Stiles was running. Again.

He thought back to several months ago, before Scott's furry little problem started shedding all over his life. Before all the running. Sure, he ran suicides at lacrosse practice and had to occasionally make a quick exit from a crime scene he wasn't supposed to be at before his dad or one of the deputies caught him, but that was normal. Fun, even, if he was in the right mood. But this running, running for his literal, actual life, this was not fun. Not fun at all.

And yet, this kind of running was becoming alarmingly frequent in Stiles' life. Ever since that first full moon, Stiles had been running from werewolves and kanimas and hunters and reality. Well, no, that last part was more figurative than literal and so what if he was because maybe he just wasn't ready to deal with all of those feelings and memories just yet, but what the fuck ever, he was still running for his goddamn life. Again.

Stiles' body was screaming at him, his lungs wheezing, his legs felt like they were about to fall off. His pulse pounded on his ears as listened, every twig snap and whisper of leaves causing the panic to rise in his bones, even though he knew the real threats were completely silent.

He didn't know how he kept getting himself in these situations. It didn't seem possible that so much bad luck could revolve around just one person. Though maybe it wasn't so much bad luck as bad decision making. Maybe he shouldn't have headed towards Lydia's place and instead listened to Scott's text and gone to the rail station.

A big black bird flew down right into Stiles' path, shrieking loudly at him, causing him to shriek back. He lost his pace for a second and pushed himself to go faster, even if it didn't matter.

God, he felt like such a dumbass. Maybe avoiding the rail station kept him from having to deal with Erica, Boyd and Isaac's annoyed huffs and glares, and Peter's creepy staring and cryptic comments, and Derek . . . being Derek. But he was safe there and he was an idiot for forgetting that. For forgetting the danger. For forgetting how vulnerable he was.

A branch snapped loudly behind him, causing him to jump and he almost fell forward. The Alphas were definitely still there and wanted him to know it. Not that he could forget he was being chased through the woods by a pair of Alpha freaking werewolves that had run him off the road in the woods. Stupid werewolves.

His feet pounded the ground clumsily, slipping on leaves and tripping on roots, but somehow he kept himself upright. His breathing had become downright painful and his legs were starting to feel like jelly, but still he pushed himself faster, even though that dark voice in the back of his mind told him it was no use. He was weak and he was slow and it didn't matter how hard he tried, how hard he fought. He was just a human.

Stiles thought back to when Derek finally told Scott and him about the Alpha pack. Well, Peter told them. Derek just stood there looking annoyed at the world; which of course just translated to stupidly attractive, though really anything Derek did just translated to stupidly attractive so there was no point in even differentiating but no! He was not having this conversation with himself right now.

He racked his brain, trying to think of anything that would get him out of his current situation. Maybe he could make a weapon out of a large stick - though that would probably only piss them off. He could climb a tree – though they might just knock it down and Stiles wasn't great with heights anyway.

God dammit. He'd done so much research, learned everything he possibly could about werewolves and pack dynamics, committed basic instinct and behavioral psychology to memory. None of it helped. Nothing they'd found had given them any indication to what the Alphas actually wanted.

Their actions made no sense and it bothered Stiles to no end that he couldn't figure it out. There were so many pieces, but they all seemed to come from different puzzles. All they had to go on were rumors and the Latin inscriptions the Alphas had left behind every time they'd made a move.

Which had been why Stiles had planned to go talk to Lydia. Jackson had made it clear that none of the werewolves were to go anywhere near her after the attack and he pretty much spent every moment of every day at her side, which Stiles thought was just freaking adorable.

Since no one else had done anything, he'd taken it upon himself to go see her, seeing as Jackson had taken his exams early and left town for summer vacation. Human Stiles could totally handle the completely selfless task of spending Jackson-free time with Lydia. For the pack, of course. Well, the pack and then Scott and him. And kind of Allison, though she'd been really distant-bordering-on-avoidance for the past few weeks. Ever since the Gerard thing. Who they still hadn't found.

