Chapter 3

Stiles doesn't feel the adrenaline start to abate until Allison drives passed the wrought iron gates that mark the property of the abandoned church they've commandeered as their home away from home. An abandoned church quite covered in what Stiles like to call S.E.P. wards, because he's partially convinced you need an extra tongue to pronounce the real name and partially just because it makes Erica laugh.

When he, Lydia and Danny were first laying the wards down he bemoaned the fact that Derek was so anti hotels, it wasn't like they didn't have the money, but as they come to a stop and Scott throws the back door open and floods the interior with harsh lights, Stiles is quite glad they don't have to worry about any prying eyes because it looks like a murder scene.

Jackson and Boyd fill the opening of the back door once Scott jumps out.

"Well, your night was apparently much more exciting than ours." Jackson pauses with a significant look at the bloodied interior and then continues with, "I'm so not getting this interior redone, again. I say we just set it on fire and get a new one."

Isaac leans on Jackson as he stumbles out of the back, trying not to trample Peter. "We found Peter. So exciting and productive."

"And you brought a guest."

Stiles looks up from where he's trying to drag two hundred pounds of unconscious, but thankfully no longer bleeding, werewolf towards the door, to see Boyd staring towards the front of the vehicle.

And how the hell he'd forgotten about the cop they kidnapped, he'll never know. He's going to blame it on the nightmare inducing shrapnel excavation that involved him sticking practically his whole hand inside Derek's side.

He really looks at the cop. The man's face is starting to turn an impressive purple where Isaac bounced it off the concrete and he's holding his right arm protectively against his chest. But there is a defiant spark trying to cover the fear in his eyes and Stiles has got to give him credit for that.

"I don't want to be an inconvenience. I'll just find my own way home." And he sort of inches towards the side door, but flinches when Danny swings it open and blocks his intended escape.

"Hey, Boyd, come give me a hand, will ya?"

And Stile feels a sharp curl of guilt wind through his insides at the sudden apprehension on the cop's face. It's not his fault, he was just doing his job, a job that puts his life on the line to protect people. So when Boyd passes by him, he grabs his arm.

"He is a guest." And there's enough seriousness in his voice that Boyd's eyebrows raise. "I'm serious, feed him, get him comfortable, search him if it makes you feel better and of course watch him, but he's not an enemy."

"Alright."

Stiles lets go of Boyd's arm and then gets caught up in the chaos that is seven people trying to get two unconscious and bloody werewolves out of the back of the SUV and into the church.

The story of the church is a rather sad one. Young and small, they'd been having regular service in it for only eight months before it was found out that the man in charge of the finances had been dipping his hands into the collection plates and neglecting to pay any of the bills. By the time he was found out, the little church was so far in debt foreclosure on the building was unavoidable.

Everything that could be sold off, was, except for the really old, really ugly couch they found in the small apartment tucked behind the offices. The had dragged the couch into the empty sanctuary, it was incredibly comfortable no matter what it looked like, and set up a few blowup mattresses and a folding table and chairs and declared it home sweet away from home. Sad for the church, but rather convenient for the pack.

Danny had gotten the water and electricity turned back on in a way that Stiles wasn't going to look too deeply into, and the wards kept them from being noticed.

Stiles strips out of his bloodied shirt, declaring it a loss, before turning to where Scott and Isaac hold a slightly more awake Derek upright. They have procedures for situations like this. If they had been home they'd all be in the mud room with the shower heads and the drains to wash away all the blood, but he just catches the pack of baby wipes Allison throws his way and tries not to think about the blood already drying under his fingernails.

There is a shower in the apartment where they found the couch, but it's so small one person barely fits in it, and while Derek's eyes are blinking lazily at him, he's in no condition to stand on his own yet.

Derek's shirt is in tatters where Stiles already cut it so it doesn't take much to get it off of him. The blood makes it look worse than it is and as Stiles runs the baby wipes over Derek's skin he's glad to see the skin's already knitted back together. Within the hour there probably won't even be a scar left.

He's got a sizable pile of bloody wipes on the ground beside them when he drops down to get Derek's boots off. Allison drops a shirt and pair of sweatpants at his side before continuing on to where Jackson, Erica and Lydia are getting Peter out of his bloody clothes.

Getting Derek's jeans off isn't even an awkward endeavor anymore. The blood really makes the whole nudity thing a none issue and Stiles has done this particular dance with every member of the pack at least once. That's not even counting the time Stiles has been stripped down himself to get to an injury.

Stiles gets the rest of the blood off and dresses Derek in the sweatpants. The shirt's a little more difficult but Scott and Isaac have done this a time or two and soon enough Derek no longer looks like a murder victim. As they're supporting him over to one of the mattresses, Allison appears at his side with a black trash bag.

She bends down to shove the bloodied clothes and wipes into the bag. "Pants."

Stiles blinks at her. "Huh?"

She arches an eyebrow at him. "Your pants. Unless you're going to start a new trend, serial killer chic or something."

Stiles grins as he unbuttons the blood splattered jeans. "Think it would catch on?"

