Ones Who Run

Summary: Could be counted as three drabbles slightly joined together or it could be a story. Stiles doesn't seem to notice that Derek likes him so Scott tries to help out. Spoilers up to the end of season 2?

Warnings: bit angsty, rated M, Slash male on male,blood,gore,

A/N: Didn't get many reviews for the last chapter which upset me as you know I don't normally write stuff like that, obviously I didn't do that great. This chapter , I don't know it sort of seems to be coming out of my ass plot wise. Not much love in this chapter…it's sort of dark. Hope you enjoy.

Derek's POV

As I stared through his slightly ajar window, I looked over his curled up form wrapped in a thin blanket. His face was slightly scrunched in discomfort as it lay on the squishy white pillow .His mere proximity gave me the most peculiar sensation, like the kind of heat sent out when a log shatters to ash in a fire yet his scent was different, something was off...he smelt of other wolves! Not the Betas...Alphas.
I pounced through the window, nearly breaking the glass and the hinges, and onto his small single bed, frightening the boy awake as my body caused the mattress to dip and the bed to creak, probably even crack a little. His golden brown eyes were wide as I looked into them my eyes red and fangs showing. His gripped at my shoulders tightly his finger nails digging into my skin like that of an animals as he tried to keep me at arms length. Failed.

"Who did this to you?" I growled as gripped his pale face twisting and turning it to get a better look at the bruises and cuts. The young boy whimpered below me as tears strolled down his face. I was hurting him. Scaring him. I retreated from where I was leant over him and stopped when my back hit the wall. The rising sun rays coming from the open window, the wind blowing the curtains softly, highlighted his stature; the purple bruises shaped like high heels ran all along his rib cage.
"Stiles" I whispered my voice uncharacteristically soft and calming, trying to soothe the boy. " .This?"

Stiles didn't say anything just sat there clutching the blanket to his body tightly, readjusting his clothing as he silently sobbed. I crept towards him placing a chaste kiss on his forehead before I whispered

"See a Doctor...please" against his skin. And then like that with anger boiling inside me I left. Determined to find the culprits. To hurt them like they hurt my mate to get to me. Mine.

Dangerous. It was dangerous for me to knock on the Argents door at about five in the morning; they probably wouldn't take nicely to a werewolf waking them up. But still it was important. Chris Argent opened the door, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before he scowled at me.

"I need your help" I demanded, a hint of desperation uncontrollably in my voice. His eyebrows twisted in confusion.
"With a war...against the Alphas, this is our territory"

/.../

Stiles began his morning ritual of ;one having a cold shower(even though the cold water running over his wounds hurt like a knife twisting inside him), None of his limbs or joints were pleased when he rolled over, sat up, or breathe. In the shower, the water hurt. The soap hurt, when he tried to scrub his head with shampoo, he accidentally pressed his fingertips into the left side of his skull which produced a bolt of agony that nearly put him on his knees.

Drying, Stiles looked in the mirror. The upper left side of his face, one half of the eye included, was purple marble. The only part that wasn't purple was the part that was covered in black sutures.

He'd barely moved - a minor shift of weight, nothing more-but his kneecap felt like he'd swung the claw end of a hammer into it.

Two, making a healthy breakfast for his father and himself (even if his father wanted bacon), which today consisted of a Herbed Egg White and Spinach Omelet (delicious). He began by mixing the egg whites, milk and herbs in a small blue bowl. Coating a frying pan with low fat oil. Heating it on low heat. Adding chopped spinach. As it wilts, he poured egg white mixture over the spinach and allowed it to set around the edges. As the edges set, lift them gently with a spatula and tipped the pan to allow the remaining liquid underneath. When the egg whites are set, he sprinkled the cheese on top, and then folded the omelet in half. Leaving it steaming on the table for his father with a tea towel and cutlery.

Three, exercising (push ups, sit up etc) …I hurt like a bitch to do it. But it felt determined to do it, hell, he just got beaten up by werewolves ,yet again, he needed to be able to defend himself.

And lastly getting reading for school at the first sign of dawn (and not forgetting to take his Adderall), today though he wasn't going to go to school. It was unusual for him to be up this early but since the happenings of last night and that Derek barged into his room and manhandled him (yet again) he couldn't get back to sleep. Being haunted by the torture and pain he was put through. He tried not to think about his dream/reality. Normally he ate with his father (depending on his shift) but he didn't want to explain this too his father…not yet. So he lied. Again.

When his father knock on the door before opening it slowly, he gave him a questioning gaze at why he was lay in bed with the covers over him when earlier he had heard him making breakfast.
"You getting up?" Sheriff Stilinski asked with concern.
"Dad…I don't feel well enough to go to school today." Stiles whined, praying internally that his dad wouldn't press on, hoping he got the message.

