A/N: This is a fic based off of a deviantArt by Ryuustu with the same title. The cover photo is the art, but a link to the original will be on my page. Enjoy :)

Warnings: Mindless Derek!whump. I just couldn't hurt Stiles! Well, physically. Plus, Derek's always almost dying on the show, so this is more cannon ;)

Summary: Stiles: "Uh, how about you do your thing, you know, wolf out and get us out of this mess?"

Derek: "How about I don't do that right under the cops' noses?"

Stiles: "So our hands our tied on this one. Literally. Perfect."

No Way Out

wolfgal97

Stiles wasn't planning on waking up in handcuffs. Well, he'd dreamed about it before, but those dreams always had a strawberry blond in them, not Derek-freaking-I'm-gonna-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teeth-Hale.

Stiles woke up in a dark room with his back pressed to a pole, a crick in his neck from laying awkwardly, and his hands restrained by handcuffs. It was dark and his eyes hadn't adjusted yet, so he began to pull on the restraints. It wasn't until a growl reached his ears that he realized that he wasn't alone.

"Scott? Isaac? Boyd? Hell, at this point, I hope it's Erica."

"Stiles, shut up!"

"Yeah, just as I thought. Hi, Derek."

"What part of 'shut up' don't you get? The 'shut', or the 'up'?"

"Well look who has a sense of humor! I guess I've been rubbing off on you, huh, Derek?"

"Shut up!"

Derek was worried. The last thing he remembered was a cop car pulling up beside Stiles' car. He had been checking up on a lead about new hunters being in town when he'd found Stiles stuck on the side of the road having car trouble. He'd been about to help the teen when everything when dark and a police car showed up.

"Uh... Derek? Any idea where we are or what's going on? Last thing I saw was a police car pull up."

So Stiles had seen it, too? Still, something was off.

"That's the last thing I saw, too."

"Okay, well great," Stiles said brightly, twisting his thin wrists in the metal. "Uh, how about you do your thing, you know, wolf out and get us out of this mess?"

"How about I don't do that right under the cops' noses?"

"So our hands our tied on this one. Literally. Perfect."

"Well, I mean, I couldn't anyway," Derek huffed.

"What do you mean?" Stiles asked slowly.

"The cuffs are infused with Mountain Ash."

"Which means what, Confucius?"

Another growl shook the poll they were cuffed to. "It means that they sap my strength. And... they burn," Derek admitted.

Stiles felt uneasy. "They burn?"

"Yeah," Derek said gruffly. "Which makes me think that these people aren't the police. They must have stolen a car. I was looking into a lead before I woke up here. There are new hunters in town, and they're worse than the Argents. They don't follow a code. They're ruthless and they do what they believe is necessary to get their kill."

"Are you saying people who have no problem killing us are the ones holding us hostage?"

"Yes."

"Peachy. I'm going to die."

"You're not going to die, Stiles."

"Yes, I am. I'll end up annoying them and then they'll kill me."

"I won't let them," Derek promised, thought at the moment, he didn't know if he would be able to keep it.

"Derek? If I die, and when you make it out of here, can you please... just let my dad know I love him? Please?"

"Stiles, you're not going to die! If they wanted you dead, they'd have killed you by now. They want something from us, and they won't kill us until they get it," Derek reasoned. He did not need Stiles having a panic attack right now.

Stiles nodded, though Derek couldn't see it. His dad was a cop, for heaven's sake. He knew how this game was played. He also knew that no matter what happened, he had to make to to not give their captors what they wanted. If they did, they'd sign their own death warrant.

The dark was clearing up a little for Stiles. His eyes had adjusted and he could now see his own legs laying out in front of him. The ground they sat on was concrete, meaning that they were in a building.

Stiles one again tried to worm out of the cuffs, but the result was the same as before. Slight panic started to set in, so he took deep breaths.

"Stiles? Are you okay?" Derek asked? To survive, he needed Stiles. Plus, he had to admit, the kid had managed to sneak his way into his heart over the months. Stiles' wellbeing was truly at his heart.

"Yeah," Stiles gasped. "Just... just a l-l-little freaked out."

"Listen to my voice. I'm here for you, and you're okay," the werewolf said calmly. Surprising Stiles further, he felt a hand next to his. Not an overwhelming presence, but still letting him know that someone on his side was still there with him in the dark.

"Thanks, Derek," Stiles said, his voice more calm and less shaky.

It was then that the light above them turned on.

