Sterek One Shots

Training and Reality

The pack is at the old Hale House, training their asses off to be better than yesterday, and the day before that. They're in the middle of a mock attack, the sun has almost completely set, and all the guys have taken off their shirts—Allison and Lydia down to a sports bra and shorts. But then their mock disaster gets a lot more real.

"De-Derek," Issac pants as he skids to a stop on the damp grass and checking over his shoulder, "The alphas. They're—they were—"

Derek abruptly stands, already half shifted. "Stiles is out there," he growls. "I know," Issac says quietly, "Scott and I were tracking him but the alphas through us off. We all got separated."

"Damnit, Issac," he hisses, "Get everyone else. Now." Issac runs to the house where everyone else is resting, while Derek tracks Stiles scent through the woods. He's on all fours, covering ground quickly.

The other alphas may be hunting down Stiles too, but they don't have the same advantage. So when Derek comes to a stop and sniffs, tilting his head to the side, he knows he beat the others, but not by much.

Stiles has his back pressed against a tree, breathing quiet as he glances back and forth. Derek quickly covers Stiles' mouth with one hand and pulls the teen against him, in case he decides to run or scream. He does struggle a little, but is no match in strength.

"Stiles," Derek whispers through pressed teeth, "You keep squirming and they're going to find us." Stiles immediately pulls the hand from his mouth, whipping around to glare. "You're not supposed to be helping me, remember? I'm supposed to do this on my own and—" Derek recups Stiles' mouth. "They're actually here, Stiles. This isn't practice anymore," Derek hisses. "I'm already taking it seriously, you don't have to act—Derek?!" Stiles suddenly shouts. The werewolf once standing in front of him disappeared in a second, right before his eyes. Stiles hears a grunt, and he can't tell who it came from.

"Come on, precious," a female whispers in his ear, presumably no one good. "No thanks. I'm good," Stiles chuckles nervously, attempting to reenact a move that Allison has been teaching him. He slips the blade from its holder around his waist and swings blindly behind him. The howl of protests let's him know he at least knicked the bitch before she throws him forward about ten feet.

And suddenly it's quiet.

Stiles coughs, trying to get his breath back while checking around himself. He listens closely for rustling, instead he notices a low growl. Not of one werewolf, but of a pack growling in unison.

The only female steps the furthest up just as she's wiping away the blood Stiles spilled from her, the wound already healed. "He's mine," she states forcefully. No one objects. She has her claws raised in preparation and Stiles wants to fight, to put all his new skills to use, but he'd rather except his fate than die a painful death. This way it'll end quickly, no struggling. He closes his eyes for a moment, then decides he wants to know when it's coming, so he reopens them. Just in time to see Derek throw the woman backwards and howl, signaling the rest of the pack as he crouches above the teen to shield his body from any attacks.

Stiles can hear the skin rip open on Derek's back when one of the male alphas tries to get through him. Derek clenches his jaw and takes it, hardly flinching at the claws digging into him.

"Derek, Derek stop him before he kills you, please," Stiles begs quietly, clutching the males shirt helplessly. "He-he'll kill y-you," Derek stammers out in protest. "He's killing you. Please. Please." Derek has to remind himself that he's the alpha and his number one priority is protecting his own, and he can't do that if he's dead. But if he does die, it's because he's killed trying his damndest to protect them.

One against six is hardly a fight, he knows that. The likely hood of him making it out is slim to none, he just hopes the rest of his pack gets here in time to save Stiles. With that thought in mind, he figures it's now or never. As if Stiles can read his mind, silent tears roll down the side of his face and to the soil as he shakes his head. Derek nods back and presses their foreheads together, gently pushing into their first kiss, and probably their last. "It's going to be okay, Stiles," he promises quietly.

Stiles eyes widen as Derek jumps to his feet and faces the two alphas charging at him. He takes ahold of both of them by the throat to stop their attack and toss them backwards. The alpha pack is so focused on taking Derek down, they forget about Stiles. He crawls behind a tree and searches for anything that can help him, anything to save Derek.

"Stiles," Allison calls in a hushed yell. He looks up as a crossbow is being thrown his way. For the first time in his life, he catches something. Having no spare time to explain the little predicament, Stiles spins around the tree and takes his shot, hitting one in the dead center of his chest. "Nice," Allison compliments, nodding in approval as she reloads her own bow. Everyone else is following suit. The werewolves charge in to defend their alpha against six other alphas.

Stiles has tunnel vision, and his only focus is taking out the opposing pack to protect his own—Derek specifically. It's the only thing he can focus on. Somehow he's shooting and reloading without a single thought going into it. And suddenly everything is standing still. The three survivors had dragged away their dead pack members bodies in a hurry to get away with their own lives in tact.

Stiles drops his crossbow and rushes to Derek, who collapses down to his knees, blinking heavily and blood gushing from nearly every body part.

"Hey, hey," Stiles sooths softly, partially out of breath. He strokes the side of Derek's stubble with his thumb. "Stiles," he breathes out. "You didn't think you could just kiss me and die, now did you?"

"That was kind of the plan." Stiles laughs quietly and pulls the werewolf to him, probably pressing into his wounds and hurting him, but Derek doesn't make any movements or sounds of protest. He just breathes in the humans scent and relaxes into him. Clinging to Stiles is the last thing he remembers before passing out.

—

Stiles feels a wave of relief wash over him when Derek finally opens his eyes.

"You better take me out on a damn good date after this, Derek Hale. I practically gave you a sponge bath." Derek, still a little groggy, looks himself over to see all the dried blood cleaned off from him. Without a response, he figures he can keep babbling while taking care of the mess of blood stained wash cloths and everything else. "I mean, your betas had to haul your heavy ass up here, but they didn't get the luxury of stripping and washing you down, so I'm first candidate for that date. And—god!" Stiles shrieks, putting a reflexive hand to his chest. He should have known Derek would sneak out of bed and scare the living shit out of him.

Derek only grins, enjoying that he's the one invading Stiles' personal space for once. "How long was I out?" He asks quietly, staring dead into those auburn orbs. Stiles struggles to keep eye contact, accidentally stealing glances down at the alphas lips. "I, uh, you were just out for the night. All healed," he chuckles nervously. "Guess that means I can take you out on that date," Derek shrugs. "Guess so..."

Derek smiles and leans forward, softly connecting their lips until Stiles his gripping the back of his neck like his life just might depend on it, pulling them closer and leaning into Derek's touches.

"Or maybe," Derek begins to suggest between kisses, "We could just stay in for the night?"