Whoakay, one problem at a time. Stiles tried to focus on pulling breath into his lungs, which was becoming increasingly problematic. He didn't know how much longer he could keep going. He'd been running for, what, 20 minutes already? He could tell he was already moving slower than before, but it's not like the average person could keep up a full sprint for twenty minutes.

Werewolves, however, they could run forever. Stiles knew that the Alphas were just toying with him, trying to wear him down. They were Alpha werewolves and he was a clumsy teen. If they'd wanted to, they could've caught up to him within seconds.

Stiles dodged a tree in his path and stumbled over a fallen log, picking up his run on the other side. Breathing heavily, he dared a glance behind him that he instantly regretted. His foot caught on an exposed root and he went sprawling to the ground, his arms flying out in front of him in an attempt to break his fall. His entire left side slammed painfully into the ground and he suppressed the scream of frustration building in his throat. He'd just made their game a lot less fun. Angry tears burned in his eyes. He was useless; he couldn't even give himself a fighting chance.

He took a deep breath and did a quick self-assessment. His whole left side felt achy and would probably bruise, but otherwise he sensed no major injuries. He could hear movement behind him, much slower than before and much louder.

Stiles rolled over and sat up, trying not to wince from the pain, but as he began to push himself off the ground, a growl from the shadows stopped him. He saw red eyes approaching, two separate sets about ten feet apart, slowly coming out of the shadows. Stiles watched carefully, noting that they were both male, both ridiculously large and built, enough to give Derek a run for his money.

Their faces were still wolfed out, but becoming more human-like as they got closer. They stopped when they were about ten feet away from Stiles, just far enough apart that Stiles couldn't look at them both at once.

His breath was still wheezy and he glanced back and forth, trying to keep an eye out for any immediate danger. Other than the two scary-strong-as-humans-and-downright-terrifying-as-Alpha-werewolves standing before him, of course. His eyes pinched together as he glanced back and forth again and again, confused. They both had the glowing red eyes and identical amused smirks on their faces. But that's not why he was confused. As he took in both of their human forms, he realized. They were. . . they were actually identical.

Twins? he thought incredulously.

Not just twins though. Alpha twins. Brothers who were both Alphas. What the fu-

"Well hello Stiles," the one of the right began, his voice silky smooth. Stiles' head jerked in his direction, watching him. The Alpha tilted his head in what seemed to be curiosity but came off as just creepy. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Always great to meet a fan," he spouted without thinking. "Sorry, but I'm not signing autographs today. You'll have to come back another time."

"Oh, it's not your autograph we want," the Alpha told him, his smirk growing to a lopsided grin that was annoyingly sexy.

"Well, I don't have any tissues I've recently sneezed in and you're sure as hell not getting my underwear, so you might as well just move along," Stiles snarked back, knowing his words were ruined by the ridiculously loud pounding of his heart and his still panting breath.

"I like this one, Ethan," said the Alpha to his left, his voice as seductive as his brother's. Stiles head snapped towards him. "He's got spunk." The Alpha turned to look directly at Stiles, grinning. "It'll be fun to beat it out of him."

Stiles eyes grew wide, his mouth dropping open in terror, and for once no words came to him. He briefly contemplated trying to turn around and run again, but they would be on him before he even got to his feet and he was pretty sure werewolves had the same twitchy pouncing instinct that cats did.

There was a chuckle to his right and the first brother, Ethan, spoke, "Oh, Aiden, there's no need to scare the boy. At least, not yet."

Yes, thank you, Ethan, that was so reassuring.

Stiles heart was pounding in his throat, but he swallowed to push it back down, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice shaky, but clear.

Both brothers' mouths broke into heart-breaker grins, with an edge of something like mischief in their identical eyes. They spoke in unison, voices blending together in a sultry, menacing tone. "You."

