The Hell You Came From [Derek/FemStiles]

Mean A Lot

“Stiles.” Scott calls back to her after he places Allison in the passenger’s seat of his mother’s car.

Stiles pauses and looks up at him in question. She frowns when he waves her over, but nods and holds up a finger. “I’ll be right back.”

She mostly tells Derek, who smiles tiredly and nods, though, Laura softly orders, “Make it quick. Derek’s got about an hour or so left until that mistletoe turns fatal.”

Derek tuts at his sister when Stiles’ eyes widen in horror. “Ignore her. I’m fine.”

Laura rolls her eyes when he shoots her a brief glare.

“Go.” Derek tells her, voice soft and smile encouraging.

Stiles nods vigorously before rushing over to Scott.

Scott chuckles, and with a roll of his eyes, he tells her, “She’s not kidding. He’s just being nice.”

He hisses when she slaps his chest, but also, can’t help chuckling again at her adorable little glare.

“Then, hurry up!” Stiles hisses back through gritted teeth, sparing a second glance to the blank faced Allison, sitting there silently in the car behind him.

Scott pulls the metal tennis sized Orb from his jacket pocket and holds it out to her. “Give this to Talia. She’s probably the only person to trust with something like this.”

He takes one of Stiles’ wrists and places the orb in her hand.

Stiles stares curiously at the object before asking, “What is this?”

“That is the thing Gerard was going to use to destroy your lover wolf’s entire family, starting with his mother.” Scott explains, tone casual, but expression slightly alarmed.

“O-Oh...” Stiles almost drops the damn thing, then, smiles sheepishly when Scott glares at her.

***
Stiles eyes are wide and she’s definitely having second thoughts about Talia even allowing her to watch.

Even if Stiles is here for moral support...

Watching Peter and Laura hold Derek down on his mother’s office couch, as Talia, herself, is scooping a handful of fricking gunpowder from some cute little pink satchel (that Stiles is sure is made from some kind of real skin) and filling all of Derek’s bullet wounds with the stuff.

Stiles has never been more certain in her life than she is right now; she’s going to fucking vomit...

And even in the midst of the burning lava like pain coursing through every inch of his body, through it all, Derek still tries to sit up and reach a hand out to Stiles before she passes the fuck out.

“What’re you doing, idiot? Sit still.” Laura hisses, giving his chest an irritated shove, his back hitting the couch again.

“St-Stiles...”

Peter gently shushes his nephew, smiling pleasantly and glancing over at Stiles as he says, “She’s fi–oh.” Yeah, she’s not fine...

Peter fails to hide his grimace, which makes Derek’s eyes widen in alarm.

Derek tries to sit up again, this time, only to have both his sister and mother growl and push him back down.

“She’ll be fine.” Laura tells him.

Though, when she spares a second to glance over her shoulder, she quickly nudges her foot against Peter’s knee.

Peter glances over, eyes widening a fraction. “She’s going.” He quietly warns.