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On the outskirts of Stockholm, Derek takes down six men of eight with nothing but a boot knife and Stiles at his back. By the end, he’s covered in an array of bruises and blood and dirty snow, crouched low to the ground. Stiles stands by him, posture perfectly erect, Glock still raised. He’s got a smear of lipstick on his mouth and gunpowder residue on his sleeve. The men at their feet do not stir. (An AU where Stiles is a spy and Derek is his assassin.)