
Rejoining the packs for a while wouldn't be a bad idea. [ And they could better defend themselves with his sisters helping them. It would mean leaving this portion of the territory for a while, but it would be better than trying to combat against hunters alone, those that saw them as just as monstrous as the stories of ghasts that drifted through the trees. Besides, it was probably time for Laura and Stiles to properly meet one another. Letters were one thing, which had been surprising yet absolutely not at all. ]
You're getting patched up before we talk further. [ His voice is a little strained, though remains soft, and he moves to open Deaton's tent. ]
[ He nods-- ] Yes, yeah, fixing--patched up sounds good. Really good. Getting squeamish from your own blood is like the weirdest feeling on the planet.
[ and stumbles through the tent following Derek, dropping down pretty quickly on the bed of furs in the middle of the room and letting the mild mannered healer get a look at him. Frankly, he knows he's not going to die and he's not planning on it anytime soon, but when Deaton peels off his shirt to expose the sickle of blood across his side, Stiles' hand moves out to find Derek's, long fingers crawling across the bed until he can hold his hand, tight as anything. ] 's not your fault.
[ Because he knows Derek. He knows that's exactly what he'll think. ] Technically you saved the day, because if you hadn't taught me how to use that stupid dirk I probably would have been dead in two seconds. [ And he grins a little stupidly, throwing his other arm over his eyes while Deaton works so he doesn't have to look. ] Because of my big mouth.
[ He refrains from commenting on the fact that he's never experienced that, and hasn't ever really experienced getting squeamish from blood. It's just part of the differences in the very different worlds they grew up in, and Derek will never fault Stiles for a weak stomach when it comes to blood. But seeing Stiles' makes him sick in a different way, and as Deaton welcomes them in-- almost as if he'd been preparing, of course-- he slowly feels that sickness loosening its hold on his insides.
Without hesitating, he settles next to the bedding, trying not to vibrate in place with nerves but failing a little. It's only when Stiles reaches out, curls his long fingers with his broad ones, he brings his other hand up and holds fast to him. Guilt is a heavy weight in him constantly, but especially now, even though he knows what Stiles says is the truth.
Bringing his hand up, he presses his lips to the back of Stiles' knuckles as Deaton cleans. ] Your big mouth has gotten us out of trouble just as much as it gets you into it. But you protected the pack.
[ For the majority of the cleaning thing, he holds himself well, just keeping his eyes closed and staying out of Deaton's way as much as possible--it doesn't hurt, at least not yet, and whether that's shock or just some weird wolf thing starting to rub off on him, he's not sure yet. So he just keeps his hold on Derek's hand, focusing on the warmth, the familiarity of the callouses in his palm. ] I did, huh.
[ This was his pack as much as it was Derek's--of course he did. Nothing had even occurred to him further when he challenged the woman. Stiles has a lot of questions about her, about the things she said, but those are better saved for later, maybe, or at least when Deaton doesn't have a needle in his side. He can feel Derek almost shaking beside him, and he tries to squeeze a little harder, a little more reassuring. ] Just goes to show, never discount the human, right?
[ When he start stitching it up though, slowly, he winces and hisses through his teeth, his grip tightening even more, until his nails leave white sickles in Derek's palm. ]
[ Exhaling, slow and a little shaky, Derek slowly lets himself come down from his own panic, the memories that sink their claws into him and refuse to leave. It's just a part of him now, has been for years now, but Stiles always knows how to push them away, even if he doesn't know what they are. He squeezes back gently, before bringing Stiles' hand forward to press to his chest, his other hand reaching to touch Stiles', smoothing over where he can feel that jackrabbit heartbeat. ]
You're not just a human, Stiles. [ His touch remains gentle, even as the lupa's becomes close to biting, and he rests his warm palm flat over pale skin, marked in stars and moonlight. ] You're a lupa of the Hale pack, and you've got a wolf's heart. Always have.
[ There hasn't been an ounce of doubt about Stiles' loyalty to the pack in months and months, not since when he first fell ill. His trust in him has just grown steadily since, and he knows he'll never falter when it comes to the people he calls his family now. ]
[ Whatever smart remark he was holding in dissipates as Deaton makes his way up, stitching through the biggest berth of the cut--Stiles screws his eyes shut and takes in a shuddering breath, muttering something about "you should have just knocked me out on the way here" under his breath. He keeps his hold on Derek's hand, lets his words wash over him and tries to focus on the steady thump of his heartbeat, and maybe it feels like the pain lessens a little, when Derek's touching him like that. Stiles has never been able to explain it and refuses to admit it's just love or something cheesy like that, but it feels--it feels better when he's got Derek nearby, when something's hurting and he can thread his fingers into his.
