Chapter Text
Stiles tried not to think too much as he shoved his crowbar over and over through the link fence, his hands covered in zombie guts, splatters of it across his clothes from yanking back once he killed them. He kept his mouth closed, jaw clenched as he shoved it into one zombie’s eye socket, then through another’s mouth. There were more than the herd on the highway days ago, and it had him panicking. It was only a matter of time before they broke through the fence.
Stiles backed away from the fence when he heard his name being called. He twisted around to see who it was. Allison was running towards him, reaching out for his hand. Without a word, she pulled him towards the RV. Stiles started running with her, surprised when his eyes fell on a zombie inside the gates. No, not one zombie, several. The fence was breached and he hadn’t noticed. He was so swept up in killing what was in front of him, used to screams around him that he hadn’t even noticed how frantic everyone had become.
With their hands clasped together, Stiles let Allison lead him to the already running RV. As they got in, Stiles fell to the floor clutching his side as he looked around. Erica and Tara were sitting, both looking scared while Dr. Deaton was in the driver’s seat. Stiles looked around, his eyes wide and heart beating out of his chest.
“Where is Chris? Where is Derek?” Stiles asked.
“I couldn’t find him,” Erica supplied. Stiles got up to get off of the RV, but Dr. Deaton had shut the door and locked it. Stiles gripped the doorknob, glaring at the doctor.
“Let me off,” he said, his voice rising and cracking. The crowbar was discarded, his bat was by his feet, inches away.
“Chris said he would find Derek, Stiles,” Allison whispered, her hand gripping Stiles’ wrist tightly. Stiles was breathing carefully through his mouth as he looked out the window, at the zombies slowly filling the prison courtyard. “He won’t leave him.” Stiles pulled his hand away from Allison, freeing himself. He flipped the lock and opened the door, grabbing his bat as he ran, swinging with all his might as he passed by a zombie, bashing its brains in. He didn’t look back to see if anyone followed him, though. All he knew was that he wasn’t leaving without Derek. He couldn’t do it.
“Derek!” Stiles screamed, wishing that Derek’s alpha form would come bounding around a corner, a zombie’s hand in his mouth or that he would find him chomping at one’s neck, his teeth snarled. “Derek we have to get the fuck out of here, you son of a bitch!”
Stiles beat the shit out of a zombie, hitting it in the head multiple times as it lay motionless on the ground. He looked up to see Chris Argent running towards him, alone. Stiles’ gut clenched as he shook his head, tears stinging his eyes. Chris’s hand was on his shoulder before he could blink them away.
“Come on, Stiles, we have to go-”
“No.” Stiles bit his lip, his eyes searching, looking everywhere but at Chris. “I’m not leaving him here.”
“If we don’t leave now, we won’t be able to get out-”
“I said I’m not leaving him. You go, get them out of here.”
“No, Stiles. You are coming with us,” Chris said, grabbing onto Stiles’ arm and pulling him back towards the RV. Stiles fought against him, thinking about hitting him with his bat enough to knock Chris away from him. Stiles was being dragged back to the RV, Chris was stronger than he was and was determined to get Stiles to safety. Once they were close enough, Erica grabbed onto Stiles and pulled him inside.
Stiles was cursing under his breath when he heard the yelp of a wolf. Derek. His eyes widening, he scrambled back to the door where Chris was blocking the way.
“I’ll go find him and put him in my car,” he said, looking at Stiles. “We’ll follow behind in the expedition. Deaton, get them out of here,” Chris said, shutting the door behind him. Stiles watched as he killed two approaching zombies without even blinking, shooting them square in the head. As the RV started moving, Erica and Allison attempted to bring Stiles to the table, but his chest constricted and he couldn’t breath. He shut his eyes in order to keep the world from spinning, collapsing to the floor, his fist beating against the floor, his knuckles white. He was leaving Derek behind. Derek was hurt, and he left him.
Stiles was crying, he knew he was, in gasping pants that were nowhere near silent. He heard Deaton tell everyone to hold on, he barely registered driving through the locked gates as Allison and Erica wrapped their arms around him. He felt Allison’s tears on his neck, hot and wet as they rolled down his back. She left her father behind, too. The chances of Chris getting Derek and being able to find them, be able to get out of their alive was basically now zero since they just burst through the gate, welcoming the zombies in en masse.
Stiles felt someone wiping his hands clean with a wet cloth. He could only assume that it was Tara, but he couldn’t even think straight enough to speak. His vision was blurry, which told him they removed his glasses. He felt numb, like there was no reason for him to be there, alive. He shouldn’t be alive. He should have ran after Derek.