More lights glowed in the distance. Not bright, but enough to illuminate the shape of three figures. It took Stiles a moment to realize that the lights were the headlights of the police car.

"Derek, they're over here," the teen whispered, knowing the werewolf would hear his breathy fears.

"Stay calm. I'll deal with them," Derek said softly.

Stiles had no idea what Derek meant by that, but he just hoped that they didn't get hurt.

One of the figures walked around the two helpless people. This shape was obviously the leader, seeing as he walked with a predatory gait and the other two figures followed his circle.

Finally, he stopped next to both of them, staying just far enough in the shadows to hide his face. Both human and werewolf watched him, wondering what would come next.

"Which one of you is the werewolf," the man asked, his voice smooth like honey, but with the edge of a sharp blade.

Stiles knew he shouldn't answer. Still, he tried to turn his head to see what Derek was thinking. He caught the corner of his eye, fixed on the shadow of a threat.

When the man got no reply, he nodded in Derek's direction. He didn't like the defiant look on Derek's face. He wanted to be feared. His defiance made him a target.

One of the men in the background came forward. He was a burly man with scars all over him. His hair was thin and dirty brown. He was big, he was strong, and he was ready for some action.

In one swift motion, he brought his fist in an uppercut to Derek's chin. The werewolf's head snapped back, the back of his head meeting the pole behind him. Stiles' jaw dropped, and he suddenly felt very, very afraid. For both himself and Derek. He wished there was something he could do to protect the werewolf.

Derek wasn't easily effected. He could take a hit. He could take a lot of hits. To prove it, he spat the blood forming in his mouth at the boots of his assailant. This earned him a kick to the ribs.

"I'll ask again. Which one of you is the wolf?" the leader asked.

Stiles almost admitted it. He just wanted them to stop hurting his friend. He knew Derek was strong, but even a werewolf had it's limits. Still he knew that if these people got any information, even if it was false, things would get worse.

The leader was growing impatient. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's entirely up to you. Now, answer the question."

Derek's fists clinched, ready for what he knew was coming. He had to protect Stiles. These hunters could throw just about anything at him and he would survive. Stiles, being human, could not. His goal was to keep the hunters' attention.

The man with scars decided it was Stiles' turn. He made to swing at the teen. Stiles flinched, trying to prepare for the blow, but it never came. Derek's voice was faster.

"We're not telling you anything," Derek said. "You can go to hell."

The blow meant for Stiles got him instead.

"Well, I suppose that's enough for now," the leader said slowly, still staying in the shadows. "I'll be back in a few minutes. You two think it over how long you're going to keep this up. Pretty soon, you'll talk. They always do," he said darkly, slinking into the dark, his two followers going with him.

The two were silent a few minutes before Stiles spoke up. "Are they really gone?"

"Yeah," Derek sighed. "For now. They'll be back."

"What are you doing, Derek? They're gonna end up killing you."

"I know what I'm doing," the older man argued. "Like I said before, they won't kill either of us until they find out what they want to know."

"I can't just sit by and let them hurt you, Derek. I can't do it."

"Yes, you can and you will," Derek hissed. "I'll be fine. I can heal. You can't. Our best bet of getting out of this is for me to take the damage."

"They'll find out you're healing and then they'll know," Stiles argued.

"I know. That's why I'm forcing my body to heal at a normal rate."

So Derek was going to do this almost as a human. Now Stiles was very concerned. "You're going to get hurt," Stiles said slowly.

Derek nodded. "I know."

And then they were back.

"Well, I hope you two have changed your minds. All I want to know is which one of you is the werewolf," came the leader's voice. "And that's what we're going to find out."

Stiles' stomach churned as the man with the scars came back. He held a blade in his hand that gleamed in the low light. He came at Derek, first. The man with scars, or Scarface, as Stiles thought of him, was determined to make Derek back down.

Derek was determined to piss him off. He offered him one of his trademark glares. He continued to glare as Scarface brought the blade down onto his shoulder. He hissed in pain as the knife was pulled free of his flesh.

Stiles was next, but because the boy showed more fear than Derek, Scarface wasn't interested in intimidation. He bent down next to the boy and drew a thin cut along the skin of his arm.

"Time will tell me what I want to know," the leader said. "I'll be back to deal with you soon," he said before leaving with his henchmen a second time.

"Stiles? Are you okay?" Derek asked. His shoulder was bothering him, stinging badly, but he refused to let it heal. Right now, keeping Stiles safe was worth more than a little pain.