Finally, when he makes it around the wide part, the pain lessens a little more, and his grip softens. Stiles lifts his arm off his head for a second, then turns and looks at Derek just a little, mouth drawn up into a small smile. ] Fine, take away my credit for that, I see how it is.
[ Maybe the smart remark didn't disappear after all. ]
[ Snorting something soft and amused in response to the smart remark, he bows forward over Stiles with his hand braced on his chest. That heartbeat there is reassuring, same as the one in his palm, and he holds them as close as he possibly can. Because Derek is damn sure that he's finally found what he'd been chasing for years now, finally found the one thing that makes the dull ache that threatens to grow into a monster of its own go away.
His nose bumps into the upturn of Stiles', first, before he drops a kiss to the corner of his mouth and murmurs. ] Credit's all yours, moon of my life.
[ Stiles often gets a lot of biting remarks back, the easy banter between them just a constant to anyone that watches their interactions. But with his heart slowly being eased out of the vice grip that'd been holding it the moment he smelled blood, saw Stiles with his dirk and the body, thought of every wrong thing that could've happened? Well, something much softer leaves him instead. ]
[ His smile softens a little at the familiar nickname, the kiss, and he lets his eyes flutter shut again, as Deaton finishes the last stitch and ties it off. His hand, still gently curled against Derek's, tightens a little more, thumb brushing across his palm. Everything was safe, at least for now. He'd done his job taking care of the pack, and while there was a body to remove and an entire pack to shift, there'd been minimal harm and things were okay. It was a breath of relief for Stiles, and before Derek can properly pull away, he lifts his arm and rests his hand against Derek's cheek, holding it for a second until Deaton chides him that he could break his stitches. ] I've had enough excitement for a lifetime. The next murderous fight is all yours, my sun and stars.
[ Dropping his arm again, he sits up slowly and keeps his hold on his hand, letting Deaton wrap bandages around his torso and making a joking remark about how he's going to have to forgo sex for a while. It's nice to be sorta back to normal and make ridiculous commentary, right? ]
[ Closing his eyes and sitting there like that as Deaton finishes with his work, Derek breathes in, blatantly scenting as the smell of blood fades the slightest bit. It's not completely gone, but it's been washed away for the most part, and it's enough that he just savors the warm spice that lingers at the tail end of summer, the faint juniper that Stiles carries everywhere with him now. Stiles is safe, the pack is safe. The thought is his mantra, and he rubs his thumb across Stiles' hand before opening his eyes to look down at him with the touch to his cheek. ] In your honor.
[ With the joke, he moves to sit up with him, bracing his hand against the back of his shoulder to help him up. While Deaton bandages him up, sighing heavily at his commentary, the faoladh just laughs and knocks his forehead into his temple. ] If it means you won't rip open again.
I'll be sure to leave you a favor. [ He smiles a little in response, eyes twinkling with mischief, and Stiles carefully sits up, aided by both Derek and Deaton as they get the bandages around his waist. It's uncomfortable and it's gonna suck ass for the next forever, but it was worth it. ] I love you for your ability to kick ass when I boss you around.
[ That part's also definitely a joke, and he laughs a little as he sits there with his forehead to Derek's for a moment, his eyes fluttered shut and the picture of calm. He was going to need about a thousand drugs for pain later, but for now, the adrenaline's just barely worn off and he just wants to sleep forever. There's a dirty joke on his tongue and he glances at Derek with his mouth open and his eyebrows up before he hears Deaton clear his throat and he snaps it shut again. ] I'll try. No guarantees.
I'll treasure it forever. [ His fingers curl against his shoulder, gentle but firm to make sure he stays steady-- and also as further reassurance that he's there, he is-- and Derek tries to keep in a laugh at the second comment. It comes out, but he at least muffles it to a heavy chuff, eyes fully cleared of red and focused on that mischievous glint. ] The faoladh always has to listen to the lupa.
[ Tone obviously dry, because that's so far from the truth-- for as much as he really does listen to Stiles when he gets bossy-- he rubs his nose a little against him again, already thinking of how they're going to have to send out for more herbs before they begin to move. They need to get as much as they can to drug Stiles up, when they start moving, regardless of where they go.