Then, as if being pulled by the same wire, the brothers began to stalk forward, their movement an exact mirror of each other. Stiles had a brief moment to wonder at how often they practiced that before his flight instinct kicked in and he began to scramble backwards on hands and feet, flailing and slipping on the wet leaves. Fuck, he was screwed. And not in the good way.

Whoosh.

Stiles fell flat against the ground as a dark shape passed over him and landed in between his body and the Alpha twins. They stopped and fell into crouches, a chorus of growls and snarls erupting in the air.

Sitting up, he took in the dark form in front of him, the werewolf that stood between him and his enemies. A werewolf that he recognized, even though it was wolfed out and facing the other way, but it was not the one he would have expected.

Derek.

There was a moment of suspense, all of them frozen in place. The Alpha twins and Derek all held identical positions, crouched down, fangs bared, one arm in front and one behind. Except Derek held something in his hand. Something small. . .

Derek roared in warning, loud and terrifying, and it left Stiles cowering back against the tree behind him, but the Alpha twins didn't even flinch. His roar dropped down, low and throaty, and without breaking it, he spoke, "Leave." His voice dripped with Alpha authority that even Stiles felt.

The first brother, Ethan, began to slowly rise out of his crouch, speaking through a tight smile, just loud enough to be heard over the rumble in Derek's chest. "Well, well, Derek Hale. What exactly are you doing here? This little stray doesn't belong to you." He threw an errant hand in Stiles' general direction, still cowering against the tree behind Derek. Stiles flinched at the last words, not quite sure why they made him feel so raw.

"This is my land," Derek said. His voice was even, unemotional, but the thunder in Derek's chest did not go away. "You're on my territory. Leave," he demanded, his voice more dangerous than Stiles had ever heard it.

Aiden, the second brother, was still crouched, ready to pounce, and snarled, angry and forceful. "We don't take orders from you," he spat. His face was scrunched in anger and was slowly becoming wolf-like. Stiles saw the intent in the Alpha's eyes and he moved without thinking, following an instinct to put himself between Derek and danger. Derek's eyes caught the movement and he turned to Stiles, throwing out an arm to stop him, but the Alpha took advantage of their distraction and pounced.

Derek roared as Aiden sunk deep claws into his thigh. He yanked away, the Alpha's claws digging out long gashes, and then slashed a handful of claws across the Alpha's chest, tossing him into a tree. Stiles watched the exchange with wide eyes, trying to keep up with their supernatural speeds. Derek fell back towards Stiles, his thigh torn to shreds, but somehow he maintained a defensive position, keeping most of his weight off his ruined leg, still growling from deep in his chest. Stiles fought the urge to reach out, keeping a hand clenched painfully around a piece of bark from the tree at his back.

Ethan just stood by, watching with cautious eyes, seemingly unconcerned over his brother's injuries as he spoke, "Brother," he said evenly, not taking his eyes off of Derek and Stiles.

Aiden was clutching his chest, spewing out a mix of growling and cursing and looking ready to take another shot before his brother spoke. He backed down, crouching down near the tree, the attack draining from his eyes and the rumble in his throat quieted. His wounds were bleeding profusely, but still looked relatively shallow. Derek's leg, on the other hand. . .

Ethan spoke again. "Now, Derek, you know this isn't a fair fight. It's two against one and we all know the boy is useless in a fight." He spoke without inflection, as if just stating a known fact, but it cut across Stiles like the harshest of insults, one that hurt more because he knew it was true.

Ethan continued talking, directing his words at Derek alone, as if Stiles wasn't even there. "You're already injured and you have no backup. And that leg is going to bleed out if you don't do something about it soon." He paused, letting his words sink in for a moment. He took a step forward, his gait confident to the point of arrogance, no trace of hesitancy or fear.

"We're not leaving without the human, and we didn't come here to kill you," Ethan continued, voice growing dark.

Aiden smiled as Ethan crouched down and said in a low voice, "But we will if we have to."

