yodas-yo-yo:

Hey! Still working my way through these prompts, so sorry that this took a while, thanks for the awesome prompt. This is BAMF!Stiles who rescues injured!Derek, but then Derek has to take care of him a little too. With a side order of snark– oh… and there’s only one bed! Hope you enjoy!

Cradling his stomach, Derek can feel the slipperiness of something he doesn’t want to even think about, something that definitely shouldn’t be on the outside, now clutched in the curl of his fists as he tries to hold it in. He doesn’t need to look down to know his hands are slick with his own blood. His breath comes out in short, stabbing gasps, chest burning, water leaking from his eyes as he scrunches them tight shut, his whole body curled over to protect himself.

He can smell them on the wind. Cheap cologne, tobacco and liquor– nitroglycerin and wolfsbane.

Fucking hunters. Fucking hollow point bullets.

His skin feels too tight, he wants to scream. Needs to howl. But he’s deep in the preserve, the pack are miles away and he’s all alone. He staggers forward on shaky legs as another bullet zings past him and takes a chunk out of a nearby tree. Derek throws himself to the ground arms still wrapped tight around his midsection and tries to hide in a nearby thicket, scrabbling back on his haunches until his back hits the rough bark of a tree.

There’s nothing he can do, he can feel the wolfsbane seeping into his system, fucking with his head, his co-ordination, his ability to heal. Any minute now he’s going to lose consciousness and then it’s game over.

Then the hunters win.

Wincing, he lets go of his stomach long enough to reach into the pocket of his jeans with one hand and ease his phone out. If this is it. If it’s all over for him now, there’s only one person he wants to reach out to.

Another bullet zips past him, and he hears the sound of heavy footsteps clomping towards him, treading down bracken and crunching through leaves and twigs.

One of the bastards starts to hum, it takes Derek a second to recognize the tune: who’s afraid of the big bad wolf.

Fuckers.

Hand trembling violently he swipes through his contacts until he finds who he’s looking for and begins to type out a message. As the footsteps get closer still he inhales shakily, staring down at it, then hits send.

With nothing but the sound of his own shallow breathing and the blood rushing in his ears he looks up. Five hunters tower over him. Their leader, a heavy set man with dirty blond hair, grins nastily and raises his gun.

“Any last words?”

“Fuck you,” Derek hisses and closes his eyes.

Next moment there’s a crack, a sickening tear, a sound like the fabric of reality is literally being ripped in two, and the smell of sulfur rises on the air. Derek’s eyes fly open, in time to see the hunters turn as one to face the source of the noise, their guns raised.

He tries to lift his head, to get one last glimpse, but he can’t, the world is closing in and the last thing Derek hears as he tips over the edge into unconsciousness is a familiar voice snarling, “Surprise motherfuckers.”

There’s the sound of a loud explosion, gunfire, and after that, Derek doesn’t remember anything else.

–

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