A laugh startles out of him in response to Deaton clearing his throat and Stiles' mouth clicking shut again. ] You have a letter to write, anyways.
As it should be. [ By the time he's finished, Stiles looks down at Deatons handiwork. All in all, it looks like he's going to be out of commission, at least physically, for a week or so. But he's not bleeding to death and he's not in a ton of pain, so Stiles is just gonna chalk that one up as a win.
His brown eyes track between Deaton and Derek, like he's considering the possibilities. ] We can't go anywhere until Maria has her baby. And even then, someone'll have to go out and get poppies to make milk so she doesn't get sick on the journey, and the baby'll have to be in good shape, too. There's a field of poppies like ten miles down the way, past the jagged face, so if someone goes out that way and gets them, by the time she's prepped we should be ready to go. [ But he stops and looks at Derek, wide brown eyes blinking at him. ]
[ A wolfish huff leaves him at that, but he certainly doesn't argue. Instead, Derek reaches out to gently set his fingers against the bandaging, making sure to keep it below the actual injury itself to keep from provoking it any. His other hand still keeps hold of Stiles', focusing on that touch as he listens to Stiles speak. ]
The weather's been fair so far, so the field should yield a good count and the baby will be strong. [ There's no doubt on that one. Too many horrible things happen in his life, he doesn't risk jinxing others around him when there's no call for it. Words have power, after all, and so does the belief in them. But he looks to Deaton, who lets out a thoughtful hum and murmurs "I'll call her in" from where he goes back to gathering the dirtied materials he used.
Meanwhile, the faoladh raises his brows, briefly transfixed by those big browns of Stiles'. (He will never get over them, and he knows it.) ] To Laura. Regardless of how the rest of the pack handles the prospect of moving, we need to get in touch with her as soon as possible. God knows how long it might take.
[ He nods, pondering the couple in question, and the baby--it's been a while since any new kids were born into the pack, and every new faolan was a blessing, out here in the cold. ] It'll be fine.
[ It has to be, comes unspoken. The last thing they need is another complication. They'll have to get moving as soon as possible, and Stiles nods his gratitude at Deaton as he gets up, chewing his bottom lip. ]
You want me to write to Laura? [ His eyebrows go up, though, matching Derek's. ] Are you just saying that because you don't want to deal with her?
[ Stiles has only really spoken to Cora so far, and he's a little scared of Laura, to be honest. Some of the stories Derek tells about her are terrifying. ] Alri-iight, but if she says no, that's so on you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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--
no subject
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.
no subject
He still doesn't look towards the crumpled body beyond them, his eyes scanning across Stiles' face instead, sparked red in response to blood and panic. But it starts to ease, slowly, because his lupa-- injured though he may be-- is safe. Mate and pack are safe, instincts reassure, and he just reaches his hands forward to curl them around Stiles' jaw, cradling his face and drawing him closer to press his lips to his brow. ]
You're bleeding, you need to see Deaton. [ His fingers curl, thumbs sweeping across his cheeks as he closes his eyes tightly, tries not to think about every worse case scenario that could've happened. Could've resulted in him coming back to a destroyed pack for a second time. ]
no subject
Are you okay? Are the faolan okay? [ Which is the real concern here. He was worried she might have had friends, if she was just waiting for the weakest moment in the pack to strike. Stiles had heard stories about what happened to the pack before this one, and there was no way in hell he was gonna let it happen again.
Absently, some of the things she said--about Derek, about her, and about Stiles himself--echo in his head, and he tamps them down, pushes away any doubt she was trying to put in his head. ]
no subject
[ Pulling back to look at him, but barely leaving much space, he lets himself feel a little soothed with his words and touch. If there's anyone else out there, surrounding their encampment, then they've yet to show themselves. As far as he could tell, he and the faolan were alone out there. He'll have to call back the scouting party. ] We're all fine. Nothing happened.