Allison just laughs at him and holds a hand out for him to drop the jeans in. It's a little cold in the church in just his socks and boxers, and he really needs a shower.

Stiles heads first to where they've laid out Peter. He crouches next to the mattress and puts his ear to Peter's chest, listening to the in and out of his breathing. It sounds clear, and then it hitches and Stiles tilts his head to see Peter staring back at him. They freeze for a second and then Peter dips his head in a sort of thanks that Stiles knows he'll never hear verbally. Stiles just pats his chest as he rises in response.

"Get some sleep."

There's another moment where Stiles is sure Peter is going to say something, but he just closes his eyes and so Stiles makes his way to where Derek's laid out with Isaac pressed up against his side.

He bounces a little when his knees hit the mattress and Isaac whines before hiding his face further in the undamaged part of Derek's side, his right arm thrown across Derek's stomach. He peels Isaac's arm away so he can get at where the gaping hole of a wound was less than an hour ago. It's just a patch of slightly reddened skin now.

Derek catches his wrist as he goes to prod at it again. "No poking."

Stiles can't help but grin. "Hey, I pulled a giant piece of metal out of your side, I get poking privileges. And wow, that sounded a lot less innuendo filled in my head. Must be the trauma of bathing in your blood has finally broken my brain. But seriously, how fast does your body replenish your blood supply because it must have hit an artery or something going in, and I'm amazed you've still got enough for your heart to pump. Happy, don't get me wrong, but still amazed."

There's a twitch at the corner of Derek's mouth and Stiles' is counting that as a smile. "Thanks."

Stiles shrugs. "It's not like I was going to let you die or anything. I mean, I even kept Peter alive." The hand around Stiles wrist tightens for a beat. "This whole thing has gotten a hell of a lot more complicated, hasn't it?"

Derek makes a low noise in his throat, before looking past Stiles. "Speaking of complications, you may want to save your stray from Boyd…or Boyd from your stray, I'm not sure."

Stiles looks over his shoulder to see Boyd trying to hand off a sandwich to the cop who is seated on the couch and pressed into the corner like he is trying to go unnoticed.

"Isaac brought him home, he's Isaac's stray."

"Dude, I killed my goldfish." Isaac doesn't even pick his head up to make this declaration.

Stiles and Derek shoot identical disbelieving looks at the top of his head. Stiles recovers first, wiping a hand over his face and shaking his head. "Ugh, I need a shower."

"I wasn't going to say anything…"

"Shut up, it's your blood."

Derek huffs a laugh before yanking on the wrist he still has in his grip. Stile bends down willingly, his free hand coming up to settle on Isaac's head. They hold there for a minute, Stiles forehead resting against Derek's shoulder, Isaac's hand sneaking back across Derek's stomach to rest an open palm against Stiles' side. He breathes out and feels the last of the tension, the last of the gut wrenching fear that he was going to watch one of his die, fade from his muscles.

It's enough to energize him into moving. He leans back on the balls of his feet, Derek's fingers slipping away from his wrist. "Alright. I'll go talk to the cop, even though I have no clue what I'm going to say. 'Don't worry we're probably not going to kill you.'?" He shakes his head. "Then shower then food, Or food then shower. Or maybe shower and food."

"Can I make a suggestion before you talk to the cop?" Isaac is peering up at him through one half opened eye.

"What?"

"Put some pants on."

XXX

He has seen enough crime scenes that they've lost most of their shock value. Except, it turns out, when they're personal. The spill of blood, the abandoned gun, the scorch marks in the concrete. They all seem to add up to more than the sum of their parts and Gibbs is having a hard time looking for the pieces because he's afraid what the picture is going to be once he's finished.

"They would not have taken a dead body." Ziva's voice is controlled, calculated in a way that tells Gibbs she doesn't trust herself right now, with two dead bodies being loaded into the coroners' van and one of their own missing.

Gibbs knows the feeling. "We are going to find him." And he doesn't say it like a promise, but as a fact, as sure as he knows the sun will rise in the east tomorrow.

Chapter 4

Tony is no longer terrified that they are going to put a bullet in his skull anytime soon, even if Stilinski's reassurances that they weren't going to hurt him were slightly marred by the fact that he was mostly naked with dried blood still under his fingernails and a mouthful of sandwich. Which is a bit alarming, but mostly he's just confused.

Well, confused and exhausted and aching now that the adrenaline has left his body. He can actually feel his cheek pulsing in tune with his heartbeat and he can't lift his right arm at the shoulder more than a few inches. He had discovered that as they strip searched him. At least they let him keep his boxers and undershirt. He is sitting on the ugliest couch he had ever had the misfortune to set eyes on, though it's surprisingly comfortable, wrapped in a bright pink, puffy blanket. He'd feel underdressed, but they don't really seem to be concerned about modesty around here.

