Stiles The Teen Wolf

Episode Eleven: Formality

Stiles The Teen Wolf

Episode Eleven: Formality

Stiles wanted to throw up.

He knew he'd been shot, the wolf's bane had seemed to burn him from the inside out. He truly knew now what Derek had gone through when the bigger wolf had been shot. Still, the wound had been treated, he had felt hands work the wound closed and he'd feel the healing even while he was fading in and out of awareness. This pain was different.

Shock after shock rocked his body but he wasn't thrashing, wasn't even waking up from his sleep. A voice curled around his ears but it was female. A woman couldn't have carried him, a woman couldn't have healed him so where was he? Why was the electricity running through his body, the pain hitting his nerves, the voice graining his mind?

A good hour went by like this. Pain booming every couple of minutes. He could hear the growling and the howling of another wolf, of Derek. Derek… The bigger wolf was in pain sure, Stiles wasn't sure how he knew, but he was certain. Derek, he needed to find Derek! He'd left the other wolf behind, left him to the hunters. They were torturing him. Stiles knew it, it was thrumming within the bond he shared with Derek. Whatever they were, they were pack and Stiles could feel the weakening of Derek's consciousness. He would lose his pack, he would lose Derek if he didn't do something.

Do something!

"Derek!"

His eyes snapped open and his fangs bared as he bolted up with a growl. Instantly he recognized the place where he'd almost amputated Derek's arm. The clinic, he was in Scott's work place.

Stiles didn't hesitate to attempt to stand, his mind repeating the name 'Derek, Derek, Derek, Derek' with every beat of his heart. He couldn't hold himself up though as his feet met the floor and his legs wobbled with his weight.

"Welcome to the land of the conscious." He heard Deaton's voice call before a hand settled on his shoulder. "Maybe you should sit down." Deaton's hand touched Stiles bare chest and Stiles looked down with a snarl.

"What are you?" Stiles asked through clenched teeth. His instincts were screaming at him to get out, to find Derek. To be honest, he was only slightly unnerved that Deaton had cared for his wound and apparently knew about werewolves if his lack of fear and confusion were anything to go by.

Deaton never got the chance to answer as the bell for the front door chimed. Instantly Stiles could smell who it was. Peter.

He was frozen in place as Deaton looked from him to the open door way leading to the front entrance in confusion. The vet didn't linger though, he instantly but carefully walked out to stand behind the reception desk, face to face with the newly healed Peter Hale. Stiles could feel the fear curl inside him as he backed away towards the corner of the room. Deaton didn't know who Peter was, he could let Peter in. Stiles couldn't take Peter on, not without Derek, not without his pack.

"I'm sorry, but we're closed." Deaton sounded pleasant to Stiles ears, but his smell was all edgy. Stiles could feel himself relaxing a bit but he didn't move from his little corner.

"Hi." Peter's voice was almost friendly and it made Stiles flinch. "I'm here to pick up."

"I'm not sure I remember you dropping off." Deaton countered easily. Instantly he knew that Deaton wouldn't let Peter come to the back room. Not willingly at least.

"This one wondered in on its own." Peter said, sounding far less friendly. Stiles didn't know what to do. Deaton was human…or was he? Whatever Deaton was he didn't know Peter was a werewolf, he wouldn't be able to protect himself and Stiles had to keep Peter from killing more people. But should he go out there and face Peter? Hurt and without Derek. Deaton was dead anyways.