[ He bumps his nose into Stiles', drawing his hand away from his face slowly with the intent to start directing him towards Deaton's tent. But part of him knows that he should tend to the issue of an interloper coming to his pack with the intent to harm, even if Stiles tore the life out of them. ]
no subject
Or maybe that's just his ribs, because when Derek moves away a little to head to Deaton's, Stiles stumbles and the whole world goes topsy-turvy, and he grabs onto Derek's cloak to try and steady himself. ] Whoa-oohh, gods. She was trying to--get us at our weakest, I guess.
no subject
[ There's some bite to his tone, as he thinks on what that implies. And they were completely unaware, leaving him to wonder how long she'd been watching them, from where, had she been following them all the way up until they'd settled down in their current location. He swallows thickly, tense to the point that it seems the hackles of his pelt have bristled as if alive, as if responding to his mood. ]
no subject
D'you think we should move? [ Move territory. They've shifted around for the seasons before, following game when needed. It wouldn't be hard, but it could involve a lot of politics that Stiles--well, Stiles would be ready to argue it for them. He was at least sort of settled in this whole "lupa with power" thing--before he could challenge people, and now he could do it with authority. It was kind of awesome.
He can feel the fur shift under his hand, because Stiles feels it bristle too, and almost instinctively, his hand strokes over it a little. ]
no subject
Considering his question, he seems to settle the slightest bit with his touch again, eyes forward as he thinks. He knows there will be dissent amongst the pack if they announce plans on moving, but at the same time... If there's a risk to the pack, there's a risk to the younger wolves that can't fight, or shift, and the expecting mother who has enough fears of delivering in the midst of the North. Dealing with crossing into another pack's territory, most of which know the Hale name and sigil, sounds safer than dealing with hunters on their trail. ] I think we should consider it heavily.
[ Better to quell dissent with two alphas laying down the law than it is to risk someone getting hurt again, or worse. ]
no subject
We could...your sister. [ The other part of the Hale pack, split into two to take care of the absolutely massive territory that the Hales had owned originally--Stiles had been in close contact with Laura and Cora Hale since he really took on the lupa mantle, and while some of it had been secret, he'd recently shown Derek the letters of correspondence. They were mostly with Cora, as the lupa of the pack in the north, and he was a little terrified of Laura. Derek spoke nothing but well of her (and occasionally exasperatedly), but she was still a Hale. Stiles hadn't exactly had the chance to get acquainted with the in-laws, so to speak.
He stumbles another step and grabs tighter into the wolf pelt, using it as a lifeline. ]
no subject
Rejoining the packs for a while wouldn't be a bad idea. [ And they could better defend themselves with his sisters helping them. It would mean leaving this portion of the territory for a while, but it would be better than trying to combat against hunters alone, those that saw them as just as monstrous as the stories of ghasts that drifted through the trees. Besides, it was probably time for Laura and Stiles to properly meet one another. Letters were one thing, which had been surprising yet absolutely not at all. ]
You're getting patched up before we talk further. [ His voice is a little strained, though remains soft, and he moves to open Deaton's tent. ]
no subject
[ and stumbles through the tent following Derek, dropping down pretty quickly on the bed of furs in the middle of the room and letting the mild mannered healer get a look at him. Frankly, he knows he's not going to die and he's not planning on it anytime soon, but when Deaton peels off his shirt to expose the sickle of blood across his side, Stiles' hand moves out to find Derek's, long fingers crawling across the bed until he can hold his hand, tight as anything. ] 's not your fault.
[ Because he knows Derek. He knows that's exactly what he'll think. ] Technically you saved the day, because if you hadn't taught me how to use that stupid dirk I probably would have been dead in two seconds. [ And he grins a little stupidly, throwing his other arm over his eyes while Deaton works so he doesn't have to look. ] Because of my big mouth.
no subject
Without hesitating, he settles next to the bedding, trying not to vibrate in place with nerves but failing a little. It's only when Stiles reaches out, curls his long fingers with his broad ones, he brings his other hand up and holds fast to him. Guilt is a heavy weight in him constantly, but especially now, even though he knows what Stiles says is the truth.
Bringing his hand up, he presses his lips to the back of Stiles' knuckles as Deaton cleans. ] Your big mouth has gotten us out of trouble just as much as it gets you into it. But you protected the pack.
no subject
[ This was his pack as much as it was Derek's--of course he did. Nothing had even occurred to him further when he challenged the woman. Stiles has a lot of questions about her, about the things she said, but those are better saved for later, maybe, or at least when Deaton doesn't have a needle in his side. He can feel Derek almost shaking beside him, and he tries to squeeze a little harder, a little more reassuring. ] Just goes to show, never discount the human, right?
