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Derek fights. There isn't much he can do with a blade that big through his stomach or his hands bound by what feels like mistletoe behind his back. He doesn't know where these hunters are taking him, but he was pretty sure he doesn't want to know. 

The car jolts around, slicing up his insides with every bump in the road. He can feel it healing; no wolfs bane, then, although he can't figure out why not. Unless they weren't trying to kill him. But hunters always try to kill him. It's a fact of life.

Another bump and then they're driving off road, he's pretty sure, at least from what he can tell. It doesn't even feel like they're driving on dirt, just plowing through the forest, although where they found a path big enough to fit a car reliably between the trees is a mystery to him… Or maybe he's just delirious; he certainly can't see very well right now. In fact he might just pass out…

Derek is wrenched back to reality as the blade is wrenched from his stomach. A noise, halfway between a howl and a scream fills his ears and it isn't until he hits the floor, a cold concrete that knocks the wind out of him, that he realizes he was the one it was coming from. He scrambles to his feet, blood still dripping down his stomach even as it stitches itself back together, and tries to charge at the figure in front of him. Instead he runs straight into a wall of mountain ash; they must have closed the circle as soon as they threw him in. He's trapped. 

But he isn't alone. Someone is behind him, breathing faintly, heartbeat slow, unconscious. Whoever it is, their scent is dripping with residual sweat and anxiety; it smells like they'd been kidnapped as well and Derek backs slowly until he is hovering over them, still on all fours, protective. They're human, and male and familiar and… Stiles!?

His head whips back to confirm what he'd already smelled,  just as a switch, somewhere, is thrown, and twenty bright lights surrounding the circle of mountain ash, switch on, pointing inwards and blinding him.

When his eyes adjust he finds that, yes, it is Stiles, and he's passed out, limp and on his side, his hands bound by manacles in front of him, connected to each other and then to the floor. Other than that he looks fine, relatively unhurt, and Derek can't smell any blood other than his own…

But Stiles is human… Hunters don't go after humans, unless… Unless they don't know he's human. They must have seen him hanging out with Scott or Isaac, or anyone else in the pack and just assumed…  But surely they must have realized by now since he hasn't woken from whatever they'd given him; werewolves burn through everything faster, and even an omega would be up by now… Still, Stiles can break the circle of mountain ash, and if Derek can just get Stiles' hands free, the minute he wakes up, they can be out of here.

He tries to look around at his attackers, but the lights are too bright and all he can see are black shapes and vaguely human forms behind the dots of light. He growls at them anyways, hoping he isn't too far off from where their eyes should be that it looks awkward rather than menacing. The laugh that sounds back tells him it probably didn't work, but he keeps trying, crouching over Stiles protectively and trying to see if he can break the cuffs without them noticing.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Someone says behind him and he spins, trying to make out faces and not feel so much like a trapped animal. Even when that is exactly what he is. "We've got him hooked up to enough electricity to kill a human. Won't kill you, of course, but I've got a feeling you want him alive."

Derek freezes. They knew. They knew he was human when they took him. Then why-- "Just let him go!"

"If you cooperate we'll do just that."

A hostage, then. He can worn with that. It feels a little late to try and pretend he doesn't care, not without knowing how they even knew about Stiles. And if something more happens to him... Scott might just kill Derek himself.

"...What do you want."

There's another laugh and he can hear the hunter smirking through his voice. "You're going to fuck him"

That was... Not what he was expecting.  "What?" He thought they might have wanted him to tell them about Scott, or make him go after the alpha himself, but now that he thinks of it, none of those explain why they'd lock the hostage in with him.

"And then, when he's nice and used, you’re going to knot him. Like the dog you are."

Derek's blood goes cold. His mouth starts working before his brain does. "No!" How do they even know about--

Electricity shoots through the handcuffs below him and he snarls instinctively, even as he can feel the low voltage, a threat, not enough to hurt. He hopes.

"Then we'll kill him and do something else with you. Have fun explaining to your Alpha why his Second is dead."

They know way too much. He doesn't know how, but... Knotting is something only born wolves can do. Something they were only supposed to do when they got married. If he knots Stiles now, he'll never marry into another born family. The Hale line will effectively die with him.