Derek was in pain, a lot of it. He growled at Bishop and his men, who had him surrounded. Why they were stalking him when their camp was being infiltrated by zombies, Derek didn’t know. All he knew was that they had shot him in the leg and he could barely walk, let alone run. He was limping, whimpering whenever he tried to move. He healed faster in alpha form, so he stayed how he was. Also, he couldn’t be turned in this form, so he had to stay. He had heard Stiles calling for him and it had his fur on edge. He needed to get to him, to find him. That was when he heard the crash. Derek snapped his teeth at one of the hunters that tried to come near him, baring his fangs as he snarled at them. Everyone was shouting around them about an RV, about the doctor leaving, about Stiles. Derek’s ears flattened in distress but he didn’t stop snapping his jaws, threatening them when they came nearer with bats and crowbars.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Chris’s voice rang out. “You’re surrounded by zombies and you are circled around an injured Were who is on your side? You people disgrace me,” Chris said, aiming his gun at Bishop. “I suggest you flee, now, before it its too late.”
“We know we’re done for. We want to kill one last werewolf before we’re slaughtered,” one of the men rang out. Derek growled again, unmoving to keep from whimpering out in pain.
“You aren’t killing anything that isn’t already dead,” Chris spat as he cocked his gun. One of the hunters scoffed and raised his gun towards Derek. Chris lifted an eyebrow, then pulled the trigger. He got the hunter in the arm. He dropped the gun immediately. “Let Derek go, you still have time to save yourselves.” Bishop stepped towards Derek, his gun aimed at his head. Derek showed him his teeth, crouching down towards the ground as if ready to pounce. “Bishop-” Chris started but Derek lept, fangs bared. He ripped open his neck, bounding towards Chris as fast as he could. He took one step on his bad leg and collapsed. The other hunters dispersed and Chris fell to his knees next to Derek, his hand in Derek’s fur.
“Come on, Derek, we just need to get to my car so we can catch up with the others.” Derek whined, his eyes closing before he tried to get up. “I can’t carry you, you’re too big, you have to grin and bear it to the car.” Chris tried as best he could to help Derek up. As he did, Derek shifted into his human form. His arm was what was shot. He clutched it, gasping.
“Wolfsbane bullet, Chris,” Derek muttered. Chris nodded, rushing them to his car, shooting three zombies on the way. He ignored the fact that Derek was naked, running barefoot. Chris opened the door for Derek, slamming it shut as he ran to the driver’s side. Once Chris was inside and turned the car on, Derek closed his eyes, letting his head lull to the side.
“My bag is in the back, there are clothes in it,” Chris offered as he pressed the gas pedal, speeding forward, hitting zombie after zombie. They clawed at the door as he drove through the gates. Derek lowered the back of his seat, making it easier to crawl into the backseat. He opened the duffel he found, fishing out a pair of jeans. Carefully, he slipped them on, zipping them up and buttoning them before he groaned at having to use his arm.
“Hold on until we catch up with Deaton, alright? We’ll get that bullet out of you,” Chris said as he grabbed the walkie talkie. “Deaton come in, this is Chris, do you copy?” Chris said, then waited for a response. “Deaton come in,” Chris’s voice rasped out, terror coming through momentarily.
“This is Erica, Chris, we copy,” Chris sighed, relief showing on his face.
“Where are you, which way did you head?” Chris asked.
“South, back down the way we came... we don’t know where to go.” Chris looked to Derek, his eyebrows raised.
“Did you ask Stiles?” Chris asked as Derek climbed back into the front seat with one of Chris’ shirts tied around his arm. The wound was high up on his bicep, close to his shoulder. It wouldn’t take long for the wolfsbane to get to his heart.
“Stiles isn’t really in a state to be giving directions,” Tara’s voice came up. They were handing the walkie talkie around. Derek growled at the mention of Stiles. Chris eyed him, biting his lip.
“What about Stiles? Is he hurt?” Chris asked.
“Tell us, Chris, did you leave Derek?” Tara asked and Chris’s eyes widened in realization. Stiles thought Derek was left for dead.
“No, of course not, I have him, he is with me.” He waited patiently for a response, knowing whose voice would come over the walkie talkie next.
“Derek?” Stiles voice, strained and quiet, came over the receiver. Chris handed the walkie talkie to Derek.
“Yeah, Stiles. I’m here,” Derek said, sounding tired and relieved all at once. Like hearing Stiles’ voice made him more at ease.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, where the fuck were you?” Stiles asked, which made Chris laugh.
“Hunters had me,” Derek said, handing Chris back the walkie talkie. Derek was worse off than he thought.
“Hey, Stiles, it’s Chris. Derek was hit with a wolfsbane bullet, we need to stop as soon as it is safe to get Deaton to get it out of him.”
“Do you have the anecdote bullet?” Stiles asked.
“I have a wolfsbane bullet, I don’t know if it is the same kind that they use, but...”
