Stiles tipped his head back and drained the last of the water he had. The others should be back soon, so even in the heat of the afternoon he’d live. They’d bought a dozen giant bottles of the stuff with them and the last two were on the other side of the room. They were untouched and would stay that way until Derek woke up.
If Derek woke up.
Stiles growled at himself. He was a poor mimic of a wolf but he was the only one he needed to convince at the moment. He stood and stretched and pulled his t-shirt up from his belly to wipe at his face. The motel they were crashing in was small and surprisingly clean, but it didn’t seem to have any real insulation or air-conditioners. The ceiling fan wasn’t a good idea.
Derek would wake up. Stiles had learned a lot about his Spark in the last few months, and his Spark had learned a lot about his surroundings. One of the things that it had decided he needed to be able to do was judge the strength of the magic-ness of the beings around him. Derek was weak, but his energy was growing as he slowly healed from whatever was in his system.
Stiles looked out across the bland landscape outside. The motel was on the edge of a town that took ten minutes to walk the length of. There was a gas station that doubled as a market, a diner that shared its building with a doctor-cum-vet, and the sheriff’s office was in the shadow of the smallest church Stiles had ever seen. There were a score of houses and beyond all that was just flat. Stiles had managed to find a spot in the corner of the room where he got bars for a while, and Googled just where the fuck they were. The town was on the outer edges of the Sonoran Desert, and the only plants that he could see were suited to the arid environment: strong, hardy and sharp looking.
He hoped the fact that they were plentiful was a sign that Derek, who in his opinion shared those traits with the desert grasses, would also thrive. At least he’d survived.
Stiles had never liked Braeden, but he’d admitted to himself that it was because he coveted what she’d eventually taken from them. He supposed that he could feel vindicated now that he had a real reason to despise her. He didn’t. Derek had suffered enough and a petty, jealous, little boy panting after him wasn’t going to make anything any better.
Derek stirred and Stiles turned to watch him. The wolf was still sweating far more than was natural even in this heat. They’d thought about putting him in the shower to cool off, but the shock might set his wolf-healing into overdrive. Purging this kind of poison too quickly could do irreparable damage to a werewolf according to the hedge-witch that had sold it to Braeden. The man had scoffed at Scott and Stiles’ attempts at extracting information but cowered and grovelled when Lydia had appeared to see what was taking so long. They’d left with the knowledge that there was no antidote, but that the concoction needed to be re-administered regularly and would wear off otherwise. Lydia had squeezed the guy’s nose between her thumb and finger until he admitted that he’d been making it for Braeden for months.
Derek had evolved, and within days been stripped of what he’d become. Braeden had not only taken away his wolf, but with it almost everything that made Derek who he was. She’d laughed at their shock, and Derek’s distress, when he’d seen Scott’s wolf-face: Derek didn’t know them, Derek didn’t know that werewolves existed.
Stiles had been surprised, but pleased, when Scott snapped. Braeden held her own against him for a while, but once Stiles pushed her weapons out of the way—he was getting the hang of certain parts of his magic—Scott flipped over her and dragged his claws across the back of her ankles. She’d never walk without help again. Derek had watched in terror, and sat stunned in the car when they’d handed his girlfriend over to a local Pack. The Stewart’s Alpha had questioned them hard, but Derek couldn’t hear anything they were saying.
They drove for a day and picked the first town they came to after sundown. Derek hadn’t made a fuss when they’d bundled him out of the car, but he’d refused food until they produced unopened snacks and soda from the gas station down the road. He’d fallen asleep easily, and not done much more than stir when Stiles had laid the mountain ash around the double bed and then the room.
Stiles phone buzzed in a text and Scott pushed opened the door.
“There isn’t a laundromat, but the manager is letting us borrow her washing machine if we buy her a few extra tubs of powder before we leave. Derek’s stuff is on her washing line at the moment. Ours is still in the wash.” Scott looked at Derek from over the ash-line. “Has he said anything?”
“Not even in his sleep. He’s seriously out of it. I can feel his mojo coming back online, though.” Scott had a couple of shopping bags at his feet. “Wolf or human he’ll be hungry when he wakes up. Did you get anything close to real food, or?”
“There’s protein bars, Gatorade, and cup-noodles for if he still doesn’t know who you are. If he does, just knock on the door and we’ll go get him something from the diner. The locals believe the story about us staging a drug intervention, and they’re keen to help.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie, after all.
“I just hope that asshole in San Francisco wasn’t lying about there not being any withdrawal from it.”
Scott turned his head a little. “The washer’s finished, and by the sounds of it,” he tilted his chin up to point behind Stiles, “Derek’s waking up. His heart rate’s climbing. Are you sure you don’t want one of us with you?”
Stiles was. The fewer people the better at the moment, and while Lydia could use ash and wolfsbane, she didn’t have the same control as him. “I’ll be fine. Go get those clothes out.” He reached out the door and grabbed the bag of food.
The clicked shut and Stiles turned to find Derek staring at him.
“Good morning.”
Derek blinked. “‘Morning.”
“Though, it isn’t really.” Stiles looked at his phone and back up again. “It’s almost two in the afternoon. You’ve been asleep since about nine last night.” He put the bag on the little table and sat back on the single bed he’d slept in. He laid his hand on his jeans and flicked a finger out quick, willing the ash-line around Derek’s bed to break. Hopefully it looked like he’d just pushed at some fluff. If Derek still had no real memories he might freak out even more if he realized Stiles had magic. “I had my shower hours ago, so there should be plenty of hot water. Your clothes are being washed, though, so you’ll have to put your dirty stuff back on for now.”
Derek didn’t move. Stiles stood and went back to the table and grabbed out the drinks. They had red, blue, purple and yellow energy drinks to choose from. Stiles took one for himself and tossed the purple to Derek, who’d always joked that the one that looked like wolfsbane shouldn’t taste the best.
Derek caught it and frowned down at the bottle. He opened it and took a swig, then closed it before putting it on the beside table farthest from Stiles. “I’ll shower then.” He stood up and walked over to the bathroom. He stepped inside and turned to close the door. His brow was pulled in tight and his eyebrows were low enough that Stiles could tell if they’d ever be able to go back up again. Derek’s nostrils flared and Stiles made himself stay very still.
“You,” Derek’s throat sounded dry despite the drink he’d just had, “you like the red one, and it matches your…” He looked down and to the side, then back up and Stiles and held his gaze a moment before tearing his eyes away.
Stiles opened the cap of the bottle in his hands and took a swig of the red liquid. “Take your time, big guy.”
♠
Glimmer [n]: a dim perception; inkling; a glimmer of hope
July CampNaNoWrimo - my prompt table and ‘rules’ are here.