"I'm fine. It's just a scratch. What about you?" Stiles asked

"I'm fantastic," Derek lied. His shoulder was bleeding bad, but he wasn't about to let Stiles worry about it.

But Stiles was already worried. "Derek, why are you doing this? Why are you so suddenly interested in protecting me? Me, of all people."

"You're pack, Stiles. I care about you. I'll protect you until the end. Besides, you're more important than me. You have family and people who love you. You're a good kid, and I'm going to make sure you get home if it's the last thing I do," Derek said with determination.

Stiles' felt beyond terrible. Derek thought he wasn't as important as him? He thought that no one loved him? He was wrong. He was very wrong. And if they made it out of this, Stiles was determined to let him know.

This time, when they came back, there was no dramatic pause there there is in the movies. These guys were tired of playing around, and they wanted results. The leader retained his place in the shadows. "Check them," he commanded.

Scarface came forward and peeled back Stiles' sleeve. He inspected the wound and decided that he was clear. "No healing," Scarface said in a gruff voice.

He then moved to check Derek. He peered at the wound in his shoulder intensely, hoping that there was signs of healing so that he could finally go about breaking the stubborn one. When there was no evidence of the skin mending, he growled and stuck his thumb inside the stab wound.

Derek hadn't been prepared for this. He writhed in pain as Scarface's finger dug deeper into his flesh and muscles. He bit his tongue, refusing to scream in pain. He wasn't going to show weakness.

Stiles had had enough. He heard Derek's breath catch, and he didn't know what they were doing to him, but he knew it was hurting his friend. He tried to ignore it when his arms were jerked back a little when Derek's muscles tensed in agony. He couldn't stand it anymore.

"Stop!" Stiles croaked. For a moment, he didn't realize that it had even been him who spoke, but when Derek relaxed and the three figures became still, he knew he'd done the right thing.

"And why should I?" the leader said, still hiding just in the dark. "One of you is a monster, and the other is protecting a monster. I'm trying to find out which one is which so that justice may be dealt."

"Justice? This isn't justice. This is kidnapping. That's a crime," Stiles argued.

"Stiles, shut up," Derek hissed through gritted teeth. He could take the pain for as long as he had to, but he needed Stiles to let him run things.

"Why? They want us to talk. I'll talk! Oh, I'll talk them up a storm. They'll be sorry when they can't get me to shut up," the teen ranted.

"So, you seem to care very much about your friend there," the leader directed at Stiles. "How about this. You tell me what I want to know, and I won't slowly beat him to death."

A lump formed in Stiles' throat. For once, he had no idea what to do. These men were going to kill them, and it wasn't going to be fast. "Derek?" Stiles whispered.

"Don't tell him anything, Stiles," the werewolf whispered back.

And with that, things got worse.

The leader stepped out of the shadows. He was a tall man, filled out and bulky. He had dark green eyes and red hair. All in all, he looked like someone Stiles didn't want to piss off.

The leader grinned at the boy, but it was predatory and twisted. He then turned to Derek, who glared defiantly up at him. The hunter bent at the waist a little before latching his fingers in Derek's hair. He jerked up, demanding the werewolf's attention before whispering in his ear, "I'm going to love watching you break."

The leader slammed Derek's head against the pole before backing away, a sick grin twisting up his face. "Boys, get to work," he mumbled.

Now, Scarface and the one who'd always stayed in the shadows until now set forth on Derek. Though they didn't know if he was the werewolf or not, they knew that Stiles cared about him, and that if enough damage was inflicted, the boy would talk.

Scarface punched Derek over and over again until blood poured from the werewolf's nose. Only when the satisfying sound of bone crunching from Derek's cheekbone did he get bored with this method.

Derek took this all in silence, ignoring the pain as best he could. He knew that it was worth it as long as this never happened to Stiles. He just had to keep the attention on him. And so he was silent as his skin bruised and his bones broke.

Stiles was miserable. He knew that Derek's sacrifice would be in vain if he said anything to make the hunters stop, but he still felt guilty as the men pounded the man behind him. He once again found himself trying to free his wrists of the cuffs, but they stayed in place.

Next, Shadows returned to the dark and came back with a crowbar. He started right away on using it, and though Derek was still as silent as ever, by the time Shadows had finished with his new toy, his ribs were shattered and his jaw was beyond broke.

Shadow's final blow to Derek's face with the metal brought upon the bliss of unconsciousness. The werewolf surrendered to the dark, displeasing the leader.