“Alright, it is worth a shot,” Stiles whispered. “Deaton said he is going to pull over at the next exit, whatever it is. I will let you know the exit number as soon as we pull up to it.”
“Copy that,” Chris said, then put the walkie talkie down. He and Derek remained silent for the remainder of the ride.
Once Deaton stopped the RV, Stiles got off of it, busting the door open, bat in hand, walking a small ways away from the parked vehicle. He covered his mouth as he walked towards a line of trees, his eyes scanning their surroundings. It seemed peaceful, safe. He knew there was no such thing, no such place.
At least Derek was alive, for now. The wolfsbane bullet could kill him, though. It made Stiles laugh. The laugh was bitter, dry, angry. If they survived this long only to have Derek die by a hunter’s hands, Stiles was going to go insane. The bat hung limply by his side, his grip on it was relaxed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He heard footsteps approaching, but he didn’t turn to see who it was. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, with his regrets.
Stiles saw Erica out of the corner of his eye and sighed. He felt so tired, spread thin. The mere thought of Derek dying from a bullet wound was ripping in half from the inside out.
“It’ll work,” Erica whispered. “Like that time you told me-”
“That was an Argent bullet, though,” Stiles said, his voice clipped. “This is a bastard Bishop bullet. I hope he fucking died, that fucking piece of-” Stiles stopped mid sentence because Chris’ vehicle pulled up. Before he knew it, he was running towards them. Derek was helped out of the car by Chris and Stiles all but shoved him out of the way to wrap his arms around Derek who immediately rested his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” Stiles managed to say, his fingers raking through Derek’s hair as he held back his emotions, his voice wavering. Derek scoffed, his mouth pressed against Stiles’ neck, his hands gripping Stiles’ side. Stiles was holding Derek upright. “I didn’t-”
“We need to get him inside,” Chris said, interrupting them. “He got hit high on his arm, it won’t take long for it to travel to his heart.” Stiles and Chris helped Derek into the RV where Tara and Dr. Deaton were waiting. Chris gave Erica a look and suddenly Stiles was being pulled out of the RV, his eyes wide with anger as he pushed at Erica.
“Let go, I have to be in there with him!” Stiles screamed. “I am not going to be out here if he dies, I’m not. You aren’t protecting me by pulling me away,” he hissed. Erica let go of him and let him stalk back into the RV. Stiles walked in just in time for the flamed bullet powder to be spread on the wound, Deaton’s fingers ready to extract it. Stiles stilled as he watched, holding his breath. Derek’s eyes were closed and he was panting, sweat covered his brow. The dark, poisoned veins were apparent, scrolling up his arm and shoulder. Stiles’ lip twitched as Deaton pulled the bullet out, placing it with his bloodied fingers onto the table. Stiles waited, unmoving, as he watched Derek’s arm, remembering how quick he had healed last time.
Nothing was changing, the wound wasn’t closing. Stiles felt like his heart stopped beating as he rushed forward, moving Chris out of the way, his hands cupping Derek’s face, bringing him around.
“Derek-” Stiles said in a choked sob. “Derek, your arm...” Derek opened his eyes and looked up at Stiles, his lips parted as he breathed slowly. Stiles’ thumb played across Derek’s cracked lips as his palms spread across his cheeks. Stiles raked his teeth over his top lip, grimacing at how pale Derek looked. “Don’t leave me here alone,” Stiles whispered, not caring that he was surrounded by the Argents, Erica, along with Deaton and Tara. If Derek died he would be alone, it would be just one more thing, one more person he lost. He was the weak one, the human with no real skills. He was supposed to be the one who died, not anyone else. Stiles held in a sob as Derek’s eyes closed, his breathing becoming shallow. Stiles’ lip trembled as he shook Derek, bringing him back to consciousness. “I fucking love you don’t do this to me you piece of shit, Derek!”
Everyone was silent around him, as he fell to his knees, his hands sliding from Derek’s face, grasping at his jeans, his head in Derek’s lap, cheek pressed against his thigh. Stiles couldn’t think at all, his mind was full of how nothing would be worth it if Derek died. He was tired of fighting and he had only held on because of Derek if Derek-
Erica gasped and it brought Stiles out of his mental anguish long enough to feel Derek’s hand on his head, to look at his arm, the blackened veins slowly dissipating, the wound was closing up and Derek had his eyes open, looking down at Stiles.
“Thank god,” Erica whispered, her hand resting on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles laughed as he scrambled to his feet, his hands on Derek’s chest, his arms, his face, in his hair. He was healing.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Derek rasped, his voice wrecked. Stiles smiled, leaning over and capturing Derek’s lips with his.
They were going to be okay, somehow. They would fight as long as possible, continue to search for a sanctuary. They had no other choice but to push on and Stiles knew as long as he had Derek, he would be strong enough to survive.