And the here…the here is an abandoned church dressed up like a clubhouse, with sleeping bags and blow up mattresses and a mini fridge. He's been trying to put names to all the faces and he's got most of them, even if he's still not sure how they're all connected. Hale's clearly the leader, and while Isaac, the brat responsible for Tony's current pain, started off curled up next to him, an hour later he was replaced by a blonde Tony still hasn't gotten a name for and then Scott, who Tony had been sure had a thing with the cool headed driver, collapsed down on the other side of Hale. It could just be a case of limited sleeping spaces but there was an empty mattress Scott could have taken across the room.

Tony's still not restrained, though if he so much as twitches someone glares at him until he stops. He doesn't really have any grand escape plans in mind, but considering his resources he feels like he can't be found at fault for that though. All in all it's not the worst situation he's ever found himself in.

With that disturbing thought, he closes his eyes and tries to get some sleep. Rule 20, Sleep when you get the chance, because your next chance might be 36 hours later.

He doesn't know how long he's slept before shrill ringing jerks him awake. Blinking through the tears of pain, good lord does his shoulder hurt, he notices that someone turned half the lights out, casting the room in long shadows as people untangle themselves from blankets.

The ringing stops and an annoyed voice answers, "What?"

Tony's eyes' have adjusted enough to make out Peter with the phone to his ear, he's looking remarkably healthy if sleep mussed, and Hale, who also looks remarkably healthy, picking his way through the mattresses and people between them.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me…My fault? How…" Tony doesn't know if it's agitation or Hale's looming form that's got Peter scrambling to his feet, but boy the look on his face could curdle milk.

"Jacob McKenzie was supposed to be dead Two. Weeks. Ago. Instead I walk into my hotel room and find Alex laid out like a present in my bed with her heart cut out. Emily. Nathan. Eddie. All dead. And you want to pin this on me?" Tony matches names to autopsy pictures and tries to get an eye on everybody to see if they are all distracted enough an escape attempt is even laughably possible. He's located everyone except Isaac…

"Derek might actually kill him this time, like permanently."

…who has snuck up behind him and is now leaning against the back of the couch.

"Someone should put a bell on you," Tony manages after blinking back more tears of pain.

"It's been suggested." Scott, still scrubbing sleep out of his eyes, pushes Tony's feet off one side of the couch and collapses on it.

Isaac opens his mouth to reply but laughter echoes around the room and cuts him off. Tony feels chills run down his neck because that's maniac laugh number three, and Peter sounds like he's practiced.

"You think I still want any part of this? Killing Jacob isn't going to be enough. With Alex gone, Kyle is all set to step right into Daddy's shoes and with fifteen…oh I'm sorry fourteen, I killed one of them last night, newly turned little minions I'm not thinking this is going to end any way that you'd like it to. It's going to be messy, and while I generally don't mind messy, you no longer have anything that I want."

Peter had been mostly ignoring Hale up until this point, but whatever, whoever on the other end of that phone line says has him looking up at Hale and taking a reflexive step back. "No, I'm pretty sure that bridge has been thoroughly burned, more than once actually. My end game is still the same, I'm just no longer looking in this market."

Peter's face hardens. "You can try, I suppose. Just remember, that while I am my sister's brother, I don't have nearly the kind nature she did. Nor, as I said, do I mind messy." Tony doesn't like the smile that spreads across Peter's face. "Glad we could see eye to eye on this, now if you don't mind I have an irate nephew that I…" Peter pauses before looking around Hale and locks eyes with Tony. "The Fed? Yes, we have him…Alive? Yup…. No." There's a pause and then Peter jerks his gaze back to Hale.

"That was a poor choice of words." Peter's face does this thing like he can't believe there are actually people this stupid. "Because my nephew has a noble streak…I don't think he really cares about your standard procedures…or your threats." Peter rolls his eyes so hard Tony's surprised they don't fall out of his head. "I'm hanging up now."

Peter barely lowers the phone from his ear before Hale opens his mouth, and by judging by the look on his face it's going to be one hell of a rant. But Peter stalls him with a, "Do we really want to have this discussion in front of our guest?"

Tony's actually getting sympathy pains from how hard Hale is grinding his teeth. "What I really want is to beat you to death with your own arm."

"That could be fun to watch."

"Lydia, I thought we'd gotten past all that. It's been years…"

"My laptop. Last week." If looks could kill Peter would be a smear on the floor right about now. To his credit, he looks like he is trying for innocent. It doesn't look like anyone is buying it.

"What he'd do to her laptop?" Isaac stage whispers between Scott and Tony's heads.

But Hale is apparently done. "Enough! Scott, Allison, Stiles and Danny with me and Peter. Jackson, Lydia, Boyd and Erica make sure we're still invisible. Isaac, babysit our guest." They all move without question.

Tony swallows as Hale levels his glare at him, but doesn't look away. If he's reading this right, Hale's actually on the not-killing Tony side of things and feels like he needs to prove he's worth the hassle.

That lasts until a deck of cards is shoved in his face, making him go cross eyed.

"Wanna play Go Fish?"

Weirdest. Kidnapping. Ever.

AN- Chapter 3 and 4 going up together...I just want to thank everyone for reviewing and reading this story. 2013 was a rough year and writing wasn't really a priority, but every time I got a notice that someone reviewed it made me feel all fuzzy :)