They aren't just trying to hurt him. They are trying to humiliate him. Maybe their Code won't let them kill him, or maybe they just get some kind of perverse pleasure from watching this.

He... Can't let Stiles die. If they were threatening him, he'd refuse in a heartbeat, but Stiles...

How could he just rape him? And knotting? Stiles would be terrified. Derek wouldn't want that up his ass and he'd known about it most of his life...

Every lecture he'd gotten from his parents about waiting, about saving it, comes flooding back. It's supposed to be something special, not forced on you by hunters.

... Ironically, he'd wanted to give it to Kate, just to prove a point, but he hadn't thought she'd known about werewolves and then his family was dead. It's basically his only comfort from the whole situation that he hadn't.

Not that any of this would matter if they decided to have done with it and just kill him... Even if he survives this, he's probably going to die early anyways. He doesn't have to take Stiles with him.

Derek wants to talk to him, explain, ask if he should just risk it, but Stiles is still knocked out and--

"If you hurry, you just might finish before he even wakes up."

It's a small consolation, and Derek hates that. Hates that he's even considering it-- both letting Stiles die and raping him. But if Stiles wakes up and decides he'd rather be dead, well, that's his decision. Derek's not going to make it prematurely.

He goes over to Stiles' limp body, repositioning it and, god, Derek's not even hard. His own hand on his dick feels sick and wrong, and it's all he can do to block out his surroundings and forget why he's here.

He'll try to be as gentle as possible, but it's probably a lost cause.

There's no lube and the hunters won't let Derek open him up.


 

Stiles is pushing the gas pump into the jeep, catching the lever so the gas will flow without him holding it and then something is covering his mouth and-- holy shit his back hurts. His eyes slam open as he flails, trying to get away from the pain, but movement only makes it worse. He can't move right, keeps hitting against the ground, right by his face, instead of at his feet, where it was what feels like seconds ago. Something's on top of him, holding him down, and when he tries to push his arms out he can't fully extend them. They're held in place by some kind of thick manacles, but he can't see anything; bright lights burn into his eyes and the resulting headache rivals the pain in his ass as he freezes, slamming his eyes shut, trying to stop the pain and takes a minute to get his bearings. He's on his knees, flopped forward, bent almost in half, and holy shit why isn't he wearing pants? But he is, they're just down around his knees, pockets empty and... Someone is pressing up behind him, he can feel their pants on his bare thighs, a shirt against his back where his has been rucked up and there's the warm stick of someone else's skin between the two, pressed up against his ass, where it hurts because there's something--

He flails again, struggling, and he feels lightheaded as his heart goes from sixty to a hundred and five in a millisecond, flat. He can't breathe, the air catching in his throat, and his struggling only succeeds in getting his right knee out from under him, his head nearly hitting the ground-- a scratchy, hard, concrete-- and he's lost what little leverage he had, his legs now spread wide. He can feel something wet tricky down the back of his thigh that he's praying isn't semen and for all that his hips are still held exactly where they were by a single, strong arm, reaching across his stomach, fingernails digging into his left side. The man's other arm is holding the two of them up, and Stiles is trying to decide how he can go about knocking it out from under them when a voice hisses out a whisper behind him.

"Stiles."

He freezes, hadn't even noticed he'd been squirming into he stopped because he knows that voice, that tone, the way he growls out Stiles' name--

"D-Der-EK?" His voice rises on the last syllable, almost a squeak, and then he's gasping, hyperventilating, like one word was all it took and suddenly he can't stop breathing. He's having an anxiety attack, in the ground, who knows where, while being raped by Derek Hale.

The arm holding his hips moves upwards, until a hand is grasping Stiles' shoulder, squeezing in the most bizarre and unwanted hug Stiles has ever received. There's a mouth at his ear, stubble scraping against his cheek as Derek whispers "I'm sorry," so quietly the teenager isn't even sure he didn't just imagine it.

And then the hand moves back to its place on his hip and almost instantly the pain starts to fade, abruptly and steadily in a way that's becoming uncomfortably familiar. He looks down, his own shadow blocking enough light that he can see if he squints. There's lines of black ruining up Derek's arm, just as he suspected... There's also a slight trickle of blood running down his thigh and he never thought he'd be so happy to see blood in his entire life, but he sure as hell is now.

