Apocalypse Gone Wrong

Day 3

Stiles stops in his tracks, dumbfounded by what he is seeing. Derek Hale. Peter's nephew. How was Stiles supposed to explain this to Derek, a werewolf. He has killed his uncle before though. That story is to hard to explain. "Stiles, come here." Derek grabs Stiles firmly, shakily, scaredly. Derek never gets scared, he is too brave for it, but he looks like he is about to fall to the ground. "Stiles I haven't eaten in days, and this apocalypse is like nothing we have ever seen before. There are too many to fight off, and I don't know what will happen to me if I get bitten. I need your help." Derek sounds sincere, something Stiles had never seen on him before. He found it kind of- kind of attractive. Stiles was surprised by his thoughts, but pushed them away for the minute. "Derek, I have never seen you like this. Maybe we should go see Deaton, or at least go somewhere safe. Stiles sights the hoard of zombies across the park. The gunshot must have brought them back. "Derek, listen to me. I have food in my back but we have to get you to the loft. It's safer there than anywhere I know." Derek, being weakened by whatever happened to him, could only run Stiles' speed, unlike the usual speed of a car. They are at the loft in three minutes, both winded by the short but vigorous run. They run as fast as they can up the stairs, the duffle bag slapping Stiles with every step. He cringes as he hears the amo rattle. Echoes spread throughout the apartments, just like they did in Eichen House. Stiles thinks back to his times there, when everyone thought he was crazy, but it wasn't really him. His heart sinks a little, but is then lifted when he remembers how Derek never lost hope, he always believed that he would be okay. Before Stiles's knows it, they are at Derek's loft and they struggle to open the heavy sliding door. As the door finally whines to an open, they practically fall in. They slide the door closed easily now that the rust has somewhat dissipated. They lay on the ground, as Derek doesn't have any furniture. It all burned in a fire at his childhood house. He was only 15 years old. He lost everyone but his uncle, but he was a potato for seven years. Derek, luckily, escaped before the fire started. He remained unscaved. This uneasiness Stiles, but it just continues to make him more attractive to Derek. They Are now just sitting side by side, eating the food that Stiles found at the Sheriff's Station. They laugh and talk, forgetting the world around them. Stiles was 18, Derek was 22. Stiles didn't care. It was legal for them to be together, but Derek was the only thing he worried about. He leaned in closer, and before he knew it Derek was kissing him. Derek pushed away, an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to- I mean, I wanted to but- just forget it." Stiles smirked, holding back a laugh. "You didn't even give me time to kiss back." Derek looked confused, like a lost puppy. Stiles couldn't hold back his laugh anymore. He falls backwards, letting out a noise that sounds barely human. Derek soon joins him, rolling on the floor out of breath. After what seemed like hours they had been sitting, and Stiles notice that the sun was going to set in about an hour of so. "Let's go to Deaton's office, maybe he will know what to do." Derek stands up and nods his head, back to his usual grumpy self. Stiles grabbed his bat and some extra food, just in case. Derek seemed to be feeling better now. He could run his usual speed and his eyes glowed a little. Not his werewolf-blue eyes, but just a little sparkle that shined in the almost setting sun. "Let's go." Derek said proudly. Stiles knew he would be falling behind, but he also knew that Derek would protect him at all costs.