Stiles saw Derek's fist clench and he ducked, closing his eyes, and slamming his fists over his ears. He didn't see the Alpha twins pounce or Derek throw the flash bomb into the air directly in front of them. He did, however, see the world glow red behind his eyelids and hear the BOOM that reverberated through his entire body. He also felt, just a millisecond too late, the warm pressure of Derek's body thrown over him, elbows tucked on either side of his shoulders as he tried to shield Stiles while covering his own ears.

As the ringing faded from Stiles' ears, he felt Derek pull back and heard the painful roaring of the Alpha twins. He opened his eyes to see them both thrown against trees and clutching at their ears and eyes. Their screams filled the air, but another howl caught his attention.

Derek had fallen backwards, both hands wrapped around his wounds, slipping on the outpouring of blood.

"Dammit, Stiles, get over here," Derek growled. His face had morphed from its monstrous wolf form back into its usual broody one and Stiles sincerely hoped that it was the fading light making him look so pale. The blood poured from between Derek's fingers and if Stiles hadn't seen him survive worse, he'd have been sure Derek was done for.

"Wha-Why are you here?" he asked, rising and moving towards Derek. He turned back, glancing at the twins as he moved. They were both on the ground, eyes slammed shut and clutching at their ears. He thought he saw a trickle of blood from Ethan's right ear and wondered if the bomb had actually blown their ear drums. Stiles turned back to Derek when he reached him, trying to make sense of the mess of jean and flesh and blood that was Derek's leg.

"Later," Derek said in a harsh whisper. He released his leg, the blood flowing freely again, and pushed off the ground, speaking as he moved. "We need to move now, before they heal."

He held a bloody arm out to Stiles and Stiles didn't even hesitate to grab it, helping pull Derek up and slinging it over his shoulder. Derek threw his head to the left. "There," he said. "That tree. We need to get there."

Stiles spotted a large, sturdy looking oak tree, about twice as thick as all the ones around it, about twenty feet away. He and Derek moved quickly, but Derek was leaning more heavily on Stiles as they got closer to the tree. Stiles was trying not to worry, but Derek wasn't even as warm as usual, almost down to normal human temperature.

When they got to the tree, Derek dropped down and started feeling around the dense above-ground root system, pulling and tugging, leaving blood trails on everything he touched. Stiles could still hear the Alphas and was about to ask how long they had, when he heard a whooshing noise. He jerked his head towards where Derek was looking and noticed a large, inky black hole in the ground about five feet from the tree base.

"What the-" His eyes widened as he realized what had happened. "Oh my God, that's so cool!"

"Shut up and help me," Derek demanded, but there was none of the force he'd had just moments before.

Still, Stiles didn't like being bossed around, not even by sexy Alpha werewolves who saved his life. "Watch the tone, wolfie. You could at least say please." Derek stopped trying to stand and glared at Stiles, a look he received often, but still wasn't quite immune to. "Or not," he mumbled, reaching out to help Derek stand. They stumbled over to the edge of the square-shaped hole, just wide enough for someone Derek's size to fit down.

There was a ladder against the edge and what looked to be at least an eight foot drop, though Stiles couldn't be certain because the light didn't reach the bottom.

Derek pulled himself away from Stiles and dropped to the ground. He jerked his head towards the hole. "Climb down."

"What? Why me?" Stiles protested. "You're the big bad Alpha werewolf; you can go first into the creepy hidden cave."

"It's not a cave, it's a tunnel system."

"Oh good, more hiding places for things that could eat me," Stiles retorted.

"Stiles, just because I'm bleeding doesn't mean I can't still kill you," Derek spat angrily.

But Stiles didn't need to be a werewolf to know the threat bordered on lie. He didn't know why Derek was here exactly, but he knew he was in no danger with the Alpha. So Stiles met Derek's eyes and said with more confidence than he'd felt in a long time, "You're not going to kill me."