There's a click that sounds like a round chambering, coming from beyond the ring of lights and Derek snarls with his whole body, jumping forward and pressing Stiles down until his body is almost completely covered by the angry werewolf. He can feel Derek's dick inside of him, even if it no longer hurts, and he hadn't thought the wood could get any deeper inside of him but apparently he was wrong and just how long is he? He feels huge, like Stiles can feel him all the way up to his stomach and he doesn't even want to think about the thickness. The lack of pain somehow makes it worse because now he can feel exactly where he is pressing up against, can still feel the pressure, and the invasion and... Logically, he knows that Derek can't be that big, but the only thing he has to compare it to is the one time he tried a finger up his ass and immediately pulled it out his freshman year of high school.

It's terrifying and all he can focus on, although the tightness in his chest of an oncoming panic attack is giving it a run for its money...

He's graciously, thankfully, pulled out of it as Derek freezes, growling, reacting to something Stiles couldn't hear, something, or someone, outside the circle of lights... whispering infuriatingly gently, just loud enough to hear "I'm so sorry." He sounds like he means it, and not at all an out of control, which was the theory Stiles didn't even realize he was working with until now.

And then he begins to move and Stiles can't even try to cut off the sob that comes its way out of him. It's slow, gentle, precise, and Stiles is sure that in another situation, Derek with another partner, a partner who was relaxed and excited and fucking prepared, it wouldn't even hurt, even without magic pain sucking abilities. But it's not another situation, and Stiles isn't a partner. He's a victim and he's terrified, and the slow sensation of Derek pulling out just served to make it last longer and without the pain... Stiles can feel every inch sliding, sticking, pressing against his insides like some kind of horribly thick tape worm.

He wishes Derek would just go faster and get it over with, wishes he didn't sound and feel so controlled, so concerned with not hurting Stiles because right now he wasn't feeling the pain anyways. He wishes Derek was feral, that he didn't know what he was doing and Stiles could blame it on the moon or wolfsbane or Peter, have some kind of working explanation. He wishes it was someone else, some stranger and not someone he thought he trusted, not someone who was a part of the pack. He wishes that the emotional pain of betrayal would fade as easily as Derek had taken away the physical.

But it doesn't.

He's almost all the way out, but Stiles knows it's not over, not nearly. Derek stops, changes direction so he's now pushing back in and Stiles can do nothing to stop him. It's worse than the pulling out because now the pressure is increasing and he can feel his body fighting it, instinctively clamping down even though it just makes it worse, makes it easier to tell exactly where he is. This time he can't even pretend it's a tape worm, or even that it's for the best, that it'll be over as soon as it's out because it's climbing back inside and out feels like--

It feels like being raped.

He panics, again, trying to get away even as he knows the werewolf is stronger than him, that he wouldn't get anywhere even if he wasn't chained to the floor. He can feel himself clenching again, feels Derek wince against his back, hissing through his teeth in a way that is incredibly satisfying. He hopes it hurts.

But the next whispered "Stiles" that comes out doesn't sound mad or growly or frustrated... He sounds scared.

He's stopped, but he growls again, and Stiles knows it's not at him. He looks up, trying to see past the lights and he can't... but he can see a little bit in front of him, on the ground, where a thin line of mountain ash keeps them trapped inside.

He doesn't know why, he doesn't know who thought this would be a good idea, but he's suddenly sure of one thing; someone has captured them, someone is making Derek do this, and not with drugs, but with threats that only Derek can hear.

The fear of uncertainty fades along with the pain of betrayal and just like that Stiles has a mission. Think of a plan. That's his job, in the pack, and that's all he has to focus on, all he has to do. If he can just break the ash line, he can get them out of here. Derek can handle their kidnappers, he's not in this alone, he's not trapped, he's not powerless.

He reaches out, trying to reach the line, but it's too far away, the cuffs hold his hands back a couple feet from the line, and there isn't a give in the chain when he yanks on it.

He feels when Derek starts again, but he doesn't focus on it, focuses on the problem, how to get out, how to escape, how to call for help. His pockets are empty so they must have taken his cell phone. He can't reach the ash line and there's nothing for him to throw... Unless...

