“This one?” Stiles asked as he stopped the Jeep across the street from a dilapidated house and turned off the engine.
“Yes,” Derek replied. “Cut the lights.”
Stiles obeyed without complaint. He wasn’t in the mood for their usual banter that generally led to Derek threatening his life in a gory manner, often involving teeth. As fun as threats of throat ripping were, it had been a long day and that was even before he was rudely awakened in the middle of the night by glowing red eyes just outside his window. Besides, he was pretty sure that he didn’t want whatever was in that house to see them, either.
He really wasn’t sure how he always got into these situations. It wasn’t like Derek didn’t have his own car, a car that was much, much nicer than Stiles’ jeep—not that Stiles was bitter or anything—but, somehow whenever there was chauffeuring to do, Stiles ended up being the one behind the wheel. His current theory was that Derek was just trying to avoid getting blood on his upholstery. Meanwhile, this little midnight drive was probably going to lead to more blood stains for Stiles to try to explain to his father. Claiming he’d been injured playing lacrosse was only going to work for so long—after all, the season was over. Scott was so lucky that his mom rarely noticed the blood stains in her car, unlike Stiles’ father the Sherriff.
“So why am I here anyway?” Stiles asked, drumming his fingers on the wheel.
“Someone has to drive the getaway car,” Derek answered.
“Right, of course they do,” Stiles muttered. “So why me? Why not Isaac or Scott? They won’t die from a stray bullet strike, unlike yours truly.”
Derek didn’t answer, keeping his eyes fixed on the house in front of them.
“What? Don’t you trust them?” Stiles pressed.
“I don’t trust anyone,” Derek replied.
“And yet here I am,” Stiles pointed out.
“I don’t trust you, either.”
“Right, I’ve heard that somewhere before,” Stiles said. “When was that?” He tapped his finger against his bottom lip as if he were struggling to remember, before turning to glare at Derek. “Oh yeah! You told me that when I was saving your ass from drowning.”
Derek sighed, finally turning to look at Stiles. He had a long suffering look on his face as if between the two of them, Stiles was the difficult one. “What’s your point?”
“Point?” Stiles repeated. “There is no point. I just want to know why the hell I’m out here in the middle of the night driving the getaway car while you do something that’s probably going to lead to my death.”
“Quit being so dramatic,” Derek said. “You aren’t going to die.”
“I better not,” Stiles said. He pointed a finger at Derek. “If I die I am so coming back to haunt you.”
Derek stared at Stiles finger, baring his teeth in warning, and Stiles yanked his hand back out of Derek’s personal space. He was almost sure that Derek wouldn’t actually bite it off. Almost. “I’m not kidding; if I die I am haunting you for all of eternity.”
Derek rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the house. “There are no ghosts.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Stiles asked. “After Peter spent all that time haunting Lydia?”
“That’s different,” Derek replied.
“Right, totally different—“ Stiles started, but snapped his mouth shut when Derek leaned forward suddenly. Stiles followed Derek’s gaze and watched an SUV pull up to the house—an SUV full of crossbow wielding hunters.
“Hunters?” Stiles hissed. He watched the group of unfamiliar men and women exit the SUV and enter the house. “Those aren’t Argents.”
“The Argents aren’t the only hunters,” Derek said, as he opened the door. “Stay here.”
“What are you—“ Stiles started to ask, but Derek slammed the door shut in the middle of his question. “—doing?” he finished sullenly, as he watched Derek disappear into the shadows next to the house.
Stiles sighed and took out his phone. He was tempted to send a text to Scott, just to let him know where to find his and Derek’s dead bodies in the morning, but he didn’t. The last thing he wanted was for Scott to show up and add to the body count. Besides, he couldn’t help thinking that there was a reason that Derek hadn’t asked for Scott’s help today.
Another SUV turned down the street, this time coming from the opposite direction, its headlights blinding Stiles. He slid down in the seat, hoping that no one had seen him sitting there and counted to ten before slowing sticking his head up. The second SUV had parked next to the first one, and this time only two people got out—Allison and her father.