He saw Derek's eyebrows rise as he dropped down so that his feet were dangling, and climbed down as quickly as he could. It was a little deeper than he'd thought, closer to ten feet with a ceiling about six feet high. When his feet hit solid ground, he looked up and saw Derek swing down into the hole and catch his good leg on the ladder rungs. Using his supernatural arm strength, he hobbled down the ladder, stopping only to reattach the cover of the hole, blocking out all light and noise, including that of the still-howling-in-pain Alpha twins. Stiles had underestimated how much damage had been done to their over-active senses.

Stiles couldn't see anything, but Derek could, so when he felt the heavy arm drop down across his shoulders, he wrapped his arm around the attached waist and led Derek in the direction his was leaning, letting him drop down against the wall.

Stiles wiped the blood off his hand onto his jeans, then shoved his hand into this pocket to retrieve his phone. He thumbed the screen, turning on the flashlight and quickly looking around himself for the first time.

The tunnel was about as wide as it was tall, almost perfectly carved out of the earth. The section they were in ended after about fifteen feet, connecting with another tunnel running perpendicular.

He turned back to Derek, who was sitting down against the wall at his feet, bent over himself trying to hold his wounds together. He looked deathly pale, worse even than when Kate had gotten him with one of her wolfsbane bullets.

"Wait, what's wrong? Shouldn't you be doing your werewolfy mojo thing and healing?" Stiles asked, trying to keep the real concern he felt from leaking too thickly into his voice.

"I am," Derek said, breathing heavily. "I will. But not as fast. Wounds from an Alpha take longer to heal." He was taking deep, painful-sounding breaths between each sentence and Stiles was suddenly very concerned.

"Wait, so, what, he was right? You're going to bleed out?" His voice rose and he felt his heart beat rising in his chest, beating against his ribs.

Derek huffed. "No, I'm not. Come here and hold this," he ordered, not even looking at Stiles.

"Hold – what?" Stiles asked, not understanding.

Derek looked up at him, exasperated. "Hold this. My leg. I need you to come here and hold the wounds together."

Stiles looked at the gruesome mess that was Derek's leg. "What for? You seem to be doing a pretty decent job."

"Just do it!"

Stiles sighed and placed his phone on the ground, light pointing up. He crouched down in front of Derek, straddling his injured leg, and met his eyes for a brief second. He nodded, and then reached his arms out to replace Derek's as they moved away. His left hand slid in between Derek's thighs over the blood-soaked jeans, slipping on the slick blood flowing down his inner thigh. His other hand gripped the outer curve of the leg and he pressed his hands together, trying to close the almost foot-long gashes that ran along the front of Derek's thigh. He felt Derek cringe in pain, but no noises slipped out. His hands were covered in blood in seconds and he tried not to think about his close his hand was to some very sensitive areas.

As soon as his hands were free, Derek slid his leather jacket off, not seeming to care that he was getting blood all over it. Then he crossed arms over his front and pulled his henley off.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Stiles said, no longer able to ignore the proximity with a half-naked Derek just inches from his face. "What are you doing that for?"

Derek paused with hands gripping one edge of the shirt, giving Stiles a significant look as his muscles tensed and the shirt began to rip. Oh.

"Cause you're going to. . . and that'll hold it. . . yeah, that makes more sense," Stiles rambled, trying very hard to focus and keep his thoughts and eyes away from Derek's strong, hard chest, the cut lines of his abs, the perfect V accenting his hip bones. Tried not to remember how those strong arms felt around him. And he was failing, if the tightening in his jeans was any indication.

Stiles started to panic when, while continuing to rip his shirt to shreds, Derek's nostrils flared and his eyes flickered to Stiles' for a fraction of a second. Please, Stiles thought desperately, please don't let him be able to smell that. He'd once asked Scott if he could smell arousal and now he was really hoping that wasn't true.

Derek said nothing, just continued to rip until his shirt was nothing but shreds. He grabbed one and Stiles adjusted as he threaded it under and in between his legs. He tied it tightly just above the wounds like a tourniquet, then reached for the widest strip, one of the sleeves.