He really doesn't want to take his shirt off but his pants are underneath him and it's not like he's got a wealth of options. It's not easy; he's basically pressed against the ground and lifting his arms over his head means he's got nothing to support himself with. Plus, Derek is pressed against his back and doesn't seem to have the slightest idea what he's trying to do.

Every twist also bumps Derek against his insides, reminding him of what exactly he's trying to forget.

But he manages it, even if by the end he's hot and sweaty and now he can feel Derek's hair where he's resting his head in Stiles' back.

His shirt is now hanging off his arms, and he just has to get it off the chain. He tries to tug at it, but he isn't strong enough, not at this angle-- and then there's the sound of tearing fabric as the hand not supporting Derek's weight grabs the shirt and pulls.

He grabs the corner, flinging it back against his side so he's got as much room as possible to build up momentum. He has no idea if Derek knows what he's planning, but he waits until Derek has almost pulled out before whipping the shirt forward as fast and hard as he can, swinging it in an arc and it just barely reaches the line--

Every muscle in his body tenses at the same time. It feels like something is vibrating under his skin, buzzing in his ears, he can't think, can't breathe, and--

Derek howls, loud enough to hurt Stiles' eardrums, even when it's just the returning echo.

And then everything stops.

He can hear Derek yelling something about humans but right now he's focused on the fact that he feels like he can't move, aftershocks jolting through his body every couple seconds, tilting him onto his side.

It didn't work. They didn't escape. His shirt is gone, the mountain ash line either undamaged or fixed, and Stiles has just been electrocuted. He's freezing, the sweat drying on his skin and the warmth from Derek's body virtually gone. The only good news is it feels like Derek slipped out of him while the electricity was going. He feels terrible, sick, and he can feel cold air in places that should never be open wide enough to feel it.

Derek is hovering over him, hands just barely brushing over his naked skin, checking to make sure he's alright even though Stiles is fairly certain it's a bit late for that. Someone shouts something at them and Derek shouts back something about blood and medical attention and shock, but Stiles feels numb. His whole body aches and all he can focus on is that he's got no plan, no way out, and he's just going to have to sit there and endure it, wait for it to end or for Scott to come to their rescue... He's helpless. Derek's helpless and if they try anything they'll be electrocuted at best and dead at worst.

He feels like an outsider as Derek maneuvers him back onto his hands and knees. He doesn't fight him, but he doesn't really help either, just lets him move him around like a rag doll and pretends this isn't happening. That it's a dream and he'll wake up and tell his therapist all about how he had this nightmare that was a metaphor for how helpless he feels sometimes.

He's shivering when he feels Derek at his back again, trying to force a clearly flaccid cock into a place that really doesn't want him. He hears as Derek takes a deep breath and starts jerking himself off, his forehead pressed to Stiles' back, and Stiles wonders what their captors would do if he couldn't get it up. They certainly don't seem to care about Stiles; his dick has never been this uninterested in anything his whole life and he's almost grateful for that. He doesn't think he could handle any more humiliation than he already has.

Derek is more forceful this time, his movements short and angry and Stiles can handle this better than the false comfort he was trying to provide before. It's mechanic and impersonal and Stiles just breathes, just focuses on the scratch of the concrete beneath him, rubbing his hands raw.

Derek's hand moves from his waist, slipping down to wrap around his penis, and he knows Derek's just trying to help but it's really the last thing he needs right now, "Please don't." He whimpers out and Derek backs off without question.

Stiles feels Derek speed up, trying get this over with, but every time Stiles thinks he might be done he seems to back off. There's still lines of black running up his arm and Stiles wants to just tell him to forget it if it means that this can be over. But every time he opens his mouth, the only thing that comes out is a sob that makes Derek falter, so he gives that up.

At one point, Derek rearranges them so his face is pressed into the crook of Stiles' neck, sniffing to block out the scent of blood and woods that has to be filling the room. He hits something that might be his prostate, and he jolts, his penis twitching for the first time all night... So Stiles tilts his hips to a different angle and it doesn't happen again.