His dad didn't press on; he didn't believe him, but all the lies that fell out of his son's mouth nowadays he didn't know if he would ever get the truth. His son still had humour but he could see it dying away, worrying when you're a parent is imminent but it seemed with Stiles that he was worrying too much but then again how would he know when he has no one to consult with? He could talk to Mellissa but it wasn't the same…he missed his wife, the mother to his child, his anchor. And now all that was left was Stiles, and he wished with all his might he could protect his son from everything but he just seemed to run into trouble.

The door closed lightly, it was quiet for a few seconds before Stiles heard the foot steps die down as his father walked away from his room and down stairs to eat the breakfast prepared for him. Stiles rolled over and buried his face in the crook of his arm with a heavy sigh. He hated lying to his dad, who tried so hard to deal with him. He knew what his hallucination of his father said was true…he was killing his father like he did his mother.

Stiles lay on his bed silently just concentrating on his breathing, his covers discarded on the floor in a bundle, like he had for the past hour. His father had said his goodbyes before he went to work and Stiles had gotten many texts from his friends. Scott mostly, asking why he wasn't at school and announcing that he would pop in after school. Even Lydia and Jackson wondering where he was. But in the last fifteen minutes Stiles hadn't even looked at his phone, he just ignored the constant ringing and little high pitched noise it made when he got a text message. When he looked at the screen he noticed some thing unusual. 5 missed calls. From his Dad. Was he hurt? Or did the officer from the morning talk to him?

.Bing Three text messages in less than a minute, He'd never been so popular.

'Stiles, we need to talk. I got told some very terrifying news and we need to discuss this.'-Dad
'Why aren't you answering your phone, I'm not going to shout at you'-Dad
'Come to the station please! I can't leave work there's been an accident but we need to talk'-Dad

A pathetic sob left Stiles' throat as he read the messages from his soon to be hysterical father. Where was Derek when he needed him? He was meant to be his boyfriend, right? They hadn't talk about what it was but it was some sort of relationship, right?

Stiles felt physically sick, he felt it clumped at the back of his throat threatening to make its way out. He scrambled to the bathroom not wanting to have to clean up puke off of his bed. As he clung to the porcelain waiting for his food to climb back up and out of his throat he started to feel dizzy. The next thing he knew it was dark and his head hurt even more as it hit the tiled flooring.

Cold. Everything felt really cold, he didn't feel like he was on his bathroom tiles anymore…it felt like leaves. His honeydew brown eyes took awhile to adjust to the lighting difference. He was outside. With a grunt he sat himself up, his hands gripped the leaves and mud got under his fingernails. How'd he get here? He inspected his surroundings. The trees were miles high with many leaves, there were many different species. The woods. He was near the Hale house he suspected. But how? He fainted and now he was here…in the woods...in the dark…in just his grey pyjama trousers and his red hoodie, that were both very dirty now. The young boy wobbled to his feet, wiping his clothes off when he got his balance. Ready to assess the situation and try to figure out what was going on he began to tiptoe threw the leaf litter, wince every once in awhile because he stood on sticks and twigs and he had nothing on his sensitive human feet.

It was too quiet, Stiles couldn't hear the owls, birds or any other animal. All he heard was the wind. Horror movie. He was going to die this is how all the horror movies turn out. His eyes darted around his surroundings trying to find a source of light to walk towards; the fear could probably be smelled on him. Maybe it would help one of the pack find him.

Stiles' eyes connected with a fluorescent colour that emerged from the blackness. Blood Red. More appeared, forming a circle around him. The Alpha had once again caught him, at this moment Stiles was seriously contemplating the bite. Maybe then he could protect himself. Maybe then Derek may accept him as his partner. Pounce.

With a dog that wasn't a dog trying to gnaw his arm off, Stiles kept it back with his legs. He was scared but he was also angry. At the right advantage moment he kicked the wolf in its jaw. When the creature yelped and let go of Stiles' arm, he swung his fist like a sledgehammer. Contrary to popular belief he could fight, his dad was sheriff for thee love of God. He crunched the wolf on the top of his head, where it was most venerable (he had studied the anatomy when Scott got bit), and the beast went limp and slumped to the ground slowly morphing back into a human form. He jumped up and booted the unconscious man before he went to make an escape. He gripped his wounded arm, which was starting to throb with pain.

"I've had it with you fur balls! I really have! This isn't my life" Stiles warned. "I don't care about the anti fur movement-I'm going to stitch you all together into a fur line bag!"
The remaining wolves growled at him, but they didn't attack.

Suddenly there were a few gun shots that made Stiles' ears ring. A few arrows pierced one of the wolves body and horrific howled followed. More howls followed, they were nearby but not from the Alphas that had surrounded Stiles…it was the pack. Stiles wanted to stay and wait for his saviours but the leader of the Alphas pounced at Stiles, fangs going for his arm. The young human rolled away before scrambling to get away, not looking back as his feet carried him deeper into the woods. Howls, shots and growls were left behind. A slight sound of teared fleshed shot through Stiles ears and he prayed it wasn't one of his packs.