Stiles pulled his hands back when Derek wrapped the sleeve around his leg, completely covering the deepest parts of the gashes, tying it underneath. Stiles pushed himself away, leaning against the opposite wall and saying nothing while Derek worked, trying to think of boring western novels, getting sick and Mr. Harris. An ache was starting to build in his body, throughout the entire left side, as the adrenaline wore off and his fall in the woods was starting to make itself known.

When Derek was done, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Stiles could tell he was listening and was about to ask when Derek held up a bloody finger to silence him. Derek listened for a moment longer, then pushed himself off the wall and stood up, his leather jacket clenched in his left hand.

Stiles started, surprised. "Going somewhere?" he asked incredulously, trying to keep his voice somewhat low.

Derek was leaning against the wall, looking down at him. "We need to move farther in." He began hopping away, leaning heavily against the wall.

"Why?" Stiles asked, worried that Derek had heard something. He wiped his hands off on his jeans and grabbed his phone, pointing the light up at the older man as he stood.

Derek paused and turned back. "They'll be able to track us, with my blood all over the woods." He started to turn again, before catching the panicked look in Stiles' eyes. "They won't be able to get down here, but I don't want to be near the door." He turned back around and continued hopping down the tunnel, giving pain-filled grunts when his left leg touched the ground.

Stiles sighed, exasperated, and caught up to him, phone clenched in his left hand, flashlight still on. He reached out and grabbed Derek's arm, throwing it over his shoulders and wrapping an arm around Derek's back, supporting his weight. Derek turned and his multi-colored eyes stared intensely at Stiles for just a moment, giving him chills.

They both started to move deeper into the tunnel. When they reached the fork, Derek led them to the right and they continued for another twenty feet or so before Derek motioned for Stiles to stop.

Stiles lowered Derek down to sit against the right side of the wall, injured leg extended across the tunnel floor, and Stiles settled himself down against the left side.

"What now?" he asked, leaning his head back against the wall, forearms resting on his knees.

Derek took a couple of breaths before answering. "Now. . . we wait."

"For?" Stiles prodded. "Do you even have a plan? And would you mind explaining what the hell this place is?"

Derek sighed, eyes closing. Stiles was about to press more, but then he watched as Derek's eyes flicked upwards and he placed a finger over his mouth.

Stiles eyes widened, his heart pounding against his ribs painfully, like it was trying to break free. He listened intently, but heard nothing more than his own breathing. All sounds from the forest above were blocked out by the four feet of solid earth above them.

But he knew Derek could hear, his werewolf ears so much more sensitive than Stiles' human ones. The Alpha had closed his eyes again, head tilted slightly and Stiles wasn't sure he was even breathing.

Several minutes passed, Stiles growing more and more impatient. He started to fidget, never able to sit still for very long, but Derek ignored him, just listening, shoulders and neck tight with tension.

Finally, he relaxed, eyes opening and shoulders dropping down as he took a deep breath. He looked across to Stiles. "They're gone," Derek assured him, letting his head lean against the wall at his back.

Derek looked around, eyes flicking back and forth around the cave, before he closed them again, breathing deeply in and out of his nose.

After a couple minutes of watching this and working to calm himself down, Stiles turned off the light from his cell phone and turned off the service, since it was useless down here, before shoving it into his pocket. He pulled his knees in, wincing as the pain spiked across his whole side, wrapping arms around them and resting his chin on his forearms, careful to keep pressure off his bruised left arm.

His thoughts were racing, processing, trying to make sense of what had happened. His thoughts were erratic and all over the place. Flashes of the twins and running through the forest and the flash bomb were juxtaposed with memories. Lying with Derek on the station floor, that day with Derek in the pool, Derek hiding out in his room, holding a saw to Derek's arm. And then older, darker memories, memories that hurt. Something Ethan said kept replaying in his ear, over and over.