It seems to take Derek forever finish and Stiles tries not to blame him. He's a hormonal teenager and he's had some weird fantasies, but none of them involved blood or creepy cults or a younger boy there against his will. He can't even imagine--

But he can, just for a second, at the same time that Derek freezes, pressed all the way inside of him, pulsing. He tries not to think about what's happening, tries not to imagine the splash of cum that's hitting his insides with a burst of heat. He tries to stop the tears clinging to the edges of his eyes as Derek comes inside of him at the exact same time as Stiles realizes this is just as much rape for Derek as it is for him.

He's just so ready for this to be over....

So, of course, that's when it gets worse.

The pain in his backside increases rapidly, the pressure becoming far too much, mostly around his rim, and at first Stiles just thinks it's because Derek is too distracted by his orgasm to take Stiles' pain... but then Stiles feels something rip, the pressure easing for a moment, leaving behind the sharp sting of skin running over a cut and Derek slams his hips forward, forcing Stiles' backwards and Stiles winces as he slams so hard into his prostrate that it hurts. The pressure at his rim has let up, but just beyond that it's still increasing, feeling like someone shoved a tennis ball up his ass. He squirms, trying to get away from the pressure against his insides, against his prostrate, but he's stuck; Derek's dick holding him in place even harder than his hands.

The pressure is still increasing-- increasing far enough that he's sure he's gonna rip again, as Derek gives tiny little thrusts, panting so hard it's almost gasps, and he can feel the sting of claws against his hips, the tickle of liquid dripping down his pelvis as Derek' hands draws more blood.

He gives one last, fruitless squirm, confused and scared and Derek snarls, forcing his head to the floor and his ass in the air, teeth biting down on the back of his neck, piercing skin, as Stiles freezes, suddenly feeling very much a part of a wildlife documentary, holding still as a wolf mounts him. Because that’s exactly what it feels like. Derek is letting out little whines and whimpers, his teeth and claws digging slightly with every sound. Any control over his wolf seems to have flown out the window the minute he came. Stiles feels light headed and the world spins. He's not sure how much blood exactly he's lost, but it suddenly occurs to him that he could die here, raped to death on the concrete floor.

The tears he'd been holding back start pouring down his face as he suddenly feels desperately alone. At least before he'd had a little bit of camaraderie, someone else in the same situation, but now he's alone with a group of hunters and Derek's wolf and he just wants to be home.

His body jolts as he starts to cry, the sobs bringing with them freezing air that pushes away the dizziness and the hitching of his throat distracts him from the pain and humiliating pleasure going on inside him.

Derek keens again, high and animalistic, but Stiles is crying too hard to worry about how Derek might try and force him to stay still.

But Derek doesn't force him down again, instead he slowly and gently releases his claws and teeth, carefully not tearing the skin any further, leaving the bite as deep puncture marks, not scratches. Something wet and pliable smooths over the bite mark, Derek licking up the blood and cleaning the wound. It's kind of sweet in a nasty, awkward, kind of way. Derek is trying to help him, even if his human side is not quite in control. It's not Derek's fault… But that just makes Stiles cry harder.

Derek whines again, wraps an arm around his torso to lift Stiles up slightly from the floor, bringing his chest to Stile's back and starts taking his pain again. He licks the back of his neck some more, before putting his head on Stiles' shoulder, licking the tears from Stiles' cheek.

Stiles jolts away, on instinct, but Derek makes a soft noise of concern and just switches sides until Stiles' is too exhausted to fight him anymore. He gives up, his body collapsing as he stops trying to support himself, letting Derek take all of his weight. Slowly the sobs fade, except for a few, shaking shudders, but the tears keep falling, no matter how hard Derek tries to wipe them away.


Stiles can tell the instant Derek really comes back from his orgasm. He immediately tenses, starts trying to put as much space between them as possible, but stops when Stiles winces. The slightest movement sends sharp waves of pain through Stiles' body and, frankly, Derek supporting his weight is more comfortable than lying on the cold ground. It's not like either of them can go anywhere either.

It feels like an eternity before the pressure finally lets up and Derek immediately pulls out. The air feels cold, blood and come drying on places blood and come shouldn't be and he just lies there, not moving as Derek crawls backwards in reaction to some unheard instruction. It's cold without him, lying basically naked in the concrete, but Stiles can't summon the will power to shiver, let alone get up, even if he could go anywhere with the manacles on his wrists.