Derek’s motivation to keep Scott out of whatever this was was suddenly getting clearer. He watched as Allison marched straight into the house, her father lingering behind to survey the area. Any hope that Mr. Argent wouldn’t recognize his Jeep, was gone when the man shook his head and started walking toward him.
Stiles had two options; drive off as fast as he could, abandoning Derek to whatever the hunters were up to, or stay put and try to act innocent under Argent interrogation. As much as he wanted to pick the first option, it just wasn’t in him to abandon Derek to these metaphorical wolves, so he stayed.
He rolled down his window before Mr. Argent had the chance to knock. “Mr. Argent, fancy seeing you here.”
“Funny you should say that,” Mr. Argent said leaning against the Jeep, the motion making the pistol in his waistband stick out prominently—prominently enough that Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “I was going to say the same thing about you.”
“Uh, yeah,” Stile said, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. He grabbed his phone out of his lap and pointed at it. “You see, I was just going to text Scott about this great idea I had for our English project, and I didn’t want to text and drive. That’s dangerous, you know. So I pulled over here.” Stiles nodded his head. “So I would be safe.”
“Is that so?” Mr. Argent asked. He looked pointedly at Derek’s leather jacket which was lying across the passenger seat. “That yours?”
“Yes!” Stiles exclaimed. He grabbed the jacket and put it on; struggling to get his left arm through the sleeve while still avoiding the seat belt. “I liked Derek’s jacket so much I had to get one just like it.”
“Right,” Mr. Argent said. He tilted his head so that he was looking back at the house, but kept his voice barely above a whisper. “Derek, whatever you’re doing, stop it.”
“Look,” Stiles said. “I don’t know what you think is going on, but Derek isn’t here.” He began to tap exaggeratedly on his phone. “Like I said I’m just texting Scott about—“
Suddenly the passenger side door opened and Derek slid into the car. “You can drive now.”
Stiles turned the the key in the ignition and put the car in drive as Mr. Argent leaned in close to the window. “Derek, I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but stay out of it if you value your life. And Mr. Stilinski, you are a terrible liar with bad taste in friends. Do be more careful in the future.”
“He’s not my friend,” Stiles muttered. As soon as Mr. Argent stepped aside, he pressed the gas pedal down, taking off with a screech of tires. Once the house was several blocks away he cut his eyes over to Derek. “I hope you got what you wanted.”
“I did,” Derek replied calmly.
“And what was that?” Stiles asked. “Me to have a heart attack? Because it was a close thing.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Derek replied.
Stiles slammed on the brakes and turned and punched Derek in the shoulder. Derek’s shoulder was harder than he expected and it hurt his hand. “Ow,” he said shaking his hand out.
“Do that again and I will disembowel you with my--” Derek growled.
“With your teeth,” Stiles finished for him. “Why is it always your teeth? Do you have any idea how gross my bowels are? You don’t want your teeth anywhere near them.” He shook his head and fixed Derek with the sternest look he could manage. “This is the last time I do a favor for you without knowing why. Either you trust me enough to tell me or I stay at home in bed while you drive yourself.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” Derek muttered, almost petulantly.
“Well, get over it,” Stiles said. “You can’t ask us to trust you without reciprocating. That’s not how friendships work.”
“I thought I wasn’t your friend,” Derek pointed out. “That’s what you told Chris Argent less than five minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t get out of bed at midnight for acquaintances,” Stiles said. “Not even if they are hovering outside my window with scary red eyes.”
“And I don’t ask for help from people I don’t trust,” Derek said. “At least a little.”
“Wait a minute,” Stiles said, reading between the lines. “You trust me more than Scott! That’s why I’m always the one always getting stuck helping you.”
Derek gave him a dirty look.
“I mean, that’s why I’m the one always given the great joy of helping you,” Stiles corrected, giving Derek a cheeky grin.
“Argent was right,” Derek said. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“So you trust me because you can tell when I’m lying?” Stiles asked.
Derek nodded, a pained look on his face.
“Well that’s a start,” Stiles said. He patted Derek’s shoulder, ignoring the other man’s glare. “How do you feel about getting some breakfast before we go home? I’m starving.”
Derek didn’t say no, which Stiles interpreted as a deep desire for pancakes, so he started driving again, this time toward the diner.