This little stray doesn't belong to you.

"Why?" he asked suddenly.

"Hmm?" Derek barely seemed to be paying attention.

"You risked your life back there, threw yourself between me and two Alpha werewolves. Why did you do it? . . . Why are you here, Derek?" Stiles asked, the softness of his voice unable to disguise the urgency of his questions. His heart was beating in his throat as he spoke.

For a time, Derek did not answer, and Stiles wondered if he was still conscious. They simply sat in silence, listening to each other breath.

Eventually, though, Derek spoke, avoiding those questions by answering another. "These tunnels were built by my family," he started, voice growing tight over the last word. "Almost a thousand years ago, back when this area was first being settled by humans." Stiles couldn't see in the darkness, but he felt Derek's eyes on him.

"Why?" he prompted, sensing his participation was needed to continue the conversation.

Derek sighed. "They came here, and they saw what we could do, what we were, and they made it their mission to destroy us. Back then, werewolves weren't just myths or scary stories for children. They were just as real as they are to you and me." Derek took a deep breath. "And they wanted my family dead because we were different, because unlike you, they were scared."

Derek's voice was heavy, like it was painful to talk about this, hurt to think about. Stiles didn't miss the veiled compliment, but was sidetracked by the realization that, after all this time, the humans had finally succeeded in destroying the Hale family. Derek was the last one. Well, him and his crazy, formerly-dead uncle.

"So these tunnels. . ."

"Were built for protection," Derek spat bitterly. "My family had to hide themselves away every full moon to stop themselves from attacking, from giving into the bloodlust when the humans came to hunt."

"They were werewolves; couldn't they have just killed them all so they didn't have to do that?" Stiles asked, honestly trying to understand.

Derek paused. "Yes," he acknowledged.

Stiles let that sink in. A flash of hatred burned in him for the hunters. He'd seen what a crazy Alpha could do, sure, but other than a few bruises, mostly to his ego, the werewolves in his life had never seriously threatened him. They'd protected him more often than not and, as he just learned, had been doing what they could to keep humans safe for almost a thousand years – to the point of building what Stiles assumed was a labyrinth of tunnels beneath the forest, just so the humans wouldn't be in danger on a full moon.

He just couldn't understand why the hunters were so dead set on wiping them out, on treating them like nothing more than wild animals. Stiles jaw tensed in anger. He opened his mouth to say something, he wasn't even sure what, when Derek spoke.

"We need you," Derek said, cutting into Stiles' train of thought, confusing him before he realized what Derek was referring to. That was definitely not the response he'd expected. Not that he really expected anything. He wasn't even sure if Derek remembered . . .

Stiles waited a moment, but Derek did not continue.

"For what?" Stiles asked harshly. "Target practice? Or am I just a wonderful example to your pack of what not to do? You heard the Alpha back there; I'm useless in a fight and it's not like my mouth ever does me any favors. So aside from my uncanny ability to find trouble, I don't really see how I benefit your little operation."

Derek sighed, as if he'd been hoping Stiles wouldn't want explanation, would just take his answer for what it was. He should have known better.

"You're smarter than any of my wolves are, braver and you take things in stride." Derek's voice was low, but for once Stiles' brain focused, listening in silence. "You don't panic, not once in the time I've known you." He paused for a second, taking a deep breath. "You-you have incredible self-control, other than your mouth, of course. . . You can't do some of the things we can do, but in some ways," Derek voice dropped even lower and Stiles wasn't quite sure he heard the next part right, "that's what makes you so valuable."

Derek sounded surprised to be saying the words, like he didn't realize he felt that way. Stiles could think of nothing to say at first, his brain running a million miles a minutes, trying to process everything that had happened.

"Thank you," he said finally, sincerity laced thickly into his tone. "For everything. I don't know where I'd be right now if you hadn't shown up, but I can't imagine it would've been pleasant."

"You're part of my pack, Stiles," Derek said without hesitation. "And I protect my own."