Manacles that are unlocking by themselves as he lies there.

"Get up and leave the circle."

It's the first he's heard from the people outside the ring but somehow he doesn't really care. He also doesn't move.

"Get up or he'll go again."

Derek growls but Stiles ignores him, pushing his arms up until he's on his hands and knees, hissing at each movement. His arms are shaking badly and as he goes to stand he realizes his legs aren't any better. He tries to shuffle forward; any step that brings his legs more than a few inches apart hurts more than he can handle and his knees keep trying to buckle beneath his weight.

He doesn't make it across the line before he collapses, but he wasn't really trying to; he simply reaches out a hand and breaks it the second he hits the ground.

And then he curls into a ball and waits for Derek to win.


Stiles is too still. He hasn't moved since he broke the ash barrier, curled into a ball in his side, hands covering his head. It was a good way for him to stay out of the fight, a small target to hit, not a bad place to defend, but the last of the hunters stopped breathing almost a minute ago and Stiles still hasn't moved.

He's breathing, not softly enough to be passed out, but not quickly enough to be panicking either and Derek doesn't really know anything about humans and trauma but he's pretty sure Stiles should be freaking out right now. He's certainly seen him freak out over less.

"They're dead." He's not sure what else to say, but he's bleeding from the few bullets that managed to hit their target. The hunters hadn't expected him to make it outside the circle, had been more focused on Stiles, not expecting them to work together. It was a stupid mistake and they paid for it, the bullets not acting fast enough to make enough of a difference between the rage and adrenaline mid-battle.

He's feeling dizzy, the wolfsbane beginning to take effect. Stiles still isn't moving but Derek's not going to take care of either of them if he passes out so he rips a bullet out of one of the fallen guns and starts hunting for a lighter.

He finds one but it won't light; his hands are shaking too much and his vision is fading fast. He's no longer sure he hasn't lit it, just that it feels like gravity is literally forcing it from his grasp--

 

Derek opens his eyes to Stiles' face hovering above his own. He's got the lighter in his hand and Derek can already feel the wounds healing without the wolfsbane to stop it.

"Is that all of them?" Stiles' eyes are tinged red, like he's been crying and his voice is quiet, almost a whisper, but it's steady, slow, along with his heartbeat.

Derek nods, getting his arm underneath himself as Stiles goes to grab his shirt. There are faint claw marks near his hips, and a nasty bite on the back of his neck, and his limbs shake horribly every time he goes to put his weight on them.

His knees give out and Derek catches him around the waist before it even occurs to him that Stiles might not want to be touched… But the human clings to him, letting Derek take most of his weight. He gets Stiles' arm over his shoulder, helping him walk, even though, frankly, it would probably be easier for Derek to simply pick him up, given the boy's feet are basically just dragging on the ground anyways…

But he doesn't, allowing Stiles whatever dignity he's got left as they hobble together towards the exit.


Stiles still isn't moving. They'd managed to hotwire a car outside, but when Stiles had tried to step into the passenger side he'd winced so badly Derek had almost dropped him. Instead, he'd ended up just lifting the boy and setting him in the seat himself.

Stiles hasn't moved since then, not even to put on his seatbelt, and Derek's just praying it's because he's trying to avoid pain and not because he's having some kind of mental break.

The drive to the hospital is the longest twenty minutes of his life alone with Stiles.

Because the kid isn't moving, isn't talking, and Derek used to think his longest car ride with Stiles was the time he'd been shot and was bleeding out on Stiles' seats, but now the word vomit feels like a welcome distraction from the pain in his side and the fact that, while Derek isn't familiar with the physical effects that shock has on humans, he's is pretty sure that Stiles shouldn't be shivering that badly with the heat on as high as it is.

He has to keep glancing over at Stiles to make sure he's still conscious, his heart rate and breathing far calmer than Derek's own, and he has to stop reminding himself that the only other time he's ever seen Stiles move this little is the time he was literally someone else. Even paralyzed he'd kept up a stream of dialogue.