"Give it a little while, boys. No point in doing anything else until he wakes up." Turning to leave, he kicked Stiles' foot. "And maybe I was wrong. Maybe you don't care if he dies. We'll find out soon enough," he promised the wide-eyed teenager.

When Stiles couldn't hear them anymore, he struggled to turn around to see the state of his friend. Though he couldn't turn very far around, he could see the color red everywhere. He bit his lip, guilt washing over him.

"Derek? Are... are you okay?" he asked.

When he got no reply, he began to worry. When Stiles worries, he rambles. "I know you're still here. I mean. I don't think a tank could take you out. You're like a serial killer... no matter how many times we think you've bit it, you always come back. I mean, Peter couldn't kill you, Kate couldn't do it, the Kanima wasn't even close, well, maybe a few times, but you're still here, right? Right? Derek?"

Now Stiles was really worried. His hand fumbled around until he was able to weave his long fingers through Derek's. He squeezed the werewolf's hand gently, trying in any way to provide him with some comfort, even if he was still out.

"I'm so sorry, Derek," Stiles whispered, trying to fight back the tears. "I wish I could do something... And just so you know, even if you can't here me right now, you have people who love you, too. You have me. You'll always have me."

Suddenly, Derek's fingers twitched, squeezing Stiles' hand back. The boy's heart lept. "Derek?"

"Yeah, Stiles. I'm here..." Derek ground out. Everything was swimming in his vision and every little inch of him ached. Still, the warmth in his hand promised the wolf in him that all of this was worth it was long as Stiles was okay.

"They're going to come back. They'll come back, and do God knows what, and we still have no idea if anyone is looking for us," Stiles pointed out.

Derek groaned, trying to sit up a little more. It was just then that his ears picked up the sound of a howl. A familiar howl.

"Scott's on his way," Derek told the human. "I just heard him. I'm going to have to howl to let him know where we are."

"But then they'll know that you're awake and that someone's on the way," Stiles reasoned.

"I know," Derek agreed. "But we'll die if Scott doesn't find us. He's close enough by that I think I can hold out until he gets here."

"You think?" Stiles asked.

"I will," Derek assured, though he wasn't too positive himself. Still, as alpha, he had to be a leader. He had to be responsible and take care of his pack. Using what strength he had left, he took in a deep breath and let loose a wild, animal howl.

Stiles shook under the loud sound. It was one of the most powerful things that he'd ever heard. He could feel Derek shaking, too, but he didn't know if it was from exertion or or pain. He squeezed Derek's hand again, and he felt the wolf still.

The hunters flew in and gone was the collective, cool show the leader had displayed. Now, you could practically see the anger floating off of him. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, voice shrill.

Stiles almost gave him a witty reply, but he didn't, knowing that it would draw attention to him, the last thing Derek wanted. But it didn't matter. The leader had decided that they no longer had time to play.

He kicked Stiles in the ribs, causing the teen to curl in on himself, gasping for air. Derek had to catch himself from snarling at the hunter. The moment he'd been trying to avoid had come. He knew he had to do something, anything to keep Stiles safe.

"Leave him alone," Derek hissed at the hunter.

"He's either a werewolf or loyal to them," the lead hunter argued.

"He's just a kid. If you want to fight someone, let it be me. But he's just a kid who's afraid he's going to die. He has no idea about any of this," Derek lied.

Scarface wacked Derek in the face, ending his argument. The lead hunter was considering Derek's words, though. But he didn't have long before a door opened in the dark. Light flooded in and snarls echoed in the building.

Before Stiles could figure out what was going on, the hunters laid on the ground, unconscious, and Scott and Isaac were breaking the cuffs from the human and werewolf's wrists.

Stiles shoved Scott away when his friend tried to inspect him. Compared to Derek, he was perfectly fine. He turned around and was by the alpha's side as quickly as he could.

The damage was beyond worse than what Stiles had imagined. Cuts and bruises marred every little exposed surface of skin. Guilt washed over Stiles.

"Derek, I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologies. Don't you dare apologies, Stiles. Are you okay?"

Stiles laughed almost a little too hysterically. "You're asking me if I'm okay? Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

A wry grin formed on Derek's face. "Can't say I have. I've been a little tied up."

Both of them laughed, though it was more in relief of being safe than because of the joke. Still, just as he had before, Stiles' hand found Derek's as he wrapped his other arm around him, pulling him closer. "You know that people... I... care, right?"

Derek smiled softly. Because now, he did know. He knew now that he was loved. Even if it was by a lacrosse playing, hyper, chatterbox teenager.