[ When he start stitching it up though, slowly, he winces and hisses through his teeth, his grip tightening even more, until his nails leave white sickles in Derek's palm. ]
no subject
You're not just a human, Stiles. [ His touch remains gentle, even as the lupa's becomes close to biting, and he rests his warm palm flat over pale skin, marked in stars and moonlight. ] You're a lupa of the Hale pack, and you've got a wolf's heart. Always have.
[ There hasn't been an ounce of doubt about Stiles' loyalty to the pack in months and months, not since when he first fell ill. His trust in him has just grown steadily since, and he knows he'll never falter when it comes to the people he calls his family now. ]
no subject
Finally, when he makes it around the wide part, the pain lessens a little more, and his grip softens. Stiles lifts his arm off his head for a second, then turns and looks at Derek just a little, mouth drawn up into a small smile. ] Fine, take away my credit for that, I see how it is.
[ Maybe the smart remark didn't disappear after all. ]
no subject
His nose bumps into the upturn of Stiles', first, before he drops a kiss to the corner of his mouth and murmurs. ] Credit's all yours, moon of my life.
[ Stiles often gets a lot of biting remarks back, the easy banter between them just a constant to anyone that watches their interactions. But with his heart slowly being eased out of the vice grip that'd been holding it the moment he smelled blood, saw Stiles with his dirk and the body, thought of every wrong thing that could've happened? Well, something much softer leaves him instead. ]
no subject
[ Dropping his arm again, he sits up slowly and keeps his hold on his hand, letting Deaton wrap bandages around his torso and making a joking remark about how he's going to have to forgo sex for a while. It's nice to be sorta back to normal and make ridiculous commentary, right? ]
no subject
[ With the joke, he moves to sit up with him, bracing his hand against the back of his shoulder to help him up. While Deaton bandages him up, sighing heavily at his commentary, the faoladh just laughs and knocks his forehead into his temple. ] If it means you won't rip open again.
no subject
[ That part's also definitely a joke, and he laughs a little as he sits there with his forehead to Derek's for a moment, his eyes fluttered shut and the picture of calm. He was going to need about a thousand drugs for pain later, but for now, the adrenaline's just barely worn off and he just wants to sleep forever. There's a dirty joke on his tongue and he glances at Derek with his mouth open and his eyebrows up before he hears Deaton clear his throat and he snaps it shut again. ] I'll try. No guarantees.
no subject
[ Tone obviously dry, because that's so far from the truth-- for as much as he really does listen to Stiles when he gets bossy-- he rubs his nose a little against him again, already thinking of how they're going to have to send out for more herbs before they begin to move. They need to get as much as they can to drug Stiles up, when they start moving, regardless of where they go.
A laugh startles out of him in response to Deaton clearing his throat and Stiles' mouth clicking shut again. ] You have a letter to write, anyways.
no subject
His brown eyes track between Deaton and Derek, like he's considering the possibilities. ] We can't go anywhere until Maria has her baby. And even then, someone'll have to go out and get poppies to make milk so she doesn't get sick on the journey, and the baby'll have to be in good shape, too. There's a field of poppies like ten miles down the way, past the jagged face, so if someone goes out that way and gets them, by the time she's prepped we should be ready to go. [ But he stops and looks at Derek, wide brown eyes blinking at him. ]
A letter?
no subject
The weather's been fair so far, so the field should yield a good count and the baby will be strong. [ There's no doubt on that one. Too many horrible things happen in his life, he doesn't risk jinxing others around him when there's no call for it. Words have power, after all, and so does the belief in them. But he looks to Deaton, who lets out a thoughtful hum and murmurs "I'll call her in" from where he goes back to gathering the dirtied materials he used.
Meanwhile, the faoladh raises his brows, briefly transfixed by those big browns of Stiles'. (He will never get over them, and he knows it.) ] To Laura. Regardless of how the rest of the pack handles the prospect of moving, we need to get in touch with her as soon as possible. God knows how long it might take.
no subject
[ It has to be, comes unspoken. The last thing they need is another complication. They'll have to get moving as soon as possible, and Stiles nods his gratitude at Deaton as he gets up, chewing his bottom lip. ]
You want me to write to Laura? [ His eyebrows go up, though, matching Derek's. ] Are you just saying that because you don't want to deal with her?
[ Stiles has only really spoken to Cora so far, and he's a little scared of Laura, to be honest. Some of the stories Derek tells about her are terrifying. ] Alri-iight, but if she says no, that's so on you.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)