They reach the emergency room and Stiles manages to open the car door by himself, but his knees collapse when he tries to get out without any help. Derek catches him, trying to steady him on his feet until he notices the dark stain coloring the passenger seat, printed again on the butt of Stiles' pants. This time he decides to forgo Stiles' dignity, and he lifts the boy in a princess carry and Stiles doesn't even complain, just goes so limp Derek has to scrunch his arm and shoulder forward to keep the teenager's head against his collarbone and not lolling back against the air.

It should make him feel better that Stiles still seems to trust him even in the wake of what he did, but instead it feels more like him accepting defeat.

They draw eyes in the waiting room with Derek almost entirely covered in blood. He wonders if he should have just called an ambulance; he isn't exactly sure what he should say and how much he needs to tell them.

But apparently the amount of blood he's covered in gives them priority over the ten-odd people already waiting. By the time he reaches the desk they've already brought out a bed on wheels where they make him lay Stiles down. And then they're leading them back to a room and he doesn't even realize they're asking what happened before Stiles starts talking. "I woke up on the ground with some guy over me. Derek pushed him off. There were dogs. We ran." It's a good start, all the important parts they need to cover and they can fill in the details later. He was probably thinking of it on the way over, although Derek doesn't know what they'll do when they find a DNA match from the rape kit.

At the moment, he's more concerned about the fact that Stiles' heartbeat is eerily steady, the shock overshadowing the lie, even though the boy's delivery is flat and empty. But he's not telling them everything and there's more doctors need to know. "They electrocuted him." Stiles turns his head to glare, clearly trying to get him to shut up about the stuff not easily explained without werewolves, but Derek has never been so happy to see that expression in his life.

Someone steps in front of him. "Sir!"

He hadn't realized they were trying to get his attention.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I--"

She cuts him off, stepping in front of him as he tries to edge around her to get to Stiles. He's a wounded pack mate and he shouldn't be left alone. "Then I'm going to need you to stay here. We need to take care of him. The police will be contacted and you should stay here to give a statement.  Do you need to call anyone?"

"I-- yes?"

"Do that. And don't worry. Your friend will be fine."

And then Stiles is gone and he's standing in the middle of the emergency waiting room and it's taking all of his self-control not to just howl for his Alpha at the top of his lungs. Except it would be Scott who answered, not his mom and not Laura, and it's that pain that manages to keep him human, to call Scott the human way.

He doesn't have his phone, but the nurse hands him the one at the front desk when he walks up, without him even asking. He's got the number memorized and he's just praying the teenager is better at answering it than he was two years ago.

He answers in the fifth ring. Derek wasn't counting. He just knows.

"Stiles is in the hospital."

"What? Who --"

"We were attacked... Kidnapped. I got him out but you should get here. The police are on their way. His dad-- you need to call his dad. I don't have his number."

"How bad is he?"

"He's..." Derek doesn't really know. Most of his frames of reference are for werewolves and there was a lot of blood--  "breathing. Conscious. He's lost a lot of blood. He--" he was raped. The horrible reality of it keeps overlaying itself over his vision, Stiles' back, shaking and scared, the way he'd struggled when Derek knotted him--

Oh god.

"Derek?"

Scott's talking to him but he hasn't heard a word of it. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?'

No. His body answers and Derek is suddenly afraid they didn't get all the wolfsbane out. Because why else would his hands be shaking and his vision be going dark and his heartbeat picking up to match a threat that isn't there. He has to remind himself to breathe... Except he can smell Stiles' blood and the blood of the hunters and neither of them is enough to cover up the sweat sticking to his hands and the fronts of his thighs, the scent of Stiles' fear and pain and resignation.

The scent of come is by far the worst, though.

He's going to be sick. He's going to throw up in front of a room full of humans pretending not to stare at him and it's going to be black because he's still got wolfsbane in his system.

He's going to shift. He can feel it rising up in his bones and he tries to find an anchor but he's helpless and useless and he couldn't even protect his Alpha's second. He tries to think of his family but he just knotted a teenager and he's letting them down and he tries to find the anger but all he can find is fear and regret and there's no way to make it to the door so he drops the phone and manages to make it to the corner.

Then he hides his face behind his knees, digs his claws into his arms, and waits for his Alpha.