Out of breathe Stiles stopped finally looking back. Nothing. No one followed him , but he was certain he could here growling somewhere close by. A flash of light out the corner of his eye made he turn his head to an old hidden road that was no longer used but may lead to safety. Stiles' feet were killing him; bleeding even, sticks and mud were stick in cuts.

But as he left that path behind, a solitary shot rang out, a little closer than the others. Stiles ran on. His leg felt strange and wet, but he didn't stop. He ran farther south but kept getting slower and slower. He didn't understand it. His leg wouldn't do what he asked it to do. It got sluggish, and then locked up. He fell. Forced himself to stand again. Plummeted back to the ground.

Then he looked down at his right leg. Blood soaked his trousers. He'd been hit. Shot. His body trembled. His teeth chattered. He forced himself up, gripping the trunk of a tree to steady himself.
Though he needed help, a sudden fear to advance seized him. Breathing in and out, he tried to focus. He couldn't leave his dad alone.

Leaning against the tree, Stiles yanked the belt from around his waist. He wrapped it around his thigh and tightened it until it hurt and throbbed, just like his arm. He stumbled away from the tree determined to get to safety. Where ever that was. His leg continued to bleed, the tourniquet not yet stanching the flow of blood. His body began to shake uncontrollably. He wiped his palms, slick with sticky blood, on his jeans and staggered forwards. He was thirsty. So thirsty.

The clouds rumbled overhead. A small drizzle began to rain over them, droplets collecting on the branches, glistening in the fallen leaves.

Every muscle trembled and shook, rebelling against the movement. But he forced himself.

His vision darkened and tunnelled, and Stiles cried out in dismay, flailing in his efforts to force himself to stand. Tears streamed down his face. Then his body stopped shaking, and the world went dark.

Stiles' eyes fluttered open, feeling impossibly heavy. He lifted his eyelids, and with considerable effort stared up at the night sky above him. A leering face staring down at his, running a pointed tongue over fangs grown long and sharp. His mind fought through a haze of pain as the face loomed closer. It was something he knew, something familiar. He felt so tired. He tried to lift one arm, but it lay at his side.

Stiles blinked, her worldview filling with the familiar terrifying face, the protruding brow, the red, feverish eyes.

His eyes began to sting and swell. So heavy. He had to shut them, just for a little while. As he faded off, he felt someone checking the tourniquet. And then blackness swallowed him.

Stiles awoke, groggy and disorientated, to someone moving his leg. He grunted in pain, and then focused in on the person. A familiar face met his gaze. Dr Deaton and Mrs McCall. In the same room. This couldn't be right?
"I've sewn up your wound. Fortunately, the bullet passed through cleanly. Your field tourniquet saved your life. You should heal quickly but you must take proper precautions to ward off the infection."

"Water?" He asked his voice raspy. He sounded like he'd spent his life chain-smoking.
Deaton picked up a glass of water from the table and tipped it to his lips. He steadied his hand with his own and drank deeply. How sweet the water was, the finest thing he'd ever drunk.

"You must rest, at least for two more nights. You can't walk on that leg yet. In fact, I advise you not to walk on that leg for several weeks. I advise you not to push yourself. You came very close to death…and to the bite" Deaton explained before he left the room with Mrs McCall leaving Stiles alone in the room with Derek.

"Scott's got the lovely job of explaining this to your father, explaining why you were shot, why you are in your bedroom not a hospital and about werewolves…everything" Derek announced in his usual gruff voice, in almost sounded like he was blaming Stiles…almost. But his eyes were saying something different. Concern. Love…maybe. Derek's hand reached out and gripped Stiles' own. It was warm, comforting. Nice.

His lips were met by equally warm ones, as stubble scratched and tickled at his face. It wasn't a deep kiss but there was a lot of passion but it ended as fast as it begun.

"Stiles I cant keep being the reason you get hurt…The Alphas may have retreated now but…I " Derek sighed as he leant there foreheads together.

"This isn't your choice, Derek! I want this" Stiles whimpered suddenly feeling like he was falling he clung to Derek's shoulders, tears threatening to fall. He was a burden to everyone wasn't he? Just a stupid hyperactive hormonal weak human who can't protect himself let alone anyone else. He grunted several times and exhaled through gritted teeth, a panic attack slowly building.

The older man pulled Stiles onto his lap gripping him closely to his chest, rubbing circles in his back as he whispered soothing words. The teen breathing began to even out before he pressed his lips hard to Derek's in a bruising manner, attempting to make Derek stay with him. He couldn't lose him; he'd only recently just got him. And people like Stiles, don't get people like Derek twice. He straddled Derek who was sat on Stiles' desk chair. Stiles brought his hands to Derek's and thread his fingers through Derek's, clinging. The werewolf indulges the boy and Stiles savours the way Derek's nails lightly bite his sensitive flesh and delicately brush the silky skin on his hands.

So what do you think? please review, longest chapter yet.
Hope you enjoyed it ,(if there are any grammitcal problems tell me and i'll fix it)x
Stranger x