We have ways of making you talk…
“Hiiiiiii,” Derek said happily, when Isaac broke down the door, and he and Scott and Stiles burst into the room. “I’m chained up!”
Stiles looked at Scott, who looked at him, and then they both looked at Isaac, who was too taken aback to even blink, apparently. Derek was indeed chained up. Again.
That wasn’t the surprising part.
“I’m really glad to see you,” Derek said, rolling his head against the fence. He was barefoot and dirty, and he was slurring his words just enough to be noticeable, but there was no blood anywhere Stiles could see. “Are you glad to see me?”
“We’re, um, yes?” Scott said, like he wasn’t entirely sure.
“We’re really, really glad to see you,” Isaac said, in the tone of voice you’d use to talk to a little kid. “Aren’t we, guys?” He shot threatening looks at Stiles and Scott.
“Right, yes,” Stiles said immediately as Scott said, “Absolutely! Super glad!”
“Are you all right?” Isaac asked Derek, taking a wary step closer. They were all off balance now, unsure of what they’d walked into.
“No,” Derek said petulantly. “I want to hug you but I can’t.” He frowned and tugged against the manacles on his wrists. “You’re my best friends in the whole world.”
“I think he’s okay,” Scott said after a long, awkward silence. “Except. You know.” He made a vague gesture at Derek, who didn’t seem to be hurt, specifically. Just very…un-Derek-like.
“We should—we don’t have much time,” Stiles reminded everyone, but it still took a few more seconds for someone to move, all of them completely thrown by the way Derek was acting. They’d been prepared for gore, for carnage, maybe for a dead body. They hadn’t been prepared for this.
“I was hoping Stiles would come,” Derek said dreamily, eyes fixed on him while Scott started on the manacles with a bolt cutter.
“And here I am,” Stiles said unnecessarily, throwing his hands out in a little flourish before he awkwardly shoved them in his jacket pockets. Derek’s dirty, beaming face was freaking him out.
The last manacle came apart under the bolt cutters and hit the floor next to Derek’s bare toes with a loud clang. “I care about you guys so much,” Derek gushed, slumping over into Isaac’s arms.
“This is way worse than I imagined,” Scott said under his breath, shaking his head.
“Guys, I’m serious. We gotta go,” Stiles said. They’d already been here too long, and every little noise was making him jump.
“Stiles says we gotta go,” Derek muttered. “Stiles is always bossing me around and I like it.”
“Oh my God,” Stiles said faintly, into the shocked silence. Isaac looked like he was trying not to laugh. Scott was looking at Derek like he’d grown a second head.
“You are so stoned, man,” Isaac said, shaking his head, and Derek promptly launched into another repetition of I’m so glad you guys are here. Isaac propped him up while Scott slipped his shirt over his head, both of them humming agreement to every single one of Derek’s declarations of love and happiness.
There were some syringes, most of them empty, one of them still full of a cloudy yellow liquid, scattered on the floor. Stiles grabbed the full one and carefully put it in his pocket while Scott and Isaac helped Derek into his shoes.
When they finally got him out to the Cruiser, it looked like Derek was going to get in willingly enough, until he saw Stiles head for the driver’s seat, at which point he balked, bracing his arms against the door frame like a cat trying to avoid the kitty carrier. “I want you to ride in the back with me, Stiles,” he said, refusing to budge. “I missed you.”
Stiles paused, hand on the door handle, and wondered how this shit kept happening to him. He wanted to bang his head against the Cruiser’s window, but that wouldn’t help anyone. “Please stop talking,” he begged Derek. “Just get in, okay?”
Derek glared at him, and for one reassuring second it was like the real Derek was back, until he said, “You’re hurting my feelings.”
“Jesus Christ,” Scott said, with feeling.
“Fine!” Stiles hissed, because shouting was a bad idea when you were escaping with someone’s prisoner. He marched around to the back door and handed the keys to Scott.
Appeased, Derek caught the front of Stiles jacket in his grubby hand and held on as he got in, practically dragging Stiles with him. As soon as Stiles’ butt hit the seat, Derek was right there, pressed against his side, trying to burrow under his arm.
“You need to put your seat belt on,” Stiles protested, shoving at him to no avail. “Safety first!”
Derek scoffed at the idea of a seatbelt as he wormed a little closer and put his head under Stiles’ chin. “I want to sit by you,” he said stubbornly. “You smell nice. I like you. I want to touch you. I think about you when I—”
“Okay!” Stiles yelled, slapping his hand down over Derek’s mouth before he could finish that horrifying sentence. “I think I get it.”
Stiles fully expected to get bitten, but instead Derek gently took his hand and tugged it away. He didn’t let go, just rubbed his thumb over the knob of Stiles’ wrist as he lifted his head so he could stare into Stiles’ eyes. Isaac was right—Derek was completely stoned. His eyes were almost all pupil.
“Do you?” Derek asked Stiles earnestly. “Do you really get it?”
“I think he’s gonna get it,” Isaac snorted up front.
"You’re not helping,” Scott gritted out as he started the engine. He didn’t look happy to suddenly be the getaway driver, but tough luck. Stiles was the one dealing with the real problem here.
Derek was still waiting for an answer, with wide eyes and a painfully open expression on his face. Stiles swallowed and said, “Can we—if I promise we’ll talk about this once we’re alone will you stop? Will you please stop?” Derek was twining their fingers together, Stiles realized, aghast. “Just wait until we’re alone, okay?”
“Okay,” Derek said, and put his head back on Stiles’ shoulder and didn’t say another word until they got to his place.
He held Stiles’ hand the whole time.
