Sterek One Shots

Avengers [Part 4]

One and a half years ago.

"Just hang in a little longer Derek," Stiles sighed, checking the wound on Derek's side. He sucked in a breath and bit his lip, it wasn't healing, and Stiles was sure that it was becoming infected. At this rate, Derek would start going downhill faster than Stiles can find a way to help him. 

"How does it look?" Derek asked as Stiles changed the bandage. 

"Not great. If I could translate this book faster, you'd already have recovered," Stiles sighed, looking at the German book resting on the small table in the cabin. "You should rest; I'll wake you when it's time for dinner." Derek nodded, not having the energy to fight Stiles to let him help. 

Stiles sighed, moved to the small table and chair, and continued to try and translate the book he prayed to answer why Derek wasn't healing and how he could help him. Growing frustrated, Stiles grabbed his coat and quietly walked out of the cabin, sitting on the pile of wood outside, a few tears racing down his cheeks. Everything was going great until they were attacked; now it's been falling apart. 

Stiles couldn't imagine losing Derek; he wouldn't know what to do. He couldn't go home even if he wanted to, Beacon Hills wasn't safe, and he was sure that it was practically a warzone at this point. No matter how hard they tried, the hunters took over the town; Derek and Stiles barely made it out alive. Stiles cried harder, thinking about the friends he lost, and questioned how his dad was. 

Once Stiles finally stopped crying, he took a few deep breaths and went to go inside when a twig snapped louder than if an animal had stepped on it. Stiles froze and grabbed the ax from next to the woodpile, knowing that it was his only weapon, and Derek wasn't able to protect him. Slowly Stiles walked around to the side of the house. He heard the twig break; ax raised, he came face to face with a man holding a bow at him.

"Whoa!" Stiles gasped, taking a step back only to fall to the ground, ax falling next to him. 

"What in the hell are you doing out here? Who the hell are you?" The man asked, resting his bow back and removing the arrow from it. He knelt in front of Stiles and worried expression covering his face.

"Uh," Stiles couldn't think, and he could hear Derek moving around in the cabin. "Do I know you from somewhere?" Stiles tilted his head, trying to place where he knew the man from.

"Not personally, but I'm an Avenger." It all clicked for Stiles within that second.

"You're Clint Barton, holy shit." Stiles started to get excited; there was an Avenger in front of him; it was a dream come true. 

"Stiles?" Derek's faint voice came from the cabin. Stiles' eyes bugged, and he stumbled to his feet, running to check on Derek. "Who are you talking to?" 

"Don't worry, Derek, it's okay," Stiles smiled, wiping his sleeve over Derek's sweat-covered forehead and slicked back his hair. "We might finally be okay." Derek's eyes fluttered shut, and Stiles turned his attention to Clint, who stood in the doorway. 

"Is he okay?" Clint asked hesitantly, walking into the cabin.

"You want the long or short story? And do you think you can help us?" Stiles sighed, watching Derek slowly breathe. 

"Short for now, I can see about getting you help." Clint sat in the chair at the table, watching Stiles face change.

"We're from a town called Beacon Hills; Derek is a werewolf; werewolf hunters took over the town and killed our friends, we ran. Last week we were attacked by some kind of witch and Derek got hurt. I've been trying to translate a book, but it's taking me far longer than I hoped it would. I only need to be able to translate the book and help Derek; after that, you'll never have to see us again." Stiles explained. Clint could see how broken and hurt the boy was; he could only imagine everything they had been through and werewolves